Battleship Bismarck (11 page)

On 16 September, we entered the canal with the ship in a state of “heightened watertight integrity.” In the highest state of readiness, that is, “cleared for action,” all passageway doors and ventilation fittings, both intake and outlet, were closed, so that the
Bismarck
was divided into eighteen watertight compartments and a number of hermetically sealed spaces. In “heightened watertight integrity,” which was usually ordered when navigation was hazardous, passageway doors and ventilation fittings remained open. There was also an intermediate state, “wartime steaming condition,” which was used when there was a high risk of encountering the enemy.

On 15 September 1940, the
Bismarck
cast off from the wharf at Blohm & Voss and got under way for the first time. She is seen here going down the Elbe with the aid of a tug. (Photograph courtesy of Württembergische Landesbibliothek, Stuttgart.)

The transit of the canal took two days and on the evening of 17 September we made fast in Scheerhafen, near Kiel. For the young engineers who had their hands on levers controlling 150,000 horsepower, bringing this giant of a ship through the narrow canal on her maiden voyage was a great achievement. The slightest error on their part could have had disastrous consequences for both the ship and the canal. And so, when we got to Kiel, Lindemann came on the ship’s loudspeakers and congratulated the men in the boiler rooms and engine rooms.

The following week was devoted to aligning the ship’s batteries. After spending a few more days at a harbor buoy, on 28 September we steamed under the escort of
Sperrbrecher 13
*
for Arkona, on the island of Rügen, then went on to Gotenhafen (now Gdynia) without escort.

The
Bismarck
going down the Elbe on her first voyage. At one point, she collided with the lead tug
Atlantik
but sustained no damage. (Photograph from the author’s collection.)

We spent fully two months at the Gotenhafen naval base, trying out the ship and her systems in the Gulf of Danzig. After testing her degaussing gear, we made measured-mile, endurance, and high-speed runs and tested her general maneuverability. Not until 23 October were the engines cleared for full speed.

Our ship did very well in all these tests. She was extremely steady, and rolled and pitched very little, even in a seaway. Her rudder response was almost immediate, and she did not heel excessively when she made a turn; when backing, even at speeds close to bare steerage-way, she turned so easily that she could get out of tight spots without the help of tugs. We also tested to see how maneuverable she would be if only her engines were used in case her steering gear and rudders should be put totally out of action during an engagement. It was found that with both rudders locked in an amidships position, the
Bismarck
could be held on course only with great difficulty. The
reason for this was that the convergent design of her propeller shafts provided only a weak turning movement, even with the outboard shafts rotating in opposition at full power. No one aboard at the time could have had any idea of the fateful effect this flaw would one day have.

Lastly, with the thought that only the powered steering gear might be disabled while the rudders could still function, turning the rudders by manpower alone was practiced. For such manual steering, the crews of both after 15-centimeter turrets, a total of thirty-two men, would have to proceed as expeditiously as possible to Compartment II of the upper platform deck, where the manual steering gear was located. Of course, full speed could not be maintained with manual steering because of the pressure of the water against the rudders. The upper speed limit under these conditions was about 20 knots.

To us in the ship, high-speed runs were the most exciting of the tests. Then, the giant warship would surge forward with the full power of her engines at play, yet she lay steady in the water, making but a small bow wave. On the upper deck, there seemed to be hardly any vibration, but sometimes the men on the living decks had to hold their plates and utensils on the tables to keep them from bouncing to the floor. This shaking did not occur at the highest speeds, however,
but at a slightly lower, so-called critical speed, at which the vibrations of the different parts of the ship were mutually reinforced and created maximum vibration throughout the ship. Earlier, when I was serving in the
Königsberg
, she sometimes vibrated so violently that the optical fire-control instruments could not be used. Ultimately, the problem was remedied by keeping away from the critical speed so as to minimize the reinforcement effect. But I never experienced anything like that in the
Bismarck.

The speed trials continued into November, a speed of 30.8 knots being recorded on one occasion. That exceeded the designed speed! Not only were there joy and pride on board, but an appreciation of the tactical advantage that such a speed might provide during the coming operation in the Atlantic. The crew’s already boundless confidence in their ship was once again justified.

One day, after a series of measured-mile runs, we had an unusual experience. In a fairly rough sea, we were entering the harbor of Gotenhafen when we suddenly suffered a minor malfunction of our steering mechanism, and came to a full stop to repair it. Nearby was a fishing boat, lying low in the water and laboring along. So low, in fact, was she lying that her abundant catch was obviously about to be spilled hack into the water. By megaphone, she called to the
Bismarck:
“Could you give us lee? Our catch was so good that we can’t stow it safely.” Briskly, Lindemann ordered the officer of the watch to do as requested, and we escorted the boat into the calm waters of Gotenhafen Roads. Next day the
Bismarck
had fish on the menu!

Along with the mile runs, we carried out intensive training in the safe operation of the ship at sea. The green crew found their sea legs and became thoroughly familiar with their new surroundings. Emergency drills were followed by more emergency drills, or Rollen schwoof,
*
as the men called them. The word would be passed to “Make fast the passageways!” which meant “Set the cleared-for-action state of watertight integrity.” Or, “Fire!” When that word was passed, the source of the flames would be sealed off and hoses made ready to extinguish them. Or, “Man overboard!” In this exercise, a life buoy would be thrown over the side to mark the spot where the man fell. A lifeboat would be launched with all possible speed, pick up the buoy, and then be hoisted in. Every man had to know his station and, at drill, proceed to it at once and perform his duties as instinctively as a sleepwalker. Emergency drills often began on the
quarterdeck, where the off-duty section of the crew, some 1,600 men, would be mustered. Alarm bells would sound an emergency signal—for example,
tuy-tuy-tuy-tuy-tuy
(make fast the passageways!)—and these 1,600 men would storm down assigned companionways to their posts. Step lively! Step lively! but not on the head or fingers of the man below you. Two steps down, get a good grip, swing down, spring off to the right, always faster, lively, lively. So well practiced did the crew become that five minutes after the word was passed, the bridge had a report from every station.

Hermann Budich and two of his comrades, wanting to be first at their station in Compartment IX of the lower platform deck and therefore to avoid the choked companionways, sought a different route. They discovered a little-used companionway aft. Hanging onto the inner edge of the hatch, they took their usual two steps down, let go, and flew, rather than ran, for their station—all this with heavy tools stuck in the belts of their work clothes. Out of breath, they reached their goal, the first to do so, and reported it “clear.” But hadn’t Budich brushed against something soft at the bottom of the companionway? What could it have been? The men’s division officer, Kapitänleutnant (Ingenieurwesen)
*
Werner Schock, did not attend the critique that followed the drill, but when it was over they were ordered to report to his cabin at once. There, a corpsman was applying cold compresses to a beautiful black eye. “Gentlemen,” he began what promised to be an unpleasant interview, “if it weren’t that everyone looks so much alike in work clothes, I would have caught you earlier. I know you move fast, but you don’t have to ram your tools down my throat! Be more careful! Now, get out!” They did shout “Wahrschau!”
†
before they jumped, but that was to alert anyone who might have been there to move out of the way, not to tell him to stay put.

During emergency drills First Officer Oels had heavy responsibilities. His station at such times was in a secondary command center that had been set up in Compartment XIV of the upper platform deck. Since he was primarily responsible for the defense of the ship against fire, gas, and flooding, as well as for the maintenance of buoyancy and trim, the damage-control center was in the same compartment. There, also, was the ship’s security station, in which were kept plans that showed all the ways in which the pumping, flooding, fire-extinguishing, and ventilation systems could be used to combat the above-mentioned dangers. This area was the heart, so to speak, of the ship, where vital information was delivered and equally vital decisions were made.

Immediately after coming aboard the
Bismarck
, her commanding officer receives a salute from the ship’s honor guard. Behind Lindemann is the author, wearing the aiguillette of adjutant to the commanding officer. (Photograph from Bundesarchiv, Koblenz.)

In mid-October Lindemann made an operational-readiness inspection. He ordered the most important emergency drills, then went around to each station, watched how the men handled their equipment, and asked pertinent questions. What he saw satisfied him. “Seamen of the battleship
Bismarck,
” he said in closing his critique, “this day has convinced me that you have made good progress. Thanks to your instructors and to your own enthusiasm, the
Bismarck
is well on her way to becoming operational.” The crew had completed a kind of crash course. In peacetime, it took as a rule two years to bring a warship from commissioning to combat-readiness but, because of urgent missions to come, the
Bismarck
could count on no more than nine months.

My tour of duty as Lindemann’s adjutant ended about this time. The change, which I foresaw from the start, was brought about by my assignment to a three-week gunnery course at the Naval Gunnery School in Kiel, in November 1940. At the end of August 1939, the school’s course on fire control for large-caliber guns, which I was then taking, was interrupted by the threat of war. Now it was to be revived as the completion of gunnery training. At an “all men aft” assembly held for some special reason at the beginning of November, Lindemann remarked that on account of my “valuable” professional training I would henceforth serve in gunnery only. My place as adjutant was taken by Leutnant zur See
*
Wolfgang Reiner. Although I left Lindemann most unwillingly, I realized it was a move that had to be made. As operational deployment approached, all that mattered was the combat-readiness of the ship, and that required that the utmost advantage be taken of everyone’s specialty.