Operational Necessity?

In this riveting episode of Dave Does History, we return to the ocean depths and the haunting story of U-852, the German U-boat that made history not for its wartime victories, but for the war crimes committed by its commander, Kapitänleutnant Heinz-Wilhelm Eck, and his crew. Join us as we explore the sinking of the SS Peleus, the harrowing decision to massacre survivors, and the unprecedented trial that followed, making Eck and his officers the only U-boat crew ever charged with war crimes during World War II.

Through vivid storytelling, historical insights, and a critical look at the moral dilemmas of warfare, this episode examines the fine line between duty and humanity in the unforgiving depths of the ocean. Perfect for history enthusiasts and submarine veterans alike, this episode challenges us to confront difficult questions about accountability, justice, and the enduring lessons of the past.

When U-852 left the German-controlled North Atlantic in early 1944, it was destined for a mission unlike most others in the Kriegsmarine’s U-boat fleet. The submarine was dispatched to the Indian Ocean, where the Allies’ naval reach was weaker, giving Germany’s undersea raiders a chance to inflict considerable damage on Allied shipping. Her commander, Kapitänleutnant Heinz-Wilhelm Eck, was a young officer, just 30 years old. Born on March 27, 1916, in Berlin, Eck entered naval service in 1934, rising steadily through the ranks of the Kriegsmarine. By 1944, he was entrusted with his first and only command, U-852, a Type IXD2 submarine, and tasked with operations in the distant waters of the Indian Ocean.

Eck’s mission was straightforward: take the war to the far corners of the oceans and disrupt Allied supply lines. But his name, and that of U-852, would ultimately be remembered not for its successes but for the infamy of the war crimes committed on the high seas—and the unprecedented consequences that followed.

The Battle of the Atlantic was a theater of war defined by shadowy battles beneath the waves and terror above them. Germany’s U-boat fleet, the famed Unterseebooten, was Adolf Hitler’s ace in the hole to try to starve Britain of its lifelines across the Atlantic. By 1944, however, the tide had turned. Allied advances in radar, sonar, and air patrols had made the Atlantic a death trap for U-boats. Of the more than 1,100 U-boats Germany produced during the war, the vast majority were destroyed, often taking their entire crews with them.

Eck knew all of this as he sailed south, but perhaps his youthful enthusiasm—or misplaced loyalty to the Nazi cause—made him reckless. His crew of 66 shared in his determination to avoid the grim statistics awaiting so many U-boat sailors. Still, they were not prepared for what lay ahead.

On March 13, 1944, while patrolling off the Horn of Africa, U-852 came across a steamer sailing under the British flag, the SS Peleus. The 4,695-ton merchant ship was carrying a cargo of manganese ore from Sierra Leone to England. Merchant vessels, unarmed and slow-moving, were prime targets for U-boats, and the Peleus was no exception. Eck gave the order to fire. A spread of torpedoes launched from U-852 struck true, sinking the Peleus within minutes.

This should have been the end of the story—a grim but routine day in the life of a U-boat crew. But Eck faced an unusual problem: the calm seas meant that the ship’s debris, including life rafts and wreckage, remained afloat, a potential signal to Allied aircraft that a U-boat was operating nearby. For reasons that remain debated, Eck made a decision that would haunt him forever: he ordered his men to surface and open fire on the survivors and the debris. Machine guns rattled, echoing across the Indian Ocean, as U-852’s crew gunned down the helpless sailors of the Peleus. Some accounts suggest the crew threw grenades into the water for good measure, ensuring no one would live to tell the tale.

This horrific act of brutality was far from a standard tactic, even for the notoriously ruthless U-boat service. The unwritten laws of war, often adhered to even in the chaos of total conflict, dictated that survivors of sinking ships should not be targeted. But Eck’s actions defied not only these norms but also a fundamental sense of humanity. What Eck hadn’t counted on, however, was the resilience of a few survivors.

Against all odds, two men from the Peleus, Greek sailors, managed to survive the massacre. Clinging to wreckage, they drifted in the unforgiving ocean for days before being rescued by an neutral ship. Their testimony would later prove damning, but for now, the focus was on tracking U-852.

The submarine’s escape route was fraught with peril. Allied forces had grown adept at hunting U-boats, particularly in less patrolled waters like the Indian Ocean, where German submarines hoped to operate with impunity. On April 13, 1944, a month after the Peleus incident, U-852 was caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse off the coast of Somalia. British aircraft, part of a coordinated anti-submarine effort, spotted the U-boat. After a relentless bombing run, U-852 was forced to beach itself on a reef just a few thousand meters off the Somali shoreline.

The crew scuttled the submarine to prevent its capture, but their efforts were in vain. The British captured Eck and most of his crew, marking the beginning of an unprecedented chapter in naval warfare: the prosecution of U-boat officers for war crimes.

Eck and four of his senior officers and petty officers were brought to trial in November 1945, in the German city of Hamburg, under British military jurisdiction. This trial was unique, as no other U-boat crew had been prosecuted for war crimes during the war, despite widespread atrocities. What made U-852’s case different was the chilling deliberation with which Eck had carried out his attack on the Peleus survivors.

The defense tried to argue that Eck had acted under military necessity, fearing the debris would reveal his submarine’s location. They invoked the concept of “Krieg ohne Hass”—war without hate—an idea that some German officers cited as justification for their actions. The prosecution, however, was unyielding. Survivors’ testimonies, corroborated by evidence from U-852’s logbooks and Eck’s own war diary, written in his own hand, painted a damning picture of premeditated murder. Added condemnation of the actions of Eck and his crew by Admiral Karl Donitz at the Nuremberg trials, weighed heavily upon the Eck trial.

The Eck trial became a landmark moment, not only for its legal implications but also for its moral undertones. What does humanity owe even its enemies? Can war crimes be excused in the name of survival? The British tribunal, in a scathing indictment of Eck’s actions, answered these questions with finality: war had rules, and even in the most desperate circumstances, they could not be ignored.

Eck and two of his officers were sentenced to death. Two others received long prison sentences. On November 30, 1945, Eck and his fellow condemned were executed by firing squad, becoming the only U-boat crew members ever punished for war crimes.

The case of U-852 holds a strange and troubling place in the history of World War II. On one hand, it was an isolated incident—many other U-boat commanders sank ships and left survivors to die, but few crossed the line into outright massacre. On the other hand, Eck’s trial set a precedent that the horrors of total war were no excuse for abandoning humanity altogether.

The trial of Eck and his crew sent a message: even in the abyss of war, there are lines that must not be crossed. In this way, U-852 became a cautionary tale for future generations of naval commanders and soldiers alike.

Eck’s actions and their aftermath reflect not just on one man’s choices but also on the broader nature of war and its capacity to erode morality. The sinking of the Peleus and the slaughter of its crew remind us of the thin veneer of civilization that war so easily strips away. Eck was a product of his time—a man caught between loyalty to his orders, fear for his survival, and the unrelenting dehumanization that total war fosters.

The story of U-852 leaves us grappling with uncomfortable questions. How do we judge those who commit atrocities in the name of survival? Can the laws of war truly constrain human cruelty? And, perhaps most hauntingly, what would we have done in Eck’s place? What of other submarine captains in World War II who carried out similar actions?

The trial of U-852’s officers remains a reminder that even in the darkest waters of conflict, justice and mercy has a place. For the sailors of the Peleus, their voices—briefly silenced by the roar of U-852’s guns—echo in the annals of history, a testament to the enduring pursuit of accountability, even when the ocean itself seems to conspire in forgetting.