Zusammenfassung
Leseprobe
Inhaltsverzeichnis
The final command
From patrol boat to submarine fleet
Marc Debus / Alfred Nell
Translation y David Toalster 2017
Schreibstark Verlag
Preface
This book was written in 2007 in cooperation with my grandfather Alfred Nell. In countless hours of conversation, he narrated his experiences from World War II. I recorded these conversations with a dictating machine and then later transcribed them in this form.
My grandfather proof-read the manuscript and continued to add details at various points, until an overall picture of his wartime experiences was created. We spent many hours sorting matters, or I would ask where I thought some clarification was needed. In the course of my research, I was able to verify a number of the experiences recounted by my grandfather, based on other reports from that time. These passages are given at the end of the book, with references. Other statements are not consistent with reports in other books, whereby it should be noted that the contents of the books often also differ. To this, my grandfather used to say “Well, they weren’t there after all!”
I was particularly fascinated by the fact that my grandfather was able to remember events in detail after more than fifty years, and could recall many of the names and ranks of his former comrades. His information enabled me to conduct targeted research and completed the overall picture of his reports. Many of my grandfather’s dates were only approximate estimates, but could be more accurately dated on the basis of reports about the course of the war or the battle for Brest. In some places I was able to discover more detailed information on technical procedure through internet research and further reading. This information was then incorporated into my grandfather’s account by means of footnotes.
Especially my grandfather’s experiences on U-984 are something special, as he experienced all four missions of the U-boat and was only replaced on the last cruise due to a previous visit to a military hospital. Another man took his place as control-room mate on board U-984 as it left the port of Brest. The submarine never returned from this trip. Thus, my grandfather is the last contemporary witness able to report on the journeys of U-984.
At the request of my grandfather, this book is especially dedicated to the men of U-984 and their commander Heinz Sieder, who made their last cruise on 6 June 1944, as well as to all other soldiers and civilians of any nationality who lost their lives during the Second World War.
Marc Debus
Alfred Nell 1940
Dillenburg 1938 - 1939
When I was a young man, my family lived in Dillenburg (Hessen/Germany). I, Alfred Nell, realised back in 1938 that I had to do something to make my biggest dream come true and get to know the world. I dreamt of travelling to foreign countries and seeing things only known from stories back then. I was sure that I would hardly otherwise ever leave the Dill district. At best people would get to go to Wetzlar or Giessen, but that was by far not enough for me. The Hitler Youth did get around a bit in our district, but we also knew that most of the older boys remained in our area. Even during their military service, they stayed in on of the barracks in the area. I saw my great opportunity in the military, because of course back then we never expect a war to break out.
One day I had a conversation with the boy next door, Albert Schreiber. Albert told me that he would simply join the Navy, then he would go to sea and have the opportunity to see something of the world. This thought did not leave my head and I decided to do the same as Albert. And so I reported to the Wehrmacht with the desire to join the navy.
Marketplace in Dillenburg
Some time later I got a letter. In it I was told that my request was being granted. It took almost a month until I received another letter ordering me to report for a physical examination. This was to take place in Wetzlar, in the barracks of the intelligence division number nine in the Braunfelser Strasse. On the day of my examination I took the train to Wetzlar and then walked the long way to the barracks. The examination lasted almost half a day and it was evening by the time I went home. The examining officer had told me that I would soon be receiving a letter with my examination results.
And so another letter came for me from the county recruiting office. I was now to report to the district draft board in Giessen, located near the railway station, to take a test. I was surprised, but on the given day I went to Giessen and made my way to the office indicated. Besides me, more than ten other men had come for the test. For about half a day we were asked to answer questions on mathematics, German language and natural history. After that, I was told that I would be called up by the Navy “when occasion demands”. So, I drove back home and waited for a while.
Braunfelser Strasse and the Lahn River, Wetzlar 2006, to the left the barracks area
Then the war began. Meanwhile, I had heard nothing so far from the district draft board. I was only seventeen years old at the time and should have enrolled for work service in autumn. But then I got a letter from Kiel, signed by a Korvettenkapitän (corvette captain, equivalent to a modern lieutenant commander). The letter said that when I was called up for work service, I was to point out that I would soon be commencing naval training. I was still in training at the Adolfshütte ironworks in Niederscheld (in 1839, the Frank brothers had bought the steel mill “Niederschelder Hammer”, renaming it “Adolfshütte”. On the 25 January 1945, it was largely destroyed in a bombing raid). The Adolfshütte had already been given war commissions and we worked two hours of overtime every day. There I announced that I would soon be called up. Due to the current order situation, they were not very happy about this, of course.
One thing is still in my mind that occurred shortly before my departure to Stralsund. When I had the time, I would frequently help out Onkel Schneider, who had a carting business in Dillenburg, and join him on his horse-drawn cart. On Sunday mornings, he would often call on me when he went for a morning pint to Wilhelm Thiers, the red-haired publican. I liked to join him because there was always something going on at the pub and there was lots of news to be heard. He would drink his beer there, and I would have a lemonade. So I was there quite frequently and reckoned I was well known there.
View of the Wilhelmsturm in Dillenburg
At that time, I also attended a dance class in Dillenburg. One evening, we came from the dance class that had taken place in the hall of a hotel in the upper part of the town. Albert Schreiber, a few other friends and I were in a good mood on our way home after dancing. We accompanied one of our friends home and then walked back. As we were walking down the stairs near the church and then crossing the main road home, we heard loud music. Since Dillenburg was considered a climatic health resort, there were always people from the KdF (KdF = Kraft Durch Freude, “strength through joy”, the Nazi recreational organisation) in the village. The participants of this last two-week holidays were in Dillenburg at a dancing event at Thiers’ pub. One of us suggested we take a closer look at what was going on inside. The town band was playing and we thought we could certainly keep up with the dancing. Because I was a frequent guest at the pub, I told the others there wouldn’t be any problem with us going there and simply joining in.
In the pub, old Thiers came up to me and asked me how old I was. I told him that I already been drafted, but he asked me again how old I was. At the time, one was not allowed to attend such events under the age of eighteen. I was seventeen and I said so, as I did not expect anything to happen due to my frequent visits. He slapped me in the face in front of everyone on the dance floor, and then put me out on the street. My friends came immediately afterwards, because they didn’t want to be thrown out in a similar manner.
A few days later Thiers told me that he was sorry and gave me a free lemonade at the pub. He wished me good luck for my upcoming time in the naval school and told me to come back to his pub when I was back in Dillenburg.
Training period at the Baltic Sea coast, Stralsund
Then I received a letter in the post, informing me that I was to register for training in Stralsund. I had to look the place up on a map, as I had no idea where Stralsund was. I then left my hometown on the evening of the 30 March. Only a day before, my mother had given birth to my youngest sister and thus was of course unable to help me with anything. So I packed my suitcase myself and, after a long farewell, left Dillenburg the next morning by train.
On the train I met a young man from a small village near Dillenburg who was also on his way to the Baltic Sea coast. In Giessen we met two more young men on their way to Berlin, just like us two “farm lads”. When we arrived in Berlin, we had to take the tram from the arrival station to another station. The capital seemed incredibly huge to us and we were constantly amazed by things we didn’t know and could not have imagined.
In the other station was a special train to Stralsund. Only young men of our age were on the train, all of whom were recruits being transferred to the Baltic Sea for training. We left quite late and arrived in Stralsund at two o’ clock in the night. Our conscription orders said that we were to report at the barracks of the 7th “Schiffsstammabteilung” (the divisions was called “Schiffsstammabteilung”) at six o’ clock. A recruit from Berlin who was in our compartment said that we would then have enough time to have a look at Stralsund before we had to report to our units. We all liked this idea and were already looking forward to our nightly stroll through the city. There were six of us when we entered the terminal station in Stralsund. Outside there were men in uniform, calling up the three “Schiffsstammabteilungen” 7, 9 and 11 for mustering (The 9th “Schiffsstammabteilung” was stationed directly in Stralsund, while the 11th and 7th division were located on the island of Dänholm). We were not very impressed and tried to sneak out of the station. When we got to the exit, an officer noticed us and we received our first reprimand, and a loud one it was at that. So we had to join our group, but not without first having had our names registered.
View of Stralsund from the church tower, 2007
After this we marched through Stralsund to our quarters. All the recruits in uniform in the streets made fun of us and we were told that our instructors would tear us a new one, that we would be drilled and the like. Gradually I was beginning to feel strange and I wished for the first time I weren’t so far away from home.
On 1 April 1940 I began basic training in Stralsund on the Baltic Sea, at the 7th “Schiffsstammabteilung” in the Moltke barracks. On Sunday evening I was reprehended for the matter at the train station. I was amazed at the consequences of this little prank and decided to be much more careful in the future. Next to the Moltke barracks was the Seydlitz barracks. By the evening we were all wondering how things would go on. We all hadn’t received any information since having been quartered. I decided to inquire, but was unable to find anyone in our barracks in uniform able to give me any information.
So I went to the Seydlitz barracks next door, also because we had already been told that we would be forming a company together with these recruits. I attempted to speak to the first man in uniform I met. The result was a further vociferous reprimand. What I did not know, was that I had just met my later platoon leader, first mate Gärtner.
However, I then did find out from another soldier that we were the third company of the 7th “Schiffsstammabteilung” and that our commander was a captain lieutenant named Steffens, who was rumored to have once been a Protestant clergyman. He had already served in the World War I, had been a priest between the wars and had now returned to the Navy as an officer. The 7th “Schiffsstammabteilung” mainly trained cadets who were later to become non-commissioned officers or officers. The duration of our training was scheduled for six months and our company consisted only of technicians, because these were at that time the most sought-after people in the navy. The company sergeant major was called Zieten, another platoon leader was named Göring, just like our airforce commander. I was now able to report all this to my comrades in the other rooms.
Stralsund 23 May 1940, Alfred Nell in the back row, second from the right
In the twelfth group there was a recruit, who had already had enough after a few days. Our first week was like a second exam period. In the course of it our general suitability for the navy was once again put to the test. Therefore, eyes, hearing and our overall state of health were examined.
This recruit thought he could take advantage of the examinations to get himself discharged. At the ophthalmologist’s, he pretended to see very badly. Normally he would have been discharged after the examination’s bad results. However, our platoon leaders didn’t believe any of it. The next afternoon the acting petty officer ordered him to be examined again. He naturally thought it would be his final examination and he could go home afterwards. However, the platoon leader had come up with a trick to show he had been lying and had stretched a thin length of string across the end of the long corridor in front of our rooms. When he came around the corner, he bent down as he passed the string and was exposed. The military police came for him and we never saw him again.
Shortly after the beginning of our training, on 9 April, the German Wehrmacht began its campaign against Norway and Denmark. So, after only just having completed nine days of service in Stralsund we were suddenly being provided with live ammunition for the first time. We were very astounded and at first did not understand what they had planned for us. One of the officers told us that from now on we’d be on standby for a mission. If necessary, we would be reinforced by an SS pioneer battalion and storm the Danish island of Bornholm.
Stralsund 1940, drill instructor Gärtner
For two days we nervously lay in our barracks waiting for our mission. On 11 April, our readiness was terminated. On the basis of the latest reports it was clear that we would not be called up, as the Danes had surrendered to the German army.
Our platoon leader Gärtner was a very unpleasant fellow. If he was good at something, it was treating people badly. He always saying to us: “Gentlemen, when I grin, the devil laughs!” and he was right. If I remember correctly, he came from the Stuttgart area. Of course, I was unlucky enough to have already attracted his attention and now, to make matters worse still, I was also assigned to his platoon in the tenth group of the third company.
He was a merciless slave-driver and we got nothing for free. He drilled us mercilessly and obviously had his fun doing so. If something did not work out the way he wanted it to, we had to do it again until he was satisfied. Often, we were still at the training site when the other groups had long since returned to their quarters. One evening he threw his boots in our room, which meant that he wanted us to clean them. It was obvious to us that we had no choice, as otherwise we would have incurred his displeasure. We did the cleaning with a lot of tender loving care. Until late that evening, all thirteen of us drenched the boots in black shoe polish. We never heard of the boots again; I think Gärtner probably had black feet for a few days whenever he took off his boots.
Anyway, he got his own back on us. On Dänholm Island there was a so-called bare mountain, consisting only of sand. The sand mountain was at least thirty metres high. This meant that marching uphill you took one step upward, only to slide back down again half a step. There, Gärtner chased us up and down the hill for half a day, until we collapsed with exhaustion.
May 1940, Alfred Nell at the centre with a knife in his mouth
From that time on, he enjoyed having us do it. Once, someone from our platoon got stuck in the middle of the climb. We were not allowed to help, but after some time we were very worried because our comrade did not move. We then dropped down next to him again and again when we climbed up, loosening his helmet, opening his shirt and turning him around until Gärtner noticed. There was a shout from below and we got dressed down harshly. That one of us was lying on the hill exhausted and half unconscious did not matter. Our comrade later had to go to the military hospital and we learned that he had been having difficulty breathing since his childhood. He had suffered gas poisoning as a teenager and had had asthmatic attacks ever since then. It was one of those seizures which he had suffered during the exercise. He was probably lucky that we had turned him around, even though we were not allowed to, who knows how the situation would have turned out otherwise.
Our training also included rowing large boats along the coast. When we did, we first had to indicate in which direction we would be rowing on the jetty. We even made day trips with our boats to Heiligendamm or to the shoreline of the island of Rügen. The boats also had a mast foot, so one could hoist a mast and set sail in good winds. We often used the outgoing winds to sail and the boat could become incredibly fast. Our platoon leader Gärtner was a real expert in making use of these winds.
In the training boat before Stralsund
But it has also happened that he miscalculated in the planning of our rowing trips. Once we sailed back against an approaching storm front. The wind was so strong that we could hardly make any progress. We tacked with our sail and rowed additionally. Gärtner spurred us on, but it was no use, the wind was stronger. Suddenly there was a loud splintering noise and the mast of the boat shattered because we had sailed too close to the wind. We had a hole in the boat and took turns to bailing water and rowing back towards the barracks. Luckily enough, late in the evening a motorboat set off from the barracks, as we had already been reported missing, and towed us the rest of the way.
A comrade in a training boat off the coast
Another time we had rowed towards Rügen and had half-circled the island. On the other side of the island there was a beach where many people went to bathe and we rowed past, because Gärtner thought we should demonstrate what good marines were capable of. There was a short, squeaky noise and our boat got beached on a low-lying sandbank. We had to jump out of the boat and, much to the delight of the swimmers, standing up to our waists in the water we attempted to get our boat off the sandbank. The boat was so wedged in we were not able to get it back afloat. Once again, we finally got some help from a motorboat from our barracks. It pulled us clear with a long rope and towed us home.
So, the days of our basic training in Stralsund passed until the middle of June 1940. Then we were trained in various disciplines with scant time to rest. The training was hard and we were often pushed to the brink of exhaustion by our instructors. At some point we learned that our training time had been shortened by three months. That was probably one of the reasons why we had been drilled so hard.
At the end of our training period there was a big test. We had to go to the shooting range and were sent on obstacle courses, which we had done countless times before. All of the exercises were carried out in full combat equipment, with steel helmet and backpack, to get as close as possible to the conditions of a real operation. For example, we had to take a running jump onto a springboard and overcome a barrier-like, almost two-metre-high obstacle. One can certainly imagine how strenuous this was in full battle equipment. There were further sportive tests. Among other things, we had to jump from a ten-metre high tower into the Baltic. On occasion it was very cold and it took a lot of effort to jump into the cold water.
Training group Stralsund, Alfred Nell in the rear row, seventh from the right
Those who had passed the test were summoned at the morning roll call a few days later. Before that, we had already been ordered to pack our things and get ready for deployment. Because we knew that we were being reassigned, we had all bought the long navy cap ribbons that we had not been allowed to wear as cadets and attached them to our caps. We had bought them in the mess for a Reichsmark each, which was a lot of money at the time, and now we proudly wore them on our caps when we were about to set off. When our sergeant major Zieten saw this, he got very angry because no-one had permitted us to do this. He walked along the entire company and personally cut off each individual’s cap ribbon.
Bremerhaven
In the evening we were then transferred by train to the Navy School C in Bremerhaven-Gestemünde. We were to undergo a shortened advanced training course in addition to our basic training, which would take eight weeks. In the barracks there was a large machine hall with exhibits of various ships’ diesel engines and electric machines. There were huge two-stroke engines that fired both at the top and bottom, as well as other peculiarities we had never seen before. All the machines were operational, so we had the opportunity to get to know the machines in detail in class.
Diesel engine of a type VII C submarine
At that time, two large steamships, the “Europa” and the “Bremen”, were moored at the Columbus pier in Bremerhaven. Around this time, the English were beginning to fly their first attacks on Germany with old Bristol Blenheim aircraft (twin-engine bombers of the Royal Air Force). A squadron approached Bremerhaven and I could see a plane score a hit with a bomb right between the Europa’s smokestacks. The bomb smashed through several decks, but did not explode. The R and the O of the lettering between the smokestacks had come down, but that was all you could see
The pilot didn’t want to give up and flew a second attack on the steamer, but was shot down by our antiaircraft defence. The plane crashed on the pier near Europe. The tail gunner and the bombardier were dead. Together with a few other men, I managed to recover the captain from the plane, who still happened to be alive, but was very badly injured. We took him to the hospital, but he died a few hours later. At that time, English pilots were buried in Bremerhaven with full military honours.
Plane shot down in World War II
I was on a patrol boat (V-boat), assigned as a stoker to gain practical experience. The next morning when we went out by boat, one could still see the plane on the pier from the water.
Our commander at that time was Kapitänleutnant (captain lieutenant) Gruschka, who had taken part in the 1936 Olympic Games as a runner. He had us get up half an hour earlier every morning so that we could run in the “Bürgerpark”, the local park. Afterwards we would return to the barracks for a shower and we were fit for the day. Sometimes he even ran with us, but on other occasions he just rode his bike next to us
After about six weeks several names were read out in the morning, including mine among others. We were about thirty recruits in total and were then led into a classroom. There we were told that we had to take a short exam. At the same time, they told us that we would be posted to an unknown destination that evening. We took our exams. After their evaluation, it was announced that all thirty recruits had passed the test. We received our badges as motor technicians, meaning our course had been shortened by two weeks.
In the evening we were taken to the station and boarded a train. We were joined by three non-commissioned officers, but nobody knew from where they came. None of us had ever seen them before. Then we travelled all night by train. In the middle of the night I heard loud noises and realised that we had to be on a huge bridge. A look outside showed me that we were crossing the large railway bridge to Stralsund. So we had returned to the starting point of our journey. In Stralsund we transferred directly to Rügen for onward transport, and two hours later we shipped over to the island. There we were put up in a hotel in Rügen. We were accommodated there provisionally, because we were supposed to continue on our journey. We were to be transferred from there to Sweden, although we still had no information as to where exactly we were headed.
On the day we received our marching orders, a violent storm swept across the Baltic Sea, and the island was in lockdown for hours. We waited in vain for our ship. We bought some cake with our pay, returned to our hotel and waited. The steamer finally arrived at the port two days later than expected.
Journey to Sweden
The storm had still not subsided when a large ship of almost eight thousand tonnes entered the port. The ship’s name was “Peter Wessel”. I thought it was a German steamer at first, but later I learned that it was a ship that had already been captured by the Danes. When the steamer had moored in the harbour, all thirty of us were sent directly on board over the stelling (Stelling = a type of gangway, a transition bridge attached to the ship to allow passage to the pier). In the next half hour, soldiers of other branches of service came aboard who were to be sent to Norway serve with various units. These were soldiers who had been ill or wounded during the first shipments and were now to return to their units. All in all, there were about one hundred soldiers on board the “Peter Wessel”.
A few hours later we left for Trelleborg. The normal travelling time from Rügen to Trelleborg was about four hours. When the ship came around Cape Arkona, the northernmost point of Rügen, the storm once again took full hold of us. It took us eight hours to make the crossing instead of the normal four. When we arrived at the port entrance of Trelleborg, we could see it was very narrow. The storm had not abated much during the last few hours. We knew that it would be very difficult to enter the port.
Lighthouses at Cape Arkona on Rügen, 2006
The storm was still raging when we spotted the Swedish pilot boats approaching our ship. One of the pilot boats made a first attempt to bring a pilot aboard the steamer, but failed in a rough swell and was thrown back by the waves. The pilot boat had to make three attempts before they were able to get a pilot up the ladder. Then the ship tried to enter the port with the expert help of the pilot and to reach the harbour. We sped towards the harbour entrance, but we drifted so far off that we had to try again. We needed three attempts for this too, until we were finally able to enter the actual harbour.
Arriving in Trelleborg, we heard from one of “Peter Wessel’s” sailors that the crew of the ship had been assembled only shortly before. The radio operator on board had been terribly seasick during the entire voyage. The sailor told us that he had been in an unusually bad condition. He had picked up all the radio signals, but only evaluated them shortly before Trelleborg. It turned out that shortly after leaving Rügen we had already received a radio message for us to abort the voyage because of the strong storm. It had been expected that our ship would not be able to weather the storm until Trelleborg. But we were lucky enough to have reached our goal, with some delay, but still unharmed.
Oslo
From Trelleborg, a supply train went to Oslo and returned back every night. These trains transported a lot of material and personnel needed by the different German units in Norway. All ammunition and troop transports went via Sweden and were then transported by land to Norway. On this way we were brought to Oslo with one of the supply trains.
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When we arrived there, we were placed under the command of Generaladmiral (vice admiral) Hermann Böhm. This was the commander of the entire operational area Norway-West. However, nobody had any idea where to put us up in Oslo and no-one had any information about the unit which had requisitioned us. In the upper part of Oslo, SS units had confiscated a girls’ boarding school. That was where we were sent to stay.
Since all of the buildings there were already occupied, the only possibility was to prepare the unused gymnastics hall for us so that we could sleep there until we were moved on. There was some straw brought into the gymnasium and our thirty men were quartered there. We spent more than a week in our makeshift accommodation. It was pretty comfortable there. The city was still brightly lit, while Germany already had evening blackouts. We received food once a day from the commander’s office of the admiralty. However, we soon realised that we could also get food in the SS unit’s mess. This gave us the opportunity to always pick out the best and we were more than amply supplied with food.
In the meantime, headquarters had found out where we were expected. We received orders that all of our shore leave was cancelled. Only a week before, no one had checked where we went. We had been able to leave our quarters without day passes and had taken our time strolling around the city. With this order it was clear to us that this easy living was now over, but at least we had been able to enjoy it for a week.
On the same day several trucks arrived at five in the evening, we had to pack our things and get in the back. Once again we received no information about where our trip was to be going. We were taken to Oslo railway station and boarded another train. We drove all night and arrived at Bergen station the next morning.
Bergen
After we had got off at Bergen, once again nobody seemed to care about us. One of our non-commissioned officers went off and made a number of phone calls from the station building to find out what our point of destination was. When he came back to us, he said he had been able to talk to a captain lieutenant who had promised to take care of our unit. However, he had also not requested any reinforcements and wanted to find out where we should be moved. He sent us two trucks to take us to a kind of fortress located above Bergen.
Bergen harbour, 1940
Due to the heavy ordnance we knew that a naval artillery unit had to be stationed here. There we encountered the Kaleun (Kaleun = abridgement for the rank of captain lieutenant in the German Wehrmacht, also abbreviated as Kaleu, Kaleunt) who had previously been on the phone with our non-commissioned officer. The first thing he said when he saw us was: “You’re all in blue, you’re really wrong here with me”. This only went to show what had already been clear to all of us before: We wer still far from the end of our journey. The officer had had some food prepared for us and we went to the mess of the fortress. Meanwhile, the captain lieutenant checked up to find out where we were supposed to be going. It took a while for him to return to us, but he had good news for us: He had found out that we were expected in the harbour of Bergen. He then discharged us with good wishes and had the trucks take us back down to the harbour.
Alfred Nell, second from the left, to the far right Albert Schreiber
The 51st patrol flotilla
In the harbour we jumped off the trucks and lined up. We had already been expected. Moored at the pier was the “Westwärts” (Westward), formerly named “Statsraad Lehmkuhl”. The ship was from the same shipyard as the “Preussen” (Prussia) and the “Pamir”. After World War I, it was taken over by the English as part of the reparations and was later used by the Norwegians as a training ship. Then something unexpected happened: Someone called to me by name from the ship; I looked up and recognised Albert Schreiner from Dillenburg. We agreed to meet up later. Then an officer came along and told us that we are now under the command of the 51st outpost flotilla.
The 51st outpost flotilla was under the command Hans Bartels, who was later to become corvette captain. He came from Hesse, the same as I, but he was from Frankfurt. Shortly before, Bartels had received the knight’s cross as captain lieutenant of the M1 (M1 = minesweeper. Hans Bartels received the knight’s cross on 16 May 1940. Commander of the coastal defence forces of the admiral for the west coast of Norway from 27 May 1940 – 6 December 1942, promoted to corvette captain on 1 October 1943), although he was released from the command of the M1. We got the information that he was even supposed to be indicted for unauthorised action. Originally, he had merely been ordered to supply the troops on the coast. Bartels had asked for a radio transmitter, so that he could obtain information about where units on the coast urgently needed supplies. He then brought the necessary materiel to the units with his boat. In the course of this, he had sunk a submarine, shot down an aeroplane and much more. His decision to carry on supplying the troops with supplies had enabled them to continue fighting, and so our hold on the Norwegian west coast was maintained. Otherwise, the entire Norwegian campaign would probably have collapsed. Although he had to give up his boat because of his actions, he was personally awarded the knight’s cross by Adolf Hitler for his achievements.
We were assigned quarters on the “Westwärts”, where we stowed our luggage. Here I had the opportunity to talk to Albert and was glad to have met a friend.
After the start of our service at the 51st outpost boat flotilla we quickly noticed that boats were in short supply. I was assigned to the “Orkan” (Hurricane), which was formerly called “Odd 1”. The ship’s captain was Oberleutnant zur See (first lieutenant) Knapp, who had formerly served as a cadet with the commander of the flotilla, Bartels.
The “Torpedomixer” (Torpedomixer = slang means torpedostirrer) at his command post on the deck of the “Orkan”
The “Orkan” was the oldest ship we had. It had previously been a whaler in the Antarctic Ocean. The ship had an old icebreaker’s bow, a loading crane and large cargo holds. Our vessel was equipped with a torpedo launcher on deck, which we had dismantled from an old Norwegian torpedo boat that had struck a rock further up the bay. That’s also where we had gotten our eels from (eel = sailor’s slang in the German navy for torpedo). Of course, we couldn’t say to what degree the eels would still function. We didn’t have the opportunity to test them either, as we had no supplies to do so. Our launch device was mounted in such a way that we had to modify part of the ship’s hull so it could be folded down when shooting. The “Orkan” was the only ship that had a torpedo device actually capable of firing.
As the engineer, I had to cope with a crude oil two-stroke, four cylinder hot-bulb engine, which presented me with a lot of challenges. I had to maintain the engine and carry out any necessary repairs myself. In most cases, this worked quite well and the ship’s engine was actually very reliable.
In Bergen, many of our stores had been bombed in the meantime. Already on 10 April 1940, a major part of the facilities had been destroyed during an air raid by the RAF (RAF = Royal Air Force). The light cruiser “Königsberg” had been moored on a pier near the storehouses. The entire area had been bombed to such an extent that the storehouses were completely destroyed. The cruiser had received several direct hits during the attack, capsized and sunken. No stone had been left unturned in the whole area. One of the minesweepers in the port had also been damaged, but had not sunk. This meant we had no supplies in Bergen. Up until that point, no materiel had been requested for Bergen, because until then all the necessary supplies had been available in the storehouses.
We then began to patrol the coastline before Bergen with lieutenant Knapp and our ship. A second ship under lieutenant Kettels, a friend of Knapp’s, did the same. His vessel had been christened “Blitz” (Lightning). We collected everything that was needed in Bergen, searching fishing boats and jetties on shore, doing everything we could to compensate for the shortage of material in Bergen. During this time the boats were modified so that there were better sleeping quarters on board and magazines for ammunition, food and diesel.
First lieutenant Knapp on the bridge of the “Orkan”
In the meantime, we had some suitcases with money on board to buy more boats for our flotilla. I do not know whether it was counterfeit money or whether the money came from the central bank in Norway. However, we discovered that ships were either not being sold to us or that negotiations lasted so long that people had enough time to obstruct their engines or make them unusable. When we took over such ships, we often had to readjust their pumps for nights on end or had to eliminate other deliberately caused damage. This way we didn’t get ships as fast as we thought we would. We then simply began stealing vessels during the night, until we had finally collected enough boats for our missions near Aalesund.
As a result, our 51st outpost boat flotilla was composed of old herring trawlers, whalers and fishing boats. Further men were assigned to the flotilla to man these boats and to make our flotilla more powerful. We now had more ships that were given such names as “Taifun”, “Sturm” and “Donner” (Typhoon, Storm and Thunder, respectively). The vessels were all equipped with the flag of Bartel’s old minesweeper. We flew a yellow flag with a tiger’s head over two crossed swords, not unlike a pirate flag.
We were then ordered to go to Trondheim with our old whaler and a group of other boats. There we received orders to proceed directly to Narvik. In Trondheim, some boats received different instructions and our flotilla was divided into two smaller groups. One of the vessels that sailed with us suffered engine damage on the trip and we towed it to the next harbour with the “Orkan” (according to the account of Otto Mielke this was the “Wirbel”, Maelstrom; see literature list).
The hull of the “Orkan” being painted
There we were transferred directly to Svolvaer. From here, the ships spent the time patrolling the surrounding fjords. The captains of the vessels had filed a complaint in Bergen because most of their ships were not equipped for the cold temperatures up here in the north. We were lucky with the “Orkan” because we had two steam boilers on board from its time as a whaler. The other vessels could only heat with the heat produced by their own machines. One can surely imagine how cold it could get on these ships. After a few weeks the efforts of our commanders were successful and we received orders to return to Bergen.
The “Orkan” at sea
Shortly before Narvik our electric engine on board broke down. It was already night when suddenly all of the lights and electrical appliances on board went out at once. We tried to fix it, but we could not manage. Schulze, who had a lot of knowledge of electrics, did his best. He scrutinised everything with a flashlight, but the defect could not be found.
We went by boat to Harstad near Narvik because it was the nearest accessible harbour with a shipyard. In the small dockyard, German workers tried to fix our faulty electric engine, but their efforts also failed. Our comrade Otto Mohr, whom everyone simply called “Ottsche”, then said that they would have to dismantle, repair it and then send it on to Bergen, but that now left us without an electric engine. The entire crew went into town and we bought all the petroleum lamps we could in Harstad from our own money. When we were back on board, we equipped the entire ship with the petroleum lamps. We had also been able to get some canisters of petroleum and so we drove our boat to Narvik.
On the trip we once again met up with the other boats that had left us previously. The men brought a polar hound along with them, which they had been given by a Laplander from thereabouts. The dog changed hands and came aboard our ship and we had a lot of fun with it. Except at full moon, when the dog was a nightmare for every harbour we stayed in, because it spent hours on deck howling at the moon. This was probably the reason why the fine animal had been given away. And so, the whole flotilla returned to Bergen, always staying close to the coast.
Bergen harbour, 1940
We failed to hear anything more about what had happened to our electric engine. It was also clear to us that there would be no replacement for our electric engine in Bergen due to the current situation. We spent almost half a year sailing around the coast of Norway merely equipped with our petroleum lamps. These just shows how bad the conditions were under which we had to sail at that time and how much we were lacking in supplies.
Sometime later, our ship took part in a mine-clearing operation in the fjord of Bergen. The smaller boats of our flotilla cleared mines with long trawl nets and we were on the spot as a command boat. The boats had a towing rope which could be used to pull the anchor-line mines to the surface. The salvaged mines were then defused on site. In the course of the procedure, there was a devastating accident. We were busy on board when a detonation ripped through the air. All around us we could see the debris from one of the small boats raining down into the troubled water. I saw other boats go straight to the scene of the accident. A second detonation destroyed one of the first boats to arrive just minutes later. By then, it had become clear to everyone that we were dealing with a dangerously loaded minefield, but we still tried to rescue the wounded. The men on the ships were very careful, but another vessel ran into a mine and was torn to pieces. I could see one of the boats pulling a man on board. The mine-clearing operation was aborted and we returned to port. In a later count, it was discovered that more than twenty of our comrades and the arctic hound we had brought with us from the last voyage had lost their lives that day. Only a few days previously, we had given the dog to one of the men of the neighbouring flotilla, who had then died in the accident. He had been so enthusiastic about the animal.
Our commanding officer recognised that he required lighter vessels with less draught would be required so that they would be less likely to detonate the mines during the mine clearing. The flotilla management decided to build a fleet of small boats, which were later called “Zwerg”, dwarf.
„Dwarves in Bergen harbour
I spent a few weeks as a machinist helping to convert small Norwegian fishing boats into minesweepers. We had to turn the small fishing boats around to face against their actual sailing direction, because the rear area of the boats was higher. The stern bulkhead was now in front and the engines were installed in the rear area. They had a small single-cylinder engine and a very low draught, which would save many of our comrades’ lives later on. As the mines often lurked close to the surface of the water, the risk of running into a mine was now a lot lower. After the boats had been given their trial runs, I went back on board the “Orkan”.
Two “dwarves” at full speed
For a while we then spent the time escorting convoys, accompanying full ore freighters from Narvik down the coast and supply ships and empty freighters part of the way up the coast. Sometimes we also transported materiel with our own ship, delivering it somewhere to the coast or to Bergen. Our “Orkan” also occasionally served as a troop transporter and we deposited troops at various points along the Norwegian coast.
We also inspected Norwegian ships, which we suspected of belonging to the underground movement or having contacts with English units. If vessels caught our attention and their cargo or crew were questionable, we took them with us to Bergen and handed them over to the authorities for enquiry. We also inspected buildings and docks on the coast. One time we even seized a few oil barrels with English lettering, which we were then able to use ourselves. We assumed we had discovered a secret refilling station for spy boats.
A few weeks later I came to some barracks that had been constructed for our supplies. I wanted to get some scouring cloths for our boat and was looking for someone in charge. Most of the shelves inside were still empty, but on one of the high upper tiers I recognised an electric engine. I was pretty surprised, because it seemed as if this was the one that we had dismounted back in Harstad. I ran to Mohr and told him what I had discovered. He wouldn’t believe me and came straight back to the barracks with me. We had the electric engine brought out of the shelf and broke it back to hurricane. It was our old electric engine, freshly overhauled and it fitted back in its place as if it had never been dismantled.
A convoy led by the “Orkan”
Around Christmas I returned on board our ship after an official trip to Bergen and saw that there was a duffle bag on our foredeck. I thought that a new man had been assigned to our boat and went to the duffle bag, because a wooden sign with the owner’s name was always attached to the top of it. I read the name Schreiber and at that moment Albert came to stand beside me. I immediately asked him if he would be coming on board or if he was just here to visit me, as he was actually a wireless operator and we didn’t have a radio on board. He showed me his orders, and he had actually been assigned to us. Now we had not only met again in Bergen, but we also got the opportunity to sail together.
We then joined a convoy back to Aalesund. The trip was quiet and there were no incidents. On Christmas Eve we came back from Aalesund having unloaded our cargo and were close to Bergen in the morning. Knapp had us turn the boat and said that we should first go on patrol for a short time, so that we didn’t arrive at the harbour before two o’clock. He reckoned that we would hereby avoid being given orders for another sortie. That would have given us a chance to enjoy the holiday. However, when we later arrived at the harbour, a runner with a manila envelope was already standing at the pier. According to the orders, we were to leave late that evening and put a convoy together, which we were then to escort back to Aalesund. We were very dissatisfied with this and loudly voiced our resentment. Knapp even complained to the flotilla commander about the orders. A short time later a small car arrived and they brought us some crates of beer and a few bottles of schnapps as compensation. We had a roaring party in the back of the ship and then left the harbour again at ten o’clock in a much more cheerful mood.
Celebrations on board the “Orkan” - Alfred Nell fourth from the left
We searched the steamships at sea to put the convoy together. Among them was a steamer sporting a Liberian flag. Our helmsman Schulze was able to speak several languages and spoke to a man on deck in the different languages, but failed to get an answer at first. When the man then replied, he spoke German. We were completely surprised at first. We then discovered that it was a captured ship. The men on the steamer were sailing under false colours, bringing up smaller vehicles and seizing them.
A convoy of steamers escorted by the “Orkan”
After the convoy was complete, we sailed to Aalesund. When we arrived, it was precisely that ship that was missing. We assumed that the commander had taken the opportunity somewhere between the skerries to disappear and return to the open sea to England to continue with his mission. The Aalesund docks were brightly lit and the cathedral bells started ringing for Christmas as the people went to church. I became very sentimental because it reminded me so much of home and happy times.
Aalesund in Norway
On 1 January 1941 we arrived in Bergen again. To our delight the flotilla had already done its annual accounting and I was paid over three hundred Norwegian crowns. In the evening four of us went for a long walk on the Fjell, the mountain above the town, where the houses of all the rich people stood. We went to a good restaurant there and Beiz, Albert Schreiber, another fellow soldier and I had a good time. When we came back down to the town by cable car, the last tram was just about to leave. However, the tram was not going where we wanted to go. We told the tram driver about or wishes in a friendly manner and so we got a special ride back to the flotilla. We thought that he would report us, but we didn’t care at that moment, especially since he did not know our names. We heard nothing about the incident afterwards either.
Commander Knapp let us get up to quite a few funny things. We had some pretty good parties when we were in the different ports. We occasionally also got some women on board at our parties, even though this was of course forbidden. We had a lot of fun and of course we also attracted attention here and there. Whenever the “Feldgendarmerie”, the military police showed up, Knapp told them that he exercised the sole authority as a captain and told them they had no business on board his ship. He always stood in for his men when something had happened. In this respect, he was more of a comrade than a superior.
However, Knapp’s reputation was so good that he was able to get away with a few things. Knapp was then reassigned from our “Orkan” to become the commander of the old Norwegian torpedo boat “Zack”, which had been put back into service.
Commander Plöger on the bridge of “Orkan” – at the back and to the left comrade Winter
Lieutenant Plöger then became the second commander of the “Orkan”. He had previously been the second officer on board the passenger ship “Europa”, which had twice won the Blue Riband crossing the Atlantic (awarded to ships between 1838 and 1952 for the fastest Atlantic crossing). Plöger had not been a soldier until the beginning of the war, but due to his experience he was directly made a sergeant. With him we once again patrolled the surrounding fjords to check for any English fishing boats. We saw beautiful landscapes with waterfalls, bays and mountains that made us forget that we were even at war.
A fjord near Bergen
Plöger told us at the time that he could find jobs for us when the war was over. He was married to the daughter of a head of the Reemtsma tobacco company. He had met his wife on the “Europa” during a trip to America. Her father frequently travelled to the United States to buy tobacco in Virginia. On one of his trips his daughters had accompanied him and Plöger had met the two of them
Before the war, the “Europa” had plied the route Bremerhaven - Southampton - New York. Plöger was the only one of us who had already seen America. Perhaps that’s why he was so sure back then that we would lose the war as soon as the Americans took part in the fighting. He told us a lot about his voyages and about the powerful storms in the Atlantic, which had even been capable of damaging a ship as large as the “Europa”. Through his stories we learned a lot about large ships, his voyages and distant lands. Shortly after he became our commander, he was promoted to lieutenant.
Shortly after Plöger took over the command of our ship one of the top brass came to our dock in a big limousine (these were mostly Wanderer, Horch or DKW). An officer went to our commander and spoke to him for a long time. A few days later, on a Saturday, we were told to move to the other side of the harbour and moor there. We had been ordered to pick up the officer’s car from the pier who had just visited us on deck. Using our loading crane, we lifted the vehicle on board after first having removed our torpedo launcher. The Officer came on board with a Norwegian woman and we immediately thought that she had to be an interpreter. The woman was almost weeping and was allocated our commander’s quarters, where she disappeared. We departed and left the harbour without knowing our destination. In the meantime, it had gone dark outside but we didn’t have very long until we landed again. We set the car ashore and the officer and the interpreter drove off. We took off again and Knapp told us that we were to wait at sea for a while and then once again pick up the vehicle and the people. So, we did as ordered and then brought the officer back to Bergen.
We learned later that our passenger must have been the commander of an SS unit. The unit had either been transported there by another boat or had already been there. Allegedly, explosives had been found on the islet and the SS had carried out an investigation there. I don’t know how many people lost their lives. We at least, were very happy when the unfriendly officer left the ship and what we were told later only confirmed our impression.
A steamer escorted by the “Orkan”
In February 1941, we were ordered to escort two large freighters. We set off with two ships to join the freighters further south, our old companion “Blitz” being the second vessel. After picking up the freighters, we had to circle a dreaded headland at Stadlandet, facing the open sea. Double sentries were posted on the observation decks of both patrol boats to look out for enemy ships, submarines and aircraft.
Suddenly there was a detonation on the rocky shore and a fountain of water rose into the sky. I was in the engine room at that time. Just above me was a fellow soldier who had been eating. He was so startled he dropped his plate. I scrambled up the ladder up to see what had happened. One could still clearly identify the place on the steep cliffs, as the water was still in turmoil. All of the men were on alert. The lookout scanned the waters, but at first there was nothing to be seen anywhere. We stood down and I was about to climb back down into the machine room when suddenly another detonation followed, with the same effect. The water exploded in a fountain, spraying everything with rocky debris on the steep cliff face to the right of our convoy. Now it was clear to everyone that we were being attacked by a submarine carrying torpedoes. We readied our home-made depth charges and our gunners manned the few cannons we had on board.
We located the submarine and witnessed it launching its eels at our convoy. Everyone got agitated as four more torpedoes detonated against the cliff face next to us, followed by high water fountains everywhere. Our helmsman had started to turn the ship out of the line of fire, but everything happened way too fast. The torpedoes had all passed between the ships, which was very lucky for our convoy. We had no weapons to launch against the submarine from this distance, so we sped toward the place where we suspected our attacker.
The “Blitz” also headed towards the location. Meanwhile, we tried to prepare our launcher and get the depth charges ready for deployment. Suddenly there was another explosion and a jet of water shot into the sky close to the “Blitz”. At first, I thought they had been hit, but apparently a torpedo had exploded without hitting its target. The English had launched a total of seven eels, but none of them had hit so far.
Torpedo launcher on board the “Orkan” with lowered hull plate ready for firing
We received signals from the bridge of the “Blitz” that they were having a problem with their engine. We suspected the explosion must have damaged the ship. We immediately sailed over to them to drag them out of the danger zone as quickly as possible, because we didn’t know whether the submarine was still on site and spot the disabled ship as being an easy target. We prepared the towing cables, but suddenly the “Blitz” was able to restart its engine. Our old hot-bulb engines often had difficulties and failed when there had been percussions. I knew of the problem because our engine had also already stopped once.
Meanwhile, the freighters had entered the next fjord to get to safety. As nothing else happened, we assumed that the English submarine had left or that it had run out of torpedoes to launch against us. We met up with the two freighters in the fjord and provided an escort for them once again. Thereafter we were able to finish the trip to Aalesund without further incident..
A little later we sailed down the coast to Aalesund again to escort another convoy. At Easter, this was the 13 April 1941, we were on the island of Malöy, where there was still a lot of snow, reaching up to our chests, it was a wonderful sight. We sailed down the coast and met up with our convoy.
View of Aalesund from the Fjell, 1941
On the way back, about fourteen days later, the “Blitz” and the “Orkan” were attacked by a whole swarm of English bees (bees = German sailor’s slang for English fighter-bombers) when we were just outside the harbour of Bergen (this was in April 1941 according to Mielke). The English dropped several bombs, but they fell into the water without any effect. Our two vessels fired all available weapons at the English, from the machine gun, our two-centimetre cannon, to the light machine guns mounted on the “Blitz”. When a plane headed for one of the freighters in our convoy, one of our ships hit it in such a way that it exploded in the air and then crashed into the sea.
A machine-gunner on board the “Orkan”
However, this did nothing to deter the other planes and they continued to attack our convoy. They tried to bombard the “Blitz”, but once again all the bombs dropped into the sea next to the ship. The aircraft’s cannons were also constantly battering us and it sounded terrible when the salvos swept over our ship. It rattled and clanged everywhere around us. Surprisingly, we survived the air raid without any damage and none of the other ships were seriously damaged. We were also particularly fortunate that none of our men got wounded in the attack.
The “Orkan” escorting a convoy off the Norwegian coast
Such air raids became more frequent and made it increasingly difficult for the convoys to reach their destination unharmed. We had to adjust to this and posted additional guards on the observation deck to keep the sky under close scrutiny. This was the only way to be quickly prepared to fire and to defend ourselves when the fighter-bombers flew their attacks. Later, these attacks by submarine and aircraft on our convoys became more and more successful and several ships were damaged or sunk in convoy along the Norwegian coast.
We spent the next few days on patrol duty and escorting small convoys, until we struck a rock near the harbour on one of our trips. The ship was no longer able to continue and had to be towed back to the docks. In the shipyard it was discovered that our ship’s screw was irreparably damaged and that spare parts would have to be ordered. As a result, the “Orkan” spent a long time lying at harbour in Bergen with a broken screw. During this time, I served on another ship, one of the vessels that we had seized on the coast and integrated into our flotilla. Because of an event that happened shortly afterwards, I didn’t return to the “Orkan” either.
Two weeks after changing ships, in June 1941, I received my first fortnight’s leave. On the way home, the German invasion of Russia began (the Russian campaign began on 22 June 1941), meaning it was no longer possible to cross the Baltic Sea from Sweden to Germany. We therefore travelled to Denmark and I lost four days of my holiday on the trip. I spent a week in Dillenburg with my family and of course I had a lot to talk about. Afterwards I returned to Bergen by train and ship on the same route. The damage to the “Orkan” had still not been repaired and so I once again served on one of the newer ships from the beginning of July. We only patrolled near Bergen and escorted a few ships along the coast. Me and the other crew members waited to be able to return to the “Orkan”, but I heard nothing about any of this when we entered Bergen harbour coming from Aalesund at the beginning of September 1941.
The crew of the “Orkan” on deck – Alfred Nell second from left
And then, at the end of September, an event occurred that I had expected least of all. A courier came on board and handed us two manila envelopes. Manila envelopes usually contained new marching orders for the ship and we were sure that we would be ordered to set off to escort a new convoy. It was strange that this time two manila envelopes were brought on board. The first envelope contained the expected marching orders for that evening. The opening of the second envelope, however, resulted in a completely new situation for me. The old man told me to pack my bags because I was being detached from the 51st outpost boat flotilla. I had to hurry with my packing, because the ship had also received orders to leave in two hours. I grabbed what I could find and left the ship to report to the flotilla on the “Westwärts”.
There, Schulze, Wagner and Artur “Artsche” Neumann turned up, as they had received the same marching orders that I had been given. We had been given orders to report to the MSK in Kiel. At first, we puzzled over what ‘MSK’ could mean and then came to the conclusion that it had to refer to the naval school in Kiel. We packed our things in the evening and went to the station with the three fellow soldiers. From there we took the train to Oslo, travelling by the same route by which we had arrived in Bergen a little less than a year earlier. That was the end of nearly one year of service in Bergen.
View of Akershus fortress in Oslo, 2006
When we arrived at Oslo, we tried to find out how to get to Germany. We asked around and met a major from the Luftwaffe, the German air force. We showed him our marching orders because he wanted to know where we were going anyway. This turned out to be a mistake, because it caused an unexpected interruption of our journey. My explanation that we were on our way to the naval school in Kiel got him terribly agitated. He contemplated briefly and then said that such a course would certainly take several months. He then came to the conclusion that the war would be long won by that time and that he had a much better use for us there.
We had to comply with this decision and, despite our protest, were given accommodations in the old fortress Akershus in Oslo. We moved into a room inside the thick walls of the castle and were told that our new unit assignment was being taken care of. There we deposited our luggage and waited.
A few days later, we still hadn’t heard anything from the man. At about nine o’clock in the morning I was looking out of the window and saw a ship entering the harbour, preparing to dock below the fortress. I called Schulze, because I had the feeling I recognised the steamer and reckoned it had been part of one of our convoys at some previous time. Schulze confirmed this, he also recognised the ship. I left our room and walked down to the docks. The crew was still busy mooring and so I asked the sailors on deck where they were going. They told me that they were only taking people on board and then sail directly to Aarhus in Denmark. They had been ordered to transport soldiers from an incoming air force construction battalion there. I told them that they were exactly the guys we had been waiting for. I ran to the others, explained the situation to them briefly and we hastily packed our gear. We walked directly down to the harbour without informing the commander’s office and showed the officer in charge of the ship our marching orders for Kiel. He said that we should embark and that we would leave immediately when the remaining soldiers were on board. A short time later they came aboard and were quartered on the steamer. That same evening we left the port of Oslo for Denmark.
Steamships off the Norwegian coast
We were also given quarters below deck. However, we had already seen the narrow ladders leading to the four lower decks of the steamship and declined the offer. We told the quartermaster that we would rather remain on deck during the crossing. We knew that there was no chance of survival in the belly of the ship, especially because of the accesses, if the ship were attack and sunk. For these reasons, we preferred the fresh air on deck to the warmer quarters below. Meanwhile, it was the beginning of October and we were on deck with our duffel bags while we sailed through the Oslo Fjord. Later we were even given some duties. The vessel needed a lookout for submarines and a lookout for planes. We volunteered for this service and fortunately enjoyed a quiet trip to Denmark.
Details
- Seiten
- ISBN (ePUB)
- 9783946922261
- Sprache
- Englisch
- Erscheinungsdatum
- 2019 (März)
- Schlagworte
- Autobiographie submarine patrolboat Worldwar
