Flensburg’s cool summer is now exhausted.  Though a couple of hot days stand out in memory, the last few months have been dampened by an overarching chill.  Hans mailed his reports to me faithfully, and they portrayed increasing terror and a looming, terminal danger.  When I met him in March he was no longer a clean young man with a wide smile and a desire to serve Germany.  His skin had grown pale and his eyes looked tired, and he spoke of the thrill of sinking of merchants and warships.  The war has become soulless, and our conscience has been corrupted in order to cope with the change.  Our limits of military conduct used to be a source of national pride, but they have rippled and washed aside in the wake of our warships.  We meet our end with blithe conviction.  And we barely acknowledge the death we inflict, unless to meet it with the lick of satisfaction and the vague feeling of revenge.  

     On the evening of Sunday Sep 17 1942, U-boats received an ominous radio message from high command: "All attempts at rescuing members of ships that have been sunk, including attempts to pick up persons swimming, or to place them in lifeboats, or attempts to upright capsized boats, or to supply provisions or water, are to cease.  The rescue of survivors contradicts the elementary necessity of war for the destruction of enemy ships and crews.  Survivors are only to be picked up in cases when their interrogations would be of value to the U-boat.  Be severe.  Remember that in his bombing attacks on German cities, the enemy has no regard for women and children.  BdU."

     Germany faces decisive battle on all sides.  The years to come will surely change the world…  But what will we become?

      I had a dream on Monday – well, I suppose it was a nightmare.  I was in a submarine, a Uboote.  Danger was dancing all around us.  Through my turns in the sheets we fled, and when I rolled to escape, our pursuers dropped depth-charges into the water above us.  Gripped by basic fear, I looked to the men around me who clung to the workings to steady themselves.  I recognized no one, but everyone was familiar to me.

     Though I knew I was dreaming, I could not wake myself.  A piercing, rhythmic series of sonar pings resound through the boat, faster and faster, like a clock that winds itself and sends time tumbling perilously ahead.  Roll again to escape.  Propellers overhead and men cower.  Splashes.  A muffled alarm from the cabin ahead.  As I open my mouth to speak I’m silenced by deafening explosions, all around, above us, beside us, below us.  My vision shakes into a blur.  Shattered on the deck, I regain my pose and look about.  No one speaks.  Men stare at me but I can say nothing – what have I done to deserve this?  With a shuffle the men clear, ahead and a foggy face declares that the enemy is attacking again.  I shake my head - what shall we do?  A long silence passes as I turn, and see darkness ahead of me.  Turning back, my men stand behind me, firm, silent.  I take a deep breath.  The lights shout out, the bulkhead in front of me bursts and the chaotic ocean explodes inward.  With the count of three, I wake. 

Fritz Kuhl

18 Sep 1942

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U-71 was last heard from on September 11 1942, Grid CJ88.  In the late evening Kaleun Jackel radioed BdU that he had sighted a British troop transport escorted by two frigates, and that he intended to attack. 

U-71: Missing and Presumed Lost with All Hands, Grid CJ88.
Career Tonnage: 318049 (69975 in military shipping).