Steel Boat, Iron Hearts

A U-boat Crewman's Life Aboard U-505

Hans Goebeler, John Vanzo

• Publisher: Savas Beatie
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9781932714319
• eBook ISBN: 9781611210071
• Subtopic: Military Biographies

The story of the German submarine U-505 and its dramatic capture by the US Navy during WWII—told by one of its crewmen.
Hans Goebeler is known as the man who "pulled the plug" on U-505 in 1944 to keep his beloved U-boat out of Allied hands. Steel Boat, Iron Hearts is his no-holds-barred account of service aboard a combat U-boat. It is the only full-length memoir of its kind, and Goebeler was aboard for every one of U-505's war patrols.
Using his own experiences, log books, and correspondence with other U-boat crewmen, Goebeler offers rich and very personal details about what life was like in the German Navy under Hitler. Because his first and last posting was to U-505, Goebeler's perspective of the crew, commanders, and war patrols paints a vivid and complete portrait unlike any other to come out of the Kriegsmarine. He witnessed it all: from deadly sabotage efforts that almost sunk the boat to the tragic suicide of the only U-boat commander who took his life during WWII; from the terror and exhilaration of hunting the enemy to the seedy brothels of France. The vivid, honest, and smooth-flowing prose calls it like it was and pulls no punches.
U-505 was captured by Captain Dan Gallery's Guadalcanal Task Group 22.3 on June 4, 1944. Trapped by this "Hunter-Killer" group, U-505 was depth-charged to the surface, strafed by machine gun fire, and boarded. It was the first enemy ship captured at sea since the War of 1812. Today, hundreds of thousands of visitors tour U-505 each year at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry.
Includes photos and a special Introduction by Keith Gill, Curator of U-505, Museum of Science and Industry

Chapter 1

My Destiny is Fulfilled

June 4, 1944, was the worst day of my life. My crewmates and I were being held captive in a steel cage on an American aircraft carrier. Searing heat from the ship’s engines turned the already stifling tropical air in the cage into a virtual blast furnace. Worst of all, far worst of all, we could see our proud boat, the German submarine U-505, being towed behind us like some wounded gray wolf being dragged into captivity. Despite my best attempt to scuttle her, she had fallen into American hands intact; the first enemy vessel captured on the high seas by the United States Navy since the War of 1812.

Fifty-five years later, however, the shock and shame of that day has mellowed to a nostalgic pride in our lucky old boat. Today, U-505 can be seen high and dry on display at Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry. According to its commemorative plaque, the submarine stands as a monument to the sacrifice of American seamen during World War II. But for us crewmen of U-505, the boat also symbolizes the hardships and sacrifices that we endured for two years of bloody warfare against overwhelming odds. The saga of our boat’s wartime adventures is big enough to accommodate both interpretations.

Over the years, I have organized several reunions of the American and German veterans involved in her capture. Today, the hatreds and misunderstandings that once separated our peoples have vanished. We veterans embrace each other, much as our nations have, focusing on our similarities rather than our differences. We now understand that during the war, whether we were hunting or being hunted, we were all just young boys doing what we saw as our patriotic duty. The only arguing now is over who will pay for the next round of drinks.

This book has been written to tell the full and true story of our life aboard U-505, as I experienced it firsthand. I have withheld or exaggerated nothing. My only concession has been to conceal a few names of some of our crew members in deference to the feelings of their families. My hope is that by explaining what life was like aboard a frontline U-boat during World War II, a fuller and more balanced understanding of military history and human behavior will result. The final judgment of our nation, and of ourselves, must be left to future generations.

My decision as a young man to join the German navy, rather than the Luftwaffe or Panzers, was totally my choice. But there was never any doubt that when the time came, I would enlist to defend my country in one service or another. After all, I came from a family with a proud military tradition.

I was born Hans Jacob Göbeler on November 9, 1923, in the little Hessian farming village of Bottendorf, near Marburg. As a young boy, I spent many an hour on the knee of my grandfather Mathias, who had fought in that most splendid of German conflicts, the Franco-Prussian War. His service in that war, which culminated in the capture of the capital of our ancient enemy the French, instilled in my young mind visions of the heroic glories of combat.

The dark, inhumane side of war I learned from my father Heinrich’s experiences in the First World War. Father enlisted in the German Army at the age of 18. He fought on the Eastern Front, where he participated in the great early battles of maneuver against the Russians. On November 20, 1914, he was captured and spent the next several years in terrifying conditions of captivity in the Katskoye slave labor camp in Siberia. Of the 20,000 men in his group captured by the Russians, 18,000 died that first year from exhaustion and malnutrition. It was only through the intervention of a famous Swedish nurse that the International Red Cross found out about the labor camp and caused conditions to improve.

Once the war ended, the surviving camp inmates were caught up in the Bolshevik Revolution. Over the course of the next three years, my father and his comrades slowly fought their way westward, sometimes skirmishing with both Red and White armies on the same day. During their trek, my father witnessed unspeakable atrocities committed by the Communists on the Russian people. A steely determination grew in his soul to never to allow the scourge of Communism to take hold in our homeland.

In November 1921, a full seven years after his capture, my father finally arrived home. To his horror, he discovered that the infection of Communism had indeed spread to Germany. Revolutionary councils had been set up in many cities, and the political system from top to bottom was in total chaos. The Reds were especially strong in the trade unions. My father had resumed his old civilian job as a local official in the railroads, but eventually his honorable service in the military and his refusal to swear allegiance to the Communist Party resulted in him being fired. Blacklisted by the Red unions, my father spent five agonizing years trying to find steady work to support our family.

The situation worsened when the national economy collapsed. Readers should remember that the Great Depression began in Germany, and had its severest effects there. Money became worthless and famine was rampant. I have many haunting memories of the hunger and poverty my family endured during this period. Riots and revolution were everywhere. German society, once the most prosperous and cultured in all of Europe, was disintegrating.

It was at this time a politician appeared who promised to solve our nation’s problems; give food and work to the unemployed, regain our lost territory, reestablish safety in the streets, and restore dignity and honor to our people. We would have voted for such a man if his name were Schmidt or Meyer; his name just happened to be Hitler.

Whatever else may be said about the National Socialists, no one can say they didn’t fulfill their early promises to the German people. Despite the qualms many people had about the Nazis, all doubts were quickly swept away by the flood of reforms and improvements they brought to our nation. Today, many people say we Germans made a Faustian deal with the devil, but at the time it seemed the only way out of a national nightmare. No one regretted the passing of our short, ineffectual experiment with democracy, the Weimar Republic.

For my family, the election of Hitler as Chancellor had very concrete benefits. The Communists were thrown out of the railroad unions and my father was rehired as an official in the new Reichbahn national rail system. As for me, I joined the Hitler Youth movement. I was an enthusiastic member, becoming for a short time the youngest Deutsches Jungvolk leader in the country. I still have my DJ Leader’s identity book, and a photo of me and my much older and taller troop members, as mementos. The Hitler Youth’s emphasis on patriotism, loyalty, and sacrifice fit in perfectly with the values my father instilled in me. Little did we suspect that these same qualities would compel our nation to follow Hitler over the precipice to disaster.

Meanwhile, I did well in school. When not studying for exams, I immersed myself in reading military histories of the First World War. The exploits of our submarines—the U-boats—especially fascinated me. In my view, victory over the British Empire could only be won at sea. Since Germany could never challenge the British Fleet directly, our submarines would have to be the key to victory. As the international situation worsened in the late thirties, my thoughts were increasingly preoccupied with joining the military.

War seemed imminent in the summer of 1939, so I attempted to join the Navy. To my horror (and my mother’s immeasurable relief), I was rejected on grounds that I was only fifteen years old, and because of a mistaken diagnosis of color blindness. A quick examination by our family doctor dispelled the mistaken diagnosis regarding my vision, but still the recruiters would not have me.

“Complete your schooling,” they advised me, “and learn a trade that will make you valuable to the Kriegsmarine. Then, perhaps, we will consider you.”

A few weeks later, war broke out in Europe. Rather than continue with higher education by entering the Gymnasium, I chose to follow the recruiter’s advice and learn a technical trade that I knew would make me of value to the Navy. I attacked my studies with a vengeance. I was absolutely determined to get into the war before it was over. Due to my obsessive efforts and the war emergency, I was able to complete the Master Motor Mechanics course in only two years—half the normal time. I also earned a driver’s license which, back in those days, was a very rare thing for a teenager to have. The only remnant of non-technical subjects I allowed in my life was my interest in learning English. Learning to speak the language of our enemy was seen as mildly unpatriotic, so I quietly studied an English textbook in my spare time.

Hans Goebeler dressed in an infantry uniform during naval basic training in 1941. Author’s Collection

In August of 1941, at the ripe age of seventeen, I reapplied for enlistment in the Kriegsmarine. This time I was immediately accepted. Naturally, my departure from home was an emotional affair. My mother Elizabeth and two sisters Anna Marie and Käti were especially distraught. My mother gave me a small black Bible to read, and reminded me to be a good boy and say my prayers every day. My father did his best to retain his composure, but the mix of pride and concern in his glistening eyes was unmistakable.

My naval basic training took place at the big Luitspold Barracks in Beverloo, occupied Belgium. To my infinite disappointment, we were issued green uniforms, steel helmets, and Mauser rifles just like ordinary army soldiers. Indeed, our training was identical to the Wehrmacht’s basic infantry training.

They chased us like dogs at that camp! The only skill I learned was how to crawl like a snake on my belly through the mud. I was quite a bit smaller than most of the recruits, but I wouldn’t let that stop me from passing all the tests. After three and a half months of grueling training, we were physically tough and mentally conditioned to instantly obey any order.

Unbeknownst to us, each one of us had been very carefully watched and evaluated by recruiters from the U-boat service. Looking back on the recruiters’ decision, I suppose they were impressed by my enthusiasm, not to mention the fact that the cramped conditions inside a sub was one place where my small size would be an advantage. At any rate, at the end of the training my name appeared on a list of those graduates being offered a chance to go to submarine school. Naturally, I jumped at the chance to join this elite service. Only 10% of naval recruits were offered this honor.

My next destination was the main naval base at Wilhelmshaven on the North Sea. I was proud as a peacock as I boarded the train back to Germany. I was especially satisfied to be wearing the sharp-looking blue dress uniform of a sailor instead of the rough woolen tunic of a foot soldier. My orders and travel pass listed a false destination in order to camouflage the fact that I was headed to U-boat training. Once in Wilhelmshaven, we underwent an extensive series of medical exams and written tests, which I passed without any problem.

After one month, I left for basic submarine physical training at a base in Neustadt on the Baltic Sea. We spent three torturous weeks in various pressurized chambers and deep diving tanks. The main point of this training was to accustom us to the pressure changes inside a submarine and to teach us how to escape from a sinking boat using artificial lungs. After it was all over, a group of about 80 or 90 of us were ordered to the 1st U-bootschule (Submarine School) at Pillau in East Prussia for advanced technical training.

If any of us thought the hardest part of submarine training was over, we were sadly mistaken. It seemed as if the school instructors at Pillau were deliberately trying to make as many of us “wash-out” as possible. And it worked. For one thing, the physical conditioning became ever more brutal. Every day, despite knee-deep snow, we were forced to march several kilometers dressed in nothing more than a pair of sports shorts. Morning calisthenics were performed under the same conditions. After a couple minutes, our arms and legs became numb from the cold, but there was never any question of complaining. We also went on long forced marches designed to improve our endurance. The worst torture was running up and down sand dunes on the coast while wearing our gas masks. The slightest bit of slacking or complaining resulted in even more of the same.

Some of the physical training contained obvious psychological components. For instance, we were ordered to jump over walls not knowing what was on the other side, and to jump off platforms not knowing how high they were or what awaited us at the bottom of our fall. Trainees who couldn’t bring themselves to jump were given one more chance; those who hesitated a second time were immediately expelled from the U-bootschule. We were also given boxing gloves and purposely matched with opponents who would challenge our courage. My opponents were always taller than me, sometimes over a foot taller, but I always stood my ground and tried to give as good as I got. Through it all, I forced myself to never hesitate at performing these tests because we knew that every little reaction of ours was being very carefully recorded.

When they weren’t toughening us up, they were teaching us new technical skills. I was a little disappointed when they assigned me to study electric motors instead of the diesel engines that were already my specialty. I soon learned that the U-boat service expected us to have multiple skills so that we could take over the duties of other crewmen who might be injured while at sea. Inside the classroom, the instructors demanded the same unhesitating performance that they did on the athletic field. If asked a question, we shot up out of our seat and snapped to attention, automatically shouting out the full answer without a moment’s delay.

In the end, only about nine or ten out of every hundred candidates graduated from the school. The ones who did not pass were assigned to other parts of the Navy. When I received word that I had successfully graduated, I was ecstatic. It was the proudest day in my life.

The top-ranked graduates were assigned directly to a frontline U-boat crew. The graduates who had performed less well were sent to the shipyards to witness the final construction of their submarine; in this way they would get reinforced in their familiarization with the structure and functions of their future ...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Maps and Photographs
• Preface by Horst Einbrodt
• Commander’s Note by Axel-Olaf Lowe
• Introduction by John Vanzo
• Foreword by Keith Gill
• Chapter 1: My Destiny is Fulfilled
• Chapter 2: My First War Patrol
• Chapter 3: Lorient
• Chapter 4: Caribbean Cruise
• Chapter 5: A New Skipper
• Chapter 6: Sillcock
• Chapter 7: The Long Way Home
• Chapter 8: Terror From Above
• Chapter 9: Furlough at Last
• Chapter 10: Sabotage
• Chapter 11: Goodbye to Zschech
• Chapter 12: Rescue at Sea 181
• Chapter 13: Brest
• Chapter 14: The Last Patrol
• Chapter 15: Captured