“Secure periscope,” he said. “Enemy destroyers to the north. Dive!”
* * *
“Goblin!” said Captain George Stephenson, Master of Hartlebury. “Where are the bloody destroyers?”
His First Officer, a man named Gordon, came staggering in from the radio room. “Got a signal off,” he breathed. “Help is on the way.”
“Look to our damage, would you? I think one of the Oerlikon gun-platforms has collapsed.”
Even as he said that, the Captain had a strange inner thought, seeing himself there on the outer deck, that gun platform right on top of him, hearing the shouts of several men, the gunners that were flung into the sea. His head was throbbing with pain, there was blood running down his forehead into his left eye, and the twisted steel legs of the platform restricted his movement, pinning him to the deck.
He shook his head, as if to chase that fearful image from his mind, but his First Officer’s report was darker than he expected. “The whole mount is gone,” he said. “Five men overboard there, and two guns lost. There’s heavy damage to two others on the deck below, and a nice hole in the hull near the water line—a fire there too, though it looks controllable.”
Right where I might have been, thought Stevenson, though he did not know why. His strange intuition was, in fact, the fate he had suffered in Fedorov’s history, where the Hartlebury had been one of the last ships to be hit, well up around the North Cape. In that incarnation, his First Officer and a Marine had dragged him to safety, away from that fire, but that would not be his fate in this time line. Matthew 20: verse 16 applied in some skewed way to this whole affair—‘the last shall be first.’ Here, now, Hartlebury had been the first ship hit, and Stevenson was still safely in the confines of the bridge. It was U-355 that had ended the ship’s life in the old history, but now it would be Hartlebury that would put an end to U-376.
The destroyers had all been too far ahead, well out in front of the merchant ships, even the four that should have been well aft of the main convoy. Marks had slipped in very quietly to become the first wolf to get at the fold, very pleased with himself. If he had known that he was silently creeping towards his own doom, he might have changed course, picked another target, and lived into his eighth war patrol in the Bay of Biscay as he once did. It took him all eight in that history to get just two ships, and he had already scored two hits here, so he seemed to be riding a resurgent swell in the seas of time. But he had picked on the wrong ship out of sixteen different targets he might have fired at that day. Hartlebury was also harboring the Vice Commodore of the entire convoy, and so she had a special Naval Signals staff aboard, who were very quick to get hold of the Aft Destroyer Screen and read them the riot act. What were they doing forward of his formation if they were the bloody Aft screening force? Couldn’t they see that an attack was underway?
So the bow wash Kapitan Marks had seen was from the O-Class Destroyer Onslaught, and its name would be well given that day. Chastened by the sharp radio call he had received, and somewhat angry, Commander William Halford Selby was about to put an end to the career of Kapitänleutnant Friedrich-Karl Marks. Selby had spotted the wake from the U-boat periscope just before Marks had given that dive order. Now he turned and bored in relentlessly at 28 knots, knowing that if he was quick to the scene his depth charges would likely find the enemy below.
He was correct. He began his run, two charges at a time, the sea erupting behind him as the Onslaught continued, The booming explosions were heard in the convoy, where the men cheered to see their defenders arriving on the scene. Eight charges were put down, one exploding just 200 feet from the submerged U-boat, which was enough to wreak havoc. Fatal flooding followed, and patrol number four would be the last for Kapitan Marks and his crew.
* * *
This little drama would soon be eclipsed by a much greater threat to the life and liberty of PQ-17. The two Deutschland Class raiders had been well south, swinging in a wide arc towards the west. Now they knew the position of the enemy convoy, and they were hastening up like a pair of wolves out after a flock of sheep. Yet the course chosen by Kapitan Krancke aboard the Admiral Scheer took the raiders right astride the oncoming Home Fleet Group, where the carrier Ark Royal, steamed with battleships Anson and Howe, the cruiser Newcastle, and several destroyers. It was yet another plucky destroyer, the Ledbury, that would bravely challenge the intruders, turning everyone’s well laid plans on their head and setting off a major naval battle that would soon go off like a string of firecrackers. Out in front, Ledbury made the first sighting at 21:40, reporting what looked like two cruisers ahead. Unfortunately these cruisers had 11-inch guns, but that did not stop Ledbury from engaging with some very disciplined and accurate fire.
Lt. Commander Roger Percival Hill was often called ‘Percy’ by the men after his middle name, and for the reason that he had quite openly proclaimed that he was gunning for an appointment to one of the new Knight Class heavy cruisers, Sir Percival. Before that could happen, he had to get a leg up in rank and another ‘Mention in Dispatches,’ and he was quite eager to get started here. Hill decided to take his destroyer up to get a closer look, and when the enemy seemed to be putting on speed, he countered by ordering all ahead full. Minutes later, he had a much better look at the silhouettes, and immediately sent a W/T signal indicating he had hold of two Deutschland Class ‘pocket battleships.’ That should have ended his little foray, but Hill was determined, and boldly began opening fire on the trailing ship, the only one within his range. To his great delight, he began getting hits.
Word was flashed from ship to ship, and Admiral Wake-Walker, his Flag aboard the Ark Royal, quickly dispatched Newcastle to see about getting hold of the German raiders by the heels. He also signaled Captain Charles Woodhouse aboard the battleship Howe, and ordered that ship to make a fifteen point turn to port and put on speed. Anson and the remaining destroyers would continue on as close escort for Ark Royal, which also began spotting planes.
Lt. Commander Hill’s audacity was going to reap a considerable harvest, but it would come at a cost. Lutzow began returning fire, and minutes later, the leading ship, which Hill presumed to be the Admiral Scheer, also joined the action. No destroyer leader in his right mind would stand in a fight under such unfavorable odds, and Hill now realized discretion was the better part of valor here. He gave the order to turn when an 11-inch shell landed so close to the ship that it literally shook loose steam pipes, boiler cowlings and hull plating. Ledbury wallowed to one side with the hit, taking two more smaller rounds from secondary guns as she did so. One struck the conning tower, if it could be called as much, smashing the radio room and killing three men there.
Thankfully, the light cruiser Newcastle was now racing to the scene, and seeing Ledbury’s distress, Captain Powlett opened fire on Lutzow. The ensuing gun battle then fell upon his ship, with both German raiders redirecting their fire. Powlett’s ship should have been in the Mediterranean for Operation Vigorous, a convoy escort to Malta, but that history had changed and so she was reassigned to the Murmansk Run instead. Once Powlett had encountered the twins, both Scharnhorst and Gneisenau on the 23rd of November, 1939, and he had often boasted that he might have had them were it not for foul weather that allowed the German ships to slip away. Fair weather might have sealed his own fate instead, but his bravado was taken for what it was. Now, with Gneisenau gone, the British had taken to calling the last two Deutschland class ships the younger twins, and Powlett had his moment yet again—only this time the weather was good, with excellent visibility even at this late hour in the far north.
The Captain and Newcastle would also find themselves quickly overmatched. The ship was straddled, then pummeled badly five minutes later, seeing two of her four triple 152mm turrets knocked out, along with several Bofors mounts. One hit penetrated her side armor, smashing the boiler room and drastically reducing the ship’s speed. That blow might have saved her from more grievous harm, as the lead enemy ship was running on and opening th
e range. In return Newcastle managed three hits on the Lutzow, also slowing that ship with boiler damage. It was then that the battleship Howe loomed on the horizon, coming up quickly from the southeast. That was the straw that would break the camel’s back—for Lutzow.
While Ledbury’s 120mm guns continued to score numerous hits on the German ship, few penetrated completely, and most of that damage was to superstructure, binocular stations, AA guns, secondary batteries. Newcastle had done better, but being hit by an 11-inch shell had put her out of the game and forced Powlett to break off and turn south to save his ship. The appearance of Howe ended the matter, her 5.25 inch guns raking the wallowing German ship, which had fallen off in speed to just 7 knots. Then a 14-inch shell found its target, and the resulting blast damage opened Lutzow’s hull on the port side below the water line. The ship gulped seawater, the boilers flooded, screws stilled, and Lutzow soon went into an uncontrollable list. The second of Germany’s fabled pocket battleships was going down that day, and the news would come as an electric shock to Admiral Carls.
Chapter 12
He might have taken it easier if he had stayed in the comfort of his office back at Naval Group North at Kiel, but out here, aboard Tirpitz, with the wind raw and the seas grey in the wan light of June 16th, it came harder, colder, and with an edge of foreboding.
He leaned heavily over the map table, his eyes dark with concern. “We have sunk a damn destroyer,” he breathed. “And for that we lose the Lutzow.”
“What about Scheer?” asked Kapitan Topp.
“Running northeast, and being chased by a goddamn British battleship. It must be of the King George V class to stay in the hunt. And now Hoffmann reports he has sighted another large capital ship as well. Where are the British getting all these battleships?”
“It must be the Hood, sir. Pilots reported it was breaking off from that British carrier we attacked earlier today.”
“Under the circumstances, I believe we should alter course and move north towards the cape. We know where they are going. Let’s get there first. With two British carriers on the scene, the few fighters we have on Peter Strasser will not be sufficient. We need to get back under our land based air cover. As for Admiral Scheer. I do not think it will be useful to make a run for the Denmark Strait. The Americans have another battleship there, and several cruisers. Their present course suggests that option, and so that alone will have an effect. Instead, I will order Kranke to come about and shadow that convoy, but he is not to engage until we learn more.”
At that moment, a messenger came up with a signal, and the Kapitan Topp took it with some interest. “Ah,” he said. “U-456 reports two groups of merchantmen escorted by a single destroyer. We’ve reacquired their position.”
Topp had a fleeting thought that the Admiral had suddenly lost his nerve. Earlier, he was talking about hunting for the Hood, but now he seemed in no way eager to engage, even though they had a good idea where the battleship was. Aside from HMS Invincible, no other ship in the British fleet had quite the reputation of the Hood. It’s Achilles heel had not yet been exposed, for it never fought that fateful duel with the Bismarck. It had fought well against Lütjens the previous year, and after being hit by Stukas off the Graf Zeppelin, it had gone in for a refit that saw its deck armor toughened up considerably.
Perhaps the Admiral was wise to give that ship the respect it was due, thought Topp. Most of the medals on his chest date to the first war—that’s when he won that Iron Cross. But like Hood, I must give the man his due respect as well. His reasons for turning east now are sound. And yet… we are standing on the bridge of the Tirpitz. One day we will meet that ship. I can feel it, and today is as good a day as any other.
A second message arrived at 06:50. “Rhineland and Westfalen also have a sighting south,” said Topp.
“Probably a pesky British cruiser trying to shadow us,” said the Admiral. “Signal Peter Strasser. Have them get a couple Stukas up to have a look, and let them know we still have a stinger. As for U-456, if he can close, perhaps we can take another bite out of the flock. Good for him. In the meantime, I want all our ships steering 045 and ahead full.”
Rhineland trained her guns on the distant silhouette, but at 06:30 they saw the pair of Stukas come in and the cruiser itself disappeared over the horizon. Once up at 12,000 feet, the pilots identified the shadow as a British heavy cruiser, and some 15 nautical miles behind it, there was a larger ship, undoubtedly the Hood. The news after that was not good. The two Stukas dove on the cruiser, but both were hit by flak and went down in the sea. One got a 500 pound bomb off, scored a near miss, but the pilots were still too green to make an effective attack, the British veterans behind those AA guns simply too good that day. The Admiral elected to keep his remaining Stuka’s ready, and instead put up fighters to try and find the British carrier. That was the most immediate threat in his mind, and with the long sleepless night passed, he turned the matter over to Böhmer and retired.
* * *
Thus far the British had done a splendid job in defending this valuable convoy. Hartlebury was badly damaged, though still seaworthy. It was decided to have that ship return to Reykjavik after the Convoy Master transferred to another vessel. As for the Richard Bland, It was dead in the water, its crew taken off by the destroyer Ashanti, and then the ship would have to be put down. Destroyer Ledbury was gone, and the light cruiser Newcastle had sustained enough damage to her boilers to force her to be detached and sent home to the Faeroes with the destroyer Leamington. Everything else was afloat, safe and still on course, and Admiral Holland aboard the Hood had maneuvered in such a threatening way that the Germans soon vanished to the east of his position.
The British were wise enough to know what the Germans were doing. Holland was well settled into the Captain’s chair on Hood, and musing inwardly, zombie thoughts circling in the mind of a man who should be dead now.
They’ve broken off east, he thought. Precisely what I would do. The question now is whether we should get after them with the two carriers. If we can hound them sufficiently, perhaps they’ll throw in the towel and head for a Norwegian port. That would certainly be good, but I think it unlikely, unless we really get lucky and hurt them. Yet we must try and drive them off. Otherwise, they’ll make for the North Cape, and then we’ll have the real battle on our hands.
Admiral Holland was a very wise man.
* * *
It was work for the carriers now, with each side laboring to improve their situational awareness. Ark Royal put up a seaplane and sent it northeast, with two fighters up on CAP. This carrier was leading a bit of a charmed life in this retelling of events. It should have met its fate at the end of a torpedo from U-81 in the Med during a run to support Malta. With that island in German hands, and Crete being supplied more easily from Alexandria, Ark Royal was reassigned to the Atlantic, and had spent most of her time in the Faeroes Gap. Now she was the second carrier Tovey had added to this convoy, coming up with Anson and Howe in the Home Fleet group to make PQ-17 one of the most heavily guarded convoys ever to set sail in the war.
Further north with the distant covering force, Victorious also put up a pair of fighters and sent them to keep an eye on the retiring German battlegroup. It was able to identify several ships, but there was no sign of the German carrier until 11:30. The seaplane off Ark Royal had just altered course to investigate an unknown ship, and so Fighter 1 off the Victorious, having completed its reconnaissance run, was vectored south to join the party. Amazingly, they spotted the carrier alone, without escort of any kind. German fighters were spotted, high above, slipping in and out of high clouds. The fighter’s climbed to look for them, but it was a shadow dance and the contact was lost. Meanwhile, the seaplane off Ark Royal confirmed the sighting, and soon both British carriers had the location of the enemy prize.
After damage sustained by that hit the previous day, Victorious had only 6 Albacores available for a possible strike, but they were ordered to take off immediately, r
eceiving an escort of three fighters. On Ark Royal, there were 12 new planes, the British Buccaneer, which was next in line to replace the Albacore. All 12 were ordered up, with six fighters in escort, also new Fireflies replacing the older Fulmars. During all this time, the Germans had no idea the enemy was shadowing them, until that seaplane loitered just a little too long, and two Bf-109s on CAP spotted it. They swooped in, chasing the plane through one drifting cloud after another, before they finally got their quarry.
Now Böhmer had to assume he had been spotted. Minor engine problems had seen the ship lag behind when the order was given to turn east. Böhmer did not think it important enough to report, and kept on at 15 knots until his engineers sorted the problem out. In the meantime, he had effected a rendezvous with Kurt Hoffmann, glad to have a surface escort again. The dark silhouette of the Scharnhorst was a most welcome sight. Yet the four fighters he had up now would be running low on fuel soon, and would have to be relieved. As for the British, while he had a general idea of their location, the morning recon operation sighting reports were already well over an hour old. He could send his Stukas out, looking for trouble, but his inclination was to get a good fighter defense up first, which is exactly what he ordered. He had eight 109s still available, and sent them all up, intending to send a few to cover Tirpitz to the north. The fighters began taking off, fanning out to the west, and it was Willie Brandt in Number 5 who made the first contact—a group of four enemy planes.
Hans Schiller in Number 7 to the south saw them too as he was climbing through 20,000 feet. They appeared to be coming from the southwest, but a minute after 12:00, another warning came in from the west. Kempf in Number 8 also had contacts, at least five planes. He saw another Messerschmitt streak in to attack, but it was caught in a withering fire from the rear mounted guns on this new plane type. A pair of Vickers K .707 MGs gunned him down, and he made a mental note to swing round and make his pass from the front of this target.
Second Front (Kirov Series Book 24) Page 10