In September 1943 a small force of midget submarines launched Operation Source ‑ a daring attack on the battleship Tirpitz

 

HMS Trucelent, a Royal Navy submarine, cut through the North Sea at a steady 10 knots, on course for Altenflord on the northern tip of Norway It was 14th September 1943 a clear, fine day with the sea sparkling under the autumn sun. The submarine’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Robert Alexander, DSO, stared aft at the taut tin‑thick nylon hawser that carried a telephone cable to a four‑man midget submarine, X‑6, trailing 200yds behind and 40ft beneath the surface. The officer standing next to Alexander, Lieutenant Donald Cameron, RNR, studied the towing rope with even keener interest. He was to take charge of X‑6 once they had reached their destination. Cameron had insisted on using one of the only two nylon ropes available as he was wary of using hemp lines, believing that they were more likely to part under any strain.

 

To the port and starboard of Truculent, running on parallel courses about 20 miles apart, were four other submarines: Syrtis, Thrasher, Seanymph and Stubborn These were towing four of the X‑6′s sister craft, X‑9, X‑5, X‑8 and X‑7, to a pre‑arranged rendezvous, 75 miles east of the Shetlands The armada had left Loch Cairnbawn, a naval base on the northwest coast of Scotland, at two‑hour intervals during the late afternoon of the 11th a sixth pair, HMS Sceptre and X‑10, had sailed 24 hours later, having a shorter route to the meeting point.

 

The X‑craft were on their way to carry out Operation Source, a daring attack on three German capital ships, the Tirpitz, Scnarnhorst and Lutzow, as they lay at anchor in Norwegian waters. The driving force behind the raid was the British prime minister, Winston Churchill. He had first proposed the idea of attacking the Tirpitz in 1942, but the X‑craft were not ready for delivery until January 1943.

 

Lieutenant Cameron, the first man to be accepted for X‑craft duty, and a number of fellow officers and ERAS began training in earnest on X‑3 and X‑4; first at Loch Striven, then at Loch Cairnbawn, where the 12th Submarine Flotilla was formed around the depot ship HMS Benaventure. Loch Cairnbawn, remote from prying eyes, was ideal for simulating the conditions likely to be encountered m the small fjords leading off Altenfjord, where the German battleships lay. The Admiralty, ‘progged’ on by Churchill, was already drawing up plans for an attack on the Tirpitz. Net‑cutting was practised day after day and, in mock attacks against the capital ships of the Home Fleet, the craft had to negotiate antisubmarine nets and avoid the look‑outs, keeping a careful eye out for underwater attack.

 

By the time the six X‑craft were delivered in January 1943, the naval planners had finalised the details of Operation Source. It was hoped to send the midget submarines against the Tirpitz before 9 March as, after that date, the daylight hours at the 70 degree parallel would be too lengthy for any chance of success. However, it soon became obvious that the crews of the X‑craft could not be worked‑up in time, and that the operation would have to be postponed until early September, when the northern nights would again be sufficiently long to hinder detection. This last‑minute setback was a blessing in disguise as it not only gave the crews more time to get accustomed to their often temperamental craft, but also allowed them to improve their teamwork.

The delay also gave the authorities more time to arrange aerial reconnaissance sorties and collate the information radioed to London by the Norwegian resistance. In fact, it was not until the beginning of September, just eight days before the X‑craft were scheduled to leave Loch Cairnbawn, that three Spitfire PR VII high‑altitude reconnaissance aircraft began to fly twice‑daily sorties from the Russian airbase at Vaenga. The Russians had finally, with the greatest reluctance, given permission for these sor­ties, but had delayed the photographers’ visas. To the horror of the pilots and the consternation of the Admiralty, the first reconnaissance flight on 6 September revealed that the German fleet had disappeared ‑ the ships had sailed to bombard Spitzbergen. When, however, on 9 September the battleships were photographed lying in their berths, the mission was given the go‑ahead and the attack force sailed from Loch Cairnbawn two days later.

 

The midget submarines X‑5, X‑6 and X‑7, towed by Thrasher, Truculent and Stubborn, were to attack the Tirpitz at Kaafjord. Syrtis and Sceptre, with X‑9 and X‑10 in tow, had the Scharnhorst as their target; X‑8, towed by Seanymph, was to attack Lutzow. Both the Scharnhorst and Lutzow were berthed in Lange­fjord.

 

The X‑craft were to be slipped at Soroy Island on D‑day 20th September, and hide on the bottom during the daylight hours of the 21st. They were to enter their respective fjords for the attack at dawn on the following day.

 

The passage to the targets was to be in three stages. During the first part of the journey, the towing submarines would, make good time by travelling on the surface, while the X‑craft remained submerged at 40 to 50ft. Two days before sighting the Norwegian coast, the mother submarines and their X‑craft would travel submerged to avoid detection by German aircraft and patrolling U‑boats. (It says much for the overall security and vigilance of the British look‑outs that the Germans had no inkling that Source was afoot). The final stage would come off Söröy Island, where the X‑craft would slip their lines and make their way independently through the minefields into Altenfjord, under the direction of their operational crews.

 

All went well until the early hours of 15th September, when a heightening wind lashed the sea into a frenzy that the submariners laconically logged as a ‘rough to very rough’ sea. As the towing submarines rose precipitously in a following sea, the X‑craft, wallowing along 200yds astern, yawed wildly from side to side in a sickening corkscrew motion rolling, pitching and heeling to every movement of the mounting waves. The stern of a submarine, crashing into a trough, would plunge its tiny companion into a headlong dive. Retching with seasickness, the passage crews fought to control the X‑craft, their clothes and hair saturated by condensation, their bodies chilled by the increasing cold as they headed further and further north.

 

Almost inevitably there was trouble. X‑8 broke loose from Seanymph which, unaware of the break, ploughed on through the heaving seas. Later, X‑8 made contact with Stubborn and X‑7; this combination had a break in their hemp cable. X-8 lost contact later, but was eventually picked up by a frantically searching Seanymph. The craft, however, was doomed. Her two explosive charges, found to be leaking, had to be jettisoned. The starboard one, exploding at 1000yds, did no damage, but the port one, detonating all of 600yds away, so badly dam­agedX‑8 that she had to be scuttled. It also smashed lights and gauges on the Seanymph. At 0120 hours on the 16th, after ‘guffing through’ (drawing in fresh air) and recharging her batteries, X‑9 dived, and was never seen again. Later, the hemp towline to Syrtis was found to have parted.

 

Dusk on D‑day saw the remaining submarines in their respective slipping zones ‑ operational crews had already taken over from passage crews on the evening of the 19th­ and X‑5, X‑6, X‑7 and X‑10 began their hazardous trip through the minefields, which they cleared without incident. The air was still and clear, but bitterly cold, as they made their way on the surface towards Altenfjord by the light of an uncertain moon. However, the nine days of pitching and tossing at the end of a towline were beginning to take their toll.

 

By standing on the seat of the toilet in the W & D (wet and dry – a waterproof space), with only his head above the open hatch, Lieutenant Cameron in X-6 was able to conn the craft with some protection from the elements. Nonetheless, when he slammed the hatch shut and gave the order to dive at 0125 hours, on 21st September, he was soaked to the skin and numb with cold. Stripping off his wet clothes, he changed into long flannel underwear, dry clothing, thick woollen stockings and tennis shoes, hanging his wet gear in the engine room – the ‘Chinese laundry’.

 

In spite of the growing problems aboard X-6, Cameron was confident of reaching his lying-up position off Tommelholm Island shortly before midnight, ready to attack the Tirpitz at first light. However, the craft was having problems. “George’, the automatic helmsman, had ceased to function, ERA Goddard was stripping down the periscope which had begun to flood, and the craft had taken on a 10‑degree list to starboard due to the side‑charge flooding. The crew had to throw all their unnecessary clear overboard, mainly tinned food, to achieve even this degree of stability. At 0145 hours, after a meal of hot stew and cocoa, they dived to 60ft and set course for the Tirpitz Cameron hoped to attack at 0630 It had been agreed that the charges should be laid under Tirpitz between 0500 and 0800 on 22 September, and that no X‑craft should attempt to breech the anti‑torpedo net before 0100.

 

Kendall clad in his rubber diving suit, squatted on the seat of the toilet. Alone in the claustrophobic W & D, cut off from his shipmates by a watertight bulkhead; he was sweating despite the cold. Kendall’s job was to flood the compartment, open the hatch and cut a passage through any German nets that the sub might encounter. As X‑6 dived, the floodlit, 155ft‑deep Kaafjord net and its 33ft‑deep ‘gate’ could be clearly seen, about four miles directly ahead. The barrier stretched from shore to shore, and beyond it lay the Tirpitz, protected by her own double anti‑submarine net. This was 50ft deep but, below this, a net of looser mesh reached down to the fjord’s bed; the only way in was through a 66ft‑wide gate, where the net had a maximum depth of 110ft. As chance would have it, the Tirpitz’s ship‑to‑shore telephone had broken down the night before and the crate had been left open to allow a continuous flow of boat traffic. Small, fast submarine chasers patrolled the area and Tirpitz’s commander, Captain Meyer, had ordered a continuous hydrophone watch until 0600 hours.

 

As Cameron approached the battleship’s protective net at 0705, his periscope flooded and the hoist motor burnt out. The submarine was in a perilous state but, hearing the rhythmic thud of a ship’s engines entering the net, he decided to press on. ‘Surface. Full ahead on the diesel,’ he ordered. With unbelievable luck, X‑6 got through unseen and then dived, only to run aground on the German ship’s port beam. Again Cameron’s luck held out, the look‑outs aboard the Tirpitz took X‑6 for a porpoise. Diving, Cameron made his way blind and released his charges abreast Tirpitz’s ‘B’ turret. Minutes later, the German look‑outs were astonished to see a small submarine burst to the surface less than 50yds away; too close to depress the ship’s guns, the crew poured a hail of small arms fire and tossed grenades at the target. Aware that the detonation of the side‑charges would blow X‑6 out of the water, Cameron had taken the craft to the surface, opened the sea‑cocks and was waiting to surrender to a boat from the Tirpitz. It was 0722 hours.

 

At that very moment X‑7, commanded by Lieutenant Place, DSC, was laying charges: one near those of X‑6 under `B’ turret: the other between the engine room and ‘C’ turret. Earlier, X‑7’s crew had spent an hour extricating their boat from a net enclosure formerly occupied by the Lutzow, and did not wriggle through the Tirpitz’s net until 0715. Having laid his charges, Place attempted to clear the nets on the surface, but, at that distance, close‑range antiaircraft guns were brought to bear. Once again blundering into the nets, X‑7 was thrown clear of the barrier by a violent explosion at 0812. His craft badly damaged, her ballast tanks leaking, Place had no choice but to surface close to a practice target With bullets ricocheting off the hull, Place decided to leave the craft first, waving his white sweater in surrender. He just had time to step on to the floating target, before X‑7 sank at 0835. Only Sub‑Lieutenant Aitken escaped three hours later; Sub‑Lieutenant Whittam and ERA Whitely died having exhausted their oxygen supply.

 

To the four prisoners on Tirpitz’s upper deck, covered by eight machine‑pistols, it was a scene of chaos, alarm bells shrilled, orders were shouted only to be immediately countermanded, wires were dragged along the ship’s keel, and reluctant divers prepared to go over the side. At 0812 they and the crew were flung off their feet by two immense explosions: Tirpitz leapt up several feet, whipping violently. The damage was severe: two of her 15in‑gun turrets were immobilised and her engines were badly damaged. The ship would never be fully serviceable again, and it would take several months to bring her anywhere near full seaworthiness.

 

At 0843, another X‑craft, surfacing 650yds from Tirpitz’s starboard bow, was hit by heavy and light anti‑aircraft fire and sank; two minutes later she was depth‑charged. This craft must have been the X‑5 but little is known of its fate. Later, rumours led to the belief that she may have survived. X‑10, plagued by incurable defects, was forced to jettison her charges, and make her way back to the open sea, where she was eventually picked up by Stubborn. During the passage home, she too had to be scuttled.

 

Although none of the X‑craft returned to base, the casualties were remarkably light. For the loss of nine men killed and six captured (the POWs returned home after the war), the mighty Tirpitz was put out of action for six months, and the morale of her crew was irreparably undermined.