Atrocity, Deviance, and Submarine Warfare: Norms and Practices during the World Wars

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS For many people in my generation, World War II was a major event. It certainly was such for me. My interest in that war and the cultural context in which it took place drew my attention to a few related research topics—the Masada myth, treason, assassinations, remembrances, and war movies. As happened for so many others, submarines caught my imagination and attention. I found fascinating the idea and practice of a few dozen sailors getting locked—willingly—in a steel tube and diving in that contraption into a water's depths. Those familiar with the history of World Wars I and II know that naval battles were of major importance in both wars. There are even those who claim that the main battles in World War II were naval and that, in fact, that war itself needs to be thought of as a naval war. Submarines played a major role in both these wars (as well as in the Cold War). The number of books and movies focused on submarine warfare in these two world wars is very large indeed. I cannot confess that I have read or seen them all, but I have definitely seen most, if not all, submarine movies made in the United States and the United Kingdom. Also, I visited quite a few museums where submarines are displayed (e.g., at Gosport). While interested in the topic, I was not initially clear about what angle I wanted to take regarding an interpretation of the awesome and ruthless warfare submarines were involved in during the two world wars. Some questions that made me curious (but that did not result in any research) were, why were people willing to serve in these contraptions, and even more puzzling, why were they willing to serve when, for example, joining the silent service in some navies was not too far from committing suicide? As I was drifting in my deliberations, an angle that is both interesting and relevant occurred to me. That angle was to examine submarine warfare in the two Page x →world wars through the prism of my training as a sociologist of deviance and culture. An examination from such a perspective, like from any other, makes some aspects very salient and squelches other aspects. The book you are about to read certainly reflects this bias. I start with a presentation of the cultural aspects of this work, exposing the main relevant tenets of the sociology of deviance and unconventional behavior, as well as the puzzles that need to be resolved. The main explanatory concept I use is that of cultural cores, those symbolic aspects of all cultures that provide the parameters for our daily behavior. The following chapters delve into the development of submarine warfare and some of its consequences and end with some conclusions. I hope you will enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed the challenge of researching and writing it. It is a debt of honor to express my deepest gratitude to friends and colleagues that helped with listening and good advice along a lengthy and tormented road: Mimi Azjenstadt, Celia Fassberg, Dov Feurestein, Robert Friedmann, Jeff Goldfarb, Erich Goode, Miri Gur-Arye, Aharon Hauptman, Moshe Hirsch, Philip Jenkins, Gary Jensen, Uzi Amit-Kohn, David Miller, Amalya Oliver, Eliezer Rabinovici, Si Spillerman, Barry Schwartz, Raanan SulitzeanuKenan, Vered Vinizky-Seroussi, Gordon Winocur, and Jean Wittenberg. I am deeply grateful to Kennie Lyman's meticulous, challenging, conscientious, and indispensable editing and to Patrick Jackson whose insightful comments and suggestions have deepened and enriched my perspective and the book. Thomas Weis from the Bibliothek für Zeitgeschichte in the Wuerttembergischen Landesbibliothek in Stuttgart and Rita O'Donoghue from the Imperial War Museum in London were very helpful in getting some of the figures in this book, for which I am very grateful. It is a great privilege to express my deepest gratitude and intellectual debt to Ron Gillis, Patrick Jackson, and Lester Kurtz, whose care, concern, and enormously useful and helpful comments and advice on a previous draft for this book were of the highest quality. I am deeply grateful to Susan Cronin and Melody Herr from the University of Michigan Press, whose wonderfully gracious and patient help, advice, and support throughout the lengthy process of reviewing and preparing this manuscript were essential. Also, the editorial care from Kevin Rennells is deeply appreciated. Page xi →

I am grateful to the Hebrew University's Authority for Research and Development and for the Shaine Foundation's grants, which helped in making this book. Last, but not least, it is with much love that I express my deepest gratitude to Etti, Tzach, and Guy and—how could I not—my fondness to our late lovely Belgian Shepherd (Malinois) Remko.

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Prologue On March 26, 1944, the Dutch steamer SS Tjisalak was on its way from Melbourne to Colombo with a cargo of flour and torpedoes. The ship had on board a complement of 66 crew members, 10 gunners, and 28 passengers. The imperial Japanese submarine I-8,1 commanded by Lieutenant Commander Tetsunosuke Ariizumi, spotted the ship about 500 miles south of Colombo and fired two torpedoes at it. The two hit the Tjisalak. Listing to port, the ship was clearly sinking. Following the captain's order to abandon ship, three lifeboats were lowered into the water. When I-8 tried to surface, one of the guns on the Tjisalak opened fire, and the submarine dived, only to resurface again, by which time the Tjisalak was listing so badly that no gun could be used. At this point, there appeared to be only three casualties of I-8's attack. The surfaced Japanese submarine followed the usual routine of asking for the captain of the ship. Captain Hen identified himself, and he and seven other survivors were taken into the submarine. I-8 ordered the rest of the survivors to board the submarine and made them squat on its deck. Japanese sailors then began to kill them with swords, rifle butts, a sledgehammer, and clubs. Those that jumped to the water were shot as well. All in all, the submarine crew subsequently murdered 98 of Tjisalak's survivors. Only two witnesses, who were thought to be dead, survived the massacre.2 Deviance—that is, behavior that, if known, tends to elicit negative reactions from audiences—has always been part of human societies. Studying deviance (and crime) is—relatively speaking—a new endeavor. Past studies of deviance have tended to focus on defined sets of such topics as murder, rape, homosexuality, theft, pornography, violence, drug abuse, delinquency, white-collar crimes, prostitution, and mental illness. More recent research has explored such topics as cognitive deviance (e.g., such unconventional Page 2 →beliefs as those held in sects and cults, deviant scientific knowledge claims, and paranormal beliefs) and deviant physical characteristics.3 One area in which very little, if any, work was accomplished until very recently is war, terror,4 or genocide. These phenomena are central issues in human history, and deviance and crime have starred in them, yet researchers of deviance and criminologists paid little attention to them until very recently. However, when such attention was paid, the results were fascinating. For just one example, when distinguished criminologist John Hagan diverted his attention to such topics, three brilliantly fascinating books came out: one on American war resisters in Canada,5 another on prosecuting war crimes in the Hague Tribunal,6 and another on Darfur and the crime of genocide.7 This book follows the path set by Hagan's work. It looks at acts of deviance within the context of war. War can mean many things. While the heart of most wars is the combat, this heart is surrounded by a wide margin of related noncombat activities, such as prewar training, postwar “coming home” and processing, intelligence gathering, supply, the home front, prisoners of war, and more. This book will look at atrocities and deviance in a situation of actual combat. The technology of manufacturing reliable submarines as new weapon platforms matured in World War I. The question then became what one was supposed to do with this new weapon. The solution that developed and applied during World War I and much more so during World War II was a new and innovative form of naval warfare: unrestricted submarine warfare. This was a new form of warfare whose main characteristic was its aggressiveness, ruthlessness, cruelty, and length. Thus, this new form of warfare gave rise to new forms of atrocities and deviance. For example, it allowed not only the sinking of passenger ships but the killing of survivors in lifeboats or in the water as well. This book examines this development and attempts to explain—from a cultural point of view—how such a new and lethal form of warfare came into being. This examination, carried out via a historical examination and documentation of the atrocities and deviance that this new naval warfare unleashed, suggests an interpretation for these stupendous acts of deviance.

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Introduction Human history is riddled with tales of war: stories of conquest, destruction, uprisings, heroism and cowardice, and wisdom and stupidity, as well as dark periods of decline and brighter periods of prosperity. This book is an addition to the ocean of fascinating works on one of humanity's most puzzling forms of interaction—planned and deliberate attempts to inflict painful punishment and destroy each other. More specifically, it is about how the technologies and ideas that are developed during (and for) war change various aspects of the cultures of the countries involved. The technological development of such weapons as machine guns, tanks, airplanes, and nuclear bombs changed the culture of war. This, in turn, led to changes in the cultures of countries and the social identities of their citizens. But wars were also cultural platforms to which the invention of such items as the wristwatch, better instant coffee, microwave ovens, effective jet engines, computers, ultrasound, and superglue can all be traced. These developments and others were accompanied by major cultural changes in such areas as consumption, medicine, cooking, communications, and travel. My focus as a sociologist has been on various forms of unconventional behavior, deviance, and crime. I am especially interested in understanding these forms of behavior within the cultural and historical contexts in which they occur. From this point of view, studying warfare is a fresh exercise. What is the meaning of deviance in war? Is war itself perhaps a deviant form of behavior? How do cultures change or remain unchanged when they confront wars? Sociologists of deviance have rarely, if ever, focused attention on situations of war. I live in the Middle East, where war is not a theoretical or historical issue. It is a daily reality. However, examining wars that are too close to home risks too deep a political and emotional involvement. I was searching for a war that is far enough but not too far from me and on which Page 4 →I could look from a point of view of a sociologist of deviance. The two 20th-century world wars seemed far enough in space and time. The question still remained, however, what about these wars did I want to examine? Reading brought me quickly to what has become known in discussions of World War II as the Battle of the Atlantic.1 This naval engagement was the longest battle of the war; it was cruel, merciless, and based on technology. It was also a battle that raged in a similar form in World War I, when naval activity took place in the Pacific Ocean (e.g., the battles of Coronel and the Falkland Islands), in Africa (on Lake Tanganyika), in the Arctic, on the Baltic and Black Seas, around the United Kingdom, in the North Sea, and in the Mediterranean Sea.2 This was too large a topic. Examination of these naval wars brought me very quickly to submarines. These two wars provided the first time in history that submarines were used as major weapon systems, causing havoc along sea-lanes in very nasty campaigns. It is within this type of warfare that I decided to focus my study. I began to look at how submarine warfare came into being and how it could be interpreted within the cultures of the combatant countries. As I was attempting to develop a cultural explanation of this type of warfare, I was able to develop a more general approach to cultural change and stability, using submarine warfare as an illustration. This book is thus about how one can understand unconventional behavior and deviance within cultural processes of change and stability. I claim that to understand such processes, one needs to focus attention on the symbolic realm of cultures. That realm, in my view, is composed of cultural cores, surrounded by symbolic-moral universes and their boundaries. Challenges to cultural cores that emanate from the symbolic-moral universes are a daily matter. Societal reactions to these challenges can stifle the challenge and maintain the status quo. However, societal reactions can also be such that the challenge will succeed and that cultural changes will take place. Examining the history of the technological development of submarines makes it clear that while the submarine matured in technological terms during World War I, naval leaders in that war were unclear about what to do with it. This weapon system did not fit prevailing ideas of naval warfare. Slowly and hesitantly, military planners, naval officers, and politicians came to the conclusion that the best thing to do with submarines was to use them as offensive weapons. They decided—contrary to international agreements and understandings, accepted morality, and the norms of conduct of naval warfare—to send this underwater killing machine to hit any vessel it could Page 5 →encounter and that could be identified as a vessel of the enemy (or its allies). This policy has come to be known as “unrestricted submarine warfare,” and it cost the lives of many thousands of people, as well as the destruction of thousands of ships of all descriptions. Using submarines in this fashion marked a significant change

in the culture of conducting wars. But even following this new and brutal policy, some submarines committed acts of such cruelty that they must be seen as even more deviant. This change and the way it affected the cultures of the nations involved is the focus of this book. There are several ways to discuss deviance in and by the military within the context of war. One could utilize an encyclopedic wide-angle lens and examine all the possible and actual cases of such occurrences. Another possibility would be to focus in depth on a particular case or category of cases. At the price of presenting perhaps a somewhat narrower focus, this approach yields more powerful and detailed observations. For this work, I have chosen the second approach. While much recent sociological and criminological work uses large data sets or surveys to interpret social phenomena,3 quite a few researchers and scholars argue that the sensitivity and ability to comprehend and generate theories is significantly enhanced when researchers use ethnographic or discrete cases (even a single-case approach)4 or historical ethnographies.5 Being faithful to historically oriented research, I preferred to rely on the known cases. Thus, in this work, I rely on a group of well-documented cases to illustrate my thesis, very much in line with Ragin's proposition that “when the goal is to assess historical or cultural significance, a specific set of events or other slice of social life is selected.”6 How do we know about submarine atrocities? Three main sources serve as our portholes: accounts by survivors of submarine attacks, logbooks of the submarines involved (assuming that the events were recorded in these logs), and accounts of crew members of the submarines involved. The two main conflicts where submarine atrocities were committed were World War I and World War II. More than ninety years have elapsed since the end of World War I, more than sixty-six since the end of World War II. Few live witnesses are still around to be interviewed directly. Thus, it is necessary to rely on both firsthand and secondhand written accounts. Tony Bridgland's two books on the subject are an important source. So is that by Bernhard Edwards. Going over memoir books written by submariners and histories of naval and submarine warfare and searching the World Wide Web has provided me with more information and enabled me to cross-check accounts of Page 6 →the events I describe.7 In referencing my descriptions, I have cited the source with the most details. There may, of course, be cases of sinkings for which no record remains. It is more than possible, given the nature of the atrocities we know about, that a submarine could completely erase any evidence for a specific attack. It is not far-fetched to imagine a submarine sinking a ship and murdering all of its surviving crew so that no traces are left. If no log entry took place (and surely none would be kept) and if there was silence on the part of the crew members who knew, then the atrocity simply disappears. The ship, of course, would be missed, but no one would know what had happened to it. Were there such cases? This is a question for which a definite answer cannot be given. We do know that there were cases of U-boat patrol logs that were falsified in order to conceal problematic acts.8 Given the nature of some atrocities (e.g., murdering survivors in the water), there may be cases in which no victims survived, the war patrol logs were falsified, and no crew member survived the war to recount his memories or was willing to tell if he survived—atrocities about which we shall never know. If I have to bet, my bet would be that there probably were cases of killing survivors in the water about which we are unaware. I would not risk another bet as to whether we are dealing more with an “iceberg theory” or more of a “bad apple” approach. The data we have tend to support a “bad apple” approach, but—given the nature of the cases and the phenomenon—I am not fully convinced. I am not arguing that the cases presented in this work are representative, but they indicate that submarine warfare in both 20th-century world wars involved atrocities and that these atrocities were probably not exceptional or extremely rare events. Another relevant—and no less important—question that cannot always be answered definitively is to what extent political and military leaders explicitly supported the killing of survivors. This study, like so many others, is based on written documents. With Japanese submarines, we need not guess or speculate. Orders given by Admiral Takaso Shiro9 and Rear Admiral Takero Kouta10 specifically allowed, even demanded, killing survivors, and Japanese submariners did not hesitate to do so. However, significantly important information about day-to-day informal activities, chats, comments, talks, gossip, and ambience are not found in documents, official or otherwise. Even when no direct written orders exist, it is possible to infer from the evidence what the general policy for the rules of engagement might Page 7 →have been. For example, one can ask whether there were any orders given forbidding acts of brutality. What was the tone of the orders that were given? Were the commanders

who committed particularly brutal acts punished, or were they praised and promoted? What can we learn from the way in which the commander of the fleet was treated by his country's political leaders? For example, to what extent was the commander of the U-boats in World War II—Karl Dönitz11—directly or indirectly responsible for the killing of survivors of U-boat attacks in the water? There is no document directly showing that he specifically ordered German submariners to do this. But could the ambience created by the orders Dönitz did give, combined with his failure to directly and unambiguously forbid killing survivors in the water, be interpreted as an implicit and informal license to commit such acts? There is reason to speculate that Dönitz did not have to tell his submariners directly, explicitly and in writing, to kill survivors. To avoid telling them to refrain from such acts is one thing. That at least some submariners could infer from the ambience and context of Dönitz's orders that such acts were not forbidden is another thing. No German submariner, as far as we know, was forced to face suspicions of atrocities or was charged in court by the Nazi state. While Dönitz did not explicitly tell his submariners that it was expected that they would kill survivors, he did not explicitly tell them to avoid such acts. His messages to be harsh and merciless could be interpreted as a license to be lethally brutal, and some submariners were. Adolf Hitler, head of the Nazi state, told the Japanese ambassador that U-boat commanders were told to kill survivors. As we know, Hitler was a ruthless murderer. Before he committed suicide in his Berlin bunker, he chose Dönitz as his successor. One must assume that Hitler saw in Dönitz the characteristics he respected and liked and trusted that Dönitz would continue his policies. Moreover, that the U-boats, overall, fought grimly to the end was no coincidence. Many in the Kriegsmarine believed in and were loyal to Nazi Germany, and some of its most famous aces (e.g., Wolfgang Lüth, 12 Joachim Schepke,13 and Günther Prien 14) were devoted Nazis.

PLAN OF THE BOOK Chapter 1 is devoted to outlining the cultural core model that I will use to interpret cultural change and stability. Chapter 2 describes the technological Page 8 →developments that brought about the emergence of the submarine as a reliable and effective weapon platform. Chapter 3 explores the relevant issues of war and culture. Chapter 4 details the international efforts to reduce and control the brutalities of wars, particularly of submarine warfare, that took place before and after World War I. Having a technological breakthrough in the form of an effective submarine made it necessary to figure out what do with this weapon. Chapter 5 discusses this issue and details the emergence of the concept of how this new submersible weapon platform could be used, how these ideas were applied, and the general results of this application. The outcome was that unrestricted submarine warfare emerged as the main concept for using submarines. However, this new form of warfare required a significant change in previous cultural cores, because it delineated a radically new way of conducting naval combat. Chapter 6 details the various brutal acts committed by submarines during the two 20th-century world wars. Chapter 7 integrates the cultural cores model and the concept of unrestricted submarine warfare to show how and why a new technology brought about the emergence of new moralities, new deviances, new memories, and new myths—in short, new cultural cores.

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1 Challenging Cultural Cores and Symbolic-Moral Universes THE GENERAL PUZZLE Some of the oldest, most persistent issues in social science research focus on how and why cultures and societies come into being, how they endure, how they change, and how they disappear and become research topics for archaeologists, historians, and students of folklore. What exactly is it that changes or that remains stable? There are several theories that attempt to explain social change. Some focus on the functional deficits of institutions; others on shifts of power, on generational change, social construction, institutional isomorphism, or path dependency. Continuing and building on the tradition established by French sociologist Émile Durkheim, I propose that a key facet of cultural change and stability, at both the societal and individual levels, is to be found in the symbolic realm—the realm of ideas, language, values, norms, thoughts, moralities, perceptions, attitudes. This realm is where our conceptions of the social realities in which we live and function exist, and it is within this realm that we construct, mold, manipulate, and create new social realities. In this chapter, I will explore this realm and suggest that it is composed of cultural cores, that is, of symbolic structures that influence, in the most profound manner, the way we perceive, interpret, and act in the social environments in which we live. Changes in these cultural cores can emanate from a variety of sources, such as new ideas, new technologies, and new discoveries. In this book, I will focus on technology, more specifically on the technological development of submarines. When this technology matured, it brought about a radical change in the way in which some influential and powerful military and political leaders thought about naval warfare. This change helped to bring about a new and brutal form of warfare: unrestricted submarine warfare. Page 10 →The adjective unrestricted is key here, because this brutal and merciless naval warfare consisted of sinking passenger, cargo, and hospital ships; killing survivors in lifeboats and in the water; and falsifying submarine patrol logs and weaving other deceptions to hide atrocities. These practices not only violated previous international agreements but explicitly targeted civilians. This new form of naval warfare meant that any vessel—whether a civilian, military, or even hospital ship—was fair prey for submarines. Indeed, Sturma points out that “the most significant aspect of unrestricted warfare is often assumed to be the attack on merchant shipping without warning, but arguably more significant was the abrogation of any responsibility for survivors.”1 This unrestricted submarine warfare was practiced in the two 20th-century world wars and brought about the miserable deaths of thousands of sailors, passengers, and navy personnel. In the following chapters, I will analyze how technological advances and the symbolic changes that followed them converged to create this new form of naval warfare, which, in turn, helped to bring about spectacular acts of deviance from the norms, rules, and generally accepted morality of conducting naval combat that had existed before in the United States and Europe, such as proscriptions not to sink a civilian ship without warning, not to sink a hospital ship, and certainly not to kill survivors in lifeboats and rafts or in the water. This new naval warfare was practiced in almost all the seas and oceans of the planet.

SOURCES OF CULTURAL CHANGE The sources of cultural change are varied and often external. Sing S. Chew (2006), for example, suggests that environmental changes affect human cultures and societies. Stephen Shennan examines a model of the relationships between demography and innovation within an evolutionary framework.2 However, these fascinating and intriguing ideas do not deal with critical symbolic changes that take place within cultures and affect human consciousness, social identities, behavior, and also the way cultures cope with ecological or demographic stresses. Technological innovations can cause profound social changes. Examples of new technologies that have had overwhelming effects on society include development of the car, air transportation, computers, the Internet, and the contraceptive pill. Today, developing nanotechnologies have the potential to create a social and cultural Page 11 →upheaval larger than that created by the Industrial Revolution. Sociologists have always tried to understand the nature of these processes. William F. Ogburn's theory of “cultural lag,” for example, is an effort to account for the difference between rapid technological innovations and much slower corresponding social processes.3

An interesting beam of light was shed on changes in global culture by Keck and Sikkink (1998). Examining three cases of advocacy networks—human rights, environment, and women's rights—they point out that advocacy networks have become significant players in bringing about social changes in transnational and domestic contexts. Keck and Sikkink explain that these advocacy networks are composed of nonstate actors that “interact with each other, with states, and with international organizations…in terms of networks…that are increasingly visible in international politics” (1) and that the explicit goal of these networks is to initiate and promote processes of significant social change in the behavior of states and international organizations, so that “what was once unthinkable becomes obvious, and from then on change starts to occur much more rapidly” (211). Part of this activity, clearly, is aimed at changing conduct norms so that corresponding practices will be altered as well. Thus, Keck and Sikkink examined the “early stages of norm emergence and adoption, characterized by intense domestic and international struggles over meaning and policy” (211). They are acutely aware that modern cultures are heterogeneous and experience unceasing processes of challenges and changes. Moreover, a 2004 study by Acharya, who based his work on a comparison of the impact of two transnational norms on the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, suggests that local cultural agents reconstruct foreign norms in a process that makes these external norms fit the priorities and identities of these local agents, that is, that congruence building, rather than contestation, either wholesale or through rejection, is the key to understanding how most cases of norm diffusion are carried out. Some scholars conceptualize that symbolic cultural essences and assets may be “out there,” similar in existence to something “objective” and transcending specific human existence. To some extent, this perception is valid, because such essences as values and norms indeed transcend the existence of specific individuals. However, there is also something misleading about this perception, because symbolic assets do not exist without individuals who exhibit them in their identities, consciousness, and behavior. Individuals not only exhibit these assets but are involved continuously in processes Page 12 →that change them. Without individuals, these assets simply vanish into thin air. The cultural cores and symbolic-moral universes of such cultures as the Sumer, Maya, Aztec, Nabataean, and a large host of others have simply disappeared from everyday life and practices. Their existence depended completely on individuals who no longer exist. The relationship of individuals to the cultures within which they grow and that they create and change is interactive. Consequently, descriptions and understandings of symbolic cultural assets are valid only for specific times and places that set boundaries on the social construction of these assets. Many scholars, intellectuals and journalists, point to technology as a major source of societal change, and indeed it is. It is also a relatively easy variable to describe and measure. Such technological innovations as electricity, the train, cars, aircraft, the contraceptive pill, computers, refrigerators, air conditioners, antibiotics, ballpoint pens, firearms, and methods of harnessing the power of fire and nuclear energy have all changed our lives and cultures in significant ways. Technology has certainly helped to change the face of warfare, a very major, albeit regrettable, human activity.4 But technology in itself is not a source of automatic changes. Technology can open the door to changes, but decisions about what to do with specific technologies or even what technologies to develop are a cultural issue. Technology in itself is worthless if it is not incorporated into human consciousness, if its utilization is not rationalized, and if its advances are not put to practical use. In fact, Thomas Hammes (2004) points out that warfare evolved from one generation to the next and that comprehending how and why this process took place requires us to understand the combination of political, social, and technological developments that was at the center of this process. Technology in and by itself is incapable of explaining the evolution of warfare. Eagerness and willingness to develop new technologies and openness to incorporating them into daily cultural use require that societal values and ideologies allow them to happen. For example, no matter how many advanced technologies are developed to process pork meat, neither practicing Jews nor Muslims will ever eat it. As safe as nuclear energy may be in producing electricity (compared, say, to coal-burning power stations), if fear of nuclear energy remains strong, continued use of nonnuclear fuels will persist. A rejected technology, regardless of its beneficial potential, will have zero cultural impact, except the alternative price of not using it. Knowing about such technologies and deliberately rejecting them makes the alternative Page 13 →price a reality. In countries where theocrats enjoy significant political power, theocratic objections to some reproductive technologies not only will prevent their use but will also prevent the changes in values and daily life experienced by countries where the

technologies are employed. Specific connections between technologies new and old, ideologies, and value systems are, I believe, most important elements to consider if we want to have a better grasp on and understanding of larger processes of social change and stability. With technological innovation, significant changes may take place in the spheres of cognitive ideas, consciousness, and values and emotions. The way we conceptualize and feel about the world that changes or remains unaltered in respect to technology is of prime importance. One of the first questions we need to ask ourselves is what exactly is it that changes or remains unchanged? For example, I suspect that most people would probably agree that—in many cultural terms—the United States and the United Kingdom of the first decades of the 21st century are not the same countries that they were in the 1950s. Yet many things in these countries remain the same. So what exactly is it that makes us feel that these countries are not the same: clothes, cars, music, technology, different politicians, lingual jargon, landscapes, architecture, the economy, the telephone system? Indeed, many tangible and material items changed, some in most fundamental ways, but are these the major factors to examine when we want to discuss societal and cultural changes and stability? I think not. There is an old and relevant joke that says that after Lenin's death, he met the last Russian czar, Nicolai II, in heaven. The czar was aware of Lenin's uneasiness at their meeting and put his mind quickly to rest, assuring him that he had forgiven Lenin and his comrades for murdering him and his family. “It was, after all,” said the czar, “for the good of Mother Russia.” “Still,” asked the curious last czar, “what did you guys change? Is Tsaritsyn still there? Are you still using the ruble as currency? Does the vodka still have 75 percent alcohol in it? Do you still have the social mir?”5 Lenin found these questions easy to answer : “Well, we are still using the ruble; Tsaritsyn is called Stalingrad; we increased the alcohol content in the vodka to 90 percent, and the mir is now called the kolkhoz.” The czar looked at Lenin in utter amazement and asked, “You mean to tell me that for the change of a couple of names and 15 percent more alcohol you launched your bloody revolution?” The question touched on by this joke focuses on a serious issue: what is it that really undergoes change? Page 14 →

CULTURAL CORES: TRADITIONAL CONCEPTS AND BEYOND Issues of cultural change and stability have occupied the attention of social theorists since the very early days of social sciences. Such scholars as August Comte, Karl Marx, Max Weber, and Herbert Spencer, among others, were haunted by these issues. However, it was the French intellectual Émile Durkheim who, in the waning years of the nineteenth century, put his finger on the symbolic locus of change and stability. His proposal was that every society has a “collective conscience,” which is the core of the culture. Durkheim characterized this collective conscience in this way: “The totality of beliefs and sentiments common to average citizens of the same society forms a determinate system which has its own life; one may call it the ‘collective’ or ‘common conscience.’…It is independent of the particular conditions in which individuals are placed.”6 Clearly, Durkheim felt that there was something essential about this core. It is this collective conscience that defines and structures the moral boundaries and social identities of members of societies and cultures. It is the very soul of any social system, and it is therefore regarded by members of the social system as sacrosanct. Decades later, Edward Shils used another term, referring to the “center,” which he characterized as “the realm of values and beliefs.” “This central value system,” he explained, “is the central zone of society.”7 Much like the collective conscience, the center is a somewhat mysterious, cryptic concept that is almost impossible to quantify. It is the area where the values, morality, and worldview of societies exist. While forming individuals’ cognitive maps and identities, it transcends individuals. This locus is also the target for change and stability. Talcott Parsons (1966, 1971), one of sociology's past towering figures, coined the term societal community to refer to this entity. For Parsons, the societal community is “the salient foci of tension and conflict, and thus of creative innovation.”8 Cultural cores not only play a part at crucial symbolic points in the structure of culture. As both symbolic interaction approaches and Anthony Giddens's theory of structuration imply, cultural cores constitute a major component in the structuration of social identities. While these cores help to mold individual cultural identities,

individuals can—and do—have decisive influences on the contents of these cores. The interaction between cultural cores and individuals’ cultural identity has a dynamic quality to it: one influences the other. Hence, individuals’ cultural and social behavior reflects Page 15 →specific cultural cores, and individuals’ behavior and ideas also have the potential to alter these cores. This fascinating quality of the dynamic interactive exchange between cultural cores and individuals’ social and cultural identities is one of the main reasons why cultural cores are such an interesting phenomenon. To help make the classical contributions of Durkheim, Shils, and Parsons more conceptually accessible, it may be beneficial to envision them in terms of cultural cores that are surrounded by symbolic-moral universes9 and their boundaries. The core is the symbolic essence where values, value prioritizations,10 and deep-rooted beliefs are located. The enveloping symbolic-moral universes consist of actual behaviors that reflect the core: for example, words, images, ideas (i.e., symbolic representations). The boundaries of symbolic-moral universes are typically areas where conflicts between competing and conflicting universes are played out. Hence, a major characterization of societies and cultures is the existence of these universes, defined by boundaries; and attempts to change (or stifle cultural change) are directed at these cores, their surrounding universes, and their respective boundaries. Simple cultures have fewer such cores and universes, while more complex cultures are characterized by a larger number of these cores and universes. More disagreement about the nature of morality can and should be expected in complex societies, because they will have many cultural cores, wrapped by competing, clashing, or collaborating symbolic-moral universes. Indeed, one can expect more moral panics in such complex cultures.11 The core influences the symbolic-moral universe, but the behaviors of which this universe consists constantly engage other universes, and these negotiations can feed changes back to the core. Complex societies will always be entangled in ongoing moral negotiations in one or another form of dialogues, agreements, and conflicts about the nature of the society's moral fabrics. Issues of dominance, rights, representations, and the like are thus chronic sources of stress and tension in these societies. Symbolic-moral universes and their boundaries emerge and are reified constantly during and through human social interaction, which means that a dynamic process is operating here. Jeffrey Olick (2007), for example, characterizes collective memory and the practice of remembering not as a “thing” or a discrete, dichotomous thought but as an interactive dynamic process, which necessarily also views the society-individual nexus as a continuum. This means that what we observe as societal or cultural change Page 16 →must reflect changes at the micro level of human interaction. It is thus no coincidence that German intellectual Niklas Luhmann's system theory implies that the essence of social systems is that they are systems of communication.12 Communications define the boundaries between social systems and give individual members a sense of cultural identity, belonging, and purpose. Challenges to cultural status quos can and frequently do emerge from microlevel communications among individuals. It is no wonder that they are such an important source of cultural change. Some of the changes to cultural cores are indeed minute; others happen on a much larger scale. One of the most dramatic illustrations of a significant change in cultural cores is the Axial Age—the period between about 900 and 200 BCE that saw the development of monotheism in Israel, Confucianism and Taoism in China, philosophical rationalism in Greece, and Buddhism and Hinduism in India. These developments spelled some major and profound changes in the conceptions of the self and the soul in all these societies.13 Constant challenges from human communications and environmental factors mean that cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes have to be flexible, ambiguous, and capable of absorbing some changes, while being able to reject other challenges in order to sustain stability. This means that cultural cores are always in varied states of flux. Conceptualizing the identity of both individuals and cultures is an issue that has engaged social scientists for centuries, and the solutions proposed by different theorists constitute a large and impressive literature. While a solution to cultural identities is proposed in this book and is expressed in cultural cores and their symbolic-moral universes, individual identities need to be discussed. I tend to view social identities as grounded in cultures. Cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes provide their tenants with the elements necessary to structure, retain, and unfold their social identities. Such identities necessarily reflect historical and cultural substances and situations. Cultural identities of dwellers in one symbolic-moral universe will not be exactly like those of dwellers in an adjacent symbolic-moral universe. However, dwellers can choose in which symbolic-moral

universe they prefer to reside. Obviously, the range of choices is much larger in fairly open societies than in repressive societies. Nevertheless, once a choice is made, behavior will change. A person who undergoes a process of conversion from being a pious fundamentalist religious person to a secular liberal one or vice versa, for example, will behave quite differently after the Page 17 →conversion. Nonetheless, this person's social identity will retain and exhibit some past cultural elements. Social identities emerge and unfold in social interactions. This unfolding is a good place to watch how symbolic-moral universes materialize in the behaviors of individuals. One way of examining these cultural identities is by looking at the motivational accounting systems that they employ.14 Motivational accounting systems refer to culturally specific verbalizations of motives that provide social actors with ready-made attributions, accounts, explanations, and justifications for past and future behaviors.15 As such, accounts for action manifest basic elements of cultural identities, as well as negotiations about the validity of these identities and, consequently, their acceptability.16 These systems imply that statements of motivation have a basic cultural character because they enable people to be integrated into social groups and provide users with directions for subsequent actions.17 Culturally constructed as derivatives of the symbolic-moral universes with which individuals choose to align themselves, social identities reflect these universes. Consequently, social identities reflect ambiguities of cultural cores: they can be ambiguous, fluid, and flexible; can present some degree of uncertainty (because audiences before whom they unfold need to approve and accept claims for identities); and are often difficult to pin down. Yet they can also sometimes be made to present a much more solid and inflexible facade. While cultural cores have strong conventional elements, these cores are also basically unstable, responding to challenges emanating from their surrounding symbolic-moral universes. This model suggests that situated at the heart of these cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes are at least three independent but related features that are crucial to the core's functioning: unconventional behavior that can escalate (through societal reactions) to deviance and crime; collective memories, often accompanied by cultural traumas; and myths. These three elements form the arenas where processes of symbolic change, stabilization, and rejection of symbolic change are played out. In every instance where cultural cores are challenged, we can find one or more of these elements. It is not necessary that all three operate together or with the same intensity in response to a given challenge. Indeed, in this book, I will place a major emphasis on unconventional behavior and its escalation to deviance and crime. It is, however, useful to explore how each of these factors functions. Moreover, as will be clear from the discussion, Page 18 →we should not take cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes as “independent” forces in social life. These entities are not just “out there” doing what they so please. Rather, these entities reflect human symbolic activities and, as such, depend on such human activities as interactions, interpretations, negotiations, discussions, and the like. In other words, they contain and present both stability and flexibility.

UNCONVENTIONAL BEHAVIOR AND DEVIANCE Defining unconventionality and deviance is not a simple undertaking. Many textbooks on deviance and unconventionality devote significant parts of the text not only to examining the question of what is deviance and unconventional behavior but to dealing with issues that focus on the implications of discussing specific behaviors as “deviant.” Unconventional behavior is a matter of daily occurrence. Many of these behaviors pass unnoticed or unreacted to and thus have very little impact if any. However, some of these behaviors attract attention in the form of societal and cultural reactions. These reactions can assume the form of social control, in which case those applying this control are trying to stifle the challenge in the behavior and make sure that cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral boundaries remain unchanged. Social control can assume harsh forms, including reacting to the behavior in question as deviant and applying sanctions or codifying it as crime with a range of punishments that may mean incarceration for years or worse. Political crimes, obviously, are probably considered the worst.18 Many times, people displaying unconventional behaviors resist processes of deviantization, shaming, degradation, or even criminalization and manage to make their behavior accepted and embraced. French impressionists are one example;19 Mahatma Gandhi is another. In the past, the study of deviance and unconventional behavior has tended to focus attention on small-scale, nuts-and-bolts cases of deviance: for example, swingers, homosexuals, prostitutes, drug users, juvenile delinquents, the mentally ill, snitchers, robbers,

and the like. Many times, the tendency was to describe in details, almost to the point of fatigue, these forms of behavior, the corresponding lifestyles, and societal reactions to them. Too often, this has been done at the expense of creating insightful new interpretations and of ignoring social structures and larger social processes. I argue that the study of unconventionality and Page 19 →deviance needs to be done within the context of general social processes, preferably with a historical perspective.20 As sociologists Rubington and Weinberg (2003) and Best (2004) have shown, the development and study of deviance and unconventionality found home under such different umbrella names as social problems, social disorganizations, social pathology, and more, because, among other things, researchers found it difficult to box the study of deviance in a specific and long-lasting cultural niche. As cultures change historically and as we compare cultures, it becomes clear that views of what is and what is not deviance change as well. In other words, in an interactive fashion, cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes change, and definitions of deviance and unconventionality change with them and are also one of the sources of the changes. Like so many other social phenomena, the nature of deviance and unconventionality, their definition, and what are considered the proper responses to deviance change. These observable changes need to be understood as reflecting changes in cultural cores. Deviance and unconventionality are relative phenomena, among cultures and, over time, within cultures. While this relativity does not mean that “everything goes,” the meaning of deviance needs to be understood as a complex issue and depends on the type of infraction, its dispersion, the culture within which it takes place, the time, and, most of all, the societal reaction to assumed infractions. The main reason for this uncertainty and complexity is that because infractions typically challenge cultural cores, the cultural reaction to these challenges will determine whether unconventional challenges will be incorporated and become mainstream characters or will be reacted to as deviant or criminal and rejected.21 The motivational accounting systems in each of these cases are the thing to observe and interpret. The main reason for this situation is that the definition of what is and what is not deviance depends on two major factors: morality and power. Morality is a universal set of criteria whose contents are culture specific. It tells people of a given culture at a given time how to distinguish between such parameters as right and wrong, beautiful and ugly, good and bad. In fact, different cultures have different moral ideas about what is aesthetic and desirable and what is not, what is considered beautiful22 and what is ugly. Morality tells members of specific cultures what is appropriate behavior and what is not, by providing the cognitive and emotional criteria for making such decisions. The specific contents of these universal sets of rules may Page 20 →vary greatly among different cultures. Consequently, what morality actually means may differ quite significantly from one culture to another. Conceptualized in this way, morality represents a system of value criteria that shape normative behavior and direct social actions toward specific goals.23 While others may have touched this issue, Durkheim's discussion is probably the clearest. First, Durkheim set out to establish that unconventionality, deviance, and, more specifically, codified rules in the form of definitions of crime are essential parts of any society. “To classify crime among the phenomena of normal sociology,” he argues, is not to say merely that it is an inevitable, although regrettable phenomenon, due to the incorrigible wickedness of men; it is to affirm that it is a factor in public health, an integral part of all healthy societies…. Crime is, then, necessary; it is bound up with the fundamental conditions of all social life, and by that very fact it is useful.24 In a famous and frequently quoted passage, he states, Imagine a society of saints, a perfect cloister of exemplary individuals. Crimes, properly so called, will be there unknown; but faults which appear venial to the layman will create there the same scandal that the ordinary offense does in ordinary consciousness. If, then, this society has the power to judge and punish, it will define these acts as criminal and will treat them as such.25 Durkheim's usage of the term crime should easily and rightfully be understood to mean unconventional and

nonnormative behaviors as well as behaviors that are socially and formally defined as violations of some criminal code. Otherwise, it is difficult to understand how such unconventional and deviant behaviors can bring about changes. Why is unconventional criminality so important? Durkheim offers two complementary reasons. The first appears in The Rules of Sociological Method. What is normal, simply, is the existence of criminality…. Crime is normal because a society exempt from it is utterly impossible…. Crime implies not only that the way remains open to necessary changes, but that in certain cases it directly prepares these changes. Where crime exists, collective sentiments Page 21 →are sufficiently flexible to take on a new form, and crime sometimes helps to determine the form they will take.26 Durkheim's conclusion is that crime brings into being and sustains the flexibility necessary for cultures to adapt themselves to varying conditions. He views unconventionality and crime as positive essences because they are one (if not always the main) mechanism for social change. It is thus not surprising that Durkheim offers Socrates as an example of a renowned criminal: “According to Athenian law Socrates was a criminal, and his condemnation was no more than just. However, his crime, namely the independence of his thought, rendered a service not only to humanity but to his country. It served to prepare a new morality and faith.”27 Nelson Mandela is a more contemporary illustration of this kind of “criminal.” However, while Socrates's punishment was permanent, Mandela survived, and the core changed sufficiently that he became a hero.28 Thus, while Durkheim focused his terms on violations of a criminal code, noncriminal unconventional behavior has to be added to our analysis if we are interested in making a cultural extrapolation that extends beyond Durkheim's original insight. Socrates was an easy illustration for Durkheim. Socrates's crime was directly to challenge contemporary moral and political powers. Such a challenge, even today, would be reacted to quite severely and decisively. Powerful leaders in open societies, as well as in repressive regimes, do not like political challenges. Obviously, the context of each society will dictate different reactions. Nevertheless, in the context of each society, such reactions will, in all probability, be relatively severe. If a repressive regime could cause the deliberate death even of protests that include distributing leaflets29 or a demonstration in Tiananmen Square, a reversed process can take place in more open and liberal societies, where elected officials (including presidents) can be exposed to vile delegitimization and defaming campaigns in attempts to portray top leaders as traitors, stupid, and evil.30 Such societal reactions could actually help to define specific deviancies as political.31 The second reason Durkheim gives for the importance of criminality can be found in The Division of Labor in Society, where he states, The only common characteristic of all crimes is that they consist…in acts universally disapproved of by members of each society…. Crime shocks sentiments which…are found in all healthy consciences…. An act is criminal Page 22 →when it offends strong and defined states of the collective conscience…. Crime is everywhere essentially the same, since it everywhere calls forth the same effect…. Its primary and principal function is to create respect for…beliefs, traditions, and collective practices…. What characterizes crime is that it determines punishment…. Crime damages…unanimity and since it is the common conscience which is attacked, it must be that which resists, and accordingly the resistance must be collective. [Punishment's] true function is to maintain social cohesion intact.32 Even more specifically, Durkheim notes, Crime brings together upright consciences and concentrates them. We have only to notice what happens, particularly in a small town, when some moral scandal has just been committed. They stop each other on the street, they visit each other, they seek to come together to talk of the event and wax indignant in common. From all the similar impressions which are exchanged, for all the temper that

gets itself expressed, there emerges a unique temper—which is everybody's without being anybody's in particular. That is the public temper.33

Thus, Durkheim's work implies that unconventional behavior, deviant acts, and crimes present challenges to the symbolic-moral core of cultures. Reactions to these challenges can either solidify existing symbolic-moral boundaries or create a flexible ambience that may promote change. The reaction of a society to an act it deems unconventional, deviant, or criminal will range from overwhelmingly negative, to a mixture of negative and positive, to overwhelmingly positive. At the extremes, the challenge will either be stifled or incorporated into the core morality. In the more common cases of a mixed response, there will be discussions, debates, negotiations, and more subtle changes. While these scenarios are less complicated in less complex societies, they can become quite complicated in complex societies characterized by a multiplicity of groups that are often competing with each other. Here, however, I part company with Durkheim. He seemed to believe that societies had coherent moral systems, which are—supposedly—internalized in various processes of socialization.34 I join and expand newer comprehensions35 that societies are structured from different, often competing or even hostile symbolic-moral universes. Moreover, processes of differentiation Page 23 →and the creation of morally and culturally fragmented and heterogeneous cultures—or multiculturalism—have given rise to and made room for the activities of multiple moral entrepreneurs. These entrepreneurs are often at the cutting edges of challenges to cultural cores, and as the numbers of such agents increases, so do the challenges. A typical activity that moral entrepreneurs are immersed in is the launching of moral crusades and panics. Moral crusades are one form of moral enterprise.36 They occur when some social agents, dedicated to a specific morality, present a motivational accounting system as “a cause” and become socially and culturally active. They rally support in order to generate social power and use it to try and steer a culture in the direction they feel is right. Examples of such crusades include the attempt of part of the feminist movement to make pornography illegal37 and the temperance movement that brought about the criminalization of the use of various consciousness-altering substances (including—for a while—alcohol) in the early part of the 20th century. Moral entrepreneurs sometimes use the resource of morality to launch moral panics,38 many times in competitive and antagonistic social and cultural landscapes. Examples are the attempts of various moral entrepreneurs to legalize the usage of different psychoactive, consciousness-altering substances. Moral crusades have to persuade and recruit a significant portion of the society. Not only must they generate agreement about new ideas or the reaffirmation of older ideas, but they must utilize power that will be used to implement these ideas. The history of prominent religious figures provides ample illustrations of this process, as do the history of various art forms and the history of the sciences and politics. Gusfield's works on Prohibition in the United States (1963) and drinking (1981) and the work of Zurcher and others on pornography (Zurcher and Kirkpatrick 1976) and the thorny development of germ theory39 illustrate this very well. Technological innovations, undoubtedly, play a part, but these innovations are born from ideas, and their widespread utilization needs to be driven by entrepreneurship. Thus, we should conceptualize the different symbolic-moral universes that make complex societies as providing members with motivational accounting systems with which they can explain and understand their past and justify future behaviors. These systems, in turn, form the basis for different cultural and social identities. However, while I have established morality as a cornerstone and a necessary condition for understanding unconventionality, Page 24 →deviance, and crime within an analytical context of challenges to status quos, it is not sufficient. Power (and politics) is the next required ingredient, and it enters the picture in two ways. The first is in the construction of moral systems and gaining acceptance for them. The second is in their enforcement. Ultimately, this requires a capacity to apply sanctions to those who are recalcitrant or violate the moral codes. Howard Becker's classic statement is, perhaps, most relevant here. Social groups create deviance by making rules whose infraction constitutes deviance, and by applying those rules to particular people and labeling them as outsiders…. Deviance is not a quality of the act a person commits but rather a consequence of the application by others of rules and sanctions to an

‘offender.’ The deviant is one to whom that label has successfully been applied: deviant behavior is behavior that people so label.40

Deviants are those who simply do not have enough power to prevent others from defining them as such. In this sense, deviance is an ongoing conflict between those who have power and can enforce moral standards and those who lack such resources.41 Using brute power in such conflicts may be taken to imply that the powerful may fear challenges posed by individuals or groups that seem powerless.42 Edwin Schur, who coined the term deviantization process, referring to the process through which particular groups of people become stigmatized, pointed out that “stigma contests” are the major mechanism for such processes: “Partisans in collective stigma contests are widely engaged in the manipulation of political symbols for the control of public opinion.”43 Using power to enforce specific moral schemes always involves the utilization of systems of social control whose main goal is to stifle challenges and maintain the existing status quo.44 Some deviant and unconventional behaviors present an easier case for peeling the moral and political strata that cover it. Homosexuality, abortion, pornography, and prostitution are such cases. For example, it is not too difficult to expose the moral codes, as well as the power of the different sides to conflicts, behind giving support or raising objections to legalizing or criminalizing these behaviors. Acts considered to be political deviance are among the easiest to analyze using concepts of power and morality.45 It is more complicated to expose the moral and political strata in such cases as drug Page 25 →abuse, because, among other things, much of the moral and political debate and discourse is cloaked heavily behind medical and physiological rhetoric. The preceding interpretation gives rise to a somewhat ambiguous state of affairs regarding the nature of deviance and unconventionality. Indeed, Downes and Rock (1998) have pointed out that the ambiguity that lies at the root of both rules and rule breaking creates an interesting field. The sociology of deviance is not one coherent discipline at all but a collection of relatively independent versions of sociology. It is a common subject, not a common approach, which has given a tenuous unity to the enterprise…. Since deviance is strategic to all ideas of morality and politics, its explanation has been championed with great fervour. (1) They add that “the sociology of deviance contains not one vision but many” (3). Paying attention to inherent ambiguities, uncertainties, and contingencies in social life is one of the direct consequences of realizing that cultures are expressed in human behaviors and that the very same behaviors have the potential to alter cultures. Two trends characterize our behavior: it reflects culture (i.e., the conservative trend), and it creates culture (i.e., the innovative trend). For example, rhetoric is a powerful tool when we, as individuals, or when states, as large organizations, try to disseminate public accounts whose major goal is to persuade others in ideologies or actions. Trying to create accounts of justification in such cases is based on public rhetorics of legitimization (Jackson 2006). Indeed, Ferrell, Hayward, and Young (2008) emphasize that the meaning of deviance is in constant flux, influenced by many factors, such as values, uncertainties, and media's agenda settings. They recommend examining deviance in relevant cultural contexts and how some transgressions can produce creative cultural alternatives. Thinking of deviance as a possible source for and a reflection of cultural changes in cores and symbolic-moral universes drew attention from a few scholars. Already in 1977, sociologist Jack Douglas suggested the term creative deviance and argued that “deviance is the mutation that is generally destructive of society, but it is also the only major source of creative adaptations of rules to new life situations” (60). Thus, he suggested that entire cultures and societies can change through deviance. More recently, sociologist Bernhard Giesen wrote, Page 26 → But there is also another way of responding to the construction of deviance by the principal order. It consists of turning the seemingly evil moment of deviance into a creative breakthrough to the unknown. This is the way of modern art and literature, from the black romanticism of Novalis and

Edgar Allan Poe to Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Genet. Nietzsche and Bataille have provided the theoretical frames for this aesthetization of the evil. Following them the moment of deviance and transgression is also the moment in which the chains of normative order are suddenly broken and the boring façade of conventional wisdom crushed,…The monster takes the place of the miracle. 46

Indeed, a 2006 study by Wells and others demonstrated empirically that deviance can be associated with creativeness. Furthermore, Brisman (2010) coins the term creative crime to explore the role that such phenomena as cultural jamming, interventionism, and sabotage play in inspiring cultural changes. The realization that both unconventionality and deviance can be easily interpreted as challenges to existing status quos does not mean that every criminal is a hero of the Robin Hood type.47 It does imply that behavior that may be once defined as unconventional or deviant and exposed to ridicule, shame, and stigmatization or even to criminalization may—in the longer run—be a source for innovative new social realities. Indeed, Durkheim's usage of Socrates as an example in this context is illuminating. Consistent with my view of interactive processes, we need to consider societal reactions to new ideas as capable, eventually, to determine whether they will be accepted or rejected. These reactions will also determine whether the bearers of these ideas will be hailed as heroes or shunned like folk devils or despised deviants. There are numerous historical illustrations to show that behaviors and ideas once condemned as deviant became later redefined as mainstream and legitimate and vice versa;48 that is, their interaction with and shaping of cultural cores and symbolic-moral universes reflects the typical complex and ambiguous situation of negotiating and molding cultures. That once unorthodox and unconventional ideas, behaviors, and practices became later orthodoxy and conventional is easy to document across a large number of areas, including science (e.g., radio astronomy, the Ptolemaic view of the universe), painting (e.g., impressionism), medicine (e.g., ulcer), music (e.g., rock), politics (e.g., fascism), literature, and various (old and new) religious forms. The reverse process also took place. Page 27 → Let us look at some examples. When modern chemistry began to develop in the 18th century, phlogiston was assumed (but not proved) to explain the process of burning. In fact, the most influential development of chemistry theory of the 18th century was the phlogiston theory. Phlogiston was conceptualized to be nonsupernatural, present in all combustible materials, and an explanation for combustion. When Joseph Priestley's discovery of oxygen was made public in 1775 (as “dephlogisticated air”), the dominance of the phlogiston theory was at an end. Another example is the development of radio astronomy. Until the late 1940s, astronomy was mostly based on optical means. Only in the late 1940s did radio astronomy begin to emerge as an independent and important scientific specialty within astronomy. One of the early proponents of radio astronomy was Grote Reber, a radio engineer from Wheaton, Illinois. His first works took place in the late 1930s. However, his attempts to persuade contemporary astronomers to utilize radio in order to observe the universe were met with disbelief, ridicule, and exclusion.49 Eventually, of course, radio astronomy has become a main specialization in astronomy. Barry Marshall and Robin Warren, who were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for their discovery that peptic ulcer disease was primarily caused by Helicobacter pylori, faced significant opposition to the discovery before it became orthodoxy.50 Another example is provided by the term caloric, a term prevalent in the 18th century. The theory existed that heat is a fluid called caloric and that this fluid flows from high to low temperature zones. Both phlogiston and caloric theories are considered “deviant” today. The field of astronomy also had a few cases of initially popular theories that were later rejected. The first, most obvious example was the dominance of Aristotelian cosmology in the later Middle Ages. This cosmology was reconciled with Christian theology in the 13th century through St. Thomas Aquinas's impressive synthesis that stated, among other things, that the earth was motionless at the center of the universe. Around it, so it was believed, were a number of moving spheres that formed an arch over the earth and filled the entire universe. Ptolemy, the Alexandrian astronomer, systematized this construct, which remained virtually unchallenged until the 16th century. Today one cannot find chemists experimenting with phlogiston or physicists formulating

hypotheses according to the Ptolemyian cosmology. If scientists would try to work within these defunct paradigms or concepts (with the exception of historical or sociological research), they Page 28 →would no doubt be labeled deviants and be rejected by the scientific community. Clearly, all these cases reflect profound changes in cultural cores and their symbolic-moral universes. Decisions about what is and what is not “deviance” and “unconventionality”—that is, in cultural cores and their symbolic-moral universes—are influenced by negotiations about power and morality, are relative culturally and historically, and give rise to some fascinating illustrations.51 One vivid illustration for profound changes in core definitions of what is and what is not considered as “deviance” can be easily found in Robert R. Bell's 1971 textbook. Like many other textbooks on deviance and unconventionality, his textbook has two main parts. The first part reviews contemporary theories relevant to the study of deviance, and the second part presents—in different chapters—various cases of deviance. Obviously, it should not be too difficult to view these chapters as presenting what the field of deviance views as deviance. Moreover, one can infer that the order of the presentation of the cases may have something to do with the importance of the topics. How, then, did Bell present the empirical bread and butter of the field in 1971? The first empirical chapter that presents a case of deviance, 24 pages long, is devoted to and focused on “premarital sex.” The last three chapters in that book are on, respectively, “militant women,” “militant students,” and “the Hippie movement.” If one looks at the development of one of the longlasting and established textbooks on deviant behavior, that of Erich Goode,52 one can see that such cases of deviance and unconventionality as drug usage, homosexuality, violent behavior (including homicide and rape), property crimes, and mental disorders starred in its second edition53 (as well as in another established textbook—that by Alex Thio).54 A chapter on ideological, ethical, and moral implications of studying deviance was added in its fifth edition (1997) and much more forcefully in its sixth and seventh editions (published in 2001 and 2005, respectively), and the sixth and seventh editions already had chapters on cognitive deviance (focusing on religious deviance, parapsychology, ufology, and urban legends—a category that appeared in Jack D. Douglas and Frances C. Waksler's textbook already in 1982) and physical aberrations, with the result that previous subjects were condensed and presented in a much more concise manner. Such deviancies as shoplifting and massage parlors, which appeared quite saliently in the 1978 edition, disappeared completely in the 2005 edition. It will not take much from any observer who examines different textbooks on deviance and unconventionality from the last 25 years to realize that different texts Page 29 →focused on different issues (although most texts kept what was perceived as the bread and butter of deviance and unconventionality—e.g., homosexuality, violence, and sexrelated deviancies). To the preceding illustrations, we may add others from distant cultures and historical periods. We today consider incest as a most serious offense. However, Cleopatra's first marriage was to her younger brother. She was the result of her mother's marriage to her brother. In fact, we have historical accounts that sexual relations and marriages between siblings were, in some ancient cultures, a privilege of upper, nobility and royalty classes. In certain situations of war, combatants practice rape but are not prosecuted and are sometimes even encouraged to do it. Killing people is not always forbidden, and there are situations when killing people becomes mandatory and sometimes even rewarded. When examining acts we consider “deviant,” it is always a good idea to separate between the act and the cultural interpretation of the act (e.g., how we label it) and to look for similar acts and cultural interpretations in both history and other cultures. Studying deviance and unconventionality within a historical context means that we stand a fairly good chance of facing issues of morality, power, and ambiguity, on the one hand, and problems focused on the very nature and characterization of these concepts, on the other. This is so because the situation reflects the complex and interactively ambiguous nature of cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes. Such a view would show that normalizing behaviors once considered deviant and vice versa are not such rare occasions. Only recently, Dombrink and Hillyard (2007) documented changing moralities in the first decade of the 21st century in the United States and pointed out that gambling went through a process of normalization as moralities changed. They suggest that changing moralities are likely to produce normalization processes of abortion, gay rights, assisted suicide, and stem cell research. Indeed, Delaney (2008) examines a large number of cases demonstrating the changing standards for acceptable behavior in the United States. Perhaps countrywide normalization of drug

use and homosexuality is on the radar screen as well.55

DEVIANCE WITHIN HISTORICAL CONTEXTS—PAST EFFORTS Examining the characterization and perceptions of unconventional behavior and deviance in a historical context involves looking at cultural cores and Page 30 →their symbolic-moral universes and has characterized most of my previous works. This book continues this effort. I have tried to analyze unconventionality and deviance from the preceding perspective in such cases as the European witch craze of the 15th through 17th centuries (1985), political assassinations (1993), national myths (1995, 2002), betrayal and treason (2001), and state-religion relations (2010). I here summarize some of these works so that their context and connection to this work might become clearer. When examining betrayal and treason, for example, one can and should ask whether acts characterized as betrayal or treason make a difference in areas other than the act itself. Betrayal seems to form a major cultural concern, is expressed in numerous areas, and is a salient element in cultural cores. For example, it lies behind the loss of the battle of Leonidas and his Spartans in the pass of Thermopylae, it is blamed for the Roman apprehension of Jesus, and betrayal—in the form of “infidelity”—is a major cause for the breaking up of marriages. From the micro to the macro levels of cultural phenomena, including the arts, the main characteristic that lies behind betrayal and treason is violations of trust and loyalty. Such violations play a very major part in redefining the boundaries of symbolic-moral universes—that is, defining the nature of what betrayals and treason are—and hence play major parts in processes of cultural change and stability in cultural cores. When we add to these central characteristics issues of secrecy, in-out group violations, and individual versus collective patterns, we get a fascinatingly rich kaleidoscope of various phenomena lumped under the title “betrayal treason.” For just one illustration for the importance of this element, let me point out that treason is the only crime defined in the U.S. Constitution.56 The names of Judas Iscariot, Josephus Flavius, Lord Haw-Haw, Tokyo Rose, Benedict Arnold, Malinche (Dona Marina), Vidkun Quisling, Edward VIII, Ezra Pound, Andrey Vlasov, Jonathan Pollard, John Walker and his family, and a large bunch of other traitors and betrayers shine like dark diamonds in the history (and national mythologies) of different nations and cultures and have played major parts in the way these nations conducted and define their identities. National mythologies—key components in cultural cores—are another area where examining mass deceptions has become a fascinating topic. More and more researchers are exposing the facts behind these mythologies, and one is left pondering about the power of myths that are supposed to symbolically unify a nation or an ethnic group and are based on falsifications Page 31 →and fabrications.57 One area where such myths are relatively easy to expose is archaeology. There are quite a few works contrasting archaeological truth with mythologies.58 My own work examined the Masada myth. According to this myth, created by early 20th-century Jewish settlers, 960 heroic Jewish rebels committed mass suicide at the fortress of Masada in 73 CE rather than surrender to the overwhelming force of their Roman oppressors. This misleading version of what happened at Masada seemed to receive solid scientific validation during the archaeological excavations at the ancient wilderness stronghold from 1963 to 1965. In two separate studies (1995 and 2002), I was able to show how and why the Masada myth was created, how it was used to solidify the identity of a new nation, and how and why the interpretations of the archaeological excavations were biased in the direction of the myth. The Masada mythical narrative is a heroic tale. It states that the proud Jews in the Provincia Judaia revolted at around 66 CE against the oppressive Roman yoke, seeking their freedom from bondage and cruelty. The Zealots spearheaded the revolt. Unfortunately for the Jews, the imperial Roman army crushed the revolt with brute force. The fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE and the burning and destruction of the Jewish Second Temple signified the end of the major part of the revolt. After the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans, the remaining Zealots escaped to Masada. The Romans laid siege to Masada. The Zealots fought valiantly and raided the Roman positions over a period of three years. However, when they realized that there was no longer any hope to win and that the choice was either death or wretched slavery, they all chose to kill themselves. The Masada mythical narrative was invented and developed in a prolonged process. Its early elements were

debated already in the 1920s in British-occupied Palestine. Mostly a few secular Zionist moral entrepreneurs crystallized the narrative during the 1930s and 1940s. As so many point out, the fabricated crystallization of the secular Jewish Masada heroic myth in the early 1940s was necessary because the founding fathers of the Jewish state required heroic tales to help create a new secular Jewish national and personal identity, an identity of a modern Jew who felt connected to his or her physical homeland and the nation's ancestors and internalized the mystical connection between Jewish fearless warriors of times past and present. The development of a heroic myth in the early 1940s received strong additional stimulus by the obvious threat posed by Field Marshall Erwin Rommel's Page 32 →Nazi Afrika Korps advancements in North Africa in 1941–43. Developing and believing in a Jewish heroic “last stand” at that time was more than understandable. Indeed, Yigael Yadin subtitled the 1966 English version of his book on Masada “Herod's Fortress and The Zealots’ Last Stand.” For secular Zionism, which preached that Jews should return to their homeland of Zion, creating this symbolically powerful and mystical connection bridging the gap between “heroic Jews then” and “heroic Jews now” was essential. After all, Zionism aimed to alter the central cultural cores of the Jews in the most significant way. The political and ideological statement was that Jews have always lived in Zion and have always fought for it and, if necessary, died for it. The Masada mythical narrative was a vibrant core element in that task. Moreover, in the early 1940s, the threat of a Nazi invasion to Palestine was very real when Rommel's Afrika Korps advanced on northern Africa toward Egypt. A model cognitive tale of what was to be done was called for in the face of that threat. Masada played a major role in that historical era. When the excavations of Masada took place, therefore, the Masada mythical narrative was very well established. It was embraced by the state of Israel as one of its representative mythologies, as thousands of youth were made to climb the rock of Masada and study the myth. The Masada mythical narrative became a cornerstone in the shaping of national and personal identities—that is, of a cultural core—for millions of (mostly secular) Israeli Jews in modern Israel. Counteracting this mythical narrative is Josephus Flavius's source about the fateful events in Masada. Adhering to Josephus's text reveals a narrative that is far from heroic. The story of Masada is not a discrete and isolated historical sequence. It was part of the 66–73 CE Jewish revolt against the Roman Empire. While this revolt tried to alter the physical and symbolic status of contemporary Jews—that is, to reshape their cultural cores—it ended up as a majestic failure on the part of the Jews. They suffered a bitter and humiliating military and political defeat, and the Roman army was involved in burning the Jewish Second Temple to the ground. Masada was the last chapter in the suppression of that revolt by the imperial Roman army. Josephus's account includes strong criticism about the decision to rebel. In the first century CE, the Roman Empire was at its peak of military power, controlling vast areas from today's Britain to Mesopotamia. Deciding to revolt against such a military might certainly demanded some serious military strategy, as well as political strategy. There is no evidence for either. During the revolt, a few Jewish ideological groups existed, presenting Page 33 →different and sometimes competing cultural cores, as well as different symbolic-moral universes. Two are most relevant for Masada and the myth: the Sicarii and the Zealots.59 The Zealots probably carried the main burden of the revolt, but the connection between them and the Sicarii is not entirely clear. When Josephus provides us with the story of Masada, he is quite consistent as he leaves no doubt in the fact that the people of Masada were Sicarii. The name Sicarii comes from the name of a small dagger, a sica, which these people used to hide beneath their robes. They used these daggers to assassinate their opponents and to create unrest. The Sicarii were the first known group of Jews who preached and practiced political assassinations.60 That Josephus was not a supporter of these assassins is obvious. In Jerusalem, the Sicarii were involved in so many acts of violence and killings against other Jews that they were persecuted, and their leader, Menachem Ben-Yehuda, was caught and tortured to death. They were forced to flee the city. Headed by their Sicarii leader, Elazar Ben-Yair, they escaped to and conquered Masada, probably in 66 CE.61 All this took place long before the Roman army put a siege on and decimated the city. The Sicarii were to remain at Masada to their end. Josephus mentions an unrest involving the Sicarii in Alexandria in Egypt after the fall of Masada, but it is unclear from where these specific Sicarii exactly came to Egypt. Josephus only states that they came from Judea, fleeing the war there. While in Masada, the Sicarii raided villages. One of these raids was on the nearby Jewish settlement of Ein Geddi. According to Josephus, the Sicarii raided Ein Geddi during Passover. They chased the men out; killed 700 of the women, children, and weak; and took the victims’

food supplies to Masada. Moreover, the Sicarii refused to leave Masada and go to Jerusalem to help the besieged Jews there fight the Romans. Following the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE, there were three fortresses left with rebels: Herodion, Macherus, and Masada. The first two were conquered, and then, after an intermission (caused by the sudden death of the Roman governor of Judea and the appointment of a new governor, Flavius Silva), the Roman army laid siege to Masada, the last rebel-held fortress. The siege may have begun late in the winter of 72 CE and lasted until the spring of 73 CE. It was a standard Roman siege system62 that probably lasted no more than five to twelve weeks.63 It was not accompanied by any major or significant resistance by the Sicarii. When the Sicarii realized that there was no escape for them, they decided, influenced probably by Ben-Yair's two persuasive speeches and possibly by some coercion, Page 34 →to commit collective suicide rather than become slaves to the Romans. The Masada story as told by Josephus is definitely not a heroic tale. It is a tale of a doomed revolt, about a group of Jewish assassins who did not fight the Romans and chose suicide instead (rather than, say, a Samsonite end). As I have detailed elsewhere (1995), secular Zionism in the early decades of the 20th century transformed this sad and tragic story into a heroic myth. My studies into the Masada myth examined not only how a factually falsified myth lay at the root of a process of creating a new Jewish consciousness, molding a new cultural core, but how this consciousness disintegrated as Israeli culture itself changed. Viewing the Masada myth and excavations within processes of change and stability in a cultural core was a very illuminating exercise for examining how a deviant belief system lay at the symbolic foundation of a nation. In fact, nationalism and archaeology seem to be prone to such exercises of deceiving the masses of unsuspecting audiences and raises some fascinating questions about the nature of lies and deceptions (much like in the case of betrayals and treason). Examining the gap between different accounts of Masada brought into the fore another major issue—that of remembering and forgetting and of collective memory. A focal point for inquiry became how continuity of cultural (collective) memory and commemoration, as well as cultural forgetfulness and discontinuity (and cultural traumas), play a role in molding cultural cores. Overall, my works on the Masada myth present an attempt to examine deviance within a historical and cross-cultural view of it, contrasting overt presentations of deviance with underlying realities (done mostly by using a constructionist perspective). These examinations focused on trying to view how these occurrences and contrasts can be interpreted within processes of change and stability in cultural cores. Challenges to the status quo are routine and ongoing activities. Whether these challenges will be a jumping board for changes in cultural cores and symbolicmoral universes or will be stifled and reinforce existing cultural patterns depends on arrays of morality and power. Such challenges, arrays, and consequences can be easily viewed when observing moral entrepreneurs and moral panics.

COLLECTIVE MEMORY Recent decades have witnessed a tremendous interest in the study of memory.64 The bulge of relevant research has grown to such a magnitude that it Page 35 →might eventually form the basis for establishing a new discipline. Despite the large volume of empirical and theoretical work, however, much is still fuzzy.65 The very name of the field is not a simple issue, because even such terms as collective memory or social memory seem to compete with one another. Moreover, under the general headline of collective memory, one finds such diverse areas as memoirs, nostalgia, autobiographies, commemoration, remorse, apologies (and sometimes reparations) for past infractions, cultural legacies, memory and archeology, and more. The field seems to have two basic perspectives. One assumes that there was a past and that we need to contrast that past with how it is constructed and presented in the present.66 The assumption is that some events or processes did indeed take place and that the interesting and valid research pattern to follow is to examine how and why this past is interpreted, molded, and presented in the present. Barry Schwartz refers to this perspective as the “continuity perspective.”67 The other perspective assumes that there was no “past” and that whatever is presented as the “past” is a construction of manipulative and interested agents who create pasts that fit interests of the present. Schwartz refers to this perspective as the “discontinuity perspective.” He describes the difference between these two perspectives as the difference between memory as a lamp and memory as a mirror (2000). Geertz (1973)

developed an earlier and somewhat parallel distinction between memory as a model for society or memory as a model of society. It is possible, of course, to try and integrate these approaches. For example, there are cases where a genuine and bona fide “past”—one based, however, on old, weak, and flimsy evidence—served as an anvil on which a vigorous and compelling construction of the past was made. Whatever perspective we use to look at collective or social memory, it is based—partly at least—on manipulation of real events (e.g., by constructing specific and selective sequences of events) and often on inventing and fabricating others. This implies that some form of deceit may sometimes lie at its roots. That manipulations, misrepresentations, and fabrications seem to characterize some significant elements in these areas suggests that there are analytical and empirical links between this type of memory and myth (which I will discuss shortly). As Olick's works indicate, the conceptual problems with “collective memory” do not come to an end with the two competing perspectives. The field seems to suffer from some significant fuzziness in definitions, concepts, methodologies, and characterizations, and new and bold researchers Page 36 →try—continuously—to introduce ideas and concepts that may help clarify and stabilize the growing conceptual forest. One interesting and relevant attempt is that made by Jeffrey Alexander and others to integrate research on collective memory and commemoration (which gives memory some significant moral value) with that on national/cultural trauma. A cultural trauma occurs “when members of a collective feel they have been subjected to a horrendous event that leaves inedible marks upon their group consciousness, marking their memories forever and changing their future identity in fundamental and irrevocable ways.”68 The occurrence of something horrendous is not sufficient for it to be a trauma, however. As Alexander and his colleagues have pointed out, a trauma “is something constructed by society.”69 For an event (real or constructed) to be effective in having and leaving an impact, it must be remembered and commemorated. This requires that memory agents commit themselves to do memory work. Some tangible proofs of a trauma—whether textual or physical/material—are always a most welcome addition and are sought after by the moral entrepreneurs who are involved in the process of commemoration and remembering. If none exists, I suppose one can always be fabricated. This interesting complex of memory, commemoration, and trauma is linked directly to the essential issue of social identity. Acquiring social identities is done via socialization processes with culture-specific contents. Cultural cores are based on traditions and hence on memory and commemoration. But constructing social memory, whether based on actual events or artifacts or on fabrications, is a social process that shapes consciousness, molds identities, and forms cores. For example, works by Kohl and Fawcett (1995) and Kohl, Kozelsky, and BenYehuda (2007) demonstrate how different cultures tried to rely on archaeological artifacts—real, imaginary, or fabricated—to construct national pasts and thus to help shape and crystallize socially based national and individual identities and cores. Moreover, my work on the Masada myth (1995, 2002) has shown how the historical narrative of 1st-century Masada, which is a sad narrative of defeat, mass killings, and gloomy future, was transformed in the 20th century into a narrative of heroism, first by oral and ceremonial rituals and later—in a much more persuasive manner—by archaeological excavations. While the 20th-century social remembrance and commemoration of Masada had very little to do with the original historical narrative, it did affect generations Page 37 →of young people and helped to mold and form a new national past, as well as to forge new cultural cores and, consequently, new national and social identities. Memories tell members of different cultures where they come from and direct them to where they should be going.70 Using the past in a persuasive way helps to suspend general disbelief and doubt and connects generations of people to a believable and trustworthy past. The quality of this mystic connection can pave a solid road for future action. Remember “Remember the Alamo!”? Since collective or social memory needs to be created, sustained, and diffused, somebody has to do it. Research shows us that behind most collective (or social) memories are moral entrepreneurs (and memory agents) who are busy launching moral crusades and sometimes moral panics utilizing the past. Social memory is, by nature, flexible. What was once remembered as one thing can be remembered as an entirely different thing later. Schwartz's research on how the memory of Lincoln changed in different periods (e.g., from nonproblematic to problematic) is a good illustration.71 This elasticity allows much needed flexibility when engaging social memories in the construction of cultural identities.

MYTH Peter Robinson has claimed, “Societies constructed myths about the creation of the world and their place in it…. People with aspirations for achieving or sustaining their power would attach themselves to creation myths.”72 Focusing on illustrations from such areas as religion, science, and politics, the issue of “people believing falsehoods” occupied much of Robinson's 1996 work. Mythology certainly plays an important part in his presentation. The term Robinson chooses to describe these myths is instructive: he calls them “noble lies” (295). Moreover, his analysis proceeds from creation myth to heroic legend (296), stating that both “are but two examples of major cultural institutions where truth was initially received truth” (299). Robinson takes the fact that people believe major falsehoods as a central trait of contemporary cultures.73 Indeed, these beliefs create difficulties for anyone trying to establish clear lines between truth and falsehoods. It is thus important that we try to understand the nature of this elusive concept of “myths.” Page 38 → My approach to mythologies is complemented by my analysis of betrayal and treason (2001), in which I used the term interpretative truth, meaning a truth that is based on combining facts in different and creative ways. Political claims, ideologies, social identities, romantic involvements—all are illustrative of this type of truth. Interpretative truth typically takes as building blocks some factual truths and integrates them into what looks like a coherent, systematic, and credible narrative. The type of facts taken into account (selection), the differential weights they are given, and the way in which they are combined may vary. Doty's comprehensive survey of myths illustrates the complexity involved in defining myth. He states that myth “is understood as referring to the basic religious or philosophical beliefs of a culture, expressed through ritual behavior or through the graphic or literary arts.”74 He points out that there are other, more negative approaches that emphasize myth as the untrue, the fantastic, and the unreal: “Myth had been understood as deceit, as a falsifying construct, an understanding mirrored in many dictionaries where myth is first described as ‘primarily fictitious’” (1986, 7). Doty dryly admits, “I now have a list of more than fifty individual definitions, chosen on the basis of eliminating duplications. Fifty!” (9).75 For Doty, a mythological corpus consists of (1) a usually complex network of myths that are (2) culturally important (3) imaginative (4) stories, conveying by means of (5) metaphoric and symbolic diction, (6) graphic imagery, and (7) emotional conviction and participation, (8) the primal, foundational accounts (9) of aspects of the real, experienced world and (10) humankind's roles and relative statuses within it. Mythologies may (11) convey the political and moral values of a culture and (12) provide systems of interpreting (13) individual experience within a universal perspective, which may include (14) the intervention of superhuman entities as well as (15) aspects of the natural and cultural orders. Myths may be enacted or reflected in (16) rituals, ceremonies, and dramas, and (17) they may provide materials for secondary elaboration, the constituent myth themes having become merely images or reference points for a subsequent story, such as a folktale, historical legend, novella, or prophecy.76 We may think of such religious or macro mythologies as Greek mythology, but let me give another illustration. Kuzmarov's (2009) meticulous historical Page 39 →research indicates that the claim that American soldiers in Vietnam used drugs (“the addicted army”) and that this practice was one of the causes of losing the war there is a myth. His work shows that this claim has no basis in reality and that it was used by the American war hawks to justify the failure of that war. The mythical “addicted army” was used, according to his work, to alter perceptions about that war, and it was based on falsehoods. The characterizing quality of “myth” that is used in this example (as well as in the Masada myth mentioned earlier in this chapter) focuses on myth as a falsifying construct. This approach to myths is crucial for understanding this particular element in the structure of cultural cores. It is the falsifiable nature of myths that opens the door for activists in symbolic-moral universes to challenge the validity and trustworthiness of myths and, consequently, the belief in them. A closely related topic is that of political myths—such that are used in processes of nation building. Tudor's leading definition states that a political myth is “an interpretation of what the myth-maker (rightly or wrongly)

takes to be hard fact.” “It remains only to add,” he continues, “that there is, from a formal point of view, nothing distinctive about a political myth…. What marks a myth as being political is its subject matter.”77 A crisper approach to political myth was proposed by Friedrich and Brzezinski: “A myth is typically a tale concerned with past events, giving them a special meaning and significance for the present and thereby reinforcing the authority of those who are wielding power in a particular community.”78 My characterization of a myth, the one I use in this book, is that it is a particular portrayal of a sequence of “events” (real or imaginary) that is characterized by a number of attributes distinguishing this sequence from a regular historical account: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

An attitude of sacredness A high degree of symbolization A dimension of morality, that of an instructive lesson A frequent demand for action from the listener (real or symbolic), either immediately or in the future A conscious “choice” of specific events and a disregard of others, distinctly different from the historical context 6. A simple narrative in which the moral world is painted simplistically in terms of “good” and “bad,” sometimes even in short slogansPage 40 → 7. An impressive site with an impressive environment attached to the mythical tale A myth is not meant to report an objective and full truth. It is a selective sequence of real or imaginary events, constructed and packed in a special and peculiar narrative. To call a story “a myth” implies, at the very least, that its connection to reality is questionable; it is a tale, perhaps a legend. Myths in general and national myths in particular are processed on the individual level through “master frames” (and processes). These frames produce criteria for and sensitize individuals to what to pay attention to, what to ignore, and how to combine one's knowledge into a systematic, consistent, and coherent worldview. Thus, master frames explain cultural integrative structures that are utilized by members as experience organizers; that is, they are utilized by individuals in order to make sense of their empirical reality, transforming factual truths into interpretative truths. Indeed, Yael Zerubavel's 1995 work applied the concept of a master narrative to some national mythical narratives. Mythical tales are part of cultural cores and are aimed at converting and transforming the attitudes, feelings, and consciousness of the receivers.79 They are meant to create attitudes, stir emotions, and help construct particular social realities conducive to the purposes of those diffusing the myth. Consequently, there is a tendency to relate mythical tales in specific settings, because the atmosphere in which the tale unfolds may influence the listener and may help create emotions, attitudes, and social constructions of reality. As such, myths constitute very central motivating forces in the political, economic, religious, and educational spheres.80 Myths become particularly important in times of beginnings, such as the early stages of the crystallization of a nation, or in attempts to recruit and rally the masses. This is naturally so because these are formative times for cultural cores. Now that we have looked at the symbolic elements that are involved in cultural changes, it becomes easier for us to understand how and why cultures change. Moreover, this understanding paves the way to analytical understanding of whether there is a direction of cultural challenges and, if so, what that direction is. Societies and cultures are constantly faced with challenges to the status quo that frequently emerge from ideas fermenting in individual members in a large number of spheres: the arts, sciences, religion, politics, family life, commercial markets, journalism, movies, theater, Page 41 →and so on. Many of these challenges are formulated within the context of moral reactions and enterprises. Some of these ideas will be accepted and will promote significant changes in the boundaries of societal symbolic-moral universes. Others will be pushed away and will produce no change in boundaries but will enhance and reaffirm the older boundaries. Because we know how and from where challenges come, we can analyze these challenges and examine their impact. What we cannot do, given our present state of knowledge in social science, is to predict which challenges will be accepted and what the direction or directions of change, if any, will be; that is, we can tell from where and how challenges come, but we cannot

tell where they are going. The latter understanding will only be possible once a specific movement begins.81 If this formulation sounds like Darwin's oriented theory of survival of the fittest, that is so because it does indeed resemble it. However, the significant differences between the two make the comparison and analogy valid only on a superficial level. Evolution assumes the emergence of various genetic mutations, some or one of which will give a mutated species a survival advantage in a given environment in terms of the adaptability of offspring to environmental change. The conceptualization presented here focuses on nonbiologically transmitted ideas and behaviors, and some of these ideas have the capacity to actually change (not adapt to given) social and physical ecologies. These are very significant differences as compared to evolution theory. Considering the preceding formulations directs us to examine unconventional behavior, myth, and social memory in the context of change and stability of social and cultural systems, particularly in cultural cores and symbolicmoral universes. Historical perspectives will have an advantage in this context. However, there is also a problem in this suggestion. We need to remember that the name and hence the meaning that we assign to a behavior (or the content we attribute to a “past”) depends on the symbolic-moral universe in which it emerges and is used. For example, what we refer to as “unconventional deviance” today may become “conventional orthodoxy” tomorrow. Deciding what conventional behavior is and what it is not thus depends on context and history. But most of all, it depends on moral reactions and power. Launching moral crusades and panics is a striking illustration for this conclusion. While cultural cores are interactively fuzzy, the symbolic-moral boundaries Page 42 →that envelope these cores seem to have more of a tangible and less fuzzy nature. They have to be this way because these universes are the arenas where negotiations about the boundaries of what is allowed and what is not are constantly taking place, and many people do not find it easy to live with fuzzy or ambiguous boundaries. A short illustration for this is war. Often involving violence on a mass scale, destruction of property, and deliberate killing of humans, wars have become a major activity of humans. Delineating the symbolic-moral universes as well as the practice of wars is a complex but not very difficult task. We think that we know war once we encounter it. Still, defining it may not be simple. Let us examine some problematic illustrations. A most famous totemic father of military thought is Carl von Clausewitz, an influential German military theoretician and soldier of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. He characterized war as “an act of force to compel our enemy to do our will…that is physical force.”82 Clausewitz's characterization may have difficulties if the goal of war is to physically annihilate an enemy. Moreover, during wars, rivals may become subdued because of threats, intimidations, deceptions, lack of enough stamina, and more, without necessarily being subject to physical force. Clausewitz could not possibly have thought of cyber wars. Furthermore, when we try to approach one of the main social characteristics of war, militarism, we begin to encounter more difficulties. Just examine how two relevant sources try to define it: Strachan states that militarism is “a veneration of military values and appearances in excess of what is strictly necessary for effective defense”;83 or Sheffield's characterization of it as “a situation where the armed forces have a strong degree of political influence and even power within the state.”84 These two scholars use such terms as “in access” and “a strong degree,” which are fuzzy by nature.85 Moreover, relying on Max Weber's discussions of authority and legitimation, Jackson (2006) points out, in the context of international relations (24–27), that processes of legitimation yield boundaries and limits of action and that “by limiting action, they produce an actor, demarcating a sphere in which that actor can then legitimately act” (25). Thus, Jackson argues persuasively, answers to such questions as what motivates states to adhere to or ignore international norms are to be found not in examining motivations but through empirically based observations of “the public pattern of justifications for a course of action” (24), because “legitimation is a crucial aspect of boundaries” (25). Indeed, I have already pointed out in my 1990 work, Page 43 →which focused on politics and deviance, that the empirical way to identify symbolic moral universes and their boundaries is to examine publicly transmitted motivational accounting systems (4–31).

SUMMARY Cultures and societies are always in flux—not always at the same intensity or pace, but in flux nevertheless. This

fluctuation is a direct result of continuous challenges to status quos (i.e., to given cultural cores) and the negotiations, debates, and confrontations that result from these processes and focus on unconventional and deviant behaviors, social memories, traumas, and myths. As noted already, any specific challenge can produce significant changes but can also be reacted to in a way that may stifle the challenge and enhance a no-change situation. It is thus obvious that we can tell from where cultures and societies are coming, but telling where they are going requires that we have some meaningful information of the relevant process. The main reason for this in-built uncertainty is that—contrary to Darwinian evolution—the challenges we are discussing here are not meant to adapt human behaviors to varying cultural and societal environmental conditions but are capable of and in fact do change cultures, societies, and even the environment in which they operate. This uncertainty is built into processes of change and stability and gives rise to significant ambiguity. Moreover, this uncertainty is necessary for these processes to operate properly. Since I have presented an approach suggesting that cultural changes need to be examined at their symbolic cores, which are composed of three elements, the next task is to take an actual case and look at it. While the factors discussed in this chapter—unconventional or deviant behavior, collective memory, and myth—are important in effecting change in cultural cores, my focus in this book will be primarily on deviance and secondarily on social remembering. There are many possible cases to examine according to the model presented here. I will examine the case of wars generally and unrestricted submarine warfare specifically, simply because I find it interesting and instructive.

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2 Developing Submarines WAR MACHINES: THE BOMBER AS A BACKGROUND EXAMPLE Military thinking about goals of war and its conduct can be and were influenced by available weapons technology.1 Technology gave the military such weapons as the machine gun (which played a decisive role during the massive clashes and bloodbaths in the trench battles of World War I), the big guns, tanks, the bomber, the battleship, and the submarine. While some of these weapons (e.g., the machine gun, the tank) were designed primarily for use on the battlefield, other weapons were designed for other uses and, in fact, expanded the cultural definition of what a “battlefield” was. For example, developing long-range weapons with more intensive destructive power could help direct military thinking more and more into a concept of a war in which combat is not just between armies who clash directly but is aimed at faraway infrastructures and civilian populations. Such conceptualization is not necessarily dictated by the technology as such but is the result of cultural decisions about how to use such weapons and developing persuasive justifications for such use. Two developing technologies helped military planners and thinkers into trying to apply and incorporate them into ideas of what the goals of wars should be, adopt them into battle situations, and promote their actual usage. These new ideas altered perceptions about moralities and, consequently, altered cultural cores in a profound way and opened the door for new and innovative ways of doing battle (as well as redefining what a battlefield is). These two new developing technologies were the bomber and the submarine.2 It is thus appropriate to have a very short glimpse at the development of air bombardment of cities and then move on to submarines. For many years, wars were mainly conducted on the ground. The idea of using the air to fight a war belonged to the genres of fantasy and science Page 45 →fiction or mythologies. Only when technology developed and reliable machines that could fly became a reality did ideas about how to use such machines in wars begin to be considered by military planners. The first such machines were, of course, airships, particularly zeppelins. How could such airships be used in a military context? Uses that come to mind include observation posts, intelligence gatherings, transportation of ground forces, moving supplies, and other such errands. However, could these ships also be used for actual combat, perhaps to bomb or strafe enemy positions or in battles pitting one airship against another? Major disadvantages of these airships were that they were slow to move, and German airships used hydrogen gas, which could easily ignite and doom everyone aboard. Nevertheless, it did not take much time for military planners to realize that one could send such slow ships, traveling at very high altitudes, to drop bombs on cities. Indeed, already during World War I and beginning in 1915, German zeppelins were used to bomb British cities3 and, in fact, preceded the bomber.4 These bombardments had a few purposes, such as revenge against the British naval blockade of Germany, demonstrating that German military power could damage British civilian life just like the British naval blockade could damage German civilian life, and terrorizing citizens and causing a problem in their morale aimed to erode their support of the war. Indeed, Dyer notes, “Bombing civilians in cities—not by accident while trying to hit military targets, but with the deliberate purpose of killing civilians and breaking their morale—was the final step in the brutal logic of total war.”5 Nevertheless, deciding to hit civilian centers in such a way required thinking about the nature of war, of combat and its goals, in terms of ideas about what a proper mode of combat is or should be like. This is not a simple issue of “necessity” or of power, although these two conditions play a part in processes involving changes in cultural cores. Decisions to use weapons and how to use them have a very strong cultural element. The next step, apparently, was to wait for the development of more reliable flying machines that could perform better than the zeppelins did. Because the decision to bomb civilian cities had already been made, justifications for that were developed, and actual bombardment took place, the road was open for a continuation. Cultural cores already included this script. Indeed, it did not take long for such a machine to come into being—the bomber. It was a much more effective killing machine. In addition, as with other technological inventions, it brought about a new line of social roles: Page 46 →bomber pilots, navigators, bombardiers, bomber gunners, technical crews, specialists in planning and manufacturing bombers, research and development, and a few more.

Like lighter-than-air gas-filled airships, bombers can do many things. However, one thing they can do best is explicit in their name—bomb. Ideas (and justifications) behind bombing cities to disrupt war material production and supplies by hitting those workers who manufacture war supplies, making them occupied with survival and lowering their morale, are well documented. Terrorizing citizens so that their motivation and abilities to support war efforts would be severely reduced is also a goal of such conduct. Nevertheless, these ideas were just that—socially constructed concepts of what such indiscriminate bombing could do. The question of whether it really achieved these goals is a different one. However, the development of the airships and the bomber helped these ideas into being and reality. Airships and big aircraft do not necessarily have to be used to help destroy cities, and such machines do not “dictate” using them for such a purpose. Moreover, the development of an airpowered weapon would have, sooner or later, brought into discussion the issue of bombing cities and necessarily killing large numbers of civilians who dwell in these cities. Nevertheless, a decision to use air power for that purpose and for killing citizens did not come about only because the bomber was invented. The bomber was capable of bombing civilians easier and more efficiently. Deciding to do that was cultural. Such decisions were not new. Ancient and not-so-ancient wars targeted cities and citizens long before the bomber became a reality. The combination of bombs and bombers made bombing cities over long distances more reachable, effective, and devastating, assuming combatants defined these as war goals. The road to hit cities and civilians was open, and as technology developed long-range guns, rockets, and missiles, these joined aircraft in military thinking that exposed very large civilian centers as targets of devastating war machines. The latent potential of aircrafts carrying bombs aimed at terror bombing entire cities and their civilian dwellers was an idea that developed slowly and came to its full application during World War II.6 One can argue that once the concept of a bomber was developed and applied, the idea of bombing entire cities to destruction was not too far behind. But this road was not deterministic. While nuclear weapons were used twice in the summer of 1945, such usage was not repeated despite the proliferation of nuclear Page 47 →weapons. This is, clearly, a result of cultural considerations that, for example, the end does not justify using all the means. During World War II, however, the decision to bombard cities brought about some spectacular results. For example, between March 8 and 10, 1945, more than 330 B-29 bombers bombed Tokyo and created firestorms that destroyed much of the city. About 267,000 buildings were destroyed, between 83,000 and 88,000 Japanese perished, and an additional 41,000 were injured. Overall, about 66 cities in Japan were bombed.7 The bomber enabled General Curtis LeMay to state, “We scorched and boiled and baked to death more people in Tokyo on that night of March 9 to 10 than went up in vapor at Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined.”8 He also said, “I suppose if I had lost the war, I would have been tried as a war criminal.”9 Bombing Japan “back to the Stone Age” was not the only case. The strategic air bombardment of Nazi-occupied Europe during World War II achieved similar results—destroying cities with thousands of victims.10 About the air bombardment of cities during World War II, Neillands notes, “Inspiring terror, causing massive destruction and killing civilians, was what the strategic bomber was for…. It was because the bomber could kill civilians that its use could not only be contemplated by civilized nations and why many attempts were made to get the strategic bomber banned in the 1920s.”11 Attempts to prohibit building or using strategic bombers and submarines failed, and both were used in both world wars.12 Yet Dyer notes, “It is very hard for even the most devoted admirers of ‘strategic bombardment’ to make a convincing argument that it won the war.”13 Submarines—in and by themselves—did not win any of these wars either. The preceding examples sharpen a puzzle of whether some nondooms-day weapons may have an intrinsic quality, imprinted in the way these weapons can be used, of terrorizing civilian populations by redefining the nature of a battlefield so that civilians become legitimate targets. In fact, one may ask whether these are the major hallmarks of such weapons. My answer is that, obviously, weapons and technology suggest various ways to use them, but decisions of how to use them, in reality and for what purpose, reflect cultural considerations, debates, and assumptions. Technology does not dictate usage in any deterministic way. While even such weapons as gas, nuclear bombs, machine guns, and tanks open a door to specific forms of killing, it takes a cultural element—a decision—to actually use them in any specific war or way. Page 48 →

Developing bombers offered one such possibility; another was the development of the submarine. The reason that unrestricted submarine warfare came into being, in both 20th-century world wars, had to do with the developing technology of submarines and the crystallization of concepts of how to use these submarines. This chapter very briefly examines the technological issue.

SUBMARINE TECHNOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTS Developing an operational, reliable, and capable submersible vehicle is an old idea. Moreover, conceptualizing such a vehicle as a potential weapon platform that would be capable of conducting effective battles is intriguing. Exactly how it would work was not quite clear, but having an underwater vehicle that could sneak undetected and “do things” was quite appealing. While most people think of submarines in the military context, submarines could be developed for such civilian purposes as traveling, exploration, or moving cargo. An obvious advantage of sailing in a submarine is that seasickness is not an issue. Indeed, Redford notes that civilian uses for submarines were originally considered.14 However, traveling in a submarine was too frightening for regular passengers, and the militarization of the submarine took over. The result was that generations of inventors and dreamers fantasized on such a weapon. Ability to develop such an awesome underwater machine, capable of making war, was totally dependent on quite a few technological advances and breakthroughs.15 In this respect, the invention of the aircraft had a similar route. Crystallizing ideas of what to do with a flying machine and submarines in war developed either together or, later, with the technology. Pressure Hulls Required first were metallurgical science and design concepts that were sufficiently advanced to enable the development of a worthy pressure hull.16 Both the materials used in hull construction and the way they are put together are crucial for making strong hulls. Pressure hulls need to resist water pressure effectively. As a submarine dives, water pressure on the hull increases with depth. If hulls are not strong enough to resist this pressure, Page 49 →they will implode, killing everyone aboard and destroying the submarine. Exactly how one constructs a hull is a crucial issue. For example, whether one bolts metal plates to create a hull or welds them (the much better solution) makes a huge difference in the pressure resistance of the hull. Pressure hulls can be light (which typically means less thick) and can be single or double hulls (external and internal and space between hulls can be used for storage). The metal alloy (carbon steel) used during World War I allowed a submarine to dive to no more than 100 meters below the surface, but the typical diving depth was only 60 to 80 meters. The high-strength steel alloy used during World War II allowed greater diving depth, and submarines in that war could dive to 200 meters or more. The steel used today allows typical diving depths of 250 to 350 meters, and modern titanium hulls, such as those used by the Soviet navy, enable submarines to dive to depths of 1,000 to 1,300 meters. Designing and constructing hulls is thus a complex, challenging, and difficult task. Once material and construction problems are solved, one is still left with the issue of the shape of a pressure hull. The shape of hulls is very important. They need to be designed in a shape that will reduce hydrodynamic drag as much as possible, so that the submarines can achieve higher speeds and greater maneuverability. Although some early submarines were shaped like cigars,17 the submarines of World Wars I and II abandoned that design and had high drags. They were not too hydrodynamically designed and had various protrusions (e.g., deck guns) that increased underwater drag. This may be due to the fact that, given limitations of propulsion, these submarines acted frequently like submersible torpedo boats. Underwater drag and speed were not given a high priority. Toward the end of World War II, the importance of hydrodynamically designed pressure hulls became clearer. Submarines were designed to spend more time under water18 with a higher speed,19 and hydrodynamic considerations gained precedence (e.g., less protrusions such as deck guns). Modern-day submarines’ hulls are indeed shaped in a teardrop form.20 Propulsion

Once we have reliable hulls, what makes them move? Early submarines used human power to turn mechanisms that, in turn, propelled the submarine.21 Page 50 →One need not expand on the limitations of using human labor for such a purpose, and other solutions were sought after. Steam, gasoline, electrical batteries, and—in the 20th century—nuclear power (which actually manufactures and uses steam to propel a submarine) have all been used to solve this problem. Electric motors were clearly desirable because they did not use a most precious commodity in a submerged submarine, air. However, since generating electricity when submerged was not possible,22 the choice remained one of batteries. The capacity of the batteries on which such motors ran, however, limited their speed and/or range when submerged. When the submarine surfaced and its hatches opened, it could use any engine that needed air for its functioning. Eventually, toward the beginning of World War I, a combination of diesel and electric became more or less the standard means of propulsion. When they were on the surface, submarines used powerful diesel engines23 to propel them and to charge their batteries. Once submerged, the diesel engines—famous for their hunger to gulp air—were shut off, and the submarine switched to electric motors that drew power from the charged batteries. Submarines running on diesel engines could achieve impressive surface speeds (when World War II began, typical speeds were around 15 to 20 knots), but when they submerged, they could only travel at a creeping speed of a few knots for short periods of time. The development and usage of snorkels to bring air into submerged submarines so that they could use their diesel engines (and to ventilate the boat) alleviated these limitations.24 Life Support Once we have a pressure hull and propulsion, the next issue to examine is how submariners are supposed to live in the small and congested space of the hull, which is packed with various machines. Some of the problems designers (and captains) had to solve were how to supply sufficient air and get rid of poisonous gases (e.g., carbon dioxide) and trash; where to store and cook food; sleeping room; how to get and store fresh water; and how to provide showers, toilets, and entertainment. Submariners had to share beds; food frequently had mold; and showers (when they were possible at all) were often taken on deck with seawater. Serving in a submarine was thus very demanding, physically and psychologically, as well as being quite dangerous. Very small mistakes in running a submarine could end in a fast Page 51 →disaster.25 Furthermore, a few dozen submariners living together in cramped quarters with the vapors of cooking, diesel fuel, and sweat led to a foul-smelling atmosphere. It is easy to understand why these submarines were referred to as pigboats.26 Communication and Navigation The issues of communication and navigation were main problems for submarines. Developing radio solved the first issue. Wireless communication became possible with the invention of radios and Morse codes. The second issue was solved by a variety of technological innovations and breakthroughs, as well as the use of such older methods as sextants. Submarines of the two world wars had to use simple methods of guidance compared to the advanced systems in use today.27 Development of various sensors also took place: for example, periscopes for direct visual observations (available in World War I), radar for long-range detection (in World War II), and passive and active sonar28 (asdic29) for underwater detection (developed at the end of World War I and in use in World War II). Weapons To be used as an instrument of war, submarines needed weapons. When surfaced, a submarine could use deck guns or automatic machine guns. However, surfacing meant losing some of the submarine's main assets—surprise and stealth. When submerged, its options were more limited. It could, like Jules Verne's Nautilus, approach ships underwater and then ram them. This method is simple and effective, but it is risky and cannot be used too many times by the same submarine, for fear of damaging the hull. Today's nuclear submarines can carry such ultimate terror weapons as thermonuclear missiles. Indeed, a missilecarrying nuclear submarine can unleash firepower that will make the firepower used during World War II appear

Lilliputian in comparison. However, such “doomsday weapons” were not available to submarines during the two world wars. The main underwater weapon used by submarines from the two world wars was the self-propelled torpedo, which is a sort of underwater guided missile. The torpedo—or the “Devil's device,” as the British author Edwyn Gray calls it30—was developed in the 1860s. The torpedo is not a simple Page 52 →contraption. While typically launched from a tube in a submarine, it has to maintain a high speed and keep its depth, and when it hits or gets close to (or under) a ship, it has to detonate the explosive charge it carries. Designing, constructing, and maintaining such weapons is far from a simple task. The torpedoes used during the two world wars varied in size, method of propulsion, guidance systems, speed, maneuverability, and the explosive charges and detonators they carried. They also varied in reliability. For example, when World War II began, the U.S. Navy had faulty torpedoes that presented severe (and even dangerous) reliability problems;31 the German navy had problems with its torpedoes as well,32 while Japanese torpedoes were probably the most reliable. During World War II, various developments took place in torpedoes’ propulsion and guidance systems, as well as means to launch and direct these torpedoes.33 Early in World War II, for example, a submerged submarine could either lie in wait for or intercept a ship seen in its periscope, and a surfaced submarine could plot its course and compute when and how to launch its torpedoes so that they would hit a ship spotted during deck observations. Later in the war, some torpedoes were guided by sounds made by the victim ship and responded to by sensors in the torpedo or by sensors responding to magnetic field disturbances created by the ship's metallic hull. Torpedoes allowed submarines to rely on their secrecy and stealth to the maximum. By staying submerged and undetected, they could launch their deadly weapons in complete surprise, and their intended victim would only know that an attack was going on when a torpedo tore into the ship with a shattering explosion. Following such explosions, the ship—in both world wars—sometimes only had a few minutes before it sank to the bottom. RMS Lusitania, for example, sank in a mere 18 minutes (May 7, 1915). Two ships that sank within about three minutes of being torpedoed were the minelayer Doggerbank (March 3, 1943) and the Peleus (March 13, 1944). Laying mines was also accomplished by submarines during World Wars I and II. Mines are a particularly nasty weapon because they do not distinguish among the types of ships they explode under. Mines could destroy a friendly ship if communication of the position of the mines failed. Personnel and Training The development of submarines also brought with it a series of new social-military roles, in addition to the traditional naval roles of captains, executive Page 53 →officers, sailors, machinists, gunners, and cooks. There was a need for torpedo men and officers, diving officers, submarine machinists, and others. Naval headquarters had to develop new branches, bases, and skills to train, command, and control submarines as well as devise and develop tactics, strategies, goals, and practices for how to use this new weapon system. The Submarine Clearly, creating and developing a submersible vehicle capable of delivering credible blows to enemy vessels required not only some major technological breakthroughs but also that these breakthroughs converge to one point in time and place. This was long in coming.34 Between 1575 and 1765, inventors and designers of submarines can be easily identified in both Europe and the United States. As technology developed, we can witness significant progress in submarine design, reliability, and use from the middle of the 19th century on. The torpedo, for example, was developed in the 1860s. Interestingly enough, while Jules Verne launched his Nautilus and its legendary Captain Nemo into literary reality in 1870, the submarine Hunley (commanded by Lieutenant George E. Dixon), which served the South in the army of the Confederate States of America during the American Civil War, had already attacked and sunk the steamer USS Housatonic, a ship of the northern Union, in Charleston harbor on February 17, 1864.35 The Hunley also sank after the attack.36 In a very real sense, the Hunley's attack provided a demonstration for a basic idea or

blueprint of how a submarine could operate: armed with an effective underwater weapon, the submarine was to attack in stealth, surprising the intended victim and rendering it unusable. Very slowly and gradually, different technological breakthroughs took place, converged, and brought about the development of an operational and reliable submarine as a fully functional weapon system. The first time this development matured and came to the front in a significant way and in large numbers was during the second half of World War I. The submarines that were manufactured during that period by Germany, the United Kingdom, and the United States had similar basic designs and capabilities. They could typically dive to about 50 to 60 meters. They used a combination of gasoline or diesel and electric engines. Gradually, toward the end of World War I and definitely Page 54 →toward the start of World War II, submarines moved to the diesel-electric combination, as that proved the more reliable propulsion system. The submarines’ weapons were torpedoes—typically launched from tubes in the bow and/or stern of the submarine—deck guns, and mines. When surfaced, these boats had a decent speed, which was reduced significantly when they were submerged. Many researchers of submarines call these submarines “submersible boats” and point out that they were no more than submersible torpedo boats. Because of their very slow underwater speed and inability to stay for too long underwater (both oxygen and batteries were exhausted too quickly), and despite their impressive names and the lore associated with them,37 they really did not dive very deep at all. While not perfect yet, it was thus clear that the submarine was coming of age in World War I. This complex machine presented to military planners a potentially awesome weapon platform. A few factors were obvious at that time. It was cheaper to build and operate a submarine than any of the surface dreadnoughts. Therefore, it could be a weapon that suits the abilities Page 55 →of small countries. It was also obvious that submarines could sink surface ships, including battleships.38 Nevertheless, when World War I began, the crucial question was what to actually do with a submarine? The technology was there, but a coherent, accepted, and crystallized operational concept of how to use this weapon platform was not yet formed. During World War I, the mature technology of the submarine served as a fertile ground to the slow development of a new cultural idea in military thinking: unrestricted submarine warfare. While this innovative idea was slowly simmering and gaining supporters and legitimacy, continued technological improvements of submarines made it more solid and acceptable, despite international agreements that were signed to the contrary. The basic design of the submarine, its weapons and communications, was further developed in the years between the two world wars, but it did not change the submarine very dramatically. The submarines at the beginning of World War II were improved models of those manufactured toward the end of World War I. These improved models had a greater diving depth Page 56 →(90 to 120 to 200 meters), better communications, supposedly more reliable torpedoes, and faster sailing speeds (mostly when surfaced). While Nazi Germany could build about nine different types of U-boats, the type of submarine used and manufactured the most by that state was the VIIc,39 which was the workhorse of the Kriegsmarine. Between 568 and 57740 boats of this type were manufactured. The boat had a complement of about 44 to 50 men. It could easily dive to 100 meters (there are indications that diving to 200 or 220 meters and more was possible)41 and had a surface speed of 17.2 knots due to its powerful diesels and a submerged creeping speed of 7.6 knots provided by the electric motors. Surfaced, the VIIc could travel 6,500 nautical miles at 12 knots, 8,500 nautical miles at 10 knots. Submerged, it could travel 80 nautical miles at 4 knots. The VIIc could stay submerged for 36 to 41 hours42 before running out of breathing air for its crew (surfacing for even 5 to 10 minutes would have been enough to ventilate the boat).43 Once surfaced, it would take 7 to 8 hours to fully charge its batteries.44 The VIIc had five torpedo tubes and two deck guns.45 While not the best submarine around,46 it carried out the main burden of the battle conducted by the U-boats.47 The United States used mostly the Gato and Balao designs.48 These diesel-electric boats had a complement of 81 men, could dive to 122 meters, and had a surface speed of 20.25 knots and a submerged speed of 8.75 knots. At a surface speed of 10 knots, they could travel 11,000 nautical miles, and at a submerged speed of 2 knots, they could travel for 48 hours. These boats were armed with 10 torpedo tubes (6 in front and 4 in the rear), a deck gun, and heavy machine guns. Many of these American submarines were air-conditioned.49

Submarine warfare indeed depended heavily on technology.50 However, no less important than developing the technology—and probably more so—was developing answers to the question of what to do with a technologically mature submarine. In Redford's terms,51 what was needed was a new cultural understanding of what submarines meant.

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3 Wars, Culture, and Unrestricted Submarine Warfare The number of books, articles, studies, museums, and movies about submarine warfare and life in submarines is genuinely astounding. From personal accounts of submariners, historical narratives, and fiction, we can get acquainted to what life in submarines is like. In fact, some of the earliest movies ever made were about submarines.1 Military history books and many war movies have traditionally focused on such topics as strategies, tactics, technologies, leadership, and description and analysis of specific battles and wars. The interface between war and culture is an interesting but somewhat less explored topic—from sociological and cultural perspectives—but has begun to increasingly attract the attention of researchers in the field of sociology. This interface consists of a large number of issues: for example, questions about why wars exist in the first place,2 as well as questions concerning the morality and philosophy of wars, religion and war, the impact of wars on societies and cultures, and even the culture of war. Obviously, the reasons why individuals, groups, tribes, or nations go to war and the way they choose to conduct such deadly and violent conflicts are deeply rooted in their culture. Culture is the realm where the reasons and justifications for war are constructed and diffused. In this respect, one can argue that war itself is a cultural phenomenon. While war appears to be a universal occurrence, the specific form and conduct of any particular war are related to the cultures that produce the war. Scholars examining the connections between war and culture have taken various directions. Some works, for example, examine the influences of culture on war, while others have studied how war has influenced culture.3 I shall examine some of these works in this chapter. Two interesting directions can be discerned here. One is that of researchers who study wars from Page 58 →a military and historical perspective. The other consists of researchers of culture who examine wars from a particular cultural perspective. Perhaps the two most well-known statements from the first perspective are those made by Keegan (1993b), whose work directly connected various cultures to various forms of warfare, and Hanson (2001), who introduced the concept of a “Western form of warfare.” Other interesting works that examined warfare from a cultural point of view include Pick's 1993 analysis of the cultural justifications in wars of slaughter in the modern age, Ehrenreich's 1997 inquiry into why we are attracted to violence and drawn to wars, and Eksteins's 1989 examination of the interaction between World War I and modernity. Researchers of deviance and unconventionality have hardly, if ever, paid attention to wars or to examining deviance and unconventionality within wars. For unclear reasons, the literature about deviance and crime tends to leave military acts of deviance and crime during wars to historians and researchers of laws, especially international law. Examining such acts requires answering some tough questions. Is war itself “normal,” so that we can discuss deviance and unconventionality within this “normal” activity? If so, what is the nature of such behaviors? One outstanding comprehensive work on the general issue of deviant behavior in the military context is by Bryant (1979); however, his work is tailored to khaki-collar crime. World Wars I and II presented a new form of naval warfare, conducted by a new technological wonder and terror weapon, the submarine. Examining submarine warfare in the two 20th-century world wars involves taking a historical perspective, understanding submarine technology, and figuring out the context of deviance—if any—involved in this warfare. While this is the main focus of this book, I will look at secondary issues of memory as well. I will here focus on three issues in the context of unrestricted submarine warfare. The first is the development of the concept of such warfare. The reason for doing that is because this concept presented a new form of naval warfare. Second, because this new form of naval combat yielded quite a few cases of atrocities and falsifications, I will examine those. Third, remembrance of this warfare, particularly of the Nazi state's submarine warfare during World War II, is a retroactive part of altered cultural cores that made such naval combat possible. I will therefore examine this issue too. As we shall see, issues of power, morality, and ambiguity are at the heart of interpreting how this warfare came into being and how and why introducing Page 59 →this new type of naval combat

involved changing cultural cores that, in turn, legitimized this warfare. These three foci connect this study to major conceptual issues. The first issue requires that we pay attention to the technological development of the submarine as a submersible weapon platform. However, much more important is the development of ideas of how to use this new weapon and why. A strategy that legitimizes unrestricted submarine warfare exposes civilian shipping to become the victim of ruthless and cruel naval ambushes. The explicit goal of such a strategy was to starve millions of civilians. Executing an unrestricted submarine warfare was not only contrary to a series of international conventions but against the very spirit and goal of those conventions and understandings. The social construction and enforcement of a morality that allows practitioners to make such a form of warfare a painful reality requires some deliberations, persuasion, and action. The powers that allowed and legitimized this warfare to become a sore reality in two world wars need to be highlighted as well. Deviance and unconventional behaviors have always formed cores with definitions that have revolved around issues of morality and power. Military thought made unrestricted submarine warfare a legitimate reality, and power enabled its applicability. To achieve this end required that significant changes be introduced to existing and dominant cultural cores. Second, during both world wars, submarines were involved in acts of deviance—both in atrocities (e.g., killing survivors) and in deception (e.g., falsifying patrol logs). It could and, indeed, should have been expected that the cultural decision to launch, sustain, and be involved in a ruthless, cruel, and hard unrestricted warfare would have a good chance to yield, sooner or later, such acts. Finally, once wars are finished, issues of remembering and commemorating the wars and their warriors become issues of interest. Shaping up collective memories, designing commemorative rituals, and erecting commemorative sites became part of national or ethnical heritages. As such, these help to mold national and social identities of the cultures within which these acts of remembrance take place. As I argued in the first chapter, these memory rituals are part of and directly affect cultural cores. Wars have traditionally been major foci of remembering, and nations as well as individuals remember such occasions as both traumatic events and also shapers of deep feelings and identity. Such key phrases in the United Page 60 →States as “Remember the Alamo,” “Remember 9/11,” or “Remember Pearl Harbor” help conjure up unique cultural memories and suasive images and could steer feelings, much like the British leader Winston Churchill's famous phrases “We shall fight on the beaches” (June 4, 1940), “This was their finest hour” (1940), and “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few” (August 1940). For the French, the motto “Liberté, égalité, fraternité” rings cultural bells, evokes feelings, and directs action. George Orwell wrote that whoever controls the past controls the future and that whoever controls the present controls the past. In the context of Orwell's 1984 dystopia, control of memoirs and remembrance is a key issue in controlling people's minds and social identities and the cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes within which such cultural control takes place. Hence, the three axes around which this book revolves not only provide us with better understanding and a new interpretation of major cultural and social issues but also shed new light on submarine warfare in two world wars. British military historian John Keegan's influential 1993 book A History of Warfare points out how culture influenced the idea and concept of war. His statement is backed by impressive cross-cultural and historical analyses of various forms of warfare. For Keegan, cultural customs, rituals, have played a major and decisive role in shaping the different forms of wars, expectations from wars, and conduct of battles. The illustrations and examples for this are many. For example, uniform mandatory state education propels the products of such a system to be loyal to and obey requests of the state to, among other things, go to war and do battle. Such ideas as “total or unconditional war” or issues relating to the goals of war affect levels and scopes of killing. Keegan notes that a unique form of warfare developed in the West, a warfare based on attitudes that were rational but lacking in compassion or consideration and that thus resulted in ruthlessness and cruelty. Carl von Clausewitz's famous treatise on war (criticized heavily by Keegan) contended that war was “a continuation of political intercourse, carried on with other means.”4 This idea assumed a reality in which there were states, diplomacy, and strategies,

without which Clausewitz's suggestion was unreal. Accepting the idea that war continues diplomacy with other means propelled politicians to create huge armies and equip them with state-of-the-art technologies aimed to achieve total victories. The idea of a total Page 61 →war5 does not lag far behind the concept of a total victory, and if pushed far enough, the idea of making the enemy surrender without any conditions and admit total defeat is not too far behind. The extremity of these ideas may lead military planners and politicians to interpret the application of Clausewitz's theoretical claim as providing a potential justification also for total annihilation of an enemy. Keegan is convinced that in many “primitive cultures,” war was not total and did not have total aims. Dyer voices disagreement and suggests that our ancestors conducted violent and very lethal wars that culminated in high rates of killing and that our “advanced societies are back in the position of their earliest ancestors, with every part of their population equally exposed to the possibility of an instant and horrible death in war.”6 Focusing on a selected set of battles throughout history, Hanson's 2001 work7 concludes that there developed a “Western form of warfare” that is primarily the result of Western culture. In this context, Hanson argues that Western culture's emphasis on such values as individualism, democracy, free speech, public debates, consensus, rationality and relying on the scientific method, and, of course, capitalism and political freedom affected warfare in a profound way and gave those who practice such cultures overwhelming long-term advantages over their opponents. Some of these advantages lie with the ability to use technology better than opponents,8 but some major cultural advantages that the West produces when it does battle are its decisiveness, commitment, and focus, which can result in destructiveness and ruthlessness. Building on Hanson's ideas, Parker notes that armed forces in the West “have always placed heavy reliance on superior technology” but that “the outcome of wars has been determined less by technology than by better war plans, the achievement of surprise, greater economic strength and, above all, superior discipline.”9 Dyer's presentation is perhaps more dramatic: “Napalm, nerve gas, and nuclear weapons were not dropped on our laps by some malevolent god…. We…fight wars with them.”10 Thomas Hammes (2004), a retired American Marine officer, identifies evolutionary stages in the development of warfare. Each stage demands that combatants penetrate deeper into enemy territory in order to achieve victory. Hammes characterizes the fourth, contemporary stage as one of insurgencies11 and points out how political and social forces are deeply rooted in this type of warfare.12 Because it is a relatively new field of research, the definitions, contours, Page 62 →and boundaries of the study of culture and war are still very much in the making. One reason for this is that the conceptual boundaries of “war” and “culture” are not that clear to begin with. The amalgamation of the two can thus yield even fuzzier results. Let us therefore delve briefly into these two concepts. Culture is the sum total of the nonmaterial and material elements that define a group of people's way of life.13 In the simpler terms used by cultural sociologist Howard Becker (1986), culture is conceptualized to consist of “doing things together.” Cultures are socially constructed and typically consist of such building blocks as shared language, values, beliefs, and norms. Our everyday behavior reflects, actualizes, and shapes culture. Undoubtedly, language is a major tool with which we construct the social realities that make cultures happen, persist, prevail, and change. This view of cultures is accepted as normative and consensual by sociologists and implies a nonproblematic and neutral stance. However, hidden in it is another, perhaps more interesting and intriguing view of cultures—that of viewing them in ideological and political terms. Based on the writings of such scholars as Louis Althusser (1971), Antonio Gramsci (1971), Stuart Hall (1980), and C. Wright Mills (1956), one can argue that societies are controlled by the power of the political state or by dominant groups. A group of British scholars developed a view of societies as exercising social control over their members in more subtle ways. Jason Ditton (1979) named this perspective “controlology,” and one of its salient advocates, Stanley Cohen,14 suggested that a societal control system should be thought of as a vast fishing net that is cast by a huge army of fishermen and fisherwomen who spend a great deal of their time—according to some complex sets of rules and routines, under the authority and control of higher authorities—catching those fish in the ocean (society) who violate the rules. According to this perspective, cultures are not like brute beasts that force their members to act in certain ways. Instead, cultures achieve conformity by using subtle, often indirect means of persuading members that it is in their best interests to act in a conformist manner. Obviously, this perspective

assumes that both conformist behavior and control are problematic and should not be taken for granted. According to the proponents of this point of view, the state or hegemonic groups within it develop and mold influential cultural modes that appear to be neutral but are, in fact, disguised ideologies that serve, preserve, Page 63 →and replicate the ideology and interests of dominant and powerful elites. This view can be interpreted as a subversive interpretation of cultures, because it implies that everything cultural is ideological, that the only way to explain any particular ideology is by another, and that, eventually, power dictates which ideology dominates. The question of exactly how that happens or why is more difficult to answer. Such a point of view accords well with postmodernism's emphases on “everything goes” and on power as an instrument of control and of making choices.15 Applying this view to cultural cores could be taken to imply that cultural cores are part of a vast control system that uses power and manipulations to have those under its control act in certain ways beneficial to those in control. This view, obviously, tends to ignore the potential impact and influence of the controlled to change cultural cores and resist control. The appeal of such a point of view to postmodernism is apparent. For some, this theoretical approach may seem extreme. However, if we soften this view somewhat, it may become a useful tool. We can accept the approach that underlying any culture are strong ideological elements, typically coupled with some use of power, helping the basic worldview of particular ideologies to become dominant. In fact, the conceptualization that values are building blocks of cultures implies this because values involve ideologies and because having such values respected requires the usage of social power and control. We need not assume the more paranoid and conspiratorial view that all aspects of cultures are dominated by some permanent and cohesive power elite that somehow manipulates the masses into believing in its ideology and acting according to its interests. Reality is much more complex, because powerful interests, conflicts, and the structure of power, especially in modern and complex societies, exhibit both fragile and strong alliances and coalitions over both long and short terms. Some conflicts last longer than others, and they need not be about power or economics but may be about symbolic issues. Moreover, influence need not be thought of as unidirectional—from elites to lower strata—but can be reversed. Theoretically, we can assume that we can reach a consensus regarding the factual base of social realities (and of conflicts as part of these realities) and that we can then critically examine the different interpretations suggested for these facts. These interpretations are the ones that bring about different definitions (and constructions) of social realities. Arguments, debates, negotiations, and control are the bread and butter of what is involved in Page 64 →boundary maintenance and in the change of symbolic-moral universes and, consequently, of cultural cores. Despite the preceding discussion, I do not mean to give the impression that conceptualizing culture is a straightforward task; it is not. In her review of the sociology of culture, Diana Crane indeed points out how fragmented and uncrystallized the study of culture is. She states that culture “is not necessarily an objective empirical reality but is instead a social construction.” To make things a bit more complex, she adds, “To a considerable extent, the sociology of culture has been concerned with demystifying and even debunking established cultures.”16 Into these general notions of culture, one has to enter this book's new conceptualization of cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes. The complexity involved in characterizing cultures becomes simplified when we conceptualize the essential core structure of cultures as located in the symbolic realm and as consisting of cultural cores and their symbolic-moral universes. Moreover, multicultural societies make this new conceptual contribution even more powerful, because it takes complex cultures and uses the idea of cultural cores to focus and simplify our comprehension of these cultures. In a significant way, my focus on the symbolic structure of cultures gives us a powerful analytical tool with which we can analyze a large variety of cultural phenomena and gives us a better grasp for defining or characterizing cultures. If characterizing culture is not simple, defining war or, worse yet, militarism is even more difficult. Many—perhaps even most—researchers of wars may agree that the essence of war is combat.17 Indeed, whether it is a duel between surface warships and a submarine in one of the earth's oceans,18 between two or more fighter planes, or between thousands of tanks with roaring engines shooting at each other in an area near Kursk, such battles are clearly what war is all about. However, war also means civil and military preparations, training,

command, propaganda, morale, stress, espionage, fatigue, international relations, war art, music, movies, books, museums, and a plethora of other activities. In addition, politics, economy, psychology, and technology all play major parts in our understanding of the nature, purpose, and meaning of wars. Since this book deals with modern combat, however, I shall remain within the limits of this arena. I take combat to mean an attempt to bring an opponent to submission by using a variety of potentially violent means—from intimidations or credible threats to the use of force, that is, actual physical Page 65 →clashes between groupings of opponents, each one aiming to destroy or annihilate the other. The salient hallmarks of such combat are killing, maiming, and destroying. The question that arises is how these combats are planned and justified. When, for example, a nation prepares to go to war or is involved in a war, how is its conduct of war constructed and practiced? How is it justified? How and why are specific goals of combat determined? How is killing justified?19 What is the nature of the strategies aimed at annihilating an enemy? How are they devised and justified? Cultural sociologist Philip Smith, for one, in a complicated and suggestive book (2005), examines civil society and argues that the decision to go to war and its justification need to be understood within entrenched cultural frames and identifiable cultural codes and narratives. Extending his suggestions to actual combat, one might argue that in order to understand the way armies conduct their campaigns, one needs to examine the cultural codes that gave rise to the armies. For example, how—if at all—do cultural elements affect such military ideas as total war or unconditional surrender? How are cultural frames used to justify bombing cities or getting into brutal unrestricted submarine warfare? Although Smith does not usually delve into such considerations, his thoughts on naval warfare are illuminating. He argues, for example, that “most pivotal of all in bringing about a move from neutrality in America” in World War I was “the sinking of transatlantic shipping,” including “that of neutral nations by German U-boats.”20 He notes that Germany's use of unrestricted submarine warfare, especially the sinkings of the Lusitania,21 the Laconia,22 and the Housatonic,23 “decisively influenced Congress at the very moment of debate”24 over whether to enter World War I. While these actions are not the only reasons why the United States entered the war when it did, they certainly comprised an added and important factor. Examining the influence of specific cultural factors on actual combat decisions was an issue that interested American military historian John A. Lynn much more forcefully. In his 2003 book, he tries to decipher and understand the cultural influences—values, beliefs, expectations, norms, and cultural assumptions—that affect the ways in which battles are fought. For example, he highlights the American admiration of technology and suggests that the decision to use atomic bombs on Hiroshima25 and Nagasaki26 was a reflection of a cultural preference for using technology in order to save American lives (those expected to be lost in the case of an invasion of Japan).27 In that same war, one can add, the German and Japanese admiration Page 66 →for technology brought about the development of weapons whose use was not necessarily aimed at saving life—Hitler's “wonder weapons” (e.g., the V-1, V-2, Fieseler Fi 103R, Me 262, and Me 163 Komet).28 Moreover, both Germany29 and Japan30 tried to develop nuclear weapons. When technological innovation is not easily available, innovativeness with humans may come to the fore. For example, Japanese usage of human volunteers to guide bombs in the suicide attacks of the kamikaze31 or the kaiten torpedoes. For Lynn, the development of technology and, much more so, its utilization depend on culture.32 Thus, the images and verbal narratives that the military and politicians use to describe their plans to the public become of crucial importance. Smith's and Lynn's ideas on this issue are close. Israeli military historian and theoretician Martin Levi van Creveld argues (2008) that military thought—that is, thought on how and why to conduct wars—dates back to the dawn of human history and that such thought, along with its application in conducting war practices, remains dominant today and has very little to do with what states do or do not do. The military seems to have developed its own ideas and practices regardless of varied political structures. Moreover, van Creveld is convinced that the culture of war thrives and that—contrary to peace—this culture is natural and enjoys immense prestige, appreciation, and reverence. For van Creveld, wars have a universal characteristic, are natural, and have always been sought after by humans. Van Creveld's analysis makes it clear that with cultural and individual supports for war making, it could be expected that the emergence of a social category of warriors who specialize in making wars was only a matter of time. Indeed, such a category did emerge, and social careers in the military became a reality.33

Cultural histories of weapons and their use have also attracted some attention. Examples of such focus include Wright's 2002 work on the tank and Ellis's 1975 work on the cultural history of the machine gun. Submarines attracted the attention of two historians who focused on the cultural history of U-boats34 and on the British submarine and its meaning for British Society.35

SIEGE WARFARE Parker notes that “the overall aim of western strategy, whether by battle, siege or attrition, almost always remained the total defeat and destruction of the Page 67 →enemy” and that “in the early modern period the phrase bellum romanum acquired the sense of ‘war without mercy’ and became the standard military technique of Europeans abroad.”36 Indeed, 19th-century military strategist Carl von Clausewitz ([1832] 1989) has already pointed out that “war is…an act of force to compel our enemy to do our will” (75) and that “the grand objective of all military action is to overthrow the enemy—which means destroying his armed forces” (577). Some of the earliest known cases of what would be referred to today as total war are described in the Bible, and this kind of warfare was often practiced by the ancient Greeks and Romans. This kind of war meant making war on the entire enemy population, state, or city-state (not just its military) with the purpose of either destroying it all or bringing it all to complete submission. One salient pattern is the military practice of erecting a siege system around a city (or a city-state) and starving its inhabitants to death or completely destroying the city with all its inhabitants.37 Such endings typically culminated in significant brutalities. Why were such deadly sieges practiced? Generally speaking, the answer seems to lie with the desire of at least one of the combatants to eliminate its enemy and make sure that the vanquished does not rise again later (after rest, recuperation, and accumulation of new energy and power) to rechallenge the victors militarily and politically. Nevertheless, I suspect that such military historians as Keegan, Hanson, and Parker would probably suggest that this lethal practice is but an early illustration of the developing Western cultural way of making war. Siege warfare, practiced numerous times on land, has not been limited to land-based wars. Looking back into more recent history, it is not too difficult to find older blockades that characterized the Anglo-Dutch Wars, the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, the Seven Years’ War, the Spanish-American War, the Tripolitan War, and the War of Spanish Succession. In more modern times, one can find partial or full naval blockades during the Cuban missile crisis, the Falklands War, and the Vietnam War. Naval blockades certainly characterized the American Civil War and World Wars I and II. Dyer points out that during the American Civil War, the idea of a siege combined with the idea of a total war. The North clamped a tight blockade on the South to strangle its overseas trade, and by the end General Sherman was deliberately devastating huge areas of the deep South. “We are not only fighting hostile armies but a hostile people,” Sherman said, “and must make old and young, rich and poor, feel the hard hand of war.”38 Page 68 → The influential American naval historian and strategist Alfred T. Mahan examined the successful naval blockade that the Union placed on the Confederacy during the American Civil War (Operation Anaconda) and the first battles between ironclads for control of waterways. His ideas of ruling the waves and blocking an enemy from using sea-lanes were influenced by the lessons he drew and became important cornerstones for naval strategists. Indeed, Mahan's ideas about applying the concept of naval blockades to bring an opponent to submission were to become influential and dominant in devising strategies for naval warfare. I shall continue this discussion in chapter 5.

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4 Attempting to Curb Escalating Brutalities and Some Illustrations WARS Struggles, fighting, and conflicts resulting from competition over scarce resources or other complex issues have characterized human behavior since the dawn of history. Developing social specializations in war and attempts to prevent wars and curb brutalities accompanied this history. The development and chronicity of conflicts helped into being a specialized social class—the warriors. Generally speaking, warriors are those whose social specialization centers on the credible threat of using violence and the actual practice of violence. Many times, large organizations like a state or a country supported or initiated this violence. Frequently, since the nation-state came into being, the legitimation to use force by warriors not only was constructed by a state but received legitimacy from religious organizations, educational institutions, the family, the economy, and more. This long historical specialization culminated eventually in the formation of large organizations that specialized in the practice and theory of using mass violence—armies, sometimes even huge armies. In turn, these armies established social structures, a stratification of ranks, income, and prestige. In some countries and historical periods, armies have become pillars of respectability, and becoming a professional soldier or an officer was a position sought after by many.1 At some periods, prestigious characterization was a hallmark of the military, for example, in such countries as France, the United Kingdom, the United States, Israel, Germany, Italy, and more. In such places, many citizens joined armies, and a uniform signaled respect and appreciation. Consequently, many political leaders made public appearances in uniform. However, armies are not created just for parades; they are sometimes made to fight and be engaged in violence, sometimes in wars. The essence of modern wars is the use of state-controlled mass violence whose clear expression is combat. Page 70 → Combatants try their best to win, using personal physical power, technology, cunning, or whatever means military planners think will yield a victory over the enemy. Over time, this has meant that armies have also developed specialized units and functions whose job it was to develop tactics and strategies for war that, in turn, were presented to leaders for decision. Ideas of how to fight a war, definition of purposes, and certainly the justification for various warfare ideas and practices came primarily from the army (and sometimes from politicians). One very famous example is the German pre–World War I Schlieffen Plan,2 which was the German army's plan to achieve a quick victory on two fronts: the Eastern Front (against Russia) and the Western Front (against France). As we know, the plan did not quite work, but the ideas behind it, the preparations, and the justifications were all made in and by the German army. Thus, military thought and ambience have dominated ideas about the goals of wars (i.e., what the army could be expected to achieve), how to fight wars, and the justifications for this conduct. It should not surprise us that some of the most famous ideas about war—for example, Clausewitz's suggestion that war is only the continuation of politics or Mahan's naval strategy focusing on ruling the waves—were made by military men and not by a civilian politician. This makes sense because once the military becomes a specialized class in itself, military experts have the time and resources and are under pressure to justify their ideas of how and why mass violence can or should be practiced. Moreover, these are the experts who inform the politicians what their capabilities are and, consequently, what the army can be expected to deliver. As the culture of war making evolved and became more complex, at least two relevant developments occurred. First, the specialization in and career of becoming warriors has increased significantly, and more people have become involved in it. Making wars has become a cultural specialty of people who have come to be defined as “professionals” in this business. Second, the development and utilization of industrial technology (some of which was present already in the 19th century)3 for war-making activities has increased exponentially, and the weapons and machines of war have become more sophisticated, lethal, and complex. Moreover, as the knowledge of how to wage war, combined with advanced technologies, developed and emerged,

we humans have become more and more efficient in killing and more dangerous to each other. Keegan's and Hanson's ideas about the cultural development of a particularly lethal form Page 71 →of warfare by the West only support this observation. Our abilities to inflict very serious punishments in terms of loss of life and damage to an enemy have become awesome. In fact, we now possess weapons that—if used indiscriminately—have the potential to wipe out most life on the planet. The sad fact is that practicing advanced technology-induced violence on a mass scale involves—almost by definition—destruction of property and deliberate killing of a large number of humans (Dyer 2004). Thus, many acts of war today will almost necessarily result in great destruction of property and the loss of many lives. Wars of conquest and expansion can be easily found in the Bible and in other accounts of ancient history. Such wars involved moving large armies across territories, placing sieges around cities or city-states, and starving their populations into submission. Often, such sieges ended with mass killings, raping, looting, enslavement, and destroying the city. Sometimes, prisoners were taken only to serve as human sacrifices or as slaves. Winning a war frequently meant wiping out the enemy, sometimes literally so. From biblical accounts forward, military history provides many accounts about armies wiping out cities, decimating populations, causing great grief to millions, and waging many ruthless and cruel war campaigns, such as those carried out by the Roman Empire or Genghis Khan.4 If we think that a total war is a modern invention, we might look back at some of the ancient wars and realize, for example, that recruiting a significant part of a society to fight and support a war is not a new phenomenon. New technologies made it possible for the barbarity and brutality involved in war making to grow, along with fears about what the future might hold. Attention to human rights and disgust with the cost of wars in both life and property increased. This concern gave rise to a series of attempts to control and regulate some of war's more nasty facets. The realization of how barbaric, brutish, and devastating the conduct of combat and nature of wars have become surfaced in an unprecedented way toward the end of the 19th century. Questions about this conduct and about specific actions were raised as new ideas and concepts began to emerge. However, this realization did not land suddenly on human consciousness toward the end of the 19th century; the new element was that the very brutality and barbaric nature of wars came under some serious question marks. Consequently, one motivation that emerged was an attempt to try and regulate the conduct of war and set some ethical limits to what is and is not allowed in wars. Page 72 →

ATTEMPTS TO REGULATE THE CONDUCT OF WARS In the last 150 years or so, some famous attempts have been made to give the conduct of war a more humane face and even to try to delegitimize the option of choosing war as a way to solve conflicts.5 The purpose of these attempts has been not only to regulate the conduct of war but to minimize the amount of injuries and damages to noncombatants, civilians, and soldiers who surrendered or became incapable of fighting. The general idea was to mark the boundaries of combat zones and of combatants versus noncombantant (e.g., by wearing distinctive uniforms) and to limit combat to distinct combat zones and clearly marked combatants. While some may want to view international agreements, treaties, and pacts as essences of international cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes (perhaps as potential building blocks of an international society),6 this is not a simple issue. One major problem has to do with the issue of how much these legal instruments reflect genuine cultural, moral, and ethical integration and how committed signatories to such agreements are to keeping them. While the aforementioned attempts may seem oxymoronic (in fact, the agreements they created were violated more than once), it is well worth being reminded about them for more reasons than one. Violations of agreements do not mean that these agreements are unnecessary, ineffective, or useless. As we are well aware from criminal justice, there are rules and violations of rules, but violations do not mean that rules are to be abolished; better and more effective enforcement may be the cure for violations. Moreover, these attempts can be taken to indicate that international efforts were made to try and delineate enforceable boundaries of the symbolic-moral universes of wars and battles. In themselves, such efforts are well worth examining.

The two main legal tracks on which these attempts were rolling are now referred to as the Hague and Geneva conventions. The development of these two tracks is a complex issue, and they influenced each other at some points. The agreements and conventions that exist on these tracks are not contradictory, although they present somewhat different approaches. The Hague track focuses on the proper conduct of combatants, what kind of behavior is expected in the battlefield and what weapons can be used and how. The Geneva track focuses on the differences between combatants and noncombatants (including wounded soldiers and those in captivity) and Page 73 →characterizes what treatment should be expected in each of these categories. For reasons that may seem odd to some, countries were asked to sign these conventions. One of the main reasons they were asked to do so is that international agreements do not have a central legislative organization or an enforcement agency. Having countries sign or ratify such agreements may be a way to force a country to act according to rules that it signed a commitment to respect. Later on, such international agreements may become accepted as obligatory customs that could be applied even to nonsignatory countries. Nevertheless, nonsigning countries, supposedly, may put their soldiers and citizens under a grave risk. The alternative would be to state clearly that the rules in these conventions apply to everyone and that violation of these rules—regardless of who makes them—will trigger legal procedures. Inability to enforce these conventions (even with countries that did sign) is a clear (and very disappointing) weakness on the part of those who initiated these conventions and of the countries that signed and ratified them. These treaties were necessary because the principles they expounded were not part of customary international law, which binds all countries, whether they like it or not. These principles were thus, at first, only part of conventional (i.e., treaty) international law, and they bound only those countries that had acceded to the conventions and joined them, for example, by ratifying them. Once some or all of the principles are treated as having become customary, they bind all states, not only those who signed. One of the first documents in the development of the two tracks was the Lieber Code, signed by President Lincoln and issued by the U.S. War Department to its soldiers in the Union as General Order No. 100 on April 24, 1863. The code was created by German-American jurist and political philosopher Prof. Francis Lieber, who immigrated to the United States and experienced some European wars. This code delineates the conduct of soldiers during war and was later adopted as a main codifier of international efforts to regulate the conduct of wars. For example, the code stipulated that a civilian population in an occupied territory be treated fairly and humanely—as long as it did not resist the occupying forces.7 Then, already in 1874, “a Diplomatic Conference which met in Brussels drafted an International Declaration Concerning the Laws and Customs of War.”8 While this declaration never became an effective law or was enforced, it served as an anvil for the 1899 Hague peace conference. Conferences that Page 74 →are more relevant and influential took place at The Hague in 1899 and 19079 (the latter of which integrated much of the Lieber Code). Interestingly enough, at the Hague conference of 1899, “Russia, Great Britain, and Germany were willing, on the condition of unanimity, to prohibit underwater warships. Strong opposition from the United States and France obstructed agreement on abolition, for both nations looked to the torpedo as the cheapest means of weakening British naval supremacy.”10 The Geneva conventions present the development along the older track. The establishment of the Red Cross took place in 1863 and set the ground for creating understandings about conduct in war. The first of these international agreements, already present in 1864 (it was signed originally by 12 European states, and 2 others joined a few months later), dealt with soldiers wounded in battle. This first of the agreements was also the most basic. For example, it guaranteed (a) the safety of wounded and sick soldiers from being captured or killed, (b) fair medical treatment to all combatants, (c) the safety of those civilians who treat and help the wounded, and (d) the acceptance of the Red Cross sign as the one identifying agents and equipment who treat the wounded according to this agreement.11 The next agreement came out in 1906. It consisted of 63 articles and was updated in 1929 and 1949. While it accepted and expanded the first agreement to the personnel treating the wounded and to prisoners of war (POWs), its main focus was the application of rules and limitations to combat at sea and the treatment of the wounded and injured in such warfare, including shipwrecked survivors. For example, it stipulated that hospital ships are not to be allowed for any military purpose. It also stated that while the medical personnel of a hospital ship cannot be

captured by a warship, the sick and the wounded in that ship can be taken as POWs.12 The third agreement saw light in 1929 and incorporated many of the lessons learned in World War I. It carried on the trajectory of the second agreement and continued to expand rights and ways to deal humanely with POWs.13 The 1929 convention further developed this issue from the Hague convention of 1907, stipulating, for example, that places or transports where wounded soldiers are treated and/or carried should be clearly marked and that this marking should prevent them from becoming targets for hostile acts. Many states ratified this third Geneva convention in 1939—Japan and the USSR did not. In 1925, a protocol that prohibits the use of chemical and biological agents in war was signed in Geneva by 29 countries (the USSR Page 75 →signed this protocol in 1928; the United States signed it in 1925 but did not ratify it until 1975). Finally, the fourth Geneva convention14 was adopted in 1949 and defined the humane protection of civilians in war zones. It also made the idea of a total war illegal. All the Geneva conventions became part of customary international laws in 1993 (by a declaration of the United Nations) and thus obligatory rules of conduct during war times for all countries, whether they signed the conventions or not. Whether such customs are enforced or not and by whom are different questions, the answers to which probably lie with who won a war and who has the power and willingness to punish violators of these customs.15 The series of Hague conventions16 was the second track and focused on ways (and limitations) of conducting wars. The signing and developing of these conventions began in 1899 (originally by 26 countries), and the first convention prohibited the use of exploding bullets or of gases that choke and suffocate. It provided some protection to civilians, expanded the 1864 Geneva convention to naval warfare, and focused on POWs. This convention was brought up to date in 1907. For example, the 1907 version made it necessary to declare war in an explicit manner and dealt with the status of merchant ships in times of war. The convention stated that on the issue of capturing or sinking a merchant ship suspected of carrying war materials, that ship must be first visited and searched. If such materials were found aboard, the safety of the crew needed to be taken care of, and only then could the vessel be sunk.17 These attempts all aimed to regulate brutalities, set war rules (as well as characterize war crimes), and make combat and wars somewhat more civilized, especially in modern times. Such conventions as the Hague and Geneva conventions were clearly created to try to regulate conduct during armed conflicts so that the level of barbarity, cruelty, and brutality would be low.18 Europe and the United States played a major part in these attempts. The end result of the combined Hague and Geneva conferences and conventions (as well as the satellite understandings and agreements) and the documents they produced was that sets of international rules about the conduct of war were established, setting practical and moral limits to what practices can and what should not be used in war and combat. These documents covered such issues as those of population under occupation, prisoners of war, and what types of weapons are not allowed. However hollow these declarations Page 76 →turned out to be, we can and indeed should take these documents as expressing the attitudes that the signatory countries and cultures at least claimed to have about humaneness and justice. The concept that we recognize today as “war crimes” was not fast to develop and sometimes still eludes a precise definition. Much impetus was given to the concept following the Far East and Nuremberg war crimes trials between 1945 and 1948. Many scholars would agree that war crimes include acts against the normative conduct of war: for example, murdering prisoners of war and mass killing of civilians. To a lesser degree, these crimes include more vague categories, such as those of crimes against humanity and crimes against peace.19 To illustrate how complex these issues are, let me digress for a minute or so. From the day we document history, we have histories that emphasize wars, conquests, and expansionism. The concept of a “total war”20 that developed as part of human warfare and certainly was a main concept of war during World Wars I and II (and the conceptual framework within which unrestricted submarine warfare was carried out) meant somewhat different things in different periods. In ancient wars, it could mean an army annihilating a city or a city-state. Levels of recruitment and its meaning could be different. For example, the Roman legions did not constitute the entire population of the empire. However, civilian population in World War II was employed—heavily so—in direct

war-supporting industries. In both world wars, entire populations became targets and victims, but they were not usually or always the aggressors. Thus, the term total war assumed differential meanings. The one common element is probably that total wars exclude the possibility of two armies clashing in an arena that does not involve noncombatants. Nevertheless, in the two world wars, entire populations (or very significant parts of them) were involved in combat-supporting activities, and the societal resources at a country's disposal were made available as both—population and resources—became immersed in the fight in an attempt to score a victory. The issue of civilian involvement in the war effort and, consequently, making this population a target for hostile activities became a thorny and persistent one. During the 20th-century versions of total war, this issue exposed millions of noncombatants in large urban centers21 to risks of being injured or killed in places far from the battlefields. Indeed, the very concept of a battlefield was redefined.22 H. G. Wells's book that served as the basis for the excellent 1936 movie Things to Come forecasted what devastation could result from total war.23 Page 77 → One can ask, what is the responsibility of a population that elected into office a government that promised them war? Are only those that are engaged in actual combat or those that gave the orders exposed to risks of being attacked? What about those that—knowing what they will do—elected them into office? Are these to be free of any responsibility? A related and interesting case study (which was also raised in court) is that of the so-called flyer-lynching cases. Hitler's controlled Nazi Germany issued a Terror Flying Order, which stipulated that the police and the military were prohibited from “interfering to protect flyers who had been shot down and who were taken prisoner by civilians.”24 There is no other way to interpret this decree than as giving license to citizens to lynch pilots and air crews. Should citizens then be not held responsible for such lynchings? It is not too difficult to realize that the concept of “total war” can easily blur the differences between combatants in combat on a battlefield and citizens who support this combat—politically, morally, and substantially. Still, it is important to emphasize that the cultural understanding prior to World War I was that noncombatant civilians are not to become targets for hostilities and violence. While the law is a crucial instrument in defining war crimes (which are characterized as serious violations of the rules of war conduct)—especially if what the law says does not become “dead words” that are not applied or are applied selectively—there are behaviors that we (certainly from the 20th century on) would find difficult to accept, regardless of the law. Deliberately and intentionally killing noncombatant and unarmed civilians or soldiers who surrendered is simply a thing not done. Locking innocent civilians or prisoners of war in camps in appalling conditions of starvation, abuse, and humiliation is also unacceptable. Yet these things took place during the 20th century, even after the end of World War II (e.g., in wars in the Balkans or in Africa). This is an important issue because it helps set up the parameters of the cultural cores from which the actual brutality of the two world wars deviated. The development of the aforementioned conventions, together with the post–World War II Nuremberg and Far East war crimes trials,25 gave dramatic public exposure and social and political construction to three distinct forms of crimes within the context of war: crimes against peace (planning and practicing a war of aggression or a war that violates international agreements), crimes against humanity26 (both were redefined in the London Charter of the International Military Tribunal—also known as the London Charter or the Nuremberg Charter and issued on August 8, 1945), and war Page 78 →crimes27 (this last category existed prior to World War II).28 For example, most convictions in the Nuremberg trials, carried out from November 1945 through October 1946, were in the last two categories. Moreover, it appears that the Nuremberg trials questioned the legitimacy of resorting to a military aggressive policy in order to solve conflicts. Thus, the process of trying to regulate war conduct in the 19th century gained significant momentum before and after World War II. While it is ironic that many humane understandings about war conduct were in place prior to the outbreak of World War II, that war made a mockery of these understandings and conventions. However, the postwar trials did raise the previous understandings to a more intense level. At present, it seems that more and more loud voices, certainly in Europe and the United States, are heard trying to make war itself an illegitimate activity.

In fact, the devastation of the two 20th-century world wars (as well as post–World War II developments in rocketry, which placed almost every city on the planet under risk of being hit) caused many in the West to preach that war itself is the real enemy. The series of more localized wars after the end of World War II,29 the entrance of nuclear weapons into military thinking, and the realization that these weapons can spell the end of human life on this planet strengthened this feeling. A dramatic demonstration of this position was expressed in one of culture's most important elements—the cinema. The 1995 submarine movie Crimson Tide30 presents a gung ho, nononsense, captain of the American nuclear missile submarine USS Alabama (played by Gene Hackman), who is eager to launch his nuclear weapons but is confronted by his university-trained and thoughtful executive officer (played by Denzel Washington). In a conversation between the two, in front of a few crew members, the nature of war comes up as the executive officer tells the captain, “The purpose of war is to serve a political end, but the true nature of war is to serve itself…. In my humble opinion, in the nuclear world, the true enemy is war itself.”

REGULATING NAVAL WARFARE AND PRIZE REGULATIONS Attempts to regulate naval warfare have an early beginning. Following the Crimean War (1853–56), the Congress of Paris was assembled with representatives from Austria, France, Great Britain, the Ottoman Empire (today's Page 79 →Turkey), Russia, Sardinia, and Prussia (all considered contemporary significant European powers). This assembly issued the Declaration of Paris on April 16, 1856.31 This declaration set some rules about the conduct of war and civilian ships. Four rules stipulated that (1) the goods carried by a vessel flying a neutral flag would be protected from enemy action, unless these goods are war materials; (2) a blockade would be considered valid only if it put a stop to naval traffic to the coast of an enemy; (3) privateering (the operation of war vessels by private owners under license and control of a belligerent country and with the ability to capture enemy vessels) would become illegal; and (4) neutral goods (excluding war materials) would not be legitimate targets to capture even when they are carried by vessels that fly the enemy's flag. The idea of “free ships, free goods” has long been a principle of U.S. policy of “freedom of the seas and the respect of noncombatant rights at sea.”32 As such, the United States did not at first accept this declaration, because it felt that nations with weak navies could use privateering as part of their defense. However, later, during the American Civil War and the Spanish-American War, the United States adopted this declaration. Fitting guns on merchant ships, originally known as privateering, became referred to as the practice of guerre de course.33 This practice was brought to an end by an international agreement reached at the Declaration of Paris in 1856 (the United States did not sign this declaration at the time). However, the Hague convention of 1907 reopened the door for some form of the practice. The participants to the 1907 Hague convention agreed that those involved in a conflict could install guns and torpedoes to merchant ships so that these ships could be used in war situations; they would then be referred to as armed merchant cruisers. Consequently, this new practice required that ships that were equipped in this way had to be manned by the navy of a party involved in the conflict and had to fly the naval ensign. The difference between this practice and privateering is obvious, but the result of having to cope with armed merchant ships was the same—certainly from the point of view of a submarine. Having warships clearly marked and registered as such is an important issue and is tied into a discussion started at the beginning of this chapter, on the crucial distinction between combatants and noncombatants. A combatant that cloaks deliberately as a noncombatant may lose his or her right to be treated decently as a bona fide prisoner of war. Because the rules set in the Declaration of Paris seemed insufficient to some nations, a London naval conference was assembled between December Page 80 →1908 and February 1909, with representatives from ten nations, including the main European powers, the United States, and Japan. That conference's participants managed to issue the London Declaration in 1909 (Carlisle 2009; Manson 1990:15–19). While the U.S. Senate approved this document, other countries (including Britain) did not. This document reflects an attempt to choose specific contents from the Hague convention of 1907. This noble attempt failed, because following Britain's refusal to ratify the document, none of the other countries represented did either. Thus, this declaration never came into effect. A second naval conference in London was held between January 21 and April 22, 1930, but was based on the 1928 Kellogg-Briand Pact and focused on the agreements reached in Washington in 1922 that resulted in the Washington Naval Treaty (discussed later in this chapter), which tried to limit the size and building of vessels of war. The next conference was held in 1935, but all controls failed at that time. While Japan withdrew, the United

States, France, and the United Kingdom did agree to some limitations on building naval forces. In June 1935, the United Kingdom and Germany signed the bilateral Anglo-German Naval Agreement.34 This agreement placed limitations on the size of naval war machines (measured by tonnage) and aimed to improve relations between the two countries. However, because Germany and Britain had different expectations from this agreement, it failed and was abandoned by Germany in 1939. Moreover, by 1938, all major powers were involved in building war vessels in a way that violated the agreements. Clearly, looking at the attempts to restrict the buildup of naval forces shows a trajectory of one attempt after another that eventually culminated in a complete failure by 1938. Navies of the main powers seemed to have had little faith in these negotiations, and the path they took indicates that they were energetically preparing for war. During World War I, German submarines spearheaded innovative ideas about how to use this new weapon platform. Thus, for the purposes of this book, we need to look at the German navy and politicians and how they interpreted the rules facing them. The Germans decided to follow the prize rules. It is clear that by August 1914, when World War I began, “the concept of humanity in warfare was one that had developed and flourished during the preceding century…. It was accepted as uncivilized to attack unarmed merchant ships or to kill civilian passengers and crews even though they might be engaged on service vital to the interests of the enemy.”35 Cultural Page 81 →cores were altered and reflected this new morality of how to conduct naval warfare. At the beginning of World War I, German submarines were instructed to operate against merchant shipping according to the prize regulations. These regulations refer to a situation where “an enemy vessel [is] captured at sea by a ship of war or a privateer. The word is also used to describe a contraband cargo taken from a merchant ship and condemned in prize by a Court of Admiralty.”36 In essence, prize rules regulated some aspects of naval warfare. These rules stipulate that sinking passenger ships is forbidden and that if sinking of a merchant ship is to take place, its crew must be left in a safe place before the sinking. Unless the act of sinking is close to a landmass, lifeboats are not considered safe places. Prize rules also make it clear that sinking without warning warships and merchant ships is allowed only if these vessels pose a threat to the attacker. Thus, when U-17, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Johannes Feldkirchener, sank the British merchant ship Glitra on October 20, 1914, Feldkirchener “sent a boarding party to verify the ship's papers and then not only ensured that all crew members were safely in the lifeboats before the sea-cocks were opened, but also towed the lifeboats to within a few miles of the Norwegian coast to ensure the men's safety.”37 When the Germans began—very hesitantly—a submarine warfare that centered on hitting merchant shipping during World War I, they tried to keep the prize rules. However, this attempt was futile and was doomed to fail. Whether using the prize rules in 1914 to justify submarine actions was legitimate is a good question. Moreover, the way in which submarine warfare developed during World War I meant that prize rules became not only irrelevant but dangerous for the submarines. For almost all practical purposes, the previous prize rules, created for surface conduct, were inadequate to regulate submarine warfare. While the original prize rules could be interpreted to mean different procedures, the German interpretation typically meant that suspected ships were to be stopped, boarded, and searched and that the ship had to be sunk if war materials were found. Prior to sinking, care had to be taken that the crew and the passengers were safe, meaning in lifeboats and within a reasonable distance from land. The prize rules and Article 22 of the 1930 London Naval Treaty (discussed later in this chapter) served as a legal and moral base for determining the nature of war crimes involving submarines and surface vessel actions. During World War I, prize regulations were considered the guiding light. Page 82 →An illustrative case involving war crimes took place in 1916 when a German court's sentence of British captain Charles Fryatt to death was followed by his execution. This was the famous case involving the merchant ship Brussels. The British Admiralty instructed captains of merchant ships that if a surfaced German submarine attacked them, they should try to ram the submarine. In March 1915, Captain Fryatt managed to avoid two attacks by German submarines. Another encounter took place on March 28, 1915, when a surfaced German submarine—U-33—demanded that the Brussels identify itself. Following his orders, Captain Fryatt tried to ram the submarine. The submarine took evasive action, and the Brussels escaped. Unfortunately, Captain Fryatt was captured later by the Germans and

accused in court of acting as an illegal combatant. Captain Fryatt's defense was that he only obeyed orders of his government. The German court rejected the defense as invalid and sentenced Fryatt to death. Neutral press tended to condemn the Page 83 →court's act, and the New York Times referred to this sentence and the execution as “a deliberate murder.”38

After the war, there were attempts to take individuals who were suspected of violating laws of war to court. One famous case was that of the submarine crew who attacked the Llandovery Castle and machine-gunned survivors in lifeboats.39 Thus, conventions that began to regulate some aspects of warfare hesitantly and ineffectively in the 19th century gained some momentum during and after World War I.40 Applying the prize rules faced some serious practical problems. For example, how does one “suspect” a ship? What if the ship does not obey? How exactly does one define “war materials”? Regardless of these issues, and given the nature of a submarine, even a simplified interpretation of the prize rules would obviously limit submarine use in the most significant way, because these rules neutralize the major combat assets of a submarine—stealth and surprise. They require that a submarine reveal itself, take the time to send a boarding party to search a suspected ship, make sure the ship's crew and passengers are in lifeboats near a landmass, and only then sink the ship or take it to a port. If this suspected ship is protected by warships or is able to send a distress signal or if an aircraft on patrol spots the scene, the submarine may find itself in very grave danger. Furthermore, submarines did not carry enough crew members to take control of a captured ship and sail it to a nearby port, and given the cramped quarters in a submarine, it could not take aboard a large number of prisoners and guard them properly. Moreover, merchant ships can be “privateers”—that is, privately owned ships carrying guns that can be used against enemy shipping. Although it was accepted that a merchant ship could be armed for self-defense purposes, the 1907 Hague convention required that a merchant ship armed with guns be listed as a warship.41 A submarine that used the prize rules against an armed merchant ship would place itself in severe risk of being sunk. The issue of arming merchant ships with the means for self-defense is interesting and complex. A surfaced submarine that

wants to stop and search a suspected merchant ship runs a risk of being fired on by the deck guns of the suspected ship. Is the skipper of the submarine then supposed to ignore the ship and sail away, return fire with his deck gun, or launch torpedoes against the suspected ship? During the later part of World War I, German submarines conducted unlimited and unrestricted warfare against shipping to and from England. As a counter and successful measure, the British introduced Page 84 →the convoy system. Merchant ships accompanied by powerful warships make the use of prize regulations by submarines simply ridiculous. Furthermore, in mid-1915, the British introduced the Q-ships,42 which were merchant ships whose armament was concealed behind shutters. Q-ships sailed the “home waters, and the Mediterranean as a lure for U-boats.” These ships posed “as defenseless merchant ships, small enough to tempt a U-boat to the surface to attack her by gunfire instead of wasting a torpedo on her. When the U-boat closed on the surface and opened fire, the shutters concealing the guns were dropped and fire opened on the U-boat.” Overall, Q-ships were not very successful. Attempts to use Q-ships at the beginning of World War II were not very successful either.43 Practicing prize regulations in cases involving Q-ships and armed merchant vessels was not practical because these posed a grave risk for submarines. Indeed, the complexities involved in this practice were such that it remained one of theory.44

THE WASHINGTON NAVAL CONFERENCE AND THE WASHINGTON NAVAL TREATY Submarine warfare was discussed in what has become known as the Washington Naval Conference, convened by the United States in Washington, DC, between November 1921 and February 1922.45 Representatives of five naval powers—the United States, the British Empire, the French Third Republic, the Empire of Japan, and the Kingdom of Italy—attended the conference and, on February 6, 1922, signed the treaty it produced. The main purpose of this conference was to reflect on lessons learned during World War I and examine if an international ban on a naval building race could be achieved. Given the bitter British experience from World War I, it should not surprise us that Britain aimed to achieve a ban on submarines and demanded that submarines should be abolished altogether. At the Washington conference, the First Lord of the British Admiralty, Lord Lee of Fareham, noted that imperial Germany's submarine was “unable to prevent Britain and the U.S. from landing troops and supplies on the continent, but rather that it had been most successful as a commerce destroyer…. The British people protested against a weapon which was the negation of humanity, chivalry, and civilization itself.”46 Nevertheless, the British delegation could not persuade Page 85 →other participants to agree to a complete ban, and they defaulted to attempts to try to achieve a ban on using submarines as weapons in an unrestricted war on merchant shipping. With the exception of France (who did not ratify this clause), other participants agreed.47 The British did not give up their attempts to use international agreements to limit the danger of submarines. The fact that many countries had agreed to ban unrestricted submarine warfare (and hence delegitimize indiscriminate attacks on merchant ships) did not put British anxieties to rest. The 1928 Habana Convention on Maritime Neutrality of American States repeated that submarine attacks need to conform to maritime laws and “reiterated the traditional belligerent right of visit and search in international waters of any merchant ship at any time.” It stipulated that “a merchant ship could not be sunk unless the crew and passengers were in place of safety” and that “if a submarine could not capture a merchant ship while observing these rules, it shall not have the right to continue to attack or destroy the ship.”48 In naval conferences in the early 1930s, the London conferences of January through April 1930 and December 1935, British delegates requested, again, that submarines be abolished, 49 and the United States supported that request. France, however, objected.50 It has traditionally objected to abolishing submarines and did not want to give Britain a potential naval advantage. Instead, the French suggested that submarines should abide by the same rules followed in surface cruiser warfare. The United States and Britain agreed to compromise, and after some discussion, what has become known as Article 22 of the London Naval Treaty of 1930 was drafted. This is one of the most important documents in the history of submarine warfare. Article 22 is a formative and clear document and states that (1) in their action with regard to merchant ships, submarines must conform to the rules of International Law to which surface vessels are subject. (2) In particular, except in case of persistent refusal to stop on being duly summoned, or of active

resistance to visit or search, a warship, whether surface vessel or submarine, may not sink or render incapable of navigation a merchant vessel without having first placed passengers, crew, and ship's papers in place of safety. For this purpose, the ship's boats are not regarded as a place of safety unless the safety of the passengers and crew is assured, in the existing sea and weather conditions, by the proximity of land, or the presence of another vessel which is in a position to take them on board.51

Page 86 → Article 22 of the 1930 London Naval Treaty is very close to the prize regulations. That utilizing submarines’ main advantage as a stealth weapon in an aggressive way did not quite fit Article 22 was no big secret. Indeed, Burns notes, “The rules governing submarine warfare had an ephemeral and controversial existence: they gained legal identity as the result of political compromise only to become victims of wartime realities. But then few contemporary civil or naval observers had believed that it was possible to ‘humanize’ or limit submarine warfare.”52 The conferees also agreed on limitations on the size of submarine fleets.53 As mentioned earlier, in December 1935, the parties convened for another London conference.54 Participants were probably aware of some spirits of war in the air. Japan withdrew from the agreement following the refusal to allow it to develop a naval force equivalent to other main naval powers, and those remaining signed a weak agreement. Within no more than three years, participants to the London conferences were building naval powers that defied the agreements that they themselves had previously signed.55 However, on November 6, 1936, “the United States, Great Britain, France, Italy, and Japan signed a process-verbal56 reaffirming Article 22 and asked other nations to sign the document, which became known as the London Submarine Protocol. In response to this request, at least thirty-six additional nations signed the protocol, including Germany, the Soviet Union, and the Netherlands.”57 That this document could be interpreted in different ways is obvious. For example, Davidson states, “The 1936 London Protocols, which repeated the provisions of the Hague Convention, also required that a merchant ship, whether armed or not, be visited and searched; if it was found to be carrying contraband, the crew had to be put in a place of safety before it was sunk. But it could be sunk without visit and search if it was in a convoy, defended itself, or was a troop transport.”58 The continued failure of the British to persuade most other nations to ban or restrict construction of submarines created a contradictory British behavior: “While arguing for abolition in full knowledge that the argument was futile, Britain maintained a substantial submarine fleet.”59 When World War II began in September of 1939, Nazi Germany's policy regarding submarine warfare stated that it would adhere to the prize regulations. The evident reason for applying prize rules then was apparently Nazi Germany's utilitarian attempt to limit the scope of war and try to prevent the entry of such neutrals as the United States into the war.60 Nevertheless, and as Burns (1971) points out, there were quite a few criticisms of the rules governing submarine warfare. First, claims were raised that the Page 87 →rules were not very clear. Second, submarines were too small to carry prize crews, and their pressure hull was too vulnerable to risk a surface battle with armed merchant ships. Third, accidents and miscalculations were very likely to occur, and retaliations were likely to follow. Lastly, some strategists who objected to restrictions on using submarines argued that weapons had to be used in their maximum utility to accomplish the aim of a war, which was to win. Indeed, Burns notes that these criticisms had “the ring of self-fulfilling prophecies; the submarine code was struck down for the predicted reasons at the moment it became operational. At the outbreak of war in 1939 it was jeopardized by British decisions arming merchant ships and ordering them to radio positions of U-boats, and it was violated by German submarine practices. In 1941, it was repudiated by the United States when Washington authorized unrestricted submarine warfare against Japan.”61 At the beginning of World War II, British merchant vessels were instructed to radio the positions of sighted Uboats. Following the sinking of the Athenia by U-30 on September 3, 1939, the British Admiralty requested, on October 1, 1939, that British merchant ships ram hostile U-boats rather than surrender to their demands. German naval staff used that request as an excuse to claim that the British were those who violated the submarine warfare protocol. This was followed by a demand to instruct Nazi U-boats to sink all British ships. Burns explains, “After initially resisting, Hitler gradually gave in to the urgings of his admirals: at the end of September 1939, the

German navy announced it was suspending its Prize Regulations.”62 Moreover, and as a lesson from the previous war, German naval personnel trained for an unrestricted submarine warfare and the design of their U-boats reflected this goal. Serving in Germany's U-boats appealed to many gifted Germans and to those who served in submarines during World War I (Legro 1995:54).

THE CULTURAL DIRECTION AND CONSEQUENCES OF THE AFOREMENTIONED DEVELOPMENTS From the 19th century on, a few developments can be discerned, some of which were contradictory. One was the maturing of a variety of military technologies that led to new weapons that industrialized the ability to kill one's enemies. Consequently, cultural developments of various military ideas and thoughts about how to use these new weapons in the conduct of war Page 88 →took place. Fitting Ogburn's idea of cultural lags, the technological development of mature and capable submarines preceded ideas, strategies, training, and practices of how to use them in the most effective way. Some of these ideas and thoughts required new moralities and the setting of new rules for conducting naval warfare. That is, changes in cultural cores were required. The combination of these two trends helped to leave military planners with free hands for designing new ways of how to conduct a war. Callousness for human life was one of the results. While some may argue that the industrialization of war “had” to culminate with such a result, the 20th-century cultural convergence of these developments with a few others (e.g., fascism, communism, nationalism, expansionism) helped to produce two extremely costly world wars.63 Attempts to counterbalance these developments consisted of repeated attempts to regulate the conduct of war and place limits on cruelty, ruthlessness, and bloodshed. These attempts focused on such topics as treatment of prisoners of war, treatment of civilians, types of weapon that were allowed, behavior during combat, and the way different types of weapon were expected to be used. When World War II ended, there were enough rules set in place to enable the establishment of courts and prosecutions. Both sets of post–World War II trials (in Europe and the Far East) attracted much attention, creating controversies lasting to these days and occupying the minds of many, especially those interested in international law. Nevertheless, this book is not going to submerge in lengthy legal discussions about the nature and appropriateness of these trials, because, among other reasons, the legal criminal standard is typically very high and—by definition—narrows the issues. Rather, the focus of this book is on the puzzle of the social and cultural behavior involved in a particular form, tactic, and strategy of naval warfare. I shall examine its nature from a sociology of deviance and of culture points of view, regardless of whether it passes the stringent threshold of a criminal trial. If “normal” means prevalence, then wars have most certainly become a “normal” part of human existence. Prevalence, however, may not mean “normal” in the sense of “acceptable” or “legitimate,” because high prevalence may still pose problems in legitimacy or acceptance. Thus, a conflict has developed between those who view wars as an illegitimate activity and are involved in attempts to regulate aggressive wars and some radicals who even Page 89 →went as far as to suggest that wars be declared as illegitimate. For example, during the post–World War II Nuremberg and Far East war crimes trials, the attempt was to delegitimize aggressive wars but to allow the limited use of force in defined cases of self-defense or on instructions of the United Nations Security Council. These trials pointed a finger at both those whose profession was planning and making wars and some of the politicians who supported them. Well into the 1950s and later, the class of “soldiers” has acquired—in many cultures—a status of respectability, honor, and even courage and heroism. In many cultures, wearing a uniform gained a positive aura, mostly based on such values as nationalism and patriotism and by downplaying the unpleasant, nonheroic, and sometimes even despicable aspects of soldiering. Because countries tend to invest a great deal of their resources in the military, the “soldier” class enjoys much influence, and the trend to characterize war as illegitimate has thus faced a strong and organized group of professionals. When the morality and power of a state stand behind this class of professionals, this development should not surprise us. In very many respects, wars require the suspension of conventional civil moralities. Thus, preparing for and

practicing wars and combats always present significant challenges to cultural cores. These challenges affect noncombatants and soldiers alike, and countries that are involved in wars must invest a decent amount of resources to cope with these challenges. These resources are invested and expressed in propaganda, boot camps, politics, the economy, education, the job market, and elsewhere. Within wars, acts do occur that are regarded by us as deviance, such as deliberate and unprovoked killings of noncombatants, killing defenseless soldiers who have surrendered,64 raping, cheating, lying and deceiving, stealing, robbing, and so on. If you like, war may be characterized as an ultimate stimulus in releasing mass human aggression and an impressive spectrum of behaviors that have typically appeared in textbooks on deviance. However, examining the legitimacy of such acts with a historical perspective reveals that taboos and permissions did evolve. Even within war situations, there are acts that are not legitimate, are unacceptable, and can be used in courts for prosecuting suspects. Ancient and not-so-ancient wars witnessed such acts, but the idea of trying to regulate a large spectrum of behaviors and thus limiting what was allowable in war seems to have been one of rather recent Page 90 →vintage. Demanding that specific soldiers and others viewed as responsible for such acts be held accountable for these deeds is not a simple or uniform process. This process depends, obviously, on who won the war and on which side the suspect served. Very few countries in the past put their own soldiers on trial for committing what was defined as “war crimes.”

WHY STUDY UNRESTRICTED SUBMARINE WARFARE? There are a few compelling reasons to examine precisely unrestricted submarine warfare in the context of deviance. The most important is probably the image of a stealthy weapon designed to attack in total surprise, unprovoked, to wreak havoc on and terrorize sea-lane shipping. Images of predators and victims come to mind, and it is perhaps no coincidence that the subtitles to Blair's two monumental submarine books refer to “the hunters” and “the hunted.” Indeed, this weapon has emerged as a genuine terror weapon in both world wars of the previous century, and it matured into a doomsday weapon during the Cold War. I am not using the term terror lightly here. There are many definitions of the term, and a consensus hardly exists among them. Still, three elements seem to characterize “terror” in almost all definitions. One is that terror aims to instill fear, and another is that it is aimed against civilians. Terror also capitalizes on unpredictability and stealth. All three of these elements existed in submarine warfare in the two world wars. Is it legitimate for a submarine to blow to smithereens merchant, passenger, or hospital ships, which carry civilians, food supplies, clothing, the sick and the wounded, and the like? If so, who made it legitimate, and why did they do so? Under what circumstances can attacking such ships be justified? How should the submarine crew act? Should these acts be viewed as deviancies even within the “normal” activity of submarines? As we saw, there are at least two sets of internationally agreed-on conventions—the Geneva and Hague conventions—that, to say the least, are not too favorable to such acts. However, even if—just for the sake of argument—we are willing to disregard the existence of these conventions, is it kosher for a submarine to sink merchant, passenger, and hospital ships without provocation and without giving fair warning? Is it legitimate to default into an unrestricted submarine warfare (which means hitting almost anything afloat that is viewed as an “enemy” vessel)? These questions compel examination. Page 91 →

PRACTICING UNRESTRICTED SUBMARINE WARFARE AFTER WORLD WAR I The Spanish Civil War raged between July 1936 and March/April 1939. During the war, Germany and Italy supported the Nationalists led by the dictator Francisco Franco, and the Soviet Union supported the leftist Republicans. Franco asked the Italians to stop Soviet supplies from reaching Spain, and Italian dictator Benito Mussolini was only happy to agree. The summer of 1937 witnessed ruthless and indiscriminate Italian attacks against merchant shipping from the Soviet Union to Spain. British and French warnings did not stop this campaign. Between September 9 and 14, nine powers convened a diplomatic conference in Nyon, Switzerland. Albania, Italy, and Germany refused to participate. The nine participant states issued an agreement65 on

September 14, 1937, which stated that submarine attacks on merchant ships would be considered an act of piracy and be countered by maximum force.66 This agreement raises some intriguing questions. For example, who would undertake maximum force, and would they be doing so in self-defense or as punishment? If the merchant ships are entitled to retaliate, are they surely not merchants in the first place? If they are accompanied by armed ships, can they also be regarded as not merchants? Otherwise, how can merchants be distinguished from armed forces? The nine participant states agreed to take collective measures to suppress attacks by submarines against merchant vessels. The result, as Holwitt67 points out, was dramatic. Mussolini, realizing the danger to his navy, stopped the attacks. While it may appear as a polite or practically expedient gesture by the Germans to try to apply the prize rules when World War II began,68 it was only a matter of time before this practice would be abandoned. Armed merchant ships, merchant ships accompanied by warships, and the danger from attacking aircraft all made abandoning the practice of adhering to Article 22 (or prize rules) a matter of not “if” but “when.” As journalists and historians Terry Hughes and John Costello point out, the German naval staff argued already at the beginning of the war that U-boats should be allowed to strike ruthlessly.69 Peter Padfield, a military and naval historian, notes that a German staff paper from as early as September 1939 stated, “With the expected general arming of enemy merchantmen a situation will develop allowing the sinking without warning of all enemy merchantmen.”70 Karl Dönitz, chief of the Nazi submarine service, trained his men to Page 92 →repeat the unrestricted warfare of World War I. His main tactic assumed that his enemies would use the successful World War I antisubmarine practice of sending ships out in convoys. He trained his U-boat crews to use the low silhouette of the U-boats and their surfaced high speed in surprise surface attacks, thus utilizing their submarines as submersible torpedo boats. He instructed his Kriegsmarine to focus on night surface attacks in groups of submarines (known as “wolf packs”), in order to penetrate the convoys unprovoked and stealthily and sink convoy ships. For a while (certainly until 1942), this tactic—known as the “wolf pack attack”—worked pretty well.71 The important thing to notice is that it was clear that the command of Nazi Germany's U-boats was expecting that the limitations posed on the operations of their U-boats by the prize rules would be lifted by the same person who enforced them, Adolf Hitler. Indeed, at the end of December 1939 or in early January 1940, Dönitz told his U-boat commanding officers that the prize rules were to be abandoned. That simply meant that Nazi Germany's U-boats were back to their World War I practice of unrestricted submarine warfare. Dönitz told his commanders, Rescue no one and take no one with you. Have no care for the ships’ boats. Weather conditions and the proximity of land are of no account. Care only for your own boat and strive to achieve the next success as soon as possible! We must be hard in this war. The enemy started this war in order to destroy us, therefore nothing else matters.72 During the postwar Nuremberg trials, Dönitz was accused of being involved in three types of crime: (1) conspiracy to commit crimes against peace, war crimes, and crimes against humanity; (2) planning, initiating, and waging wars of aggression; and (3) crimes against the laws of war. As Burns (1971) points out, the Nuremberg tribunal had a difficult time deciding what Dönitz was guilty of that was different than what the British or American submariners did during the war. Eventually, Dönitz was found not guilty on the first count but guilty on the second and third counts. He was sentenced to a prison sentence and spent 10 years in prison.73 Following Nazi Germany's practice of unrestricted submarine warfare, British submarines were consequently allowed to practice unrestricted submarine warfare as well,74 and when the Americans joined the war, their submarines practiced a similar policy against Japanese and German vessels.75 Page 93 →About four and a half hours after the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the U.S. Department of the Navy sent the following message to its units: “Execute unrestricted air and submarine warfare against Japan.”76 This order was actually sent even before the United States declared formally that it was at war with Japan on December 8. Jonathan Rayner, who teaches at the University of Sheffield, adds that since the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor constituted a breach of treaties and international law, the United States did not feel at that time that it had to abide by any rules that restricted naval warfare.77

The unrestricted warfare of American, British, German, and Japanese submarines made the prize rules irrelevant. In fact, all previous agreements and understandings about limiting naval warfare involving submarines failed and were abrogated de facto. The process of changing relevant cultural cores that began with German U-boats practicing such warfare during World War I continued into World War II. None of the belligerents during that war felt bound by any limitations to the wartime activities of their submarines. The parts relevant to submarine warfare in the Hague and Geneva conventions simply became irrelevant as well. Even the weak lip service paid to these agreements was unpersuasive and probably only bred cynicism. Answers to the questions of who was placed on a war trial after the end of the war and why probably have something to do with who won the war and who lost it. The ferocity and ruthlessness with which merchant, passenger, and hospital ships were attacked simply voided the facade of good intentions and understandings expressed in these conventions. This was no coincidence: the decision to use the submarine as a stealthy underwater weapon platform in an unrestricted fashion made these understandings irrelevant (assisted, no doubt, by some operational considerations). In the main, deciding to use submarines in this manner was primarily a cultural issue. That explains the failure of numerous technical international agreements and pacts, resulting from uncomfortable political compromises, including Article 22 and the 1936 London Submarine Protocol. Clearly, practicing unrestricted warfare, as well as paying no heed to previous understandings, required major changes in cultural cores—certainly in Britain, Germany, and the United States. Perhaps because of the Japanese Bushido military code (supported by the political Kokutai ambience), changes to Japanese cultural cores were not so difficult or cloaked. More generally, the presence of submarines no doubt created a structural opportunity, and willingness to use this weapon in an unrestricted fashion depended on decisions by submarine headquarters and commanders as well as on political will. Such decisions required—among other things—determination, ruthlessness, and aggressiveness (see Most and Starr 1989). Emily Goldman's influential 1994 work analyzed the failure of international arms control agreements between the wars.78 She points out how this failure “demonstrates the destabilizing consequences of pursuing military-based arms control in the absence of developing, or moving toward, a Page 95 →consensus on the political architecture” (15). This observation should not really come as a surprise to us. Politics involve processing ideologies and moralities. When no such processing takes place, technical agreements may become empty shells. Submarines presented a riddle. Technically, the most effective way to use them militarily was to rely on their stealth in an aggressive fashion. However, practicing such a ruthless form of an unrestricted warfare required much more than a technical decision. Unleashing and licensing submarines to act in this most ferocious and cruel manner required a significant change in previous cognitive and emotional maps and a switch to new cultural cores. This change did not just happen overnight, and prior to practicing this new form of warfare, the German Imperial Navy, as well as Germany's politicians, agonized over this change throughout World War I. British naval officers were unsure too; that some of them used the term barbarity to describe the nature of unrestricted submarine warfare reflects their uncertainty. Nevertheless, once this change took place, practicing such warfare became much easier for Nazi Germany's U-boat army, as well as for the American, British, and Japanese silent services. The agreements that these nations negotiated and shared, as well as the anxieties that they expressed about submarine warfare during various conventions where naval warfare was discussed between the wars, culminated in technical agreements that collapsed once hostilities began in World War II. The reason should be evident: before World War I, cultural cores helped to squelch unrestricted submarine warfare as a barbaric form of warfare; once these cores were altered in World War I, the road to practice such warfare in World War II became wide open.

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5 Development of Submarine Warfare in Two World Wars MAHAN'S STRATEGY Assuming that one does have a functioning pigboat, what is one supposed to actually do with it? While the Hunley's 1864 attack indicated that a stealthy underwater weapon could sink surface ships, a naval theory of how to use such a weapon system did not develop until World War I. This development needs to be contextualized within naval strategic thought of the time. Probably the most influential strategy for naval warfare before World War I was developed by Captain (later Rear Admiral) Alfred Thayer Mahan (1840–1914). Mahan was a flag officer in the U.S. Navy, and his experience included the American Civil War. During that war, the North placed a land and sea blockade on the South (the Anaconda Plan),1 and submarine battles took place.2 Mahan joined the U.S. Naval War College, of which he became president in 1886. His two most influential books were published in 1890 (The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660–1783) and in 1892 (The Influence of Sea Power upon the French Revolution and Empire, 1793–1812).3 Mahan was convinced that in order to gain dominance in war, controlling sea-lanes (commerce and military) was absolutely essential. His insightful perception was that whoever controlled the seas would inevitably win wars. Such control by one navy could deny free passage to others and thus have dire economic consequences for the nation who depends on sea commerce. It also could—so he believed—bring the side who is subjected to the control to a total collapse. What Mahan envisioned was that, for example, the two sides to the naval conflict would have to bring their fleets into one decisive battle, where one fleet would win and the other would lose. Such battle, he thought, required surface fleets of battlewagons and warships. Once one Page 97 →of the fleets lost, an effective and ruthless blockade could be placed against merchant shipping and bring an entire nation to submit. Clearly, Mahan's views were influenced by the 18th-century naval wars between France and Britain, where British naval superiority eventually defeated France, consistently preventing invasion and blockade.4 These views gained the hearts and minds of many contemporary military and political figures of influence. Mahan's books were read by Theodore Roosevelt (a civil service commissioner in Washington at that time), who was apparently deeply impressed by Mahan's work and wrote an enthusiastic review of it, which appeared in the Atlantic Monthly.5 Another person who read Mahan's work and was similarly impressed was German emperor Wilhelm II. So deep was his impression that he decided that Germany had to develop a first-rate naval force. Many other influential administrators, politicians, and military men also read Mahan's work and were clearly impressed. Mahan himself, by the way, was one of the American delegates to the 1899 Hague conference (which achieved very little). The following 1907 Hague convention was much more successful. Kemp6 notes, It would be difficult to overestimate the influence of Mahan's work on the navies of most maritime nations. His books were closely studied at most naval staff colleges and war colleges and his arguments were brought forward in many nations to diverge a larger proportion of national income to the building of larger and more balanced navies.7 As interesting and influential as Mahan's views were, they were not outside relevant historical contexts of developing naval strategies and regulations on war conduct. Control of sea-lanes, naval commerce, and transportation was an old idea. During the wars of the 17th and 18th centuries, naval blockades were tried repeatedly. However, inadequate technology and insufficient resource allocations frequently rendered them ineffective. There never seemed to be enough ships to enforce a powerful and effective blockade. The effectiveness of sailing ships depended on suitable weather conditions, and the adequate naval intelligence was also typically missing. However, the idea of an effective naval blockade was not abandoned. The British navy's blockade of France during the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars (1792–1815) are examples of more effective operations; the North's blockade of the Confederacy in the American Civil War (1861–65) is another.8

As Page 98 →technology developed, the idea of effective naval blockades became more attractive and feasible. Thus, Mahan's idea of controlling the sea by means of major battles between big surface fleets, the winners of which could erect an effective naval blockade on a rival country, made much sense within the historical context in which this idea was presented.

This approach has become known as the Mahan Strategy, and it was the major naval strategy until World War I. Since it was based on the assumption that the outcome of a clash (or clashes) between surface fleets on the high seas would be decisive, naval powers committed large resources into building mammoth battleships, dreadnoughts, with oversized guns on the magnitude of 16 inches. Such a concept of naval warfare prevented the development of a theory and practice of how to use a small, stealthy, submersible weapon platform. Submarines were thought of as protectors of the big surface fleet from the flanks, clearing the way ahead of the sailing of the surface battle fleet. Thinking of submarines as aggressive weapons, working Page 99 →independently or in groups to attack enemy warships and engage in commerce raiding, was outside Mahan's thinking. Mahan was also not a great supporter of commerce raiding per se.9 He felt that such raids could not win a naval war by themselves. I suspect that the prize rules were, to a very large extent, irrelevant for Mahan's main ideas. For him, the decisive factor was a decisive clash between fleets of warships. Once one fleet has won, there may not be a need for prize rules, because the dominance of that fleet would be complete and total. Such a decisive victory would allow the victor to place a full and effective naval siege on the vanquished. Mahan's strategy had no ethical difficulties with such sieges. Indeed, Pope and Wheal point out that prior to 1914, “the capacity to halt flow of trade to and from a hostile country was generally regarded as a war-winning weapon.”10 The general idea was that submarines would, somehow, help to protect the huge and powerful surface battlewagons and help these surface battleships, cruisers, and destroyers sink enemy shipping. In fact, submarines built by the United States until World War II were referred to as “fleet submarines”—that is, submarines whose primary combat role was to be part of a surface fleet. The Imperial Japanese Navy's plans for their Pacific War “were designed around a decisive fleet engagement with the U.S. battleship strength.”11 While Mahan's ideas were dominant, they have also come under some criticism as well. One such criticism is based on the history of modern naval warfare. The technological developments and military practice that helped make the idea of a

decisive surface encounter between battlewagons of two fleets a reality was expressed—among other factors—in the battle at Jutland. This naval battle was fought between May 31 and June 1, 1916, between a British naval fleet commanded by Admiral Sir John Jellicoe and the German Imperial Navy's High Seas Fleet, commanded by Admiral Reinhard Scheer. Despite Mahan's ideas, that battle did not end in a decisive victory. Interestingly enough, in that battle, the German Imperial Navy tried to create a major submarine trap for the British navy. British warships leaving some bases to help the British navy were supposed to encounter German submarines who lay in wait for these ships. The British navy did not fall into this ambush, and the trap did not work.12 Overall, the battle of Jutland did not verify the validity of Mahan's strategy, and submarines were used in it. Moreover, later technological developments, particularly those associated with the development of combat aircraft and the aircraft carrier, presented even more problems for Mahan's ideas of using huge battleships for a naval Page 100 →strategy in decisive battles. However, his basic idea about the advantages of controlling sea-lanes are as valid today as they were originally. To achieve this goal, submarines have indeed become a decisive weapon. The effectiveness of two new weapons used to achieve this goal—the airplane and the submarine—was not foreseen by Mahan.

USING SUBMARINES If a contemporary submariner is asked about what a submarine can do, the answer will probably be “Lots of things.” Among them are defending littoral waters; escorting and defending surface ships (e.g., in a naval battle group); launching missiles; a variety of activities associated with espionage, sabotage, and intelligence gathering;13 mine laying; transporting commando units and provisions; and, of course, attacking and sinking enemy submarines14 and shipping. During the Cold War, use of submarines was developed into intelligence gathering15 and extended into giving submarines abilities to act as a second-strike nuclear weapon system that sustained one of the Cold War's main concepts, mutually assured destruction. However, when the question of how to use submarines came up before World War I, no navy had conceived of these roles. The prevailing idea was that submarines could and should be used defensively to protect coastlines and offensively to attack enemy warships. The idea that these submersible war platforms could be used independently to achieve a decisive effect had not matured in any of the world's navies. When World War I began, the German Imperial Navy had 20 operational submarines (another 15 were nonoperational and used as training boats).16 This was only the fifth-largest submarine fleet, behind Britain, France, Russia, and the United States.17 At that time, Germany had no overall strong strategic conceptualization of how to use this weapon. As author and historian Thomas Parrish commented, “Now that submarines had gone to war in earnest for the first time, they found no tradition to guide them and no context specifically outlined for them in which to function.”18 This statement is reinforced by Terraine's observation that “in the case of submarine and anti-submarine warfare, it is a simple fact that, until 1915, everything about it was new; there was no previous experience, and everything was changing all the time.”19 Redford's 2010 work on the Royal Page 101 →Navy challenges this perception. He points out that the Royal Navy had submarines, trained with them, and knew their capabilities. In fact, he refers to a memo that Admiral Sir John Fisher, who had served as First Lord of the Sea (1904–10), sent in 1913, in which he suggested that submarines could be used as commerce raiders in an unrestricted fashion and that this would indeed violate the prize rules because submarines could not abide by the prize rules.20 Fisher also said elsewhere, “The essence of war is violence, moderation in war is imbecility!”21 As Redford notes (96), experts dismissed this idea. In fact, as Redford points out (102), Churchill wrote that the belief that “Germans would use submarines for sinking unarmed merchantmen without challenge or any means of rescuing crews” was unacceptable and “abhorrent to the immemorial law and practice of the sea.” He added that Churchill wrote privately to Fisher that he did not believe that “the use of submarines to sink merchant vessels…would ever be done by a civilized power.” One needs to remember that when Fisher wrote his memo, he was no longer the First Lord of the Sea. Redford suggests that the Royal Navy's failure to use its submarines in an aggressive and unrestricted commerce raiding was because of its “inability to think outside cultural constructs that led to unrestricted submarine warfare being such a shock to the British…as it was contrary to the prize rules” (97, 99). In our terms, the technological advantages of the submarine were known at the beginning of World War I, but there was a significant cultural lag between this knowledge and the required change in the cultural cores that would allow this knowledge to be incorporated into a new and practiced concept of naval warfare.

Moreover, submariners’ appearance and conduct did not fit contemporary concepts of the proper appearance and conduct of naval officers and sailors. Redford (2010) points out that for very many years, British perception of its naval supremacy and freedom of the seas was based on the sea power of its formidable surface fleet of battleships and dreadnoughts. These battlewagons of the Royal Navy helped into being a proud image of British national identity. Submarines did not quite fit into this cultural image. Worse yet, the military capabilities of submarines threatened these cultural images. British naval strategists, referring to submarines as “pigboats,”22 were confused as well. These boats simply did not have any resemblance to the majestic and awe-inspiring look of surface battlewagons or destroyers, with their elegant streamlined designs. They did not conjure images of proud Page 102 →surface ships, ploughing the high seas with roaring engines, hastening to attack an enemy man-of-war with huge 16-inch guns spewing fire and with skippers giving orders while dressed in white. Submarines’ accommodations were cramped and did not allow for elaborated naval ceremonies. The greasy, smelly sailors in the stinking cramped boats, which allowed very little distance between officers and sailors, were perceived as “not respectable” and “unbecoming.” These submariners seemed to resemble sneaky pirates23 more than proud and respectable navy men. For many contemporary naval officers, there seemed to be something dishonest, sneaky, and devious about those pigboat men hiding in stinking submerged metal tubes waiting to launch deadly torpedoes against unsuspecting vessels. The technology of submarines led to its operation and usage in a way that contradicted previous values. Indeed, Redford notes, “By adopting the submarine, given the strength of belief in its ‘unfair’ nature, the British were faced with a technology that challenged their national identity.”24 One way of solving this contradiction was to have submarines operate as an integral part of a surface fleet.25 However, doing that meant that a major advantage of the submarine as a stealthy and offensive weapon was not given top priority. There were those in Germany who advocated using submarines in an unrestricted way, for example, navy minister Alfred von Tirpitz. Doing that was, of course, preaching to change symbolic-moral boundaries of naval warfare and thus to alter contents of cultural cores. Tirpitz suggested that “all ships, of any nation, belligerent or neutral, were fair game and could be attacked without warning.”26 Given prior understandings and practices of how to conduct naval warfare, Tirpitz's suggestion constituted a radical departure. Still, many others—including Kaiser Wilhelm II and his chancellor, resisted. In fact, there were even those who felt that using submarines at all might have been unethical.27 Admiral von Pohl, chief of the German naval staff had, at first, very strong doubts about using submarines against shipping. He later became the main supporter of this approach.28 These early German debates indicate how a struggle to alter cultural cores was carried out and the difficulties of actually making such an alteration. Furthermore, one can safely assume that the debate between high-ranking officers occupying positions of power and influence probably reflected debates and deliberations carried out in lower ranks and trickled all the way to the top military and political levels. As we shall see shortly, this hesitant beginning Page 103 →was later replaced by a determined acceptance of using submarines as a primarily offensive weapon system in an unrestricted way. Indeed, at the later stage of World War I, German submarines almost brought Britain to its knees. A leading military historian and author, David Miller,29 divides the development of active German U-boat warfare during World War I into a few phases.30 The first phase (from August 1914 to February 1915)31 was a hesitant “opening stage,” but with three significant events. First, U-21, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Otto Hersing, sank the British light cruiser Pathfinder off the Scottish coastline on September 5,1914.32 Second, on September 22, 1914, U-9, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Otto Weddigen, sank three British cruisers: the Aboukir, the Cressy, and the Hogue.33 These sinkings gave strong support and validation to the idea that a submarine can be a very effective offensive weapon. The third development was the British naval blockade against Germany. This last development deserves more attention. A naval blockade is not much different from the ancient strategy of erecting siege systems around cities, starving the besieged, and forcing them to surrender. As noted earlier, this strategy was used already in biblical times and by the Greeks, Romans, and others, and it was consistent with Mahan's strategy. The development of naval technology and know-how enabled later combatants to set up blockades on a grand scale. The Civil War in the United States illustrated, for the first time, a naval engagement where a Confederate submarine successfully

attacked a Union ship34 in order to break a blockade. Blockades obviously threatened the rights of nonbelligerents and neutrals to deal with both sides, and attempts to solve this thorny issue brought about the 1909 London Declaration. All major naval forces signed this document, but Britain did not ratify it. As noted by Pope and Wheal, the blockade placed by Britain created many reactions. The North Sea blockade (…described as ‘economic warfare’ by contemporary British officials) was the principal economic weapon employed by either side in wartime, and was always a matter of international controversy. Immediate German claims that it was illegal, and aimed primarily at causing civilian distress were echoed by some sections of neutral opinion, and the United States delivered several protests to the British government over interference with legal trade.35 Page 104 → Tarrant is much blunter and states explicitly that “Britain violated international law by declaring the whole of the North Sea a War Zone” and that “Britain also infringed international law by instructing British merchantmen to fly neutral flags.”36 However, Smith notes that while the British tried to implement “forceful…efforts to maintain a maritime blockade with stop-and-search policies on neutral shipping…British blockading actions were a nuisance but did not cost lives. By contrast, the U-boat attacks seemed indiscriminate and barbaric…. The New York Times spoke of German conduct as being that of a ‘savage drunk with blood.’”37 In this context, Smith mentions the sinking of the passenger ships Lusitania,38 Laconia,39 and Housatonic.40 Terraine notes that the “British blockade of Germany in 1914…proved immediately to be as effective as the United States blockade of the Confederacy”;41 that is, “The enemy's…merchant navy had been swept away, and he had no ships on the high seas.”42 However, neutral ships were allowed to enter German ports. These neutral ships complicated the identification of suspected ships and cargo by ships of war. Documenting the complications involved in applying the prize rules on a large scale, Terraine43 points out that “boarding prize crews and capture were precisely what the submarine could not do. What it could do, and most frequently did, especially in the early days, was to surface, threaten the ship with gunfire, order the crew to take to their boats and then sink her.”44 Moreover, maintaining the distant blockade was meant not only to block German access to food and raw materials but to enable the British navy to avoid a Mahanian head-on clash with the German High Seas Fleet. This provoked the German navy to challenge the blockade and have its vessels sail to confront the British fleet.45 Wars and blockades create their own dynamics. Thus, at the beginning of World War I, “British blockade tactics…kept reasonably close to the spirit of the Declaration”46 (despite the fact that the British did not ratify the declaration). Yet the Germans viewed the British blockade as a gross violation of international law. Halpern points out that in the spring of 1914, before the war, a German naval officer—Kapitänleutnant Blum—estimated that 222 U-boats would be sufficient to place commerce warfare against Britain while adhering to the prize rules.47 In fact, already on October 8, 1914, as a retaliatory countermeasure of the British announcement that it had mined “the approaches to the English Channel east of the line Dover-Calais,”48 Page 105 →the officer in charge of German submarines—Korevettenkapitän Hermann Bauer—recommended to the commander of the German High Seas Fleet that German U-boats begin raiding commercial ships along the British coast.49 Toward the end of December 1914, Bauer submitted another memorandum urging that commerce raiding be started in January 1915.50 On February 1915, the Germans publicized a warning that they viewed the sea around Britain and Ireland as a war zone and that ships sailing in these areas were in danger of being hit. Some historians thus feel that February 1915 opened the door for the new era of unrestricted submarine warfare. However, since the British and their allies detected no positive results in the battlefields from their blockade, they began to rethink their strategy. In March 1915, counter to the 1909 declaration, “the Allies jointly announced revised rules prohibiting all imports and export traffic (including neutrals) from using German ports.”51 An unrestricted blockade thus materialized, meaning that all ships were blocked from reaching German ports. This unrestricted blockade was tightened further following the entrance of America into the conflict. The Allies in the Mediterranean placed a somewhat similar blockade on ports of German allies.

In any event, as the nature of the British naval blockade became clearer, the realization that the German navy could not overcome the Royal Navy also became clearer. The pressure to utilize submarines as main weapons in breaking the blockade and to place a counterblockade on Britain grew, and a new phase of unrestricted submarine warfare began. The United States applied pressure, and in April 1915, Germany restricted its submarines. This step was bound to be short lived. Admiral Reinhard Scheer52 wrote that the blockade, particularly the North Sea blockade, resulted in “all important trade with Germany both by land and sea being stranded.” He continued, In particular, the importation of food was made impossible. When the starvation of Germany was recognized as the goal the British were striving to reach, we had to realize what means we had at our disposal to defend ourselves against this danger…. This realization prompted senior officers of the German High Seas Fleet to submit a memorandum to their commander (at that time, Admiral von Pohl), in which they pointed out that, Page 106 → As England is trying to destroy our trade it is only fair if we retaliate by…all possible means. Further, as England completely disregards international law in her actions, there is not the least reason why we should exercise any restraint in our conduct of the war…. By means of the U-boat we should be able to inflict the greatest injury. We must therefore make use of this weapon, and do so, moreover, in the way most suited to its peculiarities…. Consequently, a U-boat cannot spare the crews of steamers, but must send them to the bottom with their ships…. We should make the enemy realize…what a powerful weapon we possess in the U-boat…. The most unsparing use is to be made of it.53 What these texts imply are two important facets. A restricted submarine warfare basically means adherence, more or less, to the Hague conventions and to prize rules. Specifically, it means allowing people on ships to evacuate the ship safely before sinking it. Unrestricted submarine warfare means sinking ships without any warning and paying no attention to the safety of its surviving crew or passengers. Admiral Scheer's call to use German means to defend itself, coupled by the more direct memorandum sent by German naval officers, pointed the way toward resorting to the unrestricted option. Moreover, German naval officers realized very well that the very nature of a submarine is such that to make it an effective and successful weapon (of terror), it had to be used in the context of an unrestricted warfare. Avner Offer's 1989 work examined the effects of the blockade on Germany. Offer's main conclusion is that the Germans indeed frequently suffered hunger and experienced cold in winters. However, starvation was not a condition suffered by the Germans. The Germans, of course, were not going to sit idle and just watch with admiration how the Royal Navy choked their maritime lifelines. Not only did they have a weapon system that could break the blockade, but they could erect a blockade of their own. The plan was for submarines to sink all ships going to Britain. Consequently, the plan that eventually became dominant during World War I in the German navy was to use U-boats to attack and sink all merchant ships going to Britain and thus to create an effective blockade aimed at starving the country and bringing it to submission.54 In December 1914, Bauer submitted another recommendation to use U-boats to sink commercial ships. Bauer's recommendations were seconded Page 107 →on November 20, 1914 (and again on December 20), by Vice Admiral Scheer, commander of the German Second Battle Squadron.55 On November 7, Admiral von Pohl, who had just become chief of the German High Seas Fleet, made the formal proposal to the German chancellor to commence a submarine blockade of Britain.56 This early proposal was unwelcome, not because of moral considerations, but because there were suspicions and anxiety that such a ruthless form of warfare would, sooner or later, hit neutral shipping and might recruit neutral nations to support and fight alongside Germany's enemies. However, after much debate, February 4, 1915, saw the publication and diffusion of Germany's dire warning that the Germans viewed the waters around Britain and Ireland as war zones and that beginning on February 18, any merchant ship found there would be destroyed. Page 108 →Neutral ships were also warned that they might be hit, because the Germans suspected that the British were misusing neutral flags.57 As Halpern points out,58 the German intention to launch an unrestricted submarine warfare was met with some strong protests around the

world. The United States warned that if American ships or lives were lost, Germany would be held to “a strict accountability.” Other neutrals expressed condemnation as well. Nevertheless, between March and May 1915, the Germans were able to keep an average number of only six operational U-boats at sea per day, which is not a very large number. However, these boats fared quite well and sank 115 ships, with a loss of only five U-boats.59

We can thus accept 1915 as the year when the concept of an unrestricted submarine warfare was fully applied. Commerce raiding by submarines must have been Britain's most serious fear, because it could mean an effective naval blockade on an island nation.60 Particularly abhorrent was the idea and practice that an unrestricted submarine warfare targeted civilian populations (as well as military targets). British ideas about fair fights, free trade, and honor were simply incoherent with unrestricted submarine warfare. The initial successes of German Uboats surprised the British, because they did not really expect a wide-scale unrestricted submarine warfare. Culturally, their reaction was to stigmatize the submarine by referring to and using such terms as piracy and barbarity.61 However, the Royal Navy had submarines, and while British culture developed hateful attitudes toward submarines, it also had to cope with the thorny problem of how to use them. Given the partial success of German U-boats and its meaning made this problem even more difficult. The problem of how to conceptualize and use these submarines in a way that would not be referred to as piracy or barbarism—that is, to use them differently than did the Germans—would continue to haunt British culture into World War II. As Legro (1995:79) points out, within the British culture's emphasis on battleships, its policy toward submarine warfare presented two faces. One reflected a policy of restraint in practicing unrestricted warfare; the second reflected measures that favored both warfare and defense (see also Redford 2010). The sinkings of the Lusitania in May 1915 and the Sussex on March 24, 1916, were followed by American expressions of anger and warnings to cease this ruthless naval warfare. This resulted in an intermission in German unrestricted submarine warfare. But this did not last for long. In a conference on August 30, 1916, Admiral von Holtzendorff—then naval chief of staff—urged that unrestricted submarine warfare be resumed as soon as Page

109 →possible. Discounting the fear that neutrals might join the war against Germany, he added that not using the submarines in such warfare was wrong.62 Although the decision then was to postpone decisions, more pressure from the German naval headquarters followed, and in January 1917, it was decided that unrestricted submarine warfare would be resumed in February of that year.63 Thus, the seeds of unrestricted submarine warfare that had been planted in the early stages of World War I became policy later in the war. The countermeasures taken by the British Admiralty were ruthless as well. In 1915, Winston Churchill, who was the First Lord of the Admiralty when World War I began, issued a set of guidelines and orders to mercantile marine captains. He took responsibility for arming British merchantmen with “guns of sufficient power to deter the U-boat from surface attack” and turned these ships into potential fighting units.64 That measure forced German submarines to rely only on launching submerged underwater attacks with torpedoes. Given the low quality of periscope optics, inaccuracies, and general problems of identification, this step was meant by Churchill to increase the probability that U-boats would make serious mistakes. Churchill thought that this step would help U-boats mistake neutral ships for British vessels and cause these U-boats to attack and sink neutral ships and have their crews drawn. This, Churchill hoped, would embroil “Germany with other great powers.” He wrote, We also resorted to the well-known ruse de guerre of hoisting false colors in order further to baffle and confuse the enemy…. It was at this stage that we developed the stratagem of the Q-ship.65 Simpson adds, British naval vessels were also ordered to treat the crews of captured U-boats as felons, and not to accord them the status of prisoners of war…. From October 1914 onward…orders were issued to the masters of British merchant ships. It was made an offense to obey a U-boat's order to halt. Instead, masters must immediately engage the enemy, either with their armament if they possessed it, or by ramming if they did not. Any master who surrendered his ship was to be persecuted, and several were.66 The British Admiralty's instructions that turned civil merchant ships into fighting units made it impossible for the German navy to conduct the war in Page 110 →an effective manner using the prize rules. The deception involving Q-ships was only an additional step in this direction. Expressing rage or surprise when these ships were attacked by German submarines counter to the prize rules (which British instructions made impractical) should not really be taken too seriously. Complaining loudly when German submarine attacks did not conform to these rules has—in this context—a hollow sound. For a 21st-century person who is concerned about human rights and for negotiated settlements of conflicts, the idea of a blockade that is meant to create conditions of starvations for thousands or millions of people is abhorrent.67 It means that a huge number of innocent people might be brought to experience intolerable starvation in order to press the military and the political leaders to give up the struggle. Such ideas, aimed to make the maximum number of people miserable, seemed to characterize the two 20th-century world wars. Indeed, this characterization seems to fit the callous attitude for human life that was so clear in the trenches war during World War I and a hallmark of World War II. That second war made the disregard for human life and rights almost complete. The second phase of the German submarine warfare in World War I was what Miller refers to as “the first major offensive” (February to September 1915). This took place when the Germans decided to start hitting British shipping with their submarines and publicized their intentions, warning potential seagoers that “all waters around the British Isles had been declared a War Zone where British shipping would be attacked without warning.”68 This warning was, obviously, not consistent with previous understandings made in the Hague conventions and the prize rules. The Germans did not have much of a punch behind their warning, because throughout most of 1915, they had—on the average—only about six to nine (at the most) submarines at sea. But the warning and threat did have an impact. Even with these few submarines, unrestricted submarine warfare came into being, with some

dramatic and devastating results. This phase not only reflected the end of the debate of whether to practice an unrestricted submarine warfare but demonstrated willingness to actually practice it. Making the actual decision to practice an unrestricted submarine warfare and then applying this decision meant a significant change in cultural cores. Such a new conceptualization and mode of behavior in combat violated previous cultural understandings, formal and informal. It is one thing to possess a weapon platform capable of launching weapons that will result Page 111 →in massive loss of life and destruction of property; it is another thing to actually put such weapon platforms to indiscriminate use. Why imperial Germany felt justified in using such a weapon platform as a submarine in an unrestricted fashion is understandable. Nevertheless, even with such justifications, German hesitations about introducing such a barbaric form of warfare are clear and documented. Pushing to make such a shift in cultural cores concerning what was previously considered a proper way to conduct war was neither quick nor easy. Military personnel and military planners used their power, prestige, and networks and pushed hard to make and apply the decision to alter the form of naval warfare. Politicians hesitated to get Germany involved in such a radical change in the perception of how to conduct a naval war. The hesitations, deliberations, and reluctance eventually gave way, and Germany became involved in an unrestricted submarine warfare up to its neck. This shift in cultural cores had wide-ranging implications and a legacy not just for morality and culture in Germany but for naval warfare in World War II twenty years later. It did not take long for the two major submarine combatants in World War II—Germany and the United States—to get involved in a new and ferocious submarine warfare almost as soon as they entered the war. The change in cultural cores concerning the conduct of naval warfare was an extremely significant step. It affected the conduct of the warrior profession, as well as legitimized, paved the way, and opened the door for the ferocious submarine warfare that took place during World War II. This significant change had an unbeatable combination of both a practice and an ideology and morality that justified the practice, and some of the results of this change deserve further examination here. On March 28, 1915, U-28 (commanded by Baron von Forstner) intercepted the British merchant (passenger and cargo) steamer SS Falaba, which had sailed from Liverpool on the 27th on its way to Sierra Leone. U-28 was on the surface, flying a White Ensign.69 However, as the submarine got closer to the Falaba, it replaced the White Ensign with the German naval ensign. Since running away was impractical, Captain Davis of the Falaba ordered his crew to lower the lifeboats. Rather than wait for the passengers to vacate the ship, U-28 launched a torpedo when only five lifeboats had been lowered. The Falaba sank within 10 minutes. Of its 151 passengers and 96 crew members, 104 perished.70 On August 16, 1915, U-24, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Schneider, fired a torpedo without any warning at the British Page 112 →liner Arabic, which was sailing from Liverpool to New York. The Arabic sank within 10 minutes.71 At that stage, German U-boat skippers were still ordered not to fire on ships without warning, but Schneider's excuse for firing was that he thought the zigzagging Arabic was planning to ram him. From the Arabic's complement of 429, 389 were rescued.72 On September 6, 1915, another U-boat torpedoed and sunk the Hesperian.73 The most dramatic, remembered, and costly sinking of a liner took place on May 7, 1915, when U-20 sent to the bottom the British liner RMS Lusitania. This sinking is undoubtedly one of the most spectacular cases known in naval warfare. The Lusitania was a 32,500-ton Cunard luxury passenger liner and was the largest transatlantic passenger ship of its time. It sailed from New York to Liverpool on its last voyage on May 1, 1915, carrying 1,265 passengers74 and a crew of 694. Seven days later, on May 7, the German U-boat U-20, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Walther Schwieger, sighted it when it was about 15 kilometers (8 miles) from the western Irish coast at the Old Head of Kinsale. Believing that the Lusitania was used as a troop transport, he fired a torpedo at the ship at 2:10 p.m. He made a direct and devastating hit. Two explosions rocked the Lusitania; it listed heavily to starboard and sank within 18 minutes, just off the Irish coastline. Kapitänleutnant Walther Schwieger's act caused the awesome loss of 1,198 passengers and crew.75 Only 764 survived the disaster.76 At first, the German press hailed the sinking as a success, but outrage from Allied and neutral sources had a strong impact. While Germany expressed regret over the loss of American life,77 a propaganda battle was launched in which Germany tried to justify the sinking on various grounds. Germany did not win this public media battle,

because neither the United States nor Britain were persuaded by Germany's justifications for sinking the Lusitania. Some authors believe that this appalling sinking was an important factor in the U.S. decision to enter World War I against Germany.78 The time frame does not seem to support this idea. The Lusitania was sunk on May 7, 1915. President Woodrow Wilson's call for declaring war on Germany was responded to by the U.S. Congress declaration of such war on April 6, 1917, almost two years after the Lusitania was sent to the bottom by U-20.79 At that time, the more important factor was probably the attempt by imperial Germany to recruit Mexico against the United States.80 Nevertheless, Carlisle's 2009 work shows how the German submarine attacks against 10 Page 113 →U.S. ships between February 3 and April 4, 1917, helped President Wilson end his previous policy of neutrality and join the war. Among these sinkings were those of the passenger ship Housatonic (on February 3, 1917)81 and the schooner Marguerite (on April 4, 1917).82 There can hardly be a doubt that sinking the Lusitania caused much rage and resentment, but by itself, it was probably not the major cause of the U.S. entry into World War I.

Even in the case of sinking the Lusitania early in the war, it was claimed to be carrying troops. In justifying the sinking, the Germans tried to resort to a form of justification that used terms of military utility.83 However, as noted earlier, fearing that America and other neutrals may join the war, Germany limited its submarine warfare at this stage, effective from September 18, 1915.84 Another short second phase of the submarine war in World War I took place between March and April 1916.85 At the time preceding this stage, there were still debates among German officers and politicians about how Page 114 →restrictive the actions of their submarines should be, but this stage eventually followed the German naval staff's new conviction (dated to January 1916) that if the U-boat campaign was to achieve its goals, it needed to be pursued in a ruthless way.86 However, the negative reactions that followed sinkings of passenger ships were such that German submarines’ operations in this stage were limited so that unrestricted attacks on enemy ships in the war zone87 and outside the war zone could occur only if these ships were armed. Submarines were instructed not to attack passenger ships anywhere. Knowing the nature of the submarine, Miller notes that with such limitations, “the campaign was never likely to be a success.”88 Since not all submarines received the limitation orders and

since mistakes always happen, Page 115 →some U-boats continued to hit ships that they were not supposed to attack. Moreover, this stage did not last for long.

The existence of the third stage indicates that while the Germans seem to have made up their mind and decided to practice an unrestricted submarine warfare, there were still some hesitations and attention to world protests. An expression to lingering hesitations can be detected on June 30, 1916, when the German imperial chancellor told the German commander of the fleet that he was against an unrestricted form of submarine warfare because it could put the fate of the German Empire in the hands of U-boat commanders.89 This relatively late response only shows that changing cultural cores is not an easy or quick process, and even when it seems completed, there may still be delayed debates, hesitations, and arguments. Miller dates the third stage to October 1916 through January 1917.90 This period witnessed two unsuccessful attempts by the German navy to lure the Royal Navy's battle vessels into submarine traps.91 During this time, the situation in Germany was getting worse, and the war was going against them. In August, contrary to the statement by the German imperial chancellor on June 30, 1916, German naval officers repeated their conviction and beliefs in an unrestricted submarine warfare and again put forward to Kaiser Wilhelm II their proposal that only a counterblockade on Britain established by allowing an all-out unrestricted submarine warfare had a chance to bring it to surrender. The decision was to start a restricted (according to the prize rules) submarine warfare immediately (in October 1916) and to switch to an unrestricted campaign at the first opportunity. This opportunity was not long in coming. German submarine warfare was increasing in intensity from October 1916, and an unrestricted submarine warfare—with no ifs or buts—actually restarted in February 1917.92 This was the first time that the real and full potential of the submarine was put into operation. This brought about the next stage of the German unrestricted submarine warfare against merchant shipping in World War I. This stage took place when, toward the end of 1916, the lengthy debate within Germany about whether or not to launch an all-out unrestricted submarine warfare was clearly shifting in favor of those advocating such warfare.93 This stage lasted

from February 1917 to November 1918.94 The operational U-boats at sea during this time caused enormous damages. From February through April 1917, hundreds of ships were sunk, mostly Page 116 →by unexpected torpedo attacks. Smith points out, “In the twelve months of 1917 alone, U-boats, working not in concert but independently, sank three thousand ships.”95 This last stage of the war almost brought Britain to its knees. Winston Churchill wrote, “In April…it was calculated that one in four merchant ships leaving the United Kingdom never returned. The U-boat was rapidly undermining not only the life of the British islands, but the foundations of the Allies’ strength; and the danger of their collapse in 1918 began to loom black and imminent.”96 This period also brought about some interesting and relevant developments, one of which focused on U-39. The person who commanded this submarine was Kapitänleutnant Walther Forstmann, one of imperial Germany's most successful and decorated World War I U-boat commanders, and U-39 was one of the more successful submarines in that war.97 When his submarine operated in the Adriatic against Italian shipping, it sank one troopship with a thousand Italian soldiers aboard, all of whom drowned, and another transport, with numerous casualties. Forstmann commented, To be honest I am not quite satisfied. Again and again the thought goes through my head that when the steamer sank only 150 soldiers were lost out of 900…. However hard it may seem to sentimental minds in time of war, one must energetically put aside all sympathy, all pity and every other feeling of the kind…. [T]he object of war is to annihilate the armed forces of the enemy whether it be on the battlefield or in a fight at sea.98 This type of ruthlessness and single-mindedness of a submarine commander whose main goal is to cause as many casualties as possible is something to remember when we notice that two other famous figures served on U-39. One was Oberleutnant zur See Karl Dönitz, who served as watch officer from October 1916 to February 1918 and later (March 1918) became a U-boat commander, of UC-25. Dönitz continued service in German submarines and became Nazi Germany's chief commander of U-boats in World War II, as well as Hitler's heir apparent. One should not underestimate the potential impact of a person like Forstmann on a new officer whose first assignment was to U-39. However, as culture is never too simple, one needs to note that another person who served on U-39, as a coxswain between January and the summer of 1917, was Martin Niemöller, who is credited with the creation of the famous poem “First they came…” Originally a nationalist conservative, Niemöller, a Lutheran pastor, became disillusioned with the Page 117 →Nazis. His anti-Nazi views led to his incarceration between 1937 and 1945 in the Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps. He survived the war and became a pacifist activist. President Woodrow Wilson addressed the Congress on April 2, 1917. In this forum, he emphasized that the United States needed to “declare war against Germany, in large part because of unrestricted submarine warfare.” Arguing that submarines were “in effect outlaws,” he suggested that “German unrestricted submarine warfare threatened the very foundations of international law and, hence, of civilization itself” and added that this form of warfare was “against mankind.”99 Four days later, the United States declared war, and on April 15, President Wilson issued a proclamation explaining this step to the American people.100 For Britain, there could be no better news. Clayton notes that when “Rear-Admiral William Sowden, US Navy, arrived in Britain on 9 April 1917,…he was told that German submarines were winning the battle and that Britain could not last longer than November or December.”101 However, despite the ruthlessness, cruelty, and effectiveness of this outrageous campaign, it ended with a defeat for the German U-boats and Germany, for two major reasons. One was the entrance of the United States into the war (on April 6, 1917),102 and the other was the introduction of the convoy system in sea traveling.103 Attacking ships traveling in tight convoy formations and protected by warships reduced the effectiveness of U-boats quite significantly. Where possible, convoys were given air cover (in the form of sea planes or airships), which reduced submarine effectiveness even further because these air patrols could detect a surfaced submarine (either recharging its batteries, stalking a convoy, or preparing to attack) and attack it. These developments reduced the number of ships sunk, and in mid-1918, shipbuilding exceeded ship sinking. Keegan feels that another reason for

this failure of the U-boats was that “the ‘neutral traffic’ had not been decisively ‘terrorized’ into rejecting British charter. Impelled in part by financial need, in part by energetic British diplomacy, the neutrals, after an early fright, had resumed their traffic as before.”104 Blair105 claims that in World War I, German submarines sank a total of 5,078 ships plus 10 battleships and 18 cruisers. German submarine losses were 178 U-boats and about 5,000 submariners. Probably the worst year in terms of sinkings by U-boats was 1917.106 Thus, in this war, the submarine demonstrated the damages it could inflict and the genuine threat that it presented. Holwitt points out that World War I witnessed the emergence of Page 118 →the submarine not only as a successful commerce raider but also as a naval fighting unit, because “German submarines sank 5 out of the 13 British battleships lost in the war.”107 As could be expected, some significant antisubmarine measures were developed as well. When World War I began, there were only two known ways to do battle with a submarine, either ramming it or using gunfire to hit and sink it. Both required that the submarine would surface. A submerged submarine was immune from being attacked. It could seldom be detected, and if it was detected—no weapons were available to hit it underwater. As the war continued, a number of antisubmarine weapons were developed, and new methods were tested. These included antisubmarine mines and minefields, Q-ships (though the effectiveness of Q-ships required that submarines surface), and depth charges. Other antisubmarine measures included undersea wiretapping into German naval communications and breaking the German naval code.108 While, for a short time, the brutish unrestricted campaign of the U-boats threatened Britain, the countermeasures—especially the convoy system—squelched that threat.109 Churchill wrote, “The final phase of the U-boat war saw the roles of the combatants reversed. It was the U-boat and not the merchant ship that was hunted.”110 Keegan notes, “Beside the U-boat campaign, the operation of other submarine forces, of which the British was the most important, had been a marginal affair.”111

SUMMARY OF DEVELOPMENTS UP TO THE END OF WORLD WAR I The beginning of the German entry and commitment to unrestricted submarine warfare was hesitant and intermittent. It was almost as if the Germans took one step in and two steps back, until eventually U-boats became fully engaged in such warfare, with no ifs or buts. Given a cultural commitment to win a war at all costs, that development was to be expected. From the military point of view, the submarine was essentially conceptualized as a weapon of attack, not defense. To accomplish that, a submarine could not possibly follow the prize rules without seriously endangering itself. Moreover, using prize crews was an unrealistic plan of action for a submarine. Prize rules, after all, were developed for surface ships, not submarines. The British naval blockade led the Germans to think about using a blockade form of warfare themselves. It was only a matter Page 119 →of time—more importantly, a matter of an integrated cultural, political, moral, and military decision—before they would use submarines to make such a blockade an efficient reality and would expect such a blockade to succeed. Just as the Germans were not sitting idle while a British naval blockade was choking their commercial lifelines, the British were not sitting idle and watching the U-boats sink ships at an alarming rate. One could expect countermeasures to be developed, and indeed they were, with convoys being the most important and effective one. The beginning developments of sonar were made as well. From our point of view, the significant development was the choice, acceptance, application, and practice of unrestricted submarine warfare. This marked a momentous change in cultural cores regarding what was and was not allowed in naval warfare, what was morally right and what was wrong. Hutchinson summarizes the results of practicing unrestricted submarine warfare in World War I.112 The total merchant shipping losses by gross registered tonnage for all allies were 10,115,123 tons (of which, 7,662,358 tons were British and British Empire ships). Neutrals lost 2,502,160 tons of neutral shipping. Germany lost 387 submarines (of which 175 surrendered, 17 were scuttled, and 1 was captured). Most operation-related losses were due to depth charges (22), gunfire (23), ramming (20), enemy submarines (19), and mines (38). Britain lost 56 submarines; most of its operation-related losses (11) were due to mines. Other participants in this war did not lose as many submarines. Russia lost 28 (12 of which were scuttled), France lost 14, Austria lost 9, and Italy lost 8.

USING SUBMARINES BETWEEN THE TWO 20TH-CENTURY WORLD WARS The defeat and surrender of Germany in World War I were not accepted by many Germans.113 Because they felt (mistakenly) that Germany could continue to fight, that it was “stabbed in the back,” they found it very difficult to accept the humiliating terms of the Treaty of Versailles. These feelings developed and eventually helped to bring the Nazis into power. Two main developments of relevance to this book's topic took place between the wars. One was an attempt to reach international agreements and understandings that would regulate submarine warfare, examined earlier in this book. The other was development of ideas about submarine warfare itself and the relevant technologies. Page 120 → Post–World War I German and British naval officers tried to draw lessons from the war. One obvious lesson was that the submarine had matured into an awesome weapon. It was also evident that in order to use this weapon of terror effectively for siege purposes, large numbers of submarines had to be employed in an unrestricted naval warfare. Using airplanes and Q-ships, arming merchant ships with guns, and resorting to convoys where merchant ships could be protected by warships made the previous understandings reached at the Hague and Geneva conventions (as well as the prize rules) mostly irrelevant. Adhering to these understandings would have meant that submarines could not be used to their full advantage—which involved attacking in stealth with powerful weapons and surprising the enemy. The British and the Americans invested much effort in developing a technology that could detect a submerged vessel. These efforts, which began in 1915–16, continued after the end of the war and brought about sound-based detection underwater gear: asdic114 in England, sonar in the United States. Compared to today's detection systems, these were primitive contraptions with significant limitations in range and the ability to identify depth accurately. However, they did the basic job: they could detect a submerged submarine. Theoretically, the combination of asdic/sonar and depth charges could spell doom for submarines. Both British and American naval authorities seem to have been satisfied that the new asdic/sonar was sufficient to neutralize the menace of submarines because it could render the main asset of a submarine—its stealth—useless. The Germans did not think so. They continued to develop their submarine designs, contracting shipbuilders outside Germany to bypass the limitations imposed on them after their surrender. They also invested much thought in how to devise a tactic that would neutralize both the convoy system and underwater detection devices. Both the Americans and the Germans attempted to improve torpedoes. For example, both countries tried to develop a torpedo with a magnetic sensor as a detonating device. Such devices would have a great advantage over conventional contact detonators, since the torpedo would not have to actually contact its target. All it would have to do to make the torpedo explode is get close enough to the target ship, preferably under the keel, and decipher correctly that the magnetic field it senses is a ship. Despite these efforts, however, while both the American and German submariners began World War II with new torpedoes, these were seriously flawed torpedoes. Many of these torpedoes either refused to explode when they hit a target ship or Page 121 →exploded prematurely. Others just sailed at high speed to nowhere. It took a while to identify the nature of the problems and rectify them. Since no major technological breakthroughs in submarine propulsion were achieved in the years between the wars115—indeed, there were almost none until the end of World War II—the submarines that entered World War II were diesel-electric116 and, in essence, used the same technologies as those of World War I. These new submarines presented some technological improvements of existing technologies, which gave them some advantages over the submarines of World War I, but some of the more significant improvements came only late in the war, and their impact and practicality were negligible. For example, the development of the snorkel (German Schnorchel) allowed submarines to extend their submersion time significantly. This device was a tube that extended from a submerged submarine to above the water level and allowed the submarine to “breathe”—that is, to use its diesel engines for better speed, to charge its batteries, and to ventilate the boat. However, the snorkel's initial use was not problem free and hence was limited.117 A second development was the redesign of pressure hulls to make submarines more streamlined, thus achieving less drag on a submerged submarine and consequently

increasing its submerged speed. A third—very late—development was giving submarines more electrical power, thus enabling them higher submerged speeds. In principle, however, the U-boats with which World War II began were essentially improved versions of World War I U-boats. Significant and different innovations came later, and except, perhaps, for the snorkel, their impact was not significant for most of the war. Nevertheless, despite the technological limitations, the German, American, and Japanese submarines of World War II presented a mature and reliable technology in building pressure hulls, communication and navigation systems, weapon systems, and endurance. When combined with aggressive, ruthless, competent commanders who were willing to take risks, these submarines presented fearsome and ruthless weapon systems indeed. German naval commanders in World War II, much like those in World War I, suggested that the number of Uboats required to establish an effective and decisive blockade around Britain was in the magnitude of hundreds. In neither war did this navy have such a number of operational submarines when it was needed. During World War I, the concept of an unrestricted submarine warfare, the strategic thinking about a naval siege, and the estimate Page 122 →of the number of submarines required for it developed slowly. However, by the beginning of World War II, it was very clear what had to be done strategically in order to maximize the efficiency of submarines as war machines. When Admiral Erich Raeder, commander in chief of the German navy, was convening his staff to think about a future war and the possibility that Germany and Britain would again be involved in naval war, the main conclusion was that the best chance to succeed in such a war was to plan and execute a total economic blockade. Such a blockade would mean a comprehensive attack on all merchant shipping, aimed at strangling British trade and thus forcing Britain into submission. To achieve this strategic goal, Germany had to build a naval force that would be capable of defying the Royal Navy.118 Given this conclusion, the next issue became what kind of ships to build and in what quantities. In January 1939, having thought about this, the navy submitted to Adolph Hitler its assessment of what was needed to win in such a nasty warfare. The plan they put forth has become known as “the Z plan.”119 At first, Raeder's vision—consistent with the Mahan Strategy—was of major clashes between huge and powerful surface warships. The plan envisioned that by 1948, Germany would have 10 battleships, 4 aircraft carriers, 12 battle cruisers, 3 pocket battleships, 5 heavy cruisers, 44 light cruisers, 68 destroyers, and 249 U-boats120—a huge and formidable naval force indeed. Consequently, the January 1939 Z plan was adopted and given priority by Hitler in the same month that it was submitted.121 While the Z plan envisioned a large number of submarines, these submarines did not play a major part in Raeder's vision (in fact, a nightmare) for a forthcoming naval conflict. Raeder still felt that the major battle plan had to be a Mahanian-type battle between surface vessels. For Mahan's strategy, submarines were peripheral. Moreover, Raeder based his plans and timetable for the coming naval conflict on Hitler's statement to him that there would be no war with Britain before 1944.122 Raeder himself felt that completing and making the Z plan a reality could not be achieved before 1946.123 Regardless of the ideas of Raeder or of those opposing him who felt that the major emphasis should be placed on using submarines to choke Britain, a force of 249 submarines would have constituted a formidable enemy and a grave threat, particularly if effective countermeasures were underdeveloped. The Z plan and the intensive naval rearmament that it meant were obviously in flagrant violation Page 123 →of naval treaties of which Germany was a part.124 Nevertheless, Karl Dönitz, who was appointed chief of U-boats in 1936, and other German naval officers (as well as influential Nazi politicians) did not seem to care much about such violations. Dönitz disagreed with the strategic assumptions of the Z plan. He examined submarine warfare of World War I, including his own experience,125 and his lessons were clear. On the strategic level, he did not alter the main goal of naval warfare against Britain. He accepted the recommendations of an autumn 1938 naval planning committee that suggested that the main strategic goal of the German navy should be the complete destruction of the British merchant fleet. Starving millions of civilians had thus become a major military goal.126 In Dönitz's view, U-boats could achieve this goal more successfully than any other type of warship. To use them effectively, however, he had to devise battle plans that would neutralize asdic/sonar devices and the convoy system. His solution was simple: to make underwater detecting gears useless, U-boats would act as fast submersible torpedo boats and carry out their attacks on the surface. U-boats would submerge only to avoid detection and wait for convoys. The stealth

quality of the submarines would be used to enable these submarines to hide underwater, beyond the range of underwater detecting gear, and then to surface and attack unexpectedly. This tactic, he thought, would make asdic /sonar irrelevant. Coping with the convoy system required a different approach. The new U-boats, especially the VIIC type, were designed to have very low silhouettes, fast surface speed, superb optics, and a quick diving time. Crews of these U-boats were trained to travel in groups (the famous “wolf packs”) and to attack convoys at night by surfacing and using their low silhouettes and fast speed to penetrate a convoy and then using their torpedoes to hit and sink merchant ships inside the convoy. This tactic, referred to as the Rudeltaktik,127 depended on being able to locate convoys (by intelligence or patrols) and then concentrate a large number of U-boats in order to launch a nighttime surface attack, create chaos, break the convoy's formation, and utilize the emerging disarray and disorganization as the opportunity to sink as many ships as possible and to escape counterattacks by the warships escorting the convoy. Clearly, Dönitz's battle plans and preparations were aimed at fighting the previous war. If the British were to repeat their naval behavior of World War I, the U-boats had the tactic and boats to defeat them, assuming—of course—that no new and effective countermeasures would be developed. Page 124 → Dönitz's battle plan for U-boats required that the command and control system of the submarines be centralized; that is, the command of the U-boats had to receive reports from the boats, gather intelligence information, and tell U-boat commanders where to concentrate in order to attack as a wolf pack. This system required a large volume of wireless transmissions between the U-boats at sea and their headquarters. Such a system required very reliable wireless transmitters and receivers and an extremely good, reliable, secure, and unbreakable ciphering system. The U-boats had good-quality wireless equipment, and they used a complex cipher machine called Enigma (which looked like an older typewriter) for their heavy-traffic wireless communications.128 The relatively small pre–World War II submarine arm of the German navy was trained in these methods. Convinced that submarines should be given top priority in the war, Dönitz launched a lobbying campaign to try to persuade his superiors that if Britain was to be defeated and if destroying its merchant fleet was the way to achieve this goal, then the major effort in naval rearmament had to be the construction of submarines.129 At first, Admiral Raeder did not believe in this vision/nightmare of U-boats carrying the major burden of the naval siege on Britain. However, in the summer of 1939, just before war broke out, Dönitz managed to change Raeder's mind and persuaded him to abandon the Z plan, scrap the big ships that had already been built under its guidelines, and use the metal to construct at least 300 U-boats, of which 200 were to be of the VII type.130 This profound change of plans (and instituting it) required Hitler's approval, but he was much too busy with the invasion into Poland. In any event, even if the new plan had been approved, it was somewhat late to do it. World War II began with a small number of U-boats that could not be adequate to lay an effective and sustained siege around Britain.131 On September 3, 1939, Dönitz estimated that the minimum number of U-boats required was 190.132 While the Nazi navy managed to get some large surface ships built (e.g., the Tirpitz and the Bismarck,) the Z plan never materialized, because the conduct of war created different pressures and demands and required different priorities in allocation of resources. On April 26, 1939, Hitler abrogated two important naval agreements133 to which Germany was committed—the 1935 Anglo-German Naval Agreement and the 1936 London Submarine Protocol134 (with the famous Article 22)—but when World War II began in September 1939, the Nazi navy was caught unprepared.135 At that point in time, the navy's commanders must have Page 125 →guessed that the Z plan had no chance to materialize. Moreover, in January 1939, Hitler had assigned top priority in allocation of resources (raw materials and labor) to the Z plan, but within hours of the beginning of the war, he renounced that priority, and all work on major surface ships came to a sudden halt. Instead, priority was given to a much more modest goal: building the standard VII U-boats at a rate of 25 per month. Actual construction in the first year of the war did not even match this modest goal. Clearly, Hitler's changed priorities—while perhaps justified by what he saw as his war priorities at that point in time—meant that the Nazi state gave up its hope of constructing a naval fleet capable of challenging contemporary powerful fleets and ruling the waves.136 Dönitz then had about 56 or 57 commissioned U-boats, but only 18 of medium type (the VII type) and 9 of large type, and only about 20 of those were ready for war at the end of August 1939.137 In short, he only had about 26 or 27 submarines suitable for operational patrols in the Atlantic.138 Furthermore, of the 56 or 57 submarines, 18 were used for Page 126

→training, and of the 39 operational U-boats, only 23 were at sea.139 Throughout 1940, the number of U-boats at sea did not exceed 24, and it was around 10 to 15 most of the time, obviously not enough for an effective siege.

At the beginning of the war, U-boat commanders were under strict orders to adhere to the prize rules, for reasons similar to those that restrained the German navy during part of World War I. Germany did not want to antagonize neutrals, particularly the United States, and cause them to enter the war on the side of the anti-Nazi forces.140 However, Dönitz and his staff officers had no illusions. They wanted an unrestricted submarine warfare,141 because they felt that it was the only way to starve Britain and bring it to its knees.142 Thus, although Nazi Germany leaders and military high commanders knew, from their experience in World War I, that unrestricted submarine warfare stood a fairly good chance of causing the United States to enter the war against them and that countermeasures caused the failure of the submarine campaign of World War I, German naval officers did not cease to press for a new and ruthless campaign. Despite hesitations from the Nazi führer, the power and persuasion of the Nazi naval command prevailed. Using their high and powerful position, these officers were able to change reluctance into replaying the World War I submarine script. Convinced that improved technology would overcome the countermeasures that had stymied them during World War I, they persuaded the Third Reich to embark on a new and merciless unrestricted submarine warfare. Just as in World War I, while scoring impressive initial results, they eventually lost the submarine battle completely. As noted in chapter 4, a major effort by the British was to try and abolish submarines altogether. Despite repeated attempts, these efforts failed. The Anglo-German Naval Agreement of 1935 focused on restricting the number of submarines—not on abolishing them. Clearly, at that point in time, the British either did not think that submarines threatened them, or realized that abolishing submarines was an unrealistic goal, or both. It is doubtful whether, in signing this agreement, Nazi Germany really intended to restrict its submarine force. Hitler did not hesitate to sign and renounce one agreement after the other. In retrospect, British hopes that this agreement would place limits on the rearmament of the Nazi navy were naive. Moreover, signing the 1935 agreement meant that the British moved another step on their way toward accepting the legitimacy and deployment of submarines. As Redford points out, while the British were at the receiving end Page 127 →of an unrestricted submarine warfare during World War I, they did not resort to such warfare during that war, and they made a point that they fought according to the prize rules.143 However, turning a blind eye to the possibility of instructing British submarines to practice unrestricted

submarine warfare—given their experience with the German U-boats—was unwise. Indeed, before World War II began, the Royal Navy discussed the possibility of adopting such a ruthless form of warfare. Redford indicates that while the Royal Navy was reversing its stand on unrestricted submarine warfare, their decision to actually practice it had more to do with “attitudes to non-combatants and not the submarine as such.”144 Given their fears of large numbers of civilian casualties resulting from air bombardments, their attitudes toward noncombatant casualties were relaxed. These discussions clearly show that the Royal Navy was considering practicing unrestricted submarine warfare. However, Royal Navy officers felt uncomfortable with this change of values. The language used often helped to conceal and mask this new direction. For example, discussions referred to “dangerous areas” or “‘sink on sight’ zones” but not to “unrestricted submarine warfare.” Solidifying this change in cultural cores and taking a new direction was reinforced by two factors. First, it became clear that as antisubmarine capabilities of surface fleets and airplanes developed, conformity to the prize rules by submarines was almost suicidal. Second, the British could use their submarines in a retaliatory fashion.145

UNRESTRICTED SUBMARINE WARFARE: BE RUTHLESS Dönitz's orders to his U-boat commanders need to be understood within the context of his experience in submarine warfare in World War I (which seems to echo the mind-set of Walther Forstmann, the first submarine commander under whom Dönitz served) and the conclusions he drew from it. As early as the end of November or in December 1939,146 he instructed them, in War Order 154, “Rescue no one and take no one with you. Have no care for the ships’ boats. Weather conditions and the proximity of land are of no account. Care only for your own boat and strive to achieve the next success as soon as possible! We must be hard in this war. The enemy started this war in order to destroy us, therefore nothing else matters.”147 Such guidelines, given so early in the war, certainly encouraged harshness Page 128 →and brutality. They provided the blueprint for the unrestricted submarine warfare that the Germans waged throughout the war. British military historian Sir John Keegan shows no misunderstanding of this order. He refers to the attitude expressed in War Order 154 as encouraging U-boat crews to a harshness according to which destroying vessels and causing the greatest loss of complements as hailing an important necessity and virtue, supposedly justified because an enemy had started the war and wanted to destroy Germany. Another relevant order that Dönitz gave came after the sinking of the Laconia. It reinforced the “Hit them hard and be tough” ambience that he constructed. This post-Laconia order is one of the more problematic orders given to submariners during World War II. The Sinking of the Laconia On September 12, 1942, at 2207 hours, U-156, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Werner Hartenstein, tracked and torpedoed the 19,700-ton British liner Laconia in the South Atlantic. The Laconia sank in less than an hour. The passenger list of the Laconia and what it implied are the interesting aspect of this sinking. The Laconia carried some 2,700 passengers; of those, 1,800 were Italian prisoners of war, with a guard of 160 Polish soldiers. The Laconia transmitted by radio that it was attacked and hit by a submarine, but the greatest surprise waited for Hartenstein, whose U-156 circled the sinking ship. He heard Italian-language cries for help. He rescued some Italian-speaking survivors and learned that he had just torpedoed a ship carrying Axis POWs. The Laconia was not a passenger ship (it carried military personnel and supplies and was armed with naval guns) and was thus a legitimate target for a submarine. As Blair points out, Hartenstein could have ignored the survivors and continue his war patrol.148 However, given the fact that POWs of Nazi Germany's ally were in the water, Hartenstein decided to help survivors. Consequently, one of the strangest rescue operations of World War II developed. Hartenstein notified Dönitz by radio about the situation and broadcast on open radio that he was helping survivors. His message asked for help from nearby ships and promised he would not attack ships that came to his Page 129 →aid: “If any ship will assist the shipwrecked Laconia crew I will not attack her, providing I am not attacked by

ship or air force…. German Submarine.”149 U-156 began to tow lifeboats and took aboard as many POWs as it could. Dönitz directed other U-boats to the area, and U-459, U-506, U-507, and the Italian submarine Cappellini rushed to the rescue. Dönitz reported the massive rescue operation to Hitler, who told him that Hartenstein should have submerged and left, because the Nazi U-boats in that region were supposed to launch a surprise attack on Cape Town. Given that the surprise factor might have been lost, Admiral Raeder instructed that all rescue operations cease and that only Italian POWs should be rescued and only if the operation did not risk the submarines. Hartenstein's operation continued, and he suggested to Dönitz that a temporary cease-fire take effect to enable the rescue operation.150 Berlin rejected the suggestion. Hartenstein, who was not informed about the rejection of his suggestion, continued the operation. Meanwhile, French surface ships were steaming to the area in order to help. The recent establishment of an American air base on the British island of Ascension was to play a major role in this incident. On the morning of September 16, a B-24 Liberator medium bomber commanded by Lieutenant James D. Harden took off for a patrol. He spotted U-156 at 9:30 a.m. Seeing the aircraft, Hartenstein displayed a large Red Cross flag. Harden saw the flag and radioed his base for instructions. The American base was unaware of the rescue operation, and squadron commander Captain Robert C. Richardson instructed Harden to sink the submarine. Harden's B-24 returned and attacked—four times—with depth charges. Hartenstein disconnected the towlines to the lifeboats and dived.151 Disillusioned and angry, Hartenstein radioed Dönitz that he was discontinuing his rescue operation.152 Later that day, the Italian submarine Cappellini arrived at the scene and picked up survivors. More French ships arrived the next day and picked up more survivors. Overall, 1,621 persons were lost (including about 1,000 Italian POWs) out of the 2,732153 that the Laconia had carried. The Nazis were furious. From their perspective, these great humanitarians had tried to pull a rescue operation (primarily of their own POWs, of course), and the attempt was sabotaged. For Dönitz, it was an indication that the Allies could not be trusted, and it reinforced his older view that his U-boats should not get involved in rescuing survivors and thus risk their own boats. He retransmitted his view on the night of September Page 130 →17, 1942, instructing his Kriegsmarine, “All efforts to save survivors of sunken ships…must stop. Rescue contradicts the most basic demands of the war: the destruction of hostile ships and their crews…. Be harsh…. The enemy takes no regard of women and children in his bombing attacks on German cities.”154 This order would be used in the postwar Nuremberg trials, where it was claimed that Dönitz “encouraged inhumane naval warfare in violation of the Submarine Protocol” (i.e., Article 22).155 Lord Russell of Liverpool adds that this order explained that the Nazis had reached a stage in war “in which total war had to be waged also at sea” and that this order made the “crews of ships like the ships themselves…a target for Uboats.”156 It is true that Dönitz's command does not include a direct order to his submariners to behave like savages, but the ambiance and implication of the message are not very far from stating that. What exactly can be the meaning of “Be harsh” or of stating that the basic demands of war include destruction of ships “and their crews”? How would submariners interpret the suggestion to “be harsh” when it was made within a textual framing that the enemy was ruthlessly bombing German cities, disregarding women and children? How would a German sailor understand such a suggestion within the context in which it was made and read? Reading this order cannot but remind one of War Order 154, when Dönitz, informing his U-boat commanding officers that the practice of unrestricted submarine warfare, begun during World War I, was about to be resumed, urged them to “be hard.” Both these statements by Dönitz reflect and create an ambiance of ruthlessness, revenge, aggression, and merciless behavior.157 In his Nuremberg war trial, Dönitz was confronted with these orders. His response was to try and undo the implications of these orders. Among other things, he stated that War Order 154 “deals only with, or assumes, the presence of the enemy's defense; it deals with the battle against convoys.” As to the two orders, he denied any connection between them and stated, One must distinguish very clearly here between the question of rescue or nonrescue, and that is a question of military possibility. During a war the necessity of refraining from rescue may well arise. For example, if your own ship is endangered thereby, it would be wrong from a military viewpoint and, besides, would not be of value for the one to be rescued; and no commander of any nation is expected to rescue if his own ship is thereby endangered…. The British Navy correctly take up a very

clear, unequivocal position in this Page 131 →respect: that rescue is to be denied in such cases; and that is evident also from their actions and commands. That is one point…. It is clear that in war the mission to be accomplished is of first importance. No one will start to rescue, for example, if after subduing one opponent there is another on the scene. Then, as a matter of course, the combating of the second opponent is more important than the rescue of those who have already lost their ship…. The other question is concerned with attacking the…shipwrecked persons [who] are members of the crew who, after the sinking of their ship, are not able to fight any longer and are either in lifeboats or other means of rescue or in the water…. Firing upon these men is a matter concerned with the ethics of war and should be rejected under any and all circumstances. In the German Navy and U-boat force this principle, according to my firm conviction, has never been violated, with the one exception of the affair Eck. No order on this subject has ever been issued, in any form whatsoever.158

Moreover, Lord Russell of Liverpool159 notes that in a conversation between Hitler and the Japanese ambassador to Germany, Baron Hiroshi Oshima, on January 3, 1942, Hitler persuaded Oshima that “U-boat commanders were instructed not merely to abstain from rescuing crews but to exterminate them,” because “lack of suitable crews would be [a] main problem” for the Allies.160 To what extent these ruthless and criminal ideas were actually followed is another issue. However, as we shall see later, some Japanese submarine commanders seem to have followed this atrocious idea. During the postwar Nuremberg trials, Dönitz was presented with a document titled “Report of the Commander of Submarines to the Fuehrer on 14 May 1942 in the presence of the Commander-in-Chief of the Navy”—that is, a report to Gross Admiral Raeder.161 The report stated, It is necessary to improve the weapons of the submarines…. The most important development is the torpedo with magnetic detonator which…will also have the great advantage that the crew will not be able to save themselves on account of the quick sinking of the torpedoed ship. This greater loss of men will no doubt cause difficulties in the assignment of crews for the great American construction program. Clearly, this statement means that Dönitz was interested in exterminating the crews of torpedoed ships as fast and as efficiently as possible. In the trials, however, Dönitz tried to undo this interpretation. He recalled that Page 132 → the Fuehrer brought up the fact that, in the light of experience, a large percentage of the crews, because of the excellence of the rescue means, were reaching home and were used again and again to man new ships, and he asked whether there might not be some action taken against these rescue ships. Dönitz described his response to this by saying, At this discussion…I rejected this unequivocally and told him that the only possibility of causing losses among the crews would lie in the attack itself, in striving for a faster sinking of the ship through the intensified effect of weapons…. I believe, since I received knowledge here through the prosecution of the discussion between the Fuehrer and Oshima, that this question of the Fuehrer…arose out of this discussion.162 Clearly, such orders and guidelines as Dönitz gave, as well as what Hitler told Oshima, are inconsistent with the prize rules or with Article 22 of the 1930 London Naval Treaty (affirmed in later treaties). That article stipulated that merchant vessels that did not show active resistance or consistent refusal to stop were not to be sunk. According to this article, a passenger ship could only be sunk after the passengers and crew had been transported to a place of safety. In this context, lifeboats or rafts were not thought of as places of safety, unless a landmass was nearby. That this type of behavior did not go well with the aggressive operation of a submarine is one issue; another is the fact that Article 22 was negotiated and agreed on. It is also inconsistent for a person who claims that

he does not want to and condemns killing shipwrecked personal—as Dönitz claimed—to issue an order like War Order 154 or the one following the Laconia affair. It also seems inconsistent for such a person to explain to his superior that a major advantage of a magnetic torpedo is that it can cause the death of more people quicker. But we need to take Dönitz's accounts in the context of a 1946 Nuremberg court with a large grain of salt. During the Nuremberg trials, Dönitz was accused of waging unrestricted submarine warfare, for issuing War Order 154 and the order that he issued following the Laconia incident. The judges found him guilty, because they felt that by issuing these orders, he was responsible for causing Germany Page 133 →to be in breach of the Second London Naval Treaty of 1936. However, because evidence of similar conduct by the Allies was presented at his trial, his sentence was not assessed on the grounds of this breach of international law. As to the charge of conducting unrestricted submarine warfare, he was found not guilty, because his boats attacked merchant ships that were often armed. Dönitz was clearly guilty of breaching the London Submarine Protocol of 1936, to which Germany acceded and which reaffirmed the rules of submarine warfare laid down in the London Naval Agreement of 1930. However, the fact that unrestricted submarine warfare was also practiced by the Allies (e.g., the British Admiralty ordered, on May 8, 1940, that all vessels in the Skagerrak should be sunk on sight, and the Americans practiced unrestricted submarine warfare in the Pacific) helped not to translate this responsibility to actual added punishment.

“BE HARSH” IN THE IMPERIAL JAPANESE NAVY Admiral Isoruku Yamamoto created a “Commerce Destruction Unit” whose aim was to “disrupt Allied supply lines,” and he ordered unrestricted submarine warfare against the United States parallel to their attack on Pearl Harbor.163 Moreover, Dönitz was not alone in issuing orders to “be harsh.” On March 20, 1943, Japanese rear admiral Takero Kouta, commander of the Japanese First Submarine Force at Truk (in the central Pacific, north of New Guinea), instructed his submarine commanders, “Do not stop at the sinking of enemy ships and cargoes. At the same time carry out the complete destruction of the crews of the enemy ship.”164 On February 23, 1944, a conference under the command of Admiral Takaso Shiro took place at the Japanese South West Area Fleet Headquarters in Penang. Members of this conference planned a secret operation code-named “Sayo No 1.” Its primary purpose was to disrupt Allied lines of communication and supplies in the Indian Ocean by capturing Allied shipping. In the written order, the sinking of vessels was not mentioned, but if the Allied shipping tried to escape, sinking it became necessary. The “disposal” of prisoners of war was specified in the operational order issued by the headquarters.165 If Dönitz's instructions could, perhaps, be interpreted in different ways, Kouta's orders do not create much interpretative fog. That there were probably Japanese submarine Page 134 →commanders who obeyed Kouta's instruction is not a difficult assumption to make. Carrying out these instructions successfully also meant that no survivors would be left to testify.

USING SUBMARINES IN WORLD WAR II While, as we saw earlier, officers of the Nazi German navy did not forget their successes and failures in World War I and drew lessons from them, Japan, Italy, Britain, France, and the United States were somewhat more forgetful, hesitant, and less focused and determined in their perception of what submarines could or should do.166 Moreover, while most submarine warfare during World War I took place in European waters and was conducted by U-boats, World War II saw submarine warfare that expanded to the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, as well as other waters. During this battle, U-boats again played a major part, American submarines did not lag far behind, and British and Japanese submarines were active as well.167 Nazi Germany Campaign While Nazi German naval planners knew what took place in World War I and drew lessons from that war, they did not expect the war to begin in September 1939. Comparable to the situation when World War I began, the Nazis did not have a large fleet of submarines at the start of World War II; they had only about 57 U-boats, not all of them operational. However, contrary to World War I, the Nazi navy had a very good concept about what (and how) to use its submarine fleet. While Blair divides the submarine war years (1939–45) into seven phases,168

Miller divides them into eight.169 Most works focus on Germany's U-boats and American submarines. Actions by and usage of submarines of these countries were very salient and influential during the war. Thus, much less is known and devoted to British submarines,170 and even less to Italian,171 Soviet172 or Japanese173 submarines.174 The first phase was between September 1939 and May 1940. At this stage, U-boats operated under strict rules and did not follow a policy of unrestricted warfare. A few dramatic incidences took place during this time, among them the penetration of U-47, commanded by Korvettenkapitän Page 135 →Günther Prien, into the heartland of the British Royal Navy's base at Scapa Flow175 during the night of September 13–14, 1939, and the sinking of the battleship Royal Oak. However, like the sinking of the Lusitania during World War I, the sinking of the liner Athenia was even more dramatic and telling. Let us examine the Athenia's sinking more closely. The SS Athenia–U-30 Incident

The Athenia was a 13,580-ton Donaldson passenger liner. It left Glasgow at around noon of September 1, 1939. Having stopped in Belfast and Liverpool, the ship set a course to Montreal at a speed of 16 knots and was on that course on September 3, 1939, with more than a thousand passengers aboard, including Jewish refugees (escaping the horrors of Nazi Germany) and about 311 American citizens. Suddenly and unexpectedly, at 2142,176 a terrible explosion shattered the routine of the sea voyage.177 As Padfield reports, either something hit the port side of the liner or an internal explosion caused a major blow to it, “destroying the bulkhead between the engine room and boiler room and hurling a huge column of water up the side.” Padfield continues, “The explosion also destroyed the stairs to the third class and tourist class dining saloons—particularly unfortunate because some passengers were having dinner at the time.”178 SS Athenia was carrying 1,418 aboard. Of these, 98 passengers and 19 crew members lost their lives,179 among them 69 women and 16 children, 28 of whom were American citizens.180 Most victims “were killed in the explosion or drowned because they could not get up on deck from the saloon.”181 As the shocked passengers were involved in a variety of activities aimed at helping them survive, some thought that they saw a submarine surface about 800 yards off the port side. Padfield notes, “Some eyewitness accounts suggest that [the submarine] fired a single shell, others that [a] torpedo passed under the liner's bows—all agree that the [submarine's] midship area was shrouded in smoke which was thought to be gun smoke.”182 That mysterious submarine then just slipped away without making any effort to help the passengers or crew of the Athenia. Blair183 suspects that the U-boat must have heard the continuous wireless distress messages transmitted in plain language by the Athenia's radio operator.184 The date was no coincidence. On the very same day that the Athenia sailed, the Nazis invaded Poland, and Britain declared war against the Nazis. September 1, 1939, was the day on which World War II began. Page 136 →What was more plausible than assuming that a Nazi U-boat torpedoed the Athenia (particularly when remembering the sinking of the Lusitania in World War I)?

The sinking of the Athenia created a problem. Nazi U-boats were ordered to make war on merchant shipping, but “in accordance with Prize Law.” That law was grounded in the international Second London Naval Treaty of 1930, which stated, explicitly, that passengers be removed to safety before attacks on merchant shipping were to take place. If a U-boat torpedoed the Athenia, it was in direct violation of the orders of Admiral Erich Raeder185 and Kapitän zur See Dönitz186 and in clear violation of international law. Amazing as it may sound in view of later Nazi atrocities, the Nazis were genuinely concerned at that point in time about how the world might react. As Padfield reports, “By this time Goebbels [Minister of Propaganda of Nazi Germany] had been active: ‘The Athenia must have been sunk in error by a British warship or else have struck a floating mine of British origin.’ This was broadcast on the afternoon of September 4th.” Page 137 → Padfield continues to quote German propaganda, which stated that “It is established beyond doubt that not a single German warship is near the Hebrides…if the Athenia had actually been torpedoed this could only have been done by a British submarine…. We believe the present chief of the British Navy, Churchill, capable even of that crime.” Padfield adds that “Photographs reaching Germany of British ships, which had gone to the scene to pick up survivors gave Goebbels the opportunity to claim—with pictorial evidence—that the liner had been sunk by Royal Navy destroyers.”187 Moreover, the Nazis accused Britain of staging the incident as a pretext to violate one of the conditions of the 1930 and 1936 London naval treaties—that merchant ships not be armed. The Nazi's falsified propaganda barrages were very persuasive, and it was difficult to know who to believe. There were two versions of the events, presenting two realities: the British accused the Nazis of a blatant violation of international law by sinking a passenger ship, and the Nazi's vehemently denied the charge and accused the British of staging the incident. In the atmosphere prevalent in 1939, whose account was one to believe and trust? Indeed, many people were confused. What was the truth? On September 3, 1939, 26-year-old Oberleutnant zur See Fritz-Julius Lemp was waiting in his U-30 some 250 miles northwest of Ireland for a prey to hit. The Athenia was spotted by U-30's lookouts. The U-boat dived, and the attack on the Athenia was carried out via U-30's periscope. According to Padfield, What now possessed Lemp will never be known for he did not survive the war. Those very few of his crew who did survive have told how he had immediately leapt to the conclusion that she was a troop transport…. The belated official explanation was that he mistook her for an armed merchant cruiser, but this was a standard justification for naval mistakes.188 Having two of his torpedo tubes ready, he fired one torpedo at 2142 (German time) at the passenger ship. The torpedo scored a direct hit. A few minutes later, Lemp surfaced and used his deck gun to fire at the Athenia, perhaps attempting to squelch its transmission of SSS radio messages for help. Padfield explains, Lemp had realized the full extent of his mistake when he saw women and children coming out on deck. He had attempted to shoot away the wireless Page 138 →aerial and radio room aft the bridge, but had thought better of it when his own radio man picked up the liner's distress call.189 At periscope depth, Lemp cruised around the liner and later around the lifeboats. When British destroyers and other ships were spotted approaching, he left, still submerged. He never reported the incident by radio. Higham reports that the Southern Cross, owned by and sailing with the Nazi sympathizer and industrialist Axel WennerGren and on its way to the United States, “picked up some three hundred survivors.” He states, “It is possible that Wenner-Gren radioed Berlin that the British had sunk the ship deliberately in order to provoke a war.”190 Although Lemp kept radio silence, the German allocation of U-boats in the Atlantic was such that Karl Dönitz must have known that one of his U-boats191 had torpedoed the Athenia, against given orders. The German reaction followed a few directions. The first involved the Kriegsmarine, the German navy. Padfield explains, According to Dönitz's war diary, news of the sinking picked up by the Radio Intelligence service did

not reach U-boat headquarters until 10.35 the following morning. This seems a long time since it would not have required decoding. He noted: “The orders given so far were checked again. It is inconceivable that they could have been misinterpreted.” In order to make absolutely certain, however, another signal was sent to all U-boats emphasizing that they were to operate against merchantmen according to Prize Rules. Hitler, alarmed at the possibility of another Lusitania incident bringing the United States in with the western powers, ordered that no action of any kind was to be taken against passenger ships, even if they were sailing in convoy. This went out just before midnight. No definition of passenger ship was given.192

If this reaction seems reasonable under the circumstances of a commander who may have acted irresponsibly and against explicit orders, what followed was not. At least two developments took place after the sinking of the Athenia. One was that U-boat commanders were requested to use more caution before attacking. Three illustrations demonstrate how effective this request was. When U-47 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Günther Prien) located the British ship Bosnia off the coast of Spain on September 5, 1939, Page 139 →it attacked with one torpedo only after the Bosnia ignored U-47's warning shot. U-47 then made sure that the crew of the Bosnia got into their boats and that the master and 31 crew members were picked up by the Norwegian tanker Eidanger. Only one crew member was lost. The survivors arrived at Lisbon on September 6, 1939.193 Before sinking the British ship Truro on September 15, 1939, U-36 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Wilhelm Frölich) allowed the crew of the ship to board their lifeboats. U-36 towed these boats within sight of other ships, as well as sending an SOS message on the survivors’ behalf. The survivors were picked up by the Belgian trawlers Nautilus and Edwaard Van Flaaneren and arrived at Aberdeen on September 17, 1939.194 Even Oberleutnant zur See Fritz-Julius Lemp, commanding U-30, had learned his lesson. Before he sank the Blair Logie 200 miles west of Ireland on September 11, 1939, he not only allowed the crew of the ship to board their lifeboats but provided the survivors with two bottles of gin and cigarettes. The survivors were picked up by the American Shipper and arrived at New York on September 18, 1939.195 The other development following the sinking of the Athenia was that Hitler “issued orders that Germany should categorically deny that a U-boat sank Athenia and characterize any charge that one did so as a false ‘British atrocity report.’”196 Hitler's instructions had a few interesting results. First, at noon on September 4, the German Foreign Ministry issued an official denial stating that “no U-boat could have sunk Athenia inasmuch as the northern boundary of the patrol zone of the nearest U-boat lay ‘seventy miles to the south.’” That, of course, was a blatant lie. Lemp's U-30 was patrolling within Area U,197 exactly where the Athenia was sunk.198 Second, Goebbels’ Nazi Ministry of Propaganda showered blatant public lies. The treatment of the Athenia incident “vindicated Hitler's and Goebbels’ rule that the larger the lie the more likely it was to be believed; the American authorities and law courts and several American newspapers appear to have been confused until the evidence was finally produced at the Nuremberg trials.”199 Dönitz and his staff must have known fairly well that U-30 was in the area, they could not possibly have believed the grand lies told by Goebbels's propaganda on the radio and in the newspapers. Yet they did not protest. As Padfield notes, they were helping the shameless lies by keeping quiet and thus became accomplices in this subversion of the truth.200 But the best was yet to come. When Lemp and U-30 returned to port on September 27, 1939, Lemp confirmed that, indeed, he gave the order to launch a torpedo attack against Page 140 →the Athenia and that it was his boat's torpedo that had sunk the Athenia.201 What did Dönitz do? He and his staff became even more immersed in the lies. Following Admiral Raeder's orders, they swore the entire crew of U-30 to secrecy; they had the boat's war log changed (including the torpedo and artillery logs). The falsified log “placed” U-30 away from the Athenia at the time of the sinking and did not even mention the sinking.202 To make the lie consistent, the headquarters log was falsified so that no mention of the Athenia incident was even remotely connected to any U-boat or to Nazi Germany. Dönitz's own war diary does not even mention the Lemp-Athenia connection.203 In his book, Dönitz states that the Athenia sailed without lights, zigzagging in an unusual course, and that the U-boat commander deducted that it was an auxiliary cruiser and sank it.204 Legro states that “Lemp claimed that he thought the Athenia was an auxiliary cruiser because it was zigzagging and showing no lights. Neither of these observations was true” (1995:57);

rather, “Lemp simply was zealously implementing his training” (58). Padfield notes that these blatant lies did not deceive “a wide circle of officers” who called Lemp “Athenia Lemp.”205 A final note to this incredibly deceitful incident concerns Kapitänleutnant Lemp and U-110. Later in the war, Lemp was assigned to U-110. On May 9, 1941, U-110 was “depth-charged to the surface by the combined attack of one of the new escort groups. Julius Lemp…was lost, but according to the British interrogation report, he was much respected and liked by his crew.”206 Before taking its final dive, U-110 was boarded by the British, and the extremely important Enigma machine, its rotors and cipher “keys,” and other documents were taken to the destroyer Bulldog. This war prize was priceless, because it enabled British intelligence to decipher the secret communications between Dönitz and his U-boats. That these artifacts were retrieved from U-110 was “one of the best-kept secrets of the war.”207 Deceiving the Nazis about this major event was one of the better intelligence operations of World War II.208 Thus, while Lemp's war career consisted of committing a vile disaster on one occasion, it also gave the Allies a major advantage on another occasion.209 The SS Bremen–HMS Salmon Incident

As a counterevent, it is well worth remembering one of the more interesting and instructive encounters that occurred very early in the war, on September 12, 1939, and involved the British submarine HMS Salmon and the German passenger liner SS Bremen. In late August 1939, Nazi Germany, expecting a war to break out, instructed all its merchant ships to return home. This order intercepted the Bremen only two days away from New York, which was its original destination. The captain of the Bremen decided that he should first continue to New York and let his passengers go ashore as originally planned. Having done that, the Bremen left New York on August 30, 1939, on its way back to Germany. On September 1, the first day of World War II, the ship was instructed to arrive at the Soviet port of Murmansk, and it arrived there on September 6. As the war between the USSR and Finland began on December 10, 1939, the Bremen hastened to sail to the German port of Bremerhaven, at which it arrived on December 13, 1939. When the Bremen was rushing to Bremerhaven, it was spotted on December 12 by the British submarine HMS Salmon. The submarine surfaced at 0940 aiming to challenge the Bremen. The Bremen did not respond to the international call to stop, and the Salmon was making ready to fire a warning shot, when a German Dornier Do 18 appeared, and the Salmon was forced to dive. The Salmon's captain—Lieutenant Commander Edward Oscar Bickford—had to decide quickly whether to commence an underwater attack and launch his torpedoes against the Bremen. His decision was to refrain from attacking, because he felt that such action was unjustified.210 While uboat.net acknowledges that the Salmon encountered and challenged the Bremen, not a word is written there about the Salmon's decision not to torpedo the liner.211

This incident is instructive. While the Nazi commander of the U-boat, eager, willing, and enthusiastic to wage war and get into battle, had no hesitation about sinking a passenger ship, the British commander, aware of proper naval warfare conduct, decided not to sink a passenger ship. These two different courses of action chosen so early in the war by two different commanders reflect the different cultural cores that affected these commanders. For the German, getting into an unrestricted submarine warfare was something he trained for and took for granted. He had to face temporary restricting orders, but he was ready to sink all surface vessels. The British commander did not train for unrestricted submarine warfare and took for granted that he should not get involved in it. It is equally interesting to note that when the news regarding the avoidance of the Salmon to sink the Bremen leaked to the press, some expressions of anger were made as to why the Bremen was not sunk. Some tabloids seem to have advocated sinking the Bremen, while other newspapers disagreed.212 The public disagreement Page 143 →and debate that took place around this incident in 1939 indicates that British cultural cores regarding what submarines were allowed to do was simmering and that change was on its way.

Miller213 dates the second phase of German submarine warfare in World War II to May 1940–March 1941. During that phase, U-boats, not in much larger numbers than before, inflicted heavy losses on shipping, and many more submarines were commissioned. However, it was also a period when U-boats lost some of their famous ace commanders.214 The third phase, March 1941–January 1942, was characterized by increased numbers of U-boats at sea and by spreading U-boat patrols far west (up to the Canadian coast) and into the Mediterranean. U-boat submariners referred to some of these early successful phases as “the Happy Time,”215 meaning that they inflicted lots of damages and misery with relatively few losses. At first, Allied responses were hesitant and sluggish. However, slowly and gradually, antisubmarine warfare (ASW) developed. The convoy system and better usage of (and better) asdic/sonar were introduced.216 The development, introduction, and usage of centimetric radar enabled spotting the small silhouettes of the U-boats—even their conning tower or small signature snorkel—at any time and in any weather. Coupled with a few other ASW measures listed shortly, they gave the Allies definite advantages over the U-boats.

The Allies were also successful in counteracting two crucially important facets of submarine communications. First, the Allies broke the wireless code (i.e., the Enigma code) that was used to command and control U-boats.217 While ability to read German naval Enigma messages was not always complete or continuous, it was sufficient overall. This meant that Allied convoys could evade “wolf packs” and could plan where to attack them. Second, the Allies developed a contraption referred to as HF/DF,218 pronounced as “huff duff.” The technology was based on a cathode-ray tube that indicated when a signal transmitted by a U-boat was detected. Based on land or in more compact units aboard naval vessels, HF/DF enabled users to determine the direction from which a radio signal was transmitted. Using a few such devices could pinpoint the location of a transmission. U-boats transmitting Page 146 →to their headquarters were thus running a very real risk of betraying their position.219 ASW aircraft also developed and became a major threat for U-boats.220 ASW air war was aided by a few technological developments. One was an extended range and airtime of patrol aircraft. Another was the developments of Leigh lights (L/L). These extremely powerful searchlights were placed on ASW aircraft patrolling the seas. Submarines that surfaced at night to charge their batteries were vulnerable to being suddenly in the center of a blinding beam of light, followed by a barrage of bullets and depth charges. L/L were particularly effective in combination with radar. Once an airborne radar detected a surfaced U-boat, the aircraft used its L/L in the final approach—carrying a surprise attack on the unsuspecting U-boat. The combined detect-and-attack technology of radar and L/L was used effectively from June 1942. Slowly but surely, aircraft became submarines’ worst and most effective enemy.221 Syrett (1994) notes that “almost no Allied ships within a convoy protected by both air and surface escorts were sunk during World War II. The Germans…would end operations at the mere appearance of an Allied aircraft over the ships” (262–63). Moreover, submarines also waged war one against each other.222 These developments meant that the first “Happy Time”223 of the U-boats was coming to a close. However, another “Happy Time” was on the horizon. The fourth phase of the submarine war, January 1942–July 1942, began when the United States formally entered World War II after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor (December 7–8, 1941). It did not take much after the war declaration by the United States for Dönitz to send some of his U-boats in January 1942 to the east coast of the United States to attack merchant shipping there. The United States was caught unprepared and did not react properly in time. Consequently, the carnage and loss of American shipping and sailors that followed was awesome, which caused U-boat submariners to refer to this period as the second “Happy Time.”224 Within the first six months of 1942, U-boats sent to the bottom close to 400 ships along the east coast of the United States and in the Caribbean, and the Gulf of Mexico.225 During this period, only six U-boats were sunk. Sending U-boats to the American east coast was apparently not enough. In June 1942, U-202 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Hans-Heinz Linder) and U-584 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Joachim Deecke) landed eight Nazi Abwehr226 agents/saboteurs (four in each landing), armed with explosives, on the beaches of Long Island (near Amagansett) and on the beach of Ponte Vedra (about seven Page 147 →miles south of Jacksonville, Florida). Fortunately, this mission of destruction failed, and the agents were caught.227 On November 29–30, U-1230 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Hans Hilbig) landed two agents at Hancock Point in Frenchman's Bay (in the Gulf of Maine).228 These agents were supposed to collect information on the Manhattan Project and sabotage it, if at all possible. Within a month, one of the spies turned himself in, and the other was arrested a few days later.229 Blair's first phase of the defeat process of the U-boats is dated September 1942–November 1942,230 which tails Miller's fourth stage and emphasizes that following the attacks on the United States, the U-boats shifted their attacks again to the North Atlantic. The Allied landing in northwest Africa (Operation Torch in November 1942) interrupted this shift, as U-boats were sent to try and interfere with that landing. Blair's next stage is dated December 1942–April 1943, and Miller's fifth phase231 is dated to August 1942–May 1943. The summer and winter of 1942 kept U-boats busy in the Atlantic and with Operation Torch. Nevertheless, until May 1943, the Allies ASW was getting better and much more effective. U-boats were so heavily punished that in May 1943, 41 U-boats were sunk, and 37 were damaged. Consequently, in that May, Dönitz had to recall his U-boats back to ports, realizing that they were defeated.232 An aggressive antisubmarine Allied air campaign in the Bay of Biscay lasted from May to August 1943 (paralleling Miller's sixth phase). Many historian researchers of the German submarine campaign during World War II feel that May 1943 indeed marked the actual, but not final, defeat of the U-boats.233

Dönitz tried to return upgraded U-boats to the Atlantic between September and December 1943 (Miller extends this seventh phase to June 1944), but the U-boat losses were heavy.234 The next phase, dated January 1944–June 6, 1944, was characterized by very little or no U-boat presence in the Atlantic. The German goal at that time was to introduce entirely new submarines, capable of improved underwater endurance and performance. The following phase was between June 1944 and September 1944. During this time period, the U-boats again failed to operate effectively against the successful invasion of Allied forces into Western Europe (Paterson 2008). This invasion forced the U-boats to abandon their bases in France.235 By this time, it was obvious that the U-boats lost. It was no longer possible for the Nazi navy to fulfill its primary role of erecting an effective naval blockade around the British Islands. Page 148 → British Unrestricted Submarine Warfare Redford dates the British decision to commence an unrestricted submarine warfare to the British War Cabinet meeting that took place on April 9, 1940.236 In that meeting, the First Sea Lord asked the cabinet to authorize British submarines to “attack without warning all shipping in the Skagerrak.”237 This occurrence took place within the context of the Norwegian Campaign—the Nazi invasion to Norway and the unsuccessful attempt of the Allies to thwart that invasion. While Royal Navy submarines were getting involved in an unrestricted submarine warfare that began in the Skagerrak238 and later expanded to the Mediterranean Sea, it was more difficult to admit publicly that the policy of “sink on sight” zones was not much different than the German unrestricted submarine warfare. Indeed, Redford points out that public British expressions about German submarine warfare after 1940 did not resort to such terms as piracy and that no British media admitted that British submarines were conducting a form of unrestricted submarine warfare.239 Interestingly enough, British submariners did adopt—enthusiastically—the piracy image.240 Out of 216 submarines used in World War II, the Royal Navy lost 76, most of them to surface ships (27) and mines (19).241 It is thus clear that British cultural cores regarding submarine warfare changed quite dramatically between World War I and World War II—from unwillingness to engage in submarine commerce raiding, even in a retaliatory manner, to enthusiastic involvement in an unrestricted submarine warfare during World War II. This change is observable not only in the actual form in which British submarines conducted combat but in a fundamental change regarding the concept of free passage for civilian shipping and relaxed attitudes toward hitting noncombatants. Results

Different figures exist regarding the damage caused by U-boats. During the entire war, U-boats sank about 2,596 ships in the Atlantic, and most of those sinkings took place by 1943, with 1942 being probably the worst year for the Allies.242 Miller summarized the figures of Allied merchant ships sunk in the Atlantic and Arctic oceans as they appear in table 1.243 Poirier,244 summarizing the Battle of the Atlantic for the chief of naval operations of the Submarine Warfare Division, states, Page 149 → TABLE 1. Ships Sunk in the Atlantic YEAR NUMBER OF SHIPS SUNK 1939 147 1940 573 1941 463

1942

1,043

1943 1944 1945

423 73 60

Source: Data from Miller 2000:132. During the war the Germans sank 5,150 allied ships displacing 21.57 million tons. Of this, the Uboats were responsible for 2,828 ships of 14.69 million tons. To place this in perspective, the Germans sank the equivalent of the entire British merchant fleet at the start of the war. Additionally, submarines destroyed 187 warships, including six aircraft carriers and two battleships. However, this tremendous destruction came at a heavy price: the Germans lost 785245 submarines of 1,158 constructed. These losses and the loss of valuable cargo are the direct effects of the Battle of the Atlantic. In the end, however, the U-boats did not prevent the U.S. from supplying England with military and industrial goods or food, nor from building up U.S. forces in England (Operation Bolero), nor from providing Russia with substantial material help. Thus, most historians see the Battle of the Atlantic as a German failure.246 During the last phase, September 1944–May 1945, U-boats continued their doomed, grim, and hopeless fight to the very end. These U-boats scored some successes, especially because of new snorkels, but the war for Germany was lost. However, before Hitler committed suicide, he appointed Dönitz as his successor, probably because of Dönitz's loyalty and fanaticism. That was no coincidence. During the first years of the war, Dönitz's approach was perceived as successful. The German U-boats made life for Allied sailors very miserable and dangerous, especially in the Arctic convoys.247 Despite the fact that the number of U-boats was not very large, they were used in relatively effective fashion. At the beginning, the U-boat war was so successful, in fact, that Winston Churchill248 noted, Page 150 → The only thing that ever really frightened me during the war was the U-boat peril. Invasion, I thought, even before the air battle, would fail. After the air victory, it was a good battle for us. We could drown and kill this horrible foe in circumstances favorable to us, and, as he evidently realized, bad for him. It was the kind of battle, which, in the cruel conditions of war, one ought to be content to fight. But now our life-line, even across the broad oceans, and especially in the entrances to the Island, was endangered. I was even more anxious about this battle than I had been about the glorious air fight called the Battle of Britain.249 Snyder added, To the Allies, Hitler's U-boat personnel were treacherous monsters of the deep who lay in wait for their prey and then without warning hurled their torpedoes at helpless victims. To Germans the submarine crews were heroic sons of the fatherland who risked their lives in dangerous battle.250 However, as countermeasures were developed, the U-boat threat was neutralized, and they turned from hunterkillers to prey. Different sources give different figures regarding casualties among U-boat crews. Gannon states, “Of the 830 Uboats that saw action in all areas, 480 were sunk in the North Atlantic, the Northern Transit Route, and British Home Waters. Casualty lists give 27,490 as the number of German U-boat men who were killed out of the 39,000 who sailed on operations—a startling 70 percent. (Some 5,000 more were taken prisoner). It was the greatest mortal loss experienced by any single arm of any of the belligerent nations. During the final months of the war, when it was near-suicidal for a U-boat even to stand out to sea, crew after crew did so nonetheless, without

demurral or complaint.”251 Offley gives a more general view: “Of the 1,149 U-boats which served in that war, 711 (about 62%) were lost in battle, and of about 39,000 Kriegsmarine who served in those iron coffins only 11,510 survived the war. A fatality rate of about 71%.”252 Mason states, “More than 40,900 men were recruited into the U-boat arm in the course of the war, of whom a total of 28,000 lost their lives, and another 5,000 were taken prisoner. The Allies suffered even bitterer carnage—more than 30,000 men killed from the British Merchant Navy Page 151 →alone.”253 Blair adds, “Of the 859 U-boats that set off on war patrols, 648254 were lost (75%). Of these, 429 yielded no survivors. Most shocking of all, 215 U-boats (33 percent) were lost on first patrols, usually before the green crews had learnt the ropes or inflicted any damage on Allied shipping.”255 Mulligan claims, “A total of approximately 41,500 men manned Nazi Germany's submarines through-out the war, out of a total of nearly 17.9 million called to arms. The cohesion of this force in the face of losses of nearly 80 percent of its total strength (28,000 killed, 5,000 captured) testifies to the success of the selection process employed by the German Navy (Kriegsmarine).”256 Mulligan does not provide persuasive answers to such questions as exactly where this cohesion came from or how many of the 41,500 were members of the Nazi Party (officers and sailors). Magnitude may be more helpful here. Based on the different figures, it may be reasonable to suggest that about 40,000 men served in World War II Uboats. From those, between 28,000 and 32,000 never returned.257 Commenting on these numbers, Manson states, “Indeed, submarine warfare brings to the fore the role of technology in warfare and the disregard for human life, whether combatant or civilian.”258 The American Pacific Campaign That the United States resorted to unrestricted submarine warfare should not be taken simply or for granted. About four and a half hours after the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the American chief of naval operations (CNO), Admiral Harold Stark, sent the following message: “Execute against Japan unrestricted air and submarine warfare.”259 The meaning of this instruction, sent even before the United States formally declared war on Japan, was that all Japanese ships had become fair prey for all American war machines—aircraft, surface ships, and submarines. Holwitt explains, “Because civilian crews manned most…[Japanese] ships, unrestricted warfare meant that these civilian sailors would be treated like combatants…. Unrestricted warfare…also targeted millions of civilians in Japan, who suffered starvation and privation.”260 Holwitt points out that the decision to conduct unrestricted warfare began to coalesce with the acceptance of Plan Dog261 as the U.S. military strategy already in December 1940 and marked a sharp deviation from previous U.S. policy that emphasized Page 152 →the freedom of the seas. He added that “unrestricted submarine warfare was specifically and unambiguously illegal,” because the United States “was a signatory to both Article 22 of the London Naval Treaty and the London Submarine Protocol of 1936. The two documents…stated that submarines were required to remove a merchant ship's crew to a place of safety before that ship could be sunk.”262 Moreover, American politicians argued against unrestricted warfare. For example, President Wilson specifically condemned the German unrestricted submarine warfare as a “warfare against mankind.”263 Holwitt (2009) studied the way American military personnel decided to violate previous understandings. He focused on the time between the wars and points out that high-ranking American officers realized that the international understandings to which the United States was part simply could not fit the way a submarine could and should be used effectively. Relevant naval treaties were viewed as impractical for submarines. Influenced by European ideas and actions, these officers decided that should hostilities break, a policy of unrestricted warfare would be executed. This decision, made without coordinating it with civilian authorities, led to the CNO's message on December 7, 1941. Holwitt notes, “Based on documentation…the Navy made little or no effort to consult the civilian leadership of the United States regarding the propriety of unrestricted warfare.”264 He continues, Unrestricted submarine warfare…violated the London Submarine Protocol of 1936 and most naval

officers understood that…. Prewar submarine commanders…even believed that they could be hanged as pirates for conducting unrestricted submarine warfare. Such considerations caused the Pacific Fleet's naval leaders to issue authorization to their submarine commanders to conduct…[such warfare]…before sending them out on patrol…. However, the senior naval leadership…knew that unrestricted submarine warfare was absolutely necessary if Japan's war machine was to be stopped.265

Sturma notes that already in November 1940, “Admiral Stark informed Admiral Thomas C. Hart, commander in chief of the Asiatic Fleet, that in the event of war, America would pursue Japan's ‘economic starvation.’”266 It thus appears that by late September 1941, Stark and his director of war plans, Rear Admiral Richmond K. Turner, had decided to initiate unrestricted Page 153 →warfare upon the outbreak of hostilities. They did so with no documented approval from their civilian chain of command and against repeated public statements by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who urged defense of absolute freedom of the seas. Holwitt notes, “Unrestricted submarine warfare carried a great deal of moral and legal baggage, but for naval war planners, the strategic necessity for unrestricted submarine warfare dovetailed with over thirty years of U.S. naval war planning.”267 Moreover, such well-established preparatory plans also meant that the U.S. Navy would have conducted an unrestricted submarine warfare against Japan regardless of what the Japanese military did. The attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, was an excellent excuse, but not the reason, for such warfare.268 Hence, Legro's (1995:89–93) observation that behind American official stands, ideas to practice unrestricted submarine warfare were brewing and bubbling seems both accurate and valid. It is worth mentioning here that the British Royal Navy prepared its submarines (in actual exercises) for a war against Japan already in 1926 and 1928. The design of some classes of its submarines (e.g., the O, P, and R classes) reflected that.269 The Americans must have noticed this. Contrary to the idea that American naval planners crystallized a decision to practice an unrestricted submarine warfare in case of war with Japan, Sturma feels that the Japanese devastation of Pearl Harbor was the key factor that “changed everything.”270 He points out that a later explanation by Admiral Chester Nimitz was that Japan's attack on and devastation of Pearl Harbor without warning or a declaration of war justified Stark's order. Regardless, Manson (1990) points out repeatedly that the American decision to execute unrestricted submarine warfare reflected a most significant and radical change in the history of American foreign policy. The military decision to launch an unrestricted submarine warfare could have encountered serious problems had the fleet of submarines not been designed for such warfare. Lucky for this decision, the design was successful and enabled using the same submarines for offensive-aggressive campaigns in an unrestricted warfare. The interesting (and amazing) observation is that in terms of practice and training, American submarine crews were not ready for aggressive and ruthless unrestricted submarine warfare. The term fleet submarine meant that American submarine crews trained as scouts for and auxiliaries of the surface fleet—having in mind that the major naval battle would be of a Mahanian type. Some training was also devoted to shore protection. In the main, the policy of how to use a submarine emphasized a Page 154 →defensive and passive perception as well as exercising extreme caution. This conception was translated to command structure and strategy and was expressed by commanders who were cautious, hesitant, and nonaggressive. The surprising thing about all this is that American naval planners did not have to look to Germany's World War I U-boats for an illustration of what successful commerce raiding could do. One particularly famous illustration close to home was the magnificent success of the Confederate navy raider CSS Alabama during the American Civil War. The aggressively successful patrols of this commerce raider caused havoc for Union shipping. Despite this knowledge, the American navy did not prepare its submarines for unrestricted submarine warfare (i.e., commerce raiding). Lucky for the American navy, they had excellent submarines. They only needed to correct the faulty torpedoes that equipped these submarines and to get aggressively determined commanders into command positions, both of which they eventually did. Holwitt's work shows that the morality underlying decisions of how to conduct a war switched from an emphasis on “free seas” to a policy of unrestricted warfare. This change was made by individuals from the military class and

in positions of power that had the authority and ability to make such an alteration. For example, Holwitt describes and analyzes various pre–World War II activities that took place in the Naval War College that “called for actions that would change the way the U.S. Navy waged war as well as reject the…paradigm of absolute freedom of the seas.”271 Moreover, the technology that enabled the construction of reliable submarines as weapon platforms gave military planners a new and awesome weapon that—given a decision to win a war at almost all costs—could not be used effectively if previous international understandings were followed. The best way to use that new weapon was in an unrestricted warfare aimed at creating a siege. This usage required ruthlessness, cruelty, and willingness to inflict civilian misery on a large scale. World War I naval warfare led to this conclusion. Thus, the combination of technology first and ideas later was at the infrastructure of changing the way naval battles were to be fought, and the power of high-ranking officers enabled them to execute this new approach. In fact, what this historical description does is inform us about the process of change in cultural cores. Eventually, Dönitz's Rudeltaktik was not too effective, and his U-boats did not starve Britain to submission. At some point in time, he must have known that he was sending his submariners to an almost certain death. However, the American submarines in the Pacific applied similar ideas with extreme success.272 Nevertheless, successful as the American submarines and the unrestricted warfare were, they did not bring Japan to submission. It took the threat of invasion of the Red Army plus two atomic bombs to persuade the Japanese to surrender.273

Page 155 → The American navy was plagued at the beginning of the war with indecisive, complacent, hesitant, and overly cautious274 submarine commanders and poor training for aggressive unrestricted warfare, with faulty torpedoes and some old S class submarines. Rear Admiral (later Vice Admiral) Charles Lockwood275 took energetic and decisive steps to have the U.S. Navy rectify these problems. Under his effective and determined command, American submarines became very successful in placing a naval siege around Japan.276 Blair quotes postwar rear admiral Daniel V. Gallery's statement that “our own submariners in the Pacific…waged unrestricted warfare the same as Page 156 →the Germans did in the Atlantic.”277 In fact, James DeRose titled his 2000 book detailing the American submarine warfare in the Pacific and focusing on the commanders Unrestricted Warfare. Already on the first page of the book, DeRose notes,

At the close of World War I, U.S. naval staff officers saw that Japan was uniquely vulnerable to submarine attack, a fact that the Japanese themselves failed to fully appreciate until too late. In 1920, the navy made an estimate of the number of submarines it would need to blockade Japan if war was conducted from bases in Guam and Manila. The quantity, 144 if Manila were to fall, was considered unacceptably high.278 One interesting observation that Holwitt makes is that while American submarines conducted unrestricted submarine warfare, the instructions of the American navy (up to April 1944) were based on Article 22 of the London Naval Treaty from 1930.279 Being involved in a deviant form of warfare and acknowledging both internal and international standards that forbid this type of warfare is a curious situation, similar to the British case.280 This situation, as Holwitt indeed points out, created a situation where there were no limits to this unrestricted warfare and where submarine commanders eventually had to make up their own minds about what to do in specific cases. Results

Statistically summarizing the damage inflicted by Lockwood's submarines is not a simple undertaking.281 Nevertheless, Holwitt summarizes that “the…size of the U.S. submarine force…amounted to only 50,000 officers and men, about 1.6 percent of the entire U.S. Navy personnel”; that “of those, only 16,000 men actually went to sea”; and that “of those, 3,500282 never returned.” The impact of this relatively small force was that “American submarines sank 55 percent of all Japanese ships in the Second World War.”283 The American submarine force lost a total of 52 submarines during the war (49 in the Pacific).284 In actual numbers, American submarines sank about 1,314 enemy vessels. There can hardly be a doubt that these submarines inflicted very heavy damages on Japan. As Blair points out, “Japan began the war with about 122,000 merchant marine personnel. About 116,000 of these became casualties…. Of this total, the majority of the casualties…were inflicted by submarine attacks” (1976:878). Sturma adds that American submarines Page 157 →sank 200 Japanese war vessels and more than 1,000 merchant ships.285 Japan lost about 130 submarines.286 Poirier summarized the direct impact of American submarine war on Japan for the chief of naval operations of the Submarine Warfare Division by stating, The Japanese Merchant Marine lost 8.1 million tons of vessels during the war, with submarines accounting for 4.9 million tons (60%) of the losses. Additionally, U.S. submarines sank 700,000 tons of naval ships (about 30% of the total lost) including 8 aircraft carriers, 1 battleship and 11 cruisers. Of the total 288 U.S. submarines deployed throughout the war (including in the Atlantic), 52 submarines were lost with 48 destroyed in the war zones of the Pacific. American submariners suffered the highest loss rate in the U.S. Armed Forces, with 22% killed.287 While the major submarine warfare during World War II took place in the Atlantic and Pacific, submarines waged war in the Mediterranean,288 the Far East,289 and the Indian Ocean290 and near Australia and New Zealand291 as well. While Japan had good (and some innovative) submarines, equipped with effective weapons, the Imperial Japanese Navy failed to develop a focused and effective strategy of how to use its submarines efficiently. It is not that Japanese submarines did not score or were not a threat, but they were used too much as transports and were too often just sent out on patrols that simply searched for targets. These submarines found suitable prey only sometimes.292 A good illustration for this is the sinking of the U.S. heavy cruiser Indianapolis. While steaming from Guam to Leyte during the night of July 29–30, 1945, it was spotted by Japanese submarine I-58 (commanded by Lieutenant Commander Mochitsura Hashimoto) and was hit by two torpedoes. Out of the 1,199 men serving on the Indianapolis, only about 880 survived the sinking, and only 320 survived waiting in the water for rescue. While Japanese submarines did inflict damages, they never came close to the effectiveness of the German or the U.S. submarines. Summarizing the unrestricted submarine warfare of World War II, Hutchinson (2001) notes that the total merchant shipping losses of the Allied forces and neutrals in all theaters of war by gross registered tonnage were 21,570,720 tons. Of those, 14,687,231 tons (about 68.09 percent) were sent to the bottom by submarines (Hutchinson

2001:111). Germany lost 782 submarines, about 65 percent of the 1,219 it had during the war. An additional 380 were scuttled. Most of these losses were caused by surface ships (247) and shore aircraft (245). Japan lost 128 to 130 submarines, about 71 percent of the 181 it had. Most were lost due to the action of surface ships (61) or opponent submarines (22). Out of its 144 submarines, Italy lost 85 (about 59 percent). Britain had 216 submarines, of which 76 (about 35 percent) were lost. Most of these losses were caused by the action of surface ships (27) and by mines (19). Out of the 288 submarines the United States had, 52 (about 18 percent) were lost. Most of these losses were due to the action of surface ships (21) and mines (7), and 13 submarines were declared missing.

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SUMMARY During the two 20th-century world wars, the submarine emerged as an interesting, awesome, and lethal weapon platform. The Cold War intensified and enhanced that image.293 These underwater war machines could sneak around quietly and lie in the depths waiting for their prey to appear. Page 159 →They could then kill that prey by gunfire (the older method), by using their torpedoes (from a submerged or surfaced position), or by using missiles. Submarines were also used for intelligence purposes and to transport supplies and men. For a submarine to lie in wait for any type of a warship and attack and sink it seems like a classical tactic. However, the salient images we have of submarine warfare, especially during World War II, are of “wolf packs” of German submarines ganging up on, attacking, and sinking merchant ships or of sailors in the “Murmansk Run” convoy294 jumping, burning, to the oil-covered water, only to freeze or drown in the cold North Atlantic —as Parrish referred to it, the “massacre in the north.”295 This image was created by both books and movies (e.g., Alistair MacLean's HMS Ulysses and Nicholas Monsarrat's The Cruel Sea). It is not too difficult to understand why Churchill felt terrified by the menace of Nazi Germany's U-boats.296 Waging battles against warships is one thing; it is another to sink merchant and civilian ships or shoot survivors in the water297 once their ship was sunk. What type of warfare were submarines allowed to wage? Submarine technology was such that surface encounters with warships were quite dangerous for the submarines (they suffered from a slow diving time, and at the beginning of the war, some lacked even deck guns). Consequently, submarines were used more frequently as commerce raiders in unrestricted warfare, which Article 22 forbade and from which their nasty reputation came. In early World War I and World War II submarine warfare, Germans and Allies tried to follow the prize rules, that is, Article 22 in some form of interpretation. These rules apply to an enemy vessel captured at sea by a ship of war. The definition of an “enemy vessel” or its cargo as a suitable target for application of the prize rules was used

differentially by various nations. The Hague convention of 1907 suggested some general outlines. As far as submarine warfare was concerned, these rules could be interpreted to mean that the submarine is required to surface, identify itself, and search and warn the vessel it targeted, prior to any attack. Applying these rules was far from simple. Surfacing a submarine, forcing the suspected vessel to stop, and sending a search party to look for war-related materials are all complicated operations. Furthermore, if war-related materials were found, the ship could be seized, routed to a port, and, with the war-related materials disposed of (e.g., by selling them), sent back to its original course. Doing this once or twice may be possible, but applying this policy on a mass scale is Page 160 →unrealistic. Even application of the later interpretation—that if war-related materials were found and the ship was to be sunk, the crew and passengers were to be placed in boats within a reasonable distance from land—was unrealistic on a mass scale. Following these rules also neutralized one of the submarine's most effective features: its stealth. In addition, adhering to these rules when surface ship traffic was congested posed a very real, serious, and dangerous threat to the submarine, more so if warships, carriers, or enemy aircraft were around. Given these parameters, the question was whether to ignore international agreements and understandings, morality, and decency or to decide not to use submarines in such aggressive roles as is required by unrestricted warfare. Making such a decision involves challenging cultural cores and their symbolic-moral universes in a highly significant way. From 1914, the German navy deliberated targeting Allied trade routes as the focal point for its submarines. While hesitant and unsure at first, German planners—wanting to win and angered by British naval blockade—eventually closed the cultural gap between technology and cultural ideas. Toward the last stages of World War I, German submarines implemented the new idea of unrestricted submarine warfare and waged a naval war against ships of their opponents: war or civilian ships were considered worthy prey. Moreover, in strategic terms, emphasis was placed on hitting merchant ships in order to establish a naval siege and starve the enemy to submission. Thus, as World War I progressed, clinging to the prize rules was abandoned as the Germans developed what they referred to as the Handelskrieg, meaning “trade warfare.” This term simply referred to the German navy's all-out campaign against nonmilitary shipping, which eventually turned into a ruthless unrestricted warfare against all shipping perceived to be hostile to Germany.298 Given a hunger to win a war and the nature of the submarine, such a concept of warfare seems almost natural. Using submarines in an unrestricted warfare implies that civilian sailors, passengers, and ships became targets for submarines’ guns and torpedoes. The World War I submarine allowed Germany to revive the ancient concept of a siege on a city—starving its citizens to surrender and submission (and many times to mass killings or death).299 This time, the concept was applied to the entire vast British Islands. The British, one must remember, practiced a similar concept when they placed a naval siege on Germany. Both strategies undoubtedly followed Mahan's ideas. In addition, in a cultural situation defined as a total Page 161 →war, all resources of opponents are recruited, and by extension, these opponents tended to view all aspects of their enemies as fair game.300 Arming merchant ships, instructing masters of these ships not to act according to the prize rules, and using deceptive Q-ships made the demand that World War I German submarines adhere to the prize rules somewhat bizarre. Given the nature of the submarine and of countermeasures, invoking the prize rules is unrealistic and, to a large extent, even hypocritical. The interim period between the wars was used to try to curb the ruthlessness and cruelty of this type of warfare. In conferences on naval disarmament in 1921 (in Washington) and 1927 (in Geneva), Britain demanded that all submarines be outlawed, but that demand was substituted by placing restrictions on programs of submarine building. Britain raised this demand again in the 1930 London naval conference, with similar results. However, the London Naval Treaty of 1930 did yield an interesting and significant resolution: Article 22. Unfortunately, this document could not possibly fit what submariners could do, and it is doubtful whether relevant and powerful naval officers who knew that really believed that Article 22 would still be valid in the case of an all-out war, coupled with cultural decisions to win that war at almost all costs. The threat and meaning of cultural decisions in the form of a “strategy” to use a new and lethal technology helped into being international pacts and agreements that were based on technical details. Unfortunately, that these agreements were probably not based on genuine foundations of sincerity, morality, and serious political considerations rendered them valueless, vacuous, and eventually useless. The very nature of submarines (as well as Mahan's strategy), coupled with cultural decisions to use this

new weapon system in an unrestricted fashion, turned these documents (which at least some viewed as expressions of goodwill) into worthless and perhaps even cynical efforts. Indeed, the history of submarine warfare during World War II shows that adherence to the London Naval Treaty of 1930 was abandoned very early in the course of the war, as could be expected. Legro (1995:61) claims that German submarines “turned Clausewitz on his head: tactical military considerations shaped strategic political goals.” In fact, operating both imperial and Nazi submarines in an aggressive and unrestricted fashion was part of a grand strategy. This strategy was grounded in Mahan's vision of what navies were for. The strategic goal of these submarines was to defeat Britain by laying an effective naval siege. While the prize rules and the London Naval Treaty implied that an Page 162 →unrestricted submarine warfare was immoral, illegitimate, and forbidden, such a ferocious and deadly unrestricted warfare did take place. German, Japanese, American, British, and Russian submarines did deliberately, meticulously, and consistently attack commercial lines. Undoubtedly, German submarines (in World Wars I and II) and American submarines (in World War II) played the most prominent part in this new form of warfare. Thus, in the two 20th-century world wars, using submarines to hit commercial maritime traffic was a practice used extensively by the major combatants. By definition, such warfare was aimed against civilians. This warfare was justified by two main cultural arguments. One was the willingness to win in what was perceived as a “total war,” using whatever means were available for that purpose. The other was a strategy that aimed to choke the life out of the enemy by eliminating its supplies. If an entire society was involved in war, it became acceptable to construct a total siege around that society, starve all of its members, and force it to surrender via creating conditions of hunger, humiliation, and probably a great deal of sickness as well. That a modern technology of submarines was used for this purpose should not mislead us. Siege practices in conducts of wars are very ancient and are documented already in the Bible; they were used by the Roman Empire and other military powers. What modern technology enabled was the erection of a siege system on a grand scale never seen before. Was this unrestricted submarine warfare effective? To some degree, it was, as Bruce and Cogar explain. The use of submarines and aircraft to intercept or destroy merchant shipping increased the effectiveness of the distant blockade. For example, U-boat attacks on British convoys in the Atlantic reached unsustainable levels in 1917 and again in 1942–43;301 without the introduction of effective countermeasures in both situations, Great Britain almost certainly would have collapsed. The Allied blockade of Germany in World War I was a significant factor in Germany's defeat. It was less effective in World War II because of Germany's policy of autarky and its ability to exploit the occupied countries.302 Conducting such warfare involves secrecy, conniving, and stealth on the part of the submariners and those involved in planning their attacks. Cheating, lying, concealing, and falsifying are part and parcel of submarine operations. Page 163 →Even such a vile practice as launching a deadly torpedo armed with 600 to 800 pounds of high explosives at a civilian ship was accepted, and additional violations included shooting survivors in the water or falsifying submarine logs to hide atrocities. Constructing a list of the civilian ships that were sunk due to submarine activity in both world wars is—from this point of view—almost a vacuous exercise. In both wars, a very large number of merchant ships were sunk, and many civilian sailors and passengers lost their lives, often in appalling circumstances. Using low estimates, it is estimated that U-boats in World War II sank more than 1,300 ships (more than 7.7 million tons of shipping), and more than 22,500 sailors and personnel lost their lives on British merchant ships in what became known as the Battle of the Atlantic.303 It is true that identifying “enemy” shipping as such with periscope observations can sometimes be a difficult task to accomplish and is thus prone to operational mistakes. However, it is not impossible, and when perceptions are unsure, why would commanders take the risk of hitting civilians? While some sinkings could be attributed to mistakes in identification, many more were simply aimed at damaging and terrorizing an opponent. Even just

sinking a ship without shooting its passengers in the water can easily create a situation of extreme hazard and agony for the survivors. For example, on March 27, 1944, U-532 (commanded by Fregattenkapitän Ottoheinrich Junker) spotted the British Tulagi northeast of Cape Comorin, India. The submarine hit it with two torpedoes, and the Tulagi sank in less than a minute. The Tulagi had a complement of 55, of whom only 7 survived, adrift in 1,500 miles of ocean for 59 days before they were rescued by landing on Alphonse Island.304 An interesting and important question is, what happens when unrestricted submarine warfare goes astray? The relevant and known cases of deviance involved in this warfare in the two world wars are examined in the next chapter.

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6 Pigboat Warfare Acts of Extreme Deviance Perhaps the most notorious war crime attributed to submarines during World Wars I and II is shooting survivors in lifeboats, on rafts, and in the water. Many believe that following the sinking of ships, submarines (especially German ones) would surface and shoot the survivors in the water. These activities were vividly illustrated in such war movies as Action in the North Atlantic (1943), Corvette K-225 (1943), Western Approaches (1944), Hell Boats1 (1970), Murphy's War (1971), and the 2000 movie U-571. Were there such cases? Who was involved? Clearly, if such atrocities were committed, they violated all known rules and codes of warfare, not to mention basic decency. Rather than choose a few cases, I here present a more thorough review of cases of atrocities by submarines. Examining these detailed cases one after another reveals that we are not dealing with only a few, discrete cases, or—as some would have us believe—one case only. In a book that discusses collective memory, it is appropriate to remember all these different—often repressed and forgotten—cases.

WORLD WAR I Imperial Germany's use of unrestricted submarine warfare during World War I reached one zenith between May and July 1917, when the ferocious destruction of shipping by U-boats was so severe that a successful starvation blockade of the United Kingdom seemed like a genuine possibility.2 However, the new and cruel nature of Germany's submarine warfare could already be seen in 1915, with the sinking of the Lusitania on May 7 and two other British passenger liners: the Arabic, sunk on August 19, 20 miles from Page 165 →the coast of Wales, by the submarine U-24, commanded by Remy Schneider, which caused the death of 44 victims;3 and the Hesperian, sunk on September 6, 80 miles southwest of Fastnet, Ireland, by U-20, commanded by Walther Schwieger, which caused the death of 32 victims.4 The Lusitania and Others The sinking of the Lusitania has become a landmark event representing the cruelty and immorality of unrestricted submarine warfare. On February 4, 1915, Germany issued a warning that all waters around the United Kingdom and Ireland were to be considered war zones and that Germany would take action against shipping (including merchant ships) in this zone. The German warning appeared as follows next to Cunard advertisements in a number of newspapers on May 1 and reappeared on May 8. NOTICE Travelers intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and her allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles; that in accordance with formal notice given by the Imperial German Government, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain, or any of her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters and that travelers in the war zone on ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own risk. Imperial German Embassy, Washington, D.C., April 22, 1915.5 This ominous German warning did not leave much to the imagination. One of the first victims to this warning was the Lusitania, sunk on May 7, with the awesome loss of 1,198 lives.6 Another sinking that caused much public turmoil was that of the Sussex. On March 24, 1916, the 1,353-ton ferry Sussex was crossing the English Channel from Folkstone to Dieppe with 380 passengers aboard. In the early afternoon, without any warning, a torpedo fired by the German submarine UB-29, commanded by Oberleutnant zur See Herbert Pustkuchen, hit the ferry.7 Approximately 50 people died, either from the explosion or from

drowning or exposure. The public uproar and turmoil that followed this brutal massacre forced Germany to ease off temporarily from firing on passenger ships.8 Page 166 → Passengers and crews were fired on already in March and April 1915. On March 27, the German submarine U-28, commanded by March von Forstner, sank the British passenger ship Aguilla9 and fired on its passengers.10 This might have been the first incident when a U-boat fired on survivors. On the next day, the same U-boat stopped the 4,800-ton Elder Dempster liner RMS Falaba and gave its crew and passengers only five minutes to evacuate the ship. Obviously, launching lifeboats and getting passengers into them takes a lot more than five minutes. The German submarine did not wait and launched a torpedo into the ship. Out of 242 passengers and crew, 104 lost their lives.11 On the last day of April 1915, U-30, commanded by Korvettenkapitän Erich von RosenbergGrusczyski, used its deck guns to sink the Russian freight ship Svorono.12 The submarine continued firing as the crew was evacuating to lifeboats. The Baralong Incident The British ship HMS Baralong was a Q-ship, that is, an armored, battle-ready ship disguised as an innocent merchant vessel, commissioned to watch for and open fire on a surfacing submarine. On August 19, 1915, the Baralong, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Godfrey Herbert, attacked U-27, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Bernard Wegener, which had, in turn, just attacked the Nicosian, a 6,250-ton Leyland freighter steaming from New Orleans to Liverpool.13 The Baralong's attack was successful and sent U-27 to the bottom. The Baralong continued firing on survivors from U-27 as they were climbing on the deserted Nicosian. According to Bridgland,14 Herbert later stated that he gave this order because he feared that the German submariners might take over the Nicosian. There were no survivors from U-27.15 Richard Compton-Hall, a submariner and commander of a few submarines and later the director of the Royal Navy Submarine Museum, notes, “There is little doubt that a massacre took place in the Nicosian's engine and boiler rooms whither the U-boat survivors had fled. Kapitänleutnant Wegener was shot in the water by one account and on deck by another”16 The incident created a massive turmoil17 (and a great deal of controversy), certainly among Germans. There may have been another incident involving the Baralong, this time commanded by Lieutenant Commander A. Wilmot-Smith. On September 24, 1915, the Baralong sank U-41. One surviving German sailor survivor Page 167 →reported later that the Baralong rammed and ran down his lifeboat. The British sailors denied that anything of that sort ever happened.18 The E-13 Incident In the early hours of August 19, 1915, the British submarine E-13 was sailing submerged through the narrow straits between Copenhagen and Malmö. Navigation mistakes beached E-13 on the southeastern edge of Saltholm, in Danish territorial waters. Attempts by Danish boats to yank E-13 free from the sand failed, and two Danish torpedo boats remained to watch and guard the crippled submarine. Later in the day, two German destroyers approached the scene and opened fire on E-13. The submarine caught fire, and its captain, Lieutenant Commander Geoffrey Layton, ordered his men to abandon ship. As the commander's order was obeyed, the German destroyers continued firing on the submariners in the water.19 Reports of casualties varied from 5 to 14 killed and 1 missing.20 The firing stopped when the Danes placed one of their boats between the German destroyers and the E13 survivors in the water. The turmoil created by the incident was very significant, especially because the Danes were furious at the German violation of their neutrality.21 The Danes were in a difficult position: they did not want to provoke their aggressive German neighbor, but they also felt that what the Germans did was unacceptable. Clearly, the Danes were trying to defend a cultural core and stifle the deviant behavior. While they did not hide their anger at the Germans, they also decided to intern the British sailors and apologized to the British for not having the Danish torpedo boats answer the German fire.22 The Torrington, Toro, and Belgian Prince Incidents

At around 11:30 A.M. on April 8, 1917, the Totem Steam Navigation Company's British cargo ship Torrington, sailing from Savona, Italy, to Barry Roads, England, was about 150 miles southwest of the Scilly Isles when it was torpedoed by U-55, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Wilhelm Werner. Werner took the Torrington's captain, Captain Anthony Starkey, into U-55 as a prisoner of war. He forced the rest of its crew to line up on the deck of the submarine and gave the order to submerge. The only survivor was Captain Starkey.23 Page 168 → Sinking the Torrington and causing the death of its crew in this abominable fashion was apparently not enough for Werner. On April 14, 1917, his U-55 sighted the British Toro in the English Channel and repeated his previous “performance” with the Torrington. This time, he took the Toro's captain and gunner aboard his submarine. The rest of the crew was made to stand on the deck of U-55 while the submarine submerged, and they drowned.24 Another episode involving Werner was the incident with the British cargo ship Belgian Prince. The ship was sailing from Liverpool to Newport News, Virginia. On July 31, 1917, it was about 175 miles from Tory Island, Ireland, when, at around 1950, it was hit by a torpedo. The crew took to three lifeboats when U-55 surfaced and began shelling the Belgian Prince. Following this shelling, Wilhelm Werner approached the three lifeboats and ordered all survivors to board the deck of U-55. The master of the ship, Harry Hassan, was taken below. Following a rough investigation on deck, the life belts from most survivors were taken and thrown overboard. German sailors got into the lifeboats and damaged them, as well as taking one lifeboat to the floating hulk of the Belgian Prince. U-55 then sailed for about two miles. At around 2200, Werner submerged U-55 with the 41 survivors still on its deck. Only three crew members of the Belgian Prince survived. Harry Hassan was never seen again. The U-55 log does not refer to these deliberate killings.25 Hospital Ships The 1907 Hague Convention, signed by Germany, the United Kingdom, Russia, the United States, France, Japan, and Italy, contained a specified set of rules protecting hospital ships from being attacked. These ships were to be painted in white and marked clearly as hospital ships, so that no one could mistake them for any other type of ship. However, hospital ships were hit during the war.26 While it was not clear at the time whether the Britannic (sunk on November 21, 1916, while sailing from Naples to Mudros)27 or the Braemer Castle (sunk on November 24, 1916, while sailing from Salonika to Malta) were hit by mines or torpedoes, it was apparent that the sinking of the Asturias on March 20, 1917, was caused by a torpedo. The German excuse for such acts was that hospital ships were used to transport war materials, an operation strictly forbidden by the Hague conventions. Gray Page 169 →points out that Kapitänleutnant Baron Spiegel von und zu Peckelsheim (ex-skipper of U-32 and U-93) wrote, in a book titled War Diary of U-202 (1916), that he “had seen with his own eyes a British hospital ship ‘laden with guns right fore and aft, and an army of soldiers and horses was packed between the guns and their mountings”; Gray notes that this testimony was corroborated by U-32's first officer, Leutnant Gröning.28 On April 30, 1917, Spiegel, commanding U-93, attacked the Q-ship Prize, lost the battle, and was taken prisoner of war.29 He later admitted that his original account in his book was not based on directly witnessing such violations and that he had “relied on second-hand accounts”—in other words, that he had originally lied.30 Another torpedo launched from a German submarine hit the hospital ship Gloucester Castle on March 28, 1917, off the Isle of Wight. This ship accommodated “about 450 patients.”31 On April 17, 1917, another German torpedo hit and sank the Lafranc, which carried “234 British and 167 German wounded on board.”32 In an attempt to avoid attacks by German submarines on its hospital ships, the British Admiralty sent the Donegal from France to England with 639 wounded on board, without markings that identified it as a hospital ship but with an escort of warships. This escort did not do any good; the ship was torpedoed on April 17, 1917.33 Clear markings on the Dover Castle, sailing from Malta to Gibraltar, did not prevent Kapitänleutnant Karl Neumann, commanding UC67, to launch a torpedo against it and score a hit on May 26, 1917. Although the ship's 700 patients and most of its 141 crew members were evacuated, it did not sink after the initial attack. Neumann was a determined man, however, and about two hours later, he launched another torpedo against this hospital ship, sinking it.34 After the war ended, on June 4, 1921, Neumann was charged with war crimes before the German Supreme Court in Leipzig.

He was charged with sinking a hospital ship without warning. Neumann admitted sinking the ship but stated that he only obeyed orders given to him by the German Admiralty prior to his going on patrol. These orders, he claimed, instructed him not to allow hospital ships in the “blocked area of the Mediterranean” to pass. Since destroyers accompanied the Dover Castle, he added, early warning could not be given. Neumann was acquitted.35 HMS Asturias had the dubious honor of being attacked twice. The first attack took place on February 1, 1915, when U-20 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Otto Droescher) launched a torpedo at the ship but missed.36 The Page 170 →second, successful attack was waged on March 20, 1917, by UC-6637 (commanded by Oberleutnant zur See Herbert Pustkuchen). Forty-three members of the ship's staff and crew perished, and 39 were injured. Two more sinkings of hospital ships are well worth noting in brief. On January 4, 1918, the hospital ship Rewa, clearly marked as such, was sailing from Malta to the port of Avonmouth in England, carrying 279 patients. The ship was torpedoed by U-55, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Wilhelm Werner. Most patients and crew survived this attack.38 On February 26, 1918, Kapitänleutnant Wilhelm Kiesewetter, commanding UC-56, launched a torpedo at the hospital ship Glenart Castle as it was passing the Bristol Channel. The Glenart Castle, with 168 crew and staff on board, was taking wounded soldiers from Newport to Brest. Only 38 survived.39 Finally, one of the last sinkings of hospital ships was that of the HMS Llandovery Castle.40 The Llandovery Castle began its career as a passenger ship servicing the London to West and East Africa line. When World War I began, it continued commercial runs until December 1915, when it was requisitioned as a troopship, and in 1917, it was converted into a hospital ship attached to the Canadian forces. On the night of June 27, 1918, the Llandovery Castle was sailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Liverpool, displaying a brightly illuminated Red Cross sign. It had a complement of 258, of whom 94 were nurses or other medical staff from the Canadian Medical Service. U-86, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Helmut Patzig, sighted, torpedoed, and sank this 11,423ton hospital ship about 116 miles southwest of Fastnet. No warning was given prior to this sinking. The ship sank within ten minutes.41 U-86 surfaced and began to inquire about the ship and its cargo and passengers. There can hardly be a doubt that Patzig was aware of the identity of the ship, because he interrogated its captain, who was in one of the lifeboats. Patzig inquired about eight American airmen who he believed to have been on board. This insinuation by Patzig was rejected. Subsequently, Patzig rammed some of the lifeboats and opened fire on the survivors. His intention was obvious—to leave no living witnesses to his attack and thus to make the hospital ship appear to have vanished into thin air. This plan did not work; 24 survivors were able to escape and stay alive. The destroyer Lysander later picked them up. “After the incident, the crew of the U-boat, who had been kept below during the shooting, were naturally depressed.42 Patzig swore his officers to secrecy, and the log was faked to show a track a long way from the sinking, which was not entered.”43 After the war, Patzig and two other officers from U-86 were scheduled to be tried by the German Supreme Court in Leipzig on charges of war crimes, but Patzig escaped to Danzig long before the trial began, and the two other officers managed to do the same after their convictions.44 Patzig resurfaced later when he served in the Abwehr45 and in Nazi Germany's U-boat headquarters.

The Llandovery Castle affair has an interesting implication for the behavior and accounts given by Dönitz, commander of the Nazi submarine fleet in World War II. In that war, Dönitz would be involved in a deceptive process involving the sinking of the Athenia. There can be little doubt that Dönitz knew about the Llandovery Castle.46 Thus, concealing and deceiving in German submarine warfare during World War II had at least one precedent from the previous war. Padfield's 1984 biography of Dönitz indicates a few other cases when Dönitz witnessed or was involved in deceptive processes and lies.47 Page 172 → Changing Cultural Cores Military historian and media person John Terraine notes that following the end of World War I, the United Kingdom listed 18 U-boat commanders as suspects of war crimes (and cruelty).48 Because the Treaty of Versailles stipulated that the defeated side would try, convict, and sentence their own suspects of war crimes, a German court had to process the German suspects. Of the original list of 18 such suspected persons, only 12 remained on the list for prosecution, and of those, 8 were the subject of weak cases. Among others, the list included the names of Patzig (involved in the Llandovery Castle incident), Werner (involved in the Torrington and Rewa incidents), and Neumann (involved in the Dover Castle incident). This list was subjected to debates, demands for evidence, clarifications, and disappearances of witnesses. Eventually, only two submariners faced trial and punishment, and one of them managed to escape.49 Author Tony Bridgland summarizes that “those who claimed that the Leipzig Trials had been nothing but a farce certainly had a point.”50 Commenting on suspicions and accusations that German submarines were involved in war crimes during World War I, Gray noted, It was not until the Nuremberg Trials at the end of the Second World War…that…it was firmly established that obedience to superior orders cannot absolve an individual member of the armed forces from responsibility for ‘crimes against humanity’ if a moral choice is possible…. But while it is now possible to state that members of the armed forces are only bound to obey lawful and not unlawful orders no such guidance was available to the U-boat commanders in 1915.51 Nevertheless, a German court sentenced British captain Charles Fryatt to death in July 1916 for violating rules of war conduct. The German court rejected as invalid his defense that he obeyed British Admiralty orders.52 Therefore, contrary to Gray's claim, the Germans knew quite well in 1916 that unlawful orders were not to be obeyed, and there was no need to wait for the end of World War II to come to this conclusion. It does not seem that the Germans made a genuine effort to investigate properly or prosecute suspects of war crimes. This is a significant observation. Because the cultural cores concerning naval warfare were altered during Page 173 →World War I, court procedures could attempt to rectify this. Since only two submariners (from Patzig's U-boat) ended up facing charges in court, the legal message must have been obvious to whoever cared to listen. It supported the change in the cultural codes and indirectly provided legitimacy to the German unrestricted submarine warfare during World War I. Terraine added that “public rage at the style of war that the U-boats were conducting, and fear of its consequences, spilled over into mounting discontent with the Royal Navy,”53 with expressions of dissatisfaction with the Royal Navy's activities against the U-boat menace. Most of all, the change in naval warfare as reflected in the unrestricted submarine warfare illustrated how persons with power could bring about and legitimize a significant change in moral and ethical perceptions—that is, a significant change in cultural cores—that culminated in one of the most cruel, merciless, and vicious forms of combat. If such warfare signified some frightening changes in cultural cores and—perhaps—a lesson that such cruelty was not to be repeated again and that previous moral boundaries to prewar cultural cores was required, World War II proved otherwise. Undoubtedly, it was Germany who bridged a cultural gap and developed the morality and justifications that helped put this new weapon platform to an effective usage. However, it also became apparent that the very nature

of this weapon system is such that it lends itself to what can be characterized as war crimes. The idea of “unrestricted submarine warfare” simply meant that any vessel found in designated areas (and, later, in other areas as well) was fair game for submarine attacks, whether by torpedoes or gunfire. Forgotten and ignored were the Hague conventions and prize rules. While the dynamics of operating a submarine as an effective war machine in combat may indeed make honoring agreements difficult, impossible, or even suicidal, the idea that all ships are fair prey is the abrogation of these agreements. The accounts developed by the belligerents gave ample cushion for these violations. Passenger, merchant, or hospital ships escorted by destroyers or other escorts prevented the use of prize rules or of attack warnings. Qships made innocent-looking ships suspicious and could lead to a policy of “Fire first and ask questions later.” Thus, hospital ships and passenger liners traveling alone were attacked with tragic results, either deliberately, because their identity was suspected, or because of simple mistakes. Moreover, cases of shooting survivors in the water or causing them to drown by submerging the submarine while they were still standing on its deck are documented. Page 174 →Known cases could suggest that there were other cases where total annihilation of ship and crew occurred with no witnesses left to tell about it. As we have seen and shall see again later, there were cases of atrocities committed by submarines whose war logs were falsified so that such acts were not recorded, and checking these war logs shows nothing unusual. Such falsification indicates that the perpetrators knew that what they did was criminal or at least not acceptable to their superiors or to external reviews. Thus, blatantly violating previous agreements and practicing unrestricted submarine warfare meant that cheating, lying, and concealing became part and parcel of this warfare. Consequently, altering cultural cores not only involved new ways of thinking and acting but also involved creating false realities in reporting.

WORLD WAR II Very few technological breakthroughs in submarine design were made between World Wars I and II. The propulsion and weapon systems on the submarines that entered World War II in September 1939 were merely improved versions of those on submarines during World War I. Such developments as the snorkel, hydrodynamic hull design, acoustic torpedoes, radar, and improved battery power came much later. The idea of using submarines to blockade a country also remained the same and was about to be used by the two major submarine combatants: Germany (against the United Kingdom) and the United States (against Japan). Examining and drawing lessons from the unrestricted submarine warfare in World War I, Karl Dönitz, chief of Nazi Germany's U-boats, developed the tactic of sending out submarines in “wolf packs” to counter the escorted convoys that were the main defense against submarines used in World War I. The “wolf pack” tactic of World War II was based on night surface attacks by U-boats. These boats used their torpedoes; relied on their low silhouettes, surface high speed, and superb optic devices; and acted as submersible torpedo boats. This tactic worked very well against shipping in the early stages of the war but became useless later, due to such new antisubmarine devices as the high-frequency direction finder (HF/DF), better underwater detection gear (asdic /sonar), radar technology, improved depth Page 175 →charges (e.g., Hedgehog and Squid), and the most effective enemy of World War II submarines: the airplane. If World War I gave rise to the new terror weapon—the submarine—and to even more deviant wartime behavior (by submariners), World War II definitely continued and intensified the trend. In the discussion that follows, the best-documented, most egregious and deviant combat occurrences involving submarines during World War II are presented by country. Japan's Imperial Navy I have not yet said much about Japan's prewar cultural core. The kind of acts listed in the following review were certainly considered deviant in Western cultural cores. In Japan, two key cultural terms reigned. One was the Kokutai,54 which meant that the Japanese emperor was the supreme leader—political, religious, and military—of the country and was the symbol of Japanese national community. The emperor commanded absolute power. This principle played a major part in Japanese nationalism, which developed in directions similar to Western fascism.

These cultural developments took centuries to develop, but prior to the beginning of World War II, the Kokutai principle was well established in a state that presented strong fascist characteristics. The military gained a strong, powerful, and influential position in this time. Military conscription was compulsory from 1873 and allowed the military to indoctrinate thousands of men from different social backgrounds with military-patriotic values and the unquestioning concept of the Kokutai, which implied absolute loyalty to the emperor as the basis of the Japanese state. The other key term was Bushido, which refers to the way a Japanese warrior is supposed to behave.55 When behavior of soldiers is controlled by these two terms, it is not too difficult to understand the spread of such ideas as being ruthless, not surrendering,56 and despising and mistreating enemy soldiers who surrender. While Japan did not sign the Geneva conventions, it did sign the Hague conventions of 1899 and 1907, meaning the protection of prisoners of war. Thus, some of the Japanese actions during World War II violated international agreements that Japan signed and some of its own military laws.57 While Japanese culture seemed to have baffled and confused some Western observers, the behavior of the Japanese military during World War II reflected extreme cruelty as well as a pronounced Page 176 →disregard for human life and rights. The enslavement of “comfort women,” forced labor, torture, forced experimentation with human subjects, and mass murder are all reflections of a cultural core that became harsh, unforgiving, cruel, and ruthless. The I-58–Langkoes Incident On January 1, 1942, the Dutch steamer Langkoes left Surabaya, Java, on its way to Haifa (in what is now Israel) with a cargo of sugar. The next night, it was intercepted by the Japanese submarine I-58,58 commanded by Lieutenant Commander Sohichi Kitamura. I-58 launched its torpedo at the Langkoes and hit its engine room. Surfacing and using its deck gun, I-58 sank the Langkoes. Surviving crew members of the Langkoes took to lifeboats. However, Kitamura was not about to let them escape. His surfaced I-58 machine-gunned the surviving sailors. Three surviving sailors were brought aboard I-58, interrogated, and then dumped back into the sea. The three sailors managed to survive and washed ashore on the Indonesian island of Bewean on January 7. Out of an original crew of 94, they were the only survivors. In October 1942, Kitamura was commander of I-27, but he was relieved from command in February 1943.59 After that date, he managed to disappear and was never brought to trial. It is unclear whether he survived the war.60 The I-56–Kwangtung Incident On January 5, 1942,61 I-5662 (commanded by Lieutenant Commander Ohashi Katsuo), sailing in the Indian Ocean, south of Java, spotted the British cargo ship Kwangtung,63 made an underwater torpedo attack, and sank the ship. Following the attack, the Japanese submarine surfaced, rammed one lifeboat, and machine-gunned the other lifeboats. Out of 98 crew members and 35 military personnel, 35 survivors64 were picked up by another ship the next day.65 American carrier-based Corsair aircraft66 sank I-56 on April 18, 1945. The RO-110–Daisy Moller Incident On December 8, 1943, the British cargo ship Daisy Moller left Colombo (in what is now Sri Lanka) en route to Chittagong (in what is now Bangladesh). Page 177 →On the 14th, it was sighted by the Japanese submarine RO110,67 commanded by Lieutenant Commander Kazuro Ebato. At around 4:20 A.M., Commander Ebato launched one of his torpedoes against the Daisy Moller. The torpedo hit the ship, which listed immediately to starboard. The radio officer managed to send distress calls, but the crew had to abandon the sinking vessel and get into lifeboats and life rafts. Despite the early hour, when most crew members were still asleep, a quick count in the boats revealed that no one was missing. RO-110 then surfaced, started its diesel engines, picked up speed, and began to ram the lifeboats. Apparently, that attack was not enough for Lieutenant Commander Ebato, who ordered his men to machine-gun the sailors in the water and on the life rafts.68 When the tug Zerang, responding to the distress calls, arrived on the scene, it discovered that out of the 71 survivors who abandoned the Daisy Moller, 55 were killed, and the rest had disappeared. Most of these, it turned out, had managed to get on the damaged life rafts and drifted until they were finally rescued. Fourteen crew members survived. Two months later, RO-110 attacked a convoy, but the escorting ships launched a counterattack and sank RO-110 with depth charges.69

The I-177–Centaur Incident The Australian hospital ship Centaur, marked clearly as such following the guidelines of the 1907 Hague convention, sailed from Sydney on May 12, 1943, on its way to Port Moresby to evacuate sick and injured. Its complement of crew and medical personnel totaled 360. At about 4:00 A.M. on May 14,70 the Centaur—fully lighted—was sighted by the Japanese submarine I-177, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Hajime Nakagawa. I-177 launched one of its torpedoes against the Centaur and hit it in a fuel oil tank. The Centaur caught fire and sank within three minutes, taking with it 296 crew members and medics (including 12 nurses). The American destroyer USS Mugford picked up about 60 survivors on rafts on May 15. Sister Ellen Savage was one of the 12 Australian Army nurses on board and the only nurse who survived. While being badly injured herself, Sister Savage nursed other wounded. She was awarded the George Medal (the second-level civil decoration of the United Kingdom and Commonwealth). Nakagawa survived the war. He was not forced to face charges of war crimes for sinking the Centaur, because for a long time, it was unclear what submarine attacked the Centaur.71 After the war, Nakagawa denied that he sank the Centaur.72 Page 178 → Three Incidents Involving I-37 The Norwegian tanker Scotia left Bahrain on November 19, 1943, on its way to Melbourne, Australia, with a crew of about 40. On November 27, the Scotia was spotted by I-37 (commanded at that time by Commander Kiyonori Otani), which fired a torpedo that hit the ship. I-37 surfaced and demanded that the Scotia's captain identify himself. Captain Karl Hansen indeed identified himself and was taken aboard I-37. He was later transferred to a Japanese camp of prisoners of war.73 Otani demanded that the radio officer and first mate also identify themselves, but the two officers did not comply. The Japanese then used the submarine's machine guns to open fire on the survivors in the lifeboats and in the water. I-37 kept returning and using its machine guns, attempting to kill as many survivors as possible. On November 30, HMS Okapi rescued radio operator Kaare Kristiansen and a dog. Another 31 survivors were rescued as well.74 During February 1944, the Japanese submarine I-37, this time commanded by Lieutenant Commander Hajime Nakagawa, made three different attacks on three different ships. The first was the 7,100-ton British tanker British Chivalry, which was steaming from Melbourne to Iran with a crew of 59. On the morning of February 22, 1944, I37 spotted the British Chivalry and launched two of its torpedoes against the tanker. One of the torpedoes hit the ship's engine room, causing severe damage and killing six sailors. The remaining sailors evacuated the ship. I-37 surfaced and used its deck gun to fire at the abandoned ship. Since this did not sink it, another torpedo was sent to finish the job, and the ship sank at around 11:30. Nakagawa opened fire on the sailors in the two lifeboats and four life rafts. Then he stopped firing, moved I-37 near the boats, and took British Chivalry's captain aboard as a POW. The submarine then departed but again opened fire on the sailors. Altogether, the fire from I-37 killed 20 of the surviving sailors. After 37 days of floating, the 38 sailors who survived the sinking and the machine-gunning, were found and picked up by the cargo liner MV Delane.75 The second ship attacked by Nakagawa was the 5,200-ton British cargo ship Sutlej, sailing from Kosseir and Aden to Fremantle with a crew of 73. On February 26, 1944, I-37 sighted the ship and hit it with one of its torpedoes. It took less than four minutes for the Sutlej to sink. Survivors of the torpedo hit took to lifeboats and rafts. I-37 surfaced, took some survivors on board for questioning, and then returned them to their life raft. Although Page 179 →Nakagawa tried to ram the raft, he was not successful. He then ordered his crew to machine gun the raft, but poor aiming left all those onboard alive. The firing was then aimed at sailors who were in the water. I-37 patrolled the area of the sinking, sailing amid the wreckage and using its machine gun whenever Nakagawa thought that he spotted a target. When I-37 left the scene and the slaughter ended, only 23 survivors were left. They were rescued after drifting in the sea for about seven weeks.76 Nakagawa's third victim was the 7,000-ton British cargo steamer Ascot. It was sailing from Ceylon to Australia via Madagascar with a complement of 54. On February 29, 1944, at around noon, I-37 spotted the slow-sailing Ascot and hit it with one torpedo. The Ascot listed to its side, and its crew took to lifeboats and rafts. In his usual

manner, Nakagawa surfaced I-37 and took on board the captain of the Ascot, Jack Travis. Nakagawa then used his sword to slash the palms of Travis's hands and dumped him back into the water. Travis managed to swim to the closest lifeboat, but I-37 rammed the two lifeboats, and when the sailors were in the water, Nakagawa opened fire on them with I-37's machine gun. Since the Ascot did not sink, Nakagawa stopped the carnage temporarily and used his deck gun to set the ship on fire and sink it. He then returned to the survivors and continued shooting them. Of the original complement of 54 sailors, 52 survived the original torpedo hit; however, 40 of those were killed by I-37's machine-gun fire. The Straat Soenda later rescued only 7 survivors. When I-37 was sunk by two American destroyers on November 12, 1944, Nakagawa was no longer its commander.77 Bridgland78 notes that Nakagawa was arrested after the war and tried as a war criminal. He spent just four years in Sugamu Prison. The I-165–Nancy Moller Incident On March 18, 1944, the British cargo ship Nancy Moller was steaming from South Africa to Ceylon with a complement of 65 when the Japanese submarine I-165, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Tsuruzu Shimizu, spotted it. Shimizu fired two torpedoes that hit and quickly sank the ship. It initially appeared that a large number of the crew managed to survive—but not for long. I-165 surfaced, and a loud voice from its conning tower began to inquire about the whereabouts of the captain and the chief engineer. Unable to find them, Shimizu ordered six of the Nancy Moller's crew members to Page 180 →board I-165. One crew member, a gunner, was taken below as a POW, and the other five were made to kneel on deck. Two of them were shot in the back, and all were kicked overboard. I-165 then circled the area and used its machine guns to kill the survivors. Assuming that everyone was dead, I-165 left. In fact, 32 crew members were killed, but 32 survived the sinking and the mass murder. On the 22nd, the surviving men were rescued by HMS Emerald. I-165 was sunk on June 27 but was not commanded by Shimizu at that time.79 The I-8–Jean Nicolet Incident The American Liberty ship Jean Nicolet, carrying a crew of about 100 men, was on its way from Australia to Ceylon when it was intercepted on July 2, 1944, by I-8, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Tetsunosuke Ariizumi. At around 1900, Ariizumi fired three torpedoes at the Jean Nicolet, and two of them hit the ship. Within about 30 minutes after the order to abandon ship was given, lifeboats and rafts were lowered to the sea, and the crew left the ship. Only one casualty was registered at this time. I-8 surfaced, approached the boats, and demanded that some survivors board the submarine. Some of those who came aboard were made to sit on the casing, hands tied. They were killed with clubs and bayonets or beheaded. At some point, possibly because the sound of an aircraft had been heard, the submarine dived with the rest of the survivors sitting on its deck, their hands tied.80 Seventy-seven men lost their lives; 5 were taken as POWs. On July 4, HMS Hoxa picked up 23 survivors. Ariizumi also did not hesitate to torpedo the British passenger ship Nellore on June 29, 1944, killing 79 of the 209 people on board. If this pattern of sinkings by I-8 repeated itself and was accompanied by a high (or complete) loss of lives, the I-8 war patrols may have been characterized by more war crimes. Such acts, especially the murder of survivors of the Jean Nicolet and the Tjisalak, were clearly atrocities. On March 31, 1945, two American destroyers sank I-8 off Okinawa. At that time, Ariizumi was no longer its commander.81 Historians Carl Boyd and Akihiko Yoshida, who wrote a history of the Japanese submarine force in World War II, 82 point out that Ariizumi “deliberately shot himself to death while his squadron was being escorted by U. S. naval vessels to Yokosuka,” and they suggest that “concern about his earlier activities in the Indian Ocean may have contributed to Ariizumi's decision to commit suicide.”83 Bernard Edwards,84 whose work focuses on Japanese atrocities at sea during World War II, suggests that Ariizumi might have been “moved either by shame or defiance…while taking the squadron…to surrender.”85

It is interesting, significant, and important to read a note by Stevens in this context: “The Germans were quite aware that Japanese submarines had at times attempted to exterminate the crews of their victims.”86 As we shall see, the largest number of known atrocities at sea by submarines is attributed to the Germans and Japanese. German awareness of Japanese attempts to exterminate crews might have reinforced existing German trends in that direction as well. The I-26–Grena and I-26–Richard Hovery Incidents On March 21, 1944, I-26, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Toshio Kusaka, spotted the Norwegian tanker Grena, empty at the time and sailing from Yemen to Iran. Kusaka hit the Grena with three torpedoes. It broke in two and plunged to the bottom about 30 miles off land. Surfacing I-26, Lieutenant Commander Kusaka ordered his gunners to open fire on the survivors. Luckily for these survivors, the Japanese failed to hit anyone, and I-26 submerged.87

Page 182 → The American Liberty ship Richard Hovery was sailing from Bombay to the United States via Yemen on March 29, 1944, when it was intercepted by I-26, still commanded by Kusaka. At around 1620, Kusaka fired three of his torpedoes at the ship. Two of them hit it. Within 20 minutes, the order to abandon ship was given. At 1700, Kusaka hit the Richard Hovery with a third torpedo, causing much more serious damage. The ship had on board 40 merchant seamen and 28 members of the U.S. Navy Armed Guard, who manned the ship's defensive guns. Torpedo-caused explosions killed some, and others were seriously injured. I-26 surfaced and used its deck gun to hit the broken Richard Hovery repeatedly. The shells ignited the ship. I-26 then Page 183 →opened fire with its machine guns and rifles on the survivors in the lifeboats and rafts. Later, voices from I-26 demanded that the captain of Richard Hovery identify himself. When he did, he and three others were taken on board the submarine as POWs. Another Liberty ship, the Samuta, picked up 38 survivors after they had floated for 15 days (one of these did not remain alive). I-26 was sunk on November 17, 1944, but Kusaka was no longer its commander at that time.88 After the war, Kusaka was tried and received a sentence of five years in prison.89

THE I-12–JOHN A. JOHNSON INCIDENT

The American Liberty ship John A. Johnson was sailing from San Francisco to Pearl Harbor on October 28, 1944, when it was intercepted by I-12, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Kaneo Kudo. At around 2105 one of I12's torpedoes hit the John A. Johnson, causing severe damage that necessitated abandoning the ship. The John A. Johnson had a complement of 70, and they all managed to leave the ship without injury. Thirty minutes later, I-12 surfaced and sailed toward the survivors, clearly aiming to ram their lifeboats. As it came closer, it opened fire with its machine guns. For about 45 minutes, I-12 circled the boats, shooting at the survivors. Since the John A. Johnson was broken into two parts but did not sink, I-12 turned its deck gun on these parts. A few shots set the remains on fire. I-12 then sailed away but stayed in the vicinity. The post-torpedoing actions of I-12 killed 10 seamen. Later that night, the remains of the John A. Johnson exploded. The explosion was seen by an airplane and heard on the aircraft carrier USS Argus, which was about 90 miles away. In the morning, contact was made with the 60 survivors, and the Argus picked them up at 1400. Many had bullet wounds or other injuries caused by I-12's attempts to ram them. The fate of I-12 is unknown, except that it disappeared.90 Allies Reactions to Japanese Submarine Atrocities Michael Wilson, a former submarine commander and historian, notes that Admiral Sir James Somerville, commander in chief of the Eastern Fleet, became very concerned about these acts of murdering sailors in the water and that steps were taken to try and prevent news of the atrocities from Page 184 →becoming public knowledge and harming morale.91 Moreover, Lord Russell of Liverpool notes that the British government contacted the Japanese minister for foreign affairs, Mamoru Shigemitsu, via Swiss diplomatic channels and demanded that the gruesome practice of murdering sailors in the water be stopped.92 Minister Shigemitsu denied the very existence of such a practice. Even so, many merchantmen and military personnel were aware of these massacres. The United States issued an official protest to the Japanese via Swiss channels, but that did not seem to have much effect.

GERMANY'S KRIEGSMARINE The U-37–Severn Leigh Incident One malicious case in World War II involved the sinking of the Kelston Steamship Company's 5,242-ton Severn Leigh. In August of 1940, the Severn Leigh was sailing from England to Canada, supposedly with a convoy. The ship had a crew of 43. On the night between August 23rd and 24th, U-37,93 commanded by Kapitänleutnant Viktor Oehrn, targeted the Severn Leigh with one of its torpedoes. The torpedo hit the ship and killed eight crew members. As the crew and gunner were in the process of abandoning the ship and trying to board the lifeboats, the surfaced U-37 approached and opened fire. This attack took the life of another 18 seamen. On September 5, 10 survivors, in bad shape, arrived in a lifeboat at Leverburgh, Isle of Harris, in the Outer Hebrides. These were the only survivors from the Severn Leigh. Oehrn's later explanation of why he committed this atrocity was that his Kriegsmarine thought that the survivors were going for their deck gun. Although Oehrn contemplated using the submarine guns to kill the survivors in the lifeboats and had his gun and man ready for it, he decided against doing it.94 The U-48–City of Benares Incident On the morning of September 18, 1940, Kapitänleutnant Heinrich Bleichrodt, commanding U-48, tracked an unescorted95 outbound convoy (OB-213) from England to North America. Bleichrodt picked for his first attack the 11,000-ton British liner City of Benares, a passenger ship in the center of the convoy. The ship carried 40096 passengers, including 90 children that were sent to Canada away from the Nazi aerial blitz on Britain. While his Page 185 →first torpedo missed the ship, the second hit it. The City of Benares sank, and 300 passengers, including 77 of the children, perished.97 The U-156–Oregon Incident The American tanker Oregon was sailing from Aruba to New York on February 28, 1942, when U-156, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Werner Hartenstein, intercepted it. Since the submarine had no torpedoes left, it surfaced and used its deck gun to attack. U-156 sailed around the Oregon for about 90 minutes, firing shell after

shell into the crippled ship. After about four hours, the Oregon sank. Six crew members died in the initial attack; the remaining 30 crew members escaped onto a lifeboat and a raft. The lifeboat landed in the Dominican Republic on March 4, and the Gulfpenn picked up those on the raft. Some of the survivors reported that the submarine had used its machine guns to shoot at surviving crew members when they tried to lower the lifeboats.98 The U-552–David H. Atwater Incident The American unarmed freighter David H. Atwater was sailing from Norfolk, Virginia, to Fall River, Massachusetts, when it was spotted on April 3, 1942, by U-552, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Erich Topp,99 about 10 miles east of Chincoteague Inlet, Virginia. U-552 surfaced, and opened fire on the ship with its 88millimeter deck gun and its machine guns from a range of about 600 yards. Under such heavy fire, the crew could not launch lifeboats, and many just jumped to the water. The thought might occur to the reader that U-552 simply wanted to sink the David H. Atwater and that the ship's crew just got in the way,100 but historian Eliot Morison noted that the 27 crew members of the David H. Atwater were “given no opportunity to abandon ship” and “were riddled by machine-gun fire.”101 A U.S. Coastguard cutter, the Legare, heard the gunfire, saw the flashes, and sailed to the scene. It found a few dead bodies, a lifeboat riddled with bullet holes, and only 3 survivors out of a complement of 27.102 The U-126–Cardonia and U-126–Esso Bolivar Incidents The American merchant ship Cardonia was intercepted on March 7, 1942, by U-126, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Ernst Bauer. The ship was attacked by torpedo and gunfire. From its complement of 38, 1 died, and the rest were rescued.103

The next morning, U-126 intercepted the Panamanian motor tanker Esso Bolivar 30 miles southeast of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. U-126 attacked the ship by torpedo and with its deck gun. The ship was carrying 44 people. Eight were killed, and 14 were injured. The survivors abandoned the ship in four rafts and one lifeboat, which picked up the men swimming in the water. The survivors were later picked up by the USS Endurance and taken to Guantanamo Bay Naval Base. Despite the damage, the ship did not sink. It was towed to safety, repaired, and returned to service. Some survivors reported that the submarine “continued to fire machine guns at the few lifeboats and rafts as she tried to pull away.”104 The U-172–Resolute Incident On the evening of June 23, 1942, Kapitänleutnant Carl Emmermann, commanding U-172, attacked the 35-ton Colombian sailing boat Resolute in the western Carribean. The attack was carried out with U-172's deck gun. Of the 10 crew members, 6 were lost. The survivors claimed that they were machine-gunned while they were in the sea. Uboat.net, a website dedicated to commemorating the U-boat war, states that the reports by the survivors were “apparently a misinterpretation of shots that missed the vessel,” and it refers surfers to an article that portrays U-boat warfare in positive terms.105 Blair adds that shooting at the survivors “was doubtless unintentional, one of several unfortunate instances when lifeboats or survivors may have drifted into the gunfire,” and he states that “the episode was not introduced as evidence at Dönitz's trial at Nuremberg.”106 Why this incident should have been reported in that trial is unclear. When innocent civilians on a schooner are being shot at, they may become confused, and some parts of their testimony may be problematic. However, not being under any imminent danger, Emmermann could order all crew aboard the Resolute to abandon ship, give them enough time to do so, and then sink the ship. Referring readers to a positive article on U-boat warfare and apologetically discounting the survivors’ account by stating that they “misinterpreted” or that they “drifted” into firing lines by mistake are not very persuasive arguments or tactics. Page 188 → The U-754–Ebb Incident On July 28, 1942, the American fishing boat Ebb was attending to its business off the southeast coast of Nova Scotia, among the hammerhead. At around 0400, at 45 miles from Cape Sable, U-754, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Hans Oestermann, surfaced, approached the boat, and opened fire from its guns from a distance of about 50 yards. The Ebb's crew of 17 abandoned ship under the continuous fire from U-754, and 5 were killed. The British destroyer HMS Witherington picked up the 12 survivors about 14 hours later. U-754 was sunk the next day.107 The U-852–Peleus Incident The Greek Peleus, with a crew of 35, was steaming from Freetown, South Africa, to Buenos Aires when U-852, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Heinz-Wilhelm Eck, intercepted it in the mid-Atlantic, on March 13, 1944. While U-852 was surfaced, Eck fired two torpedoes at the Peleus. Within three minutes or so, the ship disintegrated and vanished. It is difficult to know how many of the Peleus crew survived the blast, but Blair estimates that maybe half did.108 Eck took on board two survivors, to extract information about the identity of his victims, and then returned them to a raft. Later, Eck “ordered that machine guns, machine pistols, and hand grenades be brought to the bridge and that the twin 20mm and the 37mm flak guns be manned,” and “for about the next five hours…Eck maneuvered U-852 through the wreckage and lifeboats, firing away.”109 On April 20, the Portuguese Alexandre Silva picked up only three survivors from their raft. On October 17, 1945, Eck and four other crew members of U-852 were charged with war crimes in a military court in Hamburg.110 In his defense, Eck claimed that he was in a dangerous area for U-boats and that he was concerned that an airborne reconnaissance patrol might find the wreckage and initiate a search for the submarine that caused it. He stated that he was also concerned that the rafts might have signaling devices that could betray the submarine's position. He added that he had seen no men in the water or on rafts and that when he ordered his

men to fire, his aim was to destroy the wreckage. As Bridgland notes, this is an odd statement given the fact that Eck took aboard two crew members and then returned them to a raft. Moreover, U-852 spent about five hours surfaced, attempting to eliminate every remnant of the Peleus and its crew. If fear of hostile air patrols drove U852 to its actions, how is one to account for its spending five hours surfaced? In any event, all five Kriegsmarine were found guilty, and three were sentenced to death and executed. The other two spent about eight years in prison before being released.111 Bridgland notes that this was the only case of capital punishment for war crimes committed by submarine crews in World War II.112

Page 189 → The U-247–Noreen Mary Incident An incident somewhat similar to that of the Peleus took place on July 5, 1944, when U-247, commanded by Oberleutnant Gerhard Matschulat, surfaced, attacked, and sank the British fishing trawler Noreen Mary. Out of 10 fishermen, only 2 survived the attack and were rescued the next day by HMT Lady Madeleine. James MacAlister, who managed to survive by slipping into the water and somehow hiding within the wrecks, testified that Page 190 →he was fired on directly by U-247 when he was already in the water.113 This was the only vessel sunk by U247,114 which was itself sunk off the coast of England115 on the night between August 31 and September 1, 1944.116

THE ROYAL NAVY HMS Torbay and the Two Caiques HMS Torbay left Alexandria on patrol in the Aegean Sea on June 28, 1941, under the command of Lieutenant Commander Anthony “Crap” Miers. Paul Chapman, who was second in command of HMS Torbay and later commanded six submarines and two destroyers, writes that on July 4, 1941, this T class submarine intercepted “a caique117 and a schooner, both flying the swastika. They were sighted south-east of Doro Island and they carried troops. The troops were not allowed to escape: one sort of gunfire or another destroyed everything and everybody. Much of the same was to happen again on 9 July.”118 On the afternoon of July 9, 1941, “between the islands of Kithera and Antikithera a troop-carrying flotilla of four caiques and a schooner were seen heading for Cape Malea in the Peloponnese. They were carrying…about seventy-five German soldiers going on leave from Crete.”119 Chapman120 refers to what took place then between 0220–0536 as the “Battle of the Caiques.”121 This battle involved Miers using his guns and machine guns (typical weapons were Bren and Lewis) to shoot at the caiques and destroy four of the ships in the flotilla; the fifth escaped. Bridgland describes a scene where a boarding party

was sent to blow up one of the caiques. A voice stated that the captain was Greek and was surrendering, and the crew and soldiers raised their hands, but then a man ready to throw a grenade and another man aiming a rifle were spotted in the caique. The response was swift—they were all shot. One of the survivors gave a somewhat different version. He stated that the Torbay simply shot the men without provocation. The Torbay's patrol report did not hide the action. Miers's report for 1450 states, “Surfaced and sank the enemy using both Lewis guns to destroy the boats and personnel in order to ensure a quick success in view of the proximity of land.”122 The British Admiralty knew about the actions of July 4 and 9, because no one hid them, but it took no action. In fact, Clayton states, “Miers certainly did mow down soldiers in rubber boats. This troubled some of his men, but not his superiors.” He also explains that “taking numerous soldiers prisoner was impractical and potentially suicidal.” Clayton's text adds that the details of this incident are “murkey, variously recounted, and possibly not palatable.”123 Contrary to these statements, Padfield124 notes that when Admiral Max Kennedy Horton—Flag Officer Submarines—learned about Miers's actions, he became concerned about German reprisals, and the admiralty “wrote a strong letter to Miers instructing him not to repeat the practices of his last patrol.”125 It is interesting to note that Miers was awarded the Victoria Cross for his display of courage in the face of the enemy during a patrol off the Greek coast in March 1942.126

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THE UNITED STATES NAVY Holwitt points out that carrying out an unrestricted warfare against Japanese sampans (many times killing all fishermen aboard them) was a psychologically Page 192 →difficult task for submarine commanders and submariners.127 Many felt that legitimate targets for warfare were ships, not sampans. Holwitt notes that “the U.S. unrestricted war, after all, was meant to cut off Japanese trade, not to slaughter fishermen.”128 Such statements indicate what U.S. submarines were doing during at least part of World War II in the Pacific.129 The following two cases are the most well known, but given Holwitt's text, one must assume that there were others. The USS Wahoo–Buyo Maru Incident The American submarine Wahoo, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Dudly “Mush” Morton on his first war patrol, was heading toward Palau when it sighted a few Japanese ships. Morton attacked the ships with his torpedoes and scored a few hits. One of the ships that were hit was the Japanese transport the Buyo Maru. Morton surfaced Wahoo and approached the sinking transport that was now surrounded by about 20 lifeboats. For about

one hour, USS Wahoo used its guns to shoot at the survivors in the water and the lifeboats. The incident took place on January 26, 1943, around noon. Morton reported, “We surfaced to charge batteries and destroy the estimated twenty troop boats now in the water. These boats were of many types, scows, motor-launches, cabin cruisers and non-descript varieties. At 1235 went to battle surfaces [sic] and manned all guns. Fired 4” gun at largest scow loaded with troops. Although all troops in this boat apparently jumped into the water our fire was returned with small caliber machine-guns. We then opened fire with everything we had.”130 How many were killed was originally unknown, and estimates ranged from a few hundreds to a few thousands. Later work revealed that the Buyo Maru carried troops and 491 Indian POWs. Altogether, it carried 1,126 men. Japanese ships that came later managed to rescue many, and then it was found that 87 Japanese and 195 Indian POWs perished in this incident. USS Wahoo was sunk, probably on October 11, 1943, around La Pérouse Strait between Japan and Russia.131 Morton did not hide his actions. The commander of the submarine force of U.S. Pacific Fleet (ComSubPac) and the U.S. naval command showed much respect and appreciation of Morton, referring to him and to the Wahoo as a “one-boat wolf pack” and decorating Morton with a medal.132 Almost all sources indicate that Morton's actions need to be understood within the cultural atmosphere at the time, when Japanese were detested.133 DeRose134 states, “Morton viewed the Japanese, in particular, as subhuman. The Pearl Harbor attack in which about 2,400 Americans were killed and about 1,170 were wounded had hardened his heart. He felt no compassion, and the brutal Japanese conquest of East Asia had reinforced his hatred.”135 His emotion was probably intensified when he was in Brisbane and heard accounts of the Japanese air attack on the port of Darwin on February 19, 1942, when Japanese pilots “machinegunned the lifeboats and helpless survivors struggling in the water, killing 170 men.”136 He was not alone in having these feelings. Sturma points out that the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor generated “a visceral hatred of the Japanese that persisted to the end of the war and beyond.”137

Page 193 → Sturma's 2011 study focused on the use of deck guns by American submarines in the Pacific. He documents the hatred of the Japanese and the joy with which American submariners used their deck guns to reduce Japanese merchant shipping, particularly the sampans, to no more than floating rubble. Sturma notes that “often the stories of these attacks run counter to the ‘good war’ narratives that tend to dominate interpretations of the Allied experience during WWII.”138 Page 194 →

The USS Tambor–Shinku Maru No. 3 Incident On April 18, 1944, the USS Tambor (commanded by Lieutenant Commander Russell Kefauver) was on its tenth patrol when the submarine found and attacked a 250-ton wooden vessel (probably the Japanese guard boat Shinku Maru No. 3) about 300 nautical miles northwest of Wake Island. Following the attack, an American boarding party from the Tambor boarded the guard boat for a search. They took the second officer as a POW and killed the other seven members of the crew, as Sturma describes: “The rest of the crew were shot, including a badly wounded man found in the pilothouse.”139 The USS Queenfish–Awa Maru Incident Concerned about the brutal treatment of American POWs, the United States negotiated an agreement with Japan (through neutral Switzerland) according to which the Japanese cargo and passenger ship Awa Maru would be allowed free passage in a path that covered Formosa (Taiwan today), Hong Kong, Saigon, Singapore, and Batavia (in the Dutch East Indies). The Japanese could use the trip to resupply some of their troops and, in return, would take Red Cross relief packages and supplies provided by the United States for Allied prisoners of war. In February 1945, the Awa Maru, with its master Captain Hamada Matsutarō and a crew of 149 officers and men, sailed with spare parts, ammunition, and 2,000 tons of relief supplies. The Japanese transmitted the ship's route, and it had clear markings. The ComSubPac sent all U.S. submarines messages in plain language telling them about the Awa Maru and instructing them to let it have safe passage. The Awa Maru was watched closely by patrolling submarines. It sailed along its broadcasted route, loaded various items, and took aboard about 1,700 passengers (a mixture of military and civilian government officials, businessmen, and scientists).140 In March, the Awa Maru was making its way back to Japan, and the ComSubPac retransmitted, in plain language and in code, the instruction not to attack it. The Queenfish, commanded by Commander Elliott Loughlin, received the coded message, but the previous messages in plain language were not passed on to him by his communications officer. Loughlin thought that the message made no sense. In any event, on April 1, his radar identified a ship that he thought was a destroyer. Fog prevented him from clearly Page 195 →identifying the radar target, but he did not hesitate to launch four torpedoes against the target. He hit and sank the Awa Maru. Blair states that the entire crew and 1,700 passengers were lost, except one survivor that the Queenfish picked up and brought to the United States. Loughlin reported his error to the ComSubPac immediately. While Lockwood took part of the blame on himself (for not being more specific in his instructions) and backed Loughlin, Admiral King ordered Lockwood to have Loughlin tried by a general court-martial. The court convicted Loughlin on charges of “negligence in obeying orders.” His punishment was to receive a letter of admonition from the secretary of the navy.141 Referring to the sinking of the Awa Maru, the ComSubPac, Vice Admiral Lockwood, stated that it was “the biggest error in the history of American submarine operations.”142

SINKING SHIPS CARRYING PRISONERS OF WAR While international protocols143 specified how prisoners of war were to be treated, these rules were not always adhered to, and some countries did not sign or ratify these protocols. Thus, the fate of POWs during World War II was not uniform. Time, place, and nationality played a role in the fate of POWs. In addition, the numbers of POWs were sometimes huge. For example, in 1939 and 1940, the collapse of the Polish and French armies left the Germans with more than two million POWs. As the war continued, millions of German soldiers became POWs themselves. Soviet POWs suffered tremendously in German captivity; about five-sixth of these POWs did not survive. Quite a few Allied aircrews who parachuted safely onto soil controlled by the Germans144 or Japanese145 were lynched. Japanese treatment of World War II POWs was particularly brutish and cruel. Of about 923,000 prisoners of various types, 36 percent perished.146 Overloaded and unmarked transport ships (referred to as “hell ships”) carried large numbers of POWs in appalling conditions from one place to another, mostly to serve as slave workers.147 Submarines were waiting in stealth for Japanese convoys and ships, in order to sink them. Many

times, men operating these underwater war machines were unaware of which ship carried what type of complement, and the Japanese made no effort to identify ships carrying POWs as such. There were quite a few cases where Page 196 →American and British submarines attacked and sank such transports.148 It is thus worth examining cases where Allied submarines sank transport ships that carried POWs that were their own soldiers. I am definitely not implying that this was done deliberately. Unmarked ships, insufficient intelligence, and lack of valid knowledge can easily lead a skipper of a submarine, making binocular or periscopic observation, to launch his torpedoes against a ship he is certain is an enemy vessel. The case of the Laconia mentioned earlier illustrates this. The combined natures of warfare, the weapon system, and the behavior of an enemy yield such results. Bridgland149 and other sources detail a few such cases. Some of them are in table 2.150 The emphasis in the table is on POWs, but these ships carried Japanese personnel and sometimes civilians as well. On September 12, 1944, USS Sealion II, commanded by Commander Eli Reich, hit the Japanese passenger and cargo ship Rakuyo Maru with two torpedoes. While the damage to the ship was significant, the rubber cargo it carried prevented the Rakuyo Maru from sinking too fast, and it took about 12 hours for it to go down. Besides rubber, the ship carried more than 1,300 British and Australian POWs. The POWs evacuated the slowly sinking Rakuyo Maru into lifeboats, rafts, and the sea.151 Meanwhile, some distance away, another American submarine, USS Pampanito,152 commanded by Lieutenant Commander P. E. “Paul” Summers, hit another Japanese transport, the Kachidoki Maru, with two torpedoes. The Kachidoki Maru was carrying 900 POWs (some sources state 750). Three days later, USS Pampanito, sailing through the wreckage, realized the nature of this disaster. It took as many POWs aboard as it could153 and updated the ComSubPac in Pearl Harbor about the situation. Consequently, more submarines were sent to the area to save as many survivors as possible. USS Barb (commanded by Commander Eugene B. Fluckey)154 and USS Queenfish (commanded by Lieutenant Commander Charles E. Loughlin) rushed to the scene. These three submarines, together with USS Sealion II, rescued 159 survivors from the Rakuyo Maru. Japanese ships also came to the scene. Although they gave priority to saving their own countrymen, they eventually rescued 136 surviving POWs from the Rakuyo Maru. Of the 1,318 POWs carried by the Rakuyo Maru, only 295 survived the sinking (other sources state that the number of POWs in the ship was 1,350). Out of the 900 POWs in the Kachidoki Maru, Japanese ships rescued 656.155 Sturma estimates that American submarines “were responsible for inadvertently Page 197 →killing an estimated 10,000 Allied prisoners of war.” He goes on to note, “So desperate had the situation become that U.S. submariners were eventually instructed to search for Allied survivors in the vicinity of any Japan-bound ships they sank.”156

THE SOVIET NAVY Saiva Ziogaite, Miltiades Varvounis, and Bob Baird, collectors of naval history incidents,157 claim that just as World War II began, the Soviets tried to construct a vile propaganda trick. The Polish submarine Orzel158 managed to escape from internment in Tallinn, Estonia, on September 18, 1939, sailed to England, and eventually joined the Royal Navy. The Orzel was lost while on patrol, for reasons that are still unknown. The accepted date of its loss is June 8, 1940. Its dramatic escape from Tallinn antagonized the Soviets and was used by them as one of the excuses to create the political pressures and military threats that led to the Soviet occupation of Estonia.159 The Soviet submarine SC-103 was ordered to fire torpedoes at the Soviet ship Metallist that was sailing in the Baltic Sea near the Estonian coast, to try and place the blame for this act on the Polish submarine Orzel and thus provoke anti-Polish feelings abroad and create an excuse to accuse the Polish Orzel of barbarity. On September 26, 1939, SC-103 supposedly fired its torpedoes at the Metallist in the Baltic Sea near the Estonian coast, but the ship managed to avoid them. Later, under orders from Party Secretary Zhdanov, the Soviet patrol ship Tucha sank the Metallist, killing five of its crew. SC-103 again fired its torpedoes against the Soviet ship Pioneer on September 28, 1939, but missed—probably intentionally. Soviet (and German) attempts to portray these firings of torpedoes (and the sinking of the Metallist) as acts of the Polish submarine Orzel (supposedly attempting to spread panic and terror in the Baltic Sea) failed. The Orzeł sank no enemy vessels during its journey from Estonia to Britain. It is unclear to what extent (if at all) there was German participation in planning this provocation, but at that point in time, both the Germans and the Soviets stood to gain from a concocted propagandist tale that portrayed the Polish submariners in a bad light. The Soviets used it in their attempt to occupy Estonia, and the

Germans probably wanted to use it for anti-Polish propaganda benefits. Page 198 → Page 199 → Page 200 → The Shch 213–Struma Incident The Struma was chartered to carry Jewish refugees from Axis-allied Romania to British-controlled Palestine. The ship was in poor mechanical condition, and after sailing on December 12, 1941, it suffered engine failures. The crippled ship was towed to Istanbul, where weeks of negotiations between the British and the Turks took place. Eventually, on February 23, 1942, the Struma, with an engine that did not work, was towed by the Turks from Istanbul via the Bosphorus out to the Black Sea, with its refugee passengers aboard. There, it was left adrift. On February 24, it was sighted by the Soviet submarine Shch 213,160 torpedoed, and sunk. Seven hundred and sixtyeight men, women, and children were killed. Only one person161 survived this sinking.162 Operation Hannibal Operation Hannibal163 was a German plan to evacuate German soldiers and civilians from East Prussia, away from the advancing Red Army. Starting in January 1945, about 500 to 1,000 vessels of all sorts were used to transport about two million soldiers and refugees across the Baltic Sea to West Germany and Denmark. At that time, Soviet submarines were deployed in the Baltic Sea, and the Soviet navy apparently considered the millions of Germans trying to escape in hundreds of vessels fair game for those submarines. About 160 vessels were lost during this operation. Three deserve special attention. On February 9, 1945, the submarine S-13164 intercepted the Steuben around midnight and sank it. Of the 3,000 to 4,000 aboard the ship, only 300 survived.165 On April 16, 1945, the Goya, carrying about 6,000 to 7,000 people, was intercepted by the Soviet submarine L-3, commanded by Captain Vladimir Konovalov. L-3 torpedoed and sank the Goya. Only 183 survived.166 However, the most dramatic sinking took place earlier and was of the Wilhelm Gustloff.167 The Wilhelm Gustloff was a 25,484-ton German liner, named after a Swiss Nazi leader who was assassinated in Davos in 1936.168 On January 30, 1945, Commander Ivan Marinesko,169 who was in charge of the Soviet Red Fleet submarine S-13, sighted the Wilhelm Gustloff, sailing at 22.5 knots in the Baltic Sea. He fired three torpedoes that hit the ship and sank it in less than 45 minutes.170 At that time, the Wilhelm Gustloff was carrying around 6,500 to 8,000171 service personnel and refugees that were fleeing from the Soviet troops who were about to take over Gdynia from the Nazis. Estimates are that about 6,000 to 9,000 died in that sinking.172 This number, clearly, makes this torpedoing the cause of the largest single loss of life in maritime history. It by far exceeds the disaster of the Titanic on April 14, 1912, when about 1,500 lives were lost.

In terms of passengers lost, sinking the Wilhelm Gustloff was indeed tragic. But there are some obvious differences between this case and the sinking of the Lusitania. The Lusitania was sunk at the beginning of the war, when violating the prize rules or the London Treaty was not common and was unacceptable. Sinking the Wilhelm Gustloff took place in 1945, after a cruel and ruthless chapter of submarine warfare was written, when fine distinctions made little difference in one of the bloodiest and most costly conflicts ever. Moreover, while it was clear after the Battle of Kursk (July 5–23, 1943)173 that the Red Army was going to defeat the Nazi military, the issue facing the Page 202 →Red Army was not just one of winning. Given the atrocious and barbaric nature of the German occupation and treatment of Soviet POWs,174 the Red Army was also after revenge. The attempts of millions of the imaginary and phony “master race” to escape from a vengeful and powerful military is easily understood, but equally so is the behavior of the Red Army. The SC-215–Mefkure Incident The Turkish boat Mefkure, accompanied by two other boats, left the Romanian port of Constantsa on August 5, 1944, for Istanbul. The three boats carried about 1,000 passengers, most of them Jewish refugees. The boats sailed under a Turkish flag but with no navigation lights. Soviet submarine SC-215 spotted the boats northwest of the Bosphorus and sank it using torpedoes and gun fire. Survivors were machine-gunned while in the water. Of the approximately 300 people on board, only 5 Jewish refugees and 6 crew members survived.175

FALSIFYING U-BOAT LOGS (WAR DIARIES): CONCEALMENT AND LIES BY PERPETRATORS AND VICTIMS Submarine commanders are expected to record their activities in daily logs that provide valuable information about what was going on during a patrol. Falsifying submarine patrol logs is a serious issue, because these falsified logs would reflect misleading information about submarine operations and consequently affect our knowledge about the true activities of these submarines. As we have already seen, the log of the submarine U-86, which sank the Llandovery Castle, was faked so that it showed that U-86 was far away from the site of the sinking.176 Preston (2007) claims that the war log of U-20, which sank the Lusitania in May 1915, was also falsified after the sinking. Dönitz describes how Admiral Wilhelm Anton Souchon, who commanded a German naval squadron in the early stages of World War I, created false reports about his battles around the Bosphorus.177 An organizational culture, coupled with personal motivations, might have created and allowed the existence of a cultural ambience where lies and falsifications could thrive. One telling and supporting illustration for this is that Dönitz himself seems to have taken falsified credit for originating Page 203 →submarine group tactics, when, in fact, such tactics had already been used by some World War I U-boat commanders.178 Dönitz and his staff were actively involved in falsifying the submarine log of U-30, which sank the Athenia in September 1939. The purpose of this falsification was obvious—to erase traces that might lead to accusations of being involved in war crimes. A similar incident involved U-123. The U-123–Ganda Incident On June 20, 1941, U-123, commanded by Reinhard Hardegen, was in West African waters, near the coast of Morocco, cruising southbound toward Freetown. Hardegen spotted what appeared to him to be a British ship. He first made an underwater attack by firing two torpedoes at the ship and later made a surface attack using his 4.1inch179 deck gun. This combined assault sank the ship.180 Contrary to Hardegen's initial identification, however, the ship that he sent to the bottom was not British but actually the 4,333-ton Portuguese neutral Ganda. Military historians Clay Blair181 and Michael Gannon182 both point out that sinking this ship caused quite a diplomatic uproar. Fortunately for the Nazis, the Portuguese blamed this sinking “on a British submarine known to have been in the vicinity.”183 The Germans did not try to rectify the mistake and joined the Portuguese in their accusations. Blair states that when U-123 returned to its base, Dönitz “ordered Hardegen—as he had Lemp in the Athenia incident—to alter his patrol report to conceal the sinking.”184 According to Gannon, not only did Dönitz “[bind] Hardegen to absolute silence about the affair,” but U-123's war diary was falsified in such a way that it

“expunge[d] all mention of the sinking and…show[ed] no action of any kind on 20 June.”185 The U-43–Doggerbank and U-333–Spreewald Incidents On March 3, 1943, Oberleutnant zur See Hans-Joachim Schwantke, commanding U-43, was sailing in the waters between the Canary Islands and the mainland of Africa. While on course, he spotted a lone ship, which he mistook for a British freighter. Schwantke hit the ship with three torpedoes. The ship exploded and sank within three minutes. In fact, this ship was the 5,200-ton German raider and minelayer Doggerbank, which was on its return trip to France after a long voyage to Japan and the Orient, loaded with 7.000 tons of war materials. The Doggerbank was sailing outside of the German safety grid. The few survivors died slowly while drifting on the sea (some asked to be shot by their comrades to end their agonies). The single survivor, Fritz Kurt, was found unconscious and close to death on March 29 by a Spanish tanker. Blair, on whose work this report is based, is quick to note that “when U-boat Control learned of this terrible mistake, all mention of the sinking was expunged from the log of U-43.”186

Page 204 → Yet another incident involved U-333. On January 31, 1942, U-333 was on patrol when, at 1516, Kapitänleutnant Peter Cremer saw a steamer about 5,000 to 6,000 meters from his boat. Submerged, Cremer approached the ship and was sure it was an enemy vessel, zigzagging in a general course toward Ireland. He thought that he identified the vessel as having slim masts, no crosstrees, and one gun at the stern, with no signs or flag of neutrality. The submarine's first lieutenant confirmed these details through the periscope from a distance of about 500 meters. Cremer fired one torpedo at that steamer, but it did not sink the ship, which was transmitting a distress Page 205 →call in English. Cremer then fired another torpedo from 400 meters, and the ship sank. The first English SOS calls from the ship identified it as the Brittany, but it was later identified as the 5,100-ton German steamer Spreewald. It was a blockade runner, going from East Asia to Bordeaux carrying a cargo of crude rubber, wolfram, quinine, and about 86 British civilian prisoners.187 Dönitz, in his command post in France, realized what had happened and mastered a quick rescue operation by ordering all available U-boats and ships to the rescue. The massive rescue efforts were stopped on February 4, when almost all involved were saved. Cremer faced a court-martial but was acquitted, because it was established that the Spreewald failed to report its position.188

An interesting part of this mistaken sinking by Cremer came on February 4, 1942, when Dönitz radioed his Uboats that were still searching for survivors, “Shipwrecked personnel and those in lifeboats are not to be told that a German U-boat was responsible for the sinking.”189 In fact, if it were not for Cremer's 1982 book, this mistaken sinking might have remained unknown. Thus, German falsification of U-boats’ “war diaries” in World War II may have not been such a rare practice. Interesting, relevant, and significant is another lie made by Dönitz. The falsifications of the war diaries of both U-30 and U-123 were made in compliance with Dönitz's direct instructions. However, at the Nuremberg war crimes trial in 1945, Dönitz testified (under oath) that the falsification of the war diary of U-30 was the only such case that occurred during the war.190 Victims of submarine warfare during World War II also squelched and falsified reality. Contemporary American reports about Operation Drumbeat illustrate this well.191 Hitler declared war on the United States following the latter's entrance into the war. In 1942, as one of the very first formal acts of war, Dönitz planned and executed Operation Paukenschlag, or “Operation Drumbeat.” The operation involved sending Nazi U-boats to the eastern coast of the United States for actions against shipping along this coast. The British Admiralty, whose intelligence broke the Nazi naval code, not only knew about the operation but could follow the progress of the first wave of five U-boats advancing across the Atlantic. Warnings were sent to the Americans, especially to Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King, but the Americans simply ignored them. Having arrived at their target areas in January 1942, these U-boats had what they called a “Happy Time.” Even basic and passive Page 206 →civil defense measures were not taken. There were no blackouts of buildings or roads along the coast, and ships sailed with all their lights shining. German U-boat commanders could not believe how easy their deadly mission was. Unthreatened and unchallenged, they were basically free to sink any ship they wished, and they did. Historian of submarine warfare Michael Gannon (1998) points out that in terms of ships damaged or destroyed, the harm by those U-boats was worse than the disaster that the Americans suffered at Pearl Harbor. During this second “Happy Time,” Nazi submarines sank 609 ships, totaling 3.1 million tons (roughly one-quarter of all shipping sunk by U-boats during World War II), while losing only 22 U-boats. Not until March 1942 were the Americans successful in even beginning to plan and mount effective defenses. This was an astounding and inexcusable failure considering the knowledge about effective antisubmarine activities that the U.S. accumulated during World War I and the British experience since 1939 that was made available to the Americans. The initial success of Operation Drumbeat was embarrassing to the Americans. To help cover this incredible American incompetence, the U.S. Navy was effective in helping to spread rumors that the U-boats involved were either sunk or captured and towed to an American port. In January 1942, the navy told the public (in front-page headlines) that it “had liquidated an unspecified number of U-Boats.”192 In fact, at that time, there was not a shred of evidence that the U.S. Navy had sunk any U-boat throughout 1941, and it had most certainly not sunk any of the U-boats that took part in Operation Drumbeat. On April 1, 1942, the navy announced that “as of that date, twenty-eight German U-boats had been ‘sunk and presumably sunk’ off the U.S. coast, four by Army bombers and twenty-four by the Navy.”193 However, as Gannon points out, the numbers given by the navy had absolutely no basis in reality. The first two sinkings of U-boats by the U.S. military did not take place in U.S. waters. The first occurred on March 1, 1942. A naval reserve ensign, aviator William Tepuni, was piloting a Lockheed Hudson when he saw U656 crash-diving194 some 25 miles off the coast of Newfoundland. He attacked the submarine with depth charges and sank it, killing all on board. On the 15th of the month, another naval aviator, Donald Francis Mason, flying a PBY-3, saw U-503 southeast of Virgin Rocks195 and sank it, again with loss of all hands.196 The first sinkings of U-boats in U.S. waters by naval Page 207 →surface units did not take place until April 14, 1942.197 Clearly, the messages delivered by the U.S. Navy to the public following Operation Drumbeat were fabricated. While incompetently coping with the German U-boats inside U.S. waters for such a long period, the U.S. Navy had no hesitation to immerse itself up to its neck in blatant (and dangerous) lies that helped to mislead the public into believing that the navy was extremely successful in combating the U-boat threat. Facing the grim reality caused by the successful onslaught from the German U-boats was a successful and deceitful propaganda campaign run by the U.S. Navy, whose major goal was to falsify reality.198 On the one side in the preceding events, we have factual truth. On the other side are deliberately interpretative lies.

However, the clarity of the contrast presented in these cases199 is not always easy to find and establish. It is interesting to note that in some of the preceding cases, the deception was discovered during postwar trials. It is clear that submarine logs were falsified, more than once, in attempts to hide unpleasant truths and discrediting information. Moreover, changing submarines logs after the fact did not stop in World War II. As Sontag and Drew (1998) so vividly illustrate, American and Soviet submarines were locked in a secret, deadly, and dangerous “game” during the Cold War.200 Sontag and Drew recount a few times when submarine logs were altered so as not to reveal the true nature of submarine activities. I here cite just one illustration. In late 1960, Commander William “Bill” Behrens drove the USS Skipjack (SSN-585) into the mouth of the long ship channel that led to Murmansk. He got so close to another Soviet port that his officers could look through a periscope and see the pier only 30 or 40 yards away. That may have been closer than even the Navy would have liked—at least closer than the Navy ever wanted to admit. Indeed, just before Behrens snuck into the channel, crewmen saw one of his officers disable a mechanical tracing device that plotted the sub's movements so there would never be any written record of the incursion.201 Conducting effective submarine warfare involves secrecy, conniving, and stealth on the part of the submariners and those involved in planning their attacks. Page 208 →

SUMMARY OF SOME SUBMARINE DEVIANCIES IN THE TWO WORLD WARS It is clear that during the two world wars of the 20th century, submarines ascended to become major machines of war. The technology of building and using such machines was perfected, but much more important than this, strategies for their use were developed and justified. These strategies required a very major break in morality and the ethics of how to conduct a war. They also meant flagrantly violating previous understandings, agreements, and protocols. To get involved in unrestricted submarine warfare required that profound changes be introduced into cultural cores. These changes eventually brought into being a new, merciless and harsh naval warfare that included the indiscriminate sinkings of merchant, passenger, and hospital ships. It also opened the doors for such acts of deviance as killing survivors of sunken ships and, on a less serious level, the falsification of submarine operational logs. Contrary to the myth that atrocities committed by submarines were rare events typically carried out by “them” and not “us” (a myth mostly spread by apologists who have tried to portray German U-boats as conducting a “clean” war and as “just doing their duty”), this study indicates that while the documented and detailed cases are not very common, a significant number of atrocities by submarines were committed. Table 3 summarizes the known numbers. Table 3 focuses only on the known cases where submarines were involved in deliberately killing survivors from ships that they had previously sunk. Such atrocities were, of course, also committed by aircraft202 and surface ships.203 Williams's204 summary of sinkings of passenger ships in the two world wars points out that out of 499 passenger ships sunk during these two wars, 301 (60.3 percent) were sunk by submarine action. During World War I, 79.4 percent of all sinkings were caused by submarines. During World War II, this percentage dropped to 50.5 percent. The remaining sinkings were due to such factors as hitting mines, attacks by raiders or aircraft, sabotage, collision, fire, and stranding. In terms of human casualties, and if—for demonstrative purposes—we only examine the worst 25 of such disasters,205 at least 25,000 lives were lost in these submarine sinkings. The distribution of atrocities and falsifications among combatants was not equal. There are no documented cases for Italian or French submarines Page 209 →and only 1 to 3 documented cases for British and American submarines. The Japanese and Germans seem to star in the cases. One reason for this could be that these nations lost the wars and that the documented history reflects the version of the victors, not the vanquished. Another (following Lynn's 2003 work) could be cultural differences among the battling nations regarding their conduct of war; that is, the way countries choose to fight a war reflects profound attributes of their culture. Indeed, the nature of submarines and the way to use them opened the door for atrocities and falsifications, but an open door did not

mean that anyone had to go through that door. The available evidence suggests that both the Germans and the Japanese went through that door more frequently and more easily than others. TABLE 3. Summary of Submarine Atrocities NATIONALITY

INCIDENCES

World War I Japan

—

Germany United Kingdom United States

7 2 —

Russia Total

— 9

World War II Japan Germany United Kingdom United States USSR Total

13 9 2 2 1 27

Total for the Two Wars Japan Germany United Kingdom United States USSR Total

13 16 4 2 1 36

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7 Concluding Discussion When we examine the development of unrestricted submarine warfare in the context of cultural cores, three relevant social issues come to mind. First, the most prominent issue is the emergence and development of the idea of a culture of war whose main aim is to inflict a great amount of suffering and misery on civilian populations on a mass scale (Downes 2008). Second, sooner or later, deciding to practice unrestricted submarine warfare was bound to bring about committing specific atrocities. Conducting such warfare made the occurrence of such atrocities an issue of not “if” but “when.” Consequently, the practice of launching torpedoes at unsuspecting passenger and/or hospital ships or machine-gunning survivors in lifeboats or in the water became a reality. Furthermore, because conducting such cruel and ruthless warfare involved secrecy, conniving, and cloaking, the actual conduct of this warfare involved cases of deception and falsification of reports of submarines’ activities. Many of those committed to and practicing unrestricted submarine warfare probably suspected or knew that this type of war making was morally and legally problematic. The third issue is the development of commemoration activities that crystallize the public's memory of submariners—some that squelch and others that emphasize the atrocious acts in which submarines were involved during the two world wars.

CONCEPTUALIZING UNRESTRICTED SUBMARINE WARFARE The development of the submarine, a technologically spectacular killing machine, was slow. Designers had to overcome some serious technological hurdles. This long technological odyssey produced a matured submarine just prior to World War I. However, the development of unrestricted submarine Page 211 →warfare was not a simple matter of technology translated into strategy or of some military deterministic requirements resulting from the pressure of war. Nor was it a matter of pacifists against militarists. Churchill, for example, who stated that civilized people do not fight an unrestricted submarine warfare, was not famous for being a pacifist. A much deeper cultural process took place here. One effective way to use a submarine is to employ it in an unrestricted form. However, this supposition rests on some prior assumptions: that the ends of war justify almost all the means; that there are times when it is appropriate to set the starvation of millions of civilians as a goal; and that harshness, mercilessness, and cruelty can be worthy values. The fact of the matter is that submarines did not have to be utilized in an unrestricted fashion in commerce raiding. The “demands of war” are not deterministic but are socially, militarily, and politically negotiated and constructed. As Dyer (2004) and others point out, the industrialization of war and the application of the concept of a “total war” that lay at the basis of unrestricted submarine warfare were—relatively speaking—a new development. To move from pre–World War I to the brutal submarine warfare in World War II required significant changes in cultural cores. These changes were not the result of some struggle between militaristic maniacs and sane pacifists, in which the militarists won. Most, if not all, of those involved in discussions and debates of how to operate submarines knew fairly well that winning a total war meant that releasing submarines to hunt freely was an option. But quite a few of these very same people expressed their dismay, uneasiness, and concern at the prospect of conducting such barbaric warfare. Thus, the British carried out such warfare but made quite an effort to hide what they realized was not only an ugly reality but something that concealed shame. This is probably also the reason why American politicians who were supposed to defend the idea of the “freedom of the seas” did not raise hell when the American navy ordered an unrestricted submarine warfare. Altering cultural cores in such a fashion was a process of persuasion, not a struggle between opposing camps. Because it was a process, it took a while to complete. While submarines inflicted a good deal of damage during World War I, two important developments took place during World War II. One was that submarines reached better technological maturity. Submarines could dive to over 200 feet, had reliable diesel-electric propulsion systems, eventually had reliable torpedoes and deck guns, had reliable life-support systems, and Page 212 →were equipped with reliable navigational and communication systems. They also had other clear advantages over big surface ships: building them was relatively cheap, and the crews required to run them were relatively small.

What was one supposed to do with this awesome weapon? What could be an effective use of this weapon platform? As submarines were technologically improved, plans for their use also developed. The 1864 attack of the Hunley on the Housatonic demonstrated that a submersible vehicle could attack and sink an enemy warship in stealth. The Mahan Strategy, which implied that submarines are to assist surface battlewagons, provided another use. While the second idea was coherent with prevailing moralities, so that it did not deviate significantly from existing cultural cores, the future implications of the first idea were not. Although using a major stealthy naval weapon platform to attack surface warships was sneezed at by some, such usage did not violate naval or military conceptualizations. In other words, no significant changes in cultural cores were required in order to allow usage of submarines in such a restricted fashion. But the Mahan Strategy placed submarines in a significant disadvantageous operational position. It left very little room for utilizing stealth or for independent, new, bold and aggressive submarine action. Moreover, because some nations realized the dangers of using submarines (e.g., the risks of giving relatively weak nations major naval advantages or of encouraging combatants to slip into ruthlessly attacking and sinking civilian targets), a series of international meetings, conventions, and understandings tended toward regulating the use of the one major advantage of submarines—their stealth—and unrestricted aggressive use of torpedoes and guns. Apparently, the ends of war do not justify using all means. World War I dramatically changed values, beliefs, and attitudes about launching unrestricted submarine warfare. During that war, previous cultural cores and their enveloping symbolic-moral universes absorbed new ideas and underwent significant changes. These changes became possible and successful because of, first of all, a motivation to win a war by all means available and, secondly, the complementarity between two spheres of power: the power of imperial Germany as a state and the power and authority of German officers and politicians. These actors knew fairly well that using submarines in unrestricted warfare was—at the very least—morally questionable, legally problematic, and pragmatically dangerous. However, as the tide of war turned against the Germans and as German desperation grew, Page 213 →the temptation and incentives to launch unrestricted submarine warfare increased. Once the debates gave way to the pressures of military planners, the power of the military was able, first, to legitimize and, later, to practice this type of warfare. An important trigger that helped move Germans into changing relevant cultural cores and toward developing and practicing unrestricted submarine warfare was that it could be viewed as a countermeasure to the obvious advantage of the Royal Navy and its questionable siege in the North Sea. German naval veterans of World War I, especially Dönitz, learned and assimilated the lessons of that war, and they were psychologically ready to launch a new and improved form of unrestricted submarine warfare as soon as another war gave them an opportunity to do so. The end of World War I and the years between the wars gave key German policy and decision makers the time and opportunity to design and begin constructing submarines that would be used in this new unrestricted submarine warfare and to solidify a new cultural core that legitimized and glorified such warfare. This technological and cultural amalgamation brought Nazi Germany to launch its long, brutal, and harsh submarine Battle of the Atlantic. The beginning of World War II opened a door for Dönitz and his staff to implement their ideas. Unfortunately for the Nazi Kriegsmarine, however, their Z plan, which was supposed to provide enough naval power to cope with the Royal Navy, was very far from completion when World War II began, and they did not have enough U-boats to erect an effective and determined blockade around the British Islands. The decision of the United States to use unrestricted submarine warfare in World War II reflects a similar process. During World War I, it was shown—primarily by the German naval forces—that submarines are economical and effective weapons. The United States realized that submarines could be employed within an attempt to lay a naval siege on an island nation (e.g., Japan, after its attack on Pearl Harbor), starve its citizens, and bring its war machine and economy to a grinding standstill. Manson points out that the decisions to practice unrestricted submarine warfare by Nazi Germany, the United States, and Great Britain were similar because of three elements: the importance of precedent in international law, military practice, and human experience.1 While the German decision to fully practice such warfare in 1917 could be viewed as a reaction to the British blockade of the North Sea, this was not the case in World War II, because

Page 214 →Nazi Germany controlled ports in the North Sea in 1940 and had direct access to the Atlantic from French ports. Moreover, the German political systems of control were very different in the two world wars. Hitler's grip on the Nazi state was much more powerful and centralized than the German emperor's had been. In World War I, the unleashing of German submarines to conduct an unrestricted warfare was slow in coming, hesitant, and accompanied by debate; at the start of World War II, Dönitz and his staff already had that World War I experience. The main lesson they had taken from it was that U-boats could win a battle for the Atlantic. So the attention of German naval commanders was focused on how many U-boats were required and how those U-boats should be deployed to achieve that goal in a way that would also neutralize antisubmarine warfare. Practicing unrestricted submarine warfare was not an issue that they debated. They decided that practicing such warfare was the way to go, especially at the beginning of the war, when Allied countermeasures were weak and ineffective. In fact, the Germans were technologically, conceptually, and psychologically eager to practice this kind of naval warfare. Developing submarines that were actually submersible torpedo boats and training submariners in an aggressive Rudeltaktik (pack attack), they were operationally ready to unleash this warfare. They just did not have enough boats. As the war progressed and especially later in the war, developments in antisubmarine warfare forced submarines to dive deep and stay submerged. That, of course, reduced their operational efficiency. At that stage, numbers of submarines were not the winning card. New technologies and types of submarine had to be introduced in order to overcome the new countermeasures. It was too late for Nazi Germany to accomplish that. In the United States, debates on how to use submarines raged from 1915.2 American politicians emphasized the idea of “freedom of the seas,” which meant that they had negative attitudes toward submarine warfare. By the beginning of World War II, American submarines and submariners were not tactically prepared or trained to fight an aggressive unrestricted naval battle. More important, Americans were not ideologically prepared to fight such a battle. For example, when the United States entered World War II, commanders of American submarines were hesitant and lacked the aggression required for such ruthless warfare. Indeed, one of the important steps taken by Vice Admiral Charles Lockwood, the American commander of submarines in the Pacific Fleet, was to replace these commanders. The Page 215 →military situation in 1939 and the U-boats’ attack on commercial shipping to the United Kingdom forced the American military to reconsider their reluctance to engage in unrestricted submarine warfare. The decision to embark on such warfare if war was declared simmered slowly. However, as Holwitt (2009) points out, before World War II began, high U.S. military authorities were ready to launch an unrestricted submarine warfare at the first given opportunity. Thus, only a few hours after the Japanese attack on December 7, 1941, President Roosevelt authorized issuing an order to use unrestricted warfare against Japan. This decision meant that a significant change in American cultural cores had taken place. They had moved away from such ideas as freedom of the seas, trying to abolish submarines altogether, and only using submarines according to the prize rules or as aids to surface combat ships, to the new idea of using them independently in an aggressive, harsh, and relentless, unrestricted fashion. Manson points out, The decision to change the rules governing submarine warfare came as a result of a series of discussions that began in the Naval War College, in March 1941, and ended with President Roosevelt's instructions to execute unrestricted submarine warfare in December…. The rationale for this reversal of traditional American policy is scattered among various naval documents…. It is possible that Roosevelt and others who discussed the decision…decided to leave no record…because it did represent such a dramatic change in policy…and…necessarily call attention to its ramifications, in particular the destruction of innocent lives and property…. Unrestricted submarine warfare is a fundamental violation of neutral rights…. The American rationale was based primarily on German and British submarine practice during World War II and on Japanese actions.3 By January 18, 1941, the commander in chief of the American Asiatic Fleet, Thomas Hart, wrote that it was of prime importance to use American submarines in the raiding and destruction of commercial shipping.4 Changing policy so that practicing such warfare became allowed evidently contradicted previous moral beliefs and understandings and indicates the depth of the significant changes that had been introduced into cultural cores. In essence, countries that legitimized unrestricted submarine warfare had to undergo at least two changes. The first

change was to revise the country's Page 216 →attitudes toward international agreements and understandings that were not favorable to such conduct of war. One international convention, declaration, and understanding after another denied, directly and indirectly, the actual application of unrestricted submarine warfare. Neutralizing or negating these agreements, statements, and understandings and the positive attitudes toward them had a strong moral element. This new moral stand implied that the United States reversed its position on what it considered moral and appropriate in naval warfare and could thus repudiate previous agreements and understandings. Being in a time of war made such changes more easily accepted. This altered moral stand was backed up by the power and prestige of military and political circles. The second change was an inner organizational one. While some politicians and military figures felt that such warfare was the thing to do, others felt that it was immoral and, in practical terms of international relations, quite hazardous. Inner organizational resistance had to be overcome. To do this, the power and prestige of naval and other officers committed to the idea of unrestricted warfare were utilized in order to persuade reluctant, hesitant, or opposing key politicians. Holwitt (2009) points out that in the Pacific War against Japan, civilian authorities may have simply been bypassed. Nevertheless, because this significant change in cultural cores contradicted previous agreements and publicly announced moral stands, the switch to such cruel and ruthless elements had to be accomplished in secret, and its commemoration had to be squelched. Japan presents an interesting case where previous cultural cores were altered in a direction that intensified and reinforced previous perceptions and values—mostly so courtesy of two salient Japanese cultural elements: the Kokutai and Bushido. Thus, while the first stage of the Mahan Strategy, that of having big surface fleets of war machines clash decisively, did not really materialize, the second stage, that of attempting to starve an enemy into surrender, was applied in both world wars—against Germany, against Britain, and against Japan. That a strategy that was a remnant of the 19th century survived well into the 20th implies that the goals of naval warfare did not change. Since the assumption is that warfare and its conduct reflect and are part of a cultural context, can we assume that part or parts of 19th-century culture survived into the 20th, allowing Mahan's idea of starving an entire nation to be accepted? While the acceptance of an unrestricted submarine warfare came slowly and with reservations, it was eventually accepted and even embraced. Page 217 → The Mahan Strategy legitimized the infliction of misery and starvation on a mass scale on some dozens of millions of people, and it was used both during the Civil War in the United States and during World War I. However, while this strategy was developed and while later attempts to apply it took place, a series of international discussions, declarations of intents, and agreements were negotiated. These national and international wishes and expectations focused on yearnings that military planners would not use war machines to target civilians. Thus, by the time of World War I and certainly by the time of World War II, main parts of the cultures of the combatants condemned acts of war against civilians, yet each of the combatants engaged in such acts and even defended their usage—some in public, others in hiding. That unrestricted submarine warfare required a significant alteration in military cultural cores is evident. However, making civilians legitimate targets required a more profound change in other and broader cultural cores, especially regarding how civilians and civility were perceived. Targeting innocent civilians required a significant process of not only symbolically transforming these civilians into strangers and aliens but also justifying why such targets were legitimate. Along the way of doing that, respect for human life and dignity dwindled, callousness for human life reigned, and hatred became a virtue. The contradiction between signing agreements of goodwill that were supposed to regulate the horrors of wars and simultaneously preparing for a type of warfare that violated these agreements reflects, indeed, the ambiguity involved in processes of changing cultural cores. New ideas and realities in international relations after the Cold War and 9/11 add to this observation. Using a constructivist perspective of the concept of an international society, Bellamy's 2005 volume examines morality, norms, and justice in international relations. Bellamy is puzzled that while “international society has never had so many systems of governance…some states are apparently becoming more willing to use force against others and to break international law” (I). He notices that the “failure of contemporary international society to create consensual solidarism and address some of the dangers that this creates” is probably the reason for the contrast

exposed in his puzzle (23). While Goldman's 1994 work is not discussed in Bellamy's book, the problem that these two works highlight is analogous. The existence of international agreements and understandings (in the form of protocols, pacts, and laws) that apparently express goodwill and appear to reflect a genuine attempt to regulate and minimize the use of force goes hand in Page 218 →hand with flagrant violations of these agreements and understandings. The explanation to this puzzle is probably complex. However, one glaring explanatory element is cultural: that is a lack of real and genuine willingness and commitment to negotiate and compromise international moral codes and cultural cores and a reliance on technicalities instead. This observation is a good opportunity to remind readers that cultures are not made of one unitary piece and that cultural cores are not necessarily coherent or consistent. Rather, different trends and ideas may populate cultural cores, some of which will enjoy stronger expression than others. In any event, the changes that took place in the relevant cultural cores of the countries involved in the two world wars enabled unrestricted submarine warfare (and the atrocities involved in it) to become a reality. The dual developments previously mentioned did not have equal weights. The goodwill and wishful thinking that war should avoid civilians encountered new weapon systems whose operation made them good potential candidates for usage against civilian targets. The bomber was one, and the submarine was another. While these war machines could be used—easily—against civilian targets, they did not have to be used in that way. Such concepts as “total war”5 and “winning at all costs” helped to legitimize viewing civilians as targets, because the very idea of a total war implies that all members of a culture, civilians or not, take part in the war effort and become legitimate targets. As Dyer points out, “by and large, civilians were spared the worst horrors of war” until recently.6 However, the last century witnessed civilians becoming targets. The last two world wars reflected this shift, and submarine operations in these wars were but a symptom of it. Nevertheless, historically speaking, there were wars, including and beyond the two 20th-century world wars, where civilians were targeted intentionally and not just as collateral damage (Downes 2008). One other cultural element that is missing in both Goldman's (1994) and Bellamy's (2005) works is that of social control. Discussions of social control go a long way back and can be divided into two directions under one canopy. Social control theorists assume that deviance will occur unless it is prevented. They argue that the natural state is one of rule breaking and that we need to explain instances when rule breaking does not happen. One direction taken by these theorists, on the micro level, assumes that individuals are subjected to one of three mechanisms of social control: inner (e.g., the conscience, the superego, and internalization of conduct norms), Page 219 →external (e.g., police, law, teachers, and parents), or some combination of the first two. The other direction they take, on the macro level, conceptualizes entire cultures or societies as huge, intricate, and coercive apparatuses that act as massive social control mechanisms that manage to impose conformity on large numbers of people through a variety of devices. Using social control requires some form of consensus, because at the business end of the control is a threat of using force, which needs to be justified and legitimized to be effective. In the international arena, such real consensus may be lacking or even selective (on both micro-and macrolevels). The type, nature, and effectiveness of control mechanisms in the international arena comprise a challenging theoretical and practical issue. Consequently, in both the 20th and 21st centuries, we can witness the living contradiction previously mentioned—between an expressed wish to regulate and minimize the use of brute force, on the one hand, and the simultaneous and actual practice of using such force and failing to control it effectively, on the other. Solutions for this contradiction varied. Nazi Germany had little difficulty in violating agreements and involved itself in an unrestricted submarine warfare relatively quickly, openly, and explicitly. Britain and the United States did practice such warfare, but the British made an effort to cloak the nature of their involvement in it, and the Americans remained committed to Article 22 on paper (though they practiced such warfare with much vigor and success). In ancient and not-so-ancient times, laying a siege around a city-state and starving its population to either death or surrender did take place, and these acts were considered legitimate acts of war. Since then, however, new ideas about human rights and the value of life gained prominence, and numerous national and international discussions, treaties, and agreements increasingly viewed harassing, killing, or causing great misery to noncombatant civilians as acts to be avoided and, eventually, as war crimes. While the lore and acts of commemoration of submarine warfare have no problem generating true narratives of decent, fair, and sympathetic

treatment of submariners toward their victims, these were rare cases. As Sturma points out, Acts of compassion tended to be selective and fickle…. Attention to an enemy's survival…was rare. In both the Atlantic and the Pacific most survivors of submarine attacks had to rely on being rescued by their compatriots Page 220 →or sheer good fortune to stay alive. Even rescue by friendly ships could be in doubt, since those traveling in convoy were routinely instructed not to stop to help torpedoed merchantmen.7 Given what we know about Hitler's conversation with the Japanese ambassador to Nazi Germany, Dönitz's guidelines to his submariners to “be harsh,” Japanese admirals’ orders, and the hatred American submariners felt toward the Japanese, this situation should not come as a surprise. The issue of deviance is, then, at the forefront here. We have an act that is viewed by many as morally wrong but by others as morally justified. The next question is simply one of power. Who has the power to enforce its moral views, either to accept a questionable behavior or to punish those who acted in accordance with it? We have seen how issues of power and morality surrounded the subject of unrestricted submarine warfare. We have seen the clash between different moralities in debating whether or not to practice this type of warfare and between different interpretations of this form of warfare by planners and by those who actually carried it out. Perhaps the best illustrations of this clash are the scorn and hate with which British naval personnel viewed German submariners in both world wars and with which so many American submariners viewed the Japanese. In the 1943 submarine movie Destination Tokyo, one of the submariners states that he likes his “Japanese boiled in oil.” The feeling must have been mutual, of course. So whose morality was “right”? In historical terms, the Americans and the British won the wars, so it was German and Japanese submariners who found themselves facing charges in courts. Had the Japanese won the war, it is likely that Vice Admiral Charles Lockwood would have found himself in court. Clearly, power dictated whose moral views won. But the power structure within each of the combatant nations provided the submariners within that country with the legitimization required to validate the morality of their actions. For example, most reports indicate that despite his colossal failure, Dönitz was admired by his submariners. So was Vice Admiral Lockwood. The cliché that history is written by the victors is definitely true in this case. Still, can we, from our 21st-century perspective, pass judgment on the unrestricted submarine warfare in the two 20th-century world wars? I think we can. Indeed, we should. Given our contemporary sensitivity to human rights and civil society, we do not have much of a choice. We need to acknowledge that from an early Page 221 →21st-century liberal perspective, the very concept of causing great suffering and misery to civilians is deviant, but the degree of that deviance varies. The more successful such a naval siege is, the more deviant it will be considered. For example, when babies die of malnutrition as a result of a naval blockade, chances are that negative societal reactions in the nation that practices the siege may become quite severe. If the naval blockade is not very successful, so that the civilian population is merely inconvenienced, chances are that much less severe reactions will be made. However, it is instructive to observe that despite more modern concerns about human rights and sensitivity to the rights and treatment of noncombatant civilians, a somewhat similar duality exists in the long history of wars and skirmishes since World War II. For examples, one might consider the perspectives of the United States on Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan and of both sides in the conflict between the Russians and Chechens, the conflicts in the Middle East, and the genocides in the Balkans, Cambodia, Rwanda, and Sudan. Thus, talks, understandings, and agreements on human rights of noncombatants in wars continue, and violations of such concerns continue as well. As before, the meaning of morality is debated, and the nature of wartime deviancies seems to be decided, but power eventually tips the scales. When military planners in Germany and the United States finally embraced the idea of unrestricted submarine warfare, they had very few reservations about the goals of this warfare or about the cost that achieving these goals would have on human life and property. Their decisions about how to use this new weapon did not take place in a vacuum. They took place in a specific cultural milieu. When hatred of an “enemy” reigns and when the goal of squashing and choking the enemy is coupled with desperation and a willingness to be ruthless, an idea such as

placing a siege on an entire nation can surface and be very persuasive. The debate in Germany between the two world wars regarding the use of submarines culminated in conclusions that were overwhelmingly in favor of practicing unrestricted submarine warfare. During the slow development of this type of warfare in World War I, the reservations became primarily pragmatic. The Germans were concerned that resorting to this type of warfare might cause neutrals to join the war against Germany. Indeed, Germany's ruthless unrestricted submarine warfare in World War I was a factor in the entrance of the United States into the war.8 In Britain, Churchill and a few others raised some moral reservations about this kind of warfare during Page 222 →World War I. However, the continuation of the war sharpened the offensive capabilities of submarines in military planners’ minds, and these reservations evaporated—certainly in Germany. As World War I progressed, Britain laid a naval siege in the North Sea aimed at starving Germany, and imperial Germany developed the counter-strategy of placing a naval siege around the British Isles. Germany tried to do this again during World War II. In both cases, the siege was not very successful. The American naval siege of the Japanese islands was clearly much more effective and successful. The surrender of Japan was the result of a slow process and was due to a few factors. Pape (1993) argues that the major factor that explains Japan's decision to surrender was its military vulnerability, which, in turn, was caused by a few sources. Chief among them was the sea blockade and commerce raiding, in which American submarines played a major part. That blockade, argues Pape, simply shattered Japan's economy. While this naval blockade did not, in itself, cause Japan to surrender,9 it may have played a role in its decision to capitulate. Thus, differential impacts are evident between the somewhat hesitant and intermittent unrestricted submarine warfare that began in World War I and that reflected very significant changes in cultural cores, on the one hand, and the resumption of this warfare in the most ferocious manner later in that war and during World War II, on the other. Such warfare most certainly helped to cause much misery for both Britain and Germany, but it did not cause Germany or Britain to surrender (in either of the wars). However, the American unrestricted submarine warfare against Japan did achieve a magnificent success in helping to shatter Japan's economy. While not causing Japan to surrender, it probably played an important role in helping to bring Japanese decision makers to choose this option.

ATROCITIES AT SEA The usefulness of the submarine weapon system in the two world wars lay primarily in its quality of stealth. Submerged and undetected, this killing machine lay (or grouped) in wait for (or pursuit of) its unsuspecting victim and then launched deadly torpedoes to hit it. An explosion of fire followed by flooding sent the victim to the bottom. Sometimes, following sinking a ship, the survivors were killed by the submariners. While some such sinkings Page 223 →may have been due to mistakes in identification, many more were simply done as part of a policy whose goal was a naval siege and to damage and terrorize an opponent. Factors involved in killing survivors include the nature of the persons in command of the submarine, momentary anger, and killing for the sake of killing. Even more at issue are interpretations of the spirit of or obeying commands given,10 as well as specific understandings of the nature of war and what it implies. It may also be the nature of such conflicts that as they continue and escalate, more extreme measures may be used and justified. Defaulting to use an unrestricted naval warfare required major changes in pre–World War I cultural cores, resulting in the creation of different cultural ambiances. Practicing such a merciless and ruthless form of naval tactics escalated what began as a naval blockade into acts of sinking passenger ships carrying innocent civilians and children, attacking hospital ships, or killing survivors in lifeboats or rafts or those floating in the water. Aside from obeying orders, there could be a few reasons for such reckless behavior at sea. But one main reason for why this type of warfare led to such acts is due to two factors. The first is the psychological state of mind that is involved in such warfare: harsh, cruel, determined, and extreme, it exhibits a callous and respectless attitude for human life. A cultural core that gives rise to personal identities containing such psychological ambiance is very conducive to such perceptions as “the end justifies the means.” Second, when the military logic and assumptions behind such warfare are pushed to their limits, there is a fairly good chance that subduing the enemy will eventually be translated into annihilating the enemy (in this case, vessels and their complements). It is thus not too

difficult to realize how crucially important it is to understand the implications of changes in the symbolic realm of cultural cores. In fact, such changes brought submarines in both world wars to be involved in quite a few despicable and nasty acts. Moreover, the nature of such acts, when combined with the falsification of patrol logs, gives substance to a strong suspicion that there were more cases than the ones of which we are aware. The purposes of such deviant acts (beyond placing a naval siege) and the lesson to be taken from them are clear. They must have been done to threaten, create, and instill fear and to send a message about determination and the willingness to “go to the end.” This may also explain why there were some cases where prisoners of war were taken alive following the sinking of a vessel or why some survivors were allowed to live. Some of the commanders Page 224 →of the submarines must have felt sure that taking these prisoners of war or leaving survivors did not pose any legal risk for them. Nevertheless, killing such nonthreatening targets not only is tantamount to murder and is a war crime but is also pragmatically useless and purposeless in the specific situation in which it takes place. Such targets cannot possibly either pose a threat to the relevant submarine or be involved in breaking a supply blockade. However, if the purpose is to destroy ships and kill surviving personnel so that they can no longer serve on another ship, as well as to intimidate potential recruits, one can understand why such carnage took place.11 Those committing these acts apparently may have not felt that they were doing something immoral. Thinking that they were backed by the morality and legitimacy of a state, the thought that they might have committed a deviant act may have not crossed their minds. If it did, they had plenty of state-given excuses to neutralize the thought. Moreover, in case of doubts about the morality and legality of such warfare, eliminating potential witnesses by annihilating the entire complement of a destroyed and sunken ship (and falsifying the log) could be thought of as a good safeguard that made the risk of disclosure probably very minimal. Submariners involved in such acts must have thought that the power of the state would continue to protect them, certainly as long as the state did not lose the war. Killing survivors in the water was sometimes referred to as an “operational necessity” and could be justified by a motivation to reduce the enemy's capabilities to fight, by fear of disclosures by survivors of the presence of a submarine, or by some other justifications. Indeed, because of their small size, submarines could not take on significant numbers of war prisoners and still continue with their war patrol. That, however, could not justify killing survivors who posed no threat to the submarine, which was against all agreements.12 Added to the cases of atrocities, one needs to take into account the pattern of deceiving that was expressed in falsifying patrol logs to hide acts of barbarism and deviance. Acts of deception are instructive because they reveal a contradiction. While submariners used the power and legitimacy of a state to commit hideous acts, their attempts to conceal these acts indicate that those involved did not feel that what they were hiding was moral. Alternatively, those who felt that the act was justified may have been less certain about external reactions and repercussions. The case of sinking the Athenia illustrates this. Interestingly, while we have some cases of falsifying war logs by German U-boats, Westwood—for some unknown reason—mistakenly Page 225 →states that the falsification of the war log of U-30, which sank the Athenia, was “the only occasion upon which a German naval vessel was subject to such censorship.”13

DEVIANCE AND UNRESTRICTED SUBMARINE WARFARE Devising a strategy whose main goal is to starve millions is not only a technical military statement. It is also a profound moral stand. It means that the end justifies the means—any means. As such, this strategy became a cornerstone in constructing cultural cores that eventually legitimized unrestricted submarine warfare. This particular construction of morality, aimed at unleashing an extreme situation of misery, is indeed difficult for a liberal democrat with human rights issues at heart to comprehend or accept. Following how this change in morality and cultural cores took place is a fascinating exercise. Certainly until World War I, the Mahan Strategy seems to have dominated naval planners’ thoughts. But the successful invention, development, and diffusion of new technologies, such as effective antinaval aircraft, the aircraft carrier, the submarine, and missiles, helped push the huge battlewagons into mothballing, museums, or scraping and sent one point of the Mahan Strategy to the crypt. However, Mahan's idea that naval forces can and should be used to

create a catastrophic situation for an enemy by placing a choking siege on it did not vanish into thin air. If questioned at the beginning, deliberations and hesitations disappeared later, as previous cultural cores were altered. Those who discussed the construction, legitimization, and acceptance of a morality that advocated explicitly using a strategy and weapons whose goal it was to practice an ancient siege warfare and starve millions did not seem bothered to a point of not adhering to it. Initial countermorality arguments typically referred to the method of warfare used by submarines and to fear of provoking neutrals from entering the war. Eventually, the dynamics of war making helped to make even such moral dissenting views disappear, and they did not play any major role in avoiding such conduct of war. As cultural cores were undergoing the changes that would make unrestricted submarine warfare a reality, the contrary effect was achieved. Many military planners thought that they had the perfect new weapon system that could make such an obtrusive strategy work—the submarine. Page 226 → The morality at the base of unrestricted submarine warfare was persuasively constructed and supported because it was presented as a “strategy” and a way to win a war. Since this change in the moral substance of how to conduct a submarine warfare conflicted with previous moral standards and did not fit existing cultural cores, significant changes in cultural cores had to be introduced. Questioning and doubts did not last for too long. Those that were willing to use U-boats in an unrestricted fashion gained the upper hand. Consequently, using the submarine as a “terror weapon” became fully legitimized.14 As Terraine, for example, describes in considering the atmosphere in World War I before unrestricted submarine warfare was allowed, “The German admirals were discontented; they had the sense of holding a war-winning weapon in their hands, but not being allowed to use it properly.”15 The nature of this “war-winning weapon” did not escape British eyes. Fleet Admiral Lord Fisher (in retirement) wrote to Winston Churchill in June 1913, “There is nothing else the submarine can do except sink her capture…(this) is freely acknowledged to be an altogether barbarous method of warfare…(but) the essence of war is violence, and moderation in war is imbecility.”16 Fisher's successor as First Sea Lord—Admiral Prince Louis of Battenberg, “said that the suggestion of such barbarity ‘marred’ an otherwise brilliant paper.”17 All this was before 1916. It would not take too long for both the German and British admirals to change their minds and approach. Indeed, Manson points to the historical magnitude of the changes in the cultural cores that took place and allowed the practice of unrestricted submarine warfare: “Few changes in the history of modern warfare have had such an effect, as it meant the repudiation of those international laws of naval warfare which provided for the safety of civilians on the high seas, whether they be neutrals or belligerents.”18 In fact, the changes in cultural cores during World War I were so profound that Dyer had no hesitation to state, in discussing the opening of the door for airships, aircraft, and submarines to hit civilians, “After 1915, everybody was a legitimate target.”19 Given the lessons from the U-boat warfare during World War I and from 1939 on, the United States “completely reversed itself within hours of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 and began to justify its own unrestricted submarine campaign in language first used by the German Admiralty Staff during World War I!”20 The way to understand the reconstruction of cultural cores that included such an abstruse morality is, of course, to understand the military and political Page 227 →minds that were involved in this construction. The determination to win a war—especially on the side of those who do not seem to prevail, but most certainly not only there—has led military planners and politicians to consider and develop extreme positions, such that were unacceptable prior to World War I and illegal before World War II. These deliberations both changed and reflected the changes in cultural cores. Good examples for similar changes (in other forms of combat) can be observed in such activities as those of the kamikaze pilots, kaitens,21 or suicide bombers.22 The desire to squelch and reduce an opponent who is defined as “the enemy” to complete and unconditional surrender and to present this to relevant audiences as a worthy and positive goal is the logical conclusion of much military planning. Thus, morality—which is socially constructed—has become an important tool in conducting wars. Its importance derives from its being a main ingredient in the social construction of cultural cores. Moral considerations have become an essential facet in attempts to justify acts that appear brutish and revolting in other constructions of morality. Nevertheless, morality in itself is insufficient. The element of power needs to enter the equation as well. Military operations backed by political and military influence are good illustrations of generating and using power to

legitimize such operations. The influence used by politicians and military men was partly based on the high positions these men held in civil and military hierarchies, the authority military planners had as such, and the ability of politicians to convince enough people that they are right. Moreover, the submarine technology and its demonstrated capabilities provided credibility to the efforts of persuasion in which these hawkish military and political figures were involved. Power entered the decision to use unrestricted submarine warfare on a few levels. The first was by creating legitimacy for the warfare itself. Among military planners, that was obvious. At first, political figures objected to entering such a wild and ruthless form of warfare, fearing reprisals and the risk of the expansion of the war. However, the pressure of and persuasive logic used by military planners prevailed. It was not necessarily a struggle between “warmongers” and “peaceniks” but a debate about the legitimate ways to conduct a war from moral and pragmatic points of view. Using the power of the state to create legitimacy for unrestricted submarine warfare did not stop there. During World War I and following that war, German submariners were made into subjects of admiration in Germany. Before and during World War II, the Nazi state celebrated its submariners Page 228 →as heroes. U-boat commanders who “scored high” (i.e., sank many ships) received citations, enjoyed popular exposure and personal admiration, and met with state officials, including Hitler. German submariners who were decorated were formally introduced by their decorations: for example, a captain of a U-boat might be presented as Kapitänleutnant So-andSo, “Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves” (a reference to one of the highest possible decorations given to Nazi Germany's submariners). Moreover, following the two world wars, very few submariners had to face a court of law and account for their deeds. The victors certainly did not indict submariners from their own fleets who were suspected of committing atrocities, and it was rare that enemy submariners had to face charges. Raeder and, much more so, Dönitz were perhaps the most prominent high-ranking naval officers who had to answer for some of the commands they issued during the war and who were thus forced—along with the court—to deal with the morality of waging a war of aggression and the strategy and practical use of unrestricted submarine warfare in flagrant violation of naval treaties. Following Nazi Germany's unconditional surrender in May 1945, Dönitz was accused, at the Nuremberg war trials, of the typical three crimes prevalent in those trials: crimes against peace, war crimes, and crimes against humanity. The court found him not guilty on all of these charges. He was also accused of being involved in the planning and launching of a war of aggression and crimes against the laws of war—specifically, conducting unrestricted submarine warfare and issuing orders instructing U-boat crews to be ruthless and not to rescue survivors. The court found Dönitz not guilty for attacking British armed merchant ships but guilty of violating the 1936 London Naval Treaty that had reaffirmed a 1930 naval agreement signed by Germany. This is an interesting and important finding. British merchant ships were armed for a reason: to protect themselves against attacks by German ships, including submarines. Arming merchant ships, however, exposed them to attack, and the attackers could easily claim that they had violated no treaty. However, the judges did find that practicing unrestricted submarine warfare—in and of itself—violated naval treaties and understandings. Morally, therefore, international agreements expressed a clear stand against unrestricted submarine warfare.23 These treaties had been freely and mutually agreed to by the signatory nations. But when war and hostilities began, the power of states enabled them to ignore these agreements and get Page 229 →involved in unrestricted submarine warfare. This state power constructed legitimacy for this kind of warfare. Nevertheless, it was not too difficult for Dönitz's defense to show that Allied naval forces behaved in a similar manner. In this context, it is important to note that in May 1940, the British Admiralty ordered its naval forces to sink all ships in the Skagerrak (the northern part of the sea between Norway and Sweden) on sight. Moreover, U.S. Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz24 admitted (in a letter to the court) that American submarines carried on unrestricted submarine warfare in the Pacific Ocean. Both he and Admiral Thomas Hart provided supporting statements for Dönitz. It can thus be understood why Dönitz's orders (or the pressure of the Nazi naval headquarters) to conduct unrestricted submarine warfare were not stated as such in his sentence. Dönitz was found guilty on two counts: crimes against the laws of war and planning, initiating, and waging wars of aggression. He was sentenced to 10 years in prison.25

That practicing unrestricted submarine warfare is a morally questionable issue is obvious. It contradicted national and international wishes, understandings, and agreements, and it required its supporters to spend a great deal of time and effort to persuade audiences that there were enough good reasons to practice it. Its questionable nature may have not been so clear in World War I, but from the 1930s on, it definitely was. Still, the United States, the United Kingdom, Japan, and Germany used their power to legitimize and practice this type of warfare. This is a good illustration of the ambiguity inherent in deciding what is and what is not deviance and of the social construction of both morality and the power generated and used to enforce or practice specific moralities.

REMEMBRANCE AND COMMEMORATION An important ingredient in the composition of cultural cores is collective (or cultural) memory. How a specific period or event is constructed in such a way that its memory will be infused with feelings (usually, but not always, positive feelings) is an important issue. Commemoration is not just remembering but remembering with a moralistic feeling. Memory agents, groups, and countries are deep into the business of remembering and of commemoration. Their efforts may be carried out in museums, statues, or Page 230 →monuments, but these require that one travels to them, an activity that takes time, money, and energy. Other sites of commemoration are days of remembrance, ceremonies, books, and movies. With the development of the Internet, the World Wide Web has become another arena for remembering and commemoration (Hess 2007; Schwalbe 2006). I searched the Internet for information on submarines, and the experience was astounding—and not only because one can easily drown in the sea of details there. Wars are a traditional focus for remembrances and commemorations. World War II seems to invoke particularly good feelings and memories among the victors.26 However, wars do not necessarily provide easy subjects. Just thinking of the trench warfare during World War I or the Vietnam War makes the issue of how to remember and commemorate difficult or even toxic pasts painfully clear.27 Submarine warfare presents an even more difficult and complex challenge. The submarine branch of the U.S. Navy (and the Royal Navy) is sometimes referred to as the “silent service.” Indeed, submarine activities are typically shrouded in secrecy and mystery, as the very nature of submarines is intimately connected to stealth. However, one needs to remember that the term service, which, for some people, may imply something positive, has at its business end a few torpedo tubes. How do different nations, individuals, or groups remember and commemorate submarines? Post–World War II Germany is a good place to start. Olick's landmark 2005 book examines the violent, brutal, and painful-toremember Third Reich period in German history. Following the German defeat and unconditional surrender in May 1945, the issue of how to remember this period became crucial for Germans. Olick points out that the central issue for both victors and vanquished “in the wake of unimaginable destruction and atrocity was how widely the stain of guilt spread over Germany” (16) and “how and why the Germans themselves asked and answered” this question (327). Characterizing Germany as “the house of the hangman,” in which some memories can and others cannot be discussed, Olick observes that Germany's national identity is tied to its collective memory of a difficult and monstrous Nazi past. Examining the formative years when processing the memory of the Third Reich and its meanings and implications crystallized (1943–49), he concludes that Germany would have probably become what it is now regardless of what the post–World War II occupation did or did not do, reminding us of the resilient nature of cultures. Culture is not a T-shirt that one can change and replace on a whim. It Page 231 →is not a temporary fashion but reflects profound and meaningful roots. To a very large and significant extent, culture in general and, more specifically, collective memories help shape social and personal identities and therefore provide meaning in dayto-day life. Some pre-Nazi cultural trends survived the Nazi period, and some Nazi cultural ideas survived the end of the Nazi period. Consequently, Germany's memory reflects a mixture of old and new cultural trends and ideas. It continues the past but also breaks away from it.28 Olick's analysis makes two important points. First, memory is not a “thing” but an interactive process—much like a conversation or a dialogue in which meaning is not “there” but is made to emerge by a process of social construction and interaction. Second, to understand postwar German remembrance, one needs to start examining the combined evidence prior to and after Nazi Germany's surrender. Faithful to these considerations, Olick

examines German sources as well as Allied sources and the interaction between them both before and after the German surrender. Among some of his discoveries are how Germans came to characterize themselves as victims29 and how so many of them saw the status of postwar Germans in the world as similar to that of the Jews in Nazi Germany. According to Olick, they felt that they were a pariah people treated as badly as the Jews had been ( 327). Further, Olick documents the persistence of Germans’ commitment to a national identity and their resistance to attributions of collective guilt. Olick's book powerfully examines how Germans have tried to normalize and come to terms with their toxic past. His conclusion is that the relation of postwar Germany to the Third Reich was not one of restoration or revolution but, rather, one of reconstruction (332)—that is, a critical mixing of the old with the new. Nazi Germany's unrestricted submarine warfare during World War II raises some interesting issues about memory. Nazi submariners were among those that fought a lost war. They fought it grimly, loyally, and defiantly to the very end. Indeed, noting the high casualty rate among U-boat crews, Manson points out that these figures “also reflect Germany's desperate attempt to prevent or postpone defeat at tremendous human costs.”30 Prior to committing suicide in his Berlin bunker, Adolph Hitler appointed Admiral Karl Dönitz—chief of the Nazi submarines and the architect of Nazi unrestricted submarine warfare—as his successor, the new head of the leftovers from the Nazi state. That Hitler directly appointed the U-boat commander as his successor raises interesting and complex issues if one wants to Page 232 →remember Dönitz or the U-boats—so loyal to the Nazi state—in positive terms. The nasty and brutal campaign of the U-boats has to be neutralized as well. Clearly, if Dönitz and the U-boats are to be remembered in a positive light, the strong connection to the Nazi state must be severed, explained, or at least neutralized. Theoretically, there are a few ways to do that, such as portraying the Uboats as just doing a professional job, under difficult conditions and courageously. Eliminating the Nazi connection by not telling audiences how many of the U-boats’ officers and sailors joined the Nazi Party or how many were Nazis is another way for Germans to deal with the Nazi past. De-emphasizing that Dönitz was the last Nazi führer is another. Describing the war of the U-boats in neutral terms of “enemy” versus “enemy” without any reference to the ideological nature of the “enemy” is yet another way. For example, the 1965 Cold War movie The Bedford Incident31 portrays an American destroyer chasing a submerged Soviet submarine. The destroyer has on board Commander Wolfgang Schrepke (played by Eric Portman), who is presented by the captain of the Bedford, Captain Eric Finlander (played by Richard Widmark), as a former U-boat ace who sank over 200,000 tons of Allied shipping during World War II but serves in the present in the West German Navy and, under NATO,32 as a consultant on the American destroyer. An American journalist who is also on board the destroyer, Mr. Ben Munceford (played by Sidney Poitier), sees Commander Schrepke and expresses his surprise, stating that he never expected to meet him on an American destroyer, because he still connected him with Hitler's navy. To this remark, Commander Schrepke says, “Your pardon, Admiral Dönitz's navy, sir,” disassociating himself and Dönitz from Hitler and the Nazis.33 A nonfictional illustration is the way Malmann Showell describes the career of Fritz-Julius Lemp, who sank the Athenia.34 Malmann Showell finds it necessary to state that Lemp joined the Reichsmarine in 1931, “two years before Hitler became Chancellor.” The importance of this statement lies in its subtext—that is, in making it clear that Lemp joined the German navy for professional reasons and not because he was a Nazi. Whether Lemp joined the Nazi Party later is not stated. Also, the obvious choice that Lemp had if Nazism was not his cup of tea was to quit, but as we know, he did not. Combatant countries of the two world wars have gone about commemorating Page 233 →their soldiers in general and particularly their submariners in much the same ways. They have built memorials and museum exhibits and established annual remembrance ceremonies, and their countrymen and countrywomen have written books and made movies. When one examines how different navies that were involved in World War II remember their submariners, however, one can easily see differences. The typical memorial sites with the names of submarines and submariners and the statement that submarine so-and-so is “still on patrol” are similar. But the crews of World War II U-boats seem to be remembered in a way that no other submariners are. There is a very impressive website, in both English and German, commemorating the activities of U-boat crews.35

With a click on the computer, one gains access to a wealth of detail about each and every U-boat of World War II. The features include such details as a sub's launch date, names and dates of commanders, patrols, sinkings, the fate of the sub, and more. The site has impressive daily memorials, details on submarine movies and books, and interviews. What makes this site commemorative, however, is its sympathy for the German submariners, the socalled heroes of the deep. The site does not ignore problematic acts by U-boats but tries to frame these acts within a rhetoric that minimizes their vicious nature. For example, no mention is made of whether specific U-boat commanders were members of the Nazi Party or not or of their ideological/political stands. This is a significant omission not only because the chief of the U-boats was elected by Hitler himself to continue the Nazi legacy but because some famous U-boat commanders were enthusiastic Nazis. How many of the U-boat commanders (and crews) were such Nazis or members of the Nazi Party is unclear. Practicing this context-free description means that actual combat is separated from its political and ideological elements. This separation makes possible the presentation of the war as a purely technical issue and enables presenters to ignore the complex moral and political context of World War II. The site attempts to project U-boat submariners as loyal and brave sailors who just did their job by carrying out a clean fight against their enemies, against all odds. Negative information is presented at a minimal level (if at all) and, if possible, contrasted with positive information. When the movie U-571 came out in 2000 and showed the U-boat crew machine-gunning surviving sailors in a boat, the U-boat site published a scathing criticism of this scene, claiming that this depiction of activities of U-boat submariners Page 234 →was tantamount to spreading a myth.36 The U-boat site even includes a long article about how nicely U-boat crews treated survivors from merchant ships in a few cases.37 Attempts to refer to U-boats in neutral or heroic terms are not limited to this website. The National Geographic and History television channels have presented, in various programs, either searches for sunken U-boats or the Battle of the Atlantic. In some programs, one hears modern-day researchers discuss U-boat warfare in neutral terms, referring to those who served on U-boats as regular sailors who “just did their duty” under very difficult circumstances and who, in performing their duty, showed courage, persistence, and heroism—as if the distance in time from the ruthless unrestricted warfare of World War II somehow erased or mitigated the complex moral distinctions between aggressors and defenders, between Nazis and Allies, between wrong and right. Two very good and well-known World War II submarine movies project this image as well: The Enemy Below (1957) and Das Boot (1981).38 The second is probably the best submarine movie ever made. In both movies, the commander of the U-boat is not a Nazi sympathizer, and an officer who is a Nazi sympathizer is presented in a negative light and even ridiculed. In both, the U-boats are destroyed at the end, but the struggle staged is presented as what many observers may refer to as “professional conduct,” with little overt ideological or political context. In the first movie, the U-boat commander—Captain Von Stolberg (played by Curt Jurgens)—does not hide his contempt for the leadership of Nazi Germany and the war they are conducting. In one scene, he says, “It's not a good war…. There is no honor in this war. Memories will be ugly, even if we win…. If we die, we die without God. It's a bad war. Its reason is twisted. Its purpose is dark.” He also shows very little liking for a Nazi officer. Responding to tactics used by the commander of the American destroyer that chases him, he says that he is “not an amateur.” In the second movie, the stoic U-boat commander—supposedly Kapitänleutnant Heinrich LehmannWillenbrock39 (played by Jürgen Prochnow)—does not present anti-Nazi attitudes but expresses some criticism regarding the way in which the war is conducted. Radio Times Guide to Films states that the movie “depicts the steely captain…and his crew as courageous conscripts serving a cause to which they are not wholeheartedly committed.”40 Both films present U-boat submariners as professionals just doing their best Page 235 →and portray them in a very sympathetic light. Indeed, a common feeling of watching these movies is sympathy to the U-boats’ crews. Even some of the more comprehensive books on submarine warfare contain accounts that deliberately ignore the nature of the Nazi regime that sent U-boats on their deadly missions. Perhaps the most famous atrocity committed by a U-boat involved the attack of U-852 on the Peleus. Gannon discusses this incident and writes that this is the “one documented case…in the war” of machine-gunning survivors in the water, before he adds, “though, of course, there may have been others.” A case in point, he writes, is “when a U-boat shooting with deck guns

against a merchant ship's waterline or radio house or antennae hit crewmen in the process of lowering lifeboats.”41 Waiting for the crewmen first to leave the boat, I suspect, was not a consideration that crossed the attackers’ minds.42 Gentile describes how U-754 “ran…down the line of barges, firing into the hulls as he passed by…. In order to shield themselves from exploding gun shells, each three man crew was forced to scramble over the cargo to the opposite side of the barge.”43 Messimer notes, “The killing of shipwrecked sailors, whether deliberately or as the result of some other intended act, is atrocious. Heinous acts, however, were regularly committed by all belligerents of World War II. In fact, war itself is atrocious.”44 Messimer focuses on the bizarre fact that a U-852 medical officer took an active part in the carnage, something that he felt “made the act even more odious.” Tarrant writes that “apart from one despicable incident” of U-852, “the Kriegsmarine fought bravely and fairly,” and “when the waters finally closed over the tortured ruins of the Third Reich the black, white and red swastika ensign of the Kriegsmarine was still bravely flying.”45 This is quite an amazing statement. Hadley mentions the Torbay incident together with the U-852–Peleus incident.46 His point is that the British concealed from the court this case that could help the defense. Indeed, it might have. Nevertheless, one evil does not justify another. As noted earlier, the morality of victors, empowered by their obvious stand of power, could easily explain why deviant acts by one party to the war were prosecuted by the other side. Even Miller, who is usually more informed, refers to Eck, the commander of the U-852 when it torpedoed the Peleus, as “the only war criminal.”47 Vause's works refer to trials of U-boat submariners as “show trials.” Gunton, a British author, uses a more complex approach in his 2003 Page 236 →book. When he describes the cases involving the Landovery Castle, the Peleus, the Wilhelm Gustloff, the Tjisalak, and the Jean Nicolet,48 he discusses these incidences as historical facts. However, when he refers to the Wahoo incident, he states that it “allegedly killed survivors of a Japanese troop transport” (59), and when he refers to the Torbay incident, he states that it “was said to have machine-gunned survivors of a troopship” (59). Moreover, having described these atrocities, he moves on to describe three cases of “balanced…examples of courtesy and humanity,” by one Italian and two German submarines (60–61, 141). Gunton notes that following the Laconia incident, no such acts were allowed (61). Supposedly, describing heinous acts together with kind acts does not make the first less heinous. But, in fact, that is exactly the purpose of putting the two types of events together; otherwise, it would be difficult to explain why one would put them together in the first place. In this context, Nicholas Monsarrat's foreword to Schaeffer's 1952 book U-Boat 977 is instructive. Monsarrat served in the British Navy in World War II on a number of warships that escorted and protected convoys. He ended the war as a commander of a frigate. His wartime experience served him well as the subject of two famous books, The Cruel Sea (1951, made into a movie in 1953) and Three Corvettes.49 Undoubtedly, Monsarrat knew very well the experience of World War II convoys. When Heinz Schaeffer published his U-Boat 977 in 1952, Monsarrat was asked and agreed to write a foreword. The story of U-97750 is interesting in itself. Commanded by Oberleutnant Heinz Schaeffer, it left Kristiansand, Norway, on May 2, 1945, for a patrol. When Nazi Germany surrendered, U-977 was in Norwegian waters. Schaeffer decided to take his boat to Argentina. He allowed 16 men to leave the boat, and on May 10, they were put ashore in Norway. The submarine then submerged, and it remained continuously underwater for 66 days using its snorkel device for underwater breathing—not an easy undertaking. U-977 arrived at Mar del Plata, Argentina, on August 17, 1945, without any casualties. Schaeffer's book describes that extraordinary voyage.51 In his foreword, Monsarrat is frank. He admits that Schaeffer's book is readable and engrossing, but Monsarrat's attitude toward the crew of U-977 is clearly one of contempt. He did not feel obligated to collaborate in German efforts to normalize their history or to see themselves as victims. He notes acidly, “You will recall a remarkable discovery we made when we conquered Page 237 →Germany—that there were actually no Nazis there at all, just millions of ‘decent Germans’ suffering terribly because of the awful things they'd been made to do by other people” (7).52 Monsarrat states in his foreword, “Among the worst…willing servants of world-enslavement were the men serving in German U-boats” (8). He characterizes submarine warfare as “a repellent form of human behavior, whether practiced by ourselves or by the Germans; it is cruel, treacherous, and revolting, under any

flag” (8). Although he admits that serving in submarines is a bold thing to do and involves courage, he adds, “What constitutes their life work—killing by stealth, without warning and without quarter—is evil as well as skilful; moreover, it is predominantly evil, and, when we come to our senses, inexcusably so” (8–9). Monsarrat cites Schaeffer's description of how the U-boat's Kriegsmarine reacted to their sinking of a ship: “There was, of course, no warning given; simply the sighting, the stalking, the hand on the trigger, the sweet moment of murder. When it was all over, the author tells us, when the survivors had been left to die, and the wrecked ship extinguished by the sea, ‘we put on some gramophone records, and hear the old songs that remind us of home.’” (10)53 He ends his forward by suggesting that in reading this book and “absorbing its filthy and violent outlines, we know just how far politics can travel on the road to insanity, and what men can do to other men in their greedy lust for power” (10). Another tactic to neutralize the dreadful reality of unrestricted submarine warfare and its accompanying atrocities is simply to ignore or repress incidents involving potential war crimes, as well as making them sink into an oblivion of forgetfulness. Thus, both Miller (2000) and Compton-Hall (1991)—two British naval historians who specialize in submarine warfare—simply do not mention the Torbay, although Compton-Hall is quick to mention Japanese, American, and German atrocities. Jürgen Rohwer (1996) and Mallman Showell (2002)—two Germans who wrote extensively on submarine warfare—do not mention any atrocity. In many respects, Petersen's 1981 movie Das Boot (The Boat) helped to shape modern perceptions of the U-boat war and to reshape the collective memory of a recovering nation.54 This movie is based on a book written by German author Lothar Gunther Buchheim, who wrote it from his personal Page 238 →experiences in the war while he served as an officer in the propaganda unit of the Nazi navy, specifically as a war correspondent accompanying U-96 on a patrol in 1941.55 Although the novel is not a literal account of the events but, rather, an accumulated memoir, the film's realism is further accounted for by the exquisite U-96 facsimile model serving for the setting of the movie, which was completed through consultation with Buchheim in the early stages and with Fregattenkapitän Heinrich Lehmann-Willenbrock, the real captain on board U-96 (who, at the time of the patrol, was a Kapitänleutnant), who also served as the model character for the captain in the movie. Like any director portraying historic events, Petersen chose relevant scenes from Buchheim's novel that were perceived suitable for the image and perspective the director wanted to portray. Nevertheless, it is instructive that he chose to avoid including a scene described in the book in which the submarine's mistaken firing on a neutral Spanish passenger ship luckily malfunctioned. Buchheim described the scene of the captain admitting to the narrator that had the torpedo exploded, he would have had to kill any survivors to conceal the incident.56 Remembering and forgetting are indeed two sides of one coin. Moreover, this issue can become complicated because what is remembered and what is forgotten can become targets for deliberately selective efforts.57 There are numerous examples of efforts by powerful organizations—sometimes states—to blot events from public memory. For example, after World War II, such figures as Jean-Paul Sartre and Charles de Gaulle suggested to French people, contrary to historical evidence, that except for a few marginal collaborating traitors, the French were united during the war and resisted the Nazi occupation. As Suleiman points out, such a misleading and deceptive mythical presentation could be embraced “only at the price of many things passed over in silence.”58 Müller's 2002 work indeed analyzes how power plays a part in European remembrance of World War II. The massacre that Soviet secret service agents committed in Katyn Forest was repressed by Soviet authorities for dozens of years.59 Jacobs and Pool (2004) claim that the memory of a May 1945 attack by British aircraft on ships in the Baltic Sea, causing the death of thousands of survivors from Nazi concentration camps, was deliberately repressed by British authorities. Likewise, the sinking of the troopship Rohna by German glider bombs in November 1943, causing the death of more than 1,100, was not made public for years.60 Germany's remembrance of their submarines from World War I and, more so, Page 239 →World War II is remarkable. Many Germans and sympathizers seem to have been quite successful in creating and sustaining the image of the submariners of the world wars as one of heroism—as if the unrestricted submarine warfare, sometimes involving the murder of helpless survivors of sinkings and the falsification of submarine war logs, indicated a clear, fair, and courageous

war. Searching for sites commemorating submarine warfare of other countries on the Internet reveals a somewhat different pattern than the remembrance (and commemoration) of the U-boats. One can find rich information about some of these submarine fleets, but no in-depth positive and sympathetic Internet remembrance and commemoration site exists for other countries’ fleets as for the U-boats. Indeed, while American submarines played a major role in World War II and while some British, Japanese, and Italian subs played roles as well, it seems that very many people associate submarine warfare precisely with U-boats. The submarine operations of the two world wars seem to be identified primarily with U-boats and then with American submarines. The United States has some of the operations of its World War II submarines cited on Wikipedia, and a list of all lost U.S. submarines is on the Internet as well.61 However, the textual description in most cases is detailed but not well organized. A list of lost World War II British submarines can also be found on the web,62 but the details are relatively meager. Lists of lost Japanese submarines are more difficult to come by. However, some brief, almost telegraphic information is available.63 Finally, a list of lost World War II Italian submarines is available, but again the information is meager.64

SUBMARINES FOR POPULAR CONSUMPTION There is one important and powerful experience of remembering, even commemorating, in which people can participate without traveling too far and at a relatively low expense: movies. Overall, with some exceptions, movies are not explicitly made to preserve memory. They are made for such purposes as entertainment, profit, and anti-and pro-war propaganda. The proliferation of documentaries, especially for television, has expanded and increased this possibility. For example, DeBauche (1997) showed how American movies were geared to increase patriotism regarding World War I.65 Manvell,66 Page 240 →Nornes and Yukio (1994), and High (2003) reveal a similar phenomenon regarding Japanese war films. Russian,67 British,68 and American69 movies did not fall far behind. Indeed, during the two world wars, all the combatant countries produced propaganda movies geared toward increasing patriotism. Nevertheless, many of these movies can be interpreted as both creating memories of the wars and commemorating events and people of these wars. Some of these movies are even based, partially or fully, on real events.70 A simple example is the 1957 The Bridge on the River Kwai (which won seven Oscars). While British POWs were indeed involved in building a bridge over the Kwai, the rest of the movie's plot has very little to do with historical reality. For example, Alec Guinness's portrayal of Colonel Nicholson's conduct in the movie has nothing to do with the conduct of the real British officer who was there, Lieutenant Colonel Philip Toosey. Pam Cook (2005) examines how movies mediate history through using memory and nostalgia. She points out that such a mediation process creates knowledge claims that challenge accepted notions about history (very much in line with Rosenstone's 1994, 1998, and 2006 works). In a similar—but more focused—discussion, Summerfield (2007) examines specifically the relationship between films about World War II and the memory of that war. She finds that historical war events have indeed been mediated by movies and that these mediations have been challenged by individuals and parties who had interests in the way in which the past was remembered. Michael Bakhtin's “genre memory” of the war films,71 Robert Burgoyne's72 suggestion that war stories (and movies) create national mythologies, and Anthony Smith's point that wars and cinematic images of wars have molded national identities (Smith 1981) all suggest that stories and images of war projected in war movies have a strong impact on the creation of collective memories, national identities, and myths. Indeed, Bourke's 1999 and Landsberg's 2004 works show respectively how cinema influences actual combatants’ perceptions and memories and how war memories are “translated” across cultures/ communities via film (and other media). There are probably more than 3,000 to 4,000 war movies. Among them, there is a much smaller subcategory of submarine movies. Making a superficial count yielded more than 80 submarine movies and more than 20 war movies where submarines play a secondary but very significant role (e.g., On the Beach [1959], The Bedford Incident [1965], and Bear Island [1980]). Many popular war movies and definitely submarine movies made after wars Page 241 →play interesting and important roles in commemoration and the creation of collective memories and images about the nature of submarine warfare. Moreover, because submarine life has been shrouded in

mystery and secrecy, submarine movies may educate naive audiences as to what a submarine looks like, what submariners do, and how they live and function in this submersible vehicle. Many people have not experienced war, especially submarine warfare, and movies and books about submarines can persuade very large audiences that they know what war and life in a submarine look and feel like. Because these movies have been watched by so many and use a combined assault of sound and imagery on the senses, their impact is probably considerable. Kuhn (2002) examined moviegoing in the 1930s and showed how important watching movies was for audiences in terms of daily encouragement, growing up, friendships, and play—in short, in helping to mold social identities. Thus, as Beidler (1998) argues, there is a fairly good chance that for many of the people who have watched submarine movies, the images and stories of these movies may actually become their memory of what submarine warfare is. Moreover, even if audiences are aware that they are watching fiction that simulates a war experience, this exposure may lead to the creation of a “dominant fiction” effect,73 that is, a constructed image of a consensual national reality with which these audiences can identify. This image can project war in positive or negative terms. Whether the textual or cinematic representations of war have anything to do with the actual realities of war is a relevant, interesting, and important question. As war movies intend to persuade audiences that what they see represents real wars, such persuading devices as uniforms, hardware (e.g., rifles, tanks, aircraft, guns, and ships), sounds (of military jargon, explosives, and shots) and scene sights need to appear in a way that will suspend the potential disbelief of audiences. This is sometimes done by real authentic artifacts; at other times, audiences are led to believe that what they see are actual authentic artifacts, but they are not. For example, the tanks used in the 1970 award-winning movie Patton did not exist during World War II. The tanks used as German panzers in the 1980 movie The Big Red One are improved Sherman tanks. Likewise, the German submarine we see surfacing in the 1953 movie The Cruel Sea is definitely not a U-boat. Another issue in war movies is the point of view of the filmmaker and how it affects the way war is perceived and remembered. Obviously, a movie that appears to Page 242 →be credible and authentic may stand a better chance to influence audiences to accept the filmmaker's point of view. Moreover, Rosenstone (1994, 1998, 2006) suggests that we should regard movies not as compared to written history but as an exclusive way of telling the past and thus creating individual and cultural memories. Despite the disclaimer, Rosenstone implies that the history that unfolds in war movies is no better or worse than the historical version of the same events. Perhaps a more pertinent question is which version of events, the cinematic or the historical, is more persuasive or has a stronger impact and why. Furthermore, Teshome's 1989 work points out that movies can be thought of as guardians of popular memory that define the past as a political issue of social action, faithful to the traditions and ways in which stories are told in the cultures about which movies are made. Indeed, some of them are. For example, Greene's 1999 work looks at how France's problematic political position during World War II was mediated by postwar French cinema.74 To increase the suspension of disbelief of audiences and to create credibility, war movies frequently weave their plots around real events. Some war movies are closer to historical narratives, others are pretty far from them, and still others are pure creations of filmmakers’ imaginations. Such war movies as Patton (1970) and The Dam Busters (1954) fall within the first category. The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) and The Battle of the Bulge (1965) are in the second, and The Guns of Navarone (1961), Kelly's Heroes (1970), and Where Eagles Dare (1968) are in the third. Nevertheless, audiences that watch these movies, even those in the second and third categories, may still have the impression that these films depict what war is all about, or the movies may create the expectation that wars will or should look like those portrayed in them. War movies may inspire some moviegoers to search for relevant historical narratives. Others may take the film as history. Submarine movies are no different from other war movies. Focusing on British submarines, Redford distinguishes among three types of roles submarines play in movies: a minor, background role; an invisible, threatening role;, and a major, salient and direct role.75 While viewers of the first and second types are told what submarines can do, viewers of the third type are exposed to what life in and operations of a submarine may look like. Most people have never seen, much less visited, a real submarine, and even fewer have actually lived on one, even for a single patrol. Submarine movies can provide spectators with some idea of what such an experience Page 243

→might be like and how those serving in these “pigboats” act. Such World War II submarine movies as Destination Tokyo (1943), We Dive at Dawn (1943), Run Silent, Run Deep (1958), Submarine Seahawk (1958), Torpedo Run (1958), Up Periscope (1959), Mystery Submarine (1963), Torpedo Bay (1963), Das Boot (1981), and U-571 (2000) all attempt, in different ways, to involve their audiences in life on a submarine. Some of the better ones even try to use visual or audio triggers to convey such things as the smell, the boredom, and the noise from the diesels. By the visual images and the language they present, some of these movies may also perform a propaganda function. They may either deter people from sympathizing with submariners or encourage them to volunteer to serve in submarines. For example, one wartime submarine movie (Destination Tokyo [1943]) encourages its audience to share its ending wish that the submariners have a “good hunting,” accompanied by the sight and sound of torpedoes being launched from the tubes of a submerged submarine. Some movies cite the involvement of the military to persuade audiences that the history and the sense of memory and commemoration that they are presenting is real. Many submarine movies state that they are based on facts, and many thank the “silent service” for helping them to produce the movie. Charles Lockwood,76 the American commander of submarines in the Pacific Fleet for most of World War II, was the technical adviser for some of these movies.77 In 2007, the U.S. Naval Institute published its list of what it considered as the best 25 navy movies. Among those, 7 (28 percent) are submarine movies.78 That is a respectful crop. In many respects, many submarine movies were relatively easy and inexpensive to make. Often, filmmakers were able to secure a navy's cooperation and had access to real submarines and crews. If one navy was unhappy with a script, unwilling to help, or just gave the production a hard time, another navy could be used. For example, the U.S. Navy refused to provide the producers of the 1959 movie On the Beach (directed by Stanley Kramer) with access to a nuclear submarine as the director wanted, because they did not like the script.79 Consequently, a lengthy process of negotiations took place between the navy and Kramer, as the navy was trying to introduce some significant changes into the script. While some understandings were reached and some cooperation was eventually made possible, the British Royal Navy was happy to provide a diesel-electric submarine instead.80 Suid notes that by the time the American navy was willing to let Kramer take some pictures Page 244 →of one of its nuclear submarines, it was too late: “The Navy…routed a nuclear submarine to Australia for Kramer, but the USS Segundo arrived too late to star in the movie. By then Kramer had used the British submarine HMS Andrew with its sailors dressed as Americans.”81 Some movies used a studio mock-up of a submarine. The cramped and claustrophobic inner hull of a submarine provides a good location for dramas, tension, and suspense. Modern readers may be more familiar with such relatively recent submarine movies as The Hunt for Red October (1990), Crimson Tide (1995), U-571 (2000); Submerged (2001); Danger beneath the Sea (2001)82; K-19: The Widowmaker (2002), and In Enemy Hands (2004). However, submarine movies go a very long way back. One of the first of such movies was Submarine (1928), which tells of romantic rivalry and men trapped in a sunken submarine. Men without Women (1930) also portrays men trapped inside a sunken submarine. The situation of a sunken submarine with trapped men and rescue teams that have to make tough choices gives rise to tales of heroism and cowardice under stress and was repeated in such later movies as Morning Departure (1950),83 Gray Lady Down (1978), Submerged (2001), and Sub Down (2003). Of greater interest to the subject of this book are popular submarine movies (and occasionally books) that may have had an impact on real people and perhaps even on events. Impacts are not easy to measure, and they can range from encouraging willingness to volunteer to a hazardous service, providing role models for submariners’ behavior, creating a favorable public ambiance (political and social) and support for submarine warfare, and possibly more. The interesting periods to examine are the ones between the two world wars and after World War II. In both periods, telling people that the experience of doing battle with a submarine was important could generate revenue and could encourage younger generations of moviegoers to volunteer to serve in submarines. The power, fear, and brutality associated with using submarines became obvious during World War I. This war saw the birth of the submarine as a fearsome weapon, and during this war and in the years following, we would expect books and movies about submarines to be written and made. After the war, looking back and wanting to

say something about it, as well as remembering the experience, must have created a genuine need for people who took part in the war in various roles but were interested in how the war might have looked like in specific arenas—for example, submarines and airplanes. Moreover, moviemakers in different countries could Page 245 →create and tailor war movies that they felt were oriented to the needs and demands of audiences in their countries. Kester (2003) notes that in Germany, the German navy was held in high regard. The period of the Weimar Republic yielded seven movies about the navy in World War I,84 two of which were romantic submarine movies, based on historical characters or events.85 Another film86 focused on “a number of U-boat veterans [who] gather to reminisce about their exciting life at sea. The better part of the film therefore consists of a flashback…[and] was an unconcealed tribute to heroic death.”87 The premier of yet another film88 took place close to the day of Hitler's inauguration as German chancellor, and, in fact, he attended the Berlin premiere.89 The movie portrays the life of a U-boat crew in battle and on shore.90 Germany was not the only place where movies about submarines were made during the period between the wars. For example, at least eight such full-length popular movies were produced elsewhere between 1928 and 1939, and seven of these were made in the United States. Frank Capra's 1928 movie Submarine uses a submarine to weave a romantic drama of a competition between a submariner and a diver for a woman's heart. This basic romantic plot is spiced with an additional plot of trapped submariners being rescued from a sunken submarine. John Ford's 1930 Men without Women is also about an attempt to rescue sailors from a sunken submarine. In this case, the effort is complicated by one of the submarine's crew who has a concealed problematic past and uses a false identity.91 Ford's 1931 The Seas Beneath tells the story of a Q-ship towing a submarine. The Q-ship intends to lure a German submarine into a trap and destroy it. Typical of Ford, the movie is not exclusively focused on the sea battle but also concerns opposing groups of submariners and civilians on shore. Marion Gering's 1932 The Devil and the Deep is a bleak tragic drama, which contrasts a jealous submarine skipper (played by Charles Laughton) and his wife (played by Tallulah Bankhead), who finds solace in the arms of the executive officer (played by Gary Cooper). The jealous skipper, looking for revenge, ends up with a sunken submarine. Jack Conway's 1933 Hell Below is another dramatic film about a complicated and antagonistic relationship between submarine officers involving a woman on shore. John Ford's third submarine movie, his 1938 Submarine Patrol, describes an old and antiquated ship chasing World War I U-boats.92 Lloyd Bacon's 1937 Submarine D-1 focuses, again, on attempts to rescue the crew of a sunken submarine, with the added spice of some love Page 246 →affairs between submarine crew members and women on shore. Michael Powell's 1939 British Spy in Black93 tells the story of a World War I U-boat skipper who is sent on a spying mission to northern Scotland. While Submarine Patrol could be viewed as a patriotic movie, the other movies are more easily characterized as service movies, with the spice of romance. The German movies have much stronger patriotic themes. As we can see, most submarine movies project life in submarines, romantic entanglements of submariners, and dangers of serving in submarines; in short, they attempt to show audiences what being a submariner can be all about. Movies that were made during World War II show these same elements but focus on specific wartime operations. For example, Destination Tokyo ( 1943) describes the voyage of an American submarine into Tokyo Bay to land a ground team that is supposed to collect meteorological data in preparation for Doolittle's air raid.94 Crash Dive (1943) has submariners hunting German merchant raiders and themselves raiding a German supply depot on an island. Submarine movies after the war continued this trend. For example, Operation Pacific (1951) has a submarine's crew identifying and fixing a problem with American torpedoes and later ramming a camouflaged enemy warship, following the submarine commander's heroic death. The commander, wounded on the conning tower, gives the order “Take her down,” knowing that this order means that he will die.95 In the 1958 Submarine Seahawk, a cold and distanced submarine commander is sent to locate the hiding place of a Japanese fleet of warships. Torpedo Run (1958) has a submarine commander chasing a Japanese carrier, almost like Moby-Dick's Captain Ahab, until he manages to sink it (and, along the way, his own submarine as well).96 Many books about submarines appeared between the wars as well. As Hadley painstakingly and meticulously points out, quite a few German books published after World War I pointed out the German navy's failure to realize the full potential of the submarine as an effective war machine during the war and described the heroic and

successful conduct of German submariners.97 He notes that the abundance of movies and books about submarines created such an atmosphere that “throughout the 1930s…the tide of u-boat supporters was turning to full flood.”98 German popular culture between the wars exalted World War I submariners as heroes of the deep and presented submarine warfare as a winning strategy of war. The grim reality that German World War I submarines (as well as the German army), while enjoying Page 247 →a period of smashing successes, were eventually and thoroughly defeated was not an issue to ponder about in popular culture. Instead of focusing on the defeat and its real causes, meaning, and implications, German popular culture portrayed a victory that was snatched, unfairly and by deceit, from a potentially winning German military. The humiliation of the Treaty of Versailles only reinforced this misguided framing and fanned feelings of being betrayed. The period between the wars in Germany gave rise to a sort of a cult admiration for U-boats and their crews, who many thought had almost brought victory to Germany. Viewers of German submarine movies and readers of related books developed an esteem for the submariners, which inspired them to want to serve in this hazardous branch of the military.99 Redford notes that while Royal Navy submarines conducted unrestricted submarine warfare, admitting this fact directly and unambiguously was not something that movies or books showed or emphasized.100 Ignoring the British practice but condemning it by the enemy became a solution to this apparent paradox.101 British submarine movies and books pointed out that attacking noncombatants was a problematic activity, that merchant ships were warned before being sunk, that British submariners’ behavior presented both success and heroism, and that the British “silent service” was using morally acceptable methods. For example, quite a few well-known British submarine movies (e.g., We Dive at Dawn, Above Us the Waves, Submarine X-1, and Close Quarters) focused on British submarine activities against enemy war vessels. The contrast was that German submarines were portrayed in some films (e.g., The Cruel Sea and Murphy's War) as targeting noncombatants. The British images projected by film and fiction allowed British consumers to experience what submarine warfare was like. However, while these experiences attributed immoral conduct to the enemy, they projected morally justified behavior onto the British. While Redford views these false images as mythical,102 they enabled the British to be involved in a questionable form of warfare, one that they condemned, and yet to tell themselves that their submarines were not involved in this nasty form of warfare. In practice, there was a significant change in relevant cultural cores, but in symbolic terms, it was not acknowledged in the public sphere. This is just another case of being involved in deviant behavior but not publicly acknowledging the deviant nature of that behavior. During World War II, both Germany103 and the Allies104 produced long and short submarine movies and books whose main goal was propaganda. Page 248 →Japan also produced a number of propaganda movies between 1931 and 1945, but only two submarine movies.105 All these movies portrayed submariners as heroic and sacrificial warriors protecting their countries.106

MORALITY, POWER, AND PREFERENCES Beidler (1998) refers to World War II as the “good” war. The reason is obvious. From the victor's point of view, World War II was a war between good and evil, perhaps the last such war. It involved the joining of the free democratic West with the Soviet Union to fight a justified, bitter, and long war against ruthless expansionist aggressors that represented totalitarian racism. The Soviet Union, which fought with the Allies, did not quite fit the description of a free democracy, but it took the combined efforts of the democratic Western powers plus a Communist totalitarian state to defeat Germany, Japan, and Italy. Wars are not neutral, and we typically tend to take moral stands about them, as indeed we should. Some British and American submarines were involved in atrocities, but the overwhelming majority of submarines involved in atrocities were, without doubt, German and Japanese. The Nazi state fought a dirty, ruthless, and racist war. Hence, the history of the Third Reich, as Olick points out, can be characterized as toxic. It should not really surprise us that the willingness of some historians to dilute this toxic past, combined with a postmodern tendency to be politically correct and equalize different symbolic-moral universes, brought them to characterize Nazi submariners as soldiers doing their faithful duty and not much else. Nevertheless, Nazi submarines played a significant role in that dirty, racial, and expansionist war that their

country initiated, and they conducted it in a most ferocious, brutal, and loyal fashion. Had the U-boats been successful in choking the life in the United Kingdom, stopping the supply convoys to the U.S.S.R., and winning the Battle of the Atlantic, the end result of World War II might have been very different. Not only did these submariners fight to the end for “professional” reasons, they were also loyal to the Nazi regime to the end; in fact, their commander in chief was appointed as the last führer. That these submariners, fighting for a malicious political entity, showed determination and courage under fire does not diminish or dilute the moral reality that their fight was for a malevolent regime. Page 249 → The two most popular and famous World War II submarine movies shown in the West about U-boats—The Enemy Below and Das Boot—were very successful in distancing the U-boat crews and their commanders from Nazism. The first movie can be interpreted, against the background of the Cold War, as delivering the message that war is bad and that yesterday's enemies can and should unite today. In the context of the Cold War, the message of a unified front meant combining the American and German forces against the Soviet Union (or, as it was characterized later, the “evil empire”). While this is not stated explicitly in the movie, the enemy when that movie was released in 1957 was “the Communists.” The second movie was made by Germans in Germany and can be interpreted as part of the attempt of the new Germany to distance itself from its lethal naval warfare past by portraying the “heroes of the deep” as professionals doing their duty—no more, no less. Nevertheless, one needs to remember for whom and for what thousands of U-boat submariners went to sea and how some of these crews chose to fight.

SUMMARY Situations of war enable us to examine, within relatively short periods of time, the interaction of technology and changes in values. It took many technological advances to move the submarine from the realm of science fiction into a highly functional submersible weapon platform. However, the development of matured technology was not accompanied simultaneously by the development of ideas of how to use it. This cultural lag was closed in World War I. Dramatic cultural changes had to take place in order to allow military planners (and for political decision makers to allow these planners) to use this new weapon in ways that took full advantage of its unique characteristics: to establish a siege cutting off an enemy nation from essential supplies and to attack other ships in stealth with torpedoes—that is, unrestricted submarine warfare. Practicing such new warfare with submarines meant that older concepts about how this new form of warfare could or should be fought had to change. Utilizing submarines’ main advantages necessitated a different morality. What was considered appropriate and fair in battle (and agreed on in international pacts) was contrary to what submarines could do best. Page 250 →To allow and legitimize unrestricted submarine warfare, military planners and politicians had to alter their moral perceptions—and, consequently, cultural cores—about what is and is not right, what is and is not legitimate. This process was pushed ahead quite hesitantly and inconsistently at times during World War I, mostly by imperial Germany, but in the end, German submarines were instructed to practice an unrestricted form of warfare. The years before World War II were used by German navy planners and, later, by American navy planners and decision makers to focus on the concept of unrestricted submarine warfare. While the Germans, under Dönitz's guidance, built U-boats and trained submariners for an unrestricted submarine warfare, the Americans did not built submarines for this explicit form of warfare and certainly did not train their submariners for such warfare. Japan seems to have basically not grasped what submarines could and should do. The Japanese invested a great deal of their resources in building surface warships, especially aircraft carriers, but neglected to develop an effective strategy for submarine usage. Indeed, Carpenter and Polmar point out that the Japanese submarine fleet failed badly in World War II.107 Although they had technologically capable, reliable, and innovative submarines, their crews were not trained comprehensively either for an unrestricted warfare whose goal it was to lay a siege on U.S. waterways or for other innovative strategies. Nevertheless, influenced by such cultural codes as the Kokutai and Bushido, Japanese submarines practiced a ruthless, cruel, and vile warfare. The Italians108 and the British had

operational submarines, and some (especially British ones) were involved in a few daring operations, but the submarines of these navies did not play a major part in the development of the relevant concepts or develop counterconcepts of their own in trying to apply them. When World War II began, it did not take long for first the Germans and later the Americans (when they entered the war) to practice unrestricted submarine warfare. The meaning of this development was that cultural cores were altered in a significant way. Dominant perceptions (and naval pacts) about how to conduct naval warfare prior to World War I were abandoned in favor of a new perception and practice. Prior to World War I and II, various international agreements and understandings converged on creating barriers, limitations, and prohibitions regarding the way submarines should be used. Unfortunately, all these agreements and understandings did not take into account the main technological and operational advantages of submarines, given the desperation Page 251 →and decidedness of different combatants to win at almost any cost. Despite the goodwill that brought these understandings into being, they were facing nations that were involved in a total war with a weapon system whose operation under these restrictions limited its effectiveness. The moral decision these nations faced was whether to step onto a morally questionable and legally problematic path. Still, the spirit of the understandings was there: do not target noncombatants and civilians. Violating these agreements in both world wars required moral decisions, and these decisions were indeed made. Hence, important values that were contained in the pre–World War I cultural cores and that would have limited the scope of naval warfare were significantly changed. This change was definitely not one of technology simply translated into strategy. A much more profound cultural change had to take hold. Attempts of the British to both practice the new strategy and yet pretend that they did not are illustrations of the problematic nature of this change and its deeper cultural implications. While the morality of cultures was profoundly altered, what enabled and pushed this change was power—the power of politicians and military and naval leaders. Compared to the past history of naval warfare, the development of an unrestricted submarine warfare during the two world wars of the 20th century was an unconventional and deviant idea. As in other forms of deviance, morality and power have been decisive factors. Immoral acts can be accomplished if the party that wants them accomplished has enough power to legitimize such acts and do as it wishes. Major combatants during the two world wars who practiced a naval siege on civilian populations felt that they indeed had the legitimacy and power to do so, and they in fact had such power. That some of them felt the need to falsify war logs of submarines (or hide the fact that they were involved in unrestricted submarine warfare) indicates that the shameful nature of these acts did not escape them completely. In two known cases of Allied submarines acting in deviant ways (the cases of the Queenfish and the Torbay), higher command levels felt the need to state, explicitly, that such actions are not to be permitted or encouraged. To the best of our knowledge, that was not the case with higher Japanese or German commands. Practicing unrestricted submarine warfare was ruthless. This form of warfare sent to the bottom of the oceans countless numbers of ships, passengers, and crews. This modern form of barbarity constituted, undoubtedly, a new form of deviant behavior. That few submariners faced punishment Page 252 →after either war probably indicates that this deviance had been accepted as legitimate by all the combatants. Indeed, following the post–World War II Nuremberg trial of Dönitz, American “Admirals Thomas Hart and Chester Nimitz…issue[d] statements of support for Doenitz…. Admiral Hart noted that in waging unrestricted submarine warfare, Doenitz did ‘what I [Hart] was ordered to do.’ Nimitz stated…that the ‘American practice for unrestricted submarine warfare would be normal in future warfare.’”109 Once both wars ended, the question became how to remember or commemorate submariners? Overall, remembrance and commemoration tends to present submariners as courageous heroes. Problematic acts are either not mentioned or at least soft-pedaled. In other words, the memory and commemoration tends to be mythical. In the United States, lost submarines and submariners are referred to as still “on patrol.” German submariners are presented as “only doing their job.” Unfortunately for the mythmakers, while unrestricted submarine warfare was thought—in both 20th-century world wars—to be a winning strategy, it failed to accomplish this goal.110 The Nazi submarines’ blockade of Britain caused some civilian misery, as quantities and qualities of various food products and other goods were rationed or even unavailable. Together with U.S. Air Force activities, the American

submarines’ blockade of Japan caused a lot more civilian misery, and shortages of food and other material goods were strongly felt. Sturma notes, “By 1945 millions of Japanese suffering from malnutrition faced the prospect of something worse. It is claimed that at least 10 percent of Japan's population would have starved to death if the war had continued for another year.”111 Ironically, submarines accomplished many other goals: they landed agents and forces on enemy shores, played a part in various intelligence operations, carried supplies, saved pilots who had to parachute into the sea, and evacuated people.112 However, despite the damage submarines caused, the vanquished in these wars did not surrender because of unrestricted submarine warfare. The next question is, In case a third world war occurs, would submarines embark again on an unrestricted warfare? We must also ask, Given the type of armament the new submarines can unleash, what would such warfare look like? Given the history of past submarine warfare, my on-the-spot reaction is to answer “probably” to the first question and “very ominous” to the second. Page 253 →

CODA In the final analysis, the submarine unrestricted warfare during both world wars is a story within other stories. The bigger story is that of war, of the Western development of total war and its reliance on technological and industrial means aimed to increase the ability of the military to kill. Such inventions as the rifle, the mine, the machine gun, the big guns, mortars, and the tank all testify to this line. Making airplanes and submarines that join the march of new and lethal machines should not really be any surprise. Moreover, these inventions and developments were followed by changes in ways of making war. For example, the machine gun put an end to the charge of large and dense formations of cavalry, though not before hundreds of thousands were mowed by these machines. The tank and aircraft opened the way for the German conceptualization of the Blitzkrieg. Thus, new technological developments helped into being significant changes in older ideas, concepts, and relevant cultural cores about what a battle was, as well as what chivalry, courage, and sacrifice were. The new cores redrew the boundaries of what was and was not acceptable, as well as reconstructing what was and was not legitimate. The airplane and the big guns even helped to alter the moral concepts of what the boundaries of battlefields were. Modern guided missiles continued to help altering that as well. Still, it is imperative to emphasize that technology in and by itself does not dictate changes in cultural cores. Such changes require contextualized social interactions, debates, persuasions, and decisions. Technologies can imply different cultural changes or no changes, but cultural choices need to be made. The struggle for legitimacy has not been simple. What was considered as effective use of some new weapons challenged older ideas. In quite a few cases, those who preached new usages knew fairly well that what they were preaching for contradicted contemporary moralities. When this situation occurred with regard to unrestricted submarine warfare, it created some interesting results. One was that while politicians and other well-intentioned agents negotiated and signed international pacts and agreements aimed to regulate such merciless naval warfare, military men and others actually prepared for such warfare. Another was that we could witness the development of vocabularies of motives aimed at justifying and legitimizing such warfare, Page 254 →on the one hand, and of public expressions that condemned this form of warfare, on the other. There were even attempts by the British to stop the construction of submarines altogether. This did not stop the Royal Navy from both building submarines and eventually resorting to unrestricted submarine warfare. Thus, consistent with the development of other weapons of war, the development of the submarine brought about a significant change in cultural cores. This change opened the door for a ruthless unrestricted form of warfare, a form of warfare that many nations and combatants knew was brutish, immoral, and illicit but that they practiced nevertheless. The way in which these processes developed demonstrates how valid and appropriate Ogburn's concept of a cultural lag is. As we saw, the three elements that compose cultural cores were altered. First and foremost was the change allowing submariners to commit acts that were immoral and deviant by almost all standards. The power of the states involved in allowing and legitimizing this type of warfare made this profound breach of older naval warfare codes possible. Second, collective memories were molded so that these breaches would be minimized, de-

emphasized, or even forgotten. Along the way, submarine warfare was mythologized. These social processes show, again, a process that we can refer to as cultural interlocking—which can be defined as how different ideas and parts of culture tend to support each other. Integrating the concept of a total war into cultural cores supports the introduction and acceptance of unrestricted submarine warfare into these cultural cores. Constructed collective memories and mythologies help to represent one of wars’ nastiest forms of doing battle in nonnegative and heroic terms.

Page 255 →

NOTES PROLOGUE 1. On imperial Japanese submarines, see Boyd and Yoshida 1995; Boyne 1995; Carpenter and Polmar 1986; Hashimoto 1955; Jentschura, Jung, and Mickel 1977; Miller 2002:190–202. 2. Boyd and Yoshida 1995:179; Bridgland 2002b:138–45; Carpenter and Polmar 1986:44; Edwards 1997:166–89; Felton 2007:125–36; Gunton 2003:59; Stevens 1997:104–5, 250n7; Russell 2008a:216. Sturma (2011:56) and Wilson (2000:92) state that five managed to survive the massacre. 3. See Goode 2008:270–93, 327–53. 4. Following 9/11, significantly more work was done on terror. 5. Hagan 2001. 6. Hagan 2003. 7. Hagan and Rymond-Richmond 2008.

INTRODUCTION 1. Hughes and Costello 1977; Morison [1947] 2001, [1956] 2002; Offley 2011; Snow 2011; Syrett 1994; White 2006; Williams 2003. 2. Halpern 1994; Pope and Wheal 1995. 3. E.g., see Lohr 2009. 4. E.g., see Abbott 2007; Devons and Gluckman 1964; Gerring 2007; Glaeser 2005. Sullivan (2011) points out the utility of using the “deviant case” in developing a theory, even by using quantitative methods. 5. E.g., Ben-Yehuda 2009. 6. Ragin 1994:85. 7. These sources are based on personal memoirs, documents, and interviews and thus—combined—provide important and persuasive information. 8. See chapter 5 for a full discussion of this issue. 9. See http://www.nesa.org.uk/fb/bcc.behar1.htm and Russell 2008a:227–29, about the massacre of the MV Behar survivors.Page 256 → 10. Wilson 2000:91. See also Boyd and Yoshida 1995:114; Felton 2007:127. 11. Padfield [1984] 1993. Karl Dönitz became leader of submarines (Führer der U-Boote) on January 1, 1936; commander of the U-boats (Befehlshaber der UBoote) on September 12, 1939; and highest naval commander (Oberbefehlshaber der Kriegsmarine) in 1943. 12. Vause 1990. 13. Hadley 1995:85. 14. Padfield 1995:64 (quoting William Shirer).

CHAPTER 1

1. Sturma 2011:14. 2. Shennan 2001:5. 3. E.g., see Ogburn 1957. See also Hornell 1957; Brinkman and Brinkman 1997. 4. E.g., see Dyer 2004; Keegan 1993b; Gat 2006. 5. A mir was a local, self-governed peasant community in imperial Russia, mostly in the form of a cooperative village. See http://www.britannica.com /EBchecked/topic/384739/mir and http://www.infoplease.com/ce6/history/A0833361.html . 6. Durkheim [1893] 1964:79–80. 7. Shils 1970, 1. 8. Parsons 1971, 121. 9. See also Berger and Luckmann 1966. 10. E.g., Cohen and Ben-Ari 1991. 11. Goode and Ben-Yehuda 2009. 12. Luhmann 1995, 2000. See also Rogowski 2007. 13. E.g., see Armstrong 2006; Eisenstadt 1986. 14. Mills 1940. 15. Ben-Yehuda 1990:15–31. 16. Lyman and Scott 1970. 17. Mills's original, 1940 statement on motivational accounting systems is still valid today. 18. Various researchers mapped political crimes to include, as crimes against the state, assassinations, political bombing, bribery, tax and/or tax evasion, conscientious objection, and spying; as crimes against society, false advertisements, medical fraud, environmental pollution, occupational hazards, and unsafe machines; and as crimes committed by the government, police corruption and/or violence, violation of human rights, genocide, and discrimination (Roebuck and Weeber 1978. See also Ben-Yehuda 1990; Lauderdale 2003; Ross 2002). 19. Heckert 1989. 20. Ben-Yehuda 1985, 2006. 21. Goode 2008:14–16.Page 257 → 22. For example, are female beauty contests really about admiring beauty or about submission? 23. Ben-Yehuda 1990:50. For more on the recent increase of interest in the study of morality in sociology, see Tavory 2011. 24. Durkheim [1895] 1938:67, 70. 25. Durkheim [1895] 1938:69. 26. Durkheim [1895] 1938:65–73. 27. Durkheim [1895] 1938:73. 28. Another more contemporary example could be that of people who sat in at lunch counters and on buses in the United States during the civil rights movement. 29. This occurred during the revolt of the Munich students against Hitler. See Dumbach and Newborn 1986; Hanser 1979. 30. A good example is the vilification campaign that Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin had been exposed to before he was assassinated (e.g., see Karpin and Friedman 1998).

31. E.g., see Ben-Yehuda 1990. 32. Durkheim [1893] 1964:70–110. 33. Durkheim [1893] 1964:102. 34. In fact, his conceptualization of the moral order was quite complex (Kenny 2010). 35. E.g., Lowe 2006; Boltanski and Thévenot 2006. 36. Becker 1963. 37. For a review, see Goode and Ben-Yehuda 2009: chap. 13. 38. Goode and Ben-Yehuda 2009. 39. For a short introductory presentation, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germ_theory_of_disease. 40. Becker 1963:9. 41. Horowitz and Liebovitz 1968:282. 42. Lofland 1969:14. 43. Schur 1980:135. 44. For a short review, see Goode 2008:31–34, 80–83. 45. Ben-Yehuda 1990; Lauderdale 2003; Ross 2002. 46. Giesen 2005:281. 47. Kooistra 1989. 48. Ben-Yehuda 1985, 1990. 49. Ben-Yehuda 1990:181–219. 50. For a short introductory description, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_peptic_ulcer_disease_and_Helicobacter_pylori. 51. See Curra 2000. On the interaction between morality and crime causation, see Kronenberg, Heintze, and Mehlkop 2010. 52. The text is now in its ninth edition (Goode 2010), with early editions published by Prentice-Hall and later editions by Pearson/Prentice Hall.Page 258 → 53. The second edition was published in 1984. The first edition, published in 1978, was packaged in a symbolic interactionism perspective. 54. Thio's textbook Deviant Behavior was published first by Houghton Mifflin and later by Harper and Row. 55. For changes in moralities from a different perspective, see also Kipnis 2010. 56. Nettler 1982:35; Hurst 1983:1559. 57. E.g., see Robinson 1996:291–94. 58. E.g., see Kohl and Fawcett 1995; Kohl 1998; Kohl, Kozelsky and Ben-Yehuda 2007. 59. Ben-Yehuda 1995. 60. Ben-Yehuda 1993. 61. It is not entirely clear from the text whether the first to conquer Masada and remain there were Sicarii, and Josephus does not provide a date for this conquest (see also Cotton and Preiss 1990). 62. Shatzman 1993, 1995. 63. Roth 1995. 64. For some illustrative works, see Hubert and Arabie. 2001; Jan-Werner 2002; Link 2001; Olick 1999, 2005, 2007; Olick and Robbins. 1998; Olick, Vinitzky-Seroussi, and Levy 2011; Schwartz 2001; Schwartz and Schuman 2005; Suleiman 2006; Wagner-Pacifici and Schwartz 1991; Winter 2006; Zelizer

1995. 65. E.g., see Olick 1999, 2005, 2007. 66. Telling whether there “really” was a past may become a thorny philosophical and methodological issue for some. For most practical purposes, I assume that one can establish the existence of a past with living eyewitness testimonies, historical documents, engravings in stones, papyri, recordings, pictures, written testimonies, and geological and archaeological evidence. 67. Schwartz 1982, 1990, 1991. 68. Alexander et al. 2004:1. 69. Alexander et al. 2004:1–2. 70. See also Lebow et al. 2006. 71. Ducharme and Fine's 1995 work on Benedict Arnold provides another illustration. 72. Robinson 1996:291–94. 73. It is interesting to note that some hoaxes were aimed at the very core of cultures and sometimes even gained global implications and attention (e.g., see MacDougall 1940; Tibballs 2006). For more practical approaches, see, e.g., Hausman 2000. 74. Doty 1986:6. 75. For approaches that focus on myths and religion, see the entries by Kees W. Bolle and Paul Ricoer in Mircea Eliade's 1987 Encyclopedia of Religion (New York: Macmillan), 261–62, 273; Encyclopaedia Judaica (Jerusalem: Macmillan, 1971–72), 12:729. 76. Doty 1986:11. 77. Tudor 1972:17. 78. Friedrich and Brzezinski 1961:99.Page 259 → 79. E.g., Lincoln 1989. 80. Hegy 1991. 81. Indeed, Jackson (2006:29) notes that a similar situation exists in international relations. 82. Clausewitz [1832] 1989:75. 83. Strachan 1997:264–65. 84. Sheffield 2002:34. 85. Other definitions and characterizations of militarism offer similar problems. For interesting studies of some results of what may happen when militarism is taken as a positive value and guides political action, see, e.g., Hasegawa 2005; Wheeler-Bennett 2005.

CHAPTER 2 1. Technological development did not always influence the conduct of war immediately following the development. The development of the machine gun and its lethal impact on direct infantry assaults—that is, having men running against a barrage of machine-bun bullets—did not immediately impact military thinking during World War I. Parachutes were available during World War I but were not used by Allied pilots for a relatively long time, because of social military codes regarding how pilots were expected to act in combat. The concern was that pilots might show cowardice and prefer to save their lives and jump when aircrafts were hit rather than try to save the aircrafts. German pilots were given parachutes, especially when the shortage of pilots became acute. 2. It is thus no coincidence that Sturma (2011:159–69) finds it appropriate to compare the bombers’ offensive to unrestricted submarine warfare. Redford

(2010:136–40) also discusses the bomber within his discussion of submarine warfare. 3. The first city to be bombed by a zeppelin—in January 1915—was the town of Great Yarmouth in Norfolk. 4. See Cross 1991. A 2007 49-minute BBC documentary called The First Blitz documents the zeppelins’ campaign against British cities. In 1971, a 101-minute popular culture film titled Zeppelin (directed by Etienne Périer and starring Michael York and Elke Sommer) was made on a zeppelin. In the movie, a World War I German zeppelin (an imaginary model LZ-36) is sent secretly to Scotland to steal the British National Archives and specifically the Magna Carta, with the goal of causing a severe blow to British morale and willingness to fight and consequently altering the course of the war. On the use of U.S. Navy airships against U-boats in World War II, see Althoff 2009. 5. Dyer 2004:262. 6. An impressive application of this idea was already presented in the 1936 movie Things to Come, based on H. G. Wells's work. For a short review of the development of the concept of raiding cities by air, see Holmes 2001:15–22; Jablonski 1971. On the European air bombardment in World War II, see Lyall [1968] 1994; Musgrove 1981; Page 260 →Neillands 2001; Richards [1995] 2001; Taylor 2004. On the strategic bombing of the Third Reich, see Price 2005. On some retrospective moral and ethical issues, see Harris [1947] 2005:176–77; Grayling 2006. On the air war against Japan, see Bradley 2003; Kerr 1991. Three of the more famous cases of destruction of cities with conventional bombs are those involving Guernica, Dresden, and Lorient. On April 26, 1937, Nazi Germany's Luftwaffe bombed the town of Guernica (in Spain) to almost complete devastation. That terror bombing was supposed to help later dictator Francisco Franco make another victory in the Spanish Civil War (July 1936–March/April 1939). On February 13, 1945, American and British heavy bombers attacked Dresden (on new claims of exaggerations in the numbers of casualties in Dresden, see, e.g., the reports in London's Times on March 18 and 20, 2010 [e.g., Oliver Kamm's “Dresden and Historical Truth” on the 18th]). Not being able to destroy the U-boat bunkers in Lorient, Allied bombers destroyed the city, attempting to neutralize the ability of the bunkers to serve the submarines. Interestingly, whether bombing cities and causing death and misery to their civilian inhabitants is a crime against humanity is a question to which Tanaka and Young say yes in their polemical and narrowly focused 2009 book. 7. Sturma 2011:161; Dear and Foot 1995:1066–79; Williamson 2005:360. 8. Quoted in Bradley 2003, near LeMay's picture in the middle of the book. See also the 2003 documentary The Fog of War (Columbia Tristar) based on an amazing interview with Robert S. McNamara. On the air war against Japan, see Tillman 2010. 9. Rhodes 1995:21. 10. Hansen 2008; Harris [1947] 2005; Lyall [1968] 1994; Musgrove 1981; Neillands 2001; Richards [1995] 2001; Taylor 2004. 11. Neillands 2001:390. 12. On the history of strategic bombing, see Werrell 2009. 13. Dyer 2004:275. 14. Redford 2010:56–66. 15. For a short and illustrative survey of these issues, see, e.g., Compton-Hall 1988:13–51; Hutchinson 2001. On one early illustrative inventor and his underwater machine, see Stewart 2003. 16. The nature of the metal from which a hull was made was very important. For example, nonmagnetic metal could make some forms of detecting a submarine useless. 17. Examples are the late 19th-century submarines designed in the United States by John Philip Holland. Holland's designed hulls were not the only hydrodynamically correct designs, as similar hulls were designed and tested in other countries around that time. 18. This was accomplished by using the snorkel device. 19. The was possible due to having more batteries.

20. In the more technical language, these generally cigar-shaped hulls are referred to as “teardrop hulls,” because their structure is reminiscent of a teardrop. 21. Examples are the Turtle, invented in 1775 by American inventor David Bushnell, and the Hunley, invented by Horace Lawson Hunley in 1863 and used by the Confederate States of America in the first successful attack of a submarine on a warship.Page 261 → 22. This did not become possible until the snorkel was invented and used. 23. Cummins 2007. 24. A snorkel is a hollow pipe that extends from a submerged submarine above the waterline. Theoretically and practically, this device could enable a submarine to remain submerged for very long periods without having to surface and thus risk being detected and attacked. 25. Gray [1986] 1996. 26. Gugliotta 2000; Roscoe [1958] 1982. 27. Modern submarines use inertial guidance systems and the Global Positioning System. 28. The term sonar was originally an acronym for the phrase SOund NAvigation Ranging. 29. Hackmann 1984, 1986. 30. Gray 1991. See also Gray 2004; Gannon 1996; Newpower 2010; Wildenberg and Polmar 2010. 31. Wildenberg and Polmar 2010:102–14; Ganton 2003:44–46. Ganton points out that two American submarines (Tang and Tullibee) were sunk by their own launched torpedoes (46, 178–79). Stevens (2012) adds that the USS Grunion experienced a similar fate. Both authors note that the torpedoes that were launched by these submarines circled back to hit them. Sturma (2011:4) points out that these problems motivated American submariners to prefer using their deck guns, a rather dangerous choice as well. 32. Westwood 2005:66–67, 156–57. 33. For example, in the early 1930s, Americans developed the Torpedo Data Computer. 34. On the history and nature of developing submarines, consult Chant 1996; Gunton 2003; Miller 2002; Morris [1966] 1998; Parrish 2004; Redford 2010; Schwab 1991. 35. For the potential impact of the American Civil War submarines on Verne's work, see Ragan 2002:258–60. 36. Ragan 2002. 37. E.g., they were called “heroes of the deep.” 38. Holwitt 2009:19. 39. U-96, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Heinrich Lehmann-Willenbrock, hosted Lothar-Günther Buchheim for one patrol (probably in October through December 1941) as a war correspondent. Buchheim's experiences were later written in the novel Das Boot (The Boat) and portrayed in the famous film by the same name. U-96 was a VIIc boat. One can visit a VIIc U-boat, U-995, at the Laboe Naval Memorial on the Baltic Sea coast. For a digital tour, see http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=FCY4_W29SBU&feature=related (with background music from the movie Das Boot). For a video clip on U-boats preserved from World War II, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eL6OzcAGQUg&feature=related. 40. Different sources give different numbers. 41. Gannon 1998:63.Page 262 → 42. This was possible when the submarine was stretched to its limits. Some sources state that submerging for 24 hours was the actual practice. 43. Gannon 1998:245. Keegan (1993a:235) states that “submerged endurance, limited by air supply, was about twelve hours.” Compared to other sources, this seems like a low estimate.

44. Gannon 1998:242–43, 245. 45. Miller 2002:146–47. 46. Another type worth mentioning here was the IXB. While only about 14 such boats were commissioned, this type was the most successful in terms of sinking Allied shipping. It had a longer range (about 12,000 miles at 10 knots) and a maximum diving depth of about 230 meters. This type participated in the carnage called Operation Drumbeat in early 1942, when these Nazi submarines sailed to the east coast of the United States and sank, basically unhindered, a very large number of ships. 47. Westwood 2005. 48. One can see such submarines in museums and in such movies as Torpedo Run, Up Periscope, Submarine Seahawk, and Run Silent, Run Deep. 49. Miller 2000:31, 2002:232; see also Friedman 1995. 50. Westwood 2005:135–47, 204–35. 51. Redford 2010:5.

CHAPTER 3 1. Examples are A Submarine Pirate (1915), A Submarine Destroyer (1917), Der magische Gürtel [Germany] (also known as The Exploits of a German Submarine, U35 [United Kingdom] or The Log of the U-35 [United States]) (different sources date this film between 1917 and 1920), Submarine (1928), Men Like These (1931), Submarine D-1 (1937), and Submarine Patrol (1938). 2. E.g., see Nelson and Olin 1979; Lynn 2003; Smith 2005. 3. One of the best examples is probably the powerful 1989 book by Eksteins, centering on how World War I molded European culture. 4. Clausewitz [1832] 1989:87. His book Vom Krieg was written between 1816 and 1830 and published by his widow in 1832, about a year after his death. The book was translated into English as On War. I used the first paperback edition of that translation. 5. Dyer 2004:241–85. 6. Dyer 2004:63–97 (quote on 96). 7. See also Parker 2005:1–11. 8. E.g., see Syrett 1994. 9. Parker 2005:1–2. 10. Dyer 2004:5. 11. See also Joes 2004. 12. Interestingly, new ideas about the demise of the Mayan culture in Central America attribute a significant part to Mayan warfare goals that changed from aiming to capture sacrificial victims, to wars of conquest, to wars aimed to annihilate.Page 263 → 13. E.g., see Macionis 1995:62. 14. E.g., see Cohen 1985. 15. See, e.g., Rosenau 1992. 16. Crane 1994:9, 17. 17. See Dyer 2004:100–46, 147–202. 18. E.g., the capture of U-505 on June 4, 1944, by a U.S. naval task force.

19. For just three illustrations, see Ehrenreich 1997; Pick 1993; and Marvin and Ingle 1999. 20. Smith 2005:215. 21. The Cunard passenger liner Lusitania was sunk by U-20 on May 7, 1915, off the Old Head of Kinsale. The Lusitania carried 1,959 people, including 440 women and 129 children. The sinking claimed the life of 1,198, among them 291 women and 94 children (Preston 2007; Bailey and Ryan 1975; Williams 1997:20–22). 22. The Cunard passenger liner Laconia was sunk by U-50 on February 25, 1917, 160 miles northwest of Fastnet. The Laconia carried 75 passengers and a crew of 217. The sinking claimed the lives of 12 people, 6 of whom were crewmen (Williams 1997:45; http://www.skaneateles.org/laconia1.html). 23. The Housatonic was sunk on February 3, 1917, by U-53 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Hans Rose) in the Bay of Biscay. U-53 allowed the crew to leave to lifeboats before sinking the ship. At the request of Housatonic's captain—Thomas Ensor—U-53 towed the lifeboats and left them once a British trawler was sited (http://query.nytimes.com/mem/archive-free/pdf?_r=1&res=950CE2DF123BEE3ABC4951DFB466838C609EDE&oref=slogin). See also http://www.uboat.net/wwi/ships_hit/2899.html. 24. Smith 2005:215. 25. “Little Boy” exploded over Hiroshima on Monday, August 6, 1945, at 8:15 a.m. The total casualties are estimated to have been 90,000 to 140,000. 26. “Fat Man” (carrying plutonium) exploded over Nagasaki on Thursday, August 9, 1945, at 11:02 a.m. The death toll is estimated to have been 73,884, with an additional 74,909 injured. 27. The planned invasion was called Operation Downfall. See, e.g., Allen and Polmar 1995; Frank 1999; Giangreco 2009; Hasegawa 2005. One can easily extend this line of reasoning to the purpose of the Death Star in the 1977 science fiction film Star Wars. 28. See Barker 1971; Cornwell 2003; Ford 1969; Henshall 1998; Johnson 2004. 29. Bernstein 1996; Powers 1993. 30. Dahl 1999:279–85; Grunden 2005; Rhodes 1986; Zeman and Karlsch 2008:15. 31. On two flying German suicide units, see chapter 7, note 22. 32. See also Englehardt 2007. 33. Dyer 2004:4–27. 34. Hadley 1995. 35. Redford 2010. 36. Parker 2005:5. 37. For some general introductory comments on siege warfare, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege; Dyer 2004:147–202. 38. Dyer 2004:248.Page 264 →

CHAPTER 4 1. Many top-ranked officers in World War II provide good illustrations for this. Examples include Generals Douglas MacArthur and George S. Patton (United States), Bernard Law Montgomery (United Kingdom), Erwin Rommel (Germany), and Georgi K. Zhukov and Konstantin K. Rokossovsky (USSR); Admirals Chester William Nimitz and Raymond Ames Spruance (United States), Erich Raeder (Germany), and Isoruku Yamamoto (Japan); and airmen Arthur William Tedder and Arthur Travers Harris (United Kingdom) and Curtis E. LeMay and Carl Spaatz (United States). For a concise list, see Young 1981:522–13. 2. The plan is named after Count Alfred von Schlieffen, who created it. Schlieffen was a field marshal who served as the chief of the Imperial German General

Staff. See Foley 2006; Pope and Wheal 1995:424–25. 3. An example is the development of the Gatling gun during the American Civil War. The invention of the machine gun made the direct charge of the infantry much too costly and obsolete. The Europeans did not internalize this lesson from the American Civil War, and the war in the trenches in World War I took an extremely high toll when infantry soldiers charged machine-gun positions. 4. Dupuy and Dupuy 1970; Dyer 2004; Eggenberger 1985; Keegan 1993b; Holmes 2001; Parker 2005. 5. The 1928 Kellog-Briand Pact (signed in Paris and therefore referred to sometimes as the Pact of Paris), signed by a large number of countries, stated that using war to achieve national goals was illegitimate unless practiced as a self-defense (M. R. D. Foot in Dear and Foot 1995:646–47; Goldman 1994:213–14; http://www.yale.edu/lawweb/avalon/imt/kbpact.htm). The post–World War II Nuremberg trials, as well as the war crimes trials in the Far East, delivered a similar message. Despite the good and noble intentions, these did not prevent or put an end to wars. The fact that such positive messages were subverted perhaps even helped to make bad events and processes worse. While Finnemore and Sikkink's 1998 review could be interpreted to suggest that this pact could have created new norms, it did not. 6. Bellamy 2005. 7. Levie and Lalgee 2008:2384; http://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/lieber.asp. Lieber was a professor of political science at Columbia University, New York. 8. This declaration was signed on August 27 (Levie and Lalgee 2008:2384). For the declaration itself, see http://www.icrc.org/ihl.nsf/FULL/135? OpenDocument. 9. See http://avalon.law.yale.edu/subject_menus/lawwar.asp; Barcroft 1989; Bettez 1988; Hudson 1931; Schlichtmann 2003; Schücking 1918; Scott 1909; Trueblood 1899, 1914. 10. Burns 1971:57. 11. http://www.icrc.org/eng/war-and-law/treaties-customary-law/geneva-conventions/index.jsp and http://avalon.law.yale.edu/subject_menus/lawwar.asp. 12. The full text can be found at http://www.icrc.org/ihl.nsf/full/370?opendocument. 13. http://www.icrc.org/ihl.nsf/WebList?ReadForm&id=375&t=com. 14. http://www.icrc.org/ihl.nsf/INTRO/380?OpenDocument.Page 265 → 15. Enforcing international agreements and customs regarding the conduct of war is biased against weak states. Military personnel and politicians of strong and powerful states who violate such agreements and customs do not typically face a real risk of being prosecuted. However, personnel and politicians from weak countries who commit similar violations risk a real chance of being prosecuted. This state of affairs caused quite a few people to comment that enforcement of war customs reflects the justice of the winners. 16. For a basic introductory list, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hague_conventions. 17. Cornish 2001; Dear and Foot 1995:432, 521; Kemp 1976:367–68. 18. For a short description, see Paul Cornish in Holmes 2001:352–53. 19. For short discussions, see Paul Cornish's summary in Holmes 2001:975–78; Levie and Lalgee 2008. 20. The concept means an all-out conflict between two or more societies. It came to the forefront during World War I (e.g., Sheffield 2002:50–56) and World War II but actually preceded both (e.g., see Bicheno 2001:915–16; Wright 1968). It is noteworthy that practicing this type of warfare was outlawed in the fourth Geneva convention. 21. Goebel and Keene 2011. 22. Terror clearly blurred the boundaries of the battlefield and of warriors even more as airplanes, ships, schools, skyscrapers, airports, and other civilian places

became targets. 23. Like many other science fiction movies, Things to Come (directed by William Cameron Menzies) does not hide the warning of a bleak future, controlled by military killing devices and gizmos. H. G. Wells's The Time Machine delivers a similar message, and so do the 1960 movie (directed by George Pal) based on that novel and the 2002 remake (directed by Simon Wells). The Terminator films (1984–2009) and Matrix movies (1999 and 2003) pushed this idea to its logical end, staging a total war between humans and machines. 24. Levie and Lalgee 2008:2388. Official Japanese orders allowed the execution of American aircrews as well (Felton 2007:158–66). 25. Also known as the Tokyo trials, these procedures began on May 5, 1946. They were geared to place on trial the leaders of the Empire of Japan for a variety of suspected crimes. These crimes included participation in a conspiracy to start and wage war, atrocities or crimes against humanity, and crimes consisting of planning, executing, giving legitimization, and not preventing the foregoing. For short descriptions, see Michael Biddis in Dear and Foot 1995:824–28; Stephen Large in Dear and Foot 1995:347–51; Levie and Lalgee 2008. See also Brackman 1987; Conot 1983; Edwards 1997; Felton 2007; Futamura 2007; Lael 1982; Maga 2001; Minear 1971; Piccigallo 1979; Rees 2001; Russell 2008a; Totani 2008. 26. Typically, crimes against humanity are systematic governmental policies and activities that aim to degrade and humiliate human dignity in a most significant way. 27. War crimes include, generally, violations of the rules, customs, or laws of conducting wars. 28. On some post–World War II implications, see Hagan 2003; Hagan and Rymond-Richmond 2008.Page 266 → 29. It seems, though, that there were perhaps less wars in the first decade of the 21st century (and proportionally less victims) and that more reliance on enforceable international law may have helped this atmosphere into being. 30. The film was directed by Tony Scott. 31. http://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/decparis.asp; Holwitt 2009:10–11; Manson 1990:15–17. Primarily, this declaration aimed to regulate and abolish privateering. 32. Holwitt 2009:10–11. 33. The practice is known as “commerce raiding” (Kemp 1976:360). 34. Goldman 1994:227–28, 235–36; Manson 1990:51, 109–10; Redford 2010:131–42; Watt 1956. 35. Gray [1972] 1994:87. 36. Kemp 1976:670. 37. Miller 2000:9. 38. See Halpern 1994:296; a search of the New York Times digital archives, using “Fryatt” as a key word yields contemporary reports about the case; see also http://www.york.ac.uk/inst/irs/irshome/features/readings/readings.htm#EX06. 39. The case is described in chapter 6. 40. Levie and Lalgee 2008:2384. 41. Kemp 1976:670. 42. Carlisle 2009:26; Beyer 1999; Bridgland 1999; Campbell 1928; Pope and Wheal 1995:381. The Royal Navy had about 360 Q-ships. 43. Kemp 1976:677; see also Bruce and Cogar 1998:296. Nazi Germany used such camouflaged commerce raiders in World War II. An attempt by the Imperial Japanese Navy to use a Q-ship (the Delhi Maru) failed completely (Hoyt 1986:344). 44. Kemp 1976:677; Campbell 1928; Halpern 1994:300–301; Lake 2006. Halpern notes that up to September 15, 1915, viewing Q-ships as “pirates” was legally correct (301). Only after that date did the British Admiralty commission these ships. John Ford's 1931 film The Seas Beneath centers around such a

ship. 45. Dingman 1976; Fanning 1995; Goldman 1994:1–2, 22–23, 86–87; Goldstein and Maurer 1994; Kaufman 1990; Kitching 1999; Manson 1990; O'Brien 1998. 46. Manson 1990:34–35; Burns 1971:57. 47. Padfield 1995:17. See also Burns 1971:57; Manson 1990:33–52. 48. Holwitt 2009:42; Burns 1971:58. 49. Burns (1971:57–58) notes that in 1928, the American secretary of state “informed Congress that the United States would be willing to join in a universal prohibition of submarines.” In 1930, “the British delegation summarized its case for abolition on the grounds that it served the best interests of all humanity; that the submarine was primarily an offensive vessel; that substantial advancement of disarmament and peace would result; that considerable financial savings would result; and that it would remove the undue risks of submarine personnel.” 50. Holwitt 2009:43. 51. Reprinted from Burns 1971:58; also appears in Holwitt 2009:43–44.Page 267 → 52. Burns 1971:59. 53. Padfield 1995:18. 54. This is referred to as the Second London Naval Treaty. It opened on December 9, 1935, and was signed on March 25, 1936, by the governments of France, Britain, and the United States. Japan and Italy refused to sign. This treaty limited the size of warships and their armaments (including submarines) allowed to the signatories. This treaty ended in September 1939, when World War II began. On the London conferences, see Manson 1990; Goldman 1994. 55. The first conference, involving representatives of 10 nation-states, took place between December 4, 1908, and February 26, 1909, and was in fact a continuation of the second Hague conference. This conference yielded what has become known as the Declaration of London (e.g., Manson 1990:15–19). Not all nations ratified this agreement. The second conference, involving five participant nation-states, convened between January 21 and April 22, 1930. Participants discussed limitations on naval powers (major ships, aircraft carriers) and regulating submarine warfare. The third conference took place in December 1935. 56. Procès-verbal is a technical French term (Burns 1971:59). 57. Holwitt 2009:45. 58. Davidson 1966:394. 59. Clayton 2001:56. 60. Manson 1990. 61. Burns 1971:59. 62. Burns 1971:60. 63. Dear and Foot 1995; Pope and Wheal 1995; Weinberg 1994; Wheal and Pope [1989] 1995. 64. One example is the murder of about 86 American GIs on December 17, 1944, near the Belgian town Malmédy (during the Battle of the Bulge) by soldiers from a task force commanded by Lt. Col. Joachim Peiper from the German First SS Panzer Division (e.g., see Reynolds 1995; Whiting 1971). Others are the mass murder of millions of Soviet POWs by the Nazis during World War II and the murdering of Allied soldiers by Japan's military through slave work and other means. 65. See http://www.icrc.org/ihl.nsf/INTRO/335?OpenDocument. 66. Holwitt 2009:30.

67. Holwitt 2009:30. 68. Blair 1996:64. At that stage in the war, Hitler instructed U-boats to adhere to Article 22. See Hughes and Costello 1977:4; Mallmann Showell 2002:8; Padfield 1995:52–55. 69. Hughes and Costello 1977:13. 70. Padfield 1995:53. 71. The period from June 1940 through March 1941 was referred to as the “Happy Time” (Tarrant 1989:89–96). 72. In Padfield 1995:65. 73. Davidson 1966:392–426; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donitz; Dönitz 1979, Page 268 →1997; Padfield [1984] 1993. A transcript of Dönitz's testimony in Nuremberg can be found at http://wernerhartenstein.tripod.com/U156DoenitzNuremberg.htm. 74. Padfield 1995:131, 267. For example, on May 8, 1940, the British Admiralty ordered that all vessels in the Skagerrak should be sunk on sight. 75. Holwitt 2009. 76. Blair 1976:106; Holwitt 2009:1, 142–43; Parrish 2004:319. Holwitt (2009:1) quotes the words in a different order: “Execute against Japan unrestricted air and submarine warfare.” 77. Rayner 2007:103. Rayner quotes from Morison's historical work on this issue. 78. See also Holwitt 2009:29–47.

CHAPTER 5 1. Anderson [1962] 1989; Browning 1993, 2002; Simson 2001; Tucker 2006; Wise 1988. 2. Ragan 2002. 3. See the compilations in Mahan 1984 and Seager 1977. For a succinct summary, see Goldman 1994:83–91. 4. Hattendorf 1991; Livezey 1981; Seager 1977; Sumida 1997. 5. October 1890. See also Turk 1987. 6. Kemp 1976:512–13. 7. Kemp 1976:513. 8. Bruce and Cogar 1998:46. 9. See, e.g., Mahan 1984:89–90. 10. Pope and Wheal 1995:74. 11. Goldman 1994:181. 12. Keegan 1993a:216; Halpern 1994:310–29; Pope and Wheal 1995:260–63. The appeal of Mahan's ideas remains alive even in the 21st century. Watts (2009) and Holmes (2011) explore the relevance of using Mahan's ideas today, and Holmes and Yoshihara (2009) argue that the logic and operational derivatives of Mahan's 19th-century doctrine of using capital ships to engage in major actions involving surface fleets are as relevant today as they were more than a hundred years ago. 13. Examples are the landing of Nazi saboteurs on American soil by German U-boats in June 1942 (Operation Pastorius) and November 1944 (Operation Elster) (Dobbs 2004; Mallmann Showell 2000:28–31; O'Donnell 2005). 14. Jones 1986.

15. Craven 2002; Huchthausen and Sheldon-Duplaix 2009; McHale 2008; Reed 2010; Sasgen 2009; Sontag and Drew 1998. For some post–Cold War usage of submarines, see the June 2010 issue of U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings. 16. Miller 2002:13. Moreover, having 20 operational boats does not mean that 20 boats were on actual patrols at sea. Boats require maintenance, improvements, and Page 269 →repairs, and crews need to train and rest. Thus, the number of boats on actual combat patrols is always lower than the number of operational boats. 17. Smith 2003:21. 18. Parrish 2004:71. 19. Terraine 1989:58 (referring to the Royal Navy). 20. Redford 2010:95–101. Redford does not fail to mention that a similar idea was used by fiction author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for a 1914 short story that focused on a small fleet of hostile submarines practicing commerce raiding in a successful war against the United Kingdom. 21. Gray [1972] 1994:88. 22. This appellation came about mostly because of the appalling sanitary conditions in these boats and the resulting foul smell. 23. In fact, World War II submariners sometimes even referred to themselves as—and acted like—pirates (Schultz and Shell 2009; Sturma 2011). 24. Redford 2010:76. 25. Redford 2010:77. 26. Smith 2003:21. 27. Pope and Wheal 1995:455. 28. Tarrant 1989:13. 29. Miller 2000:8–17. 30. These phases reflect peaks of U-boat activities and do not necessarily provide a continuous time line. 31. Halpern (1994:291–303) dates the “first submarine campaign” from October 1914 to August 1915. 32. Compton-Hall 1991:1–4. 33. Compton-Hall 1991:130. 34. The reference is to the February 1864 attack by the Hunley on the USS Housatonic. 35. Pope and Wheal 1995:74. 36. Tarrant 1989:13. 37. Smith 2005:214–15. 38. The Lusitania was sunk by U-20 on May 7, 1915 (Carlisle 2009:22–25). 39. The Laconia, a Cunard liner, was sunk (by torpedo) by U-50 on February 25, 1917, about 11 kilometers northwest by west of Fastnet, the most southern point of Ireland. 40. Formerly called the SS Georgia, the Housatonic was torpedoed and sunk by U-53 (probably commanded by Lieutenant Hans Rose) on February 3, 1917, off Scilly Isle (Carlisle 2009:75–81). U-53 allowed the crew of the Georgia to disembark to lifeboats and towed these boats until a British patrol boat was sighted. U-53 then stopped the tow and left the boats, allowing survivors to be picked up by the patrol boat (see http://query.nytimes.com/mem/archive-free /pdf?_r=1&res=950CE2DF123BEE3ABC4951DFB466838C609EDE&oref=slogin).Page 270 → 41. Terraine 1989:6. 42. Quoted by Terraine (1989:6, 674n6) from J. E. Edmonds's 1951 book A Short History of World War I.

43. Terraine 1989:6–7. 44. Terraine 1989:7. 45. Halpern 1994:287. 46. Pope and Wheal 1995:74 (referencing the 1909 London Declaration). 47. Halpern 1994:291. Interestingly, the Z plan (discussed later in this chapter), developed by the German navy for World War II, stated that 249 U-boats would be necessary to conduct a successful naval war against Britain. 48. Halpern 1994:291. 49. Halpern 1994:291. 50. Halpern 1994:293. 51. Pope and Wheal 1995:74–75. 52. Scheer replaced Admiral von Pohl as commander in chief of the German navy from January 1916. 53. Tarrant 1989:13. 54. Before embarking on an unrestricted submarine warfare, the German high command sent some auxiliary cruisers to distant areas, ordering them to conduct commerce warfare against Britain. See Guilliatt and Hohnen 2010; Dyer 2004:260. 55. Halpern 1994:293. Scheer differed from Bauer. He wanted to lure the British navy into battle, something the British seemed reluctant to do. 56. Terraine 1989:8. 57. Terraine 1989:8–9; Halpern 1994:293. 58. Halpern 1994:295. 59. Halpern 1994:296. 60. Redford 2010:96. 61. Redford 2010:103–11. 62. Terraine 1989:11–12. Holwitt (2009:15) criticizes Holzendorff's recommendation to use unrestricted submarine warfare, as based on questionable logic and statistics. 63. Terraine 1989:15. 64. Churchill 1931:724. 65. Churchill 1931:725. 66. Simpson 1972:36. 67. The assumption is that conflicts can be solved or managed without causing mass misery. Obviously, I am not disregarding the past legal or political use of sanctions against, for example, Cuba, North Korea, Syria, Iran, and apartheid South Africa. However, the success record of using a blockade or sanctions is a mixed bag. 68. Miller 2000:9. 69. This gave a falsified impression about its national identity and intentions (Kemp 1976:938). 70. Williams 1997:20. For a somewhat different account, see Bailey and Ryan 1975:55–61.Page 271 → 71. Carlisle 2009:26. 72. http://www.gwpda.org/naval/arabic.htm. 73. Miller 2000:9. While Compton-Hall (1991:209–10) attributes this sinking to U-38, commanded by Korvettenkapitän Max Valentiner, Halpern (1994:302),

Williams (1997:25), Tarrant (1989:21), Carlisle (2009:22), and uboat.net (http://uboat.net/wwi/ships_hit/2835.html) attribute this sinking to U-20, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Walther Schwieger. 74. More than a hundred were American citizens. Indeed, sinking the Lusitania outraged the Americans. 75. Of the lost, 94 were children. 76. Bridgland 2002a:1–19; Compton-Hall 1991:197–200; Gray [1972] 1994:13–23; Hadley 1995:73; Halpern 1994:298–302; Hickey and Smith 1981; Parrish 2004:86–104; Pope and Wheal 1995:295; Preston 2007; Ramsay 2001; Sauder and Marschall 1993; Simpson 1972; Tarrant 1989:20–21; Thomas [1928] 1994:81–108; Williams 1997:20–22; Witcover 1989:101–8. See also the 52-minute 1994 National Geographic documentary Sinking of the Lusitania. Butler (1981) used this disaster as a basis for a literary narrative. Since Schweiger did not survive the war, his postwar account could not be obtained. However, Compton-Hall and Halpern point out that his belief was probably grounded in Brassey's Naval Annual, which identified the Lusitania as a merchant cruiser. Legro (1995) points out that “Lemp claimed that he thought the Athenia was an auxiliary cruiser because it was zigzagging and showing no lights. Neither of this claim was true” (57) and suggests that “Lemp simply was zealously implementing his training” (58). 77. Ramsay 2001:172. 78. E.g., Philip Smith 2005:215; Bruce and Cogar 1998:232–33. 79. Ramsay 2001:193–94. 80. This attempt was expressed in a note known as the Zimmerman telegram, sent from Berlin to Mexico. 81. The Housatonic was sunk by U-53, commanded by Hans Rose (Carlisle 2009:75–81). 82. The Marguerite was sunk by U-35, commanded by Lothar von Arnauld (Carlisle 2009:143–44). 83. Preston (2007) claims that the log of U-20's war patrol was altered in order to help neutralize the claims that U-20 deliberately sank a passenger ship. 84. Halpern 1994:302. 85. Miller 2000:10; Halpern 1994:304–10; Churchill 1931:727. 86. Smith 2003:22. 87. I here refer to the “war zone” as defined and declared in German messages. 88. Miller 2000:10. 89. Smith 2003:22. 90. Miller 2000:10; Tarrant 1989:36–43. 91. Miller 2000:10. 92. Clayton 2011:23. Halpern (1994:335) points out that while German U-boats Page 272 →were ordered in October 1916 to conduct a restricted warfare (i.e., according to the prize rules), the order was reversed toward the end of 1916 (December). Based on some economic calculations that indicated that unrestricted commerce raiding could starve Britain and bring it to submission, the 105 U-boats available to Germany in February 1917 (Halpern 1994:338) were unleashed to conduct an unrestricted commerce raiding (Halpern 1994:335–40). 93. Halpern 1994:336. 94. Miller 2000:11; Tarrant 1989:44–60. 95. Smith 2003:22; Halpern 1994:340–44; Tarrant 1989:44–49. 96. Churchill 1931:728–30. 97. http://www.uboat.net/wwi/boats/index.html?boat=39. 98. Keegan 1993a:222.

99. Manson 1990:13. For the speech itself, see http://www.firstworldwar.com/source/usawardeclaration.htm. 100. http://www.firstworldwar.com/source/doyourbit.htm. 101. Clayton 2011:23. 102. Halpern 1994:340–41; Pope and Wheal 1995:487. 103. Halpern 1994:351–70; Pope and Wheal 1995:117. 104. Keegan 1993a:218. 105. Blair 1976:878n. 106. Williams 1997:244. 107. Holwitt 2009:63–64. 108. Miller 2000:13; Tarrant 1989:16–17. The British Admiralty's “Room 40,” the department of its cryptanalysts, was the center of this activity. 109. Gray [1972] 1994; Compton-Hall 1991; Halpern 1994; Thomas [1928] 1994. 110. Churchill 1931:736. 111. Keegan 1993a:220. 112. Hutchinson 2001:68–69. 113. Sheffield 2002. 114. The term asdic supposedly stands for “Allied Submarine Detection Investigation Committee,” though it originated with the Anti-Submarine Division. 115. The next major breakthrough was in the 1950s, with the introduction of nuclear-powered and steam-driven submarines. USS Nautilus, the world's first nuclear-powered submarine, entered service in 1954. More breakthroughs in nonnuclear air-independent propulsion matured in the 1990s and early 2000s (Miller 2002:314–31). 116. This technology was not altered significantly until the advent of nuclear propulsion systems, the development of quiet operation, better metallurgy knowledge for building pressure hulls, and missile technology. 117. See Blair's review of some of these problems (1998:709). 118. Williams 2003:25–26. 119. Williams 2003:26; Hughes and Costello 1977:34–35; Miller 1995:33–34; Padfield 1995:46; van der Vat 1988:65–66; Westwood 2005:245–46. 120. Miller 1995:33. Dönitz (1979:24) provides somewhat different numbers and Page 273 →states that 233 submarines were to be built in the Z plan. See also Fuehrer Conferences 2005:33. 121. Dönitz (1979:24) notes that Hitler demanded that the constructions dictated by the Z plan would be completed within six years. 122. Van der Vat 1988:66; Miller 1995:34. Dönitz (1979:28) writes that on July 22, 1939, Raeder told his officers that Hitler had informed him of his intent to avoid beginning a war with England under any circumstances, because such a war would mean an end to Germany. Thus, German naval officers had no reason to be concerned. Hitler was, of course, either self-deluding or lying. 123. Hughes and Costello 1977:35. 124. Blair 1996:47. Even Dönitz (1979:27) admits that Germany violated its naval treaty with England. 125. Dönitz took part in that war as a submariner. In July or September of 1918, he was appointed captain of submarine UB-68 which was on operational patrols in the Mediterranean. On October 4, while on a patrol and during an attack on a convoy, UB-68 dived but proved unbalanced and had to surface and surrender. Dönitz was taken prisoner and spent nine months in a British POW camp. 126. In fact, lines in the “U-boot Lied”—the song of the U-boats—reflect this: “Hunt England, England into death.”

127. Rudeltaktik means “pack attack” (see Hughes and Costello 1977:30). 128. Blair 1996, 1998; Busch 1955; Mallmann Showell 2002; Miller 2000; Stern 1991, 1999; Tarrant 1989. 129. Dönitz 1979:28–31. 130. Blair 1996:57–64; Miller 2000:24–35; Stern 1991. Dönitz (1979:33) states that this change of mind and diversion of resources was made following the beginning of World War II in September 1939. 131. Blair 1996:56–57. 132. Westwood 2005:57. 133. Westwood 2005:53. 134. The 1930 London Naval Treaty included Article 22. The 1936 protocol confirmed that Article 22 was still valid. 135. Dönitz 1979:31; Westwood 2005:59. 136. Tooze 2006:338–39. 137. Blair 1996:42; Dönitz 1979:31–32; Fuehrer Conferences 2005:36. Blair (1996:54) also notes that out of the 30 small U-boats Germany had ordered (mostly for training), only about 19 were ready for action in mid-August 1939. In comparison, when World War II began, France had 77 submarines, Italy had 115, and the United Kingdom had 38. In December 1941, Japan had 63 submarines, and the United States had 112 (Ellis 1993:245). Not all submarines were in good condition or combat ready (Blair 1996:54; Westwood 2005). 138. Westwood 2005:56. 139. Miller 2000:126. 140. Dönitz 1979:37–39.Page 274 → 141. Dönitz 1979:41; Westwood 2005:61–67. 142. Williams 2003:29. 143. Redford 2010:142. 144. Redford 2010:142. 145. Redford 2010:145–47. 146. During his Nuremberg war trial, Dönitz recalled issuing this order “at the end of November or the beginning of December 1939.” See transcripts of May 9, 1946, at http://avalon.law.yale.edu/imt/05-09-46.asp. 147. In Padfield 1995:65. See also Keegan 1993a:229; http://avalon.law.yale.edu/imt/05-09-46.asp. 148. Blair 1998:59. See also Davidson 1966:403–7; Duffy 2009; Grossmith 1994. In 1998, A&E produced a 46-minute documentary focusing on this incident, titled The Laconia Affair. 149. Blair 1998:60. 150. Blair 1998:59–60. 151. U-156, with Hartenstein still in command, was spotted east of the island of Barbados and attacked with depth charges by a Catalina flying boat on March 8, 1943. The submarine sank, and no one survived. 152. Blair 1998:63. 153. See Miller 2000:128 for some difference in the figures. 154. Blair 1998:65. 155. Blair 1998:65. On the Laconia affair, see Blair 1998:57–66; Bridgland 2002b:63–90; Duffy 2009; Hadley 1995:124–25; Hirschfeld 1996:175–77;

Mulligan 1995:102; Peillard 1963; Von der Porten 1969:204–9; White 1998:100–101; Williams 2003:214–25. On Dönitz's war trial, see Dönitz 1979, 1997; Davidson 1966; http://avalon.law.yale.edu/imt/05-09-46.asp. 156. Russell 2008b:74. Lord Russell of Liverpool's version is that this order was delivered in early October 1942, when Dönitz inspected the Second U-boat Training Division and, later, the officers of that division. 157. Dönitz's statements obviously pay no heed to the barbaric behavior of Nazi troops and SS units in Nazi-occupied Europe or the barbarism of the Nazi troops following their unprovoked invasion of the Soviet Union (Operation Barbarosa, June 22, 1941). As to who exactly started World War II, Dönitz is simply and blatantly lying. Righteousness and hypocrisy were clearly the proper headlines for his two orders. 158. This statement of May 9, 1946, is available at http://avalon.law.yale.edu/imt/05-09-46.asp. 159. Russell 2008a:214. 160. See also Russell 2008b:71–72. 161. Fuehrer Conferences on Naval Affairs, 1939–1945 (2005:280–83) gives a somewhat different version. 162. See the transcripts of May 9, 1946, at http://avalon.law.yale.edu/imt/05-09-46.asp. 163. Sturma 2011:19.Page 275 → 164. Wilson 2000:91. See also Boyd and Yoshida 1995:114; Felton 2007:127. 165. Russell 2008a:227–32 notes that some Japanese naval officers followed this order. See also http://www.nesa.org.uk/fb/bcc.behar1.htm. 166. For a few works focusing on submarine warfare in World War II, see Blair 1976, 1996, 1998; Boyd and Yoshida 1995; Compton-Hall 1982, 1991; Friedman 1995; Gannon 1998; Hadley 1995; Mars 1971; Padfield [1984] 1993, 1995; Roscoe 1949; Stern 1991; Syrett 1994; Terraine 1989. On the Battle of the Atlantic, see Hughes and Costello 1977; Mallmann Showell 2002; Miller 1995; Offley 2011; van der Vat 1988; Williams 2003. 167. Schwab 1991:23–25. 168. Blair 1998:706–7. 169. Miller 2000:125–32. 170. Clayton 2011; Thomas 1961; Redford 2010. 171. Bragadin [1957] 1980; Sadkovich 1994. 172. Korzh 2009; Sadkovich 1989. 173. Boyd and Yoshida 1995; Carpenter and Polmar 1986; Hashimoto 1955 174. For a combined view of French, Russian, Italian, and Japanese submarines, consult Gunton 2003:131–49. 175. Scapa Flow is on the northern coast of Scotland. 176. The time was 1939 according to some sources. 177. Padfield 1995:53. 178. Padfield 1995:7. 179. Different sources provide numbers ranging between 117 and 128. 180. Padfield, 1995:7; Blair 1996:67; Parrish 2004:196–203. 181. Padfield 1995:7. 182. Padfield [1984] 1993:193. 183. Blair 1996:67. 184. The messages included the Athenia's position and an SSS code signal implying a submarine attack.

185. Raeder was the supreme commander of the Kriegsmarine. 186. Dönitz was the chief commander of the Nazi U-boats. Later in the war, he replaced Raeder as supreme commander of the Kriegsmarine. 187. Padfield [1984] 1993:193–94. 188. Padfield 1995:4. 189. Padfield 1995:6. 190. Higham 1985:166; see also Caulfield 1958. 191. Padfield's reproduced chart of U-boat dispersion in the Atlantic Ocean west to Britain ([1984] 1993:192; 1995:54) testifies to this. Blair (1996:68) concurs that it was improbable for both Dönitz and Raeder not to have known that the Athenia was almost certainly torpedoed by Lemp's U-30. 192. Padfield [1984] 1993:193; see also Blair 1996:66–69. 193. Sturma 2011:13; http://www.uboat.net/allies/merchants/ships/2.html. 194. Sturma 2011:13; http://www.uboat.net/allies/merchants/ships/22.html.Page 276 → 195. Sturma 2011:13; http://www.uboat.net/allies/merchants/ships/14.html. 196. Blair 1996:68. 197. The area is so specified in the German naval chart allocating patrol areas to U-boats. 198. Blair 1996:68. 199. Padfield [1984] 1993:194. 200. Padfield [1984] 1993:194. 201. Padfield 1995:59. 202. Parrish 2004:202. 203. Padfield [1984] 1993; Padfield 1995:59. 204. Dönitz 1979:38–39. 205. Padfield 1995:59; see also Caulfield 1958:198–211. For more on the Athenia incident, see The U-boat War in the Atlantic, 1939–1945 (London: Ministry of Defense (Navy), HMSO, 1989), 41–42. 206. Padfield [1984] 1993:230; Padfield 1995:120–27. See also Caulfield 1958:212–16. 207. Padfield 1995:128. 208. Blair 1996:278–85; Dunnigan and Nofi 1995:258–62; Hughes and Costello 1977:153–55; Roskill 1959; Syrett 1994:20. For the more general context of Ultra wartime signals intelligence, see Dear and Foot 1995:1165–74; Lewin 1978; Winterbotham 1974. 209. Roskill 1959. 210. See Huchthausen 2005; http://ww2today.com/hms-salmon-spots-the-bremen. 211. http://www.uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/3424.html. See also Redford 2010:149–50. HMS Salmon was lost in July 1940 off Norway, probably due to a collision with a mine. 212. Redford 2010:149–50. 213. Miller 2000:126. 214. Günter Prien and Joachim Schepke were killed, and Otto Kretchmer became a POW. 215. Hughes and Costello 1977:89–99. 216. Middlebrook 2003.

217. The codes of the Enigma cipher machine, used by the German navy and thought to be unbreakable, were in fact deciphered, and the British in Bletchley Park could read encrypted messages. The Germans did not know that until the end of the war. See Hughes and Costello 1977:153–55. On the Enigma machine, see DeBrosse and Burke 2005; Kahn 1991; Mallmann Showell 2009; Sebag-Montefiore 2000. On Ultra wartime signals intelligence, see Winterbotham 1974. For a general short summary, see Waldo Heinrich in Dear and Foot 1995:1165–74. German intelligence was also remarkably successful in penetrating and deciphering British communications. 218. HF/DF stands for high-frequency direction finding. 219. Gannon 1998:64–70; Hughes and Costello 1977:267; van der Vat 1988:176. 220. Price 2004.Page 277 → 221. Hutchinson (2001:111) notes that aircrafts were involved in 43.48 percent of all U-boat losses (surface ships were responsible for destroying only 31.59 percent). However, surface ships were responsible for 47.66 percent of destroyed Japanese submarines. Ellis's numbers (1993:266) differ. He writes that of the 785 German U-boats lost, 290 (about 37 percent) were sunk by aircraft-only attacks, and another 246 (about 31 percent) were sunk by surface gunfire and/or depth charges. 222. Compton-Hall 1988; Jones 1986. Submarines were responsible for 17.18 percent of the destroyed Japanese submarines but for only 2.7 percent of U-boat losses (Hutchinson 2001:111). 223. Parrish 2004: 220–33. 224. Parrish 2004:251–64. 225. These sinkings were part of Operation Paukenschlag (Operation Drumbeat). See Blair 1996:440–42, 452–75; Gannon 1990; Gentile 2006; Hadley 1985:52–81; Westwood 2005:148–64. 226. The Abwehr was a German intelligence-gathering organization. 227. Ben-Yehuda 2001:121; Dobbs 2004; Mallmann Showell 2000:28–31; O'Donnell 2005. 228. Mallmann Showell 2000:29. 229. Dobbs 2004:273; Gimpel 2003; O'Donnell 2005:284–85; http://www.uboat.net/boats/u1230.htm. 230. Blair 1998:706. 231. Miller 2000:127. 232. See Gannon 1998; Syrett 1994. 233. Gannon 1998; Offley 2011. 234. Added factors were bad weather and the perception that an Allied invasion to Europe was imminent. The upgrade included sophisticated torpedoes, better antiaircraft defenses, improved batteries, and radar detection devices (Blair 1998:706). 235. Blair 1998:707; Miller 2000:127–32. 236. Redford 2010:147. 237. Burns 1971:60. 238. E.g., HMS Sunfish sank the Amasis in the Kattegat on April 10, 1940 (Williams 1997:95). 239. Redford 2010:150–51. 240. Redford 2010:152–53. American submariners did too (Sturma 2011). 241. Hutchinson 2001:111. 242. See Williams's figures for passenger ships (1997:244).

243. Miller 2000:132. Blair (1976:878n) claims that U-boats sank 2,882 Allied merchant ships, plus 175 men-of-war. Mallmann Showell's figure (2002:11) is 2,450 ships sunk in the Atlantic by U-boats, and with ships sunk in other sea areas, his figure climbs to 2,775 ships sunk. 244. Poirier 1999:3. 245. See also Ellis 1993:261. 246. Offley (2011) offers somewhat different statistics. He claims that U-boats sent to Page 278 →the bottom more than 3,500 ships, totaling 13.5 million tons of shipping (392). Most of the 2,919 Allied merchant ships lost to the U-boats in the war were sunk in the North Atlantic, and more than 71,000 merchant seamen, naval personnel, and civilians lost their lives on those ships (Offley 2011:xxiv). 247. Campbell and MacIntyre 1960; Kemp 1993; Woodman 1994. Two excellent fictional books based on real convoy experiences by the authors are Alistair MacLean's H.M.S. Ulysses and Nicholas Monsarrat's The Cruel Sea (made into a movie in 1953). 248. Churchill 1949:598. 249. Syrett (1994:259) states, “In the course of World War II most Allies convoys sailed the North Atlantic without being contacted by U-boats.” Following his monumental study of submarine warfare in World War II, Blair (1998:707) states, “Contrary to the accepted wisdom or mythology: U-boats never came close at any time to cutting the vital North Atlantic lifeline to the British Isles.” Regarding this issue, David Miller e-mailed me (on October 28, 2006) that he believed that Blair would have been much fairer if he had said something along the lines of “It appeared to the Allied leadership at the time, and in particular to Winston Churchill, that the U-boats were coming very close to cutting the vital North Atlantic lifeline. This was the advice given as the result of detailed analysis by the intelligence staffs at the time these events were actually taking place, but a re-evaluation, as given in this book, suggests that this was far too gloomy and that, in reality, the British, and from December 1941, the Americans as well, were actually doing much better than they thought.” Furthermore, Syrett's 1994:259–66) work points out that indeed Nazi Germany's U-boats were out thought, out fought and outsmarted by the Allies. By 1943, the Nazis lost the Battle of the Atlantic. They lost the technological and intelligence battles, and—so points Syrett—they were not nearly as good as the Allies in using their resources in an integrated way. And, indeed, what can one expect from a nation who helped a man with a vicious and cruel character become their head of state? Moreover, the resources Hitler diverted to murder millions on a phony racist and evil scheme as well as his avoidance of using resources of non-Aryans probably helped to doom his murderous expansionism. 250.Snyder 1976:353. 251. Gannon 1998:393. 252. Offley 2011:382. 253. Mason 1968:154. 254. In Blair's 1976 book (877n), the number is 781 (including 2 captured). 255. Blair 1998:705, relying on Alex Niestlě. 256. Mulligan 1992a:261. 257. See Manson 1990:179; Miller 2000:172–203 (for a specific list). Williams's summary (2003, picture in front of p. 193) notes, #x201C;A total of 1,167 Uboats were commissioned during the war, of which 859 saw service as front-line boats. Of these, 648 were lost; a third on their first war patrol. More than 30,000 men of the U-boat Arm are listed as missing.#x201D; 258. Manson 1990:179.Page 279 → 259. Holwitt 2009:1, 142–43. Preceding that order by about three hours was Admiral Thomas C. Hart's order to the Asiatic Fleet to wage unrestricted warfare by aircraft and submarines (Holwitt 2009:141). 260. Holwitt 2009:1.

261. Holwitt 2009:84–87. The U.S. crystallized a few contingency war plans for a potential war with Japan. Plan Orange took shape between 1922 and 1938 and was replaced by the Rainbow Plan. Already in November 1940, new concerns brought Admiral Harold Stark to start replacing this plan with Plan Dog (Goldman 1994:184–86; Manson 1990:39n2 2, 80–81). 262. Holwitt 2009:2. 263. Holwitt 2009:16. 264. Holwitt 2009:154. 265. Holwitt 2009:160–61. 266. Sturma 2011:16. 267. Holwitt 2009:87. 268. Holwitt 2009:150. Given this policy, it is quite surprising that U.S. submariners were not trained to fight in such a war. Perhaps military planners did not want to antagonize civilian authorities by actually drilling such warfare, but not paying even some or scant attention to this possibility in practice training is odd. Nevertheless, American submarines were technically suitable for such warfare, and as both Sturma (2011) and Holwitt (2009) point out, American submariners’ motivation to hit Japanese targets was very high following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. 269. Clayton 2011:55–58. 270. Sturma 2011:11. 271. Holwitt 2009:104. 272. Smith 2003. 273. Hasegawa 2005. Even so, a last-minute attempt to stage a coup d'état almost prevented the surrender message of Emperor Hirohito. 274. Holwitt 2009:78–83. 275. Known as “ComSubPac” (for “Commander, Submarines, Pacific Fleet”) between 1943 and 1946, Lockwood was promoted to vice admiral in 1943. After his retirement, he wrote books (e.g., Lockwood 1951 and 1967) and was the consultant for a few submarine movies. 276. Alden and Mcdonald 2009; Roskill 1961; Sturma 2011. 277. Blair 1998:705. See also Smith 2003. 278. DeRose 2000:1. 279. Holwitt 2009: 169–71. 280. Referring to this issue, Holwitt (2009:159–61) titles the discussion as “illegal but not immoral.” 281. Blair 1976:877–79. 282. Blair (1976:877) states that 3,506 submariners perished in the war. See also Roscoe [1958] 1982. 283. Holwitt 2009:168. Blair (1976:879) makes a similar estimate.Page 280 → 284. Holmes 1994; Ellis (1993:261) states that 53 American submarines were lost. 285. Sturma 2011:2. 286. Blair 1976:877n; Ellis 1993:261; Hutchinson 2001; Parrish 2004:423. Slight differences between sources exist. More on the decisive victory of U.S. submarines’ unrestricted warfare is documented in Holwitt 2009:164–68 (including Japanese sources) and Sturma 2011. 287. Poirier 1999:7. 288. Paterson 2007. 289. Paterson 2004.

290. Wilson 2000. 291. Stevens 1997. 292. Japan planned to use its Pacific submarines in a strategy of attrition against the Americans (Goldman 1994:181–84; Carpenter and Polmar 1986). 293. Hudson 1943; Thomas [1928] 1994; Underwood 2005. Glorification of submarine warfare was expressed in books and in “sub movies,” which have become a genre of their own. Some submarine movies were already made in the 1920s and 1930s, such as Submarine (1928), Men without Women (1930), and Submarine D-1 (1937). Dozens of movies were made later, such as We Dive at Dawn (1943), Destination Tokyo (1944), Morning Departure (1951), Above Us the Waves (1956), The Enemy Below (1957), Run Silent, Run Deep (1958), Torpedo Run (1958), Up Periscope (1959), Submarine X-1 (1968), The Boat (1981), The Hunt For Red October (1990), Crimson Tide (1995), Hostile Water (1997), U-571 (2000), and K-19 (2002). A curious historical fact is that the only movie in which former U.S. president Ronald Reagan and his wife, Nancy Reagan, played together was a sub movie, Hellcats of the Navy (1957). 294. On the northern convoys and the “Murmansk (or Kola) Run,” see Broome 1972; Campbell and MacIntire 1960; Lund and Ludlam 1973; Woodman 1994. 295. Parrish 2004:265–83. 296. To recapitulate, the Battle of the Atlantic took the lives of more than 62,800 Allied servicemen and servicewomen and of 36,000 merchant sailors; out of about 40,000 Germans who served in U-boats, about 7,000 survived (U.S. Naval Proceedings, October 2006, 84; Hughes and Costello 1977; Runyan and Copes 1994; Valle 1994; van der Vat 1988; White 2006). 297. Killing enemy survivors in lifeboats or in the water was not only committed by submarines. Airplanes were also used to kill such survivors. In one case, a carnage of mass killing in the Battle of the Bismarck Sea on March 2–5, 1943, close to 3,000 Japanese perished (Bridgland 2002b:129–37). Following the Japanese air raid on the port of Darwin in October 1942, Japanese pilots strafed survivors in the water (DeRose 2000:95). 298. Kemp 1976:670; Pope and Wheal 1995:219–22, 455–56. 299. Under what circumstances does war “degrade” into mass killing? There are weapons and strategies that were made to achieve mass killings of innocent civilians. The modern road to mass killings goes through the development of weapon systems with the ability to terrorize and inflict death and misery on a mass scale. But paving this Page 281 →road and walking on it were primarily cultural decisions. Nuclear weapons (especially thermonuclear weapons) are indeed able to create mass extinction on a planetary scale (Chirot and McCauley 2006). Choosing to use them is a cultural decision. 300. Hughes and Costello 1977:36–37; Dyer 2004:243–85. 301. Blair's works of the late 1990s challenge this view about World War II. However, it is obvious that Winston Churchill certainly felt severely threatened by the U-boat campaign at the time. 302. Bruce and Cogar 1998:46. 303. Probably the worst year was 1942 (Hughes and Costello 1977:304; Terraine 1989:766). Approximately 225,000 crew members served in British registered merchant ships, and more than 30,000 of them were killed (Ellis 1993:266–69). It is sometimes quite difficult to get accurate numbers, because different sources provide different figures, using different criteria. For example, Ellis (1993:269) presents two separate tables in which different estimates are given for casualties of Merchant Navy crewmen in British registered ships in 1939–45. One table states that 1,565 ships and 25,864 crewmen, which is about 46 percent of the crew, were lost to enemy action. Another table states that casualties were 30,248, which is about 13 percent of those that served. 304. Bridgland 2002b:217; http://www.uboat.net/allies/merchants/3226.html.

CHAPTER 6 1. This title refers to motor torpedo boats, or MTBs.

2. Tarrant 1989:6–76. 3. Carlisle 2009:26. 4. On sinking passenger ships, see Williams 1997. 5. Bailey and Ryan 1975:74; Ramsay 2001:53; Simpson 1972:92. 6. The sinking is detailed in chapter 5. 7. UB-29 was located, depth charged, and sunk on December 6, 1916 (Bridgland 2002a:92; on December 13 according to uboat.net). On June 12, 1917, UC-66, commanded by Pustkuchen, was located in the British Channel, attacked, and sunk (Gray [1972] 1994:198; see also http://www.uboat.net/wwi/men /commanders/253.html). 8. Bridgland 2002a:81–98; Carlisle 2009:28–30; Compton-Hall 1991:215, 227; Gray [1972] 1994:144–46; Parrish 2004:107–10. 9. Some sources refer to this ship as the Aquila. 10. Bridgland 2002a:20. 11. Bridgland 2002a:20; Carlisle 2009:22; http://www.uboat.net/wwi/ships_hit/2108.html. Wikipedia claims that U-28 gave ample warning and that instead of vacating the ship, the Falaba used its wireless to call for help. As warships were approaching the scene, U-28 fired its torpedoes at the ship. According to this source, the Falaba exploded because it carried about “thirteen tons of contraband high explosives” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thrasher_incident). 12. Bridgland 2002a:21; http://www.uboat.net/wwi/ships_hit/5861.html.Page 282 → 13. Bridgland 1999; Coles 1986; Gibson and Prendergast 2003; Hadley 1995:29; Halpern 1994:301. 14. Bridgland 2002a:34. 15. Bridgland 2002a:30–34; Compton-Hall 1991:203–5. 16. Compton-Hall 1991:204–5. 17. Bridgland 2002a:35–39; Carlisle 2009:26–27; Halpern 1994:301. 18. Bridgland 1999:20–55 (chap. 4), 2002a:62–68. See also http://uboat.net/wwi/boats/index.html?boat=41. 19. Bridgland 2002a:44–45; Compton-Hall 1991:147–48. 20. Compton-Hall (1991:148) reports that 15 men were killed in the initial attack and 5 more men were shot “while trying to swim away”; Bridgland (2002a:45) indicates 14 dead and 1 missing. 21. Bridgland 2002a:45–58; Compton-Hall 1991:148. 22. Bridgland 2002a:46. 23. Gray [1972] 1994:181; Bridgland 2002a:159–61; Compton-Hall 1991:311. 24. Gray [1972] 1994:181; Bridgland 2002a:159–61; Compton-Hall 1991:311. 25. See http://www.maritimequest.com/daily_event_archive/2008/07_july/31_ss_belgian_prince.htm and http://uboat.net/history/wwi/part5.htm. 26. Gray [1972] 1994:183–84. Wikipedia lists 20 hospital ships sunk during World War I, 12 of them by German U-Boats (and 8 of those were British). See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_hospital_ships_sunk_in_World_War_I. Hitting hospital ships continued into World War II, when not just submarines hit these ships. The British lost about 10 such ships during the war. One example of sinking not by a submarine took place on the night of September 13, 1943. The British hospital ship HMS Newfoundland was on its way to Salerno carrying medical staff—103 American nurses. About 40 miles off Salerno, Luftwaffe bombers attacked this ship, which was well lighted with green lights and illuminated with Red Cross insignia. The ship was badly damaged and was scuttled the next day. British ships rescued all 103 nurses. Four nurses who suffered minor wounds were awarded the Purple Heart by the U.S. Army (see, e.g., Monahan and Neidel-Greenlee 2003; http://darbysrangers.tripod.com/id76.htm). Another example took place on January 25, 1944, when Luftwaffe airplanes

attacked and sank the hospital ship HMS St. David (lit and marked with Red Cross signs) while it was evacuating wounded personnel from the beachhead in Anzio. Two other hospital ships there—HMS St. Andrew and HMS Leinster—were attacked as well. However, only St. David was sunk. At the time of the attack, HMS St. David was loaded with 226 medical staff and patients. This attack cost the lives of 96 (http://darbysrangers.tripod.com/id76.htm). 27. Williams 1997:36–37. 28. Gray [1972] 1994:184. 29. Gray [1972] 1994:184–88; http://www.uboat.net/wwi/men/commanders/334.html. 30. Gray [1972] 1994:187. 31. Bridgland 2002a:146; Gray [1972] 1994:183; Williams 1997:36.Page 283 → 32. Bridgland 2002a:146. 33. Bridgland 2002a:149–50. 34. Williams 1997:53–54. 35. Bridgland 2002a:155. 36. Bridgland 2002a:137. 37. Bridgland 2002a: 145–46; http://uboat.net/wwi/boats/successes/uc66.html. 38. Bridgland 2002a:156–58; Williams 1997:67–68. While Bridgland (2002a:195) noted that Werner's whereabouts became unknown, a simple online search reveals that he surfaced during World War II, joined the Nazi Party, and served in the Nazi military. See, e.g., http://forum.axishistory.com/viewtopic.php? f=38&p=1186251; see also http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilhelm_Werner_(SS-Mitglied). This website states that Werner again torpedoed a fully lit hospital ship, the Guilford Castle, on March 10, 1918; it did not sink, because one torpedo was a dud and the other missed. 39. Bridgland 2002a:165–69; Williams 1997:70. 40. A somewhat similar sinking is that of the Severn Leigh (described later in this chapter) in World War II. 41. Williams 1997:76–77. 42. It is unclear why they were depressed. Was it because of being involved in something they did not approve of or because they had been kept below where they could not be part of it? 43. Padfield [1984] 1993:108. 44. Compton-Hall 1991:312; Gray [1972] 1994:243–45; Gunton 2003:57; Williams 1997:76–77. 45. Padfield does not specify when Patzig joined the Abwehr, a German counterintelligence organization headed from 1935 to 1944 by Admiral Wilhelm Canaris. Uboat.net discloses that when World War II began, Patzig, serving past his retirement age, joined the Nazi headquarters of the U-boats from February to June 1940, then served in several staff positions until he took command of the former Dutch boat UD-4 on January 28, 1941, but without any patrols. On October 15, 1941, he returned to staff positions until retirement on May 3, 1945. Patzig died on March 11, 1984 (http://www.uboat.net/wwi/men/commanders /237.html). 46. Padfield [1984] 1993:109. Patzig also served in Dönitz's headquarters. 47. Padfield [1984] 1993:51, 84. 48. Terraine 1989:45. 49. Bridgland 2002a:193–200. 50. Bridgland 2002a:200. 51. Gray [1972] 1994:86.

52. Levie and Lalgee 2008:2384. 53. Terraine 1989:45. 54. See, e.g., Hasegawa 2005:3–4. 55. See, e.g., Norman and Norman 2009:79–82. 56. Stalin and Hitler demanded that their soldiers fight to the end as well. 57. On Japanese war crimes, see Brackman 1987; Chang 1997; Dower 1986; Edwards 1997; Page 284 →Felton 2007; Gold 1996; Hicks 1995; Maga 2001; Piccigallo 1979; Russell 2008a; Tanaka 1996. 58. From November 1, 1924, the Imperial Japanese Navy used a system of classification for its submarines in which the letter I indicated a large oceangoing class of submarines, with displacement above 1,000 tons (Miller 2002:190). 59. http://www.combinedfleet.com/I-27.htm. 60. Edwards 1997:9–22; DeRose 2000:95. 61. It was January 4 according to Sturma (2011:19). 62. Some sources identify the submarine as I-156. 63. Documenting this incident is not an easy undertaking. In some places, the name Kwangtung appears as Kwantung. 64. Some sources state that only 12 or 13 survived. 65. See http://members.iinet.net.au/~gduncan/massacres_pacific.html; http://www.naval-history.net/xDKWW2-4201-41JAN01.htm; http://www.nesa.org.uk/fb /bcc.behar1.htm. 66. Boyd and Yoshida 1995:212. See also http://www.blountweb.com/blountcountymilitary/wars/ww2/timelines/1945_ww2.htm. 67. From November 1, 1924, the Imperial Japanese Navy used a system of classification for its submarines in which the letters RO indicated a medium coastal class of submarines, with displacement between 500 and 1,000 tons (Miller 2002:190). 68. Morison [1956] 2002:276; Russell 2008a:215, 218;http://www.combinedfleet.com/RO-110.htm. 69. Edwards 1997:66–78; Wilson 2000:94. 70. http://www.combinedfleet.com/I-177.htm. 71. Bridgland 2002b:214; Edwards 1997:58–65; Felton 2007:55–60; Frame 2004; Goodman 1988; Jenkins 1992; Milligan and Foley 1993; Williams 1997:183–84; Wilson 2000:94. See also http://www.dva.gov.au/aboutDVA/publications/commemorative/centaur/Pages/index.aspx. USS Samuel S. Miles sank I-177 on October 3, 1944. No one survived (Edwards 1997:65; Carpenter and Polmar 1986:154). 72. http://www.combinedfleet.com/I-177.htm. 73. Felton 2007:101. 74. Felton 2007:94–101. 75. Bridgland 2002b:214; Edwards 1997:79–104; Felton 2007:101–3; Russell 2008a:215–16, 218–19; Wilson 2000:94–95. 76. Edwards 1997:105–23; Felton 2007:103–6; Russell 2008a:216; Wilson 2000:95. 77. Some sources state that it was sunk on November 19. See Bridgland 2002b:213–15, 219–22: Edwards 1997:124–36; Felton 2007:106–11; Russell 2008a:216, 219–22; Wilson 2000:96. 78. Bridgland 2002b:215. See also http://www.combinedfleet.com/I-177.htm. 79. Edwards 1997:152–65; Wilson 2000:96; Felton 2007:123–24. Russell (2008a:216) describes the incident but fails to identify I-165. 80. Gunton 2003:59; Stevens 1997:250n7.

81. Bridgland 2002b:217–21; Carpenter and Polmar 1986:44, 98; Edwards Page 285 →1997:217; Felton 2007:145–54. See also Roskill 1961:205–6; Russell 2008a:222–27; Stevens 1997:104–5; Wilson 2000:93–94; http://www.armed-guard.com/ag87.html. 82. Boyd and Yoshida 1995. 83. Boyd and Yoshida 1995:179. 84. Edwards 1997:217. 85. Tetsunosuke Ariizumi committed suicide after leading two submarines—I-400 and I-401 (the largest diesel-electric boats built at that time)—to an attack on the naval base at Ulithi. Japan surrendered before these two submarine aircraft carriers could accomplish their attack plan, and they were thus forced to surrender to U.S. naval forces (Carpenter and Polmar 1986:60–61; Miller 2002:480; Sakaida, Nila, and Takaki 2011; see also the 2000 National Geographic documentary film Japan's Secret Weapon). 86. Stevens 1997:105. 87. Felton 2007:139. See also http://www.warsailors.com/singleships/grena.html; http://www.combinedfleet.com/I-26.htm. 88. Edwards 1997:190–201; Felton 2007:139–44; Wilson 2000:96–97. 89. Sturma 2011:56. 90. Edwards 1997:218–27; Felton 2007:154–57; Sturma 2011:55; Wilson 2000:96–97. 91. Wilson 2000:97. 92. Russell 2008a:216–18. 93. See http://ubootwaffe.net/ops/boat.cgi?boat=37; http://www.uboat.net/boats/u37.htm. 94. Bridgland 2002b:1–11; Vause 1997a:65–68. Vause (1997a:119) states that while Oehrn was firing on the ship, his fire hit a lifeboat. His account suggests that no machine-gun fire was used to deliberately kill survivors. Vause bases his account on Oehrn's unpublished memoirs. 95. Not all convoys had naval armed escorts. This problem was more acute at the early stages of the war but was alleviated later, when more armed units for naval escort, carrying out better antisubmarine warfare practices, became available. 96. Williams (1997:111) states that the ship carried 408 passengers and crew. 97. Blair 1996:193–94; Bridgland 2002b:29–62; Williams 1997:110–11. For a somewhat different account, see http://uboat.net/allies/merchants/ships /532.html. 98. Morison ([1947] 2001:130n23) states that the submarine opened fire on men in the water. See http://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?30741#19454; http://uboat.net/allies/merchants/1389.html. 99. Erich Topp was promoted to Fregattenkapitän in December 1944. 100. Uboat.net's description of U-552 ignores this incident altogether. See http://www.uboat.net/boats/u552.htm. 101. Quoted in Keegan 1993a:229. 102. Bridgland 2002b: 216–17; Gentile 1989:131–33; Hickam 1989:120–22. See also http://www.uboat.net/boats/patrols/patrol_1276.html; http://uboat.net /allies/merchants/1496.html; http://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?15509. 103. Morison [1947] 2001:130n23 ; http://uboat.net/allies/merchants/1403.html.Page 286 → 104. http://uboat.net/allies/merchants/1412.html. Crew members from both Cardonia and Esso Bolivar reported that their lifeboats were machine-gunned as they were being lowered into the water (Morison [1947] 2001:130n23). For a counteraccount regarding the Cardonia, see http://www.uboat.net/articles /index.html?article=55. 105. http://uboat.net/allies/merchants/1838.html.

106. Blair 1996:615. 107. Bridgland 2002b:212–13. 108. Blair 1998:532. 109. Blair 1998:532. See also Gunton 2003:57–58. 110. See also http://www.uboat.net/articles/index.html?article=18; http://uboat.net/boats/u852.htm. 111. Blair 1998:532–34, 702–4; Bridgland 2002b:103–12; Cameron 1948. 112. Bridgland 2002b:112. See also Compton-Hall 1982:109; Gannon 1998:22–23; Green 1950; Hadley 1995:124, 134, 136, 168; Russell 2008b:75–77; Messimer 1997; Miller 1997; Padfield 1995:379–83; Stern 1999:109–10; Stevens 1997:49–50; Tarrant 1994:229; http://www.uboataces.com/articles-warcriminal.shtml. 113. Bridgland 2002b:150; Russell 2008b:77–79. 114. http://uboat.net/boats/u247.htm. 115. It sank in the English Channel, near Land's End. 116. Bridgland 2002b:147–53; Milner 1994:171–72; http://uboat.net/allies/merchants/3281.html. 117. Caiques are wooden fishing boats, typically found in the Aegean Sea. 118. Chapman 1989:62. See also Bridgland 2002b:94; Padfield 1995:145–49. 119. Bridgland 2002b:94–95; Gunton 2003:59. 120. Chapman 1989:64. 121. On a related issue, Clayton (2011:343) notes that the Polish submarine Sokol “especially enjoyed hunting German soldiers in caiques. The Poles hated Germans to a degree that rather shocked their British colleagues. One section of Sokol's November patrol report is headed ‘massacre of 200 Huns off Mirabella Bay,’ and it was a cold-blooded massacre.” I could not verify this, or find more details, in any other source. 122. Bridgland 2002b:95–96; Chapman 1989:64–65; Padfield 1995:141–49. 123. Clayton 2011:230–31. 124. Padfield 1995:149. 125. See also Bridgland 2002b:91–102. 126. Gunton 2003:86–88. 127. Holwitt 2009:168–71. 128. Holwitt 2009:170. 129. Milton 2000. 130. Quoted in Bridgland 2002b:121–22. See also Blair 1976:386; DeRose 2000:83–84; Holwitt 2003; Holwitt 2009:171–75; L0ckwood 1951:54–55. On the war patrols of the Wahoo (SS-238), see McDaniel 2005. 131. On October 31, 2006, the U.S. Navy announced that a team of divers found the remains of the USS Wahoo at a depth of about 65 meters of water in La Pérouse Page 287 →(or Soya) Strait, between the Japanese island of Hokkaido and the Russian island of Sakhalin. Japanese war reports stated that one of its planes had spotted an American submarine in La Pérouse Strait on October 11, 1943, and that a combined sea and air attack involving depth charges and aerial bombs finally sunk the USS Wahoo. See http://www.navy.mil/search/display.asp?story_id=26378; for a video, see http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=gcGZdRFqmlY&feature=BFa&list=PLFC5E3D24E3504327&index=9. See also Holmes 1994:65–72 (although this source is probably not accurate about Wahoo's end).

132. DeRose 2000:94. 133. Blair 1976:384–86; Bridgland 2002b:115–29; Compton-Hall 1982:121–22; DeRose 2000; Gannon 1998:22; Holwitt 2003; Holwitt 2009:169–71; McDaniel 2005; O'Kane 1987; Padfield 1995:338–47; Sterling 1999; Stern 1999:109–10; http://www.warfish.com/patrol3con.html. 134. DeRose 2000:81. 135. See also Dower 1986. 136. DeRose 2000:81. 137. Sturma 2011:20. 138. Sturma 2011:2. 139. Sturma 2011:102. See also Blair 1976:837–40; Schultz and Shell 2009:168; http://www.uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/2912.html. 140. Miller 2008:136. 141. Blair 1976:836–40; Dingman 1997; Miller 2008:133–42; Sasgen 1995:270–71; Williams 1997:230–31. 142. Lockwood 1951:285–86. 143. These protocols include the Hague conventions of 1899 and 1907 and the Geneva convention. 144. M. R. D. Foot in Dear and Foot 1995:913–15. See also Ferguson 2006:474–80, 496–502; Longden 2005. 145. Felton (2007:158) notes, “The execution of Allied aircrews was actually official Japanese policy.” 146. Ferguson 2006:497. 147. On “hell ships,” see Lamont-Brown 2002; Michno 2001; Norman and Norman 2009:314–17; http://www.britain-at-war.org.uk/WW2/Hell_Ships/. Their voyages are detailed in http://www.west-point.org/family/japanese-pow/ShipsAlpha.htm. The 1945 movie Prison Ship (directed by Arthur Dreifuss) and the 1958 movie Torpedo Run (directed by Joseph Pevney) are based on the concept of these ships. 148. See Bridgland 2002b:195–96 for eight such cases. 149. Bridgland 2002b:195–96. 150. Different sources provide sometimes different numbers of victims and survivors. 151. Williams 1997:216. 152. http://www.maritime.org/pamphome.htm; see also Jaffee 2001; Michno 2000. 153. Sendzikas 2010. 154. Fluckey 1992:103–13.Page 288 → 155. Bridgland 2002b:156–94; Fluckey 1992:104–5, 108–13. See also these four websites: http://www.anzacday.org.au/history/ww2/anecdotes/survivors.html; http://www.maritime.org/patrol3.htm; http://www.submarinesailor.com/history/pow/AussieBritRescue/;http://www.angelfire.com/nm/bcmfofnm/hellships /hellships.html. 156. Sturma 2011:162. 157. Their original website, compiled in 1999, is no longer available. I have on file a copy of the information from that site. Their new site is http://reocities.com/pentagon/camp/3166/. 158. See http://crolick.website.pl/orporzel/facts.html; http://crolick.website.pl/orporzel/; http://uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/5425.html. A polish movie on this submarine, titled Orzel and directed by Leonard Buczkowski, was made in 1959 (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0053148/). 159. On the Orzel incident, see p. 19 in http://books.google.co.il/books? id=kBzKB4ND38IC&pg=PA19&vq=Orzel&dq=Orzel&sig=2tm9LGdmIHMmWT7DM7XEA8pGxko&redir_esc=y#v=onepage&q=Orzel&f=false. See also

http://warsailors.com/forum/read.php?1,48488,48490; http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/world-war-2/6235262/World-War-2-Soviet-ship-sunk-bysubmarine.html. It is possible that the entire sinking of the Metallist only occurred on paper and was no more than a Soviet publicity stunt. 160. http://www.uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/5044.html. 161. His name is David Stolier. See http://www.alpas.net/uli/struma/AmiAtir2.htm. 162. Frantz and Collins 2003; Niv 1967:231–34; Offer 1990:149–82; Ofir 2003; Rohwer 1965; Slutsky 1973:159–61. 163. Grier 2007; Tarrant 1994:224–26; http://compunews.com/s13/hannibal.htm. 164. http://compunews.com/s13/s13.htm 165. Williams 1997:228. 166. Williams 1997:233–34. 167. Dobson, Miller, and Payne 1979; Sellwood 1973; http://www.sinkingthegustloff.com/; http://www.militaryhistoryonline.com/wwii/articles /wilhelmgustloff.aspx. Quite a few documentaries and fiction movies were made about this sinking. 168. Ben-Yehuda 1993:113–14. 169. Marinesko was awarded, posthumously (in 1990), the citation “Hero of the Soviet Union.” See http://rusnavy.com/history/events/marinesko.htm; and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Marinesko. 170. Williams 1997:227–28. 171. Some estimates suggest that there were more than 10,000. 172. Dear and Foot 1995:1273; Dobson, Miller, and Payne 1979; Sellwood 1973. Blair (1998:656) estimates that about 5,500 were lost. The Wilhelm Gustloff attracted some curious attention because rumors spread that the ship had some secret cargo—for example, the famous Amber Room (Scott-Clark and Levy 2004:7). At least three television documentaries were made about it. A History Channel program, History Mysteries—Killer Submarines, detailed how the Wilhelm Gustloff was turned from a passenger Page 289 →ship into a floating school for German submariners, as well as the attack of S-13 on it. Two other documentaries were made for the National Geographic Channel. One involved Bob Ballard in a program called The World's Deadliest Sea Disaster. This program, in which a few survivors traveled to the Baltic Sea where the Wilhelm Gustloff sank, followed a submersible robot with a camera to the sunken ship and discussed the January-April attempts by the Nazis to get as many people as they could away from the advancing Red Army. The other program was an episode in the Sea Hunters series. It presented an underwater exploration of the wreck of the Wilhelm Gustloff while discussing various hypotheses about it. 173. For a short description, see Christopher Bellamy in Holmes 2001:485–87. 174. Niall Barr and Chris Mann state, “Of the 5.7 million Red Army soldiers taken prisoner [on the Eastern Front], over 3 million died from disease, starvation, and ill-treatment” (in Holmes 2001:734). Dear and Foot (1995:914) report, “The Germans treated captured Soviet personnel abominably: five-sixth of the soldiers of the Red Army who were taken prisoner did not survive the war.” 175. Offer 1990:195–98, 264–66; http://members.iinet.net.au/~gduncan/maritime-2b.html; http://uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/5046.html; http://www.jewishgen.org/databases/Holocaust/0179_Sinking_of_Mefkure.html; Rohwer 1965. 176. Padfield [1984] 1993:109. 177. Padfield [1984] 1993:51. 178. Padfield [1984] 1993:84. 179. 10.5 centimeters. 180. Blair 1996:302; Gannon 1998:42–44, 52. 181. Blair 1996:302.

182. Gannon 1998:52. 183. Gannon 1998:52. 184. Blair 1996:302. 185. Gannon 1998:52. 186. Blair 1998:199. 187. Von der Porten 1969:148, 152–54. 188. Cremer [1982] 1984:43–47; Blair 1996:474–75. 189. Cremer [1982] 1984:47. 190. Gannon [1982] 1998:53. 191. Blair 1996:431–700; Cressman 2000; Gannon 1998; Hickam 1989; Hughes and Costello 1977:190–207. 192. Gannon 1998:268. 193. Gannon 1998:378. 194. Crash-diving is a process that a submarine (typically, a diesel-electric one) under-takes—as quickly as it possibly can—to avoid being attacked. 195. This series of rocky ridges is just below the ocean surface on the Grand Banks, off the coast of Newfoundland. 196. Blair 1996:512–13; Gannon 1998:380. 197. Gannon 1998:380.Page 290 → 198. Gannon 1998:265–67. 199. For other cases involving falsified military reporting in the media, see Knightley 2000. 200. See Cowley 2005; N. Friedman 2000; Sontag and Drew 1998. Secrecy tends to breed mild to wild speculations. For just one illustration, see the intriguing and speculative work by Offley (2007) and Sewell and Richmond (2005) on one possibly deadly sequence of incidents (the sinkings of K-129 and the Scorpion). 201. Sontag and Drew 1998:42. 202. For example, in the Laconia incident, described in chapter 5, Allied aircraft opened fire on a naval rescue operation. When, on August 9, 1945, the Japanese escort destroyer Amakusa was bombed by Corsairs, other Corsairs are said to have attacked the wreck of the ship and strafed survivors in the water (see http://members.iinet.net.au/~gduncan/maritime-2b.html). On May 3, 1945, Royal Air Force aircraft attacked German ships carrying more than 7,000 survivors from Neuengamme and other concentration camps (Jacobs and Pool 2004; Williams 1997:235–36; http://www.jewishgen.org/ForgottenCamps /Camps/NeuengammeEng.html; http://www.jewishgen.org/databases/Holocaust/0116_Neuengamme.html). Only a few hundred survived the attack. An earlier incident occurred on June 17, 1940, when German Luftwaffe dive bombers attacked the Lancastria in the harbor at Saint-Nazaire, France. The ship carried more than 6,000 passengers—soldiers and civilians. At least 3,500 perished in the explosions, suffocated in the oil-covered sea or killed by German aircraft that strafed and ignited it (Fenby 2006; Williams 1997:104–5). 203. I here offer only three illustrations. Messimer claims that on April 13, 1940, British forces sank the German destroyer Erich Giese near Narvik. About 200 German sailors survived in the water. British destroyers opened fire on them, claiming that this was necessary in order to prevent these sailors from reaching the shore and joining German forces there (Messimer 1997:157). See also http://www.uboat.net/articles/index.html?article=18&page=3. DeRose (2000:95) states, “In October 1942, off Guadalcanal, Japanese ships had destroyed all the lifeboats filled with American survivors of the sinking of YP-284 and Seminole.” On November 19, 1943, USS Sculpin was located and attacked by the Japanese destroyer Yamagumo. The Sculpin was badly damaged and consequently surfaced. The crew was ordered to abandon ship, and the boat was scuttled. Sailors of the Yamagumo shot at the survivors in the water before

picking up 41 of the original 84 crewmen (Sturma 2011:166; Felton 2007:77–78). 204. Williams 1997:241. 205. Williams 1997:242.

CHAPTER 7 1. Manson 1990:161. 2. Manson 1990:170. 3. Manson 1990:172–74.Page 291 → 4. Manson 1990:150. 5. Dyer 2004:242–85. 6. Dyer 2004:243. 7. Sturma 2011:131, 131–45. 8. Carlisle 2009. 9. Hasegawa 2005. 10. Dyer (2004:29–62) notes that most civilians can be trained to become obedient soldiers and kill. See also Bourke 1999; Grossman 2009. 11. I would strongly suggest pondering what the effect and potential devastating results of such thinking could be for soldiers (in land or air campaigns) who become incapacitated or surrender. 12. See also Redford 2010:233. 13. Westwood 2005:63. 14. Manson (1990:12) indeed documents how German military and naval leaders persuaded political leaders to allow an unrestricted submarine warfare. 15. Terraine 1989:4. 16. Terraine 1989:4–5. 17. Terraine 1989:5. 18. Manson 1990:7. 19. Dyer 2004:265. 20. Manson 1990:7. 21. Yokota and Harrington 1962. 22. Nazi Germany also created units whose operations were tantamount to suicide. One was the “Leonidas Squadron” that was part of the Luftwaffe bomber wing KG200. About 70 volunteers agreed to join this unit and fly a manned version of the V-1 missile. While this unit was never made fully operational (mostly because commanders of KG200 felt that its use was wasteful and preferred using a bomber converted into a missile, such as the Mistel), some flyers from this unit were sent to flying missions against Soviet bridges in April 1945 (Ford 1969; Hyland and Gill 1999; O'Neill 1981:189–97; Price 1991; http://www.2worldwar2.com/kg200.htm). Pilots of this flying bomb were supposed to bail out before the weapon glided to its target, but chances of surviving such a mission were extremely low. Another unit was fighter wing JG 300. Pilots of this unit were trained to use Me 109 and Fw 190 fighters to ram Allied bombers. Pilots of these aircrafts could bail out after ramming, but chances of doing that were low, and those that did were exposed to gunfire from other bombers. While this unit was made operational, its success was very low. See http://www.2worldwar2.com/kg200.htm. For short introductory comments in

English, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leonidas_Squadron; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jagdgeschwader_300; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki /Kampfgeschwader_200. See also Barlow 2007. 23. For short descriptions of Dönitz's trial, see Davidson 1966:392–426; http://avalon.law.yale.edu/imt/juddoeni.asp and http://avalon.law.yale.edu/imt /05–09-46.asp. 24. Nimitz was commander in chief of the American Pacific Fleet during World War II.Page 292 → 25. Davidson 1966:422; Padfield 1993:466; Manson (1990:180–82), too, found it necessary to note that both Admiral Raeder and Dönitz were found guilty of violating the 1936 London Submarine Protocol. The court also found that the evidence that they gave orders to kill shipwrecked survivors was ambiguous. Grand Admiral Erich Raeder was convicted for waging a war of aggression and sentenced to life in prison, but he was released in 1955 due to poor health. 26. See, e.g., Beidler 1998; Bodnar 2010. 27. Wagner-Pacifici and Schwartz 1991; Vinitzky-Seroussi 2002; Olick 2005; Savelsberg and King 2011. 28. See also the chapters in Müller 2002 by Thomas Berger (76–99), Jeffrey Herf (184–205), and Levy and Dierks (244–64). 29. For some works focusing on German sufferings, see Bacque 2007; De Zayas 2006; Friedrich 2008; MacDonogh 2007. 30. Manson 1990:179. 31. The film was directed by James B. Harris. 32. NATO stands for “North Atlantic Treaty Organization.” 33. For a recent statement on moralities in World War II, see Burleigh's 2011 work, which examines the different moral universes of the different participants in that war. 34. Malmann Showell 2009:43. 35. See http://www.uboat.net/index.html. 36. http://www.uboat.net/special/movies/u571_review.html. 37. http://uboat.net/articles/index.html?article=55. 38. To some degree, the 2004 movie In Enemy Hands reflects this as well. 39. Lehmann-Willenbrock was the real wartime commander of U-96 and one of Nazi Germany's highest-decorated U-boat commanders. See http://www.uboat.net/men/willenbrock.htm. 40. Radio Times Guide to Films 2013:151. 41. Gannon 1990:xx. 42. A similar point is made by Mulligan (1995:130). 43. Gentile 1989:120. 44. Messimer 1997:155. 45. Tarrant 1994:229. 46. Hadley 1995:135. 47. Miller 2000:135. If “war criminal” refers only to a court procedure followed by a conviction (in World War II), Miller may have a point. 48. Gunton 2003:57–59. 49. The original edition of Three Corvettes was published in 1945 and followed by many editions. 50. U-977 was a VIIc boat. See http://www.uboat.net/boats/u977.htm. 51. Schaeffer 1952; Stern 1999:192–99. U-977 was not the only U-boat to reach Argentinean land. On July 10, 1944, U-530 (commanded by Oberleutnant Otto

Wermuth) arrived (and surrendered) to Argentina. The arrival of U-530 at Argentina was Page 293 →used to develop a few myths and speculative stories (e.g., that Hitler was smuggled to South America and that there was a secret U-boat base near the South Pole). On June 22, 1944 (at night), U-530 (commanded by Kapitänleutnant Kurt Lange) met in the mid-Atlantic Ocean with Japanese submarine I-52 (commanded by Commander Uno Kameo), which was sailing to Germany. U-530 provided I-52 with fuel, some military equipment, and three German naval officers. I-52 carried some vital supplies to Germany (e.g., tungsten and opium) and about two tons of gold. I-52 was attacked by Allied aircraft on June 23, 1944, and sunk. The gold in that sunken Japanese submarine gave rise to some salvage attempts. None have been successful at this time. 52. See also Pringle 2006:291–98. A similar line is repeated in the excellent 1961 movie Judgment at Nuremberg. 53. A simulation of Nazi submariners’ joy when they sank a ship can be easily seen in Wolfgang Petersen's definitive 1981 World War II submarine movie Das Boot. 54. Roberts 2010:81. 55. Thompson 1993:67–70. Buchheim probably joined U-96's seventh patrol, which lasted 41 days from October to December 1941. See http://www.uboat.net /boats/u96.htm. 56. Thompson 1993:64. 57. Ben-Yehuda 1983; Suleiman 2006. 58. Suleiman 2006:34. 59. Cienciala, Lebedeva, and Materski 2007; Paul 2010; Keith Sword, “Katyn,” in Dear and Foot 1995:644, 646. See also the 2007 movie Katyn, directed by Andrzej Wajda. 60. Jackson 2001; Williams 1997:193; Wise and Baron 2004. 61. http://www.hazegray.org/danfs/submar/. For all submarines, see http://www.fleetsubmarine.com. 62. See http://www.secondworldwar.org.uk/britsubs.html; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Lost_submarines_of_the_United_Kingdom; http://www.submarine-museum.co.uk. For World War I submarines, see http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/british_submarines_in_world_war_.htm. Interestingly enough, uboat.net dedicated its references to the Royal Navy; see http://www.uboat.net/allies/warships/listing.html?navy=HMS and http://uboat.net/allies/ships/rn_subs.htm. 63. http://www.combinedfleet.com/sensuikan.htm; http://www.battleships-cruisers.co.uk/japanese_submarines.htm. 64. http://www.ibiblio.org/hyperwar/USN/SubLosses/SS_losses-italian.html. For a list of all Italian submarines, see http://www.battleships-cruisers.co.uk /italian_submarines.htm. 65. See also Isenberg 1981. 66. Manvell 1974:45–50, 134–39, 217–23. 67. Youngblood 2007. 68. Aldgate and Richards 1986; Chapman 1998; MacKenzie 2001; Richards 1989. 69. Basinger 1986; Beidler 1998; Dick 1996; Doherty 1993; Hoopes 1994; Jones and McClure 1973; Koppes and Black 1987; McLaughlin and Parry 2006; Suid 2002.Page 294 → 70. Examples are The Boat (1981), Hellcats of the Navy (1957), The Last U-boat (1993), Operation Pacific (1951), and Submarine X-1 (1968). 71. In Morson and Emerson 1990:7–8. 72. Burgoyne 1997:7–8. 73. This concept was developed by sociologist Jacques Rancière. See Burgoyne 1997:1.

74. See also Suleiman 2006. 75. Redford 2010: 205–7. 76. http://www.militarymuseum.org/Lockwood.html; Lockwood 1951, 1967. 77. Examples are On The Beach (1959), Operation Pacific (1951), Torpedo Run (1958), and Up Periscope (1959). 78. Mills 2007. 79. Suid 2002:224–27. 80. The submarine was HMS Andrew, an Amphion class submarine (http://uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/3623.html). Vice Admiral Charles H. Lockwood was the professional consultant of this movie. 81. Suid 2002:227. 82. These last two were made for television. 83. This movie resembles the real and tragic incident with the British submarine HMS Truculent. However, the movie was made before the incident (Miller 2006:80; http://uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/3514.html). 84. Kester 2003:161. 85. These films are Die Versunkene Flotte (1926) and U9 Weddigen (1927). See Kester 2003:175–81; Hadley 1995:55–56. 86. This film was Drei Tage Auf Leben und Tod (1930). 87. Kester 2003:182. 88. This film was Morgenrot (1933). 89. Kester 2003:183. 90. Kester 2003:184–92. 91. John Wayne made one of his early appearances in this movie, as an operator of an air pump on a boat. 92. John Ford produced two war/military trilogies. One is his submarine trilogy, which consists of Men without Women (1930), The Seas Beneath (1931), and Submarine Patrol (1938). The second is his cavalry trilogy, which consists of Fort Apache (1948), She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949), and Rio Grande (1950), all three with John Wayne in central roles. 93. This film's original U.S. title was U-Boat 29. 94. The reference is to the air raid of April 18, 1942. See Doolittle and Glines 1991; Glines 1990; Nelson 2002. 95. This incident is based on the real heroic death of Commander Howard W. Gilmore, who was the commander of the U.S. submarine Growler. On February 7, 1943, Gilmore was on the submarine's bridge, seriously wounded when the submarine was under attack. Gilmore ordered that the submariners “take her down,” while he remained Page 295 →on deck. That order was meant to sacrifice himself in order to save his ship and crew. Gilmore was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously. See Blair 1976:373–74. 96. A somewhat similar plot is found in Run Silent, Run Deep (1958) and in the Cold War submarine movie The Bedford Incident (1965). 97. Hadley 1995:51–55, 58–59. 98. Hadley 1995:71. 99. Viewers might have been led to believe that these failed submariners could have or almost brought victory to Germany. An analogous failure scenario took place in World War II, when German submarines and military were thoroughly defeated. However, the defeat was so complete and the revelation of the atrocities committed by Germans was so devastating in World War II that arguments that the Nazi military could have won the war could not have attracted many adherents or even been persuasive.

100. Redford 2010:202–43. 101. Redford 2010:240. 102. Redford 2010:241. 103. Hadley 1995. 104. Basinger 1986; Butler 1974; Chapman 1998; MacKenzie 2001; Manvell 1974; McAdams 2005; Mills 2007; Rayner 2007; Youngblood 2007. 105. One was Submarine Number One (1941; see High 2003:248–51), and the other, an animated movie, was Submariner Fukuchan (1944; see High 2003:471). 106. After the war and to these days, audiences have been able to watch one submarine movie after another, describing various aspects of World War II submarine warfare. When I talk to students, some colleagues, or people outside academia, it is evident that many—if not most—of their notions about submarines and submarine warfare are clearly based on movies. 107. Carpenter and Polmar 1986:65. 108. The Italian underwater commando unit, the Decima Mas, did develop innovative, daring, and successful operational strategies. See Kemp 1999:22–34. 109. Manson 1990:182. 110. Blair 1996, 1998; Gannon 1998; Syrett 1994; Westwood 2005:244–74. 111. Sturma 2011:117. 112. Significantly downplaying the role of Montgomery and the Desert Rats in defeating Rommel's Afrika Korps on the ground, Clayton (2011:389) claims that the failure of the Nazi Afrika Korps was a logistic failure due to the effective attacks of British submarines on Rommel's Mediterranean supply line. That achievement, Clayton admits, was accomplished at a terrible cost in submarines, as 42 percent of British submariners in the Mediterranean were lost. While Rommel's supply lines were indeed severely compromised, his ground forces were not drowned by torpedoes but were defeated in persistent and tough ground combats by infantry, artillery, and armor. Moreover, Hitler did not view the North African campaign as a primary arena.

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INDEX Aboukir, 103 Above Us the Waves (film), 247 abrogation of naval agreements, 124 Abwehr, 146, 171, 277n226, 283n45 Acharya, Amitav, 11 Action in the North Atlantic (film), 164 advocacy networks, 11 Aegean Sea, 190 Afghanistan, 221 Africa: World War I battle in, 4, 77, 147 Afrika Korps, 32 Aguilla, 166 Ahab, Captain, 246 aircraft, 12, 46, 48, 83, 91, 99, 122, 129, 146, 149, 151, 157–58, 160, 162, 180, 208, 225–26, 238, 241, 250, 267n55, 277n221, 279n259, 285n85, 290n202, 293n51 airships, 45–46, 117, 226, 259n4 Alabama, 78, 154 Alamo, the, 37, 60 Alexander, Jeffrey, 36 Alexander, R. L., 198 Alexandre Silva, 188 Alphonse Island, 163 Althusser, Louis, 62 ambiguity, 16–17, 25–26, 29, 42–43, 58, 217, 229, 292n25 American Civil War, 53, 67–68, 79, 96–97, 103, 154, 217, 261n35, 264n3 American Shipper, 139 Anaconda (Operation), 68, 97 Andrew, 244

Anglo-German Naval Agreement (1935), 80, 124, 126 Antikithera, 190 Antisubmarine warfare (ASW), 143, 145–47 Aquinas, Thomas, 27 Arabic, 112, 164 archaeology, 9, 31, 34–36, 258n66 Arctic convoys, 148–49 Argentina, 236, 292n51 Argus, 183 Ariizumi, Tetsunosuke, 1, 180–82, 285n85 Arisan Maru, 199 Arnold, Benedict, 30 Article 22, 81, 85–86, 91, 94, 124, 130, 132, 152, 156, 159, 161, 219, 267n68, 273n134 Ascension: American air base in, 129 Ascot, 179 astronomy, 27 Asturias, 168–69 ASW. See antisubmarine warfare (ASW) Athenia, 87, 135–40, 171, 203, 224–25, 232, 271n76, 275n184, 275n191 atrocities, 2, 5–7, 10, 58–59, 136, 163–64, 174, 180–81, 183, 208–10, 218, 222, 224, 228, 236–37, 248, 265n25, 295n99; and myth, 208; reactions to, 183–84 Australia, 157, 177, 244 Awa Maru, 194–95 Axial Age, 16 Aztec culture, 12 Bacon, Lloyd, 245 “bad apple” approach, 6 Bakhtin, Michael, 240 Baird, Bob, 197 Balkans, 77, 221 Page 326 →

Baltic Sea, 4, 197, 200, 238, 261n39, 289n172 Bankhead, Tallulah, 245 Baralong, 166–67 Barb, 196 barbarity, 71, 75, 95, 104, 108, 111, 197, 202, 211, 224, 226, 251, 274n157 battlefield, 44, 47, 72, 76–77, 105, 116, 253, 265n22 Battle of Kursk, 201 Battle of the Atlantic, 4, 125, 134, 147–49, 157, 163, 205, 213–14, 234, 248 Battle of the Bulge, The (film), 242 battleships, 44, 55, 98–99, 101, 108, 117–18, 122, 135, 149, 157 Bauer, Ernst, 185 Bauer, Hermann, 105–6, 270n55 Bear Island (film), 240 Becker, Howard, 24, 62 Bedford Incidence, The (film), 232, 240 “Be harsh,” “be hard” messages, 7, 92, 127–28, 130, 133, 220 Behrens, William “Bill,” 207 Beidler, Philip D., 241, 247 Belgian Prince, 167–68 Bell, Robert R., 28 Bellamy, Alex J., 217–18 Ben-Yair, Elazar, 33 Ben-Yehuda, Nachman, 36 Berlin, 7, 129, 138, 231, 245, 271n80 Best, Joel, 19 betrayal, 30, 34, 38 Bible, 67, 71, 103, 162 Bickford, Edward Oscar, 142, 144 Big Red One, The (film), 241

Black Sea, 4, 200 Blair, Clay, 90, 117, 128, 134–35, 139, 147, 151, 155–56, 187–88, 195, 203–4, 273n137, 275n191, 277n243, 278n249, 281n301, 288n172 Blair Logie, 139 Bleichrodt, Heinrich, 184 Blitzkrieg, 253 blockade, effect of in World War I, 106 Blum (Kapitänleutnant), 104 bomber, 44–47, 129, 218, 259n2, 291n22 Bonefish, 198 Bosnia, 138–39 Bosphorus, 200, 202 Bourke, Joanna, 240 Boyd, Carl, 180 Braemer Castle, 168 Bremen, 140, 142, 145 Bridge on the River Kwai, The (film), 240, 242 Bridgland, Tony, 5, 166, 172, 179, 188–90, 196, 280n297, 281n7, 282n20, 283n38 Brisman, Avi, 26 Britannic, 168 British Admiralty, 82, 84, 87, 109, 133, 169, 172, 190, 205, 229, 266n44, 268n74, 272n108 British Chivalry, 178 British naval supremacy, 74, 101. See also naval blockade Brittany, 205 Bruce, Anthony, 162 Brussels, 82 Bryant, Clifford, 58 Brzezinski, Z. L., 39 B-24, 129 B-29, 47

Buchheim, Lothar Gunther, 237–38, 261n39, 292n55 Bulldog, 140 Burgoyne, Robert, 240 Burns, Richard Dean, 86–87, 92, 264n49, 266n49 Bushido, 94, 175, 216, 250 Buyo Maru, 192 caiques, 190, 286n117, 286n121 Cambodia, 221 Canada, 2, 143, 170, 184 Canary Islands, 203 Capellini, 129 Cape Town, 129 capital punishment, 189 Capra, Frank, 245 Cardonia, 185, 286n104 Caribbean, 187 Carlisle, Rodney, 80, 112 Centaur, 177 centimetric radar, 145 Chapman, Paul, 190 Charleston, S.C., harbor, 53 Chew, Sing S., 10 Page 327 → Chief of Naval Operations (CNO), 148, 151–52, 157 Churchill, Winston, 60, 101, 109, 116, 118, 137, 149, 159, 211, 221, 226, 278n249, 281n301 Chuyo, 198 City of Benares, 184–85 civil moralities, 89 civil society, 65

Civil War. See American Civil War; Spanish Civil War civilian authorities, 152, 216, 279n268 civilians: as aliens and strangers, 217; blockade causing distress to, 103; casualties, 127; crews, 151; evacuation of, 200; impact of war on, 45, 47, 90; killing of, 47, 76, 80, 151, 278n246, 280n299; as legitimate targets, 217, 226; misery, 154, 210, 219, 221, 252, 260n6; as passengers, 90, 196, 199, 223, 290n202; as prisoners, 77, 205; safety of (passengers), 74–75, 81, 85–86, 106, 132, 136, 152, 226; sailors, 151, 160, 163; ships, 10, 59; 79, 148, 159–60, 163, 212; as soldiers, 291n10; starvation of, 59 72, 106, 123, 151, 211, 225; taking of prisoners, 77; targets for hostilities, 10, 45–47, 77, 108, 162–63, 187, 217–18, 226, 251, 260n6, 265n22; treatment of, 73, 88, 221; use of submarines by, 48; in war-supporting industries, 76 Clausewitz, Carl von, 42, 60–61, 67, 70, 161, 262n4 Clayton, Tim, 117, 190–91, 286n121, 295n112 Cleopatra, 29 Close Quarters (film), 247 Cogar, William, 162 Cohen, Stanley, 62 collective conscience, 14 collective memory. See memory Cold War, 90, 100, 158, 207, 217, 232, 249, 268n15, 295n96 combat, 2, 8, 10, 44–45, 58–59, 64–65, 69, 71–72, 74–75, 76–77, 83, 88–89, 99, 110–48, 173–75, 215, 227, 233, 259n1, 269n16, 273n137, 295n112 “comfort women,” 176 commemoration, 34–36, 59, 210, 216, 219, 229–30, 239, 241, 243, 252 commerce raiding, 99, 101, 105, 108, 148, 154, 159, 211, 222, 266n33, 269n20, 272n92 Compton-Hall, Richard, 166, 237, 271n73, 271n76 ComSubPac, 192, 194–96, 279n275 Confederacy (in American Civil War), 53, 68, 97, 103–4, 154, 260n21 continuity perspective, 35 controlology, 62 convoy system, 84, 86, 92, 117–20, 123, 130, 138, 143, 145–46, 149, 159, 162, 174, 177, 195, 220, 236, 248, 278n247n249, 280n294, 285n95 Conway, Jack, 245 Cook, Pam, 240 Cooper, Gary, 245

Copenhagen, 167 Corvette K-225 (film), 164 Costello, John, 91 court-martial, 195, 205 Crane, Diana, 64 Crash Dive (film), 246 Cremer, Peter, 204–5 Cressy, 103 Crete, 190 Crimean War, 78 crimes, 20–22: creative, 26; against humanity or peace, 76–77, 92, 172, 228, 265nn25–26 Crimson Tide (film), 78, 244 Cruel Sea, The (book and film) 159, 236, 241, 247, 278n247 cultural: arguments, 162; challenges, 4, 16, 34–37, 40–41; change, 7, 9–10, 13–14, 26, 34, 40; complexity, 15, 63–64; conflict, 63; lag, 11, 88, 101, 160, 249, 254; modes, 62; trauma, 34, 36 cultural cores, 4, 7–9, 11–17, 19, 22–23, 26, 28–30, 32–34, 36–45, 58–59, 63–64, 72, 76–77, 81, 88–89, 94–95, 101–2, 110–11, 115, 119, 127, 137, 142–43, 148–49, 154, 157, 160, 167, 169, 172–76, 192, 208, 210–13, 215–18, 222–23, 225–29, 247, 250–51, 253–54 culture: characterization of, 62–64, 218; and deviance, 25; heterogenous, 23; and ideology, 62–63; primitive, 61; subversive view of, 63; and t-shirt, 230; and war, 5, 57, 60, 62, 65–66, 89, 167 czar, 13 Page 328 → Dachau, 117 Daisy Moller, 176–77 Dam Busters, The (film), 242 Danger beneath the Sea (film), 244 Darwin, Charles, 41 Das Boot (film), 234, 237, 243, 249, 261n39, 293n53 David H. Atwater, 185 Davidson, Eugene, 86 Davis (Captain), 111

Davos, 200 DeBauche, Leslie Midkiff, 239 Deecke, Joachim, 146 Delane, 178 Delaney, Tim, 29 deck gun, 49–52, 54, 56, 83, 137, 159, 166–68, 173, 176, 178, 179, 180, 182–85, 187, 193, 203, 211, 235, 261n31 De Gaulle, Charles, 238 Denmark, 167, 200 depth charge, 118–20, 129, 140, 146, 177, 206, 274n151, 277n221, 281n7, 287n131 DeRose, James, 156, 193, 290n203 Destination Tokyo (film), 220, 243, 246, 280n293 deviance, 1–2, 4, 17–19, 24–25, 28–29, 43; creative, 25; and unrestricted submarine warfare, 90, 156, 225; and war, 3, 58–59, 88, 167 Devil and the Deep, The (film) 245 “Devil's device” (torpedo), 51 deviantization process, 24 discontinuity perspective, 35 Ditton, Jason, 62 Dixon, George E. (Lieutenant), 53 Doggerbank, 52, 203–4 Dombrink, John, 29 Donegal, 169 Dönitz, Karl (Großadmiral), 7, 91–93, 116, 123–33, 136, 138–41, 146–47, 149, 154, 171, 174, 187, 202–3, 205, 213–14, 220, 228–29, 231–32, 250, 252, 256n10, 272n120, 273nn121–122, 273nn124–125, 273n130, 274n146, 274nn156–157, 275n186, 275n191, 283n46, 292n25; accusations at Nuremberg, 132; battle plan of, 124 Doolittle's air raid, 246 Doro Island, 190 Doty, William J., 38 Douglas, Jack D., 25, 28 Dover Castle, 169, 172 Downes, Alexander B., 210, 218

Downes, David, 25 Dreadnoughts, 54, 98, 101 Drew, Christopher, 207 Droescher, Otto, 169 Drumbeat, Operation, 205–7, 262n46, 277n225 Duke, Clarence, 198 Durkheim, Émile, 9, 14–15, 20–22, 26 Dyer, Gwynne, 67, 71, 211, 218, 226, 291n10 East Prussia, 200 Ebato, Kazuro, 177 Ebb, 188 Eck, Heinz-Wilhelm, 188–89, 235 economic warfare, 63, 96, 103, 122, 152, 213, 272n92. See also trade warfare Edwaard Van Flaaneren, 139 Edward VIII, 30 Edwards, Bernhard, 5, 181 Ehrenreich, Barbara, 58 Eidanger, 139 Ein Geddi, 33 Eksteins, Modris, 58 elites, 63 Ellis, John, 66 Emerald, 180 Emmermann, Carl, 187 Endurance, 187 enemy, 5, 42, 45, 53, 61, 65, 67–68, 70–71, 78–81, 83, 90–92, 99–100, 102, 104, 106, 109, 114, 116, 119–20, 122, 127–28, 130, 133, 146, 156, 159–60, 162–63, 175, 190–91, 196–97, 204, 212, 216, 219, 221, 223–25, 227–28, 232, 246–47, 249, 252, 280n297, 281n303 Enemy Below, The (film), 234, 249, 280n293 Enigma (cipher), 124–25, 140, 145, 276n217

Esso Bolivar, 185, 187, 286n104 Estonia, 197 E-13, 167 evolution theory, 41 fabrications, 31, 35–36 failure of treaties, 80, 94, 217 Page 329 → Falaba, 111, 166, 281n11 falsification, 30, 58, 162; of patrol logs, 6, 10, 59, 140, 163, 168, 170, 174, 203, 207, 202–5, 225 Far East: submarine warfare in, 157; war trials, 76–77, 88–89, 264n5 Fawcett, Clare, 36 Feldkirchener, Johannes, 81 Ferrell, Jeff, 25 First Lord of the Sea, 84, 101, 109 Fisher, Sir John, 101, 226 fishermen, 62, 189, 191–92 fleet submarines, 99, 153, 200 Florida, 147 Fluckey, Eugene B., 196 folk devils, 26 Ford, John, 245, 294n92 Forstmann, Walther, 116, 127 Forstner, Baron March von, 111, 166 France: Revolution, 97; ships, 129; U-boat bases in, 147 Francis, Donald, 206 Franco, Francisco, 91 freedom of the seas, 79, 101, 152–54, 211, 214–21 French impressionists, 18 Friedrich, C. J. 39

Frölich, Wilhelm, 139 Fryatt, Charles (Captain), 82, 172, 266n38 Gallery, Daniel V. (Admiral), 155 gambling, 29 Ganda, 203 Gandhi, Mahatma, 18 Gannon, Robert, 150, 203, 206, 235 Gatling gun, 264n3 Gdynia, 201 Geertz, Clifford, 35 Geneva (track/conventions), 72, 74–75, 90, 94, 120, 161, 175, 265n20 Genghis Khan, 71 genocide, 2, 221, 256n18 Gentile, Gary, 235 Gering, Marion, 245 Germany: defeat, 32, 36, 61, 66, 97, 117, 119, 147, 162, 172, 201, 230–31, 247–48, 295n99, 295n112; destroyers, 167; navy, 245; embassy, 165; popular culture, 247; reprisals, 191; surrender, 119–20, 222, 228, 230–31, 236. See also Imperial Germany Giddens, Anthony, 14 Giesen, Bernhard, 25 Gilmore, Howard W., 294n95 Glenart Castle, 170 glider bombs, 238 Glitra, 81 global culture, 11 Gloucester Castle, 169 Goebbels, Joseph, 136–37, 139 Goldman, Emily, 94, 217–18 Goode, Erich, 28 “good” war (World War II), 248

Goya, 200 Gramsci, Antonio, 62 Gray, Edwyn, 51, 168–69, 172 Gray Lady Down (film), 244 Greene, Naomi, 242 Grena, 181 Gröning (Leutnant), 169 Grouper, 198 Growler, 294n95 guerre de course, 79 Guilford Castle, 283n38 Guinness, Alec, 240 Gulf of Maine, 147 Gulfpenn, 185 Guns of Navarone, The (film), 242 Gunton, Michael, 235–36 Gusfield, Joseph R., 23 Habana convention (1928), 85 Hadley, Michael L., 235, 246 Hagan, John, 2 Hague (track, conventions), 72–75, 79–80, 83, 86, 90, 94, 97, 106, 110, 120, 159, 168, 175, 177, 265n16, 267n55 Hague Tribunal, 2 Hall, Stuart, 62 Halpern, Paul G., 104, 108, 266n44, 269n31, 271n76, 272n92 Hamburg: post–World War II court, 188 Hammes, Thomas, 12, 61 Hancock Point, 147 Handelskrieg, 160 Hannibal, Operation, 200

Hansen, Karl, 178 Page 330 → Hanson, Victor Davis, 58, 61, 67, 70 “Happy Time,” 143, 146, 205–6, 267n71 Hardegen, Reinhard, 203 Harden, James D., 129 Hart, Thomas C. (Admiral), 152, 215, 229, 252, 279n259 Hartenstein, Werner, 128–29, 185, 274n151 Haruko Maru, 198 Hashimoto, Mochitsura, 157 Hassan, Harry, 168 Haw Haw, Lord, 30 Hayward, Keith, 25 Hell Below (film), 245 Hell Boats (film), 164 “hell ships,” 195, 287n147 Herbert, Godfrey, 166 heroes of the deep, 233, 246, 249, 261n37 heroism, 3, 36, 89, 234, 239, 244, 247 Hersing, Otto, 103 hesitancy, 4, 6, 81, 83, 102–3, 111, 115, 118, 126, 134, 142–43, 154–55, 160, 160, 195, 207, 214, 216, 222, 225–26, 250 Hesperian, 112, 165 Hess, Aaron, 230 HF/DF, 145, 174, 276n218 High, Peter B., 240 Higham, Charles, 138 Hilbig, Hans, 147 Hillyard, Daniel, 29

Hiroshima, 47, 65 historical perspective, 2, 19, 26, 29, 34, 58, 60–61, 89, 97–98, 154 History Channel, 234, 288n172 Hitler, Adolf, 7, 66, 77, 87, 92, 116, 122, 124–26, 129, 131–32, 138–39, 149–50, 205, 214, 220, 228, 231–33, 245, 257n29, 267n68, 273nn121–122, 278n249, 283n56, 293n51, 295n112 HMS Ulysses (book), 159, 278n247 Hogan, Thomas W., 198 Hogue, 103 Holtzendorf, von (Admiral), 108 Holwitt, Joel Ira, 91, 117, 151–54, 156, 191–92, 215–16, 268n76, 270n62, 279n259, 279n268, 279n280, 280n286 Horton, Max Kennedy (Admiral), 191 hospital ships, 10, 74, 90, 94, 168–70, 173, 177, 208, 210, 223, 282n26, 283n38 Housatonic, 53, 65, 104, 113, 212, 263n23, 269n34n40, 271n81 Hoxa, 180 Hughes, Terry, 91 human costs, 231 human life, 78, 88, 110, 151, 176, 217, 221, 223 human rights 11, 71, 110, 219–21, 225, 256n18 Hunley, 53, 96, 212, 260n21, 269n34 Hunt for Red October, The (film) 244 Hutchinson, Robert, 119, 157, 277n221 I-8, 1, 180–82; I-12, 183; I-26, 181–83; I-27, 176; I-37, 178–79; I-56, 176; I-58, 157–58, 176; I-77, 177; I-165, 179–80, 284n79 iceberg theory, 6 identity, 14, 16–17, 31, 36, 59, 102, 170, 173, 188, 230–31, 245, 270n69 Imperial Germany, 111–12, 164–65, 212, 222, 250; chancellor of, 115; embassy, 165; general staff, 264n2; Navy, 95, 99–100; submarines, 84, 161 Imperial Japan: Navy, 99, 133, 157, 266n43, 284n58n67; submarines, 1, 116, 158, 175, 181, 255n1 Imperial Roman Army, 31–32 Imperial Russia, 256 Indianapolis, 157

Indian Ocean, 133, 157, 176, 181 In Enemy Hands (film), 244 insurgencies, 61 international agreements, 4, 10, 15, 55, 72–75, 77, 80, 85–86, 94–95, 119, 160–61, 173–75, 208, 216–19, 221, 224, 228–29, 250–51, 253, 265n15 Iraq, 221 Iscariot, Judas, 30 Istanbul, 200, 202 Jackson, Patrick Thaddeus, 25, 42 Jacksonville, 147 Jacobs, Benjamin, 238 Japan: bombing of, 47; military conscription in, 175; navy of, 175–76; surrender of, 155, 175, 222, 252, 279n273, 285n85. See also Imperial Japan Jean Nicolet, 180, 236 Page 331 → Jellicoe, Sir John (Admiral), 99 Jerusalem, 31 Jesus, 30 Jewish: assassins, 34; refugees, 135, 200, 202; rebels, 31; settlers, 31, 33; state, 31 Jews, 12, 31–33, 231 John A. Johnson, 183 Josephus, Flavius, 30, 32 Junker, Ottoheinrich, 163 Junya Maru, 199 Jurgens, Kurt, 234 Jutland, battle of, 99 Kachidoki Maru, 196, 199 Kaitan, 66, 227 Kamikaze, 66, 227 Katsuo, Ohashi, 176

Katyn Forest, 238 Keck, Margaret F., 11 Keegan, John, 58, 60–61, 67, 70, 117–18, 128, 262n43 Kefauver, Russell, 194 Kellogg-Briand Pact, 80, 264n5 Kelly's Heroes (film), 242 Kemp, Paul, 97 Kemp, Peter, 97, 266n33, 270n69, 295n108 Kester, Bernadette, 245 Kiesewetter, Wilhelm, 170 killing survivors, 6–7, 208 King, Ernest (Admiral), 195, 205 Kirkpatrick, George R., 23 Kitamura, Sohichi, 176 Kithera, 190 “Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves,” 228 K-19: The Widowmaker (film), 244 Kohl, Phillip, 36 Kokutai, 94, 175, 216, 250 Konovalov, Vladimir, 200 Kozelsky, Mara, 36 Kouta, Takero (Rear Admiral), 6, 133 Kramer, Stanley, 243–44 Kriegsmarine, 7, 56, 92, 130, 138, 150–51, 184, 189, 213, 235, 237, 256n10, 275n185n186 Kristiansen, Kaare, 178 Kudo, Kaneo, 183 Kuhn, Annette, 241 Kursk, tank battle at, 64 Kurt, Fritz, 204

Kusaka, Toshio, 181–83 Kuzmarov, Jeremy, 38 Kwangtung, 176, 284n63 Laconia, 65, 104, 128–29, 132, 196, 236, 263n22, 269n39, 274n148, 290n202; “be harsh” order, 130 Lady Madeleine, 189 Lafranc, 169 Landsberg, Alison, 240 Langkoes, 176 last stand, 32 Laughon, Willard R., 198 Laughton, Charles, 245 Layton, Geoffrey, 167 leaders: military, 9; political, 9 Lee, Lord of Farenham, 84 legitimate/delegitimate, 21, 25–26, 42, 47, 55, 59, 69, 72, 78–79, 81, 85, 88–90 111, 126, 128, 161, 173, 192, 213, 215, 217–20, 224–27, 229, 250–54, 264n5, 265n25 Legare, 185 Legro, Jeffrey, 87, 108, 140, 153, 161, 271n76 Lehmann-Wilenbrock, Heinrich, 234, 238, 261n39, 292n39 Leigh lights, 146 Leipzig (post–World War I trials), 169, 171–72 LeMay, Curtis (General), 47 Lemp, Fritz-Julius, 137–41, 203, 232, 271n76, 275n191 Lenin, Vladimir, 13 Leonidas, 30 “Liberté, égalité, fraternité,”60 Lieber, Francis, 73, 264n7; Lieber Code, 73–74 lifeboats, 1–2, 10, 81, 83, 129, 111, 131, 132, 138–39, 164, 166, 168, 170, 176–80, 183–85, 187–88, 192–93, 196, 198, 205, 210, 223, 235, 263n23, 269n40, 280n297, 286n104, 290n203 Lincoln, Abraham, 37

Linder, Hans-Heinz, 146 Lisbon Maru, 198 Llandovery Castle, 83, 170–72, 202 Lockheed Hudson, 206 Lockwood, Charles A. (Vice Admiral), 155–56, 195, 214, 220, 243, 279n275, 294n80 Page 332 → London: Charter, 77; Declaration (1909), 80, 103–4; naval conference, 79, 80, 85–86; naval treaty, 81, 85–86, 132–33, 136–37, 152, 156, 161, 228, 273n134; Second London Naval Treaty, 133, 136–37, 228, 267n54; Submarine Protocol, 86, 94, 124, 130, 133, 152, 292n25 Long Island, 146 Loughlin, Charles E., 194–96 Louis of Battenberg, Admiral Prince, 226 L-3, 200 Luhmann, Niklas, 16 Lusitania, 52, 65, 104–8, 112–13, 135–36, 138, 164–65, 201–2, 263n21, 269n38, 271n74, 271n76 Lüth, Wolfgang, 7 lynchings, 77, 195 Lynn, John A., 65–66, 209 Lysander, 170 MacAlister, James, 189 MacLean, Alistair, 159, 274n247 machine gun, 3, 44, 47, 51, 56, 66, 83, 176–80, 183, 185, 187–88, 190, 192–93, 202, 210, 233, 235–36, 253, 259n1, 264n3; 285n94, 286n104 Mahan, Alfred T. (Rear Admiral), 68, 70, 96–100, 103–4, 122, 153, 160–61, 212, 216–17, 225, 268n3, 268n12; and commerce raiding, 99; and Japanese utilization of, 99; and Jutland, 99; naval battle, 96, 99; siege, 99; strategy, 98 malevolent regime, 248 Malinche, 30 Mallmann Showell, Jak P., 232, 237, 277n243 Mandela, Nelson, 21 Manhattan Project, 147 Manson, Janet, 80, 151, 153, 213, 215, 226, 231, 291n14, 292n25

Manvell, Roger, 239 Marguerite, 113 Marinesko, Ivan, 200, 288n169 Marshall, Barry, 27 Masada. See myths Mason, David, 150, 206 massacre, 1, 159, 165–66, 184, 238, 255n2n9, 286n121 master frames and narratives, 40 master race, 202 Matschulat, Gerhard, 189 Matsutarō, Hamada, 194 May 1943, 147 Maydon, S. L. C., 199 Mediterranean Sea: battles in, 4, 84, 105, 143, 148, 157, 169, 190 Mefkure, 202 memory: agents, 36–37; collective, 15, 17, 34–37; cultural, 60; as a process, 231; rituals, 59; social, 35, 37. See also commemoration Men without Women (film), 244–45 merchant shipping, 10, 75, 79–87, 90–91, 94, 97, 101, 104, 106–7, 109, 111, 115–16, 118–20, 122–24, 132–33, 136–38, 142, 146, 148–50, 152, 156–57, 159–63, 165–66, 173, 185, 193, 208, 228, 234–35, 247, 277n243, 278n246, 280n296, 281n303 Messimer, Dwight R., 235, 290n203 Metallist, 197, 288n159 methodology, 5, 19, 34, 164, 258n66 Mexico, 112, 146, 271n80 Miers, Anthony “Crap,” 190–91 militarism, 42 militaristic maniacs, 211 military planners, 4, 44–45, 54, 61. 70, 88, 111, 154, 213, 217, 221–22, 225, 227, 249, 250, 279n268 Miller, David, 103, 110, 114–15, 134, 143, 147–49, 235, 237, 278n249, 292n47 Mills, C. Wright, 62

misery, 143, 154, 210, 217, 219, 221–22, 225, 252, 260n6, 270n67, 280n299 Moby-Dick, 246 Monsarrat, Nicholas, 159, 236–37, 278n247 Montevideo Maru, 198 morality, 4, 10, 14–15, 19–20, 22–24, 29, 34, 28–39, 57–59, 81, 89, 111, 154, 160–61, 165, 173, 208, 217, 220–21, 224–29, 235, 248–49, 251, 257n23, 257n51 moral: baggage, 153; base, 81; codes, 24, 218; considerations, 107, 227; crusades, 23; entrepreneurs, 23, 34, 37; panics, 15, 23, 34, 37; reservations, 221; stand, 216; systems, 24 Morison, Eliot, 185, 268n77, 285n98, 286n104 Morning Departure (film), 244 Morton, “Mush” Dudly, 192–93 Page 333 → Most, Benjamin A., 94 motivational accounting systems, 17, 19, 23, 43, 256n17. See also vocabularies of motives Mugford, 177 Müller, Jan-Werner, 238 Mulligan, Timothy P., 151 Murmansk, 142, 159, 207, 280n294 Murphy's War (film), 164, 247 Mussolini, Benito, 91 Mystery Submarine (film), 243 myths, 8, 17, 31, 37–41, 43, 45, 234, 238, 240, 247, 252, 258n75; of addicted army, 39; and creation, 37; definitions of, 38–39; makers, 252; of Masada, 31–34, 36; national, 30, 40; political, 39; power of, 30; and submarine atrocities, 208; and submarine warfare, 254, 278n249, 293n51 Nabateans, 12 Nagasaki, 47, 65 Nakagawa, Hajime, 177–79 Nancy Moller, 179 nanotechnologies, 10 Napoleonic War, 97 National Geographic channel, 234, 271n76, 285n85, 289n172

Nationalism, 34 NATO, 232 Nautilus, 51, 53, 139, 272n115 naval blockade, 45, 67, 68, 79, 96–98, 103–8, 110, 115, 118–19, 121–22, 147, 156, 160, 162, 164, 174, 205, 213, 221–24, 252, 270n67: American, 67–68, 222; British, 45, 103–5, 213–14, 222 naval warfare, 4, 58–59, 65, 78, 98 Nazi: Abwehr, 146; Afrika Korps, 32, 295n112; allies, 128; atrocities, 136; and barbarism, 274n157; blitz, 184; concentration camps, 117, 238; connections, 232, 237, 249; cultural ideas, 231; deceived, 140; decorations, 228, 292n39; führer, 126, 232; and Gdynia, 201; Germany, 7, 56, 77, 86, 93, 119, 126, 135–36, 140, 142, 213–14, 219–20, 234, 266n43, 291n22; invasions, 32, 135, 148; and Jews, 231; leader, 200; legacy, 233; lies, 137; Luftwaffe, 260n6; military, 201, 283n38, 295n99; ministry of propaganda, 139; navy, 124, 126, 129–30, 134, 147, 205, 229, 238; occupation, 47, 238, 274n157; party, 151, 232–33, 283n38; past, 230, 232; period, 231; politicians, 123; and Portugal, 203; and POWs, 267n64; and the Red Army, 289n172; regime, 235, 248; saboteurs, 268n13; state, 7, 125, 214, 227, 232, 248; submarine commanders, 7, 142, 232–34, 275n186, 283n45; submariners, 213, 232, 248, 293n53; submarines, 58, 86–87, 91–92, 92, 95, 116, 129, 134, 136, 151, 159, 161, 171, 174, 205–6, 231, 248, 252, 262n46, 278n249; surrender, 228, 231, 236; sympathizers, 138, 234 Neillands, Robin, 47 Nellore, 180 Nemo, Captain, 53 Neumann, Karl, 169, 172 Newfoundland, 206, 282n26, 289n195 New Guinea, 133 New York, 112, 139, 142, 185 New York Times, 83, 104, 266n38 New Zealand, 157 Nicosian, 166 Niemöller, Martin, 116 Nimitz, Chester (Admiral), 153, 229, 252, 291n24 noble lies, 37 Noreen Mary, 189 norm diffusion, 11 Nornes, Mark Abe, 240 North Sea blockade, 4, 103–5, 213–14, 222 Norway, 148, 229, 236, 276n211

Norwegian Campaign, 148 nuclear: energy, 12, 50; propulsion, 272; submarine, 51, 243–44, 272n115; weapons, 3, 46–47, 61, 66, 78, 100, 281n299 Nuremberg: Charter, 77; war trials, 76–78, 88, 92, 130–32, 139, 172, 187, 205, 228, 252, 264n5, 268n73, 274n146, 293n52. See also Far East war trials Nyon agreement (1937), 91 Oestermann, Hans, 188 Offer, Avner, 106 Offley, Ed, 150, 277n246, 290n200 Ogburn, William F., 11, 88, 254 Oehrn, Viktor, 184, 285n94 Page 334 → Okapi, 178 Olick, Jeffrey, 15, 35, 230–31, 248 1984 (book), 60 On the Beach (film), 240, 243 operational necessity, 224 Operation Pacific (film), 246. See also Gilmore, Howard W. Oregon, 185 Orwell, George, 60 Orzel, 197, 288nn158–159 Oshima, Baron Hiroshi, 131–32 Otani, Kiyonori, 178 Pacific Ocean: war in, 4, 133–34, 155, 157, 192, 216; Japanese plans for, 99 pacifists, sane, 211 Paddle, 199 Padfield, Peter, 91, 135–40, 171, 191, 275n191, 283n45 Pampanito, 196, 199 panzers, 241 Pape, Robert A., 222, 226

Paris: Congress of, 78; Declaration of, 79 Parker, Geoffrey, 61, 66–67 Parrish, Thomas, 100, 159 Parsons, Talcott, 14–15 Paterson, Lawrence, 147 Pathfinder, 103 Patton (film), 241–42 Patzig, Helmut, 170–73, 283nn45–46 Paukenschlag. See Drumbeat, Operation PBY-3, 206 peaceniks, 227 Pearl Harbor, 60, 93, 133, 146, 151, 153, 183, 193, 196, 206, 213, 226, 279n268 Peckelsheim, Baron Spiegel von und zu, 169 Peleus, 52, 188–89, 235–36 Penang, 133 peptic ulcer, 27 Petersen, Wolfgang, 237–38, 293n53 Pick, Daniel, 58 Pioneer, 197 piracy/pirates, 91, 102, 108, 148, 152, 266n44, 269n23 Pohl, Hugo von, 102, 105, 107, 270n52 Poirier, Michael Thomas, 148, 157 Poitier, Sidney, 232 political crime, 18, 256n18 politicians, 4, 13, 60–61, 66, 70, 80, 89, 95, 97, 111, 113, 123, 152, 211–12, 214, 216, 227, 250–51, 253, 265n15 Pollard, Jonathan, 30 Ponte Vedra, 146 Pool, Eugene, 238 Pope, Stephen, 99, 103

Portman, Eric, 232 postmodernism, 63 Pound, Ezra, 30 Powell, Michael, 246 power, 9, 13, 19, 21, 23–24, 29–30, 32, 34, 37, 39, 41–42, 44–46, 49–51, 56, 58–59, 62, 63–64, 67, 70, 75, 79–80, 84, 86, 89, 97, 99, 101–2, 109, 111, 119, 126, 128–29, 154, 161, 162, 173, 175, 195–96, 202, 212–14, 216, 220–21, 224, 228–29, 235, 237–39, 244, 248, 251, 254, 265n15, 267n55 President Harrison, 199 Preston, Diana, 202, 271n83 Prien, Günther, 7, 135, 138, 276 Priestley, Joseph, 27 prisoners of war (POWs), 2, 71, 74–77, 79, 83, 88, 109, 128–29, 133, 150, 167, 169, 175, 178, 180, 183, 191–92, 194–97, 198–99, 202, 205, 223–24, 240, 267n64, 273n125, 276n214, 289n174 privateering, 79, 81, 83, 266n31 Prize, 169 prize regulations and rules, 78, 80–81, 83–84, 86–87, 91–92, 94, 99, 101, 104, 106, 110, 115, 118, 120, 126–27, 132, 136, 138, 140, 159–61, 169, 173, 201, 215, 272n92 process-verbal, 86 Prochnow, Jürgen, 234 Prohibition, 23 propaganda, 64, 89, 112, 136–37, 139, 197, 207, 238–40, 243, 247–48 Ptolemy, 26–27 Pustkuchen, Herbert 165, 170, 281n7 Q-ships, 84, 109–10, 118, 120, 161, 166, 169, 173, 245, 266nn42–44 Queenfish, 194–96 Quisling, Vidkun, 30 Page 335 → Rabin, Yitzhak, 257n30 radio astronomy, 27 Radio Times Guide to Films, 234 Raeder, Erich (Gross Admiral), 122, 124, 129, 131, 136, 140, 228, 273n122, 275nn185–186, 275n191, 292n25

rafts, 10, 132, 164, 177–80, 183, 187–88, 196, 198, 223 Rakuyo Maru, 196, 199 rartifying internal agreements, 73, 75, 80, 103–4, 195 Rasher, 198 Rayner, Jonathan, 93 Reber, Grote, 27 Red Army, 155, 200–202, 289n174 Redford, Duncan, 48, 56, 100–102, 108, 126–27, 148, 242, 247, 259n2, 269n20 Red Cross, 74, 129, 170, 194, 282n26 Reich, Eli T., 196 responsibility of voters, 77 rescue operations, 128–32, 157, 192, 196, 198–99, 205, 244–45, 282n26, 290n202 Resolute, 187 revenge, 45, 130, 202, 245 Rewa, 170, 172 Rice, R. H., 199 Richard Hovery, 181–83 Richardson, Robert C., 129 Robin Hood, 26 Robinson, Peter, 37 Rock, Paul, 25 Rohna, 238 Rohwer, Jürgen, 237 Romania, 200, 202 Roman: empire, 32; legion, 76 Rommel, Erwin (Field Marshall), 31–32 RO-110, 176–77 Roosevelt, Theodore, 97 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 153, 215

Rosenberg-Grusczyski, Erich von, 166 Rosenstone, Robert A., 240, 242 Royal Navy, 101, 105–6, 108, 115, 122, 127, 135, 137, 143–44, 148, 153, 166, 173, 197, 213, 230, 243, 247, 254, 266n42, 293n62 Royal Oak, 135 Rubington, Earl, 19 Rudeltaktik, 123, 154, 214, 273n127 Run Silent, Run Deep (film), 243 Russell of Liverpool, Lord, 130–31, 184, 274n156, 275n165 Rwanda, 221 saboteurs, 146, 268n13 Sachsenhausen, 117 safety grid, 204 Sailfish, 198 saints, 20 Salmon, 140, 142–43, 276n211 sampans, 191–93 Samuta, 183 sanctions, 24 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 238 Savage, Sister Ellen, 177 Sayo No 1, 133 Scapa Flow, 135, 275n175 Schaeffer, Heinz, 236 Scheer, Reinhard (Admiral), 99, 105–7, 270n52, 270n55 Schepke, Joachim, 7 Schliefen Plan, 70, 264n2 Schneider, Remy, 111, 165 SC-103, 197; SC-215, 202 Schur, Edwin, 24

Schwalbe, C. B., 230 Schwantke, Hans-Joachim, 203 Schwartz, Barry, 35, 37 Schwieger, Walther, 112, 114, 165 Scotia, 178 Sealion II, 196, 199 Seas Beneath, The (film), 245 Segundo, 244 Severn Leigh, 184, 283n40 shame, 26, 139, 181, 211, 251 Shark, 199 Shch-213, 200 Sheffield, Gary, 42 Shennan, Stephen, 10 Shigemitsu, Mamoru, 184 Shils, Edward, 14–15 Shimizu, Tsuruzu, 179–80 Shiniyo Maru, 199 Shinku Maru No. 3, 194 Shiro, Takaso (Admiral), 6, 133 Sicarii, 33 Page 336 → siege, 33, 37, 66–67: on city state, 67, 71, 103, 160, 219, 225; on Masada, 31, 33; and mass killings, 71; naval, 67, 99, 120–21, 124, 126, 154, 155, 160–62, 213, 221–23, 225, 249–51; Roman, 33; and total war, 67, 130, 162 Sikkink, Katherine, II silent service, 95, 230, 243, 247 Silva, Flavius, 33 Simpson, Colin, 109 sink on sight, 127, 148, 268n74 Skagerrak, 133, 148, 229, 268n74

Skipjack (SSN-585), 207 Smith, Anthony, 240 Smith, Philip, 65, 104 Snowden, William (Rear-Admiral), 117 Snyder, Louis L., 150 social: agents, 23; change, 11–14; complexity, 15, 23; control, 18, 24, 60, 62–63, 69, 219; processes, 18; structures, 18; system, 16 societal: community, 14; reactions, 4, 17–18, 22, 26 Socrates, 21, 26 Sokol, 286n121 Somerville, Sir James (Admiral), 183 Souchon, Wilhelm Anton, 202 Snook, 199 Sontag, Sherry, 207 Southern Cross, 138 Spanish-American War, 79 Spanish Civil War, 91, 260 Spartans, 30 Spreewald, 203, 205 Spy in Black (film), 246 SSS radio message, 137 Stark, Harold (Admiral), 151–53, 279n261 Starkey, Anthony, 167 Starr, Harvey, 94 starvation, 59, 67, 71, 77, 103, 105–6, 110, 123, 126, 151–52, 154, 160, 162, 164, 211, 213, 216–17, 219, 222, 225, 252, 272n92, 289n174 status quo, 4, 24, 16, 26, 34, 40, 43 Steuben, 200 Stevens, David, 181 261n31 S-13, 200, 289n172

stigma, 24, 26 Strachan, Hew, 42 Straat Soenda, 179 strafing, 45, 280n297, 290n202 structuration theory, 14 Struma, 200, 288n161 Sturgeon, 198 Sturma, Michael, 10, 152–53, 156, 193–94, 196–97, 219, 252, 259n2, 261n31, 279n268, 280n286, 284n61 Sub Down (film), 244 submarines: American, 56, 92, 162, 192, 209, 239; American instructions for, 156; atrocities, summary of, 209; ban on, 84–86, 126, 161; British, 66, 92, 134, 148, 162. 209, 239; casualties, 150–51; civilian use of, 48; coming of age, 54; commanders, 7, 94, 115, 121, 124, 126, 131, 134, 138, 142–43, 152, 154–56, 163, 172, 192, 202–3, 206, 214, 228, 233; communication and navigation of, 51; cultural image of, 101–2; and deviance, 208, 225; diesel-electric, 50, 53–54, 56, 121, 211, 243, 285n85, 289n194; diving depth of, 49, 53, 55–56; and drag, 49, 121; endurance of, 54, 56, 262n43; films of, 233–34, 240–49, 279n275, 280n293; fleet, 99, 153, 200; French, 208; Gato and Balao class, 55–56; inventors of, 53; Italian, 134, 208, 239; Japanese, 134, 157, 162, 175, 209, 239; and laying mines, 52, 54; and life support, 50, 211; limiting fleets of, 86; losses, 157–58; lost, 119, 148; and Mahan's strategy, 98–99, 216; maturation of, 2, 4, 9, 48, 55, 88, 121, 211; and myth, 208; operation of, 55–56, 59, 100, 102, 108; personnel and training for, 52–53; as pigboats, 51, 101, 164, 243; Polish, 197, 286n121; for popular consumption, 239; pressure hull of, 49, 121; propulsion of, 49–50; and radar, 51, 145–46, 174, 194–95; range of, 56; ready for unrestricted war, 153, 173; required to blockade England, 104, 122, 124, 270n47, 273n20; results of campaigns, 119, 148–49, 156–57, 163, 206; sinking POWs, 195–99; and snorkel, 50, 121, 145, 149, 174, 236, 260n18, 261n22, 261n24; and sonar/asdic, 51, 119–20, 123, 145, 174, 261n28; Soviet, 134, 162, 200, 207; speed of, 56; strategic goal of, 123; T class, 190; and teardrop form, 49; and technology, 9, 53, 56, 58–59, 102, 120–21, 162, 208; as threat to law and civilization, 117; Page 337 →trap, 99; U-boats, 66, 87, 91–92, 109, 117–18, 147, 162; VIIc type, 54, 56, 124–25; warfare, 152; weapons of, 51, 56, and war zone, 75, 104–5, 107, 110, 114–15, 157, 165, 271n87. See also specific submarine names Submarine (film), 244–45 Submarine D-1 (film), 245 Submarine X-1 (film), 247 Submarine Patrol (film), 245–46 Submerged (film), 244 Submarine Seahawk (film), 243, 246 Sudan, 221 Suez Maru, 198 Sugamu prison, 179 suicide bombers, 227

Suid, Lawrence H., 243 Suleiman, Susan Rubin, 238 Sumer, 12 Summerfield, P., 240 Summers, “Paul” P. E., 196, 199 survivors, 1–2, 5–7, 10, 59, 74, 83, 128–30, 134, 137–39, 151, 159, 163–64, 166–68, 170, 173, 176–80, 182–85, 187–88, 190, 192–93, 195–99, 202, 204–5, 208, 210, 219, 222–24, 228, 234–39, 255, 269n40, 280n297, 285n94, 287n150, 289n172, 290nn202–203, 292n25 Sussex, 108, 165 Sutlej, 178 Svorono, 166 symbolic: change, 17; culture, 11–12, 64; realm, 4, 9, 14, 57, 64, 223, 249; representations, 15 symbolic-moral universes, 4, 12, 15–19, 22–23, 25–26, 28–31, 33–35, 39, 41–42, 60, 64, 72, 102, 160, 212, 248 Syrett, David, 146, 278n249 Tallinn, Estonia, 197 Tambur, 194 Tango Maru, 198 “take her down,” 246, 294n95. See also Growler; Operation Pacific Tarrant, V. E., 104, 235 Temperance movement, 23 Tepuni, William, 206 Terraine, John, 100, 104, 172–73, 226 Teshomes, Gabriel H., 242 Tiananmen Square, 21 Titanic, 201 technology: rejected, 12; reproductive, 13; and social change, 10, 12; and war, 3, 44, 66 terror, 2, 4, 45–47, 51, 58, 90, 106, 117, 120, 163, 175, 197, 223, 226, 260n6, 280n299; Terror Flying Order, 77 Thermopylae, 30 Thio, Alex, 28 Things to Come (film), 76, 259n6, 265n23

Third Reich, 126, 230–31, 235, 248, 260 Three Corvettes (book), 236 Tirpitz, Alfred von, 102, 124 Tjisalak, 1, 180, 236 Tokyo, 47; bay, 246; bombed, 47; Rose, 30; trials, 265n25. See also Far East war trials Toosey, Philip, 240 Topp, Erich, 185–86, 285n99 Torbay, 190–91, 235–37, 251 Torch, Operation, 147 Toro, 167–68 torpedo: boats, 49, 54, 92, 123, 167, 174, 214, 281n1; data computer, 261n33; faulty, 52, 54, 154–55, 261n31; in German submarines, 52; in Japanese submarines, 52, 66; in U.S. submarines, 52; weapon, 51–54, 56, 66, 74, 102, 109, 120, 123, 131–32, 137, 150, 159, 163, 174, 210–12, 230, 249, 277n234 Torpedo Bay (film), 243 Torpedo Run (film), 243, 246 Torrington, 167–68, 172 trade warfare, 160. See also economic warfare Tradewind, 199 Travis, Jack, 179 treason, 30, 34, 38 Triebel, C. O., 199 Truculent, 198, 294n83 Truk, 133 Truro, 139 Tucha, 197 Tudor, Henry, 39 Tulagi, 163 Turner, Richmond K., 152 U-9, 103; U-17, 81; U-20, 112, 165, 169, 202, 263n21, 269n38, 271n73n83; U-21, 103; U-24, 111, 165; U-27, 166; U-28, 111, 166, 281n11; U-30, 87, 135, 137, 139–41, 166, 203, 205, 225, 275n191; U-32, 169; U-33, 82; U36, 139; U-37, 184; U-39, 116; U-41, 166; U-43, 203–4; U-47, 134, 138–39; U-48, 184; U-55, 167–68, 170; U-86, 170–71, 202; U-93, 169; U-110, 140; U-96, 238, 261n39, 292n39, 293n55; U-202, 146, 169; U-123, 54, 203–5;

U-126, 185, 187; U-156, 128–29, 185, 274n151; U-172, 187; U-247, 189–90; U-333, 203–4; U-459, 129; U-503, 206; U-506, 129; U-507, 129; U-532, 163; U-552, 185–86, 285n100; U-571 (film), 164, 233, 243–44, 280n293; U-584, 146; U-656, 206; U-754, 188, 235; U-852, 188–89, 235; U-977, 236; U-1230, 147 U-Boat 977 (book), 236 UB-29, 165, 281n7; UB-68, 273n125 UC-56, 170; UC-66, 170, 281n7; UC-67, 169 unconditional surrender, 65, 227–28, 230 Union General Order No. 100, 73 United Nations, 75, 89 unrestricted submarine warfare, 2, 4–5, 8–10, 57–59, 65, 87, 90, 93–95, 101, 106, 108, 121, 160, 173, 192, 216, 223, 225, 228; by American forces, 133, 151–53, 155, 215; by British forces, 127, 133, 148, 153, 247; conceptualizing and development of, 210; phases and stages of, in World War I, 103, 105, 110, 113–16, 118, 133, 160, 269n30; phases and stages of, in World War II, 134, 143, 146–47, 149; as warfare against humanity, 152 Up Periscope (film), 243 U.S. Constitution, 30 Van Creveld, Martin Levi, 66 Van Waerwijck, 198 Varvounis, Miltiades, 197 Verne, Jules, 51, 53, 261n35 Versailles, Treaty of, 119, 172, 247 Vietnam, 39, 221 Virgin Rocks, 206 Vlasov, Andrey, 30 vocabularies of motives, 253, 256n17 Wahoo, 55, 192–93, 236, 251, 286nn130–131 Waksler, Frances C., 28 Walker, John, 30 war, 2, 3, 42, 44–45, 63, 66; of aggression, 77, 228, 292n25; and compassion, 60; and culture, 57, 60, 62, 65–66; declaration of, 112, 117; industrialization of, 88; justifications for slaughter in, 58; and modernity, 58; mongers, 227; movies, 57, 164, 240–42, 245; and technology, 8, 12, 44, 46–47, 61, 64–66, 70–71, 97–98, 151, 161, 211, 249, 251, 253; total, 45, 60–61, 65, 67, 71, 75–77, 130, 160, 162, 211, 218, 251, 253–54, 265n23; and violence, 58, 60, 101; winning, 96. See also American Civil War; Cold War; Crimean War; Napoleonic War; SpanishAmerican War; Spanish Civil War

war crimes, 2, 75–77, 81–82, 89–90, 92, 164, 169, 171–73, 177, 180, 188–89, 203, 205, 219, 224, 228, 237, 264n5, 265n27, 283n57 War Diary of U-202 (book), 169 warfare, 12, 56, 58, 61; cultural arguments for, 162; development of, 61; and humanity, 80; Western form of, 58, 60–61, 66–67, 253 War Order 154: 127–28, 130, 132 Warren, Robin, 27 warriors, 31, 59, 66, 69, 70, 89, 248, 265n22 Washington Naval Conference, 84, 161 Washington Naval Treaty, 80, 84–85 Ward, “Bob,” 198 Wayne, John, 294nn91–92 Weber, Max, 14, 42 Weddigen, Otto, 103 We Dive at Dawn (film), 243, 247 Wegener, Bernard, 166 Weinberg, Martin S., 19 Wells, Don, 26 Wells, H. G., 76 Wenner-Gren, Axel, 138 Werner, Wilhelm, 167–68, 170, 172, 283n38 Western Approaches (film), 164 Westwood, David, 224 Wheal, Elizabeth-Anne, 99, 103 Where Eagles Dare (film), 242 Widmark, Richard, 232 Wilhelm Gustloff, 200–201, 236, 288n172 Wilhelm II, 97, 102 Williams, David, 208 Wilmot-Smith, A., 166

Wilson, Michael, 183 Wilson, Woodrow, 112–13, 117, 152 Page 338 → Page 339 → Witherington, 188 “wolf packs,” 92, 123–24, 145, 159, 174, 192, 214. See also Rudeltaktik wonder weapons, 66 World War I, 2, 4–5, 8, 44–45 World War II, 2, 5, 7, 46–47 Wright (Lt. Cmdr.), 198 Wright, Patrick, 66 Yadin, Yigael, 32 Yamamoto, Isoruko (Admiral), 133 Yoshida, Akihiko, 180 Young, Jock, 25 Yukio, Fukushima, 240 Zealots, 31, 33 zeppelins, 45, 259nn3–4 Zerang, 177 Zerubavel, Yael, 40 Zhdanov, 197 Ziogaite, Saiva, 197 Zimmerman telegram, 271n80 Z plan, 122–25, 213, 270n47, 273nn120–121 Zurcher, Louis A., 23