Prinz Eugen rammed the light cruiser Leipzig 1944.
Preparation for a full-scale assault on the German frontier was hampered by the destruction of past battles. The French railway system had been devastated first by Allied bombing and then by the Germans in retreat, while many of the Channel ports had been shelled or sabotaged beyond immediate use. Ahead was the Siegfried Line with its networks of pillboxes and minefields and mile after mile of deep trenches that had to be cleared step by step. As winter approached it was clear that German resistance would not be broken easily. Everywhere the Allied advance was on hold.
The Eastern Front was another matter and it was here and on the Baltic that Doenitz now focused his attention. For much of the war the Baltic was a German lake. After the invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941, territory to the east including Ukraine and the Baltic States – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – were expropriated by the Reich. Flanked on the west by occupied Denmark and neutral Sweden, the northern stretch of the Baltic was secured by an alliance with Finland. The only shipping access to the Baltic was by the easily policed Danish straits and the Kiel Canal, both connecting to the North Sea.
Doenitz was obsessed with the need for Germany to remain dominant in the Baltic. And for good reasons. Merchant convoys crossing the Baltic were the lifeline for German forces on the Eastern Front. Sea traffic from Sweden to Hamburg and other north German ports carried high-grade iron ores and speciality steels including the major supply of ball bearings. By this route, some 11 million tons of iron ore was imported annually. Further support for the war machine came from the Nave region of northern Estonia where huge deposits of shale oil, estimated at 5–6 million tons, had been discovered. By 1943, production was an annual 100,000 tons; and this was only the start.
In the wider context of the war at sea, the Baltic was critical to naval strategy. It was where the Kriegsmarine had its power base. Submarine research and innovation were concentrated here, along with the training of U-boat crews. To lose the Baltic, declared Doenitz, would be to lose the war. Hitler agreed. The Baltic had to be defended at all costs.
The supreme test came after the siege of Leningrad was lifted in January 1944. Thereafter, the Russian juggernaut was on the move, annihilating three army groups and rolling back the German front line by up to 500 miles. In mid-September, the Red Army broke through to the Gulf of Riga. Estonia was cut off and had to be evacuated. Finland was forced to change sides. The following month the German Army Group North found itself trapped in the Kurland (Courland) Peninsula of Latvia, isolated from Army Group Centre as it withdrew to the coastal strongholds of Lithuania and East Prussia. Having regained Ukraine, the Red Army swept on into Poland.
Doenitz was summoned by Hitler to attend a conference on the Soviet threat. The Fuehrer wanted to know what effect a Russian breakthrough would have on naval operations in the Baltic. Doenitz responded that the greatest danger was a direct breakthrough south of Kurland. This would make it impossible to continue to carry supplies by sea to the northern group of armies. Lining up with Hitler, he was all in favour of holding on to Memel,b against the advice of General Reinhardt, commander of Army Group North, who urged evacuation to strengthen the defences of Koenigsbergc and the nearby port of Pillau.
At the same time and in defiance of Hitler, Doenitz was in favour of abandoning Kurland. ‘The carrying of supplies was nothing but a burden to the Navy,’ he commented, doubtless adding under his breath that holding on to Kurland had no strategic value. The generals agreed but, as ever, Hitler baulked at surrendering territory even for the best of reasons. Doenitz gave what support he could to the beleaguered German forces by stationing offshore such heavy ships still in commission – Prinz Eugen, Luetzow, Scheer and Hipper – to direct their guns over the heads of the defenders to bring a hail of shells down on the enemy. Just how effective this could be was proved by the Prinz Eugen when it sailed into the bay of Riga to support a counter-attack to restore the link between the Riga garrison and the German front in Kurland.
On 20 August at 7 a.m. the cruiser fired her first ranging shots. The gunnery-officer was in constant telephonic communication by ultra-short wave with the carrier-aircraft acting as spotter and hovering above the target area, as well as with advanced army-observation posts and the spearhead of the German tank units. The target, invisible from the cruiser, was the town of Tukkum, situated some fifteen miles inland, a railway-junction where the Russian opposition had stiffened.
The first rounds from the Prinz Eugen’s 8-inch guns were well aimed:
As she continued to fire round after round, the observers gave 80 per cent direct hits. The cruiser was not even firing from a fixed position, but steaming to and fro. Nevertheless there was no doubt the Prinz was firing with great accuracy.
Incredibly, though the cruiser was vulnerable in narrow and shallow waters, there was no retaliation either from the air or at sea. The bombardment continued unhindered until late afternoon when the Prinz Eugen had exhausted its ammunition.
There was a repeat performance in October when the Prinz Eugen was joined by a flotilla of light cruisers to take turns in shelling the Russians moving in on Memel. Again, though Russian submarines were thought to be in the area, no attempt was made to stop the onslaught. Hard-pressed troops took heart.
Russian tanks had reached the hill to the south of our camp. Our soldiers who had been in the path of their advance had done their duty before they died. Then a heavy bombardment from the sea had struck the tanks as they slid over the dunes. Several tanks to the south of us went up in flames. The Russians were even forced to retreat a little, fighting as they went. The bombardment from the sea continued. Through the darkness and fog we could see the luminous discharges of the guns. With daylight, we were able to see the source of our help through heavy curtains of smoke. Two warships were standing close by the shore. One of them was the Prinz Eugen. The other was a ship of the same size. To the desperate defenders of Memel, they were a source of support we had never hoped for. The tanks respected their large guns, and kept their distance.
However, the Russian aircraft that did get close could hardly miss.
A barge packed with men had been bombed amidships. We were summoned from our rest period to deal with the mess. I shall omit the details, the memory of which still nauseates me. Our boots were red with blood. The human refuse which we threw off the front of the half-submerged wreck drew a throng of fish, and the smell of bodies torn open by gaping wounds is beyond expression, even though the water washing over the carnage diminished it somewhat.
Ironically, the heaviest damage to the Kriegsmarine was self-inflicted. On its way to lay mines off Swinemuende, the Leipzig sailed at night without lights. Visibility was further reduced by dense fog. At 8.04 p.m. she was struck amidships on the starboard side between the bridge and the funnel. At first, it was assumed to be the result of a well-aimed torpedo. But it soon became apparent that something more substantial was responsible. The Leipzig had been rammed by her sister ship Prinz Eugen.
Locked together, the two cruisers drifted in the Baltic for fourteen hours until two tugs arrived to pump water out of the Leipzig in an attempt to keep her afloat. Then while the tugs held the Leipzig stationary, the engines of the Prinz Eugen drove her astern. Beating expectations, both ships stayed afloat and both were back in action within a month, though the patching-up of the Leipzig allowed only for light duties.
‘Thiele’s fighting squadron’, named after Admiral August Thiele commanding the battle group, continued its support of land forces with heavy bombardments from offshore. When in November, after a seven-week battle, the Russians were close to taking the Sworbe peninsula at the south end of the island of Oesel, Estonia, the Kriegsmarine gave heavy gun support to the evacuation of troops and equipment. This time, the Russians retaliated with their onshore batteries, though with limited success. Having the advantage of a longer range, the cruisers withdrew to a safer distance. Russian torpedo aircraft and high-altitude bombers then went into action, the chief target being the Admiral Scheer with its powerful 11-inch guns. Turning and twisting, the Admiral Scheer dodged torpedoes and bombs to return safely to her base at Gotenhafen.
After the Sworbe evacuation General Heinz Guderian, Chief of the General Staff of Land Armies, sent a heartfelt message of thanks to naval personnel for the ‘self-sacrificing support they have given us in a united struggle against overwhelmingly superior enemy forces’. On the Baltic at least, relations between the Kriegsmarine and the Wehrmacht remained strong. To hold on to the Baltic ports, the German surface fleet fired more shells than in all its other operations put together.
