Our First Action

The 16th of February, 1916. The UBXV left the Bocce (cove) at 5:00 pm and the storm rages on undiminished. At 6:00 in the evening we have yet to get past the mine field. The Commander anxiously searches over the mine field with his binoculars while it is getting dark and not much can be seen. The white wave caps are rolling ghostlike against the 15er. Threateningly he is raised high only to be dropped to the depths in the next moment. It looks as if the sea would easily swallow him but he keeps coming back up and so it goes on and on.

The waves wash over the boat with a powerful spray. Even though the tower cover is almost closed, a hefty amount of water gushes in from the tower into the boat every time. The Commander and the second lookout are having a hard time holding on when the boat crashes into the depth. There is great danger to be thrown overboard and in that case not even the devil could help them. But defiantly, they face the storm with the help of the boat.

Inside the boat it is not much better. The helmsmen are sliding around in their chairs as if they were in some contest. One hand on the wheel, the other holding something solid and still very little control. Every man is at alarm stations and a few are sea-sick already. Stieber is among them, rolling back and forth on the floor and moaning dreadfully. One stream after another escapes his face. He tries to gasp for air with a curse but it does not work for his mouth is full again. He wants to look brave and tries for a smile but his face is such a funny grimace that all who saw him burst into loud laughter. Besides, who ever felt sorry for the sea-sick? Probably nobody except maybe the sick one himself. This is just how it is and it will most likely never change.

Yes, if we could finally get out of this mine field so we could dive. I think everybody has that wish. But unfortunately these small boats don't have powerful engines and it looks like the 15er has to muster everything it has just to move forward. But the boat is holding its own and making progress, if ever so slowly. At last, about half past 7, the order from the tower..."Ready to dive!"

A breath of relief comes over the crew and it seems that the sick now have suddenly recovered. "Dive! 10 meters." The vents are activated, the dive tanks opened and already we are sinking. It feels as if we are falling. The pointer on the depth-manometer swings back and forth indicating that the sea is rough even down here."20 meters!" it sounds from the tower and down we go deeper. Here too, the sea is not calm yet. The boat wants to rise and the depth-steering mate has his hands full trying to force it down.

The Commander comes down from the tower and observes the depth-manometer. "Flood regulators!" he orders and down we go to 30 meters. "Regulators open...close..." a few more times and the orders are calmly and repeatedly executed. 35 meters, 40 meters, down here it is calm. We feel a little jerk now and then but that doesn't mean a thing. Staying at this depth is good.

While the crew cleans away all traces left by the sea-sick the Commander goes forward to the officer's room. Now it becomes peaceful around here. We turn off half the light bulbs and all we can hear are the muted sounds of the officers talking and the monotonous humming of the electric motors.

The course is due south. Soon the free crew sleeps and only the Second talks quietly with the Commander about the operation. Then they too lay down to sleep. Only the Third, the two helmsmen and the Electro-master are on duty. The boat rests and saves its power for the action. At one half mile per hour and 40 meters down the boats screws it way through the restless Adriatic. She is normally not nasty but occasionally she can have a temper too.

On the next morning at 6:00 we had breakfast first. Then we surfaced. The storm had calmed down some but the boat was still rolling considerably. We had passed Antivari, heading towards San Giovanni di Madur. Stieber is sea-sick again and already gave up his breakfast.

Now it was time for charging. Two men up in the tower searched the arched wave-mountains with utmost attention and help of their strong binoculars. "Halt engine! Charge battery!" goes the command down into the boat. The diesel engine stopped for a short time and starts again in a few seconds but the propeller had uncoupled and the boat lost speed until it drifted with the current. The boat, at the mercy of the sea now, rocked like a nut shell. The rudder did not have much effect and the helmsman had a terrible time keeping the boat on course. All lights that we could possibly do without were turned off but the ventilator had to keep on operating.

We are now quite far out to sea. Behind us to the left we can see the Montenegro mountains with Lovcen. Antivari is hard to make out by an unaided eye. A little to the left of us, the bay of the Bojana river estuary with Dulcigno and to the south a dark strip of land, the coast of Albania.

The sea looks deserted far and wide. After two hours, the boat was well aired out and the ventilator was turned off. The air feels fresh below but it won't be long before it gets warm again. After four hours the battery is all charged up and now we go into "war mode." The boat dives to only leave the tower exposed and we start to move again.