In Part 1 of this report in TauchHistorie 13/2020, the author told of his entry into diving, his training in a Berlin sport diving group and in the GDR People's Navy, and of assignments in the so-called diver reception group and already in the salvage service. He continues the latter here, until the end of his service in the People's Navy. My Diver's Book (Part 2) By Lutz Strobel Salvage service in action (27.09.1963) It was always interesting to watch the coastal protection ships, which were still in Sassnitz at that time, manoeuvre out of the harbour: slowly back from the pier, with a hard starboard rudder into the harbour basin, then stop and go ahead around the pier head... But it didn't always work. This time, when the KSS broke away from the pier, the turbines were probably running faster than intended, there may not have been time for a rudder reaction. To cushion the stern impact at the stone pier, Volle came ahead. There was a crash aft, the ship reacted, ran ahead, cut almost a metre into the wooden cross pier with the sharp bow and came to a stop. Our mission order said to inspect the breakwater and to inspect the propeller and rudder on the KSS, in that order. There was no damage to the breakwater except for minor "abrasions"... On the quarterdeck of the KSS I was briefed by the LI. He assured my signalman that the engines were out of order. I jumped aft into the harbour water, gave an "all clear" up and dived down; my first time on a KSS. Visibility was reasonably good, I recognised the rudders and swam under the stern to the propellers. A moment of shock! The propellers started to turn! I quickly shot out from under the stern, surfaced - and saw the grinning LI on deck and my almost laughing signalman, who shouted to me that the propellers were being turned slowly and constantly by an electric motor... Sceptically I approached the port (Bb) propeller. But then I "bravely" clung to one of the flukes. Riding on a merry-go-round, I examined flukes one by one. I found no cracks, bends or splinters. Even the strong rudder shafts were upright, as far as could be determined, and the blades showed only minor paint abrasions. It was probably luck of the draw.... Salvage service in action (28.11.1963) Before speedboats were stationed on the bow near Dranske, there was a special kind of trap for the border cutter G-76 at the end of November 1963: In moonlight, the boat lay at anchor in calm seas on the sundeck side of the bow hook. At least, that's what they thought on board and spared themselves the anchor watch in favour of a good night's sleep. But the anchor didn't hold and G-76 lay ashore in the morning with very little Bb heel on an even keel - the smut could have fetched breakfast rolls on dry feet, if there had been a baker on the still almost undeveloped bow... The bow belonged to the territory of the 6th Flotilla, and the head of the salvage service in the command of the VM logically commissioned the BD of the 6th Fleet in Sassnitz with the salvage of the Grenzer. At that time, however, the BD consisted only of its chief and two divers. The command took over the further organisation. The three of us drove to Parow with all the necessary equipment, got on a fire-fighting boat and walked northwards to the wreck. There the crew was already lightening their boat: ammunition lay guarded on shore, water had been pumped out. Since the water depth was too shallow for a powerful tugboat, two landing craft from Parow were requested, whose reverse gear stages could provide the necessary traction. Two hawsers were quickly occupied between the stern bollards of the average and the bow bollards of the Labos. Aft of the Labos, two hawsers each ran to a cockpit and from there a line to the stern hook of the fireboat; this was to prevent the "draft horses" from breaking away. Everyone got to safety, a skeleton crew remained on G-76. The Labos and the fire-fighting boat went synchronously to half astern and ahead respectively, the hawsers came out of the water, drops splashed all around, there was a draught. Full astern! G-76 did not move, but with a loud bang the bollards tore out of the quarterdeck and, accelerated by the slackening stretch of the hawsers, whizzed across the sea like cannonballs, slapping into the water in front of the bow flaps of the Labos. The ships came to a stop. Silence! When the fright had subsided, we dressed part of the border crew in our spare diving suits, pressed two C jet pipes into their hands, plugged a hose connection to the fire-fighting boat. (By the way, everything was done with rubber dinghies, hawser transfers and hose connections, etc.) And so the guys flushed a tunnel under their boat in the already pig-cold water aft, about three to four metres from the transom to amidships. We "dived" into it from both sides as far as we could get and put a line through, which was then used to put a salvage hawser full around the hull of the boat; like a hug. Well shackled, not as a noose. The salvage harness was then attached to it again, this time a hawser from the general average on Hahnepot, two lines to the Labos and on to the fireboat as before. In the meantime, G-76 pumped out the diesel. The towing troika went back to slow, the tension increased among the observers ashore. Tension came into the lines. At full astern, the perimeter line cut into the deck edges, but then a jolt went through the boat, it hesitantly released itself from the sand, righted itself and floated. Only to run firmly aground after a few metres on a sandbank that the water abandoned by the moon had left like a barrage off the coast of the Buger Haken. The silence that followed ended in curses that cannot be quoted here. The disappointment did not last long, G-76 had to get down there! The thought of washing away the sandbank in places was immediately dismissed; the current would have filled it all up again in an instant. We needed a deep notch cut quickly. Blasting! A Pioneer truck brought us a good two and a half hundredweight of TNT in 400-g bodies, plus electric detonators, cable reels, two detonating machines and a pack of plastic bags. We two divers each sat down on an explosives box and prepared the charges: Eight detonators each, one with a detonator, into a bag tied shut with the detonator's firing wire; the ends of the wire were left free. More than 60 such bags were later piled up at the water's edge. Diving one by one, we brought them to the sandbank behind the stern of G-76 and laid them out flat under water on about 25 m², knotted the detonating wires with clean "dummies" - without gloves in the freezing cold water! Finally we tied the knots with the ignition cable, which we now unrolled to the beach and connected to the ignition machine. The towing troika was ready. Order for ignition! Our teeth-chattering discussion about who was allowed to press the button was ended by my partner in his own way: He cranked and pushed! A dull roar, then water and sand rose into the air. Signal for the Labos to go back. As soon as the line, which had been extended as a precaution, was out of the water, G-76 gracefully turned through the gap that had been blown open and slid into the open water... Quickly everything was stowed again, the Labos were unloaded, a smaller tug took G-76 on its hook, the fire boat came under land and waited for us. But we had a problem: several packed blasting bags with detonators were still lying on the beach; we hadn't needed them. Unpacking was not allowed, they had to be detonated individually. So we pulled the bow inland with everything to one of the destroyed concrete tubs of the former Wehrmacht airfield. Blow them up individually? We wanted to go back to Sassnitz! And so the bags were all lying on the concrete ground, neatly connected to the detonating cable. We set off with the expiring cable reel. And soon stood in front of the next concrete trough. Although within the required safety distance, it provided good cover. Crank and fire! The bang was noticeably louder, and as shards of concrete pelted into the ground in front of our cover, we looked at each other a little guiltily, but then couldn't suppress a big grin - kaboom! With the fire boat we left the Buger Haken in the direction of Parow, on the beach there was nothing left of the whole salvage operation except for a few tyre tracks... Salvage service in action (29.01.1964) October of last year was filled with a ship diving course in theory and practice. After that, search work in Sassnitz harbour, a mine salvage on the Göhren roadstead and ship bottom and rudder examinations - then there was not much left to do. But in order to be constantly ready for action, we had to have at least two diving hours a month on our books - quite unpleasant in winter, but unavoidable. In January 1964 we waited, but we had no missions, so we had to dive these compulsory hours until the end of the month. At Sassnitz pier head everything was ice-free, so we used the time between two ferries to dive: Light sand and riffles. How many of these riffles had I already seen? Lost in thought, I floated over the bottom. Until Herbert bumped into me rather roughly and pointed to a collection of stones. Very well, stones. But the next knock on the head made me take a closer look. The stones turned out to be large shells lying tangled on the bottom, overgrown with algae - right in the channel! Their thick bodies lay calmly and ponderously in the sand, chunks of rusted iron. Yet they radiated a dangerousness that I could almost feel physically. Carefully, we took approximate measurements with one of our liaison lines and counted through. After the report of our find, the appropriate regime ran its course. Then, on 29.01., the ferry service was interrupted and fishing also remained in the harbour. Carefully prepared charges lay in the bow section of an inflatable boat, in the stern stood the drum with the ignition cable and the ignition machine. I took the ignition crank and two of us set off for the grenades; Gerd in the dinghy followed our bubbles. Above the grenade field, a line came from the boat with a small drag, which we wedged between stones. A tug on the anchor line and the first load was lowered. I released the slip, the line was hauled in, the second load followed, the third. We spread the loads on some shells and dammed them up with stones. Only then did we separate the twisted ends of the fuse lines. From the boat came the end of the fuse wire and some connecting wires. We connected all the charges in series to the ignition wire with "dummies", the special knots for electric ignition. After a final check, we surfaced and climbed into the dinghy, setting course for the steep bank of Dwasieden. Slowly the ignition line drummed down. Herbert cleaned the machine's contacts once more. I shot a green into the winter sky and Herbert connected the line. Only now did I hand him the crank. He put it on the square, I shot a red star. A few steady turns of the crank - a dull thud went through the water. At the blast site, an elongated column of water rose from the sea, hesitated and then collapsed in a rush. We had an hour to warm up, then we went into the freezing water for another 40 minutes for a follow-up search. But all we found was junk. Strangely enough, no edible fish either, as is usually the case after such a bang.... Explanatory insertion In my reports I often write about ship bottoms, rudder and propeller examinations or even about clearing propellers. Since the "travelling people" may not be able to imagine what was going on under their ships, here are some explanations: It happened relatively often that ships ran aground. On the one hand, the commander was obliged to report the grounding, but on the other hand he also wanted to get an exact picture of the damage to the underwater hull (this does not mean that every ship is damaged by grounding). In most cases, however, a ship's bottom inspection was then carried out. There were now two possibilities for this: Either the ship comes into the shipyard and is lipped up, or a diver from the salvage service is requested to inspect the underwater hull. Since the latter is far cheaper and time-saving compared to a shipyard inspection, this is what has been decided in most cases. Especially for this work, a light diver could be used to advantage. Ship bottom inspections Before the diver went into the water, he or his signalman asked the engine crew whether the main engine was switched off. The engine crew as well as the deck crew were made aware that the main engine must not be started during diving and that rudders must not be operated. Then the diver's flag was set (or not...). It was up to the diver to decide whether to begin the examination at the fore or aft of the ship. If the visibility under water was poor, he took a lamp with him. He had to take care to carefully examine every square metre of the underwater hull in order to detect damaged areas with certainty. To do this, he had to know the structure of the ship to know between which bulkheads or bulkhead areas and in which plate corridor the defective spot was located. The propellers and rudders are also part of the underwater hull. The diver also examined them, because in most cases propellers were damaged during grounding or in icy conditions. Parts from the flukes were broken out or flanged. The rudder stock could also be bent. Small nicks were often filed off immediately after consultation and short cracks were drilled behind if possible to prevent further cracking. And when under water, the condition of the sacrificial anodes, if any, was checked and their fastening checked. After the examination, the diver reported what he had found. Often a written report was made and, if necessary, sketches were drawn up. Clearance of bolts Another job that a light diver could do well was to remove a line (hemp, perlon or wire) from the ship's propeller. Often ships would get the mooring line in the propeller when mooring or docking at the pier (which should not really happen). However, they were often lines that had been carelessly thrown overboard in the harbour, detached themselves from the bottom by the propeller water and were caught by the propeller. The diver was now supposed to remove the line from the propeller so that the ship would be ready for action and manoeuvrable again. In this case, the diver first had to inspect the damage under water and only then fetch the tools needed for the work from above. Hemp and perlon lines were relatively easy to cut with a good diving knife. The situation was different with wire lines: Wire lines with a small diameter were usually removed with a hammer and chisel. It was more difficult with strong towing hawsers and mooring lines, as chiseling was of little use here. If a winch was available, it could be used to pull the hawsers off the shaft. If the hawser had become so jammed on the shaft between the propeller and the shaft block or stern tube that the diver could not free it, the engine crew could detach the ship's shaft from the gearbox, if possible, and push the propeller a little aft. The windings were then no longer so crowded next to and on top of each other, which made it easier for the diver to remove the loosened hawser from the shaft. But sometimes the only option was to use the slipway or the shipyard... Salvage service in action (09. - 21.04.1964) The bow at Dranske before its time as a fast boat harbour of the People's Navy wild land, inhabited by the forester and his family, blasted cisterns and old jetties. The first construction work was underway, sheet piling was driven for the harbour basins. A wooden jetty still looked very good and could possibly be used for the time being - if a forester's son had not one day brought home carbine ammunition from ill-fated times, found while bathing at the jetty... During an intensive inspection on 9 and 10 April 1964, we discovered that at least two or three ammunition trucks had dumped their explosive cargo into the harbour basin here at the end of the war. In the days in mid-April, Volker and I drove to Dranske, put up at the border guards' quarters and dived systematically around the jetty with light equipment for three to four hours a day, each with a rubber bucket, collecting the ammunition lying around. When the bucket was full, we swam into the shallows and heaved everything onto the jetty, where a staff sailor of the naval pioneers tipped the stuff into containers on a G5 truck. When the tracer ammunition suddenly started to burn, everything ended up in water barrels... On 21 April, as far as we could tell, the ground had been cleared. The jetty was still in use for quite a long time, as far as I know.... Salvage service in action (22.-29.05.64) Apart from normal everyday operations such as sealing leaks, search work, ship bottom investigations and the salvage of ammunition in Dranske/Bug harbour, the spring months were quite quiet for us. But then came an order to search for torpedoes. In itself, such missions were nothing unusual so far, but this time it was going to be spectacular... We ran with K-61 LUMME into the indicated training area, at buoy 4 of the east approach to Sassnitz we found the set buoy and were expected there by a torpedo catcher. We began our tried and tested search procedure at the buoy in 25 metres depth - for hours without success. But what happened the next morning was new for us - a large coastal protection ship appeared in the search area. And after arrangements had been made, a procedure began that we had not practised before: The KSS ran slowly over the ground on fixed strips marked with buoys and searched the Baltic Sea floor with all its electronic search equipment. The LUMME followed in its wake, we divers on deck ready for action. If a buoy with, for example, a red stander went off the KSS, K-61 stopped and one of us climbed into the water at the marked spot over the suspended diver's ladder, dived down for a while and came back on board; the torpedo catcher recovered the buoy. But if the deckhands threw a blue buoy from the KSS, K-61 passed it and I, covered by the superstructure, jumped into the water at the buoy, had dived down before K-61 had passed the buoy (not alternately, because they were of the opinion that if you already have a former combat swimmer under you, he should...). Why all this? Next to the Volksmarine ships, the OSTE, a spy ship of the German Navy, was running on a parallel course at a short distance. So the red buoys were randomly thrown distractions, but the KSS had a signal for the blue ones. However, for days only large stones or deeper hollows. We suspected that this torpedo must be something very special.... The colours of the buoy tenders changed, the "stealthy" entries and the exit onto the torpedo catcher retrieving the buoy became routine. The 27.05. brought a change, the echo from 25 metres depth turned out to be a war cutter, a fishing boat with armament on the foredeck. After the first short inspection we noted the location, we wanted to have a closer look at the wreck later... After the fifth day had passed without success, the leaders of the operation finally accepted the implementation of one of our ideas: The KSS took the LUMME on the hook, we brought a self-made towing board on two lines aft and let ourselves be pulled strip by strip over the bottom at a depth of 25 metres with the board used as a depth rudder. Nothing! Then on 29 May the search was called off. We never found out why this particular torpedo was searched for so intensively. If it was a torpedo... Salvage service in action (26/27.07.1964) June and the beginning of July were comparatively quiet: a wreck investigation, a torpedo found aground, repair of the slipway in Parow so that the speedboats lying on Sommerslip could get back into the water, investigation of a submerged cable distributor after a cable fire at the wooden pier in Sassnitz, mine salvage at the Lobbe roadstead, some ship bottom, propeller and rudder investigations - in other words, everyday life in the salvage service. But then a rather unusual assignment: we knew the term "diver safety" in connection with torpedo firing or helicopter exercises; usually we kept ourselves ready in diving suits for hours somewhere on board without having to go into the water. This time, however, the diver safety was for a special event: Army General Lomsky, Defence Minister of the CSSR, visited his colleague General Hoffmann. The latter probably wanted to show that, unlike the CSSR, he had a navy. Anyway, Lomsky visited the People's Navy, we were supposed to be the diver security for the event. According to orders, we moved to Lauterbach with the LUMME K-61, anchored in the Rügischer Bodden between Lauterbach harbour and the island of Vilm. There, exactly between the port of Lauterbach and the jetty on the island of Vilm, lay at anchor a decked-out residential ship of the 6th Flotilla. The first thing we had to do was to search (not examine!) the ship's bottom. With two of us and a change of equipment, it took several hours, but for some reason it was only listed in the diver's book under "compulsory hours"... Salvage service in action (31.07.1964) At the wooden pier in Sassnitz, where the KSS usually moored, there was an MLR ship, Krake or Habicht, I don't remember. But it was one of the rather rare guests in Sassnitz. The reason: the ship could only sail at slower speed, because after an exercise the underwater search unit could no longer be fully retracted; diving assistance was needed. In the relatively clear harbour water, I dived under the keel in the late afternoon and immediately saw the search head, which was not installed in the ship's longitudinal axis but slightly offset to the side. I quickly discovered that the large egg-shaped casing of the actual search unit had come loose and was transverse. My report did not cheer up the commander of the combat section. He drew me a diagram of how to fix the sheet metal casing, gave me some tools and had the device extended a little further. I was now able to turn the giant egg into the bow-stern line without any problems. However, the fastening could not be repaired under water. After further consultation, I held the fairing in the normal position, hit the bottom of the ship with the knife pommel, a sign for the guests in the listening room to slowly crank the device back in. It worked! The fairing was back in its recess, forming one unit with the ship's bottom. The ship was now able to sail away at normal speed - but probably to the shipyard... The next morning, 31 July, we watched the minesweeper's departure manoeuvre. The ship quickly left the dock, because a landing ship of the ROBBE type was already waiting in the harbour basin. A few hours later, the order came for a weapons search on the bow of the ROBBE. It was our first "visit" to such a landing ship. A rather nervous officer explained to us that during cleaning or whatever, some parts of the 57 mm double gun carriage flew over the bow towards the breakwater into the harbour water. We were a bit puzzled by this, but were shown the muzzle protector (don't expect any technical terms, I wasn't a gunner...), an intricately milled and drilled part, plus some flat washer and a flat steel coil spring at least a metre long. Oh yes, it could really fire the valuable part over the bow and still fly behind it itself... From the old harbour tug of the harbour command I carefully climbed in, a little less lead on the belt than normal for five metres water depth. There was a system to it, because Sassnitz harbour was "chalky" white at the bottom, and any object falling into it left a clearly visible black hole for some time. But every stroke of the fins over the bottom stirred up the thin layer of chalk and the bottom became black in area. With less lead on the belt and upside down, the fins stayed up, you had to sort of push down with them and the white layer remained. We never told anyone this, by the way, so as not to lose our image as successful seekers.... It was the same as always - a few metres from the ship's shadow I saw two holes in the bottom, carefully pushed my arm vertically into the first, felt deeper and could grasp the flat disc. Already something. I belted it to the nearest dolphin and bored into the bottom above my shoulders at the second hole before feeling for the spiral spring stuck vertically in the mud. The thing was heavy, and even my fully filled lungs didn't provide enough buoyancy, so the fins had to help. The course to the dolphin looked like a black dirt road afterwards... But where was this artfully crafted piece? I appeared briefly, reported on my finds and on the non-find. Concerned faces at the bulwark on high. Until the artillery guest said he had seen the part flying for quite a long time. So down again, in a straight line towards the breakwater - and there was another hole in the chalk layer, about ten metres further on. A little later I had everything on a line, which was hauled in together by the Arigast, the now not-so-nervous officer and my signalman. Salvage service in action (02.08.1964) Our G-5 truck rolls slowly through the narrow streets of the small Baltic Sea village of Goehren. We are followed by a box truck with a red cross on a white background shining on its sides. The small convoy drives towards the beach. Here we jump out of the vehicles. A rubber dinghy is pulled from the back of the truck and carried to the water. Two men unload three duffle bags and three grey boxes. A staff sailor carries a blaster bag and a blasting gun to the dinghy. As our chief and the two chief mates undress and put on black rubber suits, one of the fishermen who had rushed over breaks the silence: "Guys, they probably want to disarm the mine lying there at the weir of our fish trap." The man has hit the nail on the head: We are tasked with clearing up a mine-like object that was found by a diver during an underwater investigation of the fish trap. With powerful strokes we drive our dinghy along the weir piles until we reach the indicated pile where we moor the dinghy. Slowly we let ourselves glide over the bulge into the water. After only a few metres we stop - the mine is in front of us. Slowly and with great care we swim around the dangerous thing. Then I take a closer look: It is a heavily overgrown sphere with a diameter of a little more than a metre. On its upper half I find four short nozzles. On the lower hemisphere there is a foot, or rather a square base. On closer examination, it turns out to be nothing but pebbles that have rusted solid. Now it would be very easy to blow up the mine right here, but in doing so the whole cage would go up with it. We surface and hold a brief council of war on the edge of the dinghy. Finally we agree to blow up the messenger of death on the beach. We give some signals to the mine specialist who has come along, the old Captain Lieutenant Garisch, and he has the beach cleared of curious onlookers, who, however, are very reluctant to leave their good observation spot. I dive down, take a rope to the mine, Volker stays in the boat. But how should I attach the rope? With all caution I check the durability of the base and finally loop a pole around it. Then I climb back into the boat. From here we both pull on the rope and slowly the ball comes closer to the water surface. When it hangs directly under the boat, I hold the rope and Volker paddles us towards the beach. When the water becomes shallow and the sphere rests, we slowly pull it onto the beach from shore, in safe cover behind the dunes, with the capstan of our truck. Captain Lieutenant Garisch makes a sceptical face and shrugs his shoulders as he looks at our find; he scrapes off some vegetation here and there. This kind of mine is unknown to him too. He gives the order to the blaster from the pioneers to prepare the blast. The section commander of the People's Police, who is present, takes security measures and drives all the campsite residents away to the back of the road. Then comes the command to detonate. Regardless of our tense nerves, the spark slowly eats its way through the time fuse. A special explosive device is waiting to detonate the mine. We lie behind the dunes and have the sphere right in view. A short bang! The mine makes a mighty leap of about three metres - and then remains calm as a cucumber. This leaves us speechless, we look at each other doubtfully. After the appropriate safety minutes, however, we can laugh: Now that the base and the vegetation have been blown off, we recognise a hollow rubber ball wrapped in wire bands - the dangerous mine turns out to be the drop container of one of the Peenemünde V-2 rockets, the "wonder weapon" of the Third Reich that brought death and destruction to England 20 years ago. The fishermen's gratitude for their undamaged fish trap was smoked... Salvage service in action (02.09.1964) As already mentioned, operational orders with the task "torpedo search" were nothing unusual; certainly not in a flotilla dominated by torpedo speedboats of all types. Sometimes we wondered why some eels were looking for their own way along the bottom... Unusual, however, were always tasks with the designation "diver safety torpedo shooting" - unusual on the one hand that we rode along on one of the narrow and noisy "wooden slippers", unusual on the other hand when we could follow the action on a target ship. This was also the case at the beginning of September, when we were taken by a TS boat to the Adlergrund firing range in the early morning and transferred there to the Torpedologger (Peaceful Citizen) of the Scientific-Technical Centre of the People's Navy. Then, when a TS boat raced across the sea out of nowhere, a torpedo hissing from every tube, the boat turning away and the blast trails coming towards us, we somehow did feel queasy. One track whizzed almost amidships under the logger, the other passed astern. Behind the bubble tracks, the TS boat came into view again, tracking its torpedoes. A short time later, a red and white head emerged from the sea, indicating its location with a bright plume of smoke visible from afar. However, there was no sign of a second torpedo... The lugger turned around and moved in the direction of the torpedo. I had already started to wait for things to happen. As soon as the engine came to a stop, I took bearings and jumped overboard. As always in this area, as I descended, a silence enveloped me, first light green, then growing darker and darker. I only recognised the monotonous grey ground when I hovered over it for a short while. After a short time my eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness, I recognised the typical ripples in the sand and the small heaps of worms living in the bottom. I surfaced slightly, orientated myself by the compass and began my search patrols at a depth of around 20 metres. With side visibility, I had a good ten-metre width in view. At the top, all the engines were off, only the chugging of the auxiliary engine came through quietly. Good thing! Because complete silence, a monochrome environment and weightlessness together lead to anxiety even for experienced divers... I had about 2000 litres of air left in my AWM-1M. I calculated a dive time above ground of 30 minutes, and still had enough air for short decompression stops at a depth of six and three metres. I finished my search after the planned half hour, found the now lowered bottom rope and slowly ascended. (An explanatory insertion is necessary here, if only to forestall questions: Of course, when diving with compressed air equipment we also knew the rule "Never dive alone!". On our missions, the second man was usually a signal line led from on board or ashore. But at sea, at depths of more than 20 metres, this only made sense when working directly under the ship. But as soon as you had to search stretches, the line proved to be an effective floating brake; you couldn't get off the spot. And a second man would have emptied a device that could be more usefully employed for another dive. And so we compromised: The diver refrained from doing anything dangerous, and the signalman watched the rising air bubbles continuously. For special work, of course, we climbed in pairs or worked in helmet diving gear, secured with hose and line ;-). After a long break to warm up, the water temperature was 15°C, I lowered myself back into the depths with a full unit on the bottom rope and started more search patrols. After about 10 minutes I saw a shallow, very straight furrow! After blowing the water out of my mask that had entered while grinning involuntarily, I followed the track and came across the torpedo lying in the sand. I detached a thin buoy line from my belt and sent my beautiful red home-made buoy towards the surface; always hoping it would be seen. It worked, five short tugs asked how I was doing, with five tugs I replied "On the bottom all well!". Then the agreed short-long-short, and a little later a large shackle dangled from a lifting line beside me. In a respectful arc, I swam around the propeller-armed tail piece of the torpedo and shackled the line into the hot eye - carefully, always with the stories of restarting engines in mind. Legends? I pulled hard on the line once and swam a little to the side. The line got traction, the torpedo righted itself on the tail section and made its way up. I accompanied him, and it was already a good feeling, perhaps also pride, to surface next to the device. I watched the recovery from the bridge nock: slow travel, slip a sling over the floating tail section, hold it horizontally and loop the recovery strap around the middle. Lift it out of the water and put it down in the trestles.... Before transferring to our waiting "TS boat water taxi" for the return journey to Sassnitz, we were only told that today it was less about the material value of the torpedo than about the now possible evaluation of the sensors and measuring instruments of the Technical Centre hidden in these two torpedoes. Salvage service in action (interim remarks) With the torpedo salvage for the WTZ, my (in my opinion) reportable missions in the salvage service of the 6th flotilla are "finished". For me, there were still a good two months until my return to civilian life. During the period described, from May 1963 to September 1964, there was also cooperation between the salvage service of the 6th Flotilla and civilian forces of the region as well as with citizens of Sassnitz - I will report on some of the operations, others I will only hint at out of reverence. In loose succession and not in chronological order of events, here are some diving operations which, with a few exceptions, were not recorded in the diver's logbook and were not "paid" - nevertheless, such experiences were also part of everyday life in the salvage service. Eel and others In Sassnitz in the mid-1960s, there was a fishing family called Radvan, whose members were masters of catching, smoking and selling (I have not researched whether this "dynasty" still exists today). One Saturday, the then base commander of Sassnitz ordered me to come to him (the head of the salvage service was already "in the weekend"). Thinking through all the lapses, I made the short walk from our "cabinet" to the staff building. My worries were groundless, for I was affably asked if we could go on a civilian dive tomorrow, Sunday. What a question! So: The fisherman Radvan asked for the divers to work on the guide net of his fish trap off the coast of Sassnitz. The fish are to be guided along this long net to the fish trap. A taut rope at the lower end of the net is supposed to ensure that the edge of the net lies close to the bottom. While stretching this line, Radvan noticed that there was more line in the sea than the net was long. Consequently, he concluded that stones and similar obstacles hold up the edge of the net and fish use these gaps to escape. His petition concluded with the memorable and the unforgotten sentence: "It would be of great benefit to me and to the national economy!" The mission itself was a nice Sunday outing - a small cutter picked us up directly from the LUMME, from it we entered the water close to shore at the guide net. As we swam along the net, we had to agree with the fisherman: The lower edge was resting on large and smaller stones, leaving enough space for fish of all sizes to continue swimming their course "unguided". The line slackened a bit and we rolled the gear out of the line along its entire length. I don't remember how many more metres of line were on the reel after that. This effort had consequences: From now on, the way to the holiday led via the Radvans' fish shop. And even if the smut didn't bring anything proper to the bake, or the appetite got the better of us, one of us would climb the steep path from the harbour to the town and come back on board with fresh smoked fish. No wonder that the mutual give and take was repeated the following year... Peaceful Hertha At the Sassnitz base, there were very good contacts with the school. Not surprisingly, quite a lot of officers and other ranks lived with their families "up" in the town, whose children were educated in the local school. One day we were confronted with a somewhat unusual request: In the school's local history lessons, they were talking about Hertha Castle and Lake Hertha, located in the Stubnitz. We also talked about the Hertha legend, which claims that the goddess bathed in the lake and her helpers were subsequently swallowed up by the lake. From then on, this would happen to everyone who bathed in the lake ... Now it was planned to crown the lesson with a class hike to the lake. And to expose the legend as such, the divers could -... And so it came to pass that, with the permission of the responsible forestry administration, we offered the girls and boys a show dive in the lake on the Stubnitzhöhe. We were not swallowed up! We never found out to what extent the teachers took advantage of this fact. It was not unusual that we discovered a lot of WWII scrap metal such as steel helmets and gas mask containers. But the fact that we discovered that the lake had a "false bottom" was probably also of interest to local historians later on... Deep in the memories When I flip through my diver's book for the years 1963 and 1964, my time with the salvage service of the 6th Flotilla, on almost every second page in the section "What tasks were carried out" a single word jumps out at me, so concise and so clear in its meaning that the moment I read the corresponding date and place, it all comes back clearly to me - body salvage. A task that, for some unknown reason, was incumbent upon us all over Rügen. It may be that in the early 60s fire brigade or police divers were not yet ready for action. It may be that our mission was the quickest to realise. I don't know. What I do remember is that it was always a shi... feeling every time the old Volkspolizei official car came to us at Berth 17, usually in the early morning. Then we knew what to expect. We haven't forgotten the quiet trips to the Marienhafen Sagard or to one of the chalk quarries that were full of water or to another of the small lakes on the island. The short boat trips with the harbour tug across the Sassnitz harbour basin to the pier are also unforgotten. Always in the certainty that several Swedish ferries had already arrived and departed, flushing immense amounts of water back and forth through the openings in the mole embankment.... And still clearly in the memory of the operation on a bank holiday directly with us in the harbour of Sassnitz, under a package of speedboats flagged over the tops... Not often did we find out the background or causes; good for our mental state. But many a time the situation we found told its story. And when I think of how I took a small body, just four years old, in my arms under water and slowly surfaced with it, I am not ashamed of my tears even today. After my service, I met up with old friends again (the contact was never completely broken off), who would have liked to see me in their diving sections - but I didn't really feel like diving any more. After I had learned over the last few years that diving does not have to be an end in itself, but a means to an end, I was now missing the end. But then slowly it came back, the desire to dive, and it was by no means the "fish-eye-viewing" that favoured this circumstance... It was events that I experienced as editor of the diving magazine "poseidon". These included work assignments in dams, for example, or lasting experiences such as my dive of more than five hours at the MALTER-I UW station... And when it became possible to dive in southern seas on coral reefs, I suddenly liked "looking at fish". But all this is in two other diving books with other qualifications.