Kapitänleutnant Manfred Buchmann
Patrol # 15

Duration:	11.01.1942 - 14.02.1941, 35 days on sea
Patrol Area:	AK61
Ship:	U 122, Crossed Swords
Type:	IX B
Flotilla:	9. Flotille, Brest

11 Jan. 1942, 18:15, Brest
We leave the dock with air cover; two Me-110s from JG-26. It's been a while since we've had air cover, it's nice to see them again. It makes us a little more reassured. We are to proceed first to BD39, then to AK61.

12 Jan, 11:27, BF4381
Air alarm, no damage. Depth bombs are quite a way off.

15 Jan, 12:54, BD3943
We reach our first waypoint.

17 Jan, 09:20, AK6156
We reach our patrol area.

21 Jan, 11:49, AK6145
A ship is spotted at 20 degrees (relative). As we approach, it starts shelling us at 7.700 meters. They are very poor shots, so we blast ahead on the surface. We get as close as possible before submerging for our own safety, and one torpedo is used to dispatch the 6.000 BRT freighter, a whaler converted to carry potash and tin. We resume our patrol.

The navigator is checking the course.

16:00, AK6185
A few hours later a large British merchant is spotted at 54 degrees. We approach under the surface and sink it with two torpedoes for 9.000 BRT.

22 Jan, 11:51, AK6124
A fast ship is spotted at 317. A large troop ship. We get as close as we can (2.500 meters), but the ship is too fast for us and it escapes. One torpedo misses.

24 Jan, 21:21, AK6121
Ship at 335 degrees. A small merchant that we use for deck gun practice! A number of rounds sink the 2.000 BRT ship.

31 Jan, 23:12, AK6112
Ship at 17 degrees. A merchant ship of 8.000 BRT. Two torpedoes send it to the bottom.

4 Feb, 02:59, AK6115
The night is pitch black, and to make it worse, a fog has started to roll in. We continue to plow ahead, looking forward to the sun's eventual appearance. At about 03:02, I am awakened by a blood-curdling scream of "alarm!", which springs the boat into action. I get out of my bunk as quickly as possible, yet my head still feels clogged as I wake up from this groggy feeling. I rush to the control room as the boat begins a quick descent. I approach the lookout whose face is contorted in terror. He looks at me breathing heavily, with wide eyes, sweat mixed with sea spray running down his face. He reports a destroyer out of nowhere, rushing at us at full speed on our port side. No sooner has he stopped telling me this when depth charges thrash the boat violently. We plummet to 200 meters and go to silent running. Our hydrophone operator tracks the destroyer and looks at me in concern as he reports more destroyers closing in.
Five destroyers circle our position during the next few hours. The ASDIC pings ring in our heads. Sometimes we get lucky, sometimes we don't. The depth charges take a toll on out boat as they hunt for us mercilessly. Many in the control room search my eyes for some kind of reassurance. I am absolutely amazed: how were they able to find us in that blackness? They pinpointed our position. And where did they come from? They must have been part of a convoy, but why did we not hear other ships?

08:23. Another few depth charges explode too close to the boat. The aft torpedo tubes are damaged beyond repair, leaks spring and gaskets burst. We wonder how long this will continue.

11:09. Depth charges destroy our hydrophone, so we can no longer hear. The hydrophone operator carefully puts down his headset and turns to me, silently asking what he should do now. I turn away and stare at the floor, my arms crossed. The air is becoming foul. I routinely look around at the others, slumped at their stations yet still concentrating. I thrust my hands into my pockets and order another course change.

13:00. The destroyers seem to move off. I stay submerged until 14:00, then rise to periscope depth to see what awaits me on the surface. The periscope reveals nothing but fog. I hesitate, weighing the posibilities, before ordering us to surface.

14:45. An aircraft bursts out of the fog, completely taking us by surprise. Its machine guns rake our boat, and depth charges are released. The plane is so close, as it passes overhead I feel the hot air of the exhaust. Four mighty explosions lift U-122 high in the air before it settles back down. The throb of the diesels have stopped, and as we glide to a halt, the plane makes another pass. It's a Sunderland. The AA guns are manned, but as it swoops down, its own machine guns chatter away with deadly accuracy. Two men on the bridge are cut down. I scream down the hatch for replacements as I jump to take control of it myself. Three others rush up to take charge of it, but luck is not with us today. Machine gun fire from the plane hits another two of the AA crew, and they slump on the deck. More replacements jump to action, and they get a burst into the fuselage. The plane catches on fire and loses control, slamming into the sea. The aircraft threat is removed. For now.
This break in action gives me time to get below and inspect the damage. I find the worst: both engines are wrecked, completely out of action. The rudders are damaged, and the ballast tanks are damaged. We are stationary in the water, unable to move, unable to dive. We are sitting ducks. Many men are wounded from the horrific blasts. I am shocked. I immediately send a message for help at 14:45.

5 Feb, 09:15, AK6114
Lookouts shout that a destroyer is approaching nearly dead ahead. It is extremely close, as the fog which plagued us for so long still hangs over us like an mourning veil. We have two choices: scuttle the boat and be taken prisoner, or fight to the last. As these options are quickly weighed, the destroyer opens fire. A shell slams into the boat, rupturing the pressure hull in some compartments aft. I order the forward torpedo tube doors opened, and all four torpedoes are shot in a desperate attempt. Another shot from the destroyer barely misses the boat, and we are covered with sea spray. We stare at the destroyer as it rushes closer and closer.
Two explosions rip across the water as two torpedoes find their mark. The destroyer, only 700 meters away, is blown to pieces. It rolls over and sinks within thirty seconds. We stare at the wreckage, unbelieving at first, but we rejoice with our new-found fortune.
Our exulatations are cut short as damage reports from below reveal compartments flooding. The shell which hit us has sealed our fate. Pumps are turned on, but the water is ever so slowly coming in faster than it can be expelled. Sooner or later, U-122 will sink. Another message is sent in desperation.

12:58. Finally, a reply to our calls. U-Wernke is close by in AK6142. They can't find us, and they request we send our position again. I do so at 13:49.

15:24. We receive a message from HQ at Brest. They want to know our status and position. We send our damage report and position again at 16:04.

16:15. Another message from Wernke, requesting our position one last time. They tell us to hold on, for they are coming. However, at this time, our situation is now beyond desperate. The pumps are not keeping the boat afloat anymore, as U-122 is now showing visible signs of sinking. I order the men to abandon the aft compartment and shut the door. We send our final signal at 16:30, in which I report we are abandoning the boat.
The time has come to leave the U-122. I look over the boat, very disappointed that I could not save her. The deck is holed, machine gun bullets have punctured everywhere, the boat is a mess. I take a deep breath and sigh with an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Then I give the order to get whatever lifejackets and small rafts there are and abandon ship.

17:00. I am the last to leave. Everyone else is in rafts or in the water. I look over the boat one last time and then step into the raft. We push off, and as I stare at the boat, I am reminded of so many incidents; the moments of glory, the pursuits, the fog, the four dead, the destroyers. The aft deck disappears, and then the conning tower. The very end of the bow still hangs out of the water, as if reluctant to leave. I find myself choked up, almost trying to will the boat not to sink. But finally it slips away, and U-122 is gone.

Our future is now somewhat uncertain. Wernke is still out there somewhere. Will he find us in this vast ocean, in the fog, although it is lifting somewhat? We are all silent, motionless.

19:16. A light is seen approaching. Is it Wernke, or a ship? Thank the Lord, it is Wernke in his boat. We yell and wave, and he approaches slowly. As he glides to a stop, his men throw lines to us, and we clamor on to the deck. We are completely exhausted, yet we have been rescued.

19:30. We start to wonder whether God or the Devil is on our side as two Sunderlands appear. The fog has lifted somewhat, and they are seen with advance warning. Wernke's gunners are accurate with their aiming, and one is shot down. The other, damaged by Wernke's men, tries to veer away and make another approach, but its wingtip catches the water and cartwheels into the ocean. Wernke sends a message to Brest.

21:42. Brest returns Wernke's message instructing him to bring us of ex-U-122 to rendez-vous with the German blockade-runner "Horst Stern" in AK6314. The course is plotted.

7 Feb, 18:45, AK6314
We rendez-vous with "Horst Stern." The men are transferred carefully, as some of them are wounded, and at that point I turn to Wernke and grasp his hand, thanking him for saving us. I shall never forget that moment. He is a true hero.

14 Feb, 13:00, Brest
"Horst Stern" ties her docking lines at the pier.

PATROL RESULTS

DECORATIONS

U-boat badge	1939 Iron Cross 2nd Class	1939 Iron Cross 1st Class	Knights Cross	Knights Cross with Oak Leaves	Knights Cross with Oak Leves and Swords	Knights Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds

Back to top of page