Tide Of Fortune (Kirov Series Book 20)

by John Schettler

  There, on the narrow tail of the island closest to the Grand Canary Island, the field had been built by the German Engineer Gustav Winter, doubling as an agent for the Abwehr. The Germans had been courting Franco as early as 1938, eyeing the Canary Islands as ideal sites for U-Boat bases. Winter built a villa there, and there were short rail lines laid down in this area, with excavation in the nearby mountains. When the war started in 1939, local residents were prohibited from entering this narrow peninsula. In spite of this effort, the site was not on the list of initial German objectives, for Winter had to abandon his project when the British occupied the islands in 1940. The field was also too close to the main British defenses at the Grand Canary Harbor, and it was presently occupied by No. 9 Commando, and so it was planned that this field, and Tefia, would be taken well after the initial landings.

  In the north, near Puerto Rosario, the Germans would find more of a defense on the ground than they expected. Brigade Group 36 had its HQ right outside Puerto Del Rosario on that field, with two battalions of the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Rifles on and north of the harbor. They also had two dozen 25 pounders, a company of engineers and two light flak batteries. The third battalion in the group was the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders, about 35 kilometers to the south at the small port of Gran Tarajal.

  Between the two forces, A-Company, 36th Recon, patrolled the long coastal road, operating out of the sleepy town of Pozo Negro. It had five Damlier Armored cars, five more Marmon-Herringtons, and three Humbers. As the German parachute landings were meant to seize a series of small coves and beaches south of Puerto Rosario, this company would fire the first shots in defense of the islands. They started north, quickly running right into 1st Company, I Battalion of the 7th Flieger Regiment, and a sharp little firefight ensued.

  The German paratroopers went to ground, looking for cover, and the British thought they could push right on through, thinking their enemy had little in the way of AT guns with them. That assumption was correct, for the German Skyhunters had not dropped with their 37mm guns that morning—they were carrying something else. It had come out of long wooden crates that were trundled down with the troops to the airfield, and carefully packed away in parachute weapons canisters. The British had already tasted their bite in the recently concluded Operation Crusader, but Captain Hamilton’s little armored car company had not made their acquaintance—until that morning.

  “Cheeky lot this group,” he said to his driver. “They’re trying to block the road.”

  “Shall we have ago at them sir?”

  Hamilton looked over his shoulder, then waved the cars behind him on. He was going to let them have a go at the Germans, but the British would get far more than they expected. They tried to bully on through, relying on the armor and machineguns laying down good suppressive fire, until the first Panzerfaust popped off at the lead Humber. To his amazement, Captain Hamilton saw it blown to pieces, the top hatch thrown up from the explosion inside, and clattering down onto the road. It was the second time an unsuspecting recce column would get such a sting, only here it was far worse. Hamilton quickly lost three of his five Marmon-Herringtons and a Damlier, which dampened his ardor for pushing on up that road considerably.

  Further north, the other two battalions had landed and were pulling themselves together, awaiting the arrival of the main assault forces on the transports. Coming in the pre-dawn darkness, the German transports found very little in the way of naval opposition on the sea. The Zulu had steam up in little time, slipping out of the small harbor at Puerto Rosario just before sunrise and thinking to run south and scout the coastline for signs of enemy activity. It was quickly pounced on by a squadron of Stukas, and the tall spray of their bombs straddling the ship was pearly white as the first rays of the sun illuminated the scene. Zulu’s Captain Graham saw the small invasion flotilla, and thought to get at the German transports, making a dash at them while German deck crews fired at her with 88’s that had been mounted forward and aft to give the little flotilla protection. Heavy seas had slowed down the German Schweregruppe just enough to matter as it came down from Casablanca, and it would be another hour before they would reach the scene.

  In that interval, brave Zulu dashed about, her deck guns firing and getting one or two hits on the transports, starting a small fire aboard the French ship Sainte Edmond. But the surreptitious pre-dawn flights of German Ju-52s had made it to their landing zones largely unchallenged, and the battalions of Falschirmjaegers were already on the ground before the air defense heated up.

  Yet the problem for the British when facing an airborne assault was simply not knowing where the next landing would occur. This forced Brigadier Kent-Lemon, of the 36th Brigade, to keep a wary eye over his shoulder near Puerto Del Rosario. He sent 7th Battalion, Queen’s Own Royal West Kent down the road to Pozo Negro, as the RAF had spotted the transports near Castillio and a small cove at Salinas. They launched a quick attack from march against a company of German Falschirmjaegers, but the enemy soon consolidated their position, and then hit them with a very sharp counterattack. When the Germans got up additional support from I/98th Mountain Regiment, the British found themselves facing a three battalion assault, and were forced to fall back towards the port.

  The British had five battalions on the island, but they were widely scattered, leaving only two near the port, along with a company of engineers, artillery, and flak units. As the situation progressed, Brigadier Kent-Lemon realized this had to be the center of gravity for the German attack, and so he ordered the 5th Buffs up north at Caralejo to abandon their positions there and get to the trucks for the 25 kilometer ride down to Puerto Rosario.

  At the same time, the Argyll & Sutherland Highland Battalion was ordered north from Gran Tarajal to support Hamilton’s shattered A-Company, which had fallen back to Pozo Negro. When they got to the town, they found it occupied by German paratroopers, with no sign of Hamilton’s armored cars. They had taken a little used inland track, thinking to make a retreat to Grand Tarajal, and unable to push further north. This is what the 5th Buffs were ordered to do as well.

  As for No. 9 Commando at Winter Field in the south, it was too far to reach the action on foot, and so the order was given to evacuate it to the Grand Canary Island to bolster the forces there. No sea transport was immediately available, but there were six DC-3s on the field, and they attempted to get off for the short flight to the airfield near Gondo bay, but it was apparent that German fighter superiority made even this too risky. The first plane up was attacked, damaged, and forced to return to the short airstrip from which it came, so the Commando wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  The Germans were therefore able to commit their entire assault force to the targeted objective at Puerto Rosario, while the British defense there was only 40% of the force available on the island. The lesson they would learn was that they should concentrate their defense at the key facilities the Germans would need to control the islands. Trying to hold all the small access ports and isolated airfields was going to cause a dispersal of their limited forces.

  By sunset, on that first day, the Germans had seen their 4th Schwere Battalion push into the port city of Arreciffe on Lanzarote Island to the north. The Pioneer battalion had completed a march right across the island, making for the airfield at Tafia.

  Meanwhile, sailing all night, the main body of the Royal Navy’s Home Fleet had joined up with Harwood’s Force H. As the long shadows of steel appeared on the horizon, lamps fluttered with signals traffic. Tovey now had the heart of the entire navy at hand, cruising in the wide channels between La Palma, Hierro and Tenerife. They were no more than six hours away from the Axis naval formations hovering off Fuerteventura, where the powerful guns of the battleships had figured prominently in the land engagement.

  Only darkness imposed a hushed calm on the scene, but the dawn would bring the third major engagement at sea between these opposed forces, and it would be one for the history books.

  Chapter 30


  It was a long, anxious night, which the Germans used to good advantage by moving the heavy recon battalion of the 98th Mountain Regiment into Puerto Rosario by sea. The British position on the island was very precarious. The Luftwaffe had given Raeder excellent support over the landing site, protecting both the troop convoys, and the German heavy ships which pounded the shore, the fires being called in by expert spotters in the 7th Flieger Regiment. With no armor to speak of beyond Hamilton’s handful of armored cars, the British had no real potential to mount a counterattack, and by day’s end they were well outnumbered on the ground.

  It was clear that the German plan would swiftly deliver Fuerteventura to Axis control. The question now was how long could they hold it, and that would be answered by what was going to happen at sea.

  Admiral Volsky kept staring at the map, deliberating, and decided to stick his thumb in the pie. He asked the translator if Tovey could spare him a moment, and the two men met in the Admiral’s stateroom aboard HMS Invincible.

  “Admiral,” said Volsky. “I have considered your plan, but I do not think it would be wise to operate as you indicated earlier—not while the Germans can maintain air superiority over that channel.”

  “Yes,” said Tovey, “I’ve been reading the reports coming in from the RAF. Our lads put up a brave fight, but every time they banked one direction or another, there was another flight of Messerschmitts.”

  “Much will depend on the ability of Argos Fire to interdict that airspace,” said Volsky.

  “It’s very thick,” said Tovey. “RAF tells me the Germans had well over 500 planes in the air today.”

  Volsky shrugged. “While I do not doubt that is a capable ship, it would have to expend all its available SAMs to control that airspace effectively, and then some. You hold the Grand Island, and as long as you do, the German presence here will never be secure. Their ships will find no harbor capable of servicing and fueling them, so they will have to return to Casablanca, perhaps within 48 hours.” Volsky was laying out his reasoning now, and finding a receptive ear in Tovey.

  “Why not muster your fleet here, just west of the Grand Island. That is another 200 kilometers away from those German bases in Morocco—air space you can control because of the challenge that extra range imposes on the enemy. With Argos Fire, this would be assured. I believe the Germans will consolidate in Fuerteventura tonight, and tomorrow. Then, they will have to come for your Grand Harbor, and that will be the time to sortie with everything you have. If you do as you suggested earlier, you will be under their air power. In this instance, a counterpunch as I describe might better serve your defense of these islands.”

  “Well reasoned,” said Tovey. “I forget that we are still learning the hard lesson that the airplane trumps sea power. I rather like your idea of holding back and then fighting for the center of the board—rather like old General Wellington at Waterloo standing up his men right at the key moment.”

  “I believe this would be your best course of action,” said Volsky.

  “Well then,” said Tovey, calculating something in his mind. “We’ve replenished at the Azores, but that said, Home Fleet has still come a thousand miles to reach our present position. We’ve good battleships out there, nice and fat where it counts with that armor in the gut. Yet the heart of the fleet stands on short legs. We can linger here for perhaps three days—72 hours, and that is if we cruise at 15 knots or less. After that, its homeward bound, another thousand miles back up to the Azores to refuel. We can’t very well attempt replenishment here with all these German bombers about.”

  “Won’t the enemy have the same problem?” asked Volsky.

  “In time, but the German ships have better range than our battleships, and by a good measure. And they’re only 500 miles from Casablanca here, half the distance we have to travel. I can select out a small force to replenish in the Grand Harbor, but that would be risky, as it is within the range of those German Stukas.”

  “If need be, Argos Fire should be able to provide adequate air defense for such an operation,” said Volsky. “Perhaps it will not be necessary, and the Germans will come for you as we might hope.”

  “Quite so… But I’ve learned to be careful what I wish for,” said Tovey. “Tomorrow we’ll effect a rendezvous with both Force H and Force C. Then the Grand Armada will be fully assembled and ready to clear the decks for action. Did you know that I have the ensign Nelson raised at Trafalgar? I think it will make a nice showing here when we sortie.”

  * * *

  Be careful what you wish for… That was on the mind of Admiral Raeder that night as well, for things had not exactly gone as smoothly as he might have hoped. The pesky destroyer Zulu had set one of the transports afire with some well placed gunfire, but it was a threat from beneath the sea that he had failed to properly consider. Döenitz might have warned him that his surface group was lacking one key component—good destroyers. The French had them, but they were still well north of Lanzarote when the 98th Mountain Regiment landed, and now he received reports that the landing had run into trouble.

  It had come in the stealthy approach of the British Submarine Seawolf, creeping south, and then turning north to come in slightly southeast of the German landing operation. Her commanding officer, Lieutenant Patrick Lainson Field, wasn’t supposed to be there that day. He was to have died in a plane crash on the 16th of December, 1941, shot down over the Bay of Biscay while en-route to Gibraltar. Yet there were no British planes being routed to Gibraltar now, and the route that plane took this time to the Azores was well away from the peril that would have taken his life. So Lieutenant Field survived, one of many thousands of souls who should have died, but lived on in these Altered States.

  Seawolf was supposed to have been taken north by another man, his replacement Lt. Richard Prendergast Raikes, whose boat was scheduled for a refit at Blyth. Instead, when the Admiralty got wind of the German Operation against the Canary Islands, Lt. Field had a short leave cancelled, and flew out to rejoin his boat, which was ordered to the Azores. There it replenished, and then moved south to a new patrol station off the Grand Canary Island.

  So there was a ghost of a ship, one lonesome and dangerous wolf prowling the dark seas that night, commanded by the flesh and blood figure of a man who should be dead—a Zombie, as Professor Dorland might define him. In Dorland’s theory, such men are always wildcards in the deck of fate, for once spared the doom that should have ended their lives, they move and act with unbridled license on the Meridians of time. Their intervention can bring sudden and unexpected derailment to the careful train of events running on the long lines of causality, and this was one such night for Lieutenant Patrick Field.

  Ordered to probe east and see what the Germans were bringing to the battle for Fuerteventura, he came on the scene, running submerged, just as the Destroyer Zulu was meeting its fate under the guns of the German battlecruiser Kaiser Wilhelm. Thus far, the only real excitement for Field in the navy had been an incident in 1934 in the Pacific, when the steamer Shuntien was attacked by pirates between Taku and Chefoo, in the Gulf of Chihl. Field had been a passenger aboard that steamer, and he, along with another Royal Navy officer and 26 crew and passengers, were taken hostage by the pirates.

  The attack created a little international drama, when the British dispatched the destroyer HMS Witch from their China Station, soon joined by the American warship John Paul Jones, and finally the Imperial Japanese cruiser Tenyu, coming to the rescue of a merchant taken hostage by the name of Yamamoto. The little flotilla found the pirates in a small squadron of Junks near the Yellow River, and when steel faced off against wood, they were quickly persuaded that the release of their hostages was the wisest choice they could make.

  After that it had been humdrum, routine service for the Lieutenant until the war started. He was supposed to have been in on the famous hunt for the Bismarck in May of 1941, but that had never happened. Now he looked through his periscope at the German transports, when the dark night suddenly r
ippled with fire in the far distance. There, he clearly saw the towering silhouette of a great warship, not even knowing that he was looking at the mighty Hindenburg. It had been framed with the light of Bismarck’s salvo in support of the German attack, and Field’s heart thumped faster as he beat his crew to quarters, loading all six of his forward tubes. There before him were six transports, one quite large and looking like a steamship liner, but his eyes were riveted on that battleship.

  He lined up in that breathless moment before firing, realizing that there were no German destroyers present. They must have thought the cover of darkness, and those two imposing battleships, would make them invulnerable. There they were, Hindenburg and Bismarck, two of the most famous ships in the world, but this night would belong to a Zombie on the Seawolf, and he would record his first real hit of the war when one of those 21 inch torpedoes struck the German flagship right beneath Anton turret, the domain of one Axel Faust.

  The explosion was enough to get through the thinner armor there, and minor flooding resulted—until it reached the interior compartments of the magazine for Faust’s guns. He went down to see what the trouble was, outraged to learn that the water was soon three feet deep. Many powder bags had been spoiled on the lower rack, and the crews could not operate the heavy equipment that would haul those massive shells up to the gun above. In effect, without putting a scratch on the turret, or harming anyone inside, Anton turret was out of business.