“Morris, I want to send you and your headquarters group in the gig to make contact with the Maquis. We will use the gig since the dark blue paint should help avoid detection. Morris, make sure you have two field radios tuned to the spotter network in the gig. We’ll use that VHF radio network for communicating with your Marines. I would not expect the Germans to be either listening on VHF or be able to direction find the signals. It is just too short range and near line-of-sight.
“I intend to put each of your platoons in a 50 foot utility launch ready to come ashore if you need them. I want each platoon to also have a radio. Your heavy weapons platoon will be in the 40-footer as a contingency, but I think Argonne can provide everything you need for general fire support.”
Major Jenkins interrupted. “Captain, are we invading France?”
Sheppard smiled. “As much as I would like to, not at this time. I just don’t know how suspicious the Gestapo might become of civilians moving toward the port at night and how successful the Maquis might be at keeping them at bay. Remember, we have no idea how many dependents of the French fleet may need to be evacuated or how long it will take.”
Chuck Williamson then said, “Captain, I don’t see a problem using the spotting network for gunfire support and it appears we have a good plan if German troops try to intervene, but what about the Kriegsmarine or this report that the Italian fleet has sailed?”
Winston Churchill was not happy. “How could they possibly be planning an invasion of Iceland and we not know of it? Have they discovered that we can decode their enigma messages?”
Admiral of the Fleet Dudley Pound could only reply, “Prime Minister, we have not seen anything to indicate that in the messages to the U-boats. If the Germans were on to our capabilities, the first indication would be attacks on convoys from submarines that were reporting their positions elsewhere. We have not seen that. I believe our most vital source of intelligence is still secure.”
“Then what are we to make of these photographs?”
“Prime Minister, if we take them at face value, Lütjens is planning an invasion in conjunction with the sortie of his fleet. The latest air reconnaissance sortie shows a German carrier fleet still heading north along the Norwegian coast. Based on what we have seen of tanker movements, they are probably going to refuel in Trondheim. That should take at least thirty-six hours. Whatever Lütjens does he will do in conjunction with that force.”
“Flight Lieutenant Pennyman, how certain are you that Lütjens’s objective is Iceland?”
“S-S-Sir, I can’t be ce-ce-certain. There are to-o many unknowns. How-However, Iceland is the only objective that fits what we know.”
Admiral Pound continued. “Prime Minister, there are only two possibilities. Either Lütjens will sortie in support of that force commanded by an admiral named Moeller and invade or this is a ruse to mask another breakout into the Atlantic by Moeller’s fleet. For the first, the Home Fleet must engage Lütjens and destroy the transports before they get to Iceland. For the latter, Tovey should move north and destroy Moeller before he reaches the Denmark Strait.
“Prime Minister, the problem is that the Home Fleet is not strong enough or fast enough to do both.”
“Dudley, can the American’s cover the Denmark Strait?”
“Prime Minister, the only Task Force they have in the Atlantic is en route to Gibraltar to escort D’Aubigné to Martinique. That is, if John Hamblen is able to convince them to go. If the Americans are not successful, that Task Force in conjunction with Force H must destroy the French fleet at Mers el Kébir, or we will lose the war.
“It also appears that the Italians are attempting a breakout on their own or at least make a decisive blow to our base at Gibraltar. Force H and the Americans will have to deal with that threat even if the French cooperate with Hamblen.”
“Admiral, it seems clear that we have three threats and only assets to cover two. Am I correct?”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
“Then of the three which is the least damaging?”
“Prime Minister, the German objective is the same in all cases—sink our convoys to force surrender. If they take Iceland, that is inevitable. If Gibraltar is destroyed giving the Italians access to the Atlantic it is also inevitable. If the French fleet comes under axis control, again, it is inevitable.
“If Moeller has freedom of action in the Atlantic, we will also lose the convoys. The results are the same in all cases.”
“Admiral of the Fleet, what do you recommend?!”
6
RESCUE
KAPITÄNLEUTNANT GERHARD HAYNER, COMMANDER of the Thirtieth Schnellboote Squadron and S-49, was getting frustrated by the Gestapo’s concerns about allied agents being landed or picked up by submarine in southern France. Based out of Toulon, this was the sixth time this month he had been ordered to sea on a mission to intercept one of their phantoms. They always wanted a maximum patrol effort and frankly his boats were wearing out without accomplishing anything useful. Of course the Gestapo and SS were nowhere to be found when it came to arguing for more fuel or spare parts from the supply offices of Marineoberkommando Süd. More than anything he would like to tell them and those black uniformed SS egomaniacs to get out from behind their desks and go to sea on a cold dark night on the open bridge of one of his torpedo boats.
He knew he had to go, but at least the Gestapo didn’t specifically order him to take every boat with him. Even if they found a submarine, two boats would be more than enough to deal with it, if the English were stupid enough to try and complete their mission. Beside his own S-49, he would take Oberleutnant zur See Dietrich Werden’s S-52 giving the rest of his squadron a chance to do some long overdue maintenance on their 2,000 horsepower Daimler-Benz diesel engines.
It was time to slow. Without the protection of high speed Sheppard hoped, prayed, that he had been correct in his assessment of the submarine threat in the Gulf of Lion. The conning station was black except for the dull red glow of the binnacle illumination reflecting off of the overhead. The SG radar operator had the rubber hood in place with its cutout to fit on his face, shielding the bright white glow of the rotating trace from being seen or reflected from the surrounding equipment, reflections that might be seen by an enemy up to two miles away.
As the pitometer log repeater showed Argonne slowing to less than 30 knots Sheppard gave permission to place two additional Kingfishers on cradles supported by the port and starboard catapults. Removing the OS2U-5s from the hanger was not hard. Placing them on the catapults delicately enough to prevent the centerline float from being holed was the hard part. Once completed, the airdales had been ordered to ensure that the four aircraft were drained of all the volatile aviation gasoline. Sheppard did not want a fire if one was damaged by enemy action or his own gunfire. He also did not want any of the bombs or depth charges to inadvertently be detonated. The only way to prevent that was removing and storing them in the magazine.
It was slow work with the remaining wind over the deck and the darkness of the overcast sky. No one complained. The darkness was a warm blanket to embrace Argonne’s passage in stealth other than the sound of her bow wave and whine of the forced draft blowers feeding air to her boilers. Sheppard had never liked waiting. The plan was in place but there were too many unknowns.
ObersturmFührer (First Lieutenant) Rudolph Blauvelt had spent a long afternoon uselessly breaking in doors at the homes of the people on the list that SS Headquarters in Paris had wired down to Marseilles. He only knew that Headquarters wanted those people taken into protective custody. After finding none of the first ten on the list at home, he had become suspicious and reported his findings back to headquarters in Marseilles. It was not the first time that the Maquis had a better intelligence system in France than the SS, hiding away the people he was searching for.
He was tired after a long day of fruitless effort and wished that he could doze off the way his platoon riding in the trucks behind his small staff car were able to.
Well, he hadn’t expected an easy path when he joined the Hitler youth in order to help preserve the thousand year Reich. One last mission tonight and then he could return to Marseilles and get some sleep. Perhaps Yvette would be waiting in his apartment when he returned. He was never really sure about her loyalties, but she was beautiful and that was all he cared about for a mistress.
His platoon had been ordered to Le Brusc to intercept saboteurs that were supposed to be landed by submarine or fishing boat—headquarters didn’t know which. The Kriegsmarine was going to be patrolling offshore, but the Gestapo had insisted on ground forces, to search the town if the Schnellboote failed to locate anything suspicious. Rudy really didn’t have enough troops to be thorough, but that was an issue for headquarters. He knew he would not find anything. He never did. This was the sixth time this month that he had been sent out chasing ghosts.
He was only known to his close friends and family as Émile Mallery; to the Maquis of southern France he was known as Commandant César and the less the men knew of him, the better, as far as he was concerned. The Gestapo had placed a high price on his head—too high not to tempt those whose loyalty might waiver under duress. He was intelligent, a surgeon in a hospital outside of Marseilles, which gave him a perfect reason to wear a mask for most of the day.
When the Maquis found out the SS was compiling a list of the families of French naval officers in the Toulon area, he knew immediately that the real objective was the fleet at Mers el Kébir. The Germans were going to try to blackmail the French into delivering the fleet to them without a fight. He listened to the BBC at night for instructions as well as information and knew that the war was not going well for the allies. It was Commandant César who had issued the orders to hide all of the families in the rough terrain east southeast of Le Brusc. He had personally seen to the safety of the French Amiral D’Aubigné’s family. But Émile knew that hiding the families was only a temporary measure until he found a way to smuggle them out of France.
It had been a surprise when the American called Pierre Ferres had met with one of his Lieutenants and inquired about the safety of the naval families. His men had been watching Ferres for months. No family; lived alone; never sought the company of a woman. He had to be an agent. The only question that the Maquis was unable to answer until recently was whose. Once it was clear which side he was on in the war, it was easy for the Maquis to give him a method of contact that still protected his men if Émile’s assessment of his loyalties was wrong.
Pierre had stated that he wished to help with the “evacuation” as he put it. He hadn’t even reacted when told that there were hundreds of women and children that had to be moved. He only wanted to know how soon it could be arranged for the families to be moved to the vicinity of the town of Le Brusc. Émile had been impressed with his composure and confidence as he had talked with his lieutenant. A quick nod from Émile, when Pierre was distracted was all that his lieutenant needed to agree.
Émile had used the fishing village at Le Brusc before to smuggle people out of France and English weapons in. The shore batteries overlooking that section of the coast had been spiked before the Germans had captured them. They had not yet replaced the guns in the casemates between Cap Sicié and Île des Embiez. Le Brusc’s great advantage was the rough terrain to the east with numerous caves to hide people or cache weapons. Those were the reasons that Émile had decided to hide the French officer’s families there. Also, there were only two roads leading into the town. He had personally surveyed locations to ambush German troops if for any reason they became suspicious. Other than mines and the old French coast defenses, the Germans had yet to add fortifications to this section of the coast. The fishermen were all sympathetic to the Maquis, chafing under the restrictions the Germans were placing on their boats, fuel, and fishing locations. Émile still did not have a plan on how he was going to move the families to whatever it was the Americans were bringing. That could be a problem.
Sheppard knew it was time to begin. Major Jenkins had come to the conning station for any last minute instructions. Captain McCloud had never seen him in battle dress before. He always thought of Morris as just another of his officers dressed in khaki. Seeing the steel helmet, web belt, and .45 caliber Model 1911 automatic with extra ammunition clips only added to Sheppard’s uneasiness. Like any father, he feared those times when his children were headed into danger without him to guide them. That was how Sheppard had always looked at his men.His men were his responsibility, just as his children were before they matured.
The only thing he could think to say sounded trite. “Don’t do anything stupid. Just get the civilians and get back to Argonne as quickly as you can.”
As an afterthought he added, “Don’t leave anyone behind!” He didn’t add “dead or alive.” The thought was too much for him to contemplate openly, but he hoped Morris understood what he meant.
In his heart he knew there was no better man for the job. Morris’s fluent German and French would be invaluable ashore. But he still was going to worry. He prayed for Morris’s and his Marines’ safe return as the Major quickly left the conning station headed to the hanger. Sheppard thought that at least the night was dark with a complete cloud cover. That should help conceal the evacuation.
Argonne had glided up to the position Sheppard had picked four miles from Le Brusc. With the exception of the SK radars all the rest were searching for any threats. The gun directors too were sweeping back and forth in their sectors ready to lock on to any target. The crew was at battle stations with every gun manned and the hoists filled with high capacity shells. Ted Grabowski and senior Chief Hancock had juggled the watch bills to get the boat crews and Marines off and yet keep all the guns manned. Some of the repair parties were under strength but that had to be accepted.
Sheppard ordered the Conning Officer to back down and twist Argonne so that her stern pointed the shore. He wanted to be able to leave in a hurry as well as shorten the distance even by just the length of the ship that the boats would have to travel to bring the French families back. He had deliberately arrived ten minutes early. If there was a trap, being early might allow him to discover it before the enemy was ready.
Kapitänleutnant Gerhard Hayner rounded Pointe du Rascas and headed west by southwest enroute to Le Brusc in S-49 in company with S-52. He had no reason to suspect anything. The German garrison at Fort Saint-Elme, as well as the shore batteries nearby, had not reported any suspicious activity. He was a little late, but it would not matter. There wasn’t anything there anyway.
In the dim moonlight filtering through the clouds, the only thing he could see of the S-52 was her bow wave conveniently highlighted by the phosphorescence of disturbed plankton. He might complain about the SS’s incessant demands for patrols, but Gerhard didn’t really mind the beauty of the night and the thrill of an open cockpit—particularly at high speed.
The Sugar George radar operator in the conning station was the first to notice the two blips heading toward Argonne. “Intermittent contacts bearing zero-eight-three degrees range two-two-seven double oh yards. Designate skunks Peter and Queen.”
Sheppard got out of his chair and went over to the SG radar operator. “What do you see?”
“Captain, two small contacts moving at about 25 knots. They are being masked occasionally by Cap Sicié. That is why I am only getting intermittent returns.”
“Very well, don’t get focused on them. I’ll have gunnery search that area.”
Sheppard went to the 21MC “Guns, Captain, there are two small high speed contacts bearing zero-eight-three, use your forward directors and track skunks Peter and Queen.”
Chuck Williamson quickly answered, “Guns, Roger.”
In less than two minutes he reported, “Captain, Guns, tracking skunks Peter and Queen. Targets are on course two-six-zero speed two-eight knots. The targets are most likely hostile.”
“Guns, Captain, prepare to illuminate with searchlights and engage when positively identified.”
Chuck began the process of designating directors. Sky one and spot three would take the leading contact skunk Peter. Sky two would take skunk ‘Queen.’ He assigned both Turret 6-2 and 6-4 to spot three. Mounts 5-0-2, 5-0-4, 5-0-6, 5-0-8, and 5-1-0 were assigned to sky one. The remaining port side 5-inch mounts, 5-1-2, 5-1-4, 5-1-6, 5-1-8, 5-2-0, and 5-2-2, were assigned to sky two. He assigned searchlight number 2 to skunk Peter and number 4 to skunk Queen. The command, “Prepare to illuminate bearing zero-eight-three by searchlight,” caused the searchlight operators to strike the carbon arcs in the 44-inch lights but keep the shutters closed, preventing the escape of any light.
Morris had been lowered in the gig with his headquarters team. Goldstein and Johansen had quickly disconnected and Cruz raced toward the shore as the utility launches were being off loaded by Argonne. He had gone less than a mile when the gig was hailed by a French fishing boat. They must have been part of the Maquis since they knew the gig was American. Morris was told to proceed directly into the port where he would be greeted by an individual named Commandant César.
As the gig passed the corner of the mole at the little harbor’s entrance the sound of gunfire could be heard from the coast road. A fire began to burn, and then another as the automatic weapons fire stopped as quickly as it started. What was happening?
Petty Officer Cruz told him that the water depth should be sufficient for the gig. That he had checked the chart but there wasn’t much detail inside the harbor. As they pulled alongside the quay near a group of men, Major Jenkins leaped out.
“I am Major Jenkins, United States Marine Corp, assigned to the United States Ship Argonne.” Morris spoke in fluent French.
Sheppard and the French Rescue Page 16