Editorial and Illustrations by Curt Bowen & Jennifer Bowen
Underwater Photography by Rick Ayrton
Dive video by Dominic Robinson (Deep Wreck Diver)
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Scene One — The Hunt Begins
The control room of SM U-48 was a narrow, stifling chamber — a nest of brass valves, voice pipes, and sweating men. The air was thick with the mingled reek of oil, damp wool, and men who had been shut away from fresh air for days. Every bulkhead seemed to press inward. Overhead, the slow, steady thrum of the twin Körting diesels vibrated through the hull, a reminder that the submarine was still on the surface, riding low in the evening swell.
Kapitänleutnant Buss Berndt stood just beneath the open conning tower hatch, his black oilskin crackling as he shifted. Tall and narrow-shouldered, with the pale, almost boyish face of a man more at ease at sea than ashore, he possessed the unblinking confidence that held his crew together in bad weather and worse situations. His white-topped cap, salt-stained from weeks of spray, was shoved back slightly, shadowing his eyes as they swept the control room.
Above him, the watch officer turned the Zeiss periscope in its housing, the mechanism squealing faintly. The last embers of daylight spilled through the narrow hatch — North Sea skies lit in streaks of red and gold, as if the horizon bled into the clouds.
From the tower came a sudden shout in clipped High German.
“Großes Dampfschiff, zwei-drei-sieben Grad! Entfernung zwei Seemeilen!”
Berndt’s head snapped upward. “Welcher Typ?”
The reply came quick and tight. “Britischer Frachter — schätzt einhundert Meter Länge!”
Berndt did not hesitate. “Alle Mann — Gefechtsstationen!”
The narrow passageways burst into ordered motion. Mess benches were abandoned, boots thudding on the steel gratings. In the bow compartment, torpedo crews swung open the breech doors on two G7 torpedoes, 50-centimetre weapons gleaming in the red lamplight.
Berndt climbed into the conning tower, the senior Steuermann close behind. He grasped the periscope grips, leaning into the eyepiece. Salt spray streaked the lenses.
There she was — the East Point, a British tramp steamer with a black hull sitting deep in the water, her single funnel trailing thick coal smoke in the dying light. A plume of steam jetted from her whistle as she kept a steady course.
Berndt allowed himself a thin smile. “Ein fetter Preis.”
“Langsame Fahrt, zwei-drei-null Grad,” he ordered down. “Rohre eins und zwei laden. Stand by to fire.”
The steel coffin had fixed its target.
Scene Two — Tea and Warnings
Aboard the East Point, a 5,000-ton tramp running light out of Bergen, the evening was unnervingly calm. Captain Harold James Young sat in the officers’ mess, a battered mug of strong Assam warming his hands. The smell of coal dust and salt air clung to his jacket. Tall, wiry, with a face weathered well past his thirty-two years, he had spent most of the war carrying coal and foodstuffs between neutral Norway and Britain.
The second mate, Jim Bowles, stepped in, the chart still under his arm. “All watches changed, sir. Weather holding. We’re on one-three-three degrees, making ten and a half knots.”
Young nodded. “Good. And?”
Bowles shifted his weight. “Wireless out of Hull says a Hun boat’s been sighted west of Dogger Bank. Might be this far north by now. We could zig-zag — burn more coal, but—”
Young drained his tea and set the mug down with a soft clink. “We’ve got no escort and no guns worth a damn. I’ll take the bridge until full dark. If there’s a periscope out there, I’d rather see it first.”
Minutes later, Young was in the wheelhouse. The quartermaster kept the wheel steady. “All well so far, sir.”
Young’s eyes swept the horizon — an unbroken rim of fading fire and black water. Too quiet, he thought.
Scene Three — The Range Closes In
U-48’s conning tower, Berndt bent again to the periscope. The tramp’s profile swelled in the glass, her bow rising and falling as she ploughed eastward.
“Zweitausendvierhundert Meter,” he murmured. “Viertel Fahrt. Zwei-zwei-null Grad.”
Below, the men at the firing stations stood silent, hands ready.
Berndt lifted one hand above the hatch, spreading his fingers wide. The crew tensed.
“Ruhig… ruhig…”
His fist clenched. “Feuer!”
The boat gave a deep shudder as compressed air blasted two Whitehead C/06 torpedoes into the grey. They streaked away at 35 knots, leaving white wakes that vanished into the gloom.
Scene Four — Torpedo Run
On the East Point, Young had just begun to think they might be clear when the starboard lookout’s voice cut through the wind.
“Torpedo! Starboard beam!”
Young spun the wheel hard to port, but before the rudder could bite, the sea ahead erupted.
The first detonation was like a blow from a sledgehammer. Steel rang and groaned. A second followed within seconds, belching black smoke and scalding steam over the bridge windows.
Young snatched the engine-room voicepipe. “Abandon ship!”
The whistle shrieked. Men rushed for the falls, their boots sliding on a deck now slanting sharply to starboard.
Through the smoke, Young caught sight of a grey shadow, low and menacing, slicing just beneath the chop.
“Not yet, you Hun bastard,” he growled.
He spun the wheel to starboard. “Full ahead!” he roared down the pipe. The East Point heeled into her final charge.
Scene Five — Collision Course
Berndt stayed at the periscope, watching for the tramp to roll over.
The sea ahead boiled with smoke and steam.
“Zwei Treffer,” he called. “Tauchen vorbereiten!”
His crew began to drop away, but he lingered for one last view.
And froze.
The East Point’s bow filled the lens, bearing down at full revolutions — impossibly close.
There was no time to dive.
The collision was savage. Steel ripped on steel, the freighter’s stem shearing into the conning tower plating. Berndt and his Steuermann were thrown to the deck.
Water thundered in through the smashed plates and open hatch.
A man below clambered toward the tower, reaching for the captain — but the flood roared down, forcing him to dog the hatch shut to save the rest.
“Tauchen! Tauchen!” the I.W.O. bellowed.
Scene Six — Watching Her Die
The lifeboats of the East Point wallowed in the swell, surrounded by drifting wreckage.
Young sat in the stern of the nearest boat, soaked through, his hands locked on the gunwale. He never took his eyes from his ship.
She was listing hard, screw thrashing in the air. Steam vented from shattered pipes, fires licking along her deck.
A deep, muffled roar came from within — the boilers blowing. She shuddered from bow to stern, her lights blinked once, twice… then darkness.
Her bow rose high, dripping dark water, before she slid under, stern last. Only oil-slick and flotsam marked her grave.
Silence settled, broken only by the creak of oars. Somewhere below, the German boat still lurked.
Young’s voice was low. “If she’s down there, I’ll see her sent to the bottom yet.”
Scene Seven — The Long Wait
The ballast tanks roared as U-48 dove, bow first, the crew working frantically. Orders were barked, wheels spun, gauges crept toward the red.
“To the Grund!” the I.W.O. ordered.
With a groan of steel, the boat settled into the mud of the seabed.
They waited in the dark, the air foul, every man listening for screws above. The East Point was gone, her crew adrift.
But here, the steel coffin still held most of its men.
Only the captain and his Steuermann remained above, entombed in the smashed tower.
When at last the order to surface came, the ballast blew with a hollow roar. U-48 crept toward the moonless surface — battered, scarred, but alive.
For her, the war was not yet over.
This is a work of fiction inspired by real-life accounts; while based on actual events, characters and details have been altered for narrative purposes.
The Life and Voyages of Captain Harold James Young
Harold James Young was born on 30 September 1880 in Stoke Newington, London, the son of James Robson Young, a shipbroker, and Annie Maria Young (née Sleap). From an early age, the lure of the sea called to him, and by his late teens he was ready to embark on a maritime career.
In August 1898, at just 17, Young signed on as Third Mate at Liverpool, undertaking voyages to Rotterdam and Norfolk, Virginia. He signed off that November, but the course of his life was now set. On 16 January 1899, the eighteen-year-old signed his Ordinary Apprentice’s Indenture at Liverpool, “to be taught the business of a seaman.” He served on the barque Loch Trool for two long voyages — first to Newcastle, New South Wales via South America (1899–1900), then to New Zealand (1900–1901).
His early officer years saw steady advancement. In 1901 he served as Fourth Mate to Philadelphia; by 1903 he was Second Mate on voyages again to Philadelphia, and in 1905 he took the same role aboard Thirlmere to the Mediterranean. In 1906, Young rose to First Mate, completing nine voyages to Philadelphia before 1907.
By 1909, Harold James Young had achieved command of the ss East Point, an 8,000-ton British merchant steamer managed by Simpson, Spence & Young. His career intersected with history repeatedly. In December 1915, during the Gallipoli campaign, the badly damaged East Point — under his command — secretly evacuated the 1st Scottish Horse directly from the Suvla firing line under Turkish observation. The operation, organised militarily by Major R. E. S. Barrington, was later recounted by Young in a letter from Alexandria to his sister-in-law.
War brought further trials. On 9 March 1917, while en route from London to Philadelphia, East Point was torpedoed by German submarine U-48 near the Eddystone Light. Although damaged, she collided with the submarine, resulting in the deaths of U-48’s commander and navigator.
Later in 1917, Young took command of ss Rapallo, a new vessel for the Gulf Line. Her fate was short-lived: on 13 January 1918, while in ballast from Taranto to Messina, she was sunk by Austrian submarine U-28 near Cape Peloro. Among the crew lost was 15-year-old assistant cook Thomas Samuel Jenkins — his name later etched on the Tower Hill Memorial, which Young attended the unveiling of with HM Queen Mary present.
In peacetime, Young’s mastery continued. His final command was the Pacific Ranger (1935–1940), closing a four-decade career at sea. Recognition for his service came in both naval and civic spheres; by the post-war years, he was a respected figure ashore.
On 5 December 1954, Captain H. J. Young, DSC, was elected Mayor-Deputy for Fordwich, part of the ancient Cinque Port of Sandwich. With ceremonial pomp, he processed to the Church of St Mary the Virgin for the Civic Service, mace bearer leading the way.
From apprentice sailor to master mariner, from the heat of the Mediterranean to the bitter wartime Atlantic, Harold James Young’s life traced the course of Britain’s maritime century — a story of endurance, service, and the unbroken pull of the sea.
Born on 12 September 1882 in Steinwehr in der Neumark, Berndt Buß embarked on his naval journey as a Seekadett on 10 April 1901. Over the next dozen years, he rose steadily through the ranks—Fähnrich zur See in April 1902, Leutnant zur See in September 1905, Oberleutnant zur See in March 1908—before achieving Kapitänleutnant on 22 March 1913. For his service, he earned both the Iron Cross 2nd Class and 1st Class.
Command of SM U-48
On 22 April 1916, Buß assumed command of the German U‑boat SM U‑48, a newly commissioned vessel of the Kaiserliche Marine’s U‑boat fleet. Built at the Kaiserliche Werft in Danzig, U‑48 was classed among the considerable U‑boats of her era—capable of over 11,400 nautical miles surfaced at 8 knots, equipped with torpedo tubes and an 8.8 cm deck gun, and manned by a crew of about 36.
A Record of Strikes
Under Buß’s command, U‑48 conducted eight war patrols, delivering a devastating blow to Allied and neutral maritime trade. His tally was formidable: 19 ships sunk (totaling 46,709 GRT), 1 damaged (180 GRT), and 2 taken as prizes (5,904 GRT).
Among these:
6 July 1916 – Pendennis (prize), 2,123 GRT
2 October 1916 – Lotusmere, 3,911 GRT
6 October 1916 – Suchan (prize), 3,781 GRT, and Tuva, 2,270 GRT
Between 6 January and 19 January 1917 – a string of steamers: Alphonse Conseil, Ville du Havre, Evangelos, Nailsea Court, among others, from nationalities including French, British, Norwegian, and Greek
3 March 1917 – Connaught (passenger steamer), 2,646 GRT
9 March 1917, final day under his command – Abeja (sailing vessel, 174 GRT) and East Point (steamer, 5,234 GRT).
From Below to the Deep
Buß’s career ended abruptly on 9 March 1917, when U‑48 was lost at sea in the English Channel. Though the exact circumstances remain unrecorded, his disappearance symbolizes the perilous and unpredictable nature of underwater warfare at the time.
Aftermath of U-48
Following Buß’s disappearance, his successor briefly was Oberleutnant zur See Hinrich Hermann Hashagen (10–16 March 1917), and then Kapitänleutnant Karl Edeling took command. Later that year, U‑48 ran aground on Goodwin Sands and was ultimately scuttled after enemy fire—a tragic end for the vessel itself.
