Still on the surface,
U-47 closed in.
Endrass stood over the master sight, plotting the attack. Since, as
Prien put it, "the Royal Oak, right in front of us, was a certainty anyhow," the First Officer aimed to put his first shot just past her bow and into Repulse, nearly three miles away. He reserved two fish for the Royal Oak herself.
Distance apart, 3,000 yards. Estimated depth, 22 feet. "Flood tubes for surface firing."
"Tubes flooded."
"Open outer doors."
"All tubes ready."
Endrass centered the cross hairs on the torpedo aimer and leaned on the firing lever. "Tube fire!"
12:58...Impact firing. The boat lurched as one, two, three ton-and-a-half G7e torpedoes went overboard on blasts of compressed air, electric motors winding up, accelerating toward 30 knots.
U-47’s hydrophone operator called, "Torpedoes on their way."
Then it was just Spahr, counting off the seconds: five, ten, fifteen....
Aboard the Royal Oak nearly the entire crew was asleep, including visiting Admiral H.E.C. Blagrove, commander of the Second Battle Squadron. Few of them were much disturbed by the first dull explosion, shortly after one A.M. Something had cut the starboard anchor chain, which ran out noisily into the water.
A bomb? A mine? Many thought something inflammable had exploded in the paint shop, though there was no fire. The ship did not seem to be listing or settling at the bows. Most of the 1200 men, getting no duty call, went back to bed. But several reported air venting under high pressure. Royal Oak was taking on water.
On
U-47 Prien and his crew thought they’d hit the Repulse. The two torpedoes meant for the Royal Oak had either missed or misfired, a not-uncommon flaw. There was still the stern tube. About! Torpedo fired from stern.
Again Spahr’s voice counting; again no result. It wouldn’t be the last time
Prien had trouble with faulty torpedoes.
A more timid captain might have decided fate was against him. Surely the alarm would be raised any second; to bring the boat about for another shot was pushing it. But
Dönitz had chosen the right man.
Prien turned
U-47 around. The forward torpedo-room crew had hurriedly reloaded;
Endrass centered the aimer’s crosshairs on Royal Oak’s midships. "Tube, fire."
Three torpedoes from the bow. Three long minutes for them to zero in on the hulking Royal Oak. At 1:16 A.M. all three slammed into her starboard side, and all three–2,400 pounds of TNT–exploded. Tons of water leaped the height of Royal Oak’s mast; black smoke gushed from the colossal hole in her midships. Her lights went out and she immediately began to heel over. "Flames shot skyward, blue...yellow...red," recalled Prien. "Like huge birds, black shadows soared through the flames, fell hissing and splashing into the water...huge fragments of the mast and funnels."
Royal Oak had taken a hit in an aft magazine. With the power out the only light came from blazing cordite searing through her vents–"like looking into the muzzle of a blow lamp" was how one Marine put it–illuminating a hellish scene of screaming, horribly burned men, stumbling about like lost souls in the flickering maze.
Royal Oak leaned over 45 degrees. The great gun turrets wrenched around, barrels splashing into the water. Her mast snapped off and smashed her big liberty launch, which might have carried hundreds of men to safety. A last few men managed to scramble out through the portholes onto the port side, even as water gushed in through those on the starboard. For maybe four minutes the ship hung near 90 degrees. Then, amid the hundreds of sailors floating in the frigid, oil-slick water, she rolled ponderously over. One survivor remembered "the tremendous noise; it was like a huge tin full of nuts and bolts, slowly turning over. Racks of shells must have been coming loose, and other gear, so that anybody still inside had no hope."
There were over 800 men still inside, including 24 officers and Admiral Blagrove. For any yet alive there remained only darkness, cold, and small pockets of air gradually running out.
Prien had looked from the blazing innards of the Royal Oak down into the quiet, dark interior of his own boat. "I felt as never before my kinship with these men below who did their duty silently and blindly, who could see neither the day nor the target and who died in the dark if it had to be."
He called down to them, "He’s finished."
They broke out in a cheer.
Prien gave an order for silence. They had yet to escape. Less than half an hour had passed since the first torpedo had struck Royal Oak.
Prien did not intend to observe rescue operations. "The bay awoke to feverish activity. Searchlights flashed and probed with their long white fingers...small swift lights low over the water, the lights of destroyers and U-boat chasers.... I could see no other worth-while target, only pursuers."
