Hechler jammed his elbows below the screen and stared at the weaving silhouettes as pieces of the damaged plane splashed into the glistening swell. Seconds later it exploded in a vivid orange flash. When the smoke drifted clear there was nothing to be seen. But the second aircraft was dodging the flak, and even as he watched Hechler saw the torpedo drop from the plane's belly and make a small feather of spray as it hit the water.
The plane continued towards them, shell-bursts, tracer, everything which would bear hammering into it. Perhaps the pilot and crew were already dead, but the Swordfish rolled over and then dived into the sea with a dull explosion.
'Torpedo running to port!'
'Hard a-port!'
At thirty knots the cruiser seemed to lean right on her beam, men falling and clutching anything for support as she thundered round.
‘Steady. Hold her!' Hechler thought he saw the thin thread of white as the torpedo streaked towards the port bow.
The ship was steadying up, and Froebe croaked, 'Two-eight-zero!'
Leitner's voice broke through the din, distorted and wild on his intercom.
'Signal Hans Arnim to He got no further. The destroyer received the torpedo halfway down her port side even as she dashed protectively between it and the flagship.
At full speed the effect was instantaneous and terrible. Half of the forecastle collapsed and then rose in the air as the ship broke in two, the thrust of her screws driving her on and down as they watched.
Hechler said, 'Bring her back on course.' From one corner of his eye he saw the Liibeck surging past to take the lead into battle. He could picture Rau laughing as he watched the Prinz reeling from the line in confusion. His guns suddenly opened fire, and moments later he saw the tell-tale flash-flash on the horizon to mark the fall of Lubeck's salvo.
Gudegast's voice intruded from his armoured conning tower.
'On course, sir. Zero-two-zero.' He sounded calm, even disinterested, even though the destroyer was turning turtle in a welter of smoke and foam.
The intercom reported dully, 'Hans Arnim has sunk, sir.'
Hechler snatched up the gunnery handset. 'This is the Captain. I am turning to starboard. Bring the after turrets to bear on the enemy!' They had a better chance with four turrets in action.
He said, 'Alter course. Steer Zero-seven-zero.'
He raised his glasses again and winced as the fire-gong preceded the violent crash of the main armament. Kroll was using each turret in sequence, so that the bombardment seemed unbroken and deafening.
jaeger wiped a smokestain from his cheek and gasped, 'The Admiral, sir!'
Leitner strode across the bridge, his silk scarf no longer so white.
He snapped, 'Can't see a damned thing up there. Too much bloody smoke.' He gritted his teeth as the two after turrets fired, gun by gun, the great shells shrieking past the ship and lifting towards the unseen enemy. They sounded like express trains.
Leitner shaded his eyes to look for the destroyer. If there were any survivors they were left far astern, forgotten.
Hechler waited for the guns to shift slightly and asked, Can I signal Lubeck to take station again?' He grimaced as the guns thundered out once more, their long orange tongues showing that Kroll was using semi-armour-piercing shells.
The intercom shouted, ‘Straddling! Two hits!'
Leitner scowled. 'Get up there, Theissen! I want to know what we're hitting today!' He seemed to realise what Hechler had said. 'No. Let Rau have his fun. He can take the lead.'
Flash-flash. Flash-flash. The blink of gunfire, partly masked by a mist along the horizon. It looked like copper-coloured smoke. The screeching hiss of a falling salvo and then the tali waterspouts which betrayed the fall of the enemy's shells made every glass turn towards the Liibeck.
Leitner said, 'Not even a straddle.'
The intercom shouted again. Another hit!' Somebody sealed behind thick steel was actually cheering. Or going mad.
Gunnery officer, sir.' The lieutenant named Ahlmann looked pale, and was biting his lower lip as another salvo screamed out of the sky and burst into towering columns of spray. They seemed to take an age to fall, as if they were solid.
'Captain?'
Kroll said between explosions, 'We've sunk a wing escort and have hit two merchantmen. One ship is leaving the convoy, range closing. I would say it's a cruiser by her size and speed.'
More waterspouts shot from the sea, changing from white to copper in the weird light.
Hechler stared at the Liibeck, which was almost stern-on, her turrets trained hard round to bear on the enemy. Where his own ship should be. The bridge quivered again and yet again and Hechler could feel the din of gunfire probing into his ears like hot wires.
'Enemy in sight, sir! Bearing Red four-five!' Hechler lifted his glasses and scanned the distant mist. No longer empty. A dull, blunt silhouette suddenly wreathed in smoke as her guns fired at extreme range.
Hechler did not lower his glasses. 'Tell the Gunnery Officer to concentrate on the cruiser,’ The forward turrets fired instantly, but it was too far away to see the results.
He heard the gunnery intercom mutter, 'Short.' Then Kroll's voice. 'Four hundred metre bracket!' A pause. 'Fire!'
'Straddling!'
Leitner clasped his hands together. 'Signal Liibeck to go for the convoy. We'll take care of this upstart!'
'Two hits!' The rest was drowned by a violent explosion and as Hechler twisted towards Liibeck he saw smoke and flame burst from below her bridge and spread upwards and outwards in a fiery scarlet mushroom.
Liibeck was altering course again, her forward guns firing and recoiling as she concentrated on the convoy as ordered.
The British cruiser had been hit too, but there was no let-up in her gunnery or its accuracy.
The next salvo straddled the Lubeck as if she was smashing through columns of ice, and another fire had broken out aft, the smoke trailing astern in an oily screen.
Hechler saw a boatswain's mate start with shock, his eyes glow like twin coals as the Lubeck received another direct hit. She was slowing down, her bow-wave dwindling.
The speaker intoned, 'A hit!'
Hechler tried to keep his glasses steady. It was as if they w^ere all struck by some terrible fever. Nothing would hold still, only the guns w^hich fired again and again until thought became impossible. He saw the glow of fires amidst the smoke and knew that the enemy too had been badly hit.
Kroll announced, 'Convoy's scattering, sir. Cruiser's disengaging.'
Leitner snapped, 'What about the other escorts?'
'Some destroyers, I think, sir.' He sounded guarded, aware that he was speaking with his admiral.
The first merchantmen were now in view, ungainly and pathetic as they tried to head away from the oncoming warships.
The damaged cruiser was standing off with two of the destroyers closing around her to take her in tow if need be, or to make a last stand against Prinz Luitpold.
'Shift target! Open fire!'
The merchantmen had no hope of survival. One by one they were straddled and set ablaze until smoke stretched across the horizon like a dense curtain.
'Cease firing.' Hechler glanced at the conning-tower, knowing that Gudegast would be watching the helpless merchantmen burn and die. Would be recalling his own life in a peaceful timber ship. There were others in his command who would see beyond the destruction, who would feel disgust as their mindless companions cheered and slapped one another on the back.
The enemy cruiser had been outgunned from the start, but it only took a lucky shell. That was different. But merchant ships were vital to the enemy, who knew that each convoy route had to be kept open, no matter at what cost.
Hechler said quietly, In my opinion we should return to Norway, sir.' He stood his ground as Leitner stared at him. ’Lubeck is down by the head. Even under tow -'
Froebe called, 'Signal from Liibeck. Unable to make more than six knots. Request assistance.'
Hechler watched
his admiral. That must have cost Rau a lot, he thought.
Leitner shrugged. 'Signal the senior officer, destroyers, to escort Lubeck back to base.' He watched the lamp stammering,
The young signalman's face white as he shuttered off the signal.
The aftermath of battle. A convoy destroyed; God alone knew how many had died in the twinkling of an eye, or so it seemed.
Lubeck's signal lamp flashed again, almost hidden by the dense smoke which billowed from her lower bridge. Through his glasses Hechler could see the splinter holes in her funnels, the great crater left by a direct hit. But the fires were under control.
'From Liibeck, sir. 1 require a tow.’
Leitner said, 'Has the destroyer leader acknowledged?' He sounded more impatient than concerned.
'Acknowledged, sir.'
'Very well.' Leitner seemed to take a long breath. 'Discontinue the action, Captain. Phase Two, if you please.'
He turned as the smoke-grimed camera crew emerged from where they had been hiding.
Leitner went to the prettier of the two girls and pinched her chin.
'Warm work, eh, my child?'
She stared after him, still too dazed to understand any of it.
Fall out action stations.' Hechler picked up the damage control telephone. 'Viktor? This is the Captain. Come up, will you. We have disengaged.'
Gudegast already had his orders. He spoke on his own intercom. On new course and speed, sir. Revolutions for twenty knots.' It was all he said, or had to say.
Even the men who had appeared on deck as they were stood clown from first-degree readiness must have felt it, like a sickness as their ship turned away from the others, the strange light playing into shadows through upperworks and guns, leaving her wake in a wide, crisp arc.
Rau would be watching. Cursing them and their ship, Leitner most of all. But he was too good a sailor to speak out even with a bitter signal as the sea opened up between them.
Left to the wolves. The British would be out for blood, and every aircraft which could be flown from the nearest carrier would be after Rau's Liibeck. And he would know it. In the same way that the captain of the Glow-worm had known, or the pilots of the two elderly Swordfish. Death or glory. It was no choice.
Gudegast came to the bridge and waited for Hechler to see him.
Hechler said, In ten minutes I'll join you in the chart-room.'
Gudegast nodded, his beard on his chest. He knew what Hechler meant. In ten minutes Liibeck and the others would be too far astern to matter.
He watched Hechler's grave features and did not know whether to pity him or to thank God he was in command.
He had seen one of the merchantmen die. A big freighter, high out of the water, in ballast. That feeling. Going home.
Gudegast decided to make a sketch of the unknown victim.
For the first time in his life he was suddenly afraid.
That evening as Prinz Luitpold steamed south-west into the Norwegian Sea she was greeted by a thick mist which cut down the visibility to two miles.
All signs of the brief attack on the con voy were cleared away, and ammunition racks and magazines were refilled and ready for instant action.
Every turn of the great triple screws carried them further and further from land, paring away the safety margin should they have to turn and run for home again.
Hechler had to admit there was some value in Leitner's confidence. Every radio message and intercepted signal was checked and plotted by Gudegast and his team, while high above all of them their new7, triumphant radar kept up a constant search for unwelcome visitors. A pack of U-boats had forced home an attack on the big eastbound Russian convoy, and every available British warship was apparently engaged. The flimsy plan might just work, he thought, and Liibeck would reach Norwegian waters where she could carry out her repairs. Hechler could not accept that part. It stuck in his throat like a bitter taste. To leave Liibeck to her fate had been part of the plan, but at no time had Leitner allowed for such a spirited defence of the convoy by the lone British cruiser.
When he had voiced his opinion to Leitner the admiral had given him a dry smile.
'You, Dieter, of all people? I thought you had the stomach for this mission!'
There was no point in pressing the argument. It was said that an open row between the captain of the Bismarck and his admiral had sealed her fate as much as enemy gunnery.
Hechler considered it. They had destroyed the convoy, just as the enemy had tried to finish them in return. It was war. He thought of the radar and was glad of it. Apart from its vast superiority over anything else they had used, its range meant that t hey had some warning of possible attack by sea or air forces. It meant that the company need not stand at action stations all day and night. They could sleep for four hours at a time off-watch. It was little enough, but they were used to it. To lie down, even for a lew moments, made all the difference. Escape.
Despite the frantic manoeuvring to avoid the torpedo, there had been no damage in the ship, apart from some broken crockery in the main galley.
There had been plenty of minor injuries, two men scalded in the boiler-room when they had been hurled from their feet, another with a broken leg after pitching down a ladder to the deck, and several other casualties.
One of the latter was Erika Franke, who had suffered a severe sprain to her wrist.
The medical report had been handed to Hechler with all the other items from the various parts of the ship. It was customary for the doctor to report in person, but he had sent a brief message to say he had too many casualties. Nervousness at meeting him, or a kind of arrogance, Hechler did not know. Yet.
Theil joined him on the bridge, his coat glistening as if it had been raining. The mist was wet and made everything shine in the tailing light.
Hechler said, 'We seem to be clear, Viktor.' He spoke quietly. The men on watch were obviously straining their ears. Perhaps this lull after the roar of gunfire seemed like an anti-climax, or intimated that they had the sea to themselves.
He looked up at the sky, at Leitner's flag curling damply above the ship. 'We shall stand-to tonight.'
Theil looked away. 'Do you still intend to run south of Iceland, sir?'
Hechler nodded. 'Unless we're challenged, yes. At this time of year there's no advantage in taking the northern route through the Denmark Strait. Too much daylight, too many air patrols. If we head between Iceland and the Faeroe Islands it will give us 150 miles on either beam to play with.'
Theil grunted. Do you think we'll get through, sir?
Hechler watched two seamen carrying an empty stretcher into the shelter of the forward turret. It made him think of the girl. Theil was right to question him; he would be required to execute Leitner's wishes should anything happen to him. He looked strained, anxious. He was not worried about their mission, it would be out of character. He was a book man, and rarely trusted personal opinion. Maybe that was why he had never been recommended for a command. No, he was worried about his missing wife. That was bad. You could not afford that kind of diversion when you were at sea. It couid be fata!. For all of them.
Hechler listened to the steady vibration, felt the confident power of the great engines. They had been doing thirty knots when they had made their turn. She could manage thirty-five if need be. Even a destroyer would find her a difficult one to outpace.
It seemed to get darker as they hurried to the south-west, the night an ally, their only friend in this hostile sea.
Hechler tried to contain the excitement. It was like heady wine. After the stark pictures of battle and burning ships, the prospect of actually getting into the Atlantic seemed suddenly real and clean.
Theil saw' the lines at Hechler's mouth soften and wondered how he would have felt in his place.
Like all the senior officers in the ship Theil had studied their orders with great care. The plan was marked both by its audacity, and its very scale. The naval staff under von Hanke must have been working on it for man
y months just in case the chance presented itself. Perhaps too many people were already involved? Secrecy was vital; without it they might as well give up now.
Von Hanke's son was a U-boat commander, or had been until he had been lost in the Atlantic, Maybe he had first given the old admiral the idea. For two years at the beginning of the war, U-boats had been hampered by the length of time it took them to reach their patrol areas in the Western Ocean, with the same delay in returning to bases in France to refuel and rearm.
To counteract this a building programme had started to produce a flotilla of huge submarines which could stay at sea for months. Their sole duty was to carry fuel and stores for their smaller, operational consorts. In prearranged positions on a specially charted grid, a rendezvous could be made or rejected according to the needs of each U-boat commander. It more than trebled their time at sea, and the enemy's losses had mounted accordingly. Nobody ever mentioned what this extra time on active service did to the morale of the submarine crews.
Now, these same supply submarines, milch-cows, were to be employed as tankers for the Prinz. Daring it certainly was. Practical? Nobody knew, as it had never been done before.
None of the others had voiced any doubts, and after today they might be glad they had not shown any lack of confidence. Once again the ship had come through unscathed. It was a pity about the Lubeck, but if it had your number on it, there was not much you could do. Lubeck had got off lightly, Theil thought. While she was in port, licking her wounds and enjoying all the glory, the Prinz would be in the Atlantic, in the thick of it. It was some c omfort to know that a pin's head laid on a chart of the Western Ocean represented as far as a man could see in any direction.
Hechler said suddenly, 'I was sorry to hear about your wife.'
Theil stared at him and then at the nearest of the watchkeepers.
He lowered his voice. The admiral?'
He had to tell me, Viktor. I would have been informed anyway if Leitner was not aboard. What's the matter, did you think I'd see you as a lesser man?'
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