Hunt the Bismarck

by Angus Konstam

  The question was, which route would the Germans take to get there?4 The presence of British airfields in Shetland, Orkney and the north of Scotland meant that it was unlikely they would break out by the two more southern avenues, between Orkney and Shetland, or Shetland and the Faeroes. Air patrols saw to that. They were also too close to Scapa Flow, which made it relatively easy for the Home Fleet to intercept the enemy as they passed through the gap. That, then, left the two more northerly routes – the Denmark Strait between Greenland and Iceland, and the route between Iceland and the Faeroes. The first was 175 miles wide, but at that time of year the coast of Greenland was still girded by pack ice, a floating barrier of ice that extended roughly 80–90 miles out from the coast. That reduced the navigable waters of the Denmark Strait by half.

  In April 1941, the British 1st Minelaying Squadron had also laid a minefield off the north-west corner of Iceland, which extended out into the Denmark Strait. This effectively reduced the navigable channel to just 50 miles – a space that could be patrolled by a pair of cruisers. Between January and March, a double belt of mines had also been laid in the Iceland–Faeroes gap, working out from the coastal waters of both islands. That reduced the 240-mile-wide gap to a more manageable 140 miles, although problems with the premature detonation of mines suggested these fields weren’t as effective as the Admiralty had hoped.5 Still, a squadron of cruisers stationed in this gap should be able to spot any German warships trying to pass through their patrol line. Tovey already had cruisers covering both gaps. He just needed to make sure they were ready for the Germans when they came.

  Two days previously, Tovey had sent the heavy cruiser Suffolk from Scapa to the Denmark Strait, to reinforce the cruiser Norfolk, which was flying the flag of Rear Admiral (R. Adm.) Wake-Walker.6 The day before, the light cruiser Arethusa had also been sent north, to join the light cruisers Manchester and Birmingham, which were patrolling the Iceland–Faeroes gap. Tovey ordered both Arethusa and Suffolk to refuel in Hvalfjord, the British base outside Reykjavik, so they were fully ‘topped up’ before joining the patrol lines. He’d also requested a stepping up of air patrols from Iceland, the Faeroes and Shetland. This dealt with Tovey’s first line of defence – his early-warning tripwire. Now he had to make sure it was supported by warships that were capable of actually bringing the Bismarck to battle.

  Late that afternoon, he decided to send V. Adm. Holland in the Hood to the waters off Iceland, accompanied by the Prince of Wales. 7 This was done with some reservation, because the brand-new battleship was clearly not fully ready to fight. Workmen were still labouring on her gun turrets and her largely inexperienced crew were still learning their jobs. However, Captain Leach insisted that she was ready for action. In fact, without any other battleship apart from his own flagship, Tovey had little option but to include her in Holland’s force. So, both ships were ordered to put to sea as soon as possible. Cdre Brind had already set the departure in motion by ordering the six destroyers to sea, to wait in the Pentland Firth. Now it was the turn of the two capital ships.

  It was about 21.30 when Holland and his captains returned to their ships.8 The crews had all been fed and the men were settling down for a quiet night at anchor. On board Prince of Wales Captain Leach called his senior officers to his cabin, told them the plan, then ordered the ship to prepare to sail. Minutes later, the tannoy announced, ‘Special sea dutymen, close up at the double’. This could only mean one thing. All thoughts of a quiet night were abandoned as the seamen pulled on their coats and rushed on to the upper deck, ready to slip the ship’s mooring. Half a mile away, the same thing was happening on board the Hood. Soon, both ships were skirting around Flotta and into Hoxa Sound, where they passed through the defensive boom. With the Hood leading, the two great warships, barely visible in the overcast night, slipped out of Scapa Flow. Just in case of trouble, both crews were at Action Stations.

  Then, after the destroyers had formed an anti-submarine screen around them, Holland ordered the force to head west, out towards the open Atlantic. Shortly before midnight, they passed out of the Pentland Firth, picked up speed and set a course for Iceland. Holland’s instructions were clear: his ships were to head to Hvalfjord, where if possible they would refuel. Then his capital ships were to take up a position to the south-west of Iceland, where they could intercept the Bismarck if she entered the Denmark Strait. However, if the Germans came the other way they could also seal off the Iceland–Faeroes gap. This meant waiting there until a sighting was made by one of the two patrol lines. Accordingly, the two capital ships rushed on into the night, while at the same moment, 260 miles to the north-east, Bismarck and Prinz Eugen were also at sea, with their own escort of three destroyers, making their way northwards from Bergen. Soon, both forces would be on a collision course.

  The shell game

  That night, on board the Bismarck, Admiral Lütjens faced his own dilemma. He had to break out into the North Atlantic, and ideally do it without being detected. The latest aerial reconnaissance report from Scapa Flow showed that the capital ships of the Home Fleet were still in the anchorage. Of course, this had been taken before the Hood and Prince of Wales had set off towards Iceland. He now had to decide which of the three main routes to take to reach the Atlantic. Ideally, he also hoped to do it without being detected.

  His dilemma was a lot like the age-old cups and balls routine made famous by magicians, and which tricksters turned into a con that they called the ‘shell game’. In this fraudster form, a ball was hidden beneath three cups and, in front of a watching audience, the cups were switched round repeatedly, before a watcher was asked to say which cup now contained the ball. In reality, the ball was moved out from one cup and placed in another one after the watcher had chosen what he thought was the right cup.

  Now Lütjens had to perform a similar sleight of hand, and hope the British chose the wrong cup. It was a trick he’d pulled off before: during Operation Berlin he played the shell game to perfection, enticing the British by probing the Iceland–Faeroes gap, and then doubling back around Iceland to reappear in the Denmark Strait. This time round, he had to choose the right cup in which to hide his ball. While the German naval command favoured the Iceland–Faeroes gap, Lütjens had successfully used the Greenland–Iceland gap during Operation Berlin, and clearly preferred this route.9 It lay further from Scapa Flow, and if the Home Fleet’s capital ships were still there then he would probably make it through before they could intercept him. Enemy cruisers were likely to be patrolling both of the gaps, but they posed no real threat to the Bismarck. He had already ruled out the third option – the Faeroes–Shetland gap – as it lay even closer to Scapa, and was regularly patrolled by British search planes.

  The bad weather might help screen him, but it was still too great a risk. So that reduced his three cups to just two. Interestingly, back in Berlin, Grossadmiral Raeder had briefed Hitler on Operation Rheinübung, but apart from minor quibbles about maintaining American neutrality, the German leader had no objections to the operation. Raeder, though, had to confess that he had no real control over it; Admiral Lütjens, the man on the spot, had full control over what happened. So, while Raeder might have preferred one route over another, the ultimate decision lay with the fleet commander. During the early hours of 22 May the German ships therefore headed north, while the coast of Norway gradually fell away to the east.

  By now it was pretty clear that the more southerly of the three routes was no longer an option – they’d gone too far north – but apart from telling Kapitän Lindemann, Admiral Lütjens preferred to keep his plans to himself, though of course that didn’t stop the crews of both warships trying to guess where they were heading. At around 04.00, the three accompanying destroyers were detached and ordered to head in to Trondheim.10 Where the capital ships were going was no place for destroyers – they lacked the range to operate that far from home. That left Bismarck and Prinz Eugen very much on their own. As dawn broke on 22 May it was clear that the weather had deteri
orated during the night. This suited Lütjens perfectly as it made detection less likely. This was clearly an important consideration, as at 11.00 a radio message from Group North in Wilhelmshaven informed him the RAF had bombed the Korsfjord – an action that confirmed that the British definitely knew he was in Norwegian waters.11

  That changed things slightly. The likelihood was that the Home Fleet would assume he was trying to break out into the Atlantic, and Admiral Tovey would deploy his ships accordingly. Lütjens still thought he had a head start – he had no idea Hood and Prince of Wales had sailed – and this may well have influenced his decision. If he headed through the Iceland–Faeroes gap, the breakout attempt would take place that evening and during the night of 22–23 May. If he opted for the Denmark Strait, it would take place the following night – 23–24 May. If Tovey had led the Home Fleet to sea that morning, he might just be in place to block either passage in time to stop Lütjens. However, the Denmark Strait was sufficiently far enough away to make this a race the Germans stood a good chance of winning.

  As the day wore on the two German ships drew further away from the Norwegian coast. By mid-afternoon they were beyond the range of friendly air cover; only long-range reconnaissance aircraft could patrol that far out into what had now become the Arctic Sea. They were also beyond the reach of British air patrols. Had they been in range, and if a British aircraft had seen them, it would have reported that the two ships were making 24 knots and were now steering towards the north-west, on a course that would lead them directly around the northern coast of Iceland. The only break in the routine came at 12.37, when a periscope was sighted.12 The two ships went to Action Stations again, increased speed and started zigzagging. In fact, no Allied submarines were in the area. It was a false alarm. More importantly, at 16.00 they entered a bank of light fog, which completely cloaked them throughout the last hours of daylight. On board Bismarck, the fleet meteorologist Dr Heinz Externbrink suggested this favourable weather would continue as they rounded the coast of Iceland.13

  He was right. Shortly after 18.00 the fog became thicker, and visibility dropped to less than 1,300ft. For Lütjens, it was perfect weather. The following day he would be within range of British search aircraft operating from airfields in Iceland. This would serve as the ideal shield, cloaking his two ships as they sped towards the Denmark Strait. In fact, it was so thick that as darkness fell Bismarck and Prinz Eugen had to switch on their searchlights and all navigation lights so they could keep track of each other in the fog-laden darkness. Best of all, shortly after 23.00, the radio room on board Bismarck received a signal from Group North.14 It reported two key pieces of information. First, that radio intercepts suggested that the German force had not been sighted. This implied that Lütjens’ rival Admiral Tovey was still in the dark over which of the three cups to look under. It added that there was still no sign that the British were even trying to intercept him.

  The best news from Wilhelmshaven, however, concerned a reconnaissance flight over Scapa Flow. Earlier that day, the high-level flight revealed that four battleships and an aircraft carrier were still in the anchorage, together with numerous smaller ships. Lütjens was well aware of Tovey’s strength. That meant that Hood, Prince of Wales, King George V and one other battleship or battlecruiser were still in port. So too was the new carrier Victorious. He had won the race. With only a cruiser screen expected in the Denmark Strait – one that could easily be brushed aside – there was nothing to stop him breaking out into the Atlantic. Little did he know that this report was wildly inaccurate. Hood and Prince of Wales were already well on their way to Iceland, and in fact at that moment they were just 450 miles to the south-west of him. Low cloud over Orkney that day, and possibly the presence of two dummy battleships made of wood and canvas, had outfoxed the Luftwaffe airmen. That evening, Lütjens must have felt very content indeed.

  At dawn the following morning – 23 May – Dr Externbrink’s prediction proved correct. The fog continued, as did the rough weather, blowing in from the south-east, but veering easterly. It was the perfect weather for a breakout. At this point Lütjens had another decision to make. He could alter course to the north and refuel from the tanker Weissenburg, waiting for him off Jan Mayen island, 260 miles to the north, which would delay his transit of the Denmark Strait for a day. Or he could press on, hoping to pass through the narrow channel before Tovey’s capital ships arrived to block his route. Some armchair historians have criticised the German fleet commander for not ‘topping up’ from the tanker Wollin in the Korsfjord, or the Weissenburg in the Arctic Ocean. However, Lütjens still had two tankers ahead of him, the Belchen and Lothringen, stationed off the southern tip of Greenland, so refuelling this early in the mission wasn’t imperative.15 More importantly, based on the intelligence he’d been given, he thought that if he pressed on, he’d win the race through the Denmark Strait.

  So, the German ships maintained their course and speed. By noon, the Bismarck’s navigator, Korvettenkapitän Wolf Neuendorf, announced that they were now due north of Iceland. That meant that the huge ice-clad land mass of Greenland lay off their starboard bow, fringed by its thick lifebelt of pack ice. He calculated that they would enter the northern mouth of the Denmark Strait that evening, at around 17.00.16 This would herald the start of the British minefields and the waiting British cruisers. Meanwhile, for the next six hours or so, the crew had nothing to do but rest before what most suspected would be a challenging night. However, as Müllenheim-Rechberg noted: ‘In the afternoon visibility increased to 50 kilometres, but before long intermittent heavy snow caused it to vary considerably between one point on the horizon and another.’ Still, by now Lütjens was committed, and his ships steamed on towards the Denmark Strait.

  Tovey’s response

  Back in Scapa Flow, Admiral Tovey was still in the dark. Since that photograph taken by Fg Off. Suckling in the early afternoon of 22 May, he had had no news of the German ships. It was unlikely they were still anchored near Bergen, but he needed hard information before he could commit his last reserves – the battleship King George V and the aircraft carrier Victorious. When the carrier returned to Scapa following a series of exercises, Tovey signalled her, asking Captain Henry Bovell whether he thought she was fully ready. After all, the air crews were largely inexperienced, the carrier was new, its aircraft had only embarked on her a few days before, and she was laden with crated-up fighters, bound for the Mediterranean.

  Bovell was clearly keen to take part in the coming operation, but he was a professional, so deferred the decision to Cdr Herbert Ranald, his flight operations officer, and his senior squadron commander, Lieutenant-Commander (Lt Cdr) Eugene Esmonde, a veteran of the Taranto raid – the Fleet Air Arm’s finest hour.17 The three officers conferred and agreed that although the crews were inexperienced, Victorious was the only carrier in Scapa Flow, and the air crews were at least keen to play their part. So, Tovey agreed to add Victorious to his force. Still, though, the carrier and flagship remained at anchor throughout the 23rd, as the admiral waited for news of the enemy. And therein lay the real problem. With low cloud blanketing Norway, there was little chance of spotting anything until the weather cleared.

  The bad news had begun for Tovey that morning. A phone call revealed that of the 18 bombers that flew from Wick the previous evening, only two had managed to drop their bombs over the target area, and even then it was shrouded in murk. That morning, every reconnaissance flight had been forced to give up due to the low cloud. It made for an extremely frustrating day on board the flagship. Had Bismarck and Prinz Eugen sailed? Tovey was now pretty sure of their identity – intelligence reports confirmed they had sailed from Gotenhafen five days before. Were they still in the Korsfjord? Every few hours, Cdr Frankie Lloyd marked the admiral’s chart, showing the Bismarck’s ‘furthest on position’ from the sighting in the fjord the day before. That was based on the distance the battleship could have steamed since the sighting. Every four hours the circle expanded by 100 miles. It w
as all deeply worrying.

  His break came through a phone call with Captain Henry St John Fancourt, the commanding officer of Sparrowhawk – the naval air station at Hatston, on the outskirts of Kirkwall.18 It was largely a training base, and home to squadrons from carriers in Scapa Flow. However, it also was home to a squadron of Albacore torpedo bombers. That morning, Fancourt flew them up to Sumburgh in Shetland, 100 miles closer to Bergen, just in case the weather cleared and they had a chance to launch an attack. The Norwegian coast, however, remained blanketed in fog. While this put off Coastal Command’s search planes, it didn’t deter Cdr Geoffrey ‘Hank’ Rotherham. He was Fancourt’s second-in-command, but he was an experienced observer and had a reputation for both skill and daring. ‘Hank’ persuaded Fancourt to give him a go at finding Bismarck. If anyone could in these conditions, it was Rotherham.

  Fancourt did, however, have certain stipulations. After all, he was placing a plane and crew in jeopardy. First, he had to clear the mission with both Admiral Tovey and Air Marshal Sir Frederick Bowhill, the head of Coastal Command. Rotherham planned to use an American-built Martin Maryland twin-engined bomber. Part of 771 Squadron, she was used by the Fleet Air Arm as a target-towing plane, and belonged to Coastal Command. With approval given by both Tovey and Bowhill, Fancourt’s final stipulation was that it had to be an all-volunteer crew. Within minutes, Rotherham had three volunteers for the three-crew plane – the acting commander of 771 Squadron, Lt Noel Goddard RNVR (Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve), and Leading Airmen Armstrong and Milne. At 16.30, the four men took off, with Goddard at the controls.19 With a cruising speed of 248mph the Maryland made the crossing in just over an hour. This was tricky flying: even at 80ft they couldn’t see the sea, and after each of three attempts Goddard headed back into the clouds, despite advice from Coastal Command to fly at 200ft, in order to keep below German coastal radar and to avoid enemy fighters.