The Invasion of 1950

by Nuttall, Christopher

  The enemy fleet appeared ahead of them and so did the enemy aircraft. Like the British, the Germans divided their carriers wings between fighters and various different kinds of bombers, providing a mixture of protection for the carrier and striking force for the German Navy. The British fleet had sent all of its fighters out to escort the Gannets, and, as the German aircraft drew closer, Baldwin could see that they would be well matched. The Germans were flying their modified aircraft from the last war; the British pilots were flying Seafires, modified Spitfires designed to serve on-board carriers. They were the last Spitfires in Britain, although there were still some squadrons of Spitfires in the Middle East, Australia and India, and both sides knew that this would be their swansong.

  He ignored the fighters as they duked it out for air supremacy and peered down at the German fleet, hunting for the carriers. From this height, the German ships looked tiny, little toys gliding across the water, but there was little amusing about their presence now. He could see puffs of smoke, far below, that signified the firing of anti-aircraft guns…and, moments later, felt the air violently swirl around the aircraft as the shells detonated. The Germans were supposed to have some really good proximity fuses, to match with the radar guided guns, but so far, nothing was coming close to his squadron.

  There, he thought, as he saw the German carriers. There were four of them, all spread out and well-protected from any submarine assault, but they were dependent upon their combat air patrol to protect them from British aircraft…and most of their fighters were busy. They would be recalling them now, trying to get them back to cover the carriers before the British bombs fell on them, but Baldwin knew that it was already too late. The last war had started with aircraft trying to bomb ships from high up in the sky and missing more often than not. Now, they would engage the German ships through a sharp dive and release their bombs at the lowest possible attitude.

  His aircraft nosed down as he dove. The German carrier grew as he closed at phenomenal speed. He could see an aircraft on the deck, with tiny Germans scurrying around as if it were the end of the world. The German fighters were closing in, firing. He pulled the release handle, knowing that even if they shot him down as he tried to pull out of his dive, it would be too late for the carrier. He yanked back on the stick, feeling the plane shudder as it tried to pull out of the dive and save them both…as the rockets ignited, driving the bombs down towards the carrier with terrifying force. They would punch through the carrier's deck and detonate inside it's bowels.

  The force of the explosion stunned him. The plane jerked as he struggled to maintain control, trying to get away from the German pilot he knew was on his tail, out for blood and revenge. He glanced back, risking his life, and saw the German carrier burning brightly and settling into the sea, other German ships were burning or firing at him as he tried to escape. It all seemed hopeless as he skimmed over a German destroyer, seeing the crewmen on the deck for a lightning-quick moment, too fast to fire on them with the Gannet’s cannons.

  He found his course and sped away from the German fleet, trying to escape…and then a German fighter slipped in behind him. Baldwin tried to escape, but a Gannet was no match for a German fighter…and the aircraft disintegrated around him as the German fired, sending him smashing into the sea at a colossal speed. He died knowing that he’d hurt the Germans far worse then they’d hurt him.

  ***

  “Only nine aircraft survived?”

  “Yes, Admiral,” the radio operator said. His voice was profoundly shocked. Fraser had no time for shock. “All four German carriers and two of their larger ships are confirmed sunk, along with several smaller ships, but only nine of our aircraft were able to escape from the German aircraft.”

  Fraser nodded once, grimly. He’d expected heavy losses, but nothing like that…and it meant that he would have to alter his plans. “I want to cut loose the Lightning and her force,” he ordered, after a moment. The destroyer Lightning headed twenty-one destroyers, the latest and most modern destroyers in the Royal Navy, and they had an excellent record for sinking German submarines. “The Lightning is to escort the remaining carriers back to Scapa Flow, where they can be rearmed and prepared to go out to sea again.”

  “Yes, sir,” the radio operator said. There was a long pause. “The ships acknowledge and are starting to separate now.”

  Fraser looked down at the chart. The German fleet was out there, wounded, but still dangerous, very dangerous. It was a gamble, but if they won…

  “Order the Nelson and the Jellico to accompany them as well,” he said. The two battleships had both taken a serious beating and wouldn’t be fit for action for months. The remainder of the fleet is to form up on the flag and prepare to advance.”

  He smiled darkly. “And signal to all ships,” he said, remembering Lord Nelson’s famous signal. It was oddly fitting for the last battleship duel that Fraser expected to see in his lifetime. “We go now to fight and sink the remainder of the German Navy before it can escape; England expects every man to do his duty.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  North Sea

  Generaladmiral Förste’s already dark mood turned black as he stared down at the reports. The German Navy had been hammered by the British aircraft in both encounters; they might have sunk several British carriers, but the British had more carriers to spare. He’d lost all four of his fleet carriers, and while there were several more being constructed, they wouldn’t be available for several months at least. His force was trapped, about to engage a British fleet which had superior numbers…but not, perhaps, superior fire-power His force had the greatest fire-power available to any German fleet. If he could defeat the British ships, there was still hope for the invasion.

  “Steer us towards them,” he said quickly as he found his cap and placed it firmly on his head. “I’m going to the bridge.”

  ***

  Admiral Fraser peered through his binoculars at the tiny shapes of German ships, still miles away. He counted seven battleships and one battle-cruiser; four of the battleships, he saw, were Bismarck -class. He'd been much younger when the Bismarck had been hunted down and sunk, but he’d studied the battle carefully. The Bismarck had killed the famous Hood through a single lucky shot in the right place. The heavy German battleships weren’t perfect designs, but the Germans had been improving them ever since…and, if he didn’t miss his guess, the lead ship was the Tirpitz, the famed Lonely Queen of the North. The Royal Navy had tried to sink her until the peace treaty in 1943…and, as far as he knew, they hadn’t even scratched her paint.

  He smiled to himself as he checked out his own fleet. He’d brought nine of his battleships to the encounter and dozens of smaller ships to cover their flanks, but the important part of the duel would be between the battleships. His force was spread out into line of battle, steaming directly towards the Germans, but spread out enough so they could turn to bring their stern batteries into play at a moment’s notice. He expected that the Germans, knowing they had the inferior numbers would attempt to pass through his fleet and bring their weapons to bear as quickly as possible. He welcomed such a manoeuvre. He had the fire-power to handle it and the crews he needed to hold such a steady course. The Germans might decide to try to retreat, turning at just the right moment to bring their own weapons to bear by crossing his ‘T,’ but if that happened, he would simply match their manoeuvre and pour fire on them.

  The German battleships were getting closer. Any moment now…he smiled as he saw the flashes of light on the German ships. Their main guns had opened fire, blasting heavy shells towards the British ships. He doubted that they would hit anything at that range, even with the help of radar to guide their shells, but the fountains of water were too near his ships for comfort. He studied the German formation again and issued a set of orders, watching as the operators passed the orders on to the other ships in the fleet, which were still holding their fire. Fraser was proud of their discipline. The Germans fired again. This time, the geysers
were much closer to his ships. How long had it been since either side had fired a shot in anger at another battleship? 1941?

  “Fire,” he ordered quietly.

  The bridge was meant to be soundproofed, but the noise of the guns echoed through the hull as the ship fired, sending a pair of heavy shells back towards the Germans. The gunnery officers would be watching them through radar now, calculating the location of the German ships and adjusting their own fire to compensate. The Germans would be doing the same. It was a battering match and one he was confident of winning. He had the numbers, and the Germans did not. He raised his binoculars to his eyes once more as towering plumes of water erupted near the German ships. A German destroyer, struck broadside by shells intended for a battleship, was blown apart in a tearing gout of fire.

  Poor bastards, Fraser thought, with the slightest flicker of amusement. The German crew had been hit by accident, but as the old saying had it, no ship could do very wrong if it struck an enemy ship. The Germans would be concentrating their own fire on the British battleships – a massive gout of water burst up near the King George V – but so far neither side had scored a real hit on the other’s capital ships. The ships grew closer.

  “The Howe reports one hit, minor damage,” the radio officer reported. Fraser scowled. The Germans had found their range first and would probably plaster the unfortunate Howe until they cracked her open and sent her down to the bottom. He glanced over towards the Howe, a battleship almost completely identical to the King George V, and saw smoke pouring from the side of the ship. It looked bad, but his experience told him that such things were often illusionary; as long as the ship was firing and moving normally, the damage wasn't that extensive. “Her Captain reports she's still in the fight.”

  Fraser’s lips twitched. “That's good,” he said, watching as the Germans grew closer. Their guns were firing rapidly now – he was almost numb to the sound and fury of the British guns, pounding away at the Germans – and he was grimly aware that it was only a matter of time before the Germans scored a hit on one of the British ships. He studied one of the enemy ships as he saw a flash and smiled as he realised that one of his ships had scored a direct hit, striking the German ship directly on its forward turret.

  King George V rang like a bell. Fraser bit off a curse as the deck rolled under him, wondering just where they had been hit; judging from the way the ship had moved, the shell had come down on the starboard armour. Damage control teams rushed through the ship as the Germans scored a second hit, moments before fire from two British ships bracketed the German battle-cruiser, sending it leaping out of the line of battle. Fraser smiled as the Royal Navy paid off an old score. The Scharnhorst had been a pain in the neck ever since the Germans had built it and sent it out on raiding missions. His expression fell as the Germans scored several hits in quick succession on Prince of Wales. Both sides were scoring regular hits now, while their smaller ships dashed around and tried to make torpedo runs or prevent the others from making torpedo runs.

  “Signal to all ships,” he ordered, as one of the German battleships was enveloped in a bright light. He hoped, for a second, that they had hit it hard enough to kill it, but the German ship shrugged off the blast and kept coming. “Execute Armageddon in one minute.”

  “Signal sent,” the radioman said. There was a long pause, during which the King George V rang again. Smoke billowed from the Prince of Wales. She was taking a pounding, and Fraser prayed that she would last long enough to take part in Armageddon. The timing was important here. In order to bring all their weapons to bear on the advancing German fleet before the enemy could take advantage of his brief moment of exposure, Fraser's ships would have to execute their turn quickly and efficiently. “All ships acknowledge Armageddon in one minute, sir.”

  Fraser counted down the seconds in his head. The Captain barked the order at precisely the right moment and the mighty battleship began turning in the water, bringing all of its batteries to bear on the German ships. It was a trickier manoeuvre than it might seem – there was a very real danger of collision if it wasn't done properly – but the British Navy had practised it endlessly to iron out the flaws. The battleship shook again, violently, as a German bombardment smashed into the main armour covering the battleship’s vitals, but then the main guns boomed, instantly doubling the amount of fire-power that could be brought to bear on the German ships.

  “Sir,” the radioman said, “Prince of Wales is…”

  The battleship finally gave up and fell out of line. Her main batteries continued to fire on the German ships, but she had lost her conning tower, her interior seriously damaged by German shells. Fraser found himself praying that the Germans didn’t recognise the ship’s weakness. If they pounded her again, they might punch through to the ship’s magazines and detonate the shells stored there.

  Prince of Wales exploded with a fireball that rivalled anything he’d ever seen.

  If there were survivors, if some of her crewmen had managed to get out of the ship and into the water, the destroyers would have to pick them up.

  The smaller ships were hopelessly out of place in such a crash of the titans. As long as the Germans kept coming forward on that course, they were going to find themselves being hammered twice as hard as they could dish out. They would have to alter course themselves.

  The Graf Spee fell out of line and heeled slightly to port. The Germans built very good ships, Fraser remembered, and they didn’t seem to have had the ill-luck of seeing the magazines exposed and detonated. The battleship wasn't shooting any longer, but was still floating, even if it had fallen out of line. The chaos was awesome, scary in a way that impressed even Fraser. The massive castle of steel was dying, but in its final moments, trying to take down one of its enemies.

  And the mad slaughter went on.

  ***

  “Come about,” Generaladmiral Förste ordered as he watched the Graf Spee burn. It would only be a matter of time before the ship sank. They couldn’t raise anyone on the battleship, it would have to be assumed lost. They’d sunk one British battleship and seriously damaged two more, but the British were pounding them harder than he had feared.

  He barked out more orders as the fleet altered course, moving so that they would head on a parallel course to the British ships, but heading in the opposite direction, widening the range enough to allow him to catch his breath. The destroyers and other smaller craft would distract the British – under the right circumstances, a destroyer could take out a battleship – while his forces completed their manoeuvre, and force them to chase him. A stern chase would be a long one, one that he knew the British would lose. They wouldn’t want to risk coming too close to the land.

  “Jawohl, Herr Generaladmiral,” the operator said. The mighty ship shuddered as it altered course; it seemed as if the Tirpitz’s first major action would be her last. “The remainder of the fleet acknowledges.”

  If I lose all these ships, my country will not forgive me, Förste thought, coldly. Hitler himself had maintained a passionate interest in the heavy battleships since they had been constructed, although that hadn’t been matched with an interest in actually sending them out to be shot at, something that many in the Kriegsmarine resented. The ships they'd had in 1941 could have ended the war under much more favourable terms than they’d ended up with in 1943. The combined German battleships would have been able to outfight or outrun anything they’d met.

  “Concentrate fire on target nine,” he ordered as the fleet completed its long manoeuvre. For a moment, a single British ship was incredibly exposed, and as every battleship in the German fleet poured fire onto her, she broke open and exploded faster than Förste believed possible. The British were altering their own course, trying to come about as they realised what the Germans were trying, but it was too late. “Set course for home.

  The battleship came under heavy fire as the British ships struck back. Förste gripped onto his chair and held himself tightly as the battleship vibrated under the im
pact of the British shells, before one of the shells finally scored a hit on the bridge. Förste died without knowing what had struck him and vaporised his body; while the secondary bridge would take over command of the ship, the German fleet had lost its head.

  ***

  “They’re making a run for it,” Fraser breathed as the German ships completed their own manoeuvre, attempting to make their way back to Kiel. The German anti-shipping aircraft had taken a beating, but he would bet good money they were trying to scramble everything they had to save their fleet.