[C38] FW: THE U-BOAT CAPTAIN WHO GAVE HIS VESSEL A SINKING FEELING

tdtron at earthlink.net tdtron at earthlink.net
Thu Jul 19 18:54:08 EDT 2012


The next time you cuss your marine toilet, think about this story.

Tom Troncalli








THE U-BOAT CAPTAIN WHO GAVE HIS VESSEL A SINKING FEELING.

The toilets in German wartime submarines were an engineering marvel, but perhaps too complex for their own good.

THERE'S NOTHING quite like a good piece of engineering. But there's also, sadly, nothing quite like the instruction manual that goes with it. In many cases, the fault lies with an excitable (or lazy) translation from a different language. Sometimes, however, it's simply down to the impenetrable wall that can build up between an engineer and the people who use the product.
If you were looking for a complicated manual then the Rigmarole Type VIIC U-boat U-1206 manual would probably make the list. A magnificent piece of engineering, 568 of this class prowled the world's oceans during the Second World War. Not that U- 1206 had brought much terror. Since her launch in December 1943, she hadn't sunk a single ship, although it was some comfort to Captain Karl- Adolph Schlitt that neither had he lost a single crew member.

It was now April 1945 and U-1206 was some 60m beneath the North Sea, 10 miles off Peterhead, hunting for British freighters. It was now that Captain Schlitt made a decision that would change his and his crew's future forever. He decided to go to the lavatory.

On the U-1206 few things were more complicated than the loo. The problems were considerable. Whereas a sailor could go over the side, a soldier behind a tree and a pilot could wait until he landed, a submariner couldn't just nip outside. This problem did not daunt the engineers of the Kriegsmarine, however, and they came up with a complex piece of equipment -the high-pressure toilet. This marvel could be flushed while underwater but required a complex series of valves to be opened and closed in exactly the right order.

Indeed, so complex was the high-pressure toilet that it came with not only a manual but also its own member of staff. On each boat, one crew member was given training so that they could instruct the crew on how to safely spend a penny, or pfennig in this case, while underwater.
What exactly happened in the moments after Captain Schlitt entered the lavatory is a matter of debate. The first version of events, put forward by the Captain himself, involved faulty equipment. The second, told by senior crew members, involved faulty captaincy.

In the first rendering of events, Captain Schlitt finished his business and swiftly operated the complex series of valves which flush the bowl in the correct order. In the second, a nervous and slightly embarrassed captain forgot how to operate the mechanism but, not wishing to look stupid in front of his men, decided against calling out for help from the trained lavatory supervisor and had a go at remembering as best he could - which wasn't very well.

Either way, the result was the same. Levers were pressed, valves were opened and gallons of high- pressure water from the bottom of the North Sea shot up the u-bend, showering the captain in effluent and brine.

Being in a room with an exploding toilet would probably be enough to ruin most people's day, but Captain Schlitt and his crew had the added disadvantages of being underwater, in enemy territory and sitting on an unfortunate piece of chemistry. Directly beneath the lavatory was the power bay where the main batteries for the vessel were kept. When the seawater began flooding this compartment, battery acid and brine formed deadly chlorine gas.

In an enclosed space rapidly filling up with poisonous gas, Captain Schlitt ordered an emergency surface. The boat shot up and the hatches were opened, just in time to see a British coastal patrol plane arc overhead. As quickly as possible, the boat was evacuated and the crew put in rubber life rafts. As the plane aborted its run, perhaps seeing the trouble the vessel was in, Captain Schlitt gave his last ever command as a U- boat captain - to open the seacocks and scuttle his boat. He, and most of his crew, scrambled ashore and were interned for the rest of the war, the victims of the only submarine to be sunk by its own lavatory.
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