The carriers provided air cover and long range strike; being that far away meant the Italians were not expecting any interference in their plan other than from Force H confirming his previous estimate. The latest report from Bronco stated that the carriers and battle cruisers were still operating in the same formation. That did not make sense to him. The carriers were too tender to keep in the vicinity of the battle cruisers if you were expecting a gunfight at night against other high speed ships—specifically Force H. They must be planning to break off. That would be his opportunity. But he still had time and sleep was what he needed most so he headed back to his sea cabin.
Ammiraglio Moretti onboard Aquila got the message from Supermarina informing the fleet that Force H had sailed in company with the four battle cruisers that had been detached from the Home Fleet. He had to assume that they would be coming east and needed to prepare his plans accordingly. The British would not be expecting him this far west, creating an opportunity for him to deliver the all-important first blow of a carrier battle.
He issued orders for his carriers to prepare their RE.2001 Ariete fighter bombers for a dawn strike. He also ordered his cruisers to fly off their Ro.43 reconnaissance float planes at morning twilight and search to the west for Force H. He had no doubt that he would find the British before they found him. The first strike would cripple or sink their two carriers forcing the English battle cruisers to withdraw or face continuing air attack by his carrier aviation.
Moretti, in a further confirmation of the inexperience of the Italians with aircraft carrier operations, never considered how vulnerable his carriers would be with fueled and armed aircraft on their flight decks and hangers waiting to take off, nor did he consider the possible “furthest on point” of Force H in setting his cruiser scouting line.
Barry had been flying on a course of 093o for almost an hour when they sighted Isla de Alborán. It was an excellent confirmation that they were on course to Mers el Kébir.
“Lieutenant Jensen, can you identify the island on our port side,” Admiral Hamblen asked on the intercom.
Barry wasn’t use to having anyone second guess his navigation, but his passenger was a four star admiral. “Alboran Island admiral,” he spoke politely into the intercom. “We should be at Mers el Kébir in a little over an hour or so.”
“Thank you.”
At least Barry hoped they would be. His fuel state was again causing concern. I hope the French can give me some gas, he said to himself. In another hour he should be seeing Îles Habibas and Cap Falcon beyond it, with their destination just beyond. At least that was what his chart said. He had to be careful to shut his canopy before he took it out or it would be quickly lost. It was hard to read in the faint light. The admiral had been doing his best to understand and decode Bronco’s reports on the location of the Italian scouting force and give the location to Barry. He wasn’t sure how reliable the information decoded was, but it made sense looking at the chart. The location of those ships was a major concern, he did not want to be known as the pilot that killed a four star admiral by stupidly flying over an Italian fleet. Flying well to the south would give those ships a wide berth but waste more of his precious fuel. In his own mind, there were two possibilities if he was detected. First, they might shoot at him. The second was worse—they might have night fighters up. Either way, it was important to avoid their location. Of course the third alternative of running out of fuel was equally as devastating to their mission.
The bulkhead clock struck two bells in the midwatch when the messenger entered Sheppard’s sea cabin to wake him. “Captain, Captain, two bells, sir!”
As the fog of his abbreviated sleep began to clear, Sheppard realized that his rest had been untroubled by any of the usual nightmares. Was it the anticipation of battle? Could it have been what the German majors had told him? Whatever the cause, he felt somewhat refreshed for the first time at sea since he had been carried off the bridge of Shenandoah. He carried out his morning routine. Dressed in a clean uniform, freshly shaved, he stepped back out on the conning station to be briefed by his Officer of the Deck at the chart table.
“Captain, here are the latest positions of the Italian forces. We believe we have radar contact on the last two ships in the Italian Scouting Fleet bearing two-seven-zero at a range of forty-nine thousand yards. In accordance with the night orders, as soon as we had confirmed with mustang zero-one that we had contact on the carrier force, I turned to parallel and commenced shadowing them. I decided not to wake you since your night orders anticipated everything that happened.”
“Very well, Officer of the Deck.” Sheppard took out a pair of dividers and noted that the Italian battle fleet was now 167 miles to the west of Moretti. He had not guessed that they would be this far away. It would take six hours for them to get to a supporting position even at maximum speed. If they decided to do that, they would be silhouetted against the dawn. “Officer of the Deck, prepare to launch aircraft and recall Mustang Zero-One and Zero-Two.” It was simple to contact Bronco well within line of sight range of the VHF spotter network; there was a delay in coding the low power HF Morse transmission to Dick Bigelow.
It did not take long to ready the Kingfishers perched on the Mark 7 catapults. Commander Roberts had included in the night orders an item to have them ready at 0100. This time they would be armed with depth charges as they would be needed for Argonne’s defense against submarines. Both pilots had been briefed that they would be observing Argonne’s gunfire and not trying to maintain contact on Romano’s battleships. A quick check aft, when the Officer of the Deck reported “Ready to launch aircraft,” and Sheppard gave the order, “Launch aircraft.”
With mustang zero-three and zero-seven safely away, it was time to recover Bronco. It was going to be after moonset before Dick Bigelow would make it back. He was going to have to be vectored to find Argonne, and it would be impossible for him to land in the blackness. Sheppard cursed his stupidity at not recognizing the danger posed by the battle fleet’s greater range. He needed to think through how to safely get Dick landed and back on board.
After slowing slightly, the sled was rigged and Bronco was recovered, hoisted aboard, and mustang zero-one as safely stored in the hanger at Chief Bledsoe’s skilled direction. At Sheppard’s request, Bronco made his way to the conning station wondering where his XO was. When he arrived, Sheppard briefed him and solicited his opinions on how to make Dick Bigelow’s landing a safe one.
It was after 0100 when Barry and Admiral Hamblen flew past Cap Falcon. Mustang zero-five settled into the gentle chop and easterly breeze not far from the western entrance to Mers el Kébir. They taxied into the harbor and made to Languedoc’s vicinity. It was fortunate that the Kingfishers had been flying in the vicinity of the French fleet the morning of two days earlier as it was quickly recognized by the French lookouts and reported to the flagship. Barry shut down the Pratt & Whitney radial as a launch approached the Kingfisher.
Admiral Hamblen nimbly climbed down from the aft gunner’s seat, and showing amazing dexterity for a man of his age carefully made his way to the front of the pontoon. What appeared to be an admiral’s barge approached and Hamblen jumped for it. He did not quite make it, but two French sailors caught his arms and hauled him up to the deck only half drenched.
Another launch slowly approached the floatplane, threw Barry a line which he attached to the Kingfisher’s small cleat on the nose of the pontoon and towed them to a small mooring buoy, to which the French tied their end of the tow line. Before long, a launch with a refueling tank came carefully up to the Kingfisher which must have been in response to what Hamblen told them as Barry spoke not a word of French.
Amiral D’Aubigné greeted his old friend following the twittering of the boatswain’s pipe. “John, this is an unexpected surprise, though after your message I should not be, by anything you do. Can I offer you some dry clothes?”
“Phillipe, you and your ships are in grave danger. May we go to your stateroom and d
iscuss the situation.”
Concerned at the suddenness of his friend’s desire to get down to business, Phillipe led the way to his cabin with both his Chief of Staff and Flag Lieutenant.
When they arrived, Admiral Hamblen began immediately. “Phillipe, before I begin, I want to prove to you that I speak from the heart and do not mislead.” He took out a photograph and presented it to Amiral D’Aubigné. “Congratulations on your first grandson.”
Stunned, as if shot, Amiral D’Aubigné collapsed into one of the overstuffed wingback chairs.
“John, how? When?”
With a big grin John Hamblen explained how his daughter-in-law had delivered a healthy baby boy during the evacuation of the French naval families. He added impishly, “Of course, there is a significant problem.”
“What, I thought you said he was healthy. Is his mother not well?”
“Phillipe, everyone is fine, it is just …”
“John, for the sake of God what is wrong?”
“Phillipe, I don’t know how you are going to explain that your grandson is … well, you see … Argonne and her boats are sovereign territory of my country. The grandson of the ranking French Admiral is a … citizen of the United States.”
Amiral D’Aubigné laughed at having been duped into thinking there was a problem. His officers gave their congratulations and Phillipe directed his steward to get his finest cigars and champagne. “I am a grandfather” was all he could keep saying.
Admiral Hamblen had to break the moment by bringing up the more important reason for his visit. “Phillipe, I have in this envelope both a letter from Madame Daphne D’Aubigné attesting to the accuracy of this list of French naval families that are currently onboard Argonne. They are well, though it appears we evacuated the fishing village of Le Brusc in addition. Now I need a favor from you. We have intelligence that the Italian battle fleet will be off Mers el Kébir at dawn. We fear that their purpose is to either block your escape or destroy all of your ships. Argonne, though heavily outnumbered, will engage the Italian scouting forces to the west opening a path for you to escape. I implore you to take it.”
Amiral D’Aubigné’s stateroom fell silent knowing that the fate of the families of all the officers present was tied to Argonne’s survival.
9
TIPPING POINT
SHEPPARD HAD TO THINK this through. If he closed on the Italians even though the moon had set, he would likely lose the element of surprise when he went to recover Dick Bigelow. As usual, Bronco had an excellent idea on how to do it, but to make it work without giving away his advantage he had to be over 50,000 yards distant. The Italian Scouting Force had split into two groups at 0200 with the carriers now lagging behind the battle cruisers and light cruisers, which made sense if they were only concerned about Force H.
Argonne had manned battle stations a good ten minutes ago and was as ready for action as Sheppard could make her. All the Marines except the POW guards and wounded were back at their normal assignments. Every French civilian had been vetted by Madame D’Aubigné or the Mayor of Le Brusc with everyone below the third deck, Nazi sympathizers under heavy French guard even though they were unarmed. The hoists were filled with high capacity shells to do as much damage as possible to the carrier flight decks and hangers. At this point his objective was to start fires and put all four out of the business of operating aircraft. If he managed to sink any of them so much the better, but it wasn’t necessary at this point.
Dick Bigelow had been given a vector to get him back to Argonne’s vicinity and Sheppard was waiting on the conning platform hoping to hear the approaching Kingfisher. The wind was out of the east at about 10 knots, which was ideal for both Dick and the tactical situation he hoped to achieve. Sheppard also noted that there was slight phosphorescence in the water where Argonne disturbed the plankton. That should help Dick find his home.
“Conning station, sky lookouts, aircraft, bearing zero-eight-zero,” was reported by the JA phone talker.
He turned and acknowledged, “Very well. Conning Officer, come left to course one-nine-zero smartly.” Argonne was moving too slowly to worry about excessive vibration aft. He went to the 21MC and ordered, “Guns, Captain, prepare to illuminate on a bearing of zero-nine-zero.” Sheppard then went back to the conning platform to listen. Yes, he could hear the drone of the Kingfisher’s Pratt & Whitney Wasp Junior radial engine just as the sizzle of the carbon arcs in the searchlights punctuated the developing plan.
Chuck Williamson reported, “Ready to illuminate!”
“Guns, Captain, illuminate,” caused the shutters on his port searchlights to snap open splitting the night sky. Pointed away from the Italians, Sheppard hoped they would not see the loom of the lights as he lit a landing area for Dick. They shouldn’t as the night was clear, free of fog or a low cloud layer.
The growl of the Wasp Junior grew until mustang zero-two passed directly over Argonne at masthead height. Lieutenant Bigelow had recognized the plan without spotter network chatter to reveal their presence to the Italians. The Kingfisher then made a perfect landing in the illuminated path. No sooner had it slowed enough to stop planing, when Sheppard ordered, “Break arcs” to extinguish the lights and not blind Dick when he turned back in Argonne’s direction.
“Conning Officer, come smartly to course two-six-zero,” Sheppard ordered as he went to the 21MC.
“Signal Bridge, Captain, train a 24-inch signal lamp on the fantail and illuminate it.”
“Officer of the Deck, prepare to recover aircraft on the port side,” completed what needed to be done.
It all worked well and shortly mustang zero-two was safely lowered into the hanger by Aviation Chief Boatswain’s Mate Bledsoe. As the armored hatch shut with a clang the aircraft and boat crane was lowered and clamped to stretch out on the hatch like a sleeping giant, further reinforcing the armored hatch from the blast of Turret III. Sheppard ordered all the anti-aircraft gun crews forward and aft of the superstructure below the third deck to avoid the blast of the main battery when it fired with full charges.
It was time to close and attack.
Sheppard was successful in preventing Ammiraglio di Squadra Leonardo Moretti from seeing the loom of his searchlights, but they did not escape the attention of Capitano di Corvetto Adriana Luzzatto of the submarine Giulio dé Medici. He was assigned the western end of the first northern patrol line guarding against the escape of French ships headed toward Toulon or Marseilles. Like any good submariner, Adriana was curious and unafraid. He knew that there were no other Italian submarines to the west of him. He did not think anyone would criticize him for “expanding” his area. Those lights might have originated with Ammiraglio Moretti’s scouting force, but if that was the case why had he not heard any gunfire. He decided to turn and close it at his best speed of 18 knots.
If it is the Scouting Force, I can always just come back to my patrol area. Then again perhaps the French were trying to escape now that the moon had set, but that meant that they had already passed many of his fellow Italian submariners. Adriana was proud enough of his fellow submariners to believe that was impossible.
The more he thought, the more curious he became standing in the cutout on the large sail of Giulio dé Medici.
Argonne had closed until the forward Sugar George radar was painting a clear picture of the Italian carriers to the southwest and their closest destroyer escorts when the Captain’s voice began issuing orders to gunnery on the 21MC. “Guns, Captain, action port. We’ll take the far carrier first. That contact is designated ABLE-ONE. Track ABLE-ONE.”
“Captain, Guns, roger track ABLE-ONE.” Chuck passed the orders on the 1JC for Lieutenant Hamblen in spot one to track the carrier and control turrets I thru III. He directed Spot three, the forward Mark 34 director, to track the leading carrier designated BAKER-ONE. The aft Mark 38 director was assigned to the trailing carrier designated CHARLIE-ONE. And finally the aft Mark 34 was assigned to the closest carrier DOG-ONE. He wasn’t sure if the
lower after directors could see the targets, but it would be good practice for them to try. Lieutenant Commander Becker had been tracking the formation for over an hour using the SG radars and it was a simple task to transfer the course and speed solution to the firecontrol computers from CIC. That information coupled with the accurate ranges and bearings from the Mark 8 radars on each director was all the information needed for an excellent solution devoid of only the imponderables.
“Guns, Captain, load high capacity.”
Chuck directed his turrets in turn to Load. The hoists were already full of high capacity shells.
Standing on the top level of the command tower even behind 2 feet of face hardened steel, Chuck could hear the clangs as the projectiles were rammed home in each of the guns. The battle cruiser’s “hell’s bells” signaling more death and destruction. The turrets turned to point in the direction of where the shells should intercept the target. A few more moments to roll the eight powder bags out of their hoists onto the shell transfer trays and they were quickly rammed into the breeches. Each gun captain closed his breech and turned his gun ready switch to ready. The instant he did the muzzles rose into the night, malevolent fingers reaching to grab an unseen enemy.
The last command needed to attack came from the Captain on the 21MC, “Commence firing!”
Chuck’s order was not nearly as dramatic. “Salvo fire, continuous aim, master key.” That would cause Lieutenant Commander Gerry Archinbald, in the forward main battery plotting room, to direct his Fire Controlman at the Mark 41 stable vertical to, “Shoot!”
The salvo alarm rang a second before the firing key was closed. Sheppard closed his eyes at the alarm trying to save his night vision. He had seen the night turn to day before as the growing balls of incandescent gas blossomed from each gun muzzle, now more ferocious than last night off of the French south coast, as the guns were shooting with full charges. The guns jumped 4.5 feet in half a second as the recoil and counter recoil cylinders absorbed the momentum of the gun and transferred it to the hull. Argonne shook under the force of the full charge salvo of six guns followed quickly by three more when the center naval rifles in each turret fired two seconds later. The glowing gas expanded and each turret’s merged until the gas touched the water and boiled the sea stimulating the plankton to a stunning display of iridescent water. In five seconds it had cooled sufficiently to no longer glow, but the hot breathe of the guns was felt by everyone in the open as the expanding cloud of hot gas enveloped Argonne, challenging the light easterly breeze, until nature overcame the actions of man. The smell of burned smokeless powder, silk, oil, titanium oxide, and hot steel assaulted the nostrils. Sheppard opened his eyes to watch the nine dull red spots of tracers recede into the night sky, the center of each group of three trailing well behind, the delay coils designed to prevent interference in their flight from the super-sonic shock waves produced. As the projectiles flew there was a great tearing sound as if the projectiles were rending the atmosphere itself. Sheppard knew that those carriers would hear a similar sound but louder as the overs passed.
Sheppard and the French Rescue Page 25