At this range it would take 83 seconds before the fall of shot alarm sounded, alerting all to watch optics and radar scopes as well as the pilots and observers of the Kingfishers, since the alarm automatically sounded on the VHF radio network also, that Argonne’s nine projectiles were raising columns of red tinted white water. Tonight those columns would also be phosphorescent from the plankton, as they rose more than 500 feet high in the vicinity of the target at the sound of the alarm. While the men manning the firecontrol instruments waited, the gunners reloaded in less than 30 seconds. For all the modern technology, there were still too many unknowns that could only be discovered by experiment. Those experiments were the salvos that indicated the sum of all errors. Assumed constant, a spot of right or left, add or drop range would be used to center the splashes of the next salvo on the target. The best place to see the placement of a salvo was from above—God’s view. The Kingfishers would provide it.
If done well the second salvo would be perfectly centered on the target and then the laws of probability dictated the number of hits. At this range with these targets that translated to a 5 percent chance that any given shell might hit the target. Combined, Argonne had a little less than a 50-50 chance with each salvo; as long as the target did not maneuver. When the enemy recovered from the initial surprise of being under attack, that became a bad assumption. A target could move a long way from its predicted location in 83 seconds. It was up to the directors and their Mark 8 radar operators carefully watching any change in the range return or differences from the two radar lobes, to quickly see the maneuvers and transmit the information below to the fire control computers controlling the main battery guns. The falling shells would stay on target. But with each salvo Sheppard knew the result—the screaming wounded, twisted steel, fire and silent dead.
Sixteen decks below Sheppard, French women screamed and children cried. It is easy to be brave when you know what is happening. It is impossible when you don’t. All the French civilians were packed into the fourth deck passageways—barely enough room for them to sit, propped against the bulkheads where mounted equipment allowed. Repair parties stepped over them to correct the minor casualties caused by the recoil of the main battery. Argonne shook with each salvo, the thunder of the guns reverberated through the dimly lit caverns, dust and paint chips rained from the overhead above the families of the French fleet.
Madame Daphne D’Aubigné walked quickly among her friends and countrymen trying to reassure everyone that what they were experiencing was normal for a ship in battle. There was no need for alarm. They were all perfectly safe below the thick steel they had seen when they passed through the armored deck hatches.
She prayed that was the truth.
Aboard the Italian carrier Sparviero, most of the crew were sleeping. The Ariete fighter bombers were fueled and loaded with the 250 kilogram semi-armor piercing bombs—demanding work, but completing it allowed a launch the moment that Force H was found. The watch officers were maintaining Sparviero’s position 2800 meters on the port quarter of the flagship in a diamond formation that allowed each carrier to conduct air operations without interference to the others. It had taken three days to arrive at this blocking position in the event Force H tried to intervene and save the French. Now about 20 miles ahead, Italy’s battle cruisers and a light cruiser squadron were providing a protective scouting line,while Soldati class destroyers provided protection in the unlikely event that a British submarine might be transiting through the area.
The sea was calm with a light breeze from the east raising only friendly waves, barely noticeable from the bridge. The gentle swish of the bow wave and rumbling hum of the forced draft blowers was broken by the unmistakable rending tear of heavy shells and the sight of eight mountainous phosphorescent columns of water climbing to the sky mostly off the starboard bow, completely hiding Sparviero from the flagship and hiding the reason for only eight from the Kingfishers. To everyone topside; the red fountains of the gates of hell beckoned.
“Panther, this is Mustang Zero-Three, drop two hundred, left two hundred,” came on the spotter network. Commander Williamson knew Gerry Archinbald would enter the spot in the Mark 8 range keeper in the forward main battery plotting room. Gerry then turned to the stable element operator commanding, “Shoot!”
Both he and the Gunnery Officer knew how to capitalize on the element of surprise. They were going to put as many shells on the Italian carrier as they could before the Italians reacted to Argonne’s salvos. The first salvo was only off by the width of the 18-inch pattern. Gerry knew his next would be on target with little likelihood that the Italian carrier would yet react. Williamson’s command, “Fire continuous, five rounds, master key,” would make the gunners in the turrets load and shoot as fast as they could. There would not really be salvos, as such, just a bunched stream of two ton projectiles; forty-five in all. At least two should hit by probability with devastating results.
At the command master key, Gerry Archinbald ordered the firing key locked. The moment any gunner indicated his gun was ready, it would elevate to the correct angle and when matched, the computer in forward main battery plot would fire it. With the exception of the physical act of loading, Argonne was in full automatic. Adjustments to the solution as well as spots could still be made, but were not likely to improve the probability of hits until the battle cruiser went back to salvos. What would help most were the continuous inputs of range from the Mark 8 firecontrol radar in spot one. If Lieutenant Hamblen could get a point of aim visually, that in combination provided everything needed to keep the solution perfectly updated for every twist and turn the target used trying to evade the rain of steel and explosives.
Argonne’s first salvo, actually the left gun of Turret III, though no human could know that, hit the starboard bow of Sparviero about two meters above the waterline. When the shell detonated milliseconds later, the hull plating and bulkheads within 10 meters were pierced, torn, bent, and the seams between plates broken over an area 10 meters by 8 meters. The sea rushed into void spaces and store rooms. Shrapnel from the ship and shell reached a berthing compartment tearing flesh and bone alike. Sparviero took a slight list to starboard and settled deeper into the sea at her bow. In the berthing compartment lights failed, the injured screamed for help as the dead and dying lay silent.
Ninety seconds later more shells arrived; more hits occurred; more men died. A hit on the flight deck sealed Sparviero’s fate, as a raging fire fueled by the gasoline in the aircraft illuminated the surrounding sea.
Ammiraglio Moretti arrived on the flag bridge of the carrier Aquila dressed only in his pants, undershirt, and shoes. He was surprised that he could see the mountainous columns of water as the shells landed near Sparviero. Initially thinking it was the phosphorescence, as he looked closer he saw that the water columns were lit from fires burning the life out of the carrier. In the flickering light the water appeared blood red unnerving him for more than a moment.
Regaining his composure, he asked his staff officers, “Who was shooting at them and where was the enemy?” They did not know. Finally the Falco reported gun flashes bearing 025o by flashing light. That solved the problem of where, but there was no answer to who? Moretti needed to save his carriers. He ordered his flag lieutenant to radio the battle cruisers to immediately come to his assistance. He ordered his ships to turn away from the enemy and increase speed to 30 knots. The 5th Destroyer Squadron under Capitano di Vascello Piero Sabbatini was directed to counterattack.
Examining Sparviero through his binoculars, he ordered two other destroyers to stand by and help with fighting the fires that were rapidly wrecking a quarter of his aviation assets. As he watched, the first of the bombs attached to the burning Ariete fighter-bombers detonated hurling pieces of aircraft and men over the side of the carrier. He saw that she was lower in the water and falling out of formation—slowing as the fires consumed her fighting ability.
Sheppard watched the loom of the fires on his target grow unti
l he could see the leaping flames with his binoculars. That carrier was no longer a threat. “Guns, Captain, check fire, shift targets to skunk BAKER-ONE. When ready, commence firing.”
Now it was Chuck Williamson’s turn to transfer solutions. The desirable alignment was always to use Spot One at the very top of the forward tower and the forward main battery plotting room. He could use any of them, but Spot One had the best view causing Chuck to delay 30 seconds while J-switches were realigned to connect the Mark 38 director to the other computer in the forward main battery room. The director jumped as it trained to the bearing of the second carrier. “Spot One, control turrets I, II, III, track BAKER-ONE.” After he received acknowledgements and a report of tracking BAKER-ONE, he added, “Salvo fire, master key.”
Ollie Halverson looked at Sheppard. “You bloody yanks and your technology. The Italians don’t have a chance.”
Sheppard looked at him. “They’re not supposed to have a chance, like we didn’t have a chance at Pearl Harbor or your convoys wouldn’t have had a chance if Schröder had broken out. Besides, tell me that in an hour when the dawn breaks and the Italian battle cruisers are chasing us into it. If your buddy Hardy doesn’t show up, it will be a short fight at effectively thirty-six to one odds.”
He really wasn’t in the mood to joke when he was killing people, even if he could not see them. The salvo alarm warned him to shut his eyes before a broadside shattered the night sending nine high capacity shells at Aquila.
Capitano Sabbatini formed his four Soldati class destroyers into a column, increasing speed to 42 knots. They would dutifully follow in the wake of Lanciere as he refined his approach angle to hold constant the relative bearing of those gun flashes. Destroyer squadron command was always his great ambition ever since graduating high up in his class at L’Accademia Navale in Livorno thereby gaining a choice of assignments. Piero had chosen destroyers with the allure of early responsibility, ship handling, and ultimately command before his classmates.
He had a general idea of where the enemy was located by the flashes from the heavy guns. He had trained his whole life for this moment. His Soldati class destroyers were optimally designed for this moment too with high speed and two triple 533mm trainable torpedo tubes. The twenty-four torpedoes of his squadron would sink any warship afloat. The only requirement was skill. As the 5th Destroyer Squadron approached, each captain began to solve the target motion of this warship by the bearing drift of the gun flashes. An area of expertise in the Regia Marina, torpedo attack training was rigorous and frequent. At least as frequent as the fuel shortage would allow.
“Captain, Combat, four skunks approaching in column. Course zero-one-eight; range three-two-oh-double oh, speed four-zero. Designate skunks, EASY-ONE thru HOW-ONE.”
Sheppard answered on the 21MC, “Roger Combat,” the inevitable counter attack by destroyers. They would launch their torpedoes at no more than twelve thousand yards. He had until that point to stop their approach.
“Guns, Captain, track EASY-ONE; commence firing with turrets six-two and six-four when ready.” Sheppard did not want to give rudder orders to Commander Williamson on how to do his job, but he did not want his direction to result in the main battery being pulled off of the carriers, at least not yet. “Prepare to illuminate EASY-ONE with star shells.” Those destroyers, if they were destroyers, were still well outside the range of his 5-inch battery, but his command would alert the Gunnery Officer to his plan.
“Captain, Guns, roger!” It wasn’t long before Sheppard could see the forward Mark 34 director, Spot Three, train round to face the leading destroyer. That also meant that the other Mark 1 Ford computer in the main battery plotting room would be tracking the target.
Sheppard knew that his Gunnery Officer had passed the order, “Spot three control turrets six-two and six-four, continuous aim, fire continuous, master key.” He saw the port 6-inch turrets face the destroyers and the guns elevate. There was no salvo alarm to alert him as both turrets fired their first salvo. Six empty brass powder cases flew from the floors of the two turrets, clanging against the deck and each other—more bells from hell. That first salvo would be the only defined for them until the check fire. Each gun’s crew was now loading and shooting as fast as man-handling the 105-pound Mark 34 high capacity projectiles and sixty pound Mark 4 brass cartridges into the gun loading trays would allow. Milliseconds after the vertical sliding breech block closed and the gun elevation aligned, the gun was fired by the computer in the plotting room. There was no need to return the gun to a loading angle for the next round’s loading cycle just as with the 5-inch, though as the target closed; loading became progressively easier on the crews struggling with the heavy shells. The spent cartridge cases began to accumulate in piles beneath each turret on Argonne’s weather decks, the shiny brass reflecting the flash of her guns.
Piero Sabbatini could see that Aquila was also now burning. He knew the business of torpedo attack better than most squadron commanders; perhaps that was the reason Moretti had sent him. His flagship would probably be destroyed, he knew with some certainty. But the success of a torpedo attack particularly one such as this, that had to be executed on the spur of the moment, depended on overloading the defenses of the target or in a fleet action the enemy battle line. It was to do that and compound the enemy’s firecontrol problem that he ordered his squadron into a line abreast and opened the distance between ships to 750 meters. Too far and they could not concentrate the attack; too close and the enemy might get cheap hits on one of his ships while actually aiming at another.
His poor understanding of the technical nature of this battle was reflected in his order to make smoke in an effort to shield the carriers from further attack in addition to making a screen his destroyers could withdraw behind after launching their torpedoes. It would deny an optical bearing to the targets but accomplished nothing against the spotting of the Kingfishers or the ranging of the radars. Capitano di Vascello Piero Sabbatini was not surprised as the projectiles began to fall around his flagship Lanciere. At least the enemy now knew he was under attack.
Lieutenant John Hamblen high in Argonne’s fore tower saw the second carrier burning and the start of the secondary explosions. It was pointless to keep bombarding that ship when there were still two undamaged to deal with. “Request permission to shift targets to DOG-ONE.” John knew that the aft Mark 38 director and the after plotting room were tracking CHARLIE-ONE. If he were the Gunnery Officer he would assign the turrets to spot two and give them practice on a live target. You never knew when the backup system would be needed.
“Spot One, Guns, shift targets. Track DOG-ONE,” was the swift reply on the 1JC phones. That gave Hamblen pause. Why so quick? Did it mean that he was finally over the reputation that he had earned from his first ship? Whatever the reason, he set to work with his six men to shift to the left hand target that had been trailing the formation. It was only a minute before he could report, “Tracking DOG-ONE,” to Commander Williamson in gunnery control.
The Gunnery Officer issued the commands to assign the turrets to the director and resume salvo firing until he had a good straddle of the third carrier. Again he ordered rapid fire to smother the carrier before it could chase his correcting salvos thereby avoiding hits.
Capitano Piero Sabbatini’s last conscious thought was that he could see the dull red shell that was coming at his flagship’s bridge. The Mark 29 point detonating fuse functioned as designed only a few milliseconds after impact with the forward face of the superstructure. The 13 pounds of Explosive D in the 6-inch Mark 34 projectile turned the 90-odd pounds of steel shell into hundreds of pieces of shrapnel, some large, some small, but all deadly. The explosion destroyed the helm, engine order telegraph, communication circuits, charts, gyro compass repeater, alidades and dozens of other bits and pieces of equipment that provided for the proper direction and control of Lanciere and started a blaze that would only be extinguished by the sea as the destroyer sank. Every individual there from the Com
manding Officer to the most junior phone talker was killed outright. Lanciere was without direction or leadership. There would be no more orders to the 5th Destroyer Squadron.
Ollie Halverson watched the bravery of the Italian destroyer-men with mixed emotions. They were attempting every dashing officer’s dream of an all-out charge against a capital ship in executing a torpedo attack. Many times in command of Swift, he had dreamed of the same thing, pitting his small, fast, lightly armed ship against the fire power and bulk of a battleship or battle cruiser. There would always be damage and casualties. Some of your squadron mates might even be sunk, but for sheer excitement and the rush of adrenaline there was nothing to compare with this desperate act to turn a superior enemy into the hunted prey.
Sheppard and the French Rescue Page 26