The Last Lady from Hell (14 page)

U-103, 4910N LONGITUDE, 04551W LATITUDE

[Recreated from historical records]

C
laus Rucker was the commander of the U-103. He stood very erect and appeared much taller than a man barely five-foot, eight inches. Perhaps it was his white hat perched atop his head of white hair or maybe his authoritative demeanor. Whatever the case, the perception was undeniable.

Next to Rucker was his first mate, Hans Schwieger, a young man of 23 who had been on the water for only a year. He had done very well to achieve first mate in just one year, but he had ambitions of being commander soon. It was really just a matter of time, inasmuch as he was the younger brother of the famous Captain Walther Schwieger.

Walther Schwieger had been the commander of the U-20 which on 7 May, 1915 sank The Lusitania, killing 1,119 of the 1,924 people on board. This attack on an unarmed civilian vessel was widely considered the most infamous maritime crime committed during the war. And even though the world unanimously condemned the attack, the
Kaiserliche Marine
(Imperial Navy) looked upon Schwieger as a hero. Hans was planning on capitalizing on his older brother’s fame.

As the U-103 glided over the uncommonly smooth seas at her long range cruise speed of twelve knots, Rucker leaned over the rail of the conning tower and admired his U-boat. He recalled his first command on an old kerosene burner. Those ships belched billows of black smoke out of the stacks and gave your position away.

Rucker yelled over the sound of the wind and sea, “We have at least 10,000 miles of range remaining.”

Schwieger nodded. “We could go to New York Harbor and back and still have reserve fuel,” he said.

“Perhaps we should, I have relatives there,” Rucker replied with a broad smile of yellow, smoke stained teeth.

The diesel-powered U-103 was a Mittel U class of
unterseeboot
. She carried sixteen torpedoes and had an eighty-eight millimeter deck gun for weaponry. Her length overall was two hundred ten feet, and she could maintain a maximum speed of nearly seventeen knots on the surface, and just over nine knots submerged.

Captain Rucker breathed the cool salt air in deeply through his nose, hoping to flush out the ever-present smell of diesel that was inescapable inside the U-boat. His lips were pressed tightly together, giving him the appearance of having just a slit for his mouth.

Rucker’s full concentration was on the horizon through his binoculars. This was the hunt. Something caught his eye and, without lowering his glasses, he tapped his first mate on the shoulder pointing in the general direction of his sighting.

Schwieger swung his glasses over to the area for confirmation. He saw a distant plume of smoke, not yet visible without the aid of glasses. He nodded.

Rucker flipped open the cover of the communication tube and gave a hard blow then leaned close to hear the response. A loud whistle sounded at the helm.

“Jawohl,” came the reply from the helmsman. Rucker looked at his water compass and barked the new course into the tube. “Steer 210 degrees,” he ordered. The 103 was now on a perfect intercept.

Turning to Schwieger, he said, “Have the men come up for fresh air in groups of ten for fifteen minutes each. We may need to submerge for a while and I want them to clear their lungs and heads.”

Eager to show his command qualities, Schwieger asked, “Should I request full speed sir?”

Rucker’s tight-lipped expression softened slightly. “We don’t know what we’re running toward young Hans. If it’s a dreadnought or destroyer we could simply be rushing to our own demise. Once we’ve identified our prey, we’ll make our move.”

Schwieger tipped his head in recognition of the captain’s good judgment and quietly chastised himself for such a poorly thought out suggestion. Instead of impressing the captain with good command judgment, he proved he was not yet ready. Two hours later they were still miles away but they had determined that their target was in fact The Olympic. With four large stacks topping off her unmistakable profile, there was only one other ship that it could have been, and she sank many years earlier on her maiden voyage.

It also appeared that The Olympic’s deep-water escort had steamed off to intercept and protect the next transport on their route segment, while the next escort had not yet arrived to continue the relay process. The timing was perfect. The Olympic was a sitting duck, an easy target, almost too easy.

Rucker knew his prey well. He knew that her speed was far superior to that of the 103, so there was some cause for stealth. He gave the order to prepare to dive. They would now move in for the kill. Hatches were secured and ballast tanks were filled as the U-103 readied herself for submerged operations.

Although the engine room was aft and separated by two hatches from the main operations area, the noise of the two diesels was enough to require orders to be shouted. When they were shut down and the boat switched to electric power, the lack of
constant noise was a welcome relief. But the noise would be replaced quickly with excessive heat. The large engines were cooled by sea water when in operation but now there was no cooling being provided so the residual heat had nowhere to go in the tight confines of the sub. The temperature of the engine room quickly topped one hundred degrees, which proved too much for the engine crew. They sought relief forward with the others, but soon everyone was sweating.

Rucker had set a course for a port-side intercept as the sub quietly slipped below the surface to periscope depth. He had moved to the periscope viewer and was looking at the Olympic through the eyepiece. Despite the dazzle paint job, Rucker had already determined the speed and direction of the target and intended to surface some five hundred yards from the planned shot.

The Olympic would require the most conservative approach, because Rucker knew it would take more than one torpedo to sink her. He believed, as did most U boat commanders, that the best shots were made from the surface. The speed of the target, its trajectory, ocean current, and closure were all parts of the “solution,” the equation that had to be applied prior to each shot.

A surface shot also required little to no solution for the torpedoes’ path. Torpedoes were propelled by compressed air that was heated to the point of steam. This process enabled a greater charge to be pumped into its storage tank extending the range and increasing the speed of the weapon. The sub had several electrically propelled torpedoes, but they were much slower and better suited for submerged attacks. Rucker had already decided that the wet-heaters, as the steam-driven torpedoes were known, would be used for this kill.

The captain wiped a drip of stinging perspiration from his eye and refocused on the movement of his prey.

“We shall surface in two minutes,” he said. “What is the status of the torpedoes?”

Schwieger stood several paces away and drew close to the captain. “The forward torpedoes are charged and loaded and the tubes are flooded for firing,” he said. He hesitated before adding, “But the aft tubes are experiencing some problems, sir.”

Rucker stiffened. “What kind of problems, First Mate Schwieger?” he asked in a frosty tone.

Hans paled. “The gate on the port tube is only partially open and refuses to cooperate. The starboard side is not porting the air properly, preventing flooding, and–”

“And this is the first I hear of it?” Rucker barked, cutting him off.

The first mate was speaking more quickly now. “Sir, I saw no need to bother you as the mechanics said that the tubes would be ready five minutes ago.”

Rucker took a deep breath and raised one eyebrow. “In the future, First Mate Schwieger, make every effort to keep the captain informed in such matters and he will determine whether in is unimportant or not.”

He then turned away and peered into the periscope. “We shall just have to sink her with two fish.”

The temperature in the forward part of the sub was well over eighty degrees, so when the captain gave the order to surface all were looking forward to the welcome addition of the cool sea air, despite the danger associated with the impending battle.

As the U-103 broke surface the diesels clattered to life in anticipation of the switch from batteries. The conning tower broke surface and, after allowing a minute for the excess water to drain away, a sailor climbed the ladder to open the outer hatch.

The opening of the hatch was not a job that seasoned crew-members often volunteered for. You simply had to do it once to
understand why. As the junior seaman ascended the ladder and opened the hatch, a cascade of water drenched him, splashing on the floor below.

Rucker and Schwieger were standing well clear of the anticipated shower area. Claus donned his white hat and quickly climbed the wet ladder into the light of day, with Hans close on his heels.

A quarter-mile away they saw the Olympic. The ship was enormous even at the distance. Her hull cut through the water with such ease and grace it was easy to appreciate the beauty of this marvel of the sea.

Rucker shook his head slowly. “It is with regret that I shall send this fine vessel to the bottom, but there are perhaps six thousand soldiers aboard who will be killing our young countryman on the battle field and I have my duty.”

Hans nodded, never taking his eyes off of the massive ship. ”It must be done,” he said somberly.

“Prepare to fire the port side on my mark,” Rucker commanded. Hans called the ready command to the helmsman through the communications tube.

They were lined up for a perfect portside strike. Ruckers’ plan was to unleash the first torpedo forward of mid ship and the second aft of mid in hopes of rupturing a boiler and causing massive explosions in the engine room. They were almost at the firing point when two white puffs of smoke blew through the wind over the Olympics’ bow. There were two loud reports followed by two splashes about a hundred yards short of the sub.

Hans anxiously asked, “Should we dive sir?”

The captain still looked through his binoculars and was obviously unimpressed. “No. They are untrained
dummkopfs
. If they were to hit us it would be pure luck. Prepare to fire. Mark one. Fire one.”

The first mate relayed the order and the first fish was away.

“Correct the heading to 180 degrees and prepare the number two.” Rucker watched the first torpedoes white trail of bubbles as it sped on a perfect trajectory for its intended impact with the Olympic’s hull. Young Schwieger grabbed the captains left forearm in disbelief.