It was not likely the Germans would then attempt an invasion by sea, and it was too far to contemplate an air drop by Falschirmjaegers that would eventually have to be supported and supplied by sea. First they had to control those seas, and that was not likely to occur in 1940, or so the British believed.
Yet in those dark days, caution still ruled the day, and the British prepared, weathered the inevitable protest voiced by the Icelandic government over this ‘flagrant violation’ of their neutrality, and began to dig in for the long haul. When the first Marines reached Reykjavik, they seized the post office to put up a flyer asking for local cooperation, then went to the German Consulate, knocking politely.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Colsul Gerlach, an indignant look on his face, eyes wide and laden with recrimination. “Iceland is a neutral state!”
The Royal Marine officer saluted politely and spoke in a quiet voice: “May I remind you, sir, that Denmark was also a neutral state. Would you care to cable Berlin and kindly ask the Wehrmacht to withdraw? If so I would be happy to round up my Marines and be off home as well.”
His point was well made. Just 746 Marines has seized this valuable prize, soon to be reinforced by 4000 Army troops from the 147th Brigade of the 49th West Riding Infantry Division a week later, with the occupation force eventually growing to just over 25,000 men. There they would sit in a long, lonesome watch until the duty would be handed off to the United States a year later. In the meantime, all they would have to comfort them for such a bleak posting were the bolstering words of the new Prime Minister, Winston Churchill:
‘Possibly the most trying circumstances in which an army can be placed are those where it is isolated from home and friends in a rigorous climate and confined to the monotonous role of watching and waiting. His Majesty’s Government are thoroughly aware that Iceland Force is so placed and is fulfilling its role with fortitude and cheerfulness. The security of Iceland is of the first importance and I am confident that it is placed in trusty hands.’
At that moment, on the 16th of June, more trusty hands were arriving on the former liner Empress of Australia in Reykjavik Harbor as elements of the Canadian Royal Regiment of Canada arrived. Known as “Z Force,” this first element was commanded by Brigadier General L. F. Page, and his force had sailed from Halifax, arriving right in the wake of Kirov’s passage north. In fact, they had spotted what looked to be a large cruiser the previous day, steering north into the Denmark Strait, and passed the word on to the British.
Another pair of trusty hands that day belonged to Lieutenant Bonnell, who had welcomed the Canadians ashore and tried to accommodate them as best he could. Word of the cruiser sighting was somewhat disturbing, and so he quickly passed the word to the modest air detachment, which consisted of no more than a single big Sunderland four engine flying boat and a smaller single engine bi-plane Walrus. These two planes were the first elements of the Fleet Air Arm’s 701 Squadron, that would later be replaced by 98 Squadron RAF with eighteen planes.
For the moment, however, those two planes were all the British had, and they got the Sunderland up to have a look around. It made what it thought was a periscope sighting and quickly alerted the Canadians, prompting them to quickly offload their forces from the Empress of Australia. Then the big plane lumbered north into the Denmark Strait, and soon found the ship in question, shadowing it briefly and sending the new position and heading up the newly forged chain of command.
So it was the Admiral Lancelot Holland aboard HMS Hood was informed three hours later in a message from the Fleet Flagship. “Regret that we must be on our way. Please investigate contact information to follow.”
He read the message with routine purview, one of twenty he might get this day, but took a brief moment to visit his navigator and have the sighting plotted.
“It’s well up north and heading into the Denmark Strait, sir,” said the young Warrant officer.
“Just how far off would that be?”
“I make it a good 330 nautical miles, sir.”
“Good lord, that’s eleven hours off even at our best speed, and that is assuming the ship is standing still.”
Holland turned to Captain Glennie, folding his arms as he considered the situation. An old hand with battleships, Holland had served aboard HMS Revenge and HMS Resolution before moving to command the 7th Cruiser Squadron. That duty was handed off to Tovey briefly and Holland was recalled to take over the Battlecruiser Squadron. He was somewhat surprised when Tovey was subsequently recalled from the Med to replace Admiral Forbes at the helm of Home Fleet, and then equally surprised when Tovey decided to plant his flag in the Battlecruiser Squadron aboard HMS Invincible. To ease the sting he was still made the nominal commander of that squadron, and second in command of Home Fleet.
Now Tovey was heading off east to see about that sighting of Bismarck and Tirpitz, he thought, and so the Denmark Strait is left to me. He had taken passing notice of the initial sighting of what was described as a Russian cruiser up north, but now he was being asked to have a closer look.
“Well it’s not bloody likely that we’ll catch up to this ship, but just to please the new Fleet Commander, lets nudge it up to 26 knots, shall we?”
“Very well, sir. We might also get word out to Manchester and Birmingham. That’s their watch and they’ll be well north of that ship’s last reported position.”
“Indeed, and with eyes puckered north for any sign of the Germans. Now we’ll have to tell them to watch their back side as well. I suppose it can’t be helped. Have the message sent, Captain.”
“Right away, sir.”
* * *
The Denmark Strait ranged from 300 to 500 kilometers wide, and with ice year round off the Greenland coast, though by June it receded somewhat, giving ships a little more open sea for passage. It was still a lot of sea room for a pair of light cruisers to cover, but Manchester and Birmingham had been on patrol for several days, with little to see but an occasional wide ranging gull or ghostly bergs looming like broken ships amid scattered floes of lighter ice.
The two ships had served ably in the Norwegian campaign and they were paired up again for invasion watch duty in the Humber before being sent out to sea again on this watch. At 32 knots they had good speed, but even with twelve 6-inch guns each, they were no match for what was now heading their way. The Sunderland that had made that sighting of the Russian cruiser to spur Holland on his way was now busy with more pressing matters and scouring the seas at the north of the Denmark Strait. They made another lucky sighting at 15:00 hours and soon tapped out the warning in Morse code.
‘MOST IMMEDIATE - RKS 1 - SIGHTED TWO HVY CRUISERS, ONE DESTROYER – 67.49,-27.02 APP BEARING 312 ISA – SPEED 24’
Birmingham was Daddy Brind’s last command before he was hastily moved to his current position as Chief of Staff, Home Fleet in early March of 1940. Now the ship was captained by Alexander Madden, destined to rise to command of the battleship Anson later in the war and to eventually hold the lofty position of Second Sea Lord. Now, however, he was a light cruiser Captain, huddled in the cold upper bridge in spite of the milder temperatures at this time of year.
The real chill, however was that sighting report which was just called down from the top watch. Two cruisers and a destroyer? More like two battlecruisers and a cruiser, he knew. The Germans won’t have any destroyers out here, so those two bigger ships will be Salmon and Gluckstein, the Twins, or possibly two of the pocket battleships. Either way you slice it we had best be sharp eyed and ready. The ship is scheduled to get the new Type 286 radar in just a few months time, but we’ll have to rely on the old fashioned methods until then, a man on the mainmast and four eyes on the bridge.
By the time they saw what was coming it was almost too late. The Sunderland seaplane had reported a contact and now the pallid horizon seemed to darken with a smudge of charcoal at one point. Captain Madden was experienced enough to take a good long look with his field glasses. Those were ships ahead, and
now he was in a most uncomfortable position.
“Signal Manchester and see what they find at about fifteen degrees north,” he said quietly to his senior officer of the watch.
Time passed and the runner from the W/T room was up with the news. “Manchester confirms our sighting, sir. Three ships.”
“Then get that off to Home Fleet on the double, and signal Captain Packer that I want to stay on this heading as long as possible to try and confirm the sighting. I doubt if these are cruisers as the Sunderland had it. The ship will come to action stations.”
“Aye sir. Action stations!” The bells clanged right after sending booted feet thumping on every deck of the ship. Men were quickly donning life jackets, anti-flash aprons, steel helmets, gas masks. The fire parties were rolling out the hoses, ready ammunition was being fed to the guns and the turrets were soon training on the distant targets.
The weather was lowering, ragged clouds sweeping up from the east where far off Greenland sat in white ice-encrusted silence. Bold of them to come barreling right down the strait, thought Madden. They can see us now, plain enough. But with this weather closing in they won’t see us for long, nor we them. In twenty minutes it’s going to be thick out there.
Visibility was already falling off, though the converging courses had closed the range to shape the distant shadows into tall battlements of steel. Then the grey mist shrouded the sun for a time and they darkened again.
“Range, Bobby?” Captain Madden shouted the question to his Senior Watch Officer, Lieutenant Robert Ward.
“I make it a whisker over 21,000 yards, sir.”
‘Too far for any gunnery with this weather coming in.”
“Aye sir.”
The 6-inch guns on the two light cruisers weren’t going to hit anything at much over 15,000 yards, even though the guns could range further. The barrels would have to elevate past 13 degrees to fire even that far, which began to slow the rate of fire, as they had to be lowered again below twelve degrees to be reloaded.
“Let’s come ten points to starboard. Signal Manchester to follow.”
He was heading east, away from the weather to keep eyes on the sighting for as long as possible, but it was a decision he would come to regret, for it kept the enemy eyes on him as well. The wink of light from the squarish shadows at the edge of the sea told him their visitors had fired. Ward saw it, looking over his shoulder, field glasses in hand.
“Incoming fire, sir.”
“Noted.” Captain Madden knew it would be nearly a minute before those shells would fall, and he did not expect them to have the range, but he was wrong. Three waterspouts bloomed up off his port bow, short but uncomfortably close. He looked over his shoulder to see shells fall near Manchester as well.
“Bloody good shooting for the range,” he said aloud. “Starboard ten again.” He was moving the ship to a new heading, just in case, but Manchester was slow to correct their course and follow. Cold fingers laid out the signal on the lamps even as lights winked again from the distant shadows. They heard a dull rumble of thunder, but it was not the weather. A second salvo of 11 inch shells were in the air and heading their way.
“Midships and ahead full,” Madden called.
“Ahead full, sir!”
The forty seconds from fire to shell fall seemed interminable, but the gouts of water were soon in his foaming wake, and had the ship been there a moment longer, it might have been hit.
“Well gentlemen,” said Madden. “The better part of valor here is to put some range between us and those ships. Their optics seem to be well polished today. Make smoke and turn on zero-nine-zero. Signal Manchester the same.”
“Sir, make smoke and come to zero-nine-zero, aye.”
But Manchester would not get the message in time. Instead she would get an 11-inch shell right amidships, between her two funnels, and it would sheer off a crane there before plunging into the guts of the ship, through storerooms, mess halls, bulkheads and quarters until it exploded in a broiling fire. Smoke emerged as if from a third funnel, and the ship made a sudden turn to starboard, coming around hard to present her backside to the enemy, still running hard.
Madden saw the maneuver and decided to match it, bringing Birmingham around even more as a final salvo came hissing in through the char smudged skies, thankfully short again.
“Well now, we’ve certainly been handed our hat this time around. Signal Manchester and ask if they can still keep up their speed.”
The news that came back was not encouraging. The fire had spread to involve the number two boiler room, and Manchester was down to 28 knots, laboring to make even that. Madden decided to steer for the weather, turning both ships full about and then south by southwest, into the edge of the oncoming front. For the moment the enemy fire had abated, and the British cruisers were still well out in front, but now the tables had been suddenly turned and the hunters had become the hunted.
He slowed to 28 knots to keep apace of Manchester, knowing that if the Germans wanted to burn the fuel, they could work up to 32 knots and slowly close the range. It was going to be a very dangerous evening.
“How far off were those brigands when they made that hit, Mister Ward?”
“I made the range about 18,600 yards, sir.”
“Damn good shooting. Let’s let Admiral Holland in on our embarrassment. Tell him we’ve three wolves on our heels and send our present heading and speed. Any assistance he might render would be much appreciated. And amend that Sunderland sighting report. Simply say we are under fire from 11-inch guns. Let the Admiralty decide which ship is firing at us.”
Captain Madden looked at his watch. If they come full out, he thought, then they could shave 8000 yards off our lead in an hour. In that event these will be the Twins. The pocket battleships can only make 28 knots and could not close on us if we keep up this speed. We’ve no radar and visibility will be down to twenty cables or less in another ten minutes from the look of things. But I doubt they’ll come full out. As long as Manchester can keep up speed we should be safe, and it would be easy to lose them in this weather—but damnit, that wasn’t my job! I was here to find them, and that I’ve done. Now how to best get round behind them and become a shadow when they have the speed to turn and engage us at any time?
Let’s hope Holland isn’t too far off.
Chapter 20
Denmark Strait ~ June 16, 17:30 hrs, 1940
Rodenko saw the action unfold on radar, calling Fedorov to his side so they could plot the positions on the electronic situation map.
“It looks like a pair of British cruisers have run into something to the north,” he said. “See these residual signal tracings? Those are gun shells in flight. There’s a battle underway.”
Fedorov had been reading up on the general situation, knowing that none of that history might matter, but it at least gave him a template of sorts. “My guess is that the Germans are trying to push a couple raiders through,” he said. “Scharnhorst and Gneisenau would have to move quickly to be here after the conclusion of the British evacuation of Norway. Nikolin and I have confirmed that happened roughly on schedule. In that event those two ships would have moved to Trondheim, and Scharnhorst was supposed to be meeting up with a repair ship to fix torpedo damage. Yet those details can’t be confirmed. They weren’t supposed to make their breakout attempt into the Atlantic until January of 1941, so if I am correct then things have changed here. How many contacts north?”
“Three. Two with a little more return integrity than the last.”
“Then I’m guessing two battlecruisers and a cruiser, most likely Admiral Hipper.”
“Note these two contacts coming up from the south.” Rodenko pointed out the position on the map. “They’re about 250 kilometers southeast of our position at the moment and making 30 knots.”
“Thirty knots? Then they will be fast cruisers or battlecruisers.”
“Their return characteristics would argue the latter,” said Rodenko.
“The Br
itish had Hood, Renown and Repulse capable of making that speed, but nothing else.” He turned to Admiral Volsky now, explaining their analysis and briefing him on the situation ahead.
“It seems we’re sailing right into the middle of a battle here, sir.”
“What is the situation with those two cruisers?” Volsky was seated in the Captain’s bridge chair, and now he swiveled to face the younger officers. Is the fight still underway?”
“I think the gunfire has concluded for the moment according to Rodenko’s signal analysis.”
“And how far off is that fight?”
“Just under 100 kilometers, sir. The British cruisers are moving on a heading of 260 now, running west towards Greenland, but that will bring them right across our bow if we stay on this heading. The German ships have gained on them slightly, but not by much. As things stand adding our speed and theirs we’ll encounter the British in an hour.”
“Plot a course to evade that encounter, Mister Fedorov.”
“We could run due east, sir. There’s plenty of sea room there as we are still at least 300 kilometers from Iceland on a heading of zero-nine-zero.”
“Make it so. I think we will watch this one from the gallery for the moment and then see if we can slip out of the theater unnoticed.”
“Very good, sir.”
The drama unfolding soon took another turn, however. Rodenko noted that the speed of the British cruisers suddenly fell off to 20 knots.
“There’s no reason for that,” said Fedorov, “other than battle damage.”
“It looks that way, sir. At their new speed I calculate the Germans are gaining on them at a rate of 10 knots per hour now. But what is interesting here is that they have just made a course correction to intercept the new British heading.”
“In this weather?” Fedorov folded his arms. “Your situation plot shows those cruisers in the thick of that oncoming front.”
Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series) Page 17