“Captain, raid two is on course one-nine-one, speed two-hundred. Based on the speed, estimate those aircraft are JU88s sir.” Jonathan Becker added, “I’ll have a CPA (closest point of approach) in a minute.”
“Captain, Combat, CPA bears two-five-eight, range three-three miles!” Sheppard had to think. What was the ceiling 7, no, 8 thousand feet? The Germans might not be able to see Argonne now that she had slowed, without that broad white wake behind her.
It hit him with the force of a right hook. He had slowed and he had shot down the German reconnaissance aircraft. The German bombers were headed to where he would have been had he not needed to conserve fuel. “Chief Anderson, I could kiss you,” he stated to no one in particular, but raised puzzled looks among the personnel on the conning station.
“Combat, let me know the instant raid two changes course.”
Now he had to ponder the mind of his enemy. What would cause him to change course? When would he do it? How could he influence him to turn away from Argonne? Did he dare reverse course and waste fuel, but open the range even further?
Ludwig was getting concerned. It wasn’t just his fuel state—it was the fact that he had not sighted his enemy yet. In ten minutes he would be at the predicted intercept point. If he had not sighted the ship by then, he needed to have a plan to search. At the speed the Kondor had reported it seemed unlikely that the ship could be further down its track than the intercept point. That left the possibilities of it slowing, or changing course. The former seemed unlikely. The enemy commander knew that the Luftwaffe would be coming, after the FW200 likely had been shot down. He needed as much distance from the coast as he could get, as quickly as he could get it. That argued for him to have turned south away from Spain.
Barry Jensen really did not understand what Bronco had told him to do. Not that it was hard. It just didn’t make sense to him. Argonne was on course 225o and he was almost 50 miles directly ahead. Why would Bronco tell him to fly on course 136o for a half hour until he was south of Cabo de la Mola on Mallorca and then turn east for another half an hour until south of Cabo de Pera? Oh well, ours not to reason why, the saying went.
“Mr. Jensen,” it was his radioman Henry Hargrove on the intercom.
“Yeah, Henry, what is it?”
“Mr. Jensen, we’ve got company—JU88s six o’clock high.”
Major von Sichart had seen the small float plane flying to the southeast. He knew it wasn’t German or Italian—neither had monoplane floatplanes with a single centerline float. It wasn’t British either. Their heavy ships carried the Supermarine Walrus biplane flying boats. Ludwig wasn’t sure what it was, but it had to belong to his target and it was heading southeast. Either it was scouting ahead of its ship or it was returning to it. Major von Sichart knew it wasn’t the former; he had just covered that area of the ocean.
He ordered his three staffeln above the cloud layer for better fuel economy, while he stayed with the floatplane. He smiled at the thought of this pilot leading him to the destruction of his home. This floatplane had made his decision for him.
“Captain, Combat, raid two has turned to course one-three-six, bearing two-one-eight, range four-one miles, altitude now high.”
“Roger, Combat.” Sheppard did not really want to believe in ghosts, but Argonne’s luck was too good. Now he was glad he had not decided to change course. But Argonne was not clear yet. If the Germans turned for home before Barry was half way through his east bound leg, they would still pass close enough to Argonne to spot the battle cruiser even at this speed. He had also potentially sacrificed Lieutenant Jensen and his radioman, if the JU88s decided to shoot them down before heading home.
He needed to reconstitute his anti-submarine patrol. “Officer of the Deck, prepare to launch aircraft.”
It was after 1130 hours when it suddenly dawned on Barry Jensen what Bronco had ordered him to do. The German bombers, three of them, were still flying high above him at his six o’clock. Radioman second class Hargrove had been giving him continuous updates on their location relative to mustang zero-five. He understood he was a decoy and was pulling the Luftwaffe bombers away from Argonne. He knew where she was supposed to be by her DR, but what he did not know was where the German bombers were based. When they finally got tired of following him, he assumed they would fly home. He was determined to keep leading them further away at all costs, even though Bronco had only required him to stay on course zero-nine-zero until he was south of Cabo de Pera.
Barry was afraid that the Germans would not be far enough to the east if they broke off when he had to return to Argonne or run out of fuel. He decided to keep luring them on even if it meant he would be unable to return. He did not bother to tell Radioman Hargrove of his plan.
“Captain, Combat, lost contact on raid two bearing one-five-five, range eight-one miles due to masking returns from Majorca Island.” Sheppard checked the clock on the bulkhead. It was 1125. He decided to keep the crew at battle stations until he knew that the German raid would not pass in his vicinity on their route home.
Admiral Hamblen expressed the thought that was on everyone’s mind. “It looks like they took the bait.”
“Yes, Admiral, I just hope my young pilot doesn’t try to do anything stupid. He has barely enough fuel to return. He is much lower than the German JU88s, and we lost contact on him twenty minutes ago.”
Major von Sichart finally gave up. He did not have the fuel to continue chasing this slow float plane. The weaving back and forth to keep pace with the slower aircraft was draining his fuel. He suspected that the warship had turned south soon after it shot down the FW200, which fit with where the float plane was headed. That would place it now to the southeast of Minorca. But, why was it searching so far to the west when he discovered it. Well, it did not matter, he had to return anyway. At 1209 he turned back to his base at Toulouse and climbed above the cloud layer for best fuel efficiency to rejoin his Gruppe.
Captain, Combat, Sugar King, radar contact, many bogeys bearing zero-eight-seven range, one-zero-four miles; designate raid three, working on course, speed and CPA.”
“Combat, Captain, roger.” Sheppard checked the clock again. It was 1219. If this was the same group of German aircraft, Lieutenant Jensen had pulled them to the east well beyond what they had planned.
“Captain, Combat, raid three is on course three-four-zero, speed two-hundred; redesignate raid three as raid two. Raid two is at CPA and opening.” This was the confirmation that Sheppard needed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Officer of the Deck, secure from General Quarters, set the modified underway watch, set condition Yoke above the third deck. Get the civilians back up above the third deck. My compliments to Major Jenkins and request his men make a thorough search for unauthorized personnel below the third deck, in all turrets, and handling rooms.” Sheppard had had enough surprises for one day and did not want anymore.
“Captain,” it was Ollie Halverson, “if you and Admiral Hamblen could step over to the chart table for a moment, I would like to show you something I have been working on.”
“Certainly.” Sheppard’s curiosity was peaked. He knew enough about Commander Halverson to know that, if he was going to raise a concern, it was something Sheppard needed to listen to.
“Admiral, Captain, the last position information we have on Moretti and the Italian scouting force was here at 1400 yesterday,” pointing to the northwest corner of Corsica. “We have never seen the Italians sortie only a portion of their main fleet units. In all likelihood that means he will rendezvous with Romano and the Italian battle fleet before either conducts a major operation. I am well aware that it is always dangerous to make decisions on the absence of information, but it seems odd that we have heard nothing from Malta or the air searches out of Haifa. It also only makes sense for Moretti to be observed here, if the Italians were headed west.
“Intelligence has known for a long time that the Italians are short of fuel oil. That fact argues against a training ex
ercise west of Sardinia. If it was just for training, they would do it in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and we would not have seen Moretti.”
“Commander, so far I do not see a flaw in your analysis,” Admiral Hamblen interjected.
“Thank you, Admiral,” Ollie took a deep breath and continued. “That leads to the imponderable. Why are the Italians coming west now? There are only two targets that they could be interested in. The first is Gibraltar. The timing argues against that objective. All the Italians would have to do is wait for Rommel to move further west and soften our base with the Desert Luftwaffe. I believe the key is Rommel’s advance through Algeria. That fact and the potential capture of the fleet by the Germans is what is driving the Italian action. Their objective is the capture or destruction of the French Fleet at Mers el Kébir!”
Admiral Hamblen and Sheppard looked at each other. Everything they had been working for this past week, all the risks that had been taken, was going to be for naught.
8
COORDINATION
THE BALEARIC SEA WAS fairly well sheltered by Spain and the off shore islands that gave it its name. Without the long rollers from the Mediterranean, conditions allowed for Bronco to land and taxi up to the Argonne without Sheppard having to make a slick. All he needed to facilitate the recovery of mustang zero-one was to rig the sled and slow to 18 knots. No sooner was Bronco aboard at one bell in the afternoon watch (1230) than he started asking if Argonne had heard from Barry Jensen.
No one had. Bronco was the last man to talk to the young pilot when he gave him the courses he was to fly for the decoy mission. Scout-Observation Squadron Sixty-Eight saw a new side of their Commanding Officer that was totally unexpected. Bronco proceeded directly to CIC, grabbed a stool and sat down—concerned and anxious. He figured that Barry would run out of fuel at 1250, maybe 1300 at the outside. As the minutes dragged on with no radar returns he got up and began checking the two Sugar King Radar repeaters personally.
At two bells he called, “Mustang Zero-Five, Panther; over,” on the VHF spotter radio. There was no answer.
Radioman second class Hargrove told Barry immediately when the JU88s banked to the north and climbed above the clouds at 1209. Being part of one decoy, Barry was suspicious of a ruse and maintained his course and speed until 1215. He knew he really didn’t have a chance to get back, but decided that he would try everything he could to make it. He finally told Harry what they had been doing for the last hour and half and why he decided against following orders and turning back at 1145.
Now they both set to work trying to make the fuel last as long as they could. Barry jettisoned both of the Mark 17 depth bombs without arming them. Freeing the Kingfisher of 650 pounds of dead weight and the air resistance of charges slung under the wings, helped considerably. Harry Hargrove asked permission to jettison his browning .30 caliber machine gun, all his ammo, and his armor plates, figuring that if they were going to crash anyway, they really weren’t worth keeping. Barry worked on leaning back the mixture of gasoline to air ratio in the nine cylinder Pratt & Whitney Wasp Junior engine until it started to misfire. He inched the mixture control forward ever so slightly until the engine just stopped misfiring.
It was Harry that suggested the last item. They both shut their sliding canopies. Besides making it quieter flying it also reduced the drag of the Kingfisher moving through the air. Neither could think of anything more they could do as Barry worked out the shortest path back to Argonne taking advantage of the slight tail wind from the east.
Having gotten no answer from Barry Jensen, Bronco was really worried. Every pilot fears the epitaph, ‘Missing, presumed dead.’
“Mustang Zero-Two, Panther, any sign of zero-five?”
“This is Zero-Two, negative.”
“Mustang Zero-Six, Panther, what about you?”
“Negative.”
Bronco really hadn’t expected that they would. The Sugar King radars stood a much better chance of finding Barry than either of his other two pilots did visually. But he had to try.
At 1252 Barry passed between Isla de Cabrera and Punta Salinas at the southern tip of Mallorca. Trying to stay just outside the range of any anti-aircraft batteries the Spanish might have. It really didn’t matter if they saw him. The German strike would be too far and too low on fuel to take advantage of the information.
“What do you think, Mister Jensen?” Hargrove asked plaintively.
“Well, Harry, all I can do is guess. I don’t think we’ll make it.” Mustang zero-five changed course to 292o.
“At least the sea is smooth. It will be easy to land when we run out of fuel,” he added hopefully.
If Argonne stayed on course, 292o was Barry’s best estimate of an intercept point along Argonne’s track. There were still 75 nautical miles to go and the fuel gauges were bouncing off the low pegs.
Bronco made the long climb up to the conning station to inform the Captain that in all likelihood Kingfisher mustang zero-five had either been shot down or had run out of fuel. With luck Lieutenant Jensen and Radioman Hargrove had made a successful open ocean landing. Sheppard agreed with Bronco’s assessment.
Unexpectedly, Bronco asked, “Captain, request permission to launch two OS2Us for search and rescue.”
Sheppard knew that he owed both Bronco and Barry a great deal. Each had sunk an axis submarine saving Argonne from crippling damage. He knew that next to Bronco, Barry was probably his best pilot. Sheppard also had to face the possibility that Jensen and Hargrove might already be dead and with Commander Halverson’s analysis, it may have been the Italians that were responsible. Sending two more Kingfishers could easily mean the loss of two more crews. Sheppard had to steel himself to that probability.
“Sorry, Bronco, but I can’t afford the loss of four more of your men on what might be a fruitless search.” Sheppard knew that it was he who was really responsible, not Bronco. He turned away from his squadron commander alone in his thoughts and guilt.
It was 1311 when the Kingfisher passed Cabo de la Mola at the western tip of Mallorca. Barry only had 41 miles to reach Argonne, but more importantly, mustang zero-five was clear of the island and the ship’s radars should now be able to see them, or so Barry hoped.
Forty miles didn’t seem like a long way, but with all his fuel gauges on zero, they were never going to make it home.
“Harry, check your life vest and survival gear. She isn’t going to last much longer.”
“Roger, Mister Jensen.”
“Conning station, Combat, bogey bearing one-two-zero, range four-zero miles. Bogey is identified as friendly by IFF.”
Sheppard acknowledged the report while Bronco grabbed the microphone for the Spotter network. “Mustang Zero-Five, Panther, over,” Bronco could not hide the hope in his voice.
“Panther, this is Mustang Zero-Five, hear you loud and clear!” Bronco knew what Barry needed most at that moment, “Mustang Zero-Five, Panther, vector two-nine-nine, range four-zero over.”
“Panther, Mustang Zero-Five, roger, thank you, fuel state is critical.” Both Sheppard and Bronco smiled at the understatement of the century.
“Officer of the Deck, prepare to recover aircraft on the port side,” was the happiest order that Sheppard had given all day—if only the Kingfisher’s fuel would last.
The nine-cylinder Pratt & Whitney R-985-AN-2 engine coughed and died four miles short of Argonne. Barry managed to glide another mile and a half before he ran out of air speed and altitude all at the same time. He confirmed the assessment of being Argonne’s second best pilot by executing a perfect dead stick, open ocean, downwind landing—stopping two miles short of the battle cruiser.
In another surprise for the day, as soon as Sheppard told his Conning Officer Lieutenant Hamblen to, “Go get him,” John Hamblen the fourth quickly approached the drifting Kingfisher upwind, created a lee, and then twisted the stern close enough for Coxswain Bergman to throw a heaving line to Radioman Hargrove. Bronco was waiting in the hanger when Chief Bledsoe low
ered mustang zero-five onto an aircraft dolly. Barry came down the ladder ecstatic, having made it back to Argonne with his crewman alive, to see his squadron commander.
Bronco held out his hand to shake Barry’s. “Nice flying! You’re grounded for disobeying an order.”
Sheppard had called the counsel of war for 1400 to give him time to think and his department heads time to sleep. He was so tired, but a plan of action had to be formulated to deal with the Italians. He knew the odds were impossible to fight a conventional battle even at long range—there were just too many enemies. They would overwhelm Argonne even if help arrived from Force H. That was another problem. There had not been any messages explaining the failure to meet off of Mers el Kébir. For all anyone on Argonne knew they might never come.
Sheppard was struck by Sun Tsu’s statement in The Art of War that the best policy was “to attack the enemy’s plans.” The Italians had organized their forces into a scouting force of battle cruisers and aircraft carriers—that was known for certain. He assumed that the battleships would be separate. If the Italians had wanted a single force then it was logical that they would have rendezvoused in the Tyrrhenian before the scouting force was seen northwest of Corsica.
Why would they organize as two forces? Did they have two missions? Assuming that the battleships were going to deliver the overpowering threat or killing blows to the French warships, then what was the purpose of the other force? Was it cover, a completely separate mission, deception, or a guard against interference? Interference by whom? Clearly they knew about Force H. They might know that Argonne had been at Mers el Kébir yesterday. The carriers meant air cover and long range strike. The battle cruisers meant the need for high speed heavy guns. The Italian scouting force had to be a guard against Force H. Hardy was the only air power they needed to worry about and the guns of his battle cruisers required the Italian battle cruisers to defend the carriers.
Sheppard and the French Rescue Page 22