A Mighty Endeavor

by Stuart Slade

  “But it is practical?”

  “It would require skills of the highest order and an unprecedented effort. I do not say that it could not be done, but I doubt any country’s ability to undertake this kind of operation. Of course, a political leadership that believes will is a substitute for capability may well be tempted by it.” Auchinleck thought carefully. “No, it is not a practical plan, but that does not mean that it does not represent German intentions or that they will not try it.”

  Lord Linlithgow thought carefully. “Madam Ambassador, you have done us a great service by bringing this plan to us. I would like to ask how you acquired it, along with one or two other documents you have sent us of late, but to do so might cause embarrassment. I will ask instead, what do you seek in exchange for this service?”

  The Ambassador leaned forward in her seat. “Something very simple. At the moment, the administration in Washington views my country with great disfavor. Why, we cannot tell; but we believe they misunderstand our efforts to modernize our country and stand on our own feet as members of the international community. We believe that Secretary of State Cordell Hull has misinterpreted these as being a move towards a fascist style of government. Nothing could be further from the truth. We see America, not Germany, as the example to be emulated. But, American policy towards us may yet force us into associating with powers we view with distaste. We would ask you to use your good offices to intercede with the Americans, to speak with them and to invite Secretary Hull to our country so that he may meet with our leaders and see for himself that, far from tending to fascism, it is to his country’s standards of freedom and free enterprise that we aspire.”

  Lord Linlithgow spoke with gravity. “In as much as we are able, we will do as you ask. Whether it has the results that you desire, we cannot guarantee. As to the Noth plan, we will watch German actions. If they show German intentions are directed to this region, then we must assume that the others projected by SS Standartenführer Odwin Noth will follow.”

  German Auxiliary Cruiser Atlantis, Off Ceylon, Indian Ocean

  “Two stuffed animals! We intercept a ship loaded to the gunwales with whisky and all you manage to bring back are two stuffed animals? Is this proper hospitality to our undersea friend here?” Kapitan zur See Bernhard Rogge was only partly simulating anger at the news. A supply of good whisky would have been a valuable contributor to morale upon his ship. The rage was partly feigned though. He and his ship were in an awkward position. The British capitulation had left them stranded in a world where they weren’t quite certain who was the enemy and who was not. By an ironic turn of fate, they were in much the same position as their intended prey.

  “The Captain of the Kemmendine claimed to be a British ship carrying a British bonded cargo to Burma. He refused to breach the bond on that cargo.”

  “Good for him.” Rogge felt nothing but respect for a man who would continue with his duty under such threatening circumstances. Lying under the six 5.9-inch guns carried by Atlantis was the epitome of threatening.

  “I felt so too, Sir. And in view of our orders not to interfere with British ships or cargoes, I accepted his refusal. He did give us these two stuffed animals though. A personal gift, he said.”

  “How kind of him. We’ll hang one of them in the wardroom where we will admire him while we drink glasses of water. Take them below, Lieutenant.”

  “Otto, my apologies. I am afraid a stuffed animal and oil fuel is all we can offer you at this time. And some fresh food, of course.”

  Captain Otto Kretschmer nodded in appreciation of the efforts that had been made on his behalf. A raider depended upon stealth and unpredictability for its success. Compelling one to be at a specific point at a given time was a serious threat to its survival. The problem was that his U-99 was low on fuel. Not getting resupplied meant not getting home. A few weeks earlier, when U-99 had set out on her maiden voyage, the idea of operating in the Indian Ocean had a hypnotic fascination. It would force the British to spread their anti-submarine forces over a huge area, weakening their power in the vital North Atlantic. Then, the Armistice had been signed and British ships were off-limits.

  Captain Rogge returned to studying his charts. The truth was that the presence of both Atlantis and U-99 out here was fundamentally pointless. Atlantis was doing little more than mark time while the world situation tried to resolve itself. U-99 just wanted to go home. Rogge decided that his highest priority now was keeping out of people’s way while the naval command in Berlin decided what he should do next. “Otto, good luck on your voyage home and give our love to the Fatherland. Helm, as soon as U-99 is clear, steer one-eight-zero. We’ll head due south for a day or two.”

  Rogge returned to his bridge wing and looked out across the sea, allowing the movement of his ship and the sound of his engines to sooth him. He watched U-99 pull away and then slip beneath the waves. He didn’t envy her the long, dangerous voyage home. The truth was that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back to Germany at all. He had an uneasy feeling that the new Germany was no place for an honorable man. Lulled into near-sleep by the timeless rhythm of the sea, he very nearly didn’t notice the smudge of black smoke upon the horizon. To his relief, he was still able to sound the alert before the lookouts spotted the new arrival. At first, he expected the distant smoke to vanish as the other ship went on its way. Those hopes proved fruitless. The cloud grew in size and was soon unmistakable. The other ship was steering a course that would bring her very close to Atlantis.

  Reluctantly, Rogge pressed the alarm button. There was no external sign of the result. Beneath the ship’s protective disguise, her 5.9-inch guns and torpedo tubes were being manned. She had two tubes on each beam and they could well be the deciding weapon if ever Atlantis had to fight for her survival. Her two twin 37mm guns and four 20mm weapons would probably be less valuable, but their crews were ready and waiting anyway. Oddly, the only gun that wasn’t being manned was the single 3-inch weapon sitting uncovered and exposed on the bow. That was there because an unarmed ship in the middle of a war would be suspicious in its own right, but the gun was really useless.

  Rogge looked at the cloud of smoke again. Now, there was obviously a ship underneath it; a long, low, lean ship. Not a heavy-hulled ponderous merchantman. Rogge knew that he was looking at the one thing he wished to see least of all, a warship. And out here, very few warships indeed were friendly.

  “Sir, medium sized ship. Two gun turrets forward; two aft. Two funnels; catapult and aircraft between them. A modified Leander class cruiser, I think.”

  “Australian.” That was something Rogge really did not want to see. The situation was confused enough already. A British ship would be bound by the terms of the Armistice, or so Rogge believed. Hoped, anyway. He had heard that the Royal Navy station forces had put themselves under the command of the local Dominion governments, not the authorities in London. But, the Dominions had maintained a steady silence over the whole issue. Were they still at war with Germany? No peace had been agreed with them, but London had said its word held for the Dominions. Germany had agreed and was also of the opinion the war was over. Only, the Dominions had remained silent.

  Rogge watched the cruiser close in. He wasn’t surprised to see her sheer off when she was around 10,000 meters away. He knew what Admiralty standing orders were when intercepting suspect merchant ships: stand off and cover with guns. Shoot at the first sign of a suspicious act. The cruiser was shower a proper, professional caution and 10,000 meters put the advantage firmly on her side. He watched the guns in the twin turrets foreshorten as the mounts were trained on Atlantis’, Rogge also could see sailors on the upper deck leaning against the rails, watching the action play out. Obviously, the cruiser was not at action stations yet. That changed as he watched. The sudden flurry on her decks showed that she was going to battle stations.

  “Signal, sir. The cruiser has hoisted signal IK. Beware of cyclone, hurricane or typhoon. That doesn’t make much sense.” The signals offic
er paused. “She’s signalling again, sir. Signal reads NNJ. She’s asking for our signal letters.”

  “Play for time. We might yet bluff our way out of this. Make sure all guns are loaded and the torpedoes ready to fire.” Rogge drummed his fingers on the rail.

  “Another signal, sir. By signal lamp this time. It reads VH. That’s an order to display our signal letters.”

  “Very well. Hoist PKQI.” Those were the signal letters for Atlantis’ cover identity, the Dutch MV Abbekerk, By now the Australian cruiser was clearly expecting trouble. Her Captain had sensed something amiss, although Rogge had no idea what it was.

  “She’s the Hobart, sir. Signalling again. Signal reads IIKP. They’re ordering us to reveal our secret sign and prepare to be boarded.”

  “That must have been that IK signal. We just got the middle of it.”

  “Another message by signal lamp. We are ordered to heave-to and prepare to be boarded immediately.”

  Rogge knew his standing orders at this point and they were clear. Under no circumstances was he to allow his ship to be boarded. That left only one other option.

  “Hoist the German naval ensign, drop the screens and open fire, every gun that can bear. Fire torpedoes as soon as the crews have a good aim.”

  Australian Cruiser HMAS Hobart, Off Ceylon, Indian Ocean

  “Just what the hell is that damned merchie playing at?” Captain Harry Howden was frustrated. “We’ve been signalling them for the better part of half an hour and all they do is hoist some unintelligible nonsense. PKQI? That’s the Abbekerk and she’s in Batavia with engine trouble. Has been for weeks.”

  The movement on the ship in front of Hobart grabbed his attention. The German naval ensign was breaking out from the stem while metal screens were falling down. They revealed guns that belched orange flashes Howden knew to be medium-caliber gunfire. The howl of approaching shells confirmed that impression. The first two shots were clean misses. One fell short; the other screamed between the two funnels and exploded in the sea beyond. Misses they might have been, but they were still close enough to send fragments pattering against Hobart’s hull.

  “It’s the Hun raider Kemmendine warned us about! For God’s sake, open fire.”

  Howden’s words were interrupted by a second pair of shots; this time, from the centerline guns mounted fore and aft on the raider. These missed as well. Again by a hair’s breadth, but enough to turn what could have been catastrophic damage into the pattering of fragments against armor. The raider had got off the first shots, but the long range and her crude fire control had robbed her of the decisive early blow she had hoped for.

  In reply, Hobart squeezed out a four-round half-salvo that was just a touch short. A second half-salvo was a fraction over, but the cruiser now had the range.

  “Make revolutions for 28 knots; bring us around in front of her. All guns, fire for effect. Full salvos.”

  The orders made sense and Hobart leapt to obey them. Her stern dug in; the ship shaking as her engines powered up. Everybody knew that converted merchant ships like the raider had their guns on the beam. The British armed merchant cruisers were the same. That meant they were almost blind ahead. At most, one gun could be brought to bear to Hobart’s eight.

  Through the vibration of the engines and the beginning of her bows swinging, Howden felt the shudder as all eight guns crashed out a salvo. Four of the shots hit square into the German raider’s hull, starting fires that quickly stained the sky black. They crashed into the raider’s waterline, penetrating her hull and knocking out her engines.

  On the bridge, Howden cheered his gun crews on. The six-inch turrets settled into a steady routine that methodically blew the raider apart. This was what every cruiser captain dreamed of: a raider caught cold and under his guns. His only regret was that nobody paid out prize money any more.

  “Get a radio message out. Signal we’ve been attacked by a German raider. We’re returning fire and we’ve got her, by George.”

  Control Room, U-99, Off Ceylon, Indian Ocean

  “Periscope depth. Right now.”

  Kretschmer almost snarled the order out. His submarine had much better hydrophones that they were normally given credit for and the thunder of gunfire had been clearly audible to U-99 cruising nearby. The scope ran up. He did the submariner’s swing, a rapid scan that gathered as much information as possible while minimizing exposure. That brief swing told him everything he needed to know.

  “Atlantis is gone. She’s burning like a torch up there.” The vast pyre of black smoke had been unmistakable. “There’s a cruiser close by. She has our auxiliary cruiser under fire.”

  Kretschmer paused for a second. His eyes focused on the stuffed animal that he had been given just a few minutes earlier. Making a rendezvous was deadly dangerous for an auxiliary cruiser. Somehow this one had leaked out. How else had a cruiser been on scene?

  “We should even this match up a bit. Prepare Tubes One to Four, target is … . range two thousand meters, bearing one-three-five, speed twenty six knots. Course one hundred. Fire One “

  Australian Cruiser HMAS “Hobart”, Off Ceylon, Indian Ocean

  Howden watched Hobart’s aft six-inch guns fire, inflicting yet more damage on the already-battered raider. That was when he saw the white streaks on the water, heading for his ship. The first two passed ahead of him. The second pair were running straight and true. Despite the frantic effort to turn into them, it was too late. The range was too short

  The two torpedoes slammed into Hobart with almost surgical precision. One hit just forward of “A” turret and near the ASDIC compartment. That was the weakest point on the ship’s hull. It ripped a hole in the side that extended down below the ship’s spine. Her bows started to break off and angled down.

  The other torpedo hit the screws, mangling the shafts and jamming the rudder hard over. Hobart veered hard to port, completely out of control. For a moment it looked as if the Australian ship was trying to ram the raider. It was an illusion, since Hobart was already out of control. The torpedo hit aft jammed the two stern turrets in train. With her forward turrets already mangled wreckage, her main armament was theoretically useless. Yet, somehow, the crew in the forward turrets managed to keep firing. They thumped their last shells into the hull of the burning raider.

  It was merely a gesture of defiance and Howden knew it. His ship was shattered by the torpedo hits. Her bows were on the verge of separating and his machinery was useless. His ship was going down. As soon as the bows went completely, she would slide under the water. There was only one thing left to do.

  He took a look at the raider whose torpedoes he believed had created this havoc. She was dead in the water as well, burning furiously and had ceased fire. That, at least, was a small mercy. Hobart continued to limp away from the scene of the battle, out of control and unable to change speed or steer. Howden sighed and gave his final order as her commander.

  “Abandon Ship.”

  German Auxiliary Cruiser Atlantis, Off Ceylon, Indian Ocean

  “Sir, main machinery is out of action. The firefighting system has failed, and the fires are out of control. The temperature in the mine storage compartment is rising steadily and we can do nothing to stop it. The ship is going to blowup.”

  Rogge looked at his ship. Atlantis was belching black smoke all along her length and listing severely. She was also dead in the water. That settled the matter for him. She was finished.

  “Very well, Lieutenant. Order the men to abandon ship. Get the wounded into the life rafts and launch as many lifeboats as we have left. Spread the men out between them and put officers within each.”

  He looked at his ship again, and then across the sea to where Hobart was limping away. She was sinking as well; there was no doubt of that. Thetwo torpedo hits that had come from nowhere left her with bows that were moving separately from the rest of the ship and clearly working free. Her course was erratic as her wrecked screws and rudder interacted. Rogge could see the surviving
crew beginning to abandon ship. One question kept running through his mind.

  What have we done?

  Almost three hundred of his crew survived the battle. They managed to pull clear of the burning wreck that had once been Atlantis and survived the great explosion that had sent her down. Dusk was beginning to settle when the first patrol plane from Trincomalee turned up. A Short Singapore flying boat, it circled the column of lifeboats on the sea for a few minutes, obviously radioing the position of the little convoy to surface rescue ships. Then, it flew away. Rogge saw it starting to circle another area of sea. The survivors of the cruiser, he guessed. He looked over the other men in his lifeboat and shook his head. It had not been a good day.

  Parliament House, Canberra, Australia

  As the MP’s settled in after lunch, the Honorable John ‘Sol’ Rosevear surveyed the chamber with a good deal of satisfaction. There was no doubt this was their time. Labour was ascendent; the Tories in utter disarray. Even if the Government rested on a wafer thin majority, they were as safe as houses. No one was in the mood for another change of government so soon after the fall of Menzies.

  If there was one fly in his soup, it was purely factional. The hard Left of the party was in control. If that didn’t sit to well with Rosevear, it had put him in the speaker’s chair as a sop to the Labor Right. Things could have been a good deal worse. We can get some bloody good work done here; opportunities like this don’t come along too often, thought Rosevear to himself. If Red Johnny doesn’t make a mess of it.

  “The House recognizes the Honorable Prime Minister”

  John Curtin grinned up at the Speaker as he stood confidently and strode the few paces to the Government dispatch box like a man walking on air. “Mister Speaker, in light of yet another royal abdication of responsibilities and recent events in Europe, and Canada well known to the House, the Government has prepared a draft bill that we believe will address the most pressing issues facing this Commonwealth …”