Opening Chapter of Caribbean Sentinel

a novel

By Charlie Edwards 

 

Chapter One 

March 1945, North Atlantic Ocean

 

By the forth hour of the watch, the binoculars felt like fifty pounds of iron. Seawater, propelled by twenty-five-knot winds, bit into the sailor’s youthful face. Even the steel bulwark of the conning tower offered little protection against the freezing wind when it came in from the aft as it was that day. His body was stiff with fatigue, and he craved a cigarette. The warm clothing beneath his leather suit was wet and cold.

Was it a spot on the lens or a gull? No. There it is again. “CONTACT!”

“Where?” the watch officer demanded as he turned and searched the aft skies.

“Astern, sir. Aircraft descending.”

It only took a second to confirm the inbound contact. “All hands below!” The lieutenant cupped his hands and shouted into the hatch as the men disappeared below. “ALAAAARM!”

The shout from above woke the control-room mate from his daydream with a jolt. He punched the red button on the bulkhead, activating an alarm bell heard throughout the boat. Every man on board dropped what he was doing and hurried to his assigned battle station.

“Both engines all ahead full, bow planes down thirty degrees,” the voice from below commanded. 

“FLOOD!” Again, the second watch officer shouted while he dogged the tower hatch closed.

A shower of icy seawater cascaded down the ladder, drenching the already soaked and shivering men one more time. Valves opened, and throughout the boat, seawater surged into the ballast tanks, causing the boat to submerge. The young officer followed his three lookouts down the ladder into the control room in a controlled crash on the deck plates. Finding the eyes of the commander, he offered one more warning. “Sunderland dead astern, sir!” 

“Right full rudder,” the commanding officer of U-1066, twenty-eight-year-old Kapitan-Lieutenant Horst Geier barked.

The ashen-faced helmsman and the bow plane operator stared blankly upward, awaiting the Skipper’s next command. Seconds later, the boat shuddered with four thunderous eruptions somewhere above and behind them.  

The aircraft were easier to elude than the corvettes and destroyers, which could remain on station for longer periods of time. With their depth charges and Asdic equipment, they destroyed hundreds of German U-boats. It took exactly fifteen seconds to submerge the boat after the alarm sounded. Just eight days previous, it had taken thirty-three seconds. Geier drilled the crew until they mastered the fifteen-second crash dive.

 “Come right zero six zero degrees. Make your depth one hundred meters. Both engines half ahead, bow planes amidships.” 

Captain Geier made an entry in his logbook while his executive officer repeated the orders to the men in the control room. The helmsman watched the numbers rotate beneath the heading index on the gyrocompass as the U-boat gradually turned to the desired direction. The chief petty officer cranked the valve wheels mounted on the bulkhead and watched the manometer and the bubble indicator in an effort to level the boat off at one hundred meters. Four more explosions rumbled in the distance, and the chief mopped his forehead with his sleeve. 

“Helmsman left to three zero zero. Chief, make your depth fifty meters.”

Each man acknowledged the order and repeated the routine in response to the commander. Once again, they avoided the Allied aircrew’s attempts to sink their vessel.

"Chief, when was your last trim adjustment?"

"Zero six hundred this morning Captain, per the six-hour trim schedule."

"I want to increase frequency to a four-hour schedule. The boat seemed a bit sluggish during the crash dive and we need to keep our trim precise."

"Aye Captain."

The crew had developed a reverential respect for their skipper. He had delivered them from countless critical situations when most thought they were finished. Geier had the uncanny ability to visualize the boat’s position relative to its pursuers, a skill uncommon for younger U-boat commanders.

The ravenous appetite of the Allied war machine in Europe demanded the United States send hundreds of cargo ships in convoy across the Atlantic. The job of the German U-boat flotilla was to put those supplies on the bottom of the ocean before they reached the troops.

When Allied losses became intolerable, hunter-killer groups formed for the express purpose of eliminating the sea of the merciless U-boats. They escorted the convoys and swept the waters with sonar and depth charges in search of their prey. When the underwater menace showed itself, the escorts attacked with relentless firepower and cunning. The hunter-killer groups were so successful that three out of every four German U-boat crewmembers never returned home after the war. 

  Long gone were the glory days of the so-called Wolf Packs in the Atlantic. Early in his career, Geier served as navigation officer then as executive officer. His commanding officers reported his exemplary performance to their superiors, and it was not long before he received his first command. His third patrol in U-1066, Geier decided he liked the improvements incorporated into the VII-C boat. It was one of the newer Type Forty-One models with increased depth capabilities.

Within fifteen minutes, the boat returned to its original course.

“Chief, bring the boat to snorkel depth and commence snorkel operation. Charge forward and aft storage cells,” the captain ordered.

“Aye, sir.”

“Damage reports, Exec?” 

“None reported thus far, sir,” said the executive officer.

With the exception of a few of the youngest crewmembers, who had barely begun to shave, most of the men had a good start on their beards after eight days at sea. The crew had also become used to the odors that were very much a part of life aboard the U-boat. 

The watch officer and his three charges made their way aft to the engine room. After hanging their soaked clothing and leathers to dry in the warm environment of the diesel room, they made their way forward to their respective quarters. They looked forward to dry clothing and a few moments’ repose before returning to watch duty.

  On most of the ninety-day patrols, there were always a few first-time crewmembers. Their youthful countenances reminded Geier of high-school boys. It was his habit to gather them together at some point early on and lecture them on the fundamentals of U-boat warfare. Although their training would come from their immediate officers and shipmates, he always took time to speak to them personally. Usually, the ritual took place in the forward torpedo room.

Of the fifty-man crew on his boat, it was the first patrol for four of the young sailors. Geier gathered them together and explained how the type VII-C U-boat was the most sea-worthy vessel in existence.

“If operated properly,” he explained, “this boat will enable us to sink enemy shipping and get us home safely. Its main strength as an effective weapon of war is stealth. Incumbent upon each of you is knowledge and skill at your particular job, regardless of its nature. Unquestioned obedience to orders from your commanding officers will ensure your safe homecoming.” He paced back and forth as he spoke while his new crewmembers relaxed on the bunks in the cramped compartment. He finished his speech, spent a moment or two with each of the four new crew members, and returned to the control room.

Geier had seen the transformation many times over the years. These boys would face utter terror and teeter on the edge of panic. They would endure the horror of combat in the claustrophobic confines and harsh living conditions of a U-boat. The young men that returned to port would no longer be the pink-cheeked, naïve boys they had once been. Their beards would hide pallid faces and dark, sunken eyes. Their countenances would change forever. Though unable to explain it, the U-boat commander understood it and accepted it. Upon return to port, these young men would be combat-hardened U-boat men.

Just forward of the control room and opposite the radio and sound compartments was the captain’s quarters. Offering a modicum of privacy on the cramped U-boat, the confined nook contained a small writing table, a few built-in cabinets, and a narrow berth. A green curtain separated his compartment from the rest of the boat, and most of the time, it remained open.

They sighted freighters on three different occasions thus far. Each time, the enemy discovered them before they were able to make an approach for a torpedo shot. Geier was responsible for the sinking of numerous cargo vessels. Because of the total freight tonnage sunk, he received the coveted Knight’s Cross upon the return from his first patrol as commander. The enemy, however, was making it increasingly difficult to continue the trend. 

Earlier in the day during breakfast in the officer’s mess, Geier read the radiogram noting three U-boats overdue. The commanders of these boats were all good friends of his. While it was true that sinking Allied freighters was his first priority as a U-boat commander, he had resolved not to place the lives of his crew in unnecessary danger. He read of the Japanese kamikaze pilots and listened to Hitler’s continuous harangue on the subject of “no retreat—fight to the death” but had been unable to embrace the concept with any degree of passion. He believed there were times when it was best to escape with the lives of his crew and return to fight again another day.

Every man aboard his boat, including himself, had family back home in the Fatherland. Many had wives who needed their men and children who needed their fathers. Unlike the leader of Germany, Geier clearly knew the difference between foolishness and valor. Yes, he would continue to sink enemy vessels, but he would also get his men safely home.

 

 

(This book is available on Amazon)