Golem 7 (Meridian Series) Page 13
Lindemann had a strange feeling of misgiving about the turn. Something told him the world had shifted slightly off its axis just now. What was it the Admiral had cooked up in his sleep? He was turning right into the teeth of the enemy fleet, heedless of the consequences. Against his better judgment, he put duty first and said nothing more.
“Come about to course 225 degrees,” he said firmly, and the order was quickly repeated, the ship turning smartly in response. “Signal Prince Eugen the same,” he finished.
A few moments later both Fate and Bismarck were on a new heading, south by southwest, into the Faeroes Gap.
Chapter 15
Iceland Faeroes Gap, HMS Arethusa, 23 May, 1941
Cruiser Arethusa was steaming well up in the gap, her patrol skirting the coast of Iceland. Off to her right, well over the horizon, two other cruisers rolled in the increasingly heavy seas. Manchester held the center post, and Birmingham the segment closer to the Faeroes. Together the three ships made up the Northern Patrol Line, yet it was still a vast gray ocean around them, with too few eyes scanning the sea for any sign of the enemy.
Of the three mice stealing out in the wide Iceland-Faeroes Gap that day, only Arethusa was blind insofar as radar was concerned. Her equipment would not be installed for another month. The other two cruisers already had their sets, installed late in 1940, and so they would use their type 286 radar to look for the enemy in their wider ranging patrol areas. Being a fixed antenna, this system could only scan the forward arc of the ship, and so the cruiser had to be steered this way and that, in a ziz-zag pattern to widen the arc of her radar search. The equipment itself had been adapted from RAF air to surface radars for planes, and was also limited in range, but it was yet one more way they could gain a vital contact and establish a bearing in the gray, squall swept ocean.
Arethusa had a long service history, and had been active in the defense of Norway and assigned to Home Fleet ever since. She had the honor of conveying the president of Poland to safe ground in the England in June of 1940, and briefly wore the flag of Admiral Somerville before he transferred to the HMS Hood just two days later. Also active in the Med, she had served with Force H and was only recently over a rough patch after a collision with a merchant ship that had sent her into the Tyne for repairs late last year. The crew called it “The Curse of Mers-el-Kebir,” for Arethusa had been with Somerville’s battle squadron on that fateful day when the British opened fire on the French Fleet. She had concentrated her effort against the French shore batteries and harbor area, doing some damage there. But after the affair, it was said that many ships who took part in that action ended up suffering some mishap at sea or a spate of bad luck.
Her Captain Graham was not a superstitious man, however, and he sailed his ship with confidence in spite of the appalling weather conditions that day. There were also strong forces nearby that shored up his confidence. HMS Hood and Prince of Wales had passed well south of his position some time ago. He noted the time at 2000 hours, or 8:00 pm.
By now Admiral Lancelot Holland on the Hood had been ordered to forsake his refueling stop at Iceland and proceed directly to his assigned patrol station in the Denmark Strait. Almost due south of his position Admiral Tovey was at sea with the Home Fleet, though he was some 200 miles away. Still, it gave him comfort to know the fleet was there. All these great ships were waiting on the cruisers, he thought. Unless they caught sight of the German raiders soon the big battleships could do little more than steam about wasting precious fuel. It was his job to see what could be done about that, and he had already spent the better part of two long days in a fruitless search.
He did not have long to wait.
Off in the mist, shrouded by low lying clouds and fog, her forward watchmen thought he saw something dark against the slate gray sea. He looked again, waiting, until the clear shape of a superstructure and hull emerged from a bank of sea fog.
“Ship sighted, right ahead!” he shouted, and it was a monster.
The warning claxon sounded, and the crew beat to quarters, manning her small six inch gun turrets, though Arethusa was not there for a fight. Her captain immediately gave the order hard to starboard and the cruiser careened through the heavy sea, her wake fuming as the screws spun up to high revolutions for 32 knots. She sped away, heading east towards the nearest friendly vessel as her signals operator tapped out the warning that would now set every other ship at sea in motion, tens of thousands of tons of heavy metal suddenly energized by the call to arms.
“Bismarck sighted, 22:07 hours, NNE my position.”
Days earlier, U-556 under her young captain Herbert Wohlfarth had been lucky enough to find a few ships as well, convoy HX-126, inbound to Liverpool from Halifax. With 38 ships in all, two other German U-boats had already picked off a few stragglers, and now it was Wohlfarth’s turn.
His U-boat had an odd connection to events that were about to transpire. Newly built, it had the distinction to berth right next to the mighty Bismarck while she was also fitting out, and came to think of her as an elder sibling. When his boat was to be commissioned in late January, 1941, Wohlfarth had petitioned the splendid band aboard Bismarck to mark the event with a stirring song. To make his plea, he had gone so far as to send a cartooned drawing to the battleship’s Captain Lindemann, depicting his tiny U-boat as a bold knight fending off torpedo attacks against the larger German ship, and towing her safely away from harm. Lindemann was good humored enough to have it framed on his wardroom wall, and sent along his band. Thereafter, Wohlfarth had pledged he would defend the mighty Bismarck in any sea, and do his utmost to keep her from harm.
Now, however, he feasted on the slow, lumbering transports of convoy HX-126. On his inaugural cruise he had done quite well, sinking four other ships before he found this convoy. His tubes were running low on torpedoes, but he had enough left for one more good attack before he turned south for the safety of the U-boat pens on the French coast. The sea was clear and relatively calm that morning, and he quickly put two torpedoes into his forward tubes, ready for launch.
They lanced out against a hapless steamer, the Cockaponset, and quickly broke her back, capsizing her and sending her to the bottom in short order. Wohlfarth smiled at the hit through his periscope viewer, and gave the order to load tubes again.
“Just three fish left now,” his executive officer admonished.
“A pity,” said Wohlfarth. The convoy was wholly undefended. “We can pick them off at our leisure!”
“We might find better fare elsewhere,” his XO suggested. “These ships are no more than 5000 tonners. And don’t forget that signal from Group North, sir. There’s a major operation on, and Bismarck may be heading this way in time. We may have a chance to sail with her after all!”
“All the more reason to save a few torpedoes,” his navigator Souvad, put in, siding with the executive officer. “This whole area is likely to be full of British warships in little time if Bismarck attempts a breakout. If we could get a hit on a British cruiser it would be a Knight’s Cross and commendations for all.”
Wohlfarth thought, looking through his periscope again where another steamer was ponderously before him, silhouetted by the light of the burning oil slick from Cockaponset. Her name was British Security, a tanker, though he did not know that at the time; quite the misnomer, as her position could not be more insecure at that moment.
It was too much of a temptation, and Wohlfarth gave the order to fire. Two more torpedoes were soon on their way, and they struck the tanker fore and aft, assuring she would be a leaking, burning wreck within minutes.
“Looks like we hit an oiler,” said the captain.
“With two torpedoes, captain?” the navigator had an edge of protest in his voice. “One would have done nicely. Now we have only one fish left.”
“Thank you, sub-lieutenant,” Wohlfarth said quietly. He rotated his scope, scanning the horizon. There were plenty of ships he could maneuver on, though with only one torpedo remaining he would have t
o line up his position much more carefully. Perhaps he could find another straggler. The convoy was already making a hard 90 degree turn to try and escape. They would set loose more smoke rafts to mask their position, but it wouldn’t help them. Only the presence of an attacking British destroyer would matter now. But there were no destroyers or escorts in his immediate vicinity.
He thought for a moment. Six ships was not a bad tally for his first mission, but he wanted number seven, lucky seven, he thought. That would make a nice story back at the U-Boat pens in France…but if it were a British cruiser he might have the honor of telling it to Admiral Raeder himself!
“Very well,” he decided. “We’ll continue heading west and save our last torpedo for something better. But you had best find me a cruiser, sub-lieutenant Souvad.”
His navigator smiled. “I’ll do my best , sir.”
He would soon make good on that promise.
Days later, Tovey received the signals report with both excitement and apprehension. One of his cruisers had found the German task force near Iceland, pushing south into the Faeroes Gap and he immediately altered course to intercept. He was well south of the position reported by Arethusa, and so he took a direct route north, steering just shy of 360 and thinking to close the distance as quickly as possible. His course would take him directly across the westward path chosen by Wohlfarth’s navigator, and the plucky U-boat Captain would get his chance after all.
Tovey was on the bridge of King George V, occasionally using a pair of field glasses for a better look ahead, though his radar and watchmen would do the job for him well enough. They had been steaming at 27 knots for some hours now, eagerly awaiting the next report from their cruisers to the north. Yet Arethusa never reported again, and there was still no word from the next ship in the patrol line, HMS Manchester. What had happened? He was tempted to send out a wireless radio message, but knew that would only foolishly give away his own position. Yet where was Bismarck?
An hour later he had a message from the Admiralty informing him that they had a suspicious DH radio fix to his north, but there was no word from Arethusa. Ne noted the position and time on his chart, but the news gave him little comfort. A DH fix would have been obtained by a radio transmission intercept. Why would Bismarck break radio silence at a crucial moment like this…Unless it was to crow about her first kill, he thought. Was she still heading south on a collision course with his battle fleet, or had she steered southwest. In that case Hood and Prince of Wales would have to deal with her first. He had ordered Admiral Holland to also plot his best estimated intercept course, and so at that very moment Tovey was satisfied to know he now had four big ships bearing down on the scene, more than a match for Bismarck and her cruiser escort.
Yet those odds were soon about to change.
Unbeknownst to the admiral, a German U-boat, number 556, was gliding quietly beneath the turbulent waves above. It was the sister ship to boat 557, the very same U-boat that had sunk Tovey’s old light cruiser, the Galatea, off Alexandria. Somehow fate had entangled the two boats with Tovey’s life line, and U-556 was about to complicate his mission enormously.
The fleet was kicking up high spray as it labored through the heavy seas, and the sound of the churning props would make any hydrophone contact on the submersed sub impossible. Nor would radar do him any good, even if U-556 were to have surfaced. The tiny U-boat would be lost in the much higher wave crests, which were already sending false contact echoes back to the forward radar screens.
Aboard U-556 Captain Wohlfarth was informed of the noise of many turbines over head. His heart leapt, both with the danger and the opportunity this might afford him. Wary of running afoul of a lethal British destroyer, he nonetheless crept his boat quietly up to periscope depth, though he would be nearly exposed due to the turbulence above. The tiny boat heaved about in the high seas, but Wohlfarth was amazed when he looked through his periscope to see a line of large British warships steaming right across his path! If he fired quickly the chances of getting a hit were very good.
“Load that last torpedo!” he shouted. “Make ready to fire!” The claxons sounded and the small boat was suddenly alive with activity and men leapt from rest stations, fell from swinging hammocks, and squirmed through narrow passages and up ladders to reach their action stations. For the next breathless minute Wohlfarth struggled to get a bearing. “Starboard fifteen,” he ordered, and his navigator responded.
“Starboard fifteen sir, coming around as best we can.”
“Fire now! Down scope. Make your depth 150 feet.”
The whoosh of the torpedo was followed immediately by the dive claxon, and U-556 plunged into an oncoming wave, nearly thirty feet in height, and did not emerge. She slipped beneath the sea to a safer depth and immediately changed heading again to confound any possible response from the enemy. Wohlfarth wanted to get as far from his torpedo track as possible, as any escorting destroyer would sight down that track to range on his position. Once safely away he would surface and see if his last torpedo had been lucky after all.
It was.
Aboard HMS Repulse the warning call of the leeward spotters came too late for the ship to maneuver. “Torpedo off the Starboard side!” Astonished at the alarm, all her captain could do was put on speed by ordering all ahead full. Had he not done so the torpedo would have struck his battlecruiser full amidships, where the belt armor was thickest and the anti-torpedo bulge was designed to shield the inner hull and divert the explosion up and away from the ship. Yet every captain would do his best first to avoid a hit, and he had no clear sighting of the torpedo’s wake to make any better judgment at the time. As it happened, the increase in speed caused the torpedo to strike him astern, very near his rudders, where the armor was much thinner and the potential for serious damage much greater.
Repulse had been struck a fateful blow. The explosion was heard as a mere thump on the bridge when it struck, but moments later the captain had his report on the damage, for his ship veered to starboard almost immediately, his speed falling off considerably.
Aboard King George V Admiral Tovey was informed of the trouble at once. “A U-boat attack?” he said to his Chief of Staff. “At this speed?”
“Must have run right afoul the bastard,” said Brind. “Report from Repulse indicates her rudders are badly damaged, sir. She’s had to fall off to 14 knots and is steaming in circles until they can get divers in the water to have a closer look at the situation.”
“Damn,” said Tovey. “Of all the bloody bad luck!” he fumed. Yet his mind immediately took stock of what he must now do. “We’ll have to leave the destroyers here with her, now. They’re running low on fuel in any case. Better they stay here with Repulse than just set off homeward. They can draw fuel from her if need be.”
“And may I suggest we detach a cruiser as well, sir?”
Tovey thought for a moment. He also had to consider the carrier Victorious, surely a prize target if there were U-Boats about. He had little worry for his own ship, believing the hit on Repulse to have been nothing more than sheer luck at the speed they were making. Yet, where there is smoke, there is fire. How many other U-Boats might be near? He may have run right over wolf pack in a picket line, deliberately deployed here to assist Bismarck.
“Detach Aurora, but the rest of the fleet will keep station. I’m afraid we’ll have to zig-zag now, at least for the next hour.”
The signalman sounded off with a new message. “Admiralty reports Coastal Command has a sighting, sir.”
Tovey read the message: Two ships sighted; presumed Bismarck and Prince Eugen, heading 200 Degrees south, southwest. Cruisers Manchester and Birmingham now maneuvering to shadow contact. He noted the position and time, leaning over his navigation chart with Brind, Captain Patterson and two staff officers, Lloyd and Bingley.
“He’s altered course after the sighting, sir,” said Lloyd, as he did some quick calculations with his ruler and plotting pen. “We’ll have to steer due west to intercept now.”
“Make it so,” said Tovey, still broiling at the loss of Repulse at a crucial time like this. Now his battle fleet had been reduced to the King George V and a handful of light cruisers. Victorious would bring up the rear, but she would steer well away from any potential surface action if they found the enemy. He was haunted by the thought that just a few degrees bearing to port or starboard, his task force would not have encountered the hidden U-Boat and this could not have happened.
“Can Victorious hope to launch anything in this weather?” said Brind. “If we could get some further confirmation on Bismarck’s position from the shadowing cruisers it would surely help matters. We might even return the favor and put a torpedo or two into her gut, sir.”
“Wind near forty knots, seas at forty feet… I very much doubt it,” Tovey replied. “But things change,” he breathed. “Things change…”
“Aye, sir. Coming round to course 270 degrees west.”
Part VI
Clash of Arms
“Failure and success seem to have been allotted to men by their stars. But they retain the power of wriggling, of fighting with their star or against it, and in the whole universe the only really interesting movement is this wriggle. “
~E.M. Forester
“Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.”
~Albert Einstein
Chapter 16
HMS Hood, South of Denmark Strait, 23 May, 1941
“Signal from Home Fleet Sir,” a signalman on the bridge took the message and handed it to Captain Kerr. He read it briefly and handed it off to Admiral Holland, the grey haired TF commander. They had been steaming all night since first learning that Bismarck was sighted off the eastern coast of Iceland, their best intercept course plotted at 135 degrees southeast.