Golem 7 (Meridian Series)

by John Schettler

  “What’s our heading now?” The admiral looked over his shoulder at the ship’s captain, and Patterson replied.

  “Steering 112 degrees southeast, sir.”

  “Very well, hold that course for the moment, and see about those bloody guns!” He leaned on the chart table and squinted at the navigation course plots for his fleet and Holland’s force. “Look here,” he said. “When we get the guns operational we’ll come about to starboard, and I want to be just over the horizon, just off the enemy’s port beam. Now, if Holland turns with us he’ll be running parallel to Bismarck’s present course as well, only off her starboard beam.”

  “And well behind her, sir,” said Brind.

  “Yes, but still unseen.” The admiral considered. “He’s out of their radar range. What we have to do now is get Victorious into the battle and see if we can slow the Germans down. I suggest we signal the Admiralty that we’ve broken off but we’re maintaining contact with the enemy. No… tell them the engagement has ended and we are in vigorous pursuit of the enemy. That will sound just a tad better to Admiral Pound, eh? And add on code to let them know we’re launching a strike with Victorious. We haven’t scratched Bismarck as yet, and unless we slow her down she’ll edge away, or at the very least she’ll maintain her lead on us. We can stay close, but we won’t catch her if she can run full out at near thirty knots. We can nip at her shadow, but in that instance it comes down to fuel.”

  “Right, sir. It’s a job for Victorious,” said Brind. “Hopefully she can get her boys airborne.” He looked at the admiral and both men knew the strike was an iffy proposition. Brind did not remind him of their earlier conversation regarding the raw, inexperienced pilots on Victorious, and she had only nine planes.

  “It’s a pity we don’t have Somerville about with Ark Royal as well, sir,” said Brind. “I’d give her the better odds in a situation like this.”

  “If wishes were horses, Mr. Brind,” said Tovey.

  The Air crews of squadron 825 were already up on the flight deck, twenty seven men in all, ready to mount the cluster of planes huddled at the far end of the ship. Each plane would carry three men, and soon they had the signal to mount their winged horses, heavy brown leather flight jackets glistening wet with windblown spray as they hurried over the rolling armored flight deck to the planes. The launch crews were huddled there to receive them, holding on to the still cabled planes in the wind. One by one the crews clambered up into the rickety biplanes, signaling thumbs up. The last was “Speed” Pollard, so named for his slow ways, though even he seemed to move with a sense of newfound urgency.

  Victorious, steaming well behind Tovey’s column, steered round into the wind and the planes were unhitched. Just ahead of the clustered Swordfish, the deck crews lurched in and pulled away the chocks. Soon the initial flight of three planes was staged slightly ahead of the others, their engines sputtering to life as the wind ruffled them, wing cables creaking as the first moved forward. The sea spray was caught by the swirling props and flung back against the windscreens. A big wave broke high enough to send spray well up and over the ship’s bow and, as she scudded on through, one of the Swordfish slipped slightly off center, prompting crews to run to the tail and bring the plane round again.

  All eyes were on the Flight Deck Officer, where he stood, legs well apart and braced against the wind. By now the first flight was wet with spray, the seawater gleaming on the metal props and dampening the canvas fuselages. Then the green flag was sharply lowered and the roaring engine of the number one plane revved up to full power. The plane’s brakes were released and it went careening down the deck toward the bow, its fixed landing gear lashed by ocean spray as it cleared the ship and slowly gained altitude.

  One by one the other eight planes followed, all managing to get off without incident. Minutes later they had formed up over the carrier, and then turned together on a heading of 225 degrees southwest, bound to intercept Bismarck where she was still reported to be steaming due south, not twenty miles ahead.

  Tovey watched them come up and over King George V, squinting through his field glasses, smiling when the last went by, and winking at his Chief of Staff.

  “I’m sure they’ll find Bismarck,” he said. “Getting good light now.” He had already turned his fleet south as well, and was now running on the parallel track he had discussed with Brind earlier, well off the enemy’s Port beam, and just over the horizon. He had little doubt the enemy had him fixed on radar, though his own equipment still showed the Germans holding course and speed due south.

  At least they weren’t inclined to pursue us, he thought. The fact that we’re here may give them some pause. They’re probably uncertain as to how badly we had been hit, and may be more eager to make a clean break out into the Atlantic. The Germans were not here to fight his battleships, he knew. It was the convoy traffic they were after.

  Aboard Bismarck Admiral Lütjens was jubilant when the British broke off the engagement. “What was that, five minutes and we put them to route?” he said happily.

  “Shall we pursue?” Captain Lindemann gestured.

  “No need,” said the admiral. “That is their job. Ours is to get out into the Atlantic. Hold course and speed and we’ll make our turn shortly.”

  They steamed south for twenty minutes until Lütjens was certain the British would not angle back into the fight, then a signalman rush in with an intercept. The Germans had decoded it and knew at once that the wound they had inflicted was not fatal.

  “They’re shadowing us off the port beam,” said Lindemann. “Strange that they broke radio silence.”

  “Informing their Admiralty, no doubt,” said Lütjens.

  “Well, we have just taken a light hit, mostly shrapnel on the armor belt. Nothing to worry about. But radar watch reports their gear is down, so we won’t be able to keep an eye on them that way.”

  “The guns were firing at high elevation,” said Lütjens. “The concussion may have rattled the antenna. Any word on those cruisers behind us?”

  “Last contact had them following, sir, yet at a respectful distance.”

  “Yes,” said Lütjens, “we’ve taught them that much. In another ten minutes we’ll make our turn and signal full speed. How is Prince Eugen doing?”

  “She suffered two minor hits from smaller caliber guns off that phantom cruiser. Strange we could not see the damn ship. The fires were put out and she is both seaworthy and battle ready, sir.”

  “Good. Have her increase speed at once and take station ahead of us. I assume her radar is still functioning?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Minutes later the watchmen spotted something on the horizon and soon signaled enemy planes inbound. The crews were still at action stations, but now the smaller AA batteries were swinging round to the port aft bearing, taught hands cranking the chrome aligning wheels to bring the pom-poms to bear, others pulling levers and letting the smooth hydraulics swing the turrets around. Her aft quarter had six single barreled 20mm AA guns, and four more twin 37mm batteries as well.

  As the enemy planes made their slow approach they split into three sections, one swinging to port, another starboard and the third bearing straight in on Bismarck’s aft. The rippling fire of the flak batteries raked the sky in front of them, but the planes kept on coming, lumbering through the puffs of exploding shells as bigger secondary batteries joined the fire.

  Lindemann went to the side windows and out through a hatch to a watch bridge to have a look. He was back in an instant, ready to maneuver if the enemy got torpedoes on track. “May I, sir?” he asked Lütjens.

  “The ship is yours, captain. You may indulge yourself.”

  Lindemann expected to see his considerable AA gun protection score several hits on the planes, but they still lumbered on, their ponderous sloth secretly confounding the predictor sighting element on the German guns, which had been calibrated to oppose much faster, more modern aircraft. Most of the shells were exploding well in front of the planes. Then
he saw something fall from the lead Swordfish, lancing down toward the turbulent sea. Just as he made ready to give the order to turn, he was surprised to see three explosions. The torpedoes had all gone off the instant their sleek, round noses hit the icy water!

  The aft subflight veered away, shorn of their teeth and able to do little more. Now Lindemann rushed back into the bridge, keen to observe the approach of the remaining six planes. Again they launched and two of three torpedoes exploded as they hit the ocean off his port side. One ran true.

  “Starboard twenty,” he shouted, maneuvering his ship to avoid the oncoming torpedo. On the other side of the ship one more torpedo exploded harmlessly on contact with the ocean, and two slipped into the sea, running true. One of the oncoming planes went so far as to overfly the ship, raking her with machinegun fire as it went by, in a furious but fruitless outburst that injured no one.

  The first torpedo missed, and Lindemann maneuvered smartly to try an avoid the second, yet realized he could not do so. It struck Bismarck amidships, on her thickest armor with an audible plunk, but it did not explode. The captain looked at Lütjens, amazed. “That’s the lot of them,” he said, relieved. “Not a single hit. Half their torpedoes exploded when they hit the ocean, and the only one that got through to strike us failed to go off!”

  The admiral was very pleased. He watched the planes flutter off into a bank of low clouds like frustrated moths, pursued by a horde of stinging bees. The flak still chased them, but no plane was hit.

  “Signal Prince Eugen and make your turn now, captain,” said Lütjens. “Come round to 230 degrees southwest.”

  See Map 1 For a reference on the action that has just ensued.

  http://www.dharma6.com/html/map1.html

  Chapter 18

  U-556, Faeroes Gap, 24 May, 1941

  Wohlfarth was elated. He had put a torpedo into a Royal Navy battlecruiser! His seventh ship would not be credited as a kill, but the fact that he took such a ship out of Admiral Tovey’s battle fleet at a crucial moment would assure him the Knight’s Cross for sure.

  He turned to his navigator, all smiles after they had successfully evaded the British destroyers. “Souvad, you’re a genius! A true seer!”

  “Thank you, captain.” The man made a genteel bow, accepting his laurels as given, and satisfied that the whole crew would share in their moment of glory once they reached the U-boat pens at Lorient.

  “Let’s get home then,” said the captain. “That big ship is still steaming in circles, and the British destroyers are hovering around her like fitful hens. “Set the course, Souvad. We’ll run deep for a while and surface in an hour.”

  They crept away all that day, and the following morning the signalman reported message traffic when Tovey made his report to the Admiralty. Wohlfarth read the message with even greater satisfaction. “There’s been a battle,” he said. “Bismarck has brushed aside the British Home Fleet and is steaming south for the Atlantic.”

  “All the more reason to celebrate, captain,” said Souvad.”

  “I told you I would keep Bismarck from harm,” Wohlfarth boasted. “And that is exactly what we did. The British could have used the big guns on that battlecruiser. We may have tipped the scales just enough to assure Lindemann and Bismarck prevailed.”

  “No doubt, sir.”

  They had been sailing south all night, and the news of the battle that morning ran through the boat, heartening the crew. Wohlfarth issued special rations, and even a round of brandy for all his officers. The men seemed cool, relieved, and very glad to be heading home now on their first major outing of in this new boat.

  The seas were rough as they traveled on the surface that day, the lookouts keenly searching every horizon for any sign of enemy planes. They were now in the zone designated “Western Approaches” by the Royal Navy command. It was often thick with heavily escorted convoy traffic, though Wohlfarth did not regret that he had no further torpedoes. Taking on a convoy here was usually a bad move. Air patrols out of the U.K. were another dangerous threat. The best thing for a U-boat captain to do was to get well out into the Atlantic, where the short legged British destroyers would be thinned out, then look to find a lightly guarded convoy such as HX-126 and have a feast.

  That afternoon a message came in from Group West congratulating U-556 and informing him that the ship he had successfully torpedoed was HMS Repulse. He was given immediate clearance to return home and a full month’s leave for his entire crew.

  As the evening approached, the boat was forced to dive when the watch spotted an incoming plane, a big lumbering Catalina out of Ireland. Far from being mere spotter planes, the Catalinas now carried four lethal depth charges and could make immediate attacks against any target they spotted. Wohlfarth was taking no chances. He dove at once, quickly altering course, and praying that he had not been seen.

  An hour passed without incident and he decided to move to periscope depth again to have a look around before surfacing. To his great surprise, he was amazed to spot yet another large British warship silhouetted against the gloaming horizon, and this time he needed no cable to identify the ship.

  “Good lord,” he said. “That’s the Rodney!”

  HMS Rodney, an interwar build, was a massive lumbering battleship with an unmistakable silhouette because all of her big guns were on the forward segment of the ship, with her armored superstructure and bridge con well back of the huge turrets, like a solitary iron tower, where the ship’s captain surveyed all his guns at once. Slow and heavily armored, the Rodney was often used in convoy escort roles, as her best practical speed was in the range of eighteen to twenty-one knots, though she normally cruised at fifteen to eighteen knots. From the size of her bow wash Wohlfarth estimated the ship was in a hurry. Many a U-boat captain had seen her at sea, in one convoy or another, though none had dared to challenge the pack of hounds she usually had in tow, hungry fast destroyers that would be a nightmare when they were set loose on the hunt.

  Wohlfarth swiveled about, leery of just that, but he saw no other ships and he was surprised to find the big ship was apparently steaming alone. The British must be very worried to risk a large ship like that without proper escort. He noted its course and bearing, realizing that this ship must have been detached from convoy duty to join the battle against Bismarck. That thought disturbed him somewhat. Though he knew the Rodney could never catch Bismarck at sea on her own, if she came upon his big sister ship in the thick of a fight, the considerable power of the battleship’s nine 16 inch guns would weigh heavily in the action. He knew what he must do.

  “Signalman,” he said quietly. “Raise your antenna, I want to send a message to Group West.”

  “And break radio silence, captain?”

  “How else?” said Wohlfarth with a wink. “Send this: HMS Rodney bearing 225 degrees southwest, my position. Speed 18 knots. No escorts. Time stamp it and send it at once.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The captain would at least let the powers that be know that another large British ship was on the prowl here. It was yet another stroke of fate.

  “That ship is of no concern,” said Admiral Lütjens, when the signal came in from Group West. Strategic command was passing now to that headquarters as Bismarck moved further south out of Group North’s domain.

  “I agree,” said Lindemann, “But we haven’t managed to shake off the British Home Fleet,” he cautioned. “They know exactly where we are now, and I can only assume they also know the speed and capabilities of their own ships. They’re vectoring Rodney in on us, sir.”

  “This position information shows her over 150 miles away,” Lütjens protested. “There is no possible way she could move to intercept us. That ship is lucky if it can make twenty knots in these seas.”

  Lindemann took another long drag on his cigarette. His coffee was already cold in his mug and he needed sleep. It had been a long day, beginning with the adrenaline of a quick naval engagement with the British Home Fleet followed by an air raid. Than
kfully no further planes harassed the ship that morning, but at mid day a second wave of Swordfish torpedo bombers came at them again, and this time none of their torpedoes exploded on contact with the water. All ran true, and it was only his expert seamanship that allowed them to avoid a hit. The British may blunder about at times, but they were at least smart enough to learn from their mistakes.

  The captain did not like his situation. His ship was running fast and true, with little damage and many prospects, but they could not shake off the pursuing enemy all that day. This news of yet another big British battleship vectoring in from the east was therefore disturbing. He was thinking in practical terms now, not in the mindset of the admiral. Bismarck and Prince Eugen had been steaming for several days now, and at high speeds required for the breakout they were burning a lot of fuel. That damn leaky fuel hose had cost him 200 tons of fuel, and Lütjens decision not to top off at Bergen loomed like a shadow in his mind now.

  They were running full out, at a whisker over 28 knots in these seas, but anything could happen, he knew. If one of those antiquated British planes got a lucky hit, they could lose speed if they had to make repairs, and the pursuing enemy would quickly catch them up. Bad torpedoes and leaky fuel hoses, he thought. As much as he respected the admiral and valued his own judgment as well, these were the things that too often decided the fate of nations.

  “I don’t like it,” he said, exhaling a puff of heavy smoke. “They are too close—and not simply cruisers. We now know of at least two battleships gunning for us now. Rodney may be out of the action as we see things, but King George V is still right behind us with a pack of fast cruisers. And where are Hood and Prince of Wales? I can only assume that they are behind us as well. In fact, the British may have broken off simply to join forces and assemble a larger battle fleet.”