Golem 7 (Meridian Series) Page 11

  Vice Admiral Holland aboard the cruiser Edinburgh led a carefully planned raid on the weather ship München on station in the Atlantic, and captured more valuable information that was subsequently used to find and sink all the German oil tankers and supply ships their surface raiders would have to rely on after a successful breakout. In effect, Sir Lancelot’s joust in this small adventure put an end to the German surface raiding campaigns, even though his much more famous battle with Bismarck had overshadowed this fact. It would take until June to account for all the German oilers, so Bismarck’s sortie still had potential and dangerous energy about it.

  It seemed to the professor that Vice Admiral Holland was going to stop the Germans one way or another, yet he achieved more leading a cruiser against an unarmed weather ship than by leading Britain’s pride of the fleet against its German counterpart in the Denmark Strait. History was often like that, full of ambiguities, ironic twists of fate, hidden heroes, unknown little actions that were often lost in the shadow of greater events. Like this very moment, he thought. Here I am plotting away to save the Western world, and only three other people on the planet know about it! He was just another unsung hero, like Odo of Aquitaine in that last mission, he thought.

  He stared at his computer screen, reading something there that confused him a moment and set him to flipping through pages of the notebook he had been scribbling on.

  “Now that’s odd,” he whispered to himself a moment later. He felt a strange vibration, heard a thrumming sound and the rotation of power turbines below. At once he knew that Kelly had fired up the Arch system.

  “What’s going on,” he said aloud. Have they got a mission up already? Why wasn’t I notified? He sat up straight, setting his notebook aside as the vibration increased and the telltale sound of the Arch was clearly audible.

  Up in the main lab room Paul and Kelly had worked something out, and Kelly was already down in the Arch Bay setting up the equipment while Paul discussed things with Maeve.

  “I found what looked like an old steamer trunk on eBay last month,” she was telling Paul. “It was apparently owned by an American naval officer, complete with uniforms, papers and personal effects as well—right down to the matchbooks. I don’t know what compelled me to buy the damn thing, but I did and it’s been added to the wardrobe below. So if we have to go in, the cover of a uniform might give us some latitude. There were American liaison officers involved with the Royal Navy, yes?”

  “True,” said Paul, “but we may not have to shift in just yet.” He told her what they were planning, emphasizing that the radio equipment would be placed behind the event horizon line, with no danger of shifting.

  “It had better not!” she said, predictably. “That’s all we need is for a microcircuit board to turn up in 1940. It would change everything!”

  “Well don’t worry,” Paul assured her. “We’re going to transmit from that location and see if we can just get a Morse code message through.”

  “Better idea,” said Maeve. “No one takes in a radio from our time. War or no war, we have to exercise some caution here. Information that may impact the outcome of this particular battle is one thing, but modern day computer equipment in that radio is quite another. It would have much greater impact if ever left behind.”

  “Our first message for the Brits will be sent in the early evening of 21 May. Bismarck sailed from Bergen at that time, but it wasn’t confirmed for another 30 hours due to bad weather. We’re sending confirmation, in the guise of a coast watcher’s report. We’ve had a look at existing records of the forms and codes, and we’ll sign on as ‘Lonesome Dove.’ Hopefully it will compel Admiral Tovey to put to sea earlier with the Home Fleet.”

  “Hopefully,” said Maeve.

  They heard a buzzer and saw the red warning lights flashing near the heavy titanium security door. It edged open on its great silvered hinges and Kelly came rushing through, half winded, back from the Arch Bay.

  “We’re ready to set sail, Admiral,” he said with a smile. “The whole thing is set up, and I even put a pre-amp in the mix to give us some additional power. I have no idea how the magnetic aura of a breaching operation will effect everything, however, but its well behind the event horizon line, so no danger of losing it.”

  “Let’s get to the bridge!” Paul was eager to get their little campaign underway. Moments later they had established themselves in the main lab, Kelly at the shift monitor with Paul, and Maeve standing by at the Golem module. Her job was to monitor anything she could find in the Resonance stream that might indicate the British reacted favorably. To that end Paul had links established to the service records of several major ships involved. The exact times they pulled up anchor and set sail were clearly documented. Hood was to have set sail at exactly 2356 hours, a whisker before midnight on 22 May. Her task force departed Scapa Flow enroute for Hvalsfjord.

  “Keep an eye on these records,” said Paul. You may have to refresh the pages after we transmit.”

  “I’ve got some custom Golem searches pre-programmed for you as well,” said Kelly, pointing at her screen. “There’s a menu in your upper right corner.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” said Maeve.

  Paul looked at Kelly. “Well, in honor of another famous Captain who went on to make Admiral… Engage!” He lowered his voice, doing his imitation of Star Trek’s Captain Picard.

  Kelly began toggling switches, bringing the Arch up to speed. “Quantum fuel is stable,” he said. ”Taking her to 80%. That should be all we need for a simple breach. I should be able to hold open a window to the designated coordinates for several minutes. There won’t be any pattern recognition sweep either, so we’ll conserve power that way too.”

  The Arch thrummed to life, peeling back the layers of causality as the singularity formed and spun out. “I did not have to be too specific on spatial location, he said, and I networked the Golems into a computation cloud for fifteen minutes to nail down the temporal coordinates. This was a fairly easy algorithm sequence. The equation is re-usable as well, so we can try several times on these coordinates. Shifting the temporal variable is easy.”

  “Where are you opening the continuum?” Maeve’s inner sense of caution prickled up the moment she felt the vibration coming from the Arch.

  “Right over London,” said Kelly. “Well up in the atmosphere. I’m just going to establish a breach and transmit. On my mark…three…two…one.” He gave the go signal and the peculiar vibration of the Arch changed ever so slightly. There was a slowly rising tone in the humming below them, and Kelly began to tap out a message using the space bar of his keyboard. This went directly to the radio equipment below, and was hopefully broadcast through the decades, to a gray evening over London, May, 1941.

  He tapped away, his face set with concentration. The seconds seemed like hours, but the breach was really only open for a minute or two and he completed his message in the peculiar series of codes words Paul had given him. When Bismarck had first been sighted off the coast of Malmo, Sweden the coast watcher there had simply sent a telegram: Pit Props and Battens Rising. The message Kelly sent was equally obtuse, though in layman’s English it told a fairly plan story after decoding, ending with a precise time and the call sign Paul had chosen:

  “To all stations. Bergen. Today. Bismarck and Prince Eugen have put to sea. Time: 1712. Lonesome Dove.”

  Part V

  Changes

  “Those who expect moments of change to be comfortable and free of conflict have not learned their history.”

  —Joan Wallach Scott

  “If you want to truly understand something, try to change it.”

  —Kurt Lewin

  Chapter 13

  Western Approaches Command, Liverpool, 21 May, 1941

  Lieutenant Simms was still on the “Huff Duff” receiving station that evening, a bit bleary eyed from the long day’s work. “Huff Duff” was the handle for HF/DF, the High Frequency Direction Finding equipment that would work in coordination wi
th established “Y stations” and ships at sea to detect and track incoming wireless signals. His net had been full of the usual fish that evening, weather bulletins, convoy traffic, an occasional suspected U-Boat sighting, but at 21:40 hours he picked up an unusual signal.

  “Hello,” he said to himself as the coded message came in, loud and clear. “What’s this about?” The signal used proper form and template, though the signalmen indicated “Origin Not Fixed” in the upper check box on this report, time number 17:12. That, in itself, was an oddity, as most traffic crossing Simms’ desk would be well fixed for point of origin. He did note the signal was designated “Sky Wave” and not “Ground Wave” traffic, which could mean a few things. Either it was sent from an aircraft, the most obvious conclusion, or it was a fluke of the weather given its bearing. Sky Wave signals that reflected from ionospheric layers were usually of lower strength and made bearing and range determination unreliable. But Simms noted that, while the signal strength was very high on this intercept, the bearing line was still left blank, filled only with a single question mark.

  He nonetheless set about completing the decoding, looking up the closing call sign in his code book to verify it as legitimate. It was one of sixteen independent variable codes allowable that month, ‘Dove.’ The handle would tend to indicate the signal originated from a clandestine operator, yet in this case Sky Wave traffic would be unusual. He picked up his telephone, ringing up the Signalman for more information.

  “Just calling on signal bearing for message 1712,” he said. “The field was left blank.”

  “Not sure on that one, sir,” came the reply. “We make it somewhere between South 20 East and South 40 East, sir, but it was very brief and we couldn’t get a fix, as there was no triangulation.”

  “Very well, Signalman. Be sure to note the field properly on all incoming messages, whether you have a permanent fix of not. Carry on.”

  Simms took a brief look at that bearing, noting the heading would be at 220 degrees and take the line right over London. He extended the line in his mind, noting it would cross the channel and strike the French coast near Abbeville, and concluded it might be traffic from a Free French underground operator. Yet he could not be sure, as they would need a second intercept point to triangulate.

  He decided to make another call to the Y station desk. “See hear, he said. I’ve a message, number 1712, without proper triangulation and bearing. See if you have anything on it, will you? I’ll hold.”

  A minute later the voice at the other end of the line had more data for him. “We get a bearing of 180 true out of Hull, and another at South 40 West out of Norwich. No other stations reporting.”

  “Well, well, well,” he said, looking at his chart again. The lines were all intersecting over London! Why would someone be sending from there? He crossed out his presumption note on the first bearing and underlined ‘Source Unknown.’

  “I’d best get this to the Admiralty, in any case.”

  Minutes later the decoded message was clattering down the tubes in the receiving desk at the Admiralty Citadel. It was opened and passed to a staff officer, who read it with some interest.

  “See hear,” he said to the Deputy Chief on duty at the time. “We’ve news on Bismarck! It seems she is reported to have left Bergen after all.”

  “What’s that?” The Deputy Chief reached for the signal, reading it, his brow tightening as he scanned the notation. “Source unknown - Presumed Free French.”

  “Sailed from Bergen? How would the Free French know about it then? Wouldn’t this come in from coast watchers in Norway?”

  “I would assume as much,” said the staff officer. “That note has been crossed out, sir.”

  “Damn sloppy, isn’t it? Well let’s get hold of Air Command and see about a photo run into Bergen. In the meantime, we’d best pass this on to the Admirals. ”

  “Right away, sir.”

  It was all of an hour later before the telephone rang again at Fleet headquarters, Scapa Flow, the second time that day. Aboard the flagship King George V, Admiral John Tovey’s flag flew proudly in the waning light, and his Chief of Staff, Commodore Patrick “Daddy” Brind answered. The line it came over stretched from the ship out across the Flow via buoys to a land station, and from there down over the Scottish Highlands for the whole of the 500 mile journey to the Admiralty Citadel in London. It had carried the voices and commands of many proud and distinguished men over the years, including Churchill himself when he held the post of First Sea Lord, and now it carried what looked to be a vital report concerning Tovey’s number one headache.

  The Bismarck was reported to have left Bergen! There was no confirmation from Air Command as yet, and the source of the message seemed a bit vague, but there it was. “To all stations. Bergen. Today. Bismarck and Prince Eugen have put to sea. Time: 17:12. Lonesome Dove.”

  The fleet was already on four hour standby, the boilers fired up on the ships at anchor, the crews called in, fuel tanks topped off. Cruisers, always the eyes and ears of the fleet, had already been dispatched to patrol stations on the most likely courses an enemy ship could take to the Atlantic. They had Norfolk and Suffolk scheduled to watch the Denmark Strait, and the wider passage between Iceland and the Faeroes would be patrolled by the cruisers, Arethusa, Manchester and Birmingham, assisted by a gang of local trawlers given the sea area involved.

  The news that arrived that evening had an immediate effect. Admiral John “Jack” Tovey was a big, amiable, and sometimes bawdy man, quick to smile but just as likely to redden up with a temper when things did not suit him. Headstrong at times, even relentless, he had a coolness under fire that was as much derived from his obstinate will and his insistence on doing what he deemed most appropriate in any situation.

  He was a sea going admiral, seeing the duty aboard ship as essential to morale. What was good enough for his sailors was good enough for him, and his men had both great admiration and respect for him. A natural leader, Tovey was a student of tactics and ship handling, as capable a captain as the Royal Navy possessed until he was promoted to acting Admiral of the Home Fleet. The man at sea, he believed, had the best information at hand to make a decision in any engagement. As such he sometimes resented the overweening interference by desk laden officers in the Admiralty, including the First Sea Lord, Admiral Pound, who had a predilection for sticking his thumb in the pie whenever possible.

  Aboard King George V, Tovey was restless and worried tonight. He remembered those long months, early in the war aboard the cruiser Galatea, where he had slogged from one end of the Med to the other in long, dull escort cruises for steamers and cargo convoys in 1940. He eventually handed that command over to another man, finding himself marooned on Malta for a time with little more than a handful of old Australian destroyers to command. Yet, as fortune would have it, he was not aboard his old ship when Galetea was torpedoed off Alexandria by U-557, and went down with a loss of her captain, 27 officers and 447 ratings.

  He didn’t linger on the island long. Italy entered the war, Tovey got a cruiser squadron back and had a chance or two to try and prove some of the aggressive tactics he so strongly advocated. Months later he had come to his new assignment in Scapa Flow with his flag planted aboard the inter-war battleship Nelson. Yet he was glad to get the much more modern ship he had now. He believed King George V was a match for anything the Germans could sail against him, and he was determined to prove as much.

  The weather had been worsening that night, with rain and low clouds, and Air Command had little in the way of new information for him. The news that the Germans had put to sea electrified him, as it confirmed his own worst suspicions as he had watched the clouds thicken on the horizon that evening.

  “Funny thing about this intercept,” he said to his Chief of Staff Brind, “It seems to have a fairly muddled origin. Even the call sign used was an independent. Who is this ‘Lonesome Dove?’ It didn’t come in from our usual sources. What do you make of that?”

  ”
Well, sir,” said Brind. “The Admiralty must have considered that question, and if they chose to pass it on they must have satisfied themselves.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but yet we’ve had no confirmation?”

  “Air Command isn’t likely to get us anything with this weather, sir.”

  “What could she be up to, Brind?”

  Prematurely gray for his age, Patrick “Daddy” Brind was equally cool in demeanor, a perfect Chief of Staff. With the ability to keep and analyze vast amounts of information, he could give a sensible, clear appraisal of most any situation.

  “Could be anything, sir. She might be escorting a convoy up to Trondheim, then again she could just as easily be the nucleus of a raiding force bound for Iceland. The Germans know how valuable our position is there.”

  “Quite,” said Tovey. “Yet it’s even more likely that she’ll try for a breakout to the Atlantic. What do we have out there at the moment?”

  “Admiralty reports convoys SC-31 and HX-126 inbound, and presently south of Iceland. There’s three more off the coast of Ireland, including the troop transport Britannic with HMS Rodney escorting her, sir.”

  “Yes… Thought Tovey. We may end up needing Rodney if worse comes to worse. In any event, we’d best get steam up and put some heavy ships to sea.” Tovey was worried about jumping the gun, wasting valuable fuel and possibly even revealing his cards to the Germans at the same time. But given this information there was little else he could do.

  “Signal Hood and Prince of Wales to make for the Denmark Strait as planned. They can refuel at Iceland and take up station there with Norfolk and Suffolk. And we’ll move shortly as well. I intend to take out King George V in four hours. Repulse will join us at sea. I’m still wondering about Victorious. She’s only got a handful of planes and air crews, and not a lick of real experience in the lot.”