“Good afternoon, corporal,” Sheppard began.
Pease rolled his head and looked at Sheppard, “Oh, sorry I let the captain down. The kraut had a Schmeisser.” He coughed and flecks of blood stained the white blanket.
“Corporal, you did your duty. I am proud of you.” Sheppard meant it. He wished that he had a stock of Purple Hearts and the authority to award them on the spot. His five Marines had been injured trying to save lives.
Corporal Pease smiled and looked at the Captain. “What do I look like, cough, a female sheep?”
Sheppard’s eyes glazed over and a tear formed in each corner. Here was his orderly close to death, teasing him. “Get well, Marine! I need my orderly back.” Gesturing to Corporal Chase, he said “This one can’t limp worth a lick—can’t stay in step with me.”
Pease smiled as Sheppard turned to leave sickbay before his emotions got the better of him. Doctor Blankenship smiled at him and reported, “I lost two of the POWs, but I think the rest will make it. The two majors wanted to thank you for saving most of their wounded from the Maquis.”
“Tell them to thank Major Jenkins. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Captain, they are insisting.”
“Very well,” Sheppard followed the doctor into the main part of sickbay where the officers were being cared for off in a corner.
“Herr Kapitän,” Major Max Kühne spoke in heavily accented English as Major Günther von Lindenthal looked on through a heavily bandaged face. “We wanted to thank you for caring for our men. We have been together since Poland, and it means a lot to us.”
“You’re welcome,” Sheppard curtly answered.
“Herr Kapitän, don’t think the Heer (Army) or the Wehrmacht are the same as the Gestapo or SS. We are soldiers, not thugs in uniform. You and your Marines fought by the Geneva Accords. So did we. Your soldiers could have left us to the Maquis, but I understand that your Major was prepared to fight the French resistance on our behalf. We owe you our lives.”
Softening his tone, Sheppard simply answered, “We all need to remind ourselves that most of the men on the other side of the battle are honorable professionals, the same as ourselves.”
“Herr Kapitän, two of our men have died, what will happen to them?”
“We will hold a burial at sea tomorrow with full military honors, if we survive the night’s battle.” Seeing the concern on Max’s face, Sheppard added, “Don’t worry, you and your men will be safe here below the armored deck.” He did not add, “I hope.” He turned to go, almost running over Madame D’Aubigné.
She spoke in perfect English, “Captain, thank you for rescuing the families of my husband’s officers from the SS. You have treated us well. I have been talking with your ship’s surgeon and ask that we be allowed to help with the wounded. I have a few doctors and many trained nurses among my charges.”
“Thank you, if my doctor has no objections, I would be pleased to accept.” Sheppard paused, “I ask that you pay special attention to my young orderly Corporal Pease. He may not survive, and I am sure a pleasant female voice would comfort him.” Sheppard added again, “Thank you,” fighting back his emotions as his eyes moistened. Hugh indicated that he would appreciate the help for his physicians and Pharmacist’s Mates.
“Madame, I have one request of you.”
“Certainly, Captain, what is it?”
“Madame is your daughter-in-law strong enough to bring your grandson to a special place in the ship?”
“Why, I believe so.” Sheppard outlined what he had in mind as Madame D’Aubigné smiled and readily agreed to his request.
With that Sheppard was finally able to escape sickbay and start the climb back to the conning station. On the way he stopped into Admiral Hamblen’s stateroom to inform him of the idea. Hamblen thought it a tremendous idea, saying he would enthusiastically support it.
Ammiraglio di Squadra Moretti knew from the Italian spies in Algeciras that Force H was still in port as well as the visiting battle cruiser squadron from the Home Fleet. They had also informed Supermarina that the British flagship HMS Renown was in dry dock. All good news as far as Leonardo Moretti was concerned. He would take up his blocking position west of Mers el Kébir and wait for Force H’s attack from the west. They obviously would approach from Gibraltar. It was an easy decision to plan his deployment—a line of light cruisers closest to the British base, but out of air attack range, to ensure he was not surprised. They would warn and shadow Force H, then his battle cruisers patrolling on a north-south line would be close enough for support. By using a north south line he would cap the British ‘T’ as Togo had demonstrated at Tsushima. Finally, his carriers would be safely positioned closer to Mers el Kébir to provide fighter cover for both his and Romano’s forces. They would be optimally positioned to support both with air-cover in daylight as well as provide bombers to attack the French or British.
Leonardo knew that Ammiraglio di Armata Romano would arrive to threaten the French fleet shortly after dawn. It seemed strange to throw away the advantage of surprise, but if Operation Guardare al Futuro was to achieve its objective, Italy needed to give the French the opportunity to surrender to the Regia Marina. If not those French capital ships must be allowed to reach open water. If they were sunk while moored in Mers el Kébir it would be too easy to salvage the ships after the war. Any remnants that escaped Romano heading either north or west would have to face lines of Italian submarines. The French ships were not going to be allowed to reach the Straits of Gibraltar or the open water of the western Mediterranean.
It was well into the second dog watch by the time that Sheppard limped back to the conning station with Corporal Henderson now in tow. It was time to put the plan into effect. First Argonne would have to change course to 249o. Without the ability to see down into the clear waters of the Mediterranean from his scout-observation planes, Captain McCloud would have to rely on the Sugar George radars to find the submarines. In all likelihood they would be surfacing after twilight faded at 1936 GMT. Between now and then the best approach was to hug the Spanish coast just outside territorial waters and hope to avoid them.
“Officer of the Deck, prepare to launch aircraft.”
In no time the JA phone talker had passed the order to V-Division on the fantail.
Aft, Barry Jensen was pleading with Bronco to reinstate him to flight status unaware of the Admiral’s request. Barry argued that his action was totally justified to save Argonne from the Luftwaffe’s attack. Had he turned back at the time Bronco specified, he would have lead the Germans directly to the ship. It was a conscious decision to go beyond his fuel supply limit to accomplish his decoy mission. Bronco had to agree when Barry showed him on the chart what would have happened had he not disobeyed orders.
“Okay, Barry, I am assigning you to fly Admiral Hamblen to Gibraltar, but for God’s sake be careful! You won’t be having a gunner with you. And take some extra starter cartridges with you in case you have to lay over there,” he yelled out as an afterthought as Barry ran off to get his flight gear.
No sooner had the port catapult fired sending the Kingfisher with Admiral Hamblen off into the setting sun, than the armored hatch was opened to load mustang zero-one in its place. Just as mustang zero-five had not been armed with Mark 17 depth charges, neither of the next two Kingfishers would carry them, but also had the slipper fuel tanks in place of the bombs. This was strictly a search mission and the key factor was long range and long loiter times to maintain contact, if they found the Italian forces.
As Sheppard watched the setting sun he thought back to a similar time over six months earlier. He had watched that twilight from the bridge of Shenandoah also on the eve of battle. He had been so supremely confident of his ship and men then. He had recklessly attacked the Japanese carrier force achieving surprise as they celebrated their success at Pearl Harbor. It had cost him one hundred-eighty-seven men dead. As he lay with the wounded in the forward battle dressing station he had vowed to never be over
confident again. This time, his guns were better and so too Argonne’s radar. CIC was a definite advantage, but where was the line between believing in a good ship with a well-trained crew and foolhardiness? Sheppard concluded as the sun vanished into the sea that it lay in hindsight alone. He wondered what history would say of this battle and his actions. What new demons of guilt would he have to bear?
“Captain, ready to launch aircraft.”
“Very well, Officer of the Deck,” he answered and stepped out on the open conning platform to check for himself.
Returning, it was a simple order to send four men off into the night sky, searching for a far superior enemy, “Officer of the Deck, launch aircraft.” The pilots had been given the location of where they could expect to find Argonne when they returned. Everyone knew it was fiction, her location would be dependent on what they reported, the location of the moon, and the success or failure of Hamblen’s latest mission at diplomacy.
Admiral Hardy watched as the little net tender labored to move the anti-submarine net away from the southern break in the mole at Gibraltar. His two destroyer flotillas were already taking in lines one after the other to lead his fleet to sea. It would have been a grand sight in daylight with six battle cruisers, two carriers, and a light cruiser squadron filing out of the harbor. Force H had not been this strong since 1940 when his predecessor had set to sea bent on destroying the French at Mers el Kébir. Now his mission was to save it. Ironic how war could change things.
He raised his binoculars to check on the American tankers in the Bay of Gibraltar. They were all the new American type T3-S2-A1 with strange names undoubtedly of American Indian origin—Ashtabula, Aucilla, Caliente, and Chikaskia. At least now, they and the four destroyers of their escort could enter the safety of the inner harbor with its net defenses once Force H cleared, creating enough space. The two man swimmer scare earlier worried Hardy. His search for the launching submarine had yielded nothing as had the interrogation of the two prisoners of war.
With smoke rising from their funnels aft the tankers showed their readiness to get underway in addition to the near vertical angle their anchor chains made with the water. The four American destroyers also had steam up. More than anything Hardy knew that success always boiled down to logistics and without those tankers and two supply ships all his efforts as well as the American efforts would be for naught.
His destroyers were clear of the mole and fanning out to conduct an ASDIC search ahead of the fleet as the tugs were straining to pull his flagship into a position fair with the opening in the mole. Sequentially they would do the same for each of his battle cruisers and carriers—all just too ponderous to maneuver inside the breakwater. His light cruisers would wait their turn, but their captains were only one step removed from the brashness of destroyer command and would make their way to sea without the tugs.
His Flag Lieutenant demanded his attention. “Admiral, signal tower reporting unidentified aircraft to east!”
Hardy knew his fleet was at its most vulnerable. What night fighters he had were on his carriers HMS Ark Royal and Splendid. It could not possibly be Moretti’s carriers or could it?
The first tanker in the Bay exploded in a fireball of burning aviation gasoline.
Sheppard had changed course again at 2100 to 180o and slowed to 16 knots. He wanted to get further away from the Spanish coast, in the belief that any submarines would be surfaced and vulnerable to detection by radar. He had personally cautioned the SG operator on the bridge to be alert for new contacts inside of 20,000 yards—that close could only mean a surfacing sub. He really did not want to engage them with gunfire and told his Officer of the Deck to avoid the contacts with a minimum CPA of at least 13,000 yards. A query of Jonathan Becker confirmed that no Italian submarine was capable of 20 knots on the surface let alone the 24 knots he could safely use with his limited fuel supply, meaning he could control the range in all circumstances. Maneuvering would cost more fuel, but it would maintain the element of surprise when he did battle with this Admiral Moretti.
Satisfied with his intercept course for the moment, Sheppard had Art Roberts write some night orders and retired to his sea cabin trying to sleep before the early morning’s battle. Not surprisingly, he would be unsuccessful.
“Miller, what do you make of those ships?” Lieutenant Commander Burdick said on the intercom of mustang zero-one. Bronco was being careful not to tell his radioman/gunner his own thoughts so that Miller’s assessment would be untainted by his.
“Skipper, I see four carriers and six more big ships with a bunch of smaller ones. I am not sure how many.”
“Miller, I agree, I think this is the Italian scouting force. Those big ships should be battle cruisers.” He looked at his plotting board in the dull red light of the cockpit. “Miller let me know when you are ready to write down my best guess of their position.”
“Ready, skipper.”
“Thirty-six, forty-seven point five North. Zero-zero-zero, thirty-eight East. Did you get it?”
“Yes sir, Thirty-six, forty-seven point five North, Zero-zero-zero, thirty-eight East.”
“Right, now encode it with, ‘four carriers, six battle cruisers, many destroyers,’ and send it to Argonne.
Bronco circled around to an up moon position until he confirmed the composition of the force. His next report of estimated course and speed told Sheppard all he needed to know that this was Moretti’s Scouting Force with all four Italian aircraft carriers. Having closed in to identify the force Bronco now wisely opened out to a position where he could maintain contact but not alert the Italians to his presence. From this time on as far as Bronco was concerned it was just more boring flight hours for his log book until a replacement came to take over the shadowing duties. But both he and Miller had their heads on swivels constantly looking for any other contacts or worse, aircraft.
Admiral Hamblen saw the lights of Gibraltar go out and the searchlights come on. The British base must be under air attack. Where were the aircraft? He had told Lieutenant Jensen to skirt around “the rock” to the south anyway and avoid flying close to Spanish air space, if they could help it. Now the Admiral had a better reason to remain clear. As they rounded the mountain and saw the bay, three huge fires were burning. He wasn’t very superstitious, but he got a really bad feeling that if they flew over that bay, the British might not be very friendly right about now.
“Admiral, I am worried that the British might shoot at an unidentified aircraft,” Barry said on the intercom.
“Lieutenant, I agree. Keep our distance until we can sort this out.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
As Admiral Hamblen studied the Bay of Gibraltar through his binoculars, he was struck by two things. First the fires were burning tankers. Were they his? That would end his mission in failure without the ability to refuel the French on their way out of the Mediterranean. The second was that there was a line of heavy ships standing out to sea from the inner harbor. That had to be Force H. How to get close enough for them to see the small Aldis Lamp for signaling, was going to be a problem with an axis air attack in progress.
“Lieutenant, do you see the line of heavy ships standing out of the harbor?
“Yes, sir.”
“Get me close enough to that lead battle cruiser to communicate.” John Hamblen didn’t have a clue as to how his pilot was supposed to accomplish it without getting them both killed.
Neither did Barry until he was struck by the thought that the British were under air attack.
Renown’s Type 281 radar operator had been tracking and reporting the aircraft flying around to the southeast outside the range of the ship’s 4.5-inch heavy anti-aircraft guns. It wasn’t particularly fast; only about 120 miles per hour and it was only at about 500 feet of altitude. As he was continuously reporting, those parameters created considerable confusion as to the reason that this plane was in the vicinity. It certainly was not following any previously observed German or Italian attack profile. Suddenly
it slowed and he lost contact. His mate on the Type 279 surface warning radar still held it, but its speed had dropped to less than 20 knots and turned toward the flagship.
If the radar operators were confused, so were Admiral Hardy and Captain Kelley standing on the compass platform. As the range decreased, Admiral Hardy ordered his Flag Captain to illuminate the contact with one of Renown’s 44-inch searchlights. Hopefully the Spanish and Italian spies would not see the directional light aimed to port.
It was an American float plane—the same type that they had seen before the Battle of Cape Vilan. The pilot turned the aircraft clearly showing the rudder ‘flash’ of red and white horizontal stripes and the large white star in a blue circle confirming its identity. More importantly, it reminded Kelley to dowse the blinding light as it was no longer necessary.
It wasn’t long before the Kingfisher floatplane had closed and paralleled Renown’s course. An Aldis Lamp began to slowly exchange flashing light messages with the British flagship for almost 20 minutes as Hardy formed his fleet and turned east into the Alborán Sea. Finally, he wished Admiral Hamblen well and watched the Kingfisher take off heading east.
It was after 2200 when Sheppard’s Officer of the Deck woke him, unfortunately just after he had managed to finally drop off to his usual tormented sleep, with the last piece of the puzzle. Mustang zero-two flown by Lieutenant Richard Bigelow, Bronco’s Executive Officer, with Radioman second class Waldo Jones had found the Italian battle fleet at 37o 25.0’ N, 003o 13.0’ E. The Italian battleships were on course 257o at a speed of twenty knots. What amazed Sheppard when he got up to look at the chart with the plotted positions of the two enemy formations was that they were 135 miles apart. As he looked at the chart he tried to understand why they would do that?
Sheppard and the French Rescue Page 24