To the Last Salute: Memories of an Austrian U-Boat Commander

Eleven. The Prize

Immediately I set to work with my men. We dismantle and clean the pipeline. Seawater has leaked into the freshwater tank. The tank has sprung a leak from the force of the explosion. So there is no more drinking water. The men collapse on the engine from the gas fumes. The whole boat reeks of gasoline. The boat is ventilated and the men are brought on deck. As soon as they barely recover, the work goes on. Finally the pipelines are clear once again and the engines run. But after one minute the engines stop. The whole gas tank must be full of varnish flakes. “Grün, ignore this and send your men on deck. Travel electrically from now on!” I turn to my second officer, “We are going home; set the course toward the Bocche!” It doesn’t take long, then a coupling joint runs hot and only one motor can be kept in operation. So the morning of the next day U-5 limps into her harbor. On the same day the fleet commander flashes to the whole world: “On the fifth of this month at 5:00 in the morning our U-5 sank the Italian submarine Nereide at Pelagosa.” The response comes from across the sea: “Barbarians, pigs!” Eleven.The Prize Since the Italian declaration of war, the freighters of the Puglia line, which had supplied Montenegro, have stayed away. Instead , Greek and other neutral cargo vessels travel with weapons and ammunition, clothes, coal, and food to Montenegro. But all these goods have been declared by Austria as “contraband,” and the U-boats have instructions to capture freighters that bring such banned goods to Montenegro. When that is not possible, they should sink the ships. In the Drin Gulf we encounter sailing vessels and, from time 52 THE PRIZE to time, steamers, but they are all headed to San Giovanni di Medua, in neutral Albania, and we must let them go. At best, we can learn from them where they came across enemy warships in the Mediterranean. The information is always the same: the blockade line has drawn back to the latitude of Cape Spartivento—the toe of Italy . “It seems to me the Léon Gambetta has had an effect!” Seyffertitz tells me when he hears this news. U-5 travels around to the Albanian coast and looks for a large steamer that, it had been reported, was proceeding toward Montenegro. It should be a big, wide one, approximately 20,000 tons. But no matter how hard we look, she does not appear. Instead , one morning a smaller cargo vessel comes in sight in front of Durazzo. She is lit up as if in peacetime. Probably a neutral boat. It is still too dark to know how to judge her; U-5 alters her course and stays ahead of her in order to wait for the upcoming daylight. Then she submerges. “I see no guns, so we could surface again,” I say at the periscope to my second in command. “But first get the artillery ready!” The “artillery” is a small type 37-mm gun. It is not very formidable , designed more for sound effect. The gunner shoulders it and waits for the boat to surface in order to install his gun on its pivot. According to regulations, the first shot is fired across the bow to request the captain to stop. But he continues on serenely. “Either they didn’t see us or they don’t want to see us!” says the watch officer, and then above to the gunner: “Shoot above him!” This works. The engines reverse and the cargo vessel comes to a standstill. THE PRIZE 53 With the megaphone, the large mouthpiece, the captain is hailed; he is told to come on board U-5 with his papers. But the captain doesn’t understand. At least he doesn’t understand German. Then I try Italian, then English, French, even Croatian, when all else fails. Meanwhile, over there the Greek flag goes up. “Does anyone know Greek?” This is a most unusual situation—that, on an Austro-Hungarian warship there should be a dilemma due to language. But really no one speaks Greek. Also, you cannot speak well with hand signals at a distance. The gunner has a good idea: he aims with his gun at the bridge of the vessel. All of a sudden the Greek understands...