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Summary
Summary
Of all the threats that faced his country in World War II, Winston Churchill said, just one really scared him--what he called the "measureless peril" of the German U-boat campaign.
In that global conflagration, only one battle--the struggle for the Atlantic--lasted from the very first hours of the conflict to its final day. Hitler knew that victory depended on controlling the sea-lanes where American food and fuel and weapons flowed to the Allies. At the start, U-boats patrolled a few miles off the eastern seaboard, savagely attacking scores of defenseless passenger ships and merchant vessels while hastily converted American cabin cruisers and fishing boats vainly tried to stop them. Before long, though, the United States was ramping up what would be the greatest production of naval vessels the world had ever known.
Then the battle became a thrilling cat-and-mouse game between the quickly built U.S. warships and the ever-more cunning and lethal U-boats. The historian Richard Snow captures all the drama of the merciless contest at every level, from the doomed sailors on an American freighter defying a German cruiser, to the amazing Allied attempts to break the German naval codes, to Winston Churchill pressing Franklin Roosevelt to join the war months before Pearl Harbor (and FDR's shrewd attempts to fight the battle alongside Britain while still appearing to keep out of it).
Inspired by the collection of letters that his father sent his mother from the destroyer escort he served aboard, Snow brings to life the longest continuous battle in modern times.
With its vibrant prose and fast-paced action, A Measureless Peril is an immensely satisfying account that belongs on the small shelf of the finest histories ever written about World War II.
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Former American Heritage editor-in-chief Snow brings long experience to this graphic account of the Battle of the Atlantic. He seasons it heavily with the letters of his father, who was an officer on one of the U.S. destroyer escorts vital to the U-boat offensive's final defeat. Snow quickly, colorfully, and accurately sets the stage: the construction and employment of Nazi Germany's formidable submarine force; the heroically improvised British and Canadian response; the fine line Franklin Roosevelt treaded in supporting Britain without committing America directly to war. Even after Pearl Harbor, it took time for a U.S. Navy previously indifferent to antisubmarine warfare to develop an effective doctrine and an industry that would construct the ships to implement it. Twenty-seven hundred "Liberty ships" put to sea faster than the U-boats could sink them. Four hundred destroyer escorts, "built out of spare parts, by amateurs," crewed and commanded by other amateurs, protected the Liberties and hunted the subs. Snow ably uses his father's letters to reconstruct Atlantic duty in the final years of a vital battle for Allied victory. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
From an experienced journalist and editor comes a chatty but absorbing history of the American role in the Battle of the Atlantic, undoubtedly the longest and most crucial campaign of WWII. The book isn't for beginners because, made up of short essays rather than as a continuous narrative, it leaps around from the upper echelons (e.g., the formative years of Karl Doenitz's notions about U-boat warfare tactics and Admiral King's nearly disastrous refusal to begin coastal convoys in 1942) to the low ones (e.g., the many and varied ordeals of the survivors of the liner Athenia, first casualty of the U-boat war). Interspersed among the essays is the WWII career of Snow's father, who began the war helping build destroyer escorts and ended it serving aboard one. For all its patchiness, the book is historically balanced and eminently readable, deserving a place in at least larger WWII naval collections.--Green, Roland Copyright 2010 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
HITLER called Fritz Todt, who ran the state company that built the German autobahns and other monuments of the Thousand Year Reich, "our dear Master Builder." Some of Todt's most impressive achievements still stand in French ports along the Bay of Biscay: massive concrete bunkers, constructed with slave labor, to shelter the Unterseeboote, the U-boats, of the Nazi navy. The bunkers' blast doors were a yard thick, the roofs 25 feet thick. The British tried to destroy these submarine pens with hundreds of air raids and 12,000-pound bombs, but instead wiped out the town of Lorient. Only three houses were left standing by 1945, one of them a chateau occupied by the U-boat fleet commander, Adm. Karl Dönitz. "When, in 1987, filmmakers needed a set for the popular submarine movie 'Das Boot,' they simply moved into La Pallice" - one of the occupied French ports - "where the old machinery stood intact and dim Gothic lettering still proclaimed its exhortations and prohibitions from the unmarred walls," Richard Snow tells us in "A Measureless Peril," his evocative and at times moving account of the American role in the Battle of the Atlantic. On June 12, 1943, American planes sank the U-118 with depth charges. After Pearl Harbor, when Hitler's submarines were free to roam the east coast of the United States, the U-boat captains spoke of "the American shooting gallery." On the night of Jan. 14, 1942, U-123, under Capt. Reinhard Hardegen, entered New York Harbor. Snow says that Hardegen navigated with a guidebook to the 1939 New York World's Fair. He saw the city lights shining brightly from the skyscrapers and even spotted the Ferris wheel at Coney Island. He wondered if the Americans knew there was a war on. "I cannot describe the feeling with words," the U-boat skipper wrote in his diary, "but it was unbelievably beautiful and great." Other U-boat commanders used the back-lighting of American cities to torpedo sharply silhouetted freighters and tankers running along the shore. For months, Miami officials refused to black out the city, for fear of hurting the tourist trade. When German sailors steered away from a sinking ship, they liked to call out, "Send the bill to Roosevelt." The battle for the Atlantic was harsh; between 1939 and 1945, Snow reports, hundreds of ships were sunk and 80,000 people perished, mostly drowned or burned. Both sides left their victims to die, or killed them in the water. Admiral Dönitz made sure his men showed no mercy. In late 1939, with the outbreak of war in Europe, he commanded his U-boat crews not to give schnapps or cigarettes to survivors in the lifeboats or to set off flares to summon help. "Rescue no one and take no one aboard. Do not concern yourself with the ship's boats," he ordered. "Weather conditions and the proximity of the 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 Americans were hard, too. The first destroyer to sink a U-boat, the U.S.S. Roper, a World War I-vintage four-stacker, sailed amid the German sailors who were shouting "Bitte!" ("Please!") as they floundered in the water begging for rescue. The Roper dropped depth charges instead, then swept up the dead bodies. (They were piled on the deck and covered with a tarpaulin, to discourage looting.) Roaming in "wolf packs," the U-boats sank so many ships bearing supplies from America to Britain that Winston Churchill later wrote of the campaign that it was "the only thing that ever really frightened me during the war." Fortunately, the British captured the Enigma cryptography machine and broke the German naval codes, enabling Allied convoys to steer clear of the wolf packs or to hunt them down. The Americans were unprepared for the Atlantic war. At first, a "hooligan navy" of pleasure boats and fishing craft formed a thin picket line across the east coast. Millionaires' yachts with names like Sea Gypsy, Vema, Redhead and Primrose IV (under the command of a Harvard professor) were no match for the Germans. A Rube Goldberg conception for fighting back, Project LQ, outfitted old freighters with cannons and machine guns. These "mystery ships" were intended to lure U-boats near - whereupon fake plywood bulkheads would be cast down, revealing bristling armaments. Project LQ was a fiasco. The Americans apparently lost about a quarter of the 600 or so men who volunteered for the operation. The Germans lost a single midshipman and no U-boats. But in time, the Americans recovered and showed their ingenuity and industrial strength. The American naval commander, Adm. Ernest J. King, bullied and cajoled. ("He is the most even-tempered man in the Navy," his daughter said. "He is always in a rage.") Shipyards began churning out small but sturdy destroyer escorts and carrier escorts. Using improved radar, these ships formed "hunter killer" groups to go after the German wolf packs. Suddenly, the odds changed. Gone was "the happy time," as the U-boat sailors called the early days of the war when they ventured out of their impregnable bunkers along the French coast to wreak havoc. Repeatedly bombed and depth-charged, the U-boat sailors began referring to the Bay of Biscay as the Valley of Death. By the end of the war, only about one in four returned home alive. Unlike the more glamorous Pacific war, the Battle of the Atlantic offered no dramatic clashes of fleets by night. Convoy duty was dreary and monotonous, if sometimes fatal. Ships pitched and rolled through the winter seas until they reached the "momp" - "a dismal word confected from 'midocean meeting place,' where the Americans turned over their charges to the Royal Navy," Snow explains. The former editor of American Heritage magazine, Snow writes with verve and a keen eye. He is a kind of John McPhee of combat at sea, finding humanity in the small, telling details of duty. The German sailors referred to a submarine as "the Devil's shovel" and wore what they called "whore's undies," boxer shorts died black to hide the grime. In a U-boat's cramped quarters, "clusters of sausages dangled the length of the boat, which would set out carrying the curious combined atmosphere of a luxury grocery store doing business inside a gargantuan automobile engine." Snow describes how a captain accidentally sank his U-boat because he mishandled its complicated toilet, and how the American sailors tossing wildly on the sea above "lived the life of the very, very old," barely able to move without falling. One of the American seamen portrayed is the author's father, Richard B. Snow, a lieutenant aboard a destroyer escort. An architect before the war, the elder Snow had great trouble returning to civilian life. He just sat at his drafting table, unable to work. "Everything he'd wanted to get back to seemed opaque, cold, changed," Snow writes. "My mother told me that one afternoon he telephoned her. . . . 'I called to say goodbye,' he said." Mrs. Snow got her husband home and somehow rescued his psyche from the perils of sea. He went on to be a successful architect, not unlike Herr Todt, though on a less grandiose scale. He specialized in college buildings; his legacies are the libraries of Barnard, Princeton and Amherst. Churchill later said the Battle of the Atlantic was 'the only thing that ever really frightened me during the war.' Evan Thomas's latest book is "The War Lovers: Roosevelt, Lodge, Hearst, and the Rush to Empire, 1898."
Kirkus Review
Former longtime American Heritage editor Snow (Coney Island: A Postcard Journey to the City of Fire, 1983, etc.) examines the Atlantic theater of World War II, where his father fought. The Pacific is often considered the primary locale for the naval battles of WWII, but the effort in the Atlantic, centered on protecting supply lines between the United States and Europe, was no less vital. Snow uses the experiences of his father, a Navy man who had served in the Atlantic, as a jumping-off point to tell the wider story of what would be known as the Battle of the Atlantic (19391945), in which Allied ships were pitted against hard-to-track German submarines. The Atlantic war began in earnest after a German U-boat torpedoed and sunk a British passenger ship in 1939. The author shows how the situation complicated the United States' then-neutral stance in the war. Soon Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt began corresponding, leading to a deal in which the United States sold destroyers to the British, bypassing the antiwar Congress. In December 1941, Hitler ordered German U-boats to attack American ships, bringing the States fully into the Atlantic war. It proved to be a grueling, drawn-out affair, the longest continuous campaign of World War II. Churchill called the struggle against the German U-boats "the only thing that ever really frightened [him] during the war." Snow looks at several important figures in the campaign, and he writes at length about Karl Doenitz, the commander of the German submarine fleet, whose strategic thinking about the use of submarinesspecifically, using U-boats to focus on attacking merchant shipstransformed naval warfare. The author also uses letters and recollections of his father, providing a palpable sense of the daily activity of an enlisted man in the Atlantic war. An accomplished historian with a welcome personal touch. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
At first this seems yet another narrative of the epic battle for the sea lanes of the North Atlantic, of some interest but well-trodden ground. Halfway through, in a not entirely comfortable meld, it turns into a biography of the author's father, a successful architect who left to do his part in the war at sea. Still, both Snows have a way with words, and Snow senior's experiences, while entirely typical, lend a degree of depth and personality to a war of tonnages and statistics. Well worth reading. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
"What's the Matter with the Davis ?" Looking back on the Atlantic struggle One hot, windy September afternoon in the early 1970s my mother and father came home to Bronxville from a two-week vacation in Maine. Bronxville is a town in Westchester County, half an hour north of Manhattan on what was then the Penn Central railroad. Like countless thousands of other couples, my mother, Emma, and my father, Richard, had quit the city in the hopeful months after World War II ended to raise their infant child in a house surrounded by suburban greenery and well-nourished public schools. The beneficiary of this relocation came down to help them unload their luggage, and I was soon joined by Mr. Curcio, the superintendent of the apartment building in the village my parents had moved into after I'd gotten out of college. Superintendent Curcio was a chatty, affable, powerfully built man (he once paused halfway up a flight of stairs to speculate with me at some length about the Mets' chances, all the time holding two air conditioners, one under each arm). He scooped a half dozen suitcases out of the Chrysler, and as we headed toward the apartment, something--the weather, perhaps--reminded him of having taken part in the landings on Sicily in July 1943, and he began to talk about it. "Look, I'm a wop," he said cheerfully about his Italian heritage, "but let me tell you, once those wops on the beach were shooting at me, I was one hundred percent American. Guys begin dropping around me, and I start firing while I'm still in the water." The story continued until the suitcases were in front of the door. We all said thanks, and then my mother put a protective hand on my father's forearm. "I'm so glad," she told Mr. Curcio, "that Dick was never in action." AT A LITTLE AFTER eight thirty on the morning of April 24, 1945, a sailor said to my father, "What's the matter with the Davis ?" He meant the Frederick C. Davis , destroyer escort 136, and she looked funny, canted forward and apparently stopped in the water. My father was watching her from the deck of another destroyer escort, the USS Neunzer , DE-150. The Davis lay a few hundred yards away, but not for long. "Jesus Christ!" said someone. "She took a fish." And sure enough, although nobody aboard the Neunzer had heard the explosion, a torpedo had struck the Davis 's forward engine room. Minutes later the Davis split apart and sank, taking 115 men to their deaths, while the Neunzer and seven other destroyer escorts--helped by planes from the escort carrier Bogue --set off on what would prove to be a ten-hour struggle against the submarine that had destroyed her. While he unpacked in Bronxville, my father reviewed his role in this event for my mother, then added, with what seemed to me impressive mildness, "That's generally considered having been in action." MY FATHER TOOK PART in the last great campaign of the Atlantic war. The Neunzer was one of a web of ships stretched across a hundred miles hunting an enemy that naval intelligence had reason to believe was going to launch rocket attacks against American cities. He was in at the end of the longest battle of World War II, indeed, of any war in history. If the Allies had lost that battle, they would have lost the war. And yet, my mother's remark was not ludicrous. Few people today remember the Atlantic war as a battle, and even at the time only some of those who were in it saw it as a coherent effort. The Pacific was the picturesque war, the one where naval victories took the form we think they should: battleships hammering it out gun to gun, aircraft carriers deciding in a morning the fate of nations. Louis Auchincloss, already a lawyer, soon to be a novelist, but at the time the navigator on an LST (landing ship, tank) remembered, "Changing oceans was like changing navies. In the European theater the army and air force were everything; the navy, only a police escort. . . . Never shall I forget my first glimpse of the Pacific navy in the atoll Ulithi where the lines of battleships, cruisers, carriers, and auxiliary vessels seemed to stretch out to the crack of doom." Conquer an island; then conquer another island; then sink some battleships. That was a proper sea war. The Atlantic effort by contrast was strange and diffuse, week upon week of boredom endured in constant discomfort, fires on the sea at night and yet nothing there in the morning, eventually the unheroic sight of Halifax through the fog if you were lucky. It was a sea fight whose results were recorded on land. But it began on the first day of the war and ended on the final one, five years and eight months later. In the Pacific, the Battle of Midway broke a Japanese fleet in five minutes. But the Allied aim in the Atlantic was not to destroy an enemy on the high seas. It was to keep a delivery system going: to get grain and aviation gas, chocolate and rifles and tires, oil and boots and airplane engines, from America to Europe. The trucks in this operation were merchant ships, some of them ancient, none of them carrying the martial glamour of a PT boat, let alone a cruiser. One who did see the high consequence of this dogged chore was Winston Churchill. He said that the U-boat campaign was "the only thing that ever really frightened me during the war." While the Atlantic battle was going on, he wrote, "How willingly would I have exchanged a full-scale invasion for this shapeless, measureless peril, expressed in charts, curves, and statistics." The charts and statistics showed how many ships the German submarines were sinking, as against how many the Allies could build. It was "a war of groping and drowning, of ambuscade and stratagem," said Churchill, "of science and seamanship." If the stratagems failed, if the seamanship faltered, Britain would starve and the European fighting fronts would fall to the German army. In Commander in Chief , his fine book about the American high command in the war, the historian Eric Larrabee wrote the arresting sentence "The Battle of the Atlantic was the war's inner core, an only partly visible axle on which other contingencies turned." That image has stayed with me since I first read it twenty years ago, although I can also see the battle as a vast drill bit or screw, with grooves a week or a month apart, turning and turning through the mortal years, always from America toward Europe, driving convoys eastward. Some of the vessels it carries will get through fifty trips without a scratch; some will burn and sink in front of vacationers on Miami Beach. Sometimes destroyers will protect them; sometimes there won't be enough destroyers to spare for the job; and sometimes the destroyers won't do any good at all, darting this way and that as the U-boats lance into the heart of the convoy and with a torpedo or two turn the months of manufacturing the ammunition and trucks and locomotives and radios and the days of loading them and all the time spent building the vessel that carries this cargo and the lifetimes of raising the crewmen who are attending it into a horrible inanity. The battle killed nearly eighty thousand people: drowned them, crushed them, burned them, froze them, starved them in lifeboats. Far beyond the brutal vacancy of ocean that extinguished all those lives, an empire of strenuous ingenuity fizzed and crackled, whole cities running night and day given over to trying to outsmart the slim, dark shapes that Allied seamen so rarely saw. It took three nations to end the U-boat campaign--the United States, Canada, and Great Britain--and Britain's role in the immense task seems better remembered than America's. In some ways this is just; in some, it isn't. The particular fight my father was in that April went just the way it should have. This despite the loss of the Frederick C. Davis . By then what Lincoln called the "terrible arithmetic of war" had established that an American destroyer was a small price to pay for a German submarine. Over the previous four years the U.S. navy had learned a great deal about how to cope with U-boats. Not one ship that took part in this final wide sweep had existed before the war began. I don't just mean the vessels themselves, but the kind of vessels they were. The escort carriers--"baby flattops" that carried a fraction of the number of airplanes that rode in the immense fleet carriers that were going about their famous work in the Pacific--had been improvised to meet the crisis, and so had the class of ship my father served on, the destroyer escort, the DE. This book tells the story of the American effort in the Battle of the Atlantic. The destroyer escort figures prominently in it because the ship represents a combination of practicality and ingenuity that America brought to the war; and, of course, my father was on one. He isn't in this story through mere sentimentality on my part. I believe that he embodied the kind of war America fought and the kind of people that allowed us to win it. Richard B. Snow (I escaped the inconveniences of being called Junior by grace of having a different middle name) was an architect. Before the war, his only connection with the sea was having ridden across it in ocean liners to study the violin in Paris. Born in 1905, he was old for active duty, and moreover he was married. Yet when the war came he pulled such strings as he could find, and although he had reached the wintry heights of his late thirties, he managed to wangle sea duty. In time he became a "plank owner" (part of the original crew) on a brand-new destroyer escort. His wife wasn't happy about this, but he promised to write her every day they were apart, and he came surprisingly close to fulfilling this pledge. Recently I began to read those letters for the first time. Before he went into architecture school, my father had studied at Columbia College with the critic, poet, and novelist Mark Van Doren, who encouraged him to become a writer. The letters suggest what it was that caught Van Doren's eye. They're fluent, sardonic, fond, observant, full of irony about many things but never about his work at sea, and not quite like any other war letters I've ever read. But like the unique but widely produced ship he served aboard, my father's letters encapsulate a vast common experience. This architect became a capable officer, and thus his career echoes those of the eighty thousand other Americans who became naval officers during those years--and of the twelve million Americans who were in uniform by war's end. Five years earlier these warriors had no more thought of joining the military than of joining the circus. They at once brought about and were formed by the biggest, swiftest change that has ever overtaken our society. If my father can speak for them, though, he can't do it yet, because the story starts long before he traded his T square for a sextant. He will make only a few brief appearances before he ventures out into the Atlantic, that beautiful, malevolent thirty-million-square-mile battlefield where he and those like him were to win a great and underappreciated victory. © 2010 Richard Snow Excerpted from A Measureless Peril: America in the Fight for the Atlantic, the Longest Battle of World War II by Richard Snow All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
Table of Contents
"What's the Matter with the Davis?": Looking back on the Atlantic struggle | p. 1 |
Flower Show: The dangerous state of the U.S. navy on the eve of war, 1939 | p. 8 |
Too Dumb to Stay on the Farm: The making of a sailor, 1940 | p. 14 |
Building Hitler's Navy: Superbattleships vs. submarines, 1933-39 | p. 20 |
"The Simple Principle of Fighting Several Steamers with Several U-boats": Captain Doenitz works out his strategy, 1918-39 | p. 26 |
On the Devil's Shovel: U-boat life, 1939-45 | p. 36 |
The End of the Athenia: The sea war begins, 1939 | p. 48 |
Captain Gainard's Killer Dillers: An American freighter comes to the rescue, 1939 | p. 58 |
Prison Ship: The difficulties of keeping out of the war, 1939-40 | p. 70 |
The Neutrality Patrol: Guarding the western hemisphere, 1939-40 | p. 79 |
"A New Chapter of World History": The destroyer deal goes forward, 1940 | p. 86 |
Doenitz Goes to France: Germany builds her Biscay U-boat bases, 1940 | p. 101 |
Germany First: Planning America's naval war, 1940 | p. 105 |
A Length of Garden Hose: FDR sells Lend-Lease, 1940 | p. 113 |
Fishing Trip: Churchill and Roosevelt meet, 1941 | p. 120 |
The Moving Square Mile: Learning and relearning the lessons of convoy, 1917-41 | p. 128 |
The Rattlesnakes of the Atlantic: America's first losses, 1941 | p. 135 |
A Present in the Führer's Lap: Hitler dėclares war, 1941 | p. 144 |
Five Boats against America: The East Coast submarine offensive, 1942 | p. 150 |
The Most Even-Tempered Man in the Navy: Admiral King in command, 1942 | p. 160 |
The Hooligan Navy: Yachts and cabin cruisers go to war, 1942 | p. 169 |
Panic Party: The "mystery ship" fiasco, 1942 | p. 174 |
Cadet O'Hara's Last Fight: The Naval Armed Guard and the ordeal of the Stephen Hopkins, 1942 | p. 179 |
"Start Swinging, Lady": The Liberty ships, 1941-45 | p. 194 |
A Visit to the Ship Cemetery: Desperate times on the Eastern seaboard, 1943 | p. 205 |
"Sighted Sub...": A little good news, 1943 | p. 211 |
How Lieutenant Snow Got to Sea: A reserve officer's journey, 1943 | p. 220 |
The Smallest Major War Vessel: Inventing the destroyer escort, 1942 | p. 226 |
"Set the Watch": The birth of a warship, 1943 | p. 238 |
The Heartbeat of the Pings: The importance of sonar, 1941-45 | p. 250 |
"How Many Germans Will It Kill?": Learning to use radar, 1940-43 | p. 256 |
The Fleet without a Gun: Admiral King remakes his command, 1943 | p. 267 |
Steaming as Before: The essence of Atlantic duty, 1943-45 | p. 276 |
Combustible, Vulnerable, and Expendable: The escort carrier joins the fight, 1944 | p. 289 |
Captain Just's Last Fight: The final days of the Kriegsmarine, 1945 | p. 298 |
Do Hostilities Ever Cease?: After the convoys, 1945 | p. 314 |
When Daylight Comes: From then to now | p. 321 |
Bibliographical Note and Acknowledgments | p. 327 |
Bibliography | p. 331 |
Index | p. 339 |