—John Scarlett

Chapter 19

 

The Allied situation in the Mediterranean theater was far from secure by mid 1940. The twin blows of Italian hostility and the metamorphosis of France from ally to enemy had left the United Kingdom and its Commonwealth allies to stand alone. Most of their strength lay in Egypt under General Archibald Percival Wavell, a tall, broad shouldered, thick necked man who had been in the British Army since the Second Boer War. He had also spent a year as an observer with the Russian Army, and learned the Russian language before serving in the First War. Now he found himself elevated to Commander-in-Chief Middle East, which encompassed all of East Africa, Greece, the Balkans, and Palestine

It was an enormous task considering the fact that Wavell’s force in Egypt was vastly outnumbered by the Italian colonial armies in Africa. By August of 1940 it consisted of the British 7th Armored Division, 4th and 5th Indian Divisions, the 2nd New Zealand Division and mixed forces comprising three British brigades. Plans were underway to reinforce Wavell with a South African Division and a pair of Australian Divisions that were still forming. The R.A.F. could at least muster an assortment of 300 planes, and the Royal Navy at Alexandria had three battleships, four cruisers and 12 destroyers.

Against this force the Italians could boast they had numerous field armies, amounting to over 75 divisions, though most were undermanned and ill equipped. They also had twice as many battleships in theater, good fast cruisers and destroyers, and a robust submarine fleet. Regia Aeronautica had 400 planes in Libya with another 300 in the horn of Africa, and three times as many more in at home aerodromes. The threat Italy represented on paper looked very serious, and this led Wavell to adopt an early policy of cautious containment, like a man staring down a bee hive on his back porch, and wondering whether the first tentative jabs would result in a whirlwind of stinging reprisal.

What the Italians did not have, however, was the will to use the forces they had, and the skill to use them effectively. In spite of its size on paper, the Italian Army proved to have very little sting at all, and even less inclination to swarm on the enemy they clearly outnumbered in every category of arms. In August they began to buzz about at the Egyptian frontier, where small skirmishes and quick cross border raids were the order of the day.

British garrisons on other key Mediterranean outposts such as Malta and Gibraltar, were also ill equipped for the gathering threat of war. As France fell, Malta had only four old Gladiator fighters, still in packing crates as reserve planes for the British carrier HMS Glorious. Of these only three could be kept working, given the names Faith, Hope and Charity. Four Hurricanes arrived in late June, and another seven in July to build the fighter defense there to fourteen planes. They were joined by three Swordfish, a single Skua, one Hudson bomber and two Sunderlands. As Tovey concluded his Faeroe Island conference with the Russians, the carrier Argus was preparing to make a ferry run with twelve more Hurricanes, and three Maryland bombers were also flown in, largely for reconnaissance operations.

There were five battalions assigned to Malta Command along with a mix of artillery, anti-tank and AA guns, and a couple companies of fortress engineers, all gathered into the Malta Infantry Brigade. Gibraltar was equally thin on air power, as the agreement Britain had with Spain forbade offensive bombers there. 202 Squadron flew Swordfish and Sunderlands on anti-submarine patrols. On the ground, the Rock was garrisoned by only three battalions of infantry, two companies of fortress engineers and the 3rd Heavy Artillery Brigade. A fourth battalion, the Black Watch, would arrive in short order.

At sea it seemed that both sides had paused briefly to take stock of their respective situations. The Italians seemed to be half-hearted participants in the war, a member of the Axis more in name than deed. They busied themselves with laying mine barrages off Pantelleria, sub sparing with British ships transiting the Red Sea, and with little result. The bulk of the Italian fleet largely sat in their home ports, while Regia Marina operated with its submarines, using them as transports, mine layers, and mounding defensive patrols in key waterways.

For their part, considering the dire situation at Malta, the British mounted a well named hasty sortie that was again led by the enterprising young carrier commander Christopher Wells. HMS Glorious was still standing in for the Ark Royal, and “Operation Hurry” was teed up to harass and distract the Italians. Escorted by the battleship Valiant, three cruisers and eight destroyers, Wells mounted a quick strike against airfields near Cagliari on Sardinia as cover for CVL Argus, which flew off those twelve much needed Hurricane fighters for Malta, nearly doubling their fighter contingent in one throw.

It seemed that neither side had taken the full measure of the other, like two boxers tentatively jabbing and moving about one another in the first round of a prize fight. The British counted the eggs still left in the French navy’s basket, and knew that something had to be done about them. Operation Menace was the result of that brooding, a plan to make a direct challenge to the French African port of Dakar on the Atlantic. There sat the formidable battleship Richelieu, and the even more dangerous new design the powerful Normandie, with twelve 15-inch guns. To make matters worse, this force could be easily supported by the battleship Jean Bart just up the coast at Casablanca, along with a light cruiser, seven destroyers and eighteen submarines.

The Admiralty still regarded this as the most immediate and dire threat to future war operations. Sitting right on the Atlantic, the thought that the French might one day sortie with this entire force and cut the convoy routes south around the Cape of Good Hope was a very real and present danger. Something had to be done about it, and, much like the recent Operation Catapult aimed at Oran and Mers-el-Kebir, Operation Menace was aimed at facing down the best of these ships while they lay at anchor and eliminating the menace they represented to England’s future war effort.

A small convoy of 4200 British Troops and 2700 Free French troops departed from the Clyde, escorted by three cruisers and four destroyers. Along the way the cruiser Fiji was hit by Lieutenant Jenisch on U-32, and the cruiser Australia suffered a near miss, but the force squeaked through to rendezvous with a strong detachment from Force H. The combined force headed for Freetown for provisioning prior to their planned approach to Dakar. There they would offer another ultimatum, and should the French decline, it was Vice Admiral Cunningham’s job to smash the French fleet and land nearly 7000 troops to seize this vital port. If successful it would leave only Casablanca to be accounted for, but the French got wind of the operation, and immediately dispatched naval reinforcements from Toulon.

Three cruisers and three destroyers had been ordered to the colony of Gabon near the Congo, where De Gaulle’s influence had seduced the local authorities there away from the Vichy fold. Instead they were ordered to Dakar, and a battle that was never written in any of the history books Fedorov had in his library was now gathering like the restless late summer clouds that formed off the African coast.

 

* * *

 

Situated a little over 900 kilometers south of Dakar, Freetown was the capital of Sierra Leone and a valuable British sanctuary on an African coast largely occupied by Vichy France. As such it became a valuable stopping point for outbound convoys and a place to dock and replenish warships serving to escort them.

Captain Christopher Wells was out on the weather deck of HMS Glorious, sailing under fair skies and calm winds. The ship was riding easily, her belly topped off with fuel and a flight of four Swordfish spotted on deck and ready for immediate takeoff. Remembering a day very like this in the Norwegian Sea some months ago, Wells had also posted lookouts on his high main mast even though he might have dispensed with that this go around. Glorious had been alone then, with only two destroyers in escort, and Wells still shuddered to recall those difficult moments when he had struggled to save the ship from a pair of pursuing wolves in Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. Now he felt a good deal more secure, surrounded by a family of strong Royal Navy ships that included the battleships Barham and Resolution, heavy cruisers Cornwall and Cumberland arriving from Capetown, and a flotilla of six destroyers fanned out around the bigger ships like a gaggle of geese.

Wells’ good friend Lieutenant Woodfield came out on the weather deck to take up his watch, pleased to see the Captain there.

“Still mixing with the lower ranks, Captain?” he said with a smile. His friend had moved up another rung on the ladder of command while Woodfield remained a Lieutenant.

“Fine day, Woody, and we’re finally ready to settle accounts with the French.”

“Still brooding on that business off Mers-el-Kebir?”

“We never got there. Most of the French fleet slipped right out the back door to Toulon.”

“Not quite, Welly. You notched your belt with a pair of battleships as I recall.”

“Who could forget that,” said Wells, still remembering how he felt when he first received the news that his Swordfish from 823 and 825 squadrons, planes sent out by his command, had found and sunk the old WWI era battleships Bretagne and Provence. He had raised his hand against Britain’s former allies, put over 1300 French sailors into the sea, and so enraged the French that they now openly sided with the Axis. It was all his fault, or so he believed for a good long while after that, in spite of Admiral Somerville’s praise for his conduct in the operation and assurance that he would have done the very same thing, distasteful as it was.

Now he was back in the same game, out assigned as primary air cover asset for Operation Menace, the British plan to seize Dakar. They were already three hours out of Freetown, heading north for the showdown that was supposed to play out like the original plan for Mers-el-Kebir. Yet like that plan, the French had again been forewarned of the British moves. Ships out of Toulon had already been dispatched to reinforce Dakar, and had managed to slip past the watch at Gibraltar on a dark night the previous day. Wells got that news only an hour ago, and knew he would soon be tasked to get planes out to look for the Toulon squadron.

“I don’t like it, Woody,” he said. “I look out at those two fat battleships there and should feel at ease, but I have misgivings about this mission. Something tells me the French are on to us.”

“So what if they are? R.A.F. got a look at that squadron that slipped past Gibraltar and it’s only three light cruisers and a few destroyers. They say it put in to Casablanca. That won’t be much help to the French given what I see around us here.”

Woodfield might have been more cautious had he know that the French Squadron had sailed into Casablanca the previous morning to re-provision and sortie again, with one more addition to the fleet that could be very troublesome, the battleship Jean Bart. This force had already slipped through the Canary Islands and was heading south for the Cape Verde Islands where the French were staging their own little operation as part of a much bigger plan that would soon unhinge far more than either man could imagine that fair morning.

The British troop convoy had detached the cruisers Australia and Devonshire to look for the French ships, but they had been unable to find them off Casablanca. These two cruisers were still patrolling far to the north, and slowly working their way down to Dakar.

“So we go for the gold, Wells.” Woodfield was still exuberant. “I’ve heard that bullion reserves for the Bank of France were spirited off to Dakar. That’s reason enough for us to get hold of the place, eh? And that harbor is far superior to our anchorages at Freetown. With it we’ll have a good watch on the convoy routes south, and then it’s on to Casablanca to finish things up.”

“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” said Wells. Yes, Woodfield had the spirit in him this morning, a lieutenant’s dash and bravado. Wait until he wears a Captain’s hat one day and feels the weight of those new stripes on his shoulder boards.

“Just keep a positive attitude, Wells. We’ve sixteen good 15-inch guns out there between those two battleships.”

“Yes well the French will still out gun us. They’ll have twenty!”

“But those ships will be sitting in the harbor—a pair of nice fat geese.”

“That’s what we thought at Mers-el-Kebir. If they’ve sent this squadron from Toulon, then they’ll certainly know what we’re up too here. I wouldn’t keep my ships anchored in port, and I’m not so sure the French will either.”

“Well, we’ve got a man or two there, don’t we? Latest word from the signals traffic is that both French battleships are still sitting in port.”

“At the moment,” Wells cautioned. “We’re still a full day south of them here. Let’s hope we find them there this time tomorrow morning when we’re sitting off Dakar.”

It was going to be a long 24 hours steaming at 18 knots to get the British squadron up north to Dakar. By this time tomorrow Wells expected he would have most of 823 Squadron’s Swordfish in the air, with 825 Squadron spotting on deck to join them. Before that he would have to get a reconnaissance flight up north of their position to look for any sign of that flotilla from Toulon.

Wells passed a sleepless night, up from his bunk twice and pacing on deck with a pipe that he had taken to smoking. The rituals of the habit seemed to calm him a bit, and let him think things through, his thoughts wafting up with the smoke.

Morning came with the signal arriving from Vice Admiral Cunningham aboard HMS Resolution: “Ultimatum to be delivered by wire at 09:00 hrs. Mine laying to begin 09:15, with torpedo squadron ready to receive strike orders at that time.”

Wells was ready. He had dispatched four Swordfish of 823 Squadron north on a wide reconnaissance fan, with four more loaded for the mine laying operation. The last four would join with the twelve planes of 825 Squadron to form his strike element. He was to send one plane in at the crack of dawn to overfly Dakar and report any signs that the French might be trying to get up steam.

The report he received from that little sortie was most disconcerting. The lone Swordfish was up at 05:00 and on its way. Thirty minutes later the word came back that changed everything. There would be no need to issue any ultimatum later that morning. The French fleet was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

“This latest information from Bletchley Park is somewhat alarming, sir.” Daddy Brind had come in with another dispatch, but the mention of Bletchley Park immediately got Admiral Tovey’s attention.

“The Germans seem to be running several mobile divisions through training in Southern France, very near the Spanish frontier. I don't know quite what to make of it, but scuttlebutt seems to think the Germans may have intentions involving Spanish neutrality. We received word from Bletchley Park yesterday that there may be a high level meeting being arranged.”

The implications of what Brind was saying were not lost on the Admiral. Spain's neutrality had been a great bulwark for the British operating out of Gibraltar. The vast land area of the Iberian Peninsula, safe behind the ragged walls of the Pyrenees mountains, offered a welcome buffer of security for the vital British base. Admiral Tovey raised an eyebrow, thinking.

“If the Germans have intentions involving Spain,” he said, “then all these troop movements we’re seeing may have a darker purpose. Perhaps the Admiralty is keeping a hat on this for the time being, but I expect we'll hear about it if there is any truth to these rumors. Lord, what a nightmare.” The Admiral’s mood was somber and serious now, and Brind found him somewhat distracted, a distant look in his eye, as if he were considering something deeply that seemed insoluble to him. He seemed a bit haggard of late, ever since that meeting at the Faeroe Islands with the Russians.

 “Do you really think the Germans would attempt to mount an invasion of Spain at this time, sir?” Brind folded his arms, his eyes serious, his expression one of genuine concern.

Tovey set down his tea and perked up, drawn back to the here and now. “It may interest you to know that R.A.F. has had a look at this concentration in southern France, Mister Brind,” said the Admiral. “It appears there are two full mechanized divisions forming up just north of the passes. Latest intelligence has them designated 16th Panzer Division and 16th Motorized Division.”

“Only two divisions?” Brind was not impressed. “It's a long way from France to Gibraltar, sir. If the Germans commenced an operation of this nature my guess is it would take 30 days or more, even if Spanish resistance folded in the face of such an attack. That would give us plenty of time to load up fast troop ships and get some boys down to Gibraltar if need be.”

“And suppose there is no resistance…” Tovey let that hang there, watching Brind close to gauge his reaction.

“You mean to say—”

“Yes Daddy, this note from Bletchley Park you mention could be the ticket the Germans need now. What if Franco throws in with them? These two heavy divisions in southern France could just roll right in unopposed. This is an entirely new kettle of fish. It’s not my watch, but if the Germans are bold enough to pull off something like this we’ll be looking at plans for a counter-invasion of Spain before we know it, and the Navy will be paramount in that instance. In this light, all this steam up in the German fleet seems rather ominous. Let's just hope the rumors are simply that.”

“Well sir, there are also rumors about the buildup on the Polish Russian frontier, but that may not be a wise move for Hitler, not now that hostilities have resumed between Orenburg and the Siberians.”

“That's what's so damnably bothersome about all this.” The Admiral leaned back in his chair wishing he had had another three hours sleep. “That meeting at Omsk led us to believe Volkov had come to an arrangement with the Siberians. Then a week later he crosses the border with six divisions. Well he won’t want a fight with the Soviets until that resolves itself, and the Germans would be wise to leave Russia sleeping quietly as well—and that is what worries me. Spain… It's the logical next move for them. It's either that or they open hostilities against Russia. Big build up there as well. Hitler may be taking on more than he can chew, but we'll have to plan for every possible contingency.”

“That we will, sir,” said Brind. “Good to know the Russians have thrown in with us. This offer of a technology transfer was gracious. Is their radar really that good, sir?”

“So I have been told.” Tovey folded his arms, wishing he could fully unburden himself here and let Daddy Brind in on all that he had learned during that conference with the Russians. Away from them three days now, the normal routine of his work at fleet headquarters here at Scapa Flow had occupied his mind, but the amazing revelations that had been made still lay on him like a magic spell. At times he found himself sitting at his desk, staring out the window, or pouring tea and taking a single sip and then letting it go cold in his hand as he sat, his thoughts ranging on distant possibilities that he struggled to foresee.

“Well,” he said. “I’ve been sitting on my duff reading and writing reports the last three days. Now I must make a few deliveries. Have a plane waiting for me at Kirkwell, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I see Hood has been swaddled up at Greenock. I’m going down to have a look at her and see how the work is going. But I’ll be flying directly to London from there. Have the two new fellows out there ready for a stroll in 48 hours. I’ll want them north of Londonderry, and HMS Invincible can join them. I’ll collar a destroyer in the Clyde and come out to join the party when my business is concluded.” The two new fellows were King George V and Prince of Wales, Britain’s newest additions to the fleet.

“Very good, sir. I’ll make the arrangements and see that all the invitations go out.”

“Good then… Oh, and Mister Brind, make sure I’m kept fully in the loop regarding that operation at Dakar. And as to that buildup north of the Spanish Border—phone down to RAF Saint Eval and ask them to have another look. Put my name to the request.”

“I will, sir.”

Tovey was up and on his way, opening the door and hearing a dry squeak that seemed to grate on him. We’ll need to get that oiled, he thought, stuffing the thought away like a man pocketing his handkerchief and forgetting about it. But far to the south, the dry squeak of the hinge of fate was grating on other men, in the warm late summer waters off Dakar.

* * *

 

“The Flagman seems to be well into it this morning,” said Wells as he stood on the weather bridge of HMS Glorious. Commander Lovell nodded agreeably, smiling as the man stiff armed his flag signal and sent the last plane from 823 Squadron running down the deck for takeoff.

Wells leaned on the gunwale, noting how the new slate grey paint still looked so fresh on the ship’s wounds. They had done a bang up job to get her up and running again, but he knew the old girl was still scarred underneath that greasepaint, with the char of smoke and battle.

“Mister Heath has called up, sir,” said Lovell. “He’s recommending another pair of Gladiators from 802 Squadron come up for fleet air defense.”

“Good enough,” said Wells. “In fact, I’d be more comfortable with a full flight of four planes up. See that Heath gets the message.”

“Aye sir.” Lovell flicked off a salute and went inside, leaving Wells to his muse.

So today’s the day, he thought, another showdown with the French. I can’t believe they will be any less agreeable, and they’re out there somewhere, probably within easy range of Dakar if they hope to defend that place.

Dakar was situated on a long 40 kilometer isthmus that jutted east from the African mainland and came to a sharp point, which was the westernmost point of Africa. Beneath this the isthmus stretched another 14 kilometers, angling back towards the mainland until it reached another sharp point at Cape Mamuel. The harbor was just north of this, one of the best on the African coast, and a knife pointed directly at British convoy routes bound for Freetown and Capetown.

After learning that the harbor at Dakar was empty, Wells had a bad feeling about this mission. This was not expected, though it should have been assumed after what happened at Mers-el-Kebir, he thought. The French were of no mind to sit on their backsides and wait for us to come calling. They obviously got wind of what we were up to here and slipped away. Now I’ve got to find them. HMS Glorious is the eyes of this battle squadron, and the thought that a pair of French battleships are at large now is most disconcerting.

He remembered the last two battleships that had caught Glorious napping on her return leg from Norway. That would never happen again, he resolved, but the shadow of that engagement still lay heavily on him. Two more battleships… I don’t think Vice Admiral Cunningham had things planned this way. We’ve a pair of old ladies out there ourselves, good ships, but a bit long in the teeth. Barham was passed over when they refit the rest of her class. They had only replaced a few AA batteries and pulled her old wisdom teeth in the two remaining torpedo tubes. She had just come out of the dock yards at Liverpool a few months back, after suffering a torpedo hit from U-30 the previous December. Resolution had kept company with the 1st Battle Squadron of the old Grand Fleet during WWI. Both were slow at no more than 23 knots, and if it came to a chase they would have no chance against the newer French ships they were now hunting.

How could the French have slipped away like this, he wondered? Our cover operation to Freetown as Force M obviously didn’t fool anyone. It was put out that Force M was in transit to Capetown to pick up a convoy. The French might have men there who relayed information as to our departure, but we turned south and got well out to sea before swinging around to head north for Dakar. In spite of that the French seemed to know our every movement. It was as if they had read the fleet orders and knew our exact planned arrival time here at Dakar.

With the French fleet missing, the troop convoy assigned to the landing operation was kept to the south until the enemy could be located again. There was no way the operation could be launched until those ships had been accounted for. Three hours later Wells received a signal from his scout planes. The French fleet had been spotted north of the long Ishmus of Dakar, but they were not running north for Casablanca as Vice Admiral Cunningham believed they would. Instead they were heading south, and the light of battle and a thirst for vengeance was in the eyes of their commander, on one of the most formidable ships that would ever sail, the battleship Normandie.

* * *

 

Rear Admiral Plancon, Flag Officer, French Navy West Africa, had decided to take personal command of the operation. Once inclined to continue as an ally of Great Britain, he had suffered a hard change of heart after the attack on Admiral Gensoul’s fleet fleeing from Mers-el-Kebir. He called an emergency meeting with Admiral Laborde on the Normandie, and Captain Marzin on the battleship Richelieu, and resolved to immediately put to sea when he received the dispatch indicating the British intended to occupy Dakar. He would not allow his ships to be caught in the harbor. So after first steaming north to evade detection and communicate with his reserve squadron at Casablanca, he turned about and resolved to hover north of the long isthmus of Dakar and lie in wait there.

Plancon knew the British had a great advantage with their carrier based aircraft, and he was under no illusions that he would actually surprise his foe, but the sudden realization that the French intended to seek battle here would certainly give them second thoughts about pressing any claim to Dakar, or so he believed. France had produced some superb modern battleships, but had been blind to the utility aircraft carriers would provide. Their single operational carrier, the Bearn, was now in the Caribbean with a pair of cruisers. The ship they had begun to build to replace the aging Bearn had just been captured by the Germans.

So he had only the few planes he could launch from his capital ships for eyes, and no radar, yet he knew one thing—the British would come to him. He did not have to worry about finding them. The Royal Navy would act with the same confidence and determination that it had demonstrated earlier, only this time they had not truly taken the full measure of their adversary. The French fleet was fully capable of defending itself, and posed a far greater challenge than Vice Admiral Cunningham believed.

It had once been called the Force de Raid, based on the Atlantic with the mission of challenging any German ships that might threaten French territory. The officers and sailors were proud of both their country and their mission, and though they did not have the long years of experience of the Royal Navy, they had determined to fight as best they could.

Richelieu alone would have posed a grave threat at sea, given her speed, heavy armor, and an escort of fast modern cruisers and destroyers to sail with her. If the two British battleships could catch her, the issue would have been decided their way, though not without risk of sustaining damage in the battle. But Richelieu was not alone. The ship the French had built to answer Washington Naval Treaty violations by Germany was with her, the true heavyweight of the fleet, battleship Normandie.

Inspired by the design of Richelieu, the Normandie had the same heavy protection, including 320mm belt armor and 170mm on the decks, which was 6.7 inches at its thickest point. Where Richelieu had two quadruple 15-inch gun turrets mounted forward, Normandie had this exact same armament, and then a third quadruple turret mounted aft. Pound for pound, her broadside of twelve 15-inch barrels had a throw weight that would match designs built later in the war like the American Montana and Iowa class battleships, fully a third more powerful than either Barham or Resolution. Together these two ships would outgun the British with twenty 15-inch barrels to sixteen. And while the British gun turrets had good protection with 330mm face armor (13 inches), the French ships had at least 430mm, of good face armor. Their sides and roofs were also better protected, so with the business end of the battleships, the guns, the French had a clear advantage.

Normandie had to have special docks at Brest built for her, and when completed she truly lived up to the name Dumas had used to describe her, a “super battleship” capable of meeting and defeating any other ship on earth. Yet the ship was raw and untested. Her guns and fittings were only recently installed, and the magazine was half empty when she fled her homeland for African ports. Work crews still roved her labyrinthine corridors and inner decks, tightening fittings, and laying cable and wire to get her internal communications in working order.

Her commanding officer, Admiral Jean Laborde, was a disciplined and loyal man, though he had no great love for his superior, Admiral Darlan. His animosity towards De Gaulle and the British was even greater, and as the newly appointed commander of the French High Seas Fleet, he was determined to make them pay for the insult and treachery they had demonstrated in attacking Admiral Gensoul’s Squadron. Laborde was the fighting Admiral, Plancon his nominal equal as the authority commanding naval operations in French West Africa, and together they would stand on the bridge of Normandie and lead the fleet to battle.

A man of 62 years, Laborde still exhibited a youthful aspect and had much physical energy. He was, in fact, in the prime of his life at that age, and destined to live to the venerable age of 99 years—if he could survive the battle he so eagerly sought here with the Royal Navy this day. His ships were untested, their crews unbled, and they were pitted against both veteran ships and crews. It would be the face off of the old well tried ships and guns of the British, which had first faced battle in WWI, against a new navy that had been built to face the challenges of this new age.

And it was about to begin.

Chapter 21

 

“Well gentlemen,” said Vice Admiral John Cunningham, “it appears we have a battle on our hands.” He was one of two Admirals bearing that name, and framing British operations in the Med like a pair of strong bookends. His namesake, Admiral Andrew Browne Cunningham, known as “ABC” in the officer corps, was commanding operations in the Eastern Mediterranean.

A navigator by training, John Cunningham had served in the Battlecruiser Squadron aboard both Renown and Hood in that capacity, and went on to become commander of the Fleet Navigator School. So he could read a map and compass, and knew the position noted in the signal he just received was very close to his present location. But he was no stranger to battle. Before moving up in the ranks he had commanded the same ship he was on at that moment, HMS Resolution, and was glad to be back aboard with his feet planted firmly on the rolling metal decks of a good battleship.

He looked over his shoulder, seeing the distant silhouette of the aircraft carrier Glorious, which he had ordered to fall off and maneuver out of the battle zone. Vice Admiral Cunningham’s fate had been strangely entwined with that ship, and the man that now commanded the carrier, Captain Christopher Wells. It was Wells who had sent that message into his hands as Cunningham led the cruiser Devonshire south in the evacuation of Norway: “W/T from Glorious – Most Immediate - Two battlecruisers, bearing 308° - 15 miles, course 030.”

The two battlecruisers then had been the German ships Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, intent on making a fiery end to the hapless carrier. At that time, Devonshire had been charged with the mission to safely transport King Haakon and the Norwegian Royal Family, and a considerable store of gold bullion as well. Cunningham knew the message would become troublesome, because he also knew he could not answer that plaintive call for help. He had every copy collected, and took charge of the ship’s log books, discretely, and he was very lucky that Glorious had somehow managed to escape on her own.

Now he had just been handed another message that was eerily similar—again from Wells aboard HMS Glorious: “W/T from Glorious – Most Immediate – Air search confirms two battleships, two cruisers, four destroyers, Bearing 015° - 20 miles, course 280.”

Two battleships, thought Cunningham, and well attended, even as I am here. He noted his old command, HMS Devonshire was in the van, followed by the Cumberland. The cruisers Australia and Delhi had been detached to keep watch on the troop convoy far to the south, but he also had five destroyers in hand, Faulknor, Foresight, Forester, Fortune and Fury. So it was to be an even match, ship to ship, and he had every hope he would come off the better.

“Ahead two thirds and come to 310. Flag Officer will signal all ships to follow.”

“Aye sir, ahead two-thirds and coming to 310.”

“Signal all destroyers to take position ahead and prepare for torpedo runs.”

Cunningham was going to take his squadron northwest, emerging from behind the long isthmus of Dakar and hope to catch his enemy on their present course, and by so doing cross their T. Unfortunately, that would not really matter much to the French. Their bigger ships were front heavy with firepower, with sixteen 15-inch guns that would have good forward arcs of fire. Their ships were built to hunt and chase down ships like the Graf Spee and Admiral Scheer, and to be able to bring tremendous fire power on them even as they pursued.

With two twin turrets forward, and two more aft on each of the British battleships, the French would outgun the British two to one in any nose to nose face off. So Cunningham knew he had to show the French his broadside, offering them the big silhouettes of his battleships in order to even up the gun duel, and turning broadside the French would only get stronger when the after quadruple turret on Normandie could be brought into action.

In ordering ahead two thirds, Cunningham’s squadron would make only 18 knots. Full out, his battleships could give him another six knots, but he was soon to learn that the younger legs of his adversary would also pose a great challenge. The French had yet another advantage in the action that was now unfolding—speed. Cunningham was waddling up at 18 knots, like a proper English gentleman with his walking stick or cane, intending to give his foe a good poke in the belly when he got in range. For their part, every ship in the French squadron could make 30 knots or better. Led by Le Fantasque and her sister Le Terrible, their large destroyers, , could run at an astounding top speed of 45 knots, and cruise easily at 40 knots for sustained periods with moderate fuel expenditure. They were, in fact, the fastest destroyers ever built in any era, and at 434 feet they were a hundred feet longer than the British destroyers, and better armed.

The large destroyer L’Audacieux was well named that day, leading on the right flank of the French formation. It began to put on speed, making a bold charge as the British formation came into sight. In its wake came the light cruiser George Leygues followed by Montcalm, fast capable ships at a little over 9100 tons full load, with three triple turrets housing 6-inch guns. They had sighted the oncoming British destroyers, which had raced up at their best speed, and a fast paced gun and torpedo duel ensued, with the experience and skill of the British destroyer captains really shining.

The British fired their first torpedoes directly into the intended paths of the oncoming French ships, and a 21 inch lance off the destroyer Fury struck George Leygues full on her port side as it swerved in an unsuccessful attempt to dodge the deadly spread. Then the British destroyers wheeled to port, running parallel to the French as they continued to launch torpedoes, their deck guns blazing away at the fast French destroyer in the lead.

George Leygues continued on for some time, her gun crews bravely firing until the list due to the flooding below the waterline became impossible to counterbalance. The light cruiser made a vain attempt to turn about, but foundered, keeling over to port and slowly sinking as the crews scrambled to abandon ship.

Hit by three 4.7 inch rounds with a fire near her forward turret, L’Audacieux swerved hard to starboard to avoid yet another run of torpedoes off the British destroyer Fortune, and put on amazing speed as one threatened her from behind, literally leaving the torpedo in her wake. The turn send her racing right across the bow of the oncoming French battleships where she sought to find and join the three other French destroyers that had led in that main column.

The last ship from the French left, the light cruiser Montcalm, ran on past the foundering wreck of George Leygues and right into the skilled 8-inch gunfire of the British heavy cruisers. Devonshire and Cumberland were out in front, and ready for action when they saw Blue Five raised by HMS Resolution, the Squadron Flagship, well behind them. Montcalm bravely ran due west for a time, trading salvos with the bigger cruisers until two good hits convinced her captain that he was overmatched and outgunned. The light cruiser made a hard turn to starboard, coming around to turn north and cross the bow of the French battleships just as L’Audacieux had done. Her fires being too serious, and threatening a forward magazine, the ship then turned northeast and was out of the fight.

The opening rounds had gone to the far more experienced and capable seamanship and gunnery of the Royal Navy, but the bell was now ringing for the main event.

Captain Marzin aboard the battleship Richelieu shook his head as he watched the demise of the screening forces to his left. As Montcalm scurried across his bow and turned away, he decided it was time to roll up his sleeves and enter the fray. He had spotted the tall, proud mainmasts of the two British battleships, still steaming almost due north, and he knew he had the speed to cross their T by turning due west. The range was over 18,000 meters, but the two heavy cruisers that had bullied the light cruiser Montcalm were much closer. He decided to see if they wanted to stay in the fight when faced with a real adversary, and ordered his big forward turrets to train on the Cumberland.

The 15-in guns of the Richelieu blasted away, the whole of her main battery deployed forward on those two quadruple turrets. The first rounds were over, but surprisingly tight in their pattern of fall. With a projectile weight of just under 2000 pounds, only the Italian 15-inch guns had more muzzle velocity, though their shell casings were not as reliable as the French rounds, and the powder bags were inconsistently packed. The British 15-inch/42 caliber guns on Resolution and Barham were proven designs in two wars, but had a much lower muzzle velocity and range than the guns on Richelieu. All told, the French would claim they had the best 15-inch gun then in service, and few might have argued with that when they saw the result of the third salvo that found the Cumberland, straddling her severely with one of the four rounds striking home amidships in a thundering roar.

The two British cruisers were now the ones outgunned, though they stayed in the fight, and Devonshire scored a hit on Richelieu’s forward deck with an 8-inch round. The superb deck armor on the French battleship, 6.7 inches thick where the shell hit near the B turret, was enough to shrug off the hit, and the blast effect from the shell barely bothered the 16.9 inch face armor on the quadruple turret. A second 15-inch shell put Cumberland’s aft Y turret out of action two minutes later, and it was only the imminent arrival of the bigger British battleships that prompted Captain Marzin to hand off his fire on the British cruisers to his secondary batteries while the bigger guns retrained to face HMS Resolution.

Now the main event was in full swing, with Vice Admiral Cunningham immediately coming thirty points to port so he could bring his two aft turrets in to the engagement. Opening salvoes from Resolution were well aimed, but long, and Barham’s first warning rounds were off the mark as well. For a short time the British enjoyed a brief advantage, double teaming against Richelieu and outgunning her two to one. In that duel it was Resolution who found the range before any other ship, and put a 15-inch round right on Richelieu’s belt armor, just below the water line, at about 15,000 meters. The round did damage, but did not fully penetrate. It was stopped by a special inner lining between the armor and inner hull, with a rubber substance the French called “Bourrage.” Should fragments penetrate the armor, this water exclusion material was designed to reduce the likelihood of flooding, a system unique to modern French battleship design.

Richelieu’s fire control systems also proved to be very good that day, and Resolution suffered a good hit aft, and another on her side armor, which was just a little tapered off and thinning at that point to only 152mm. The ship was penetrated, with the shells close enough to the aft magazine that the resulting fire there forced Cunningham to order it flooded, limiting Y turret to only ready ammo on hand.

Then came the thundering roar of all twelve 15-inch guns of the Normandie. The ship had been trailing about 2000 meters behind Richelieu, and had now completed its turn to bring all three of its quadruple turrets to bear on Barham. The barrage was only short 200 meters, a frothing comb of tall white geysers surging up from the sea in tight patterns of four. Barham answered with her eight 15-inch guns and the duel was on.

For the next ten minutes the battleships ran on a mostly westerly course, parallel to one another and firing for all they were worth. On her fourth salvo the aft turret of Normandie was lucky enough to put two of her four 15-inch rounds into Barham. One fell amidships, just behind the ship’s single funnel, where it smashed the cranes and catapult for seaplane launches. The second fell right on the armored roof of the X turret, and blasted clean through the thinner 5 inch armor there, with a tremendous secondary explosion when rounds and powder bags being lifted from the magazine below went off.

The turret was nearly ripped from its housing , badly askew, the barbette exposed and blackened by the raging fire. Both barrels were canted down onto the deck, and every man within thirty yards of the hit was dead in an instant.

Vice Admiral Cunningham heard the bellowing explosion, and turned his field glasses aft, seeing the tall column of think black smoke rising above Barham.

“That doesn’t look good,” he said quietly to Captain Oliver Bevir, who had been with the ship since late 1939.

“Hell of a good knock from the look of it,” said Bevir, but the roar of Resolution’s guns pulled his attention back to the fate of his own ship. He could see that the Richelieu had put on speed, and though he had ordered all ahead full battle speed, Resolution was laboring to make 22 knots full out, and the French bettered that by eight knots. The range had closed to under 10,000 meters but the French ships were pulling ahead, and they might soon get into a very good position to turn fifteen or twenty points to port and cross the British T.

It was then that the inexperience and undue ardor of the French fast destroyers on that flank caused a bit of a faux pas that spared the British heavy ships further damage for the moment. The three destroyers led by Le Fantasque came cutting across the bow of Richelieu again, running at their amazing top speed that was approaching 45 knots. Le Terrible and Le Malin followed, and behind them L’Audacieux had joined this group, which was now attempting to make a high speed torpedo attack.

Devonshire and Cumberland had both wisely come to port, crossing ahead of the British battleships and then turning south away from the torpedoes in a big hook. The bigger battleships labored on for some minutes as Cunningham gaped at the speed of the French ships, their long sleek hulls gleaming behind frothing bows. Amazingly, the destroyers had begun to make smoke as they made their approach, which obscured the whole region between the bigger ships and imposed a halt on that main gun action.

“Damn impudent!” said Cunningham, then he quickly ordered a fifteen turn to port, getting Resolution on a heading to avoid the first spread of enemy torpedoes. Barham, however, was unable to follow suit. The fire aft from the severe hit she had taken was threatening several boiler rooms, and her speed had fallen off to 17 knots. The French destroyers had broken up the fight just when their battleships were getting the better of it, but now they paid for that ill timed maneuver by getting a hit. A 21.7 inch torpedo struck home, shaking the old battleship Barham yet again.

Cunningham saw the hit amidships, a worried expression on his face now, replacing the cool confidence he had displayed for the first time. “I think we’d better hear from Captain Cooke about that,” he said in a low voice, and Captain Bevir gave a discrete order to have a signal sent requesting Barham’s status.

When next sighted, the French battleships had unaccountably turned ten points to starboard, and to Cunningham’s eye they appeared to be breaking off. He led his squadron into yet another fifteen point turn to port, running about 210 for a time, and then thought the better of his situation and came around to 150 on course away from the French battleships. Devonshire and Cumberland saw the maneuver and matched it smartly, and it appeared the action was concluding, though they continued to fire at a pair of French heavy cruisers, Foch and Algiere, that had been behind the line of the bigger battleships.

Admiral Plancon saw the British turn, half angered, and half impressed by the brave charge of the four destroyers, and so he ordered Richelieu to come thirty points to port, intending to continue the battle at longer range. Now one other advantage of the new 15-inch guns on the French battleships came into play—their tremendous range. They could elevate to fling their big rounds out an astounding 45,000 yards in testing, though no one thought they would ever hit anything at such a range. After Cunningham’s final turn the range had opened to about 18,000 meters again, but when the French gunners re-sighted the British battleships they began to pour it on again from all twenty 15-inch guns.

And they were getting hits.

 

 

 

Part VIII

 

One Fine Morning

 

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning—
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

 

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

Chapter 22

 

It was time for the cavalry.

The fast French destroyers had raced southwest, outrunning the fire put on them as the British gunners struggled to adjust their range, never having faced a ship with such speed before. During the main gun duel, the British destroyer squadron had turned southwest behind the battleships, crossing their wakes. Now the squadron leader aboard HMS Fury, Lieutenant Commander Terence Robinson ordered all ahead full in an attempt to get after the French destroyers, which had just made another high speed turn to make their final torpedo run against the lumbering British battleships. Yet they would not get there in time.

The French destroyers surged forward to get inside 5000 meter range and brazenly fired their torpedoes. They were well aimed and would be difficult for the slow British battleships to avoid. Minutes later Cunningham felt HMS Resolution shudder under the impact of a good hit forward that he saw coming but could simply not evade. Barham was also hit yet again, her speed now falling off to only 12 knots.

Seeing the plight of the British battleships, Admiral Plancon urged his Captains to turn south and finish them, and this they did, with the sharp bow of Richelieu leading the way. It looked to be a very bad day for the Royal Navy, now outgunned twenty to fourteen, and with both battleships wounded and Barham down on one knee.

Cunningham swore under his breath when he saw the French battleships turn, knowing they had the speed to close to any range they desired. The French destroyers had finally turned about, and were fleeing from a fistful of angry British destroyers, with both sides exchanging gunfire during the chase. At 36 knots the British were running full out, but the big French destroyers had nearly a ten knot advantage on them, and LtC. Robinson knew he would never catch up. He had chased them off, giving Cunningham’s damage crews a little time in the corner, but now the bell was sounding again and the French heavyweights were coming to the center of the ring, smelling the blood on their foes and looking for a knockout.

They hadn’t counted on one last arrow in the Royal Navy’s quiver, however, or on one determined young Captain that was taking aim even now aboard the carrier HMS Glorious.

Far to the south Captain Christopher Wells had been receiving reports from his scout planes as the action unfolded, and he immediately knew he would have to get his Swordfish up and ready for battle. He had the last of 825 squadron up and circling over the carrier, joining two flights from 823 squadron to make twenty planes in all. When he heard that Barham appeared to have taken a big hit aft, he knew he had to fling his squadrons north at once.

The last of the Old Stringbags dipped their wings in farewell and the light horse hastened north, and they came upon the scene just as the French destroyers were scurrying away after their final torpedo run. Lieutenant Commander Jim Buckley was the nominal strike commander, and he ignored the destroyers, roaring overhead to get at the real threat posed by Richelieu and Normandie. He would receive the DNC that day for his gallant attack, steady on in his attack run as he led the Swordfish in. LtC. Leslie “Bill” Baily and Telegraphist Donald Bunce would also get awards, posthumously. Their plane was the victim of the heavy Ack Ack fire thrown at them by the Richelieu, though they still got their torpedo in the water, and it was aimed well enough to score a hit.

Four Swordfish were shot down by the six twin 37mm AA guns on each battleship, a high cost in the action, but one that was heated enough to give the French second thoughts about continuing. When Richelieu was hit by the first wave of ten planes and Admiral Plancon saw yet another wave swooping low to attack, he gave the order to turn about. The big ships swept around in a wide arc, reversing their course and steering to avoid the deadly torpedoes.

Jim Buckley scored his hit on the Normandie, but her superb underwater protection, among the best on any ship in the world, prevented serious damage. Seeing that his pilots had turned back the French advance, Buckley ordered his mates to form up again after they had already launched their torpedoes, as if yet a third wave of planes was ready to follow in the last of 825 Squadron.

The French had seen all they wanted of these pesky Swordfish, with both ships hit and many near misses that were only narrowly avoided during tense moments on the bridge of Normandie. The cruisers Foch and Algiere matched the turn made by the battleships and the whole French formation headed north, leaving the British to lick their wounds. The Force De Raid had lost the light cruiser George Leygues, with Montcalm damaged and out of the action. Richelieu had taken two 15-inch hits and a 21 inch torpedo, but was still seaworthy and able to make 28 knots. Normandie had been unscratched by the British guns, and shrugged off a torpedo from Jim Buckley, but the jab was stiff enough to back her off.

For their part, the British destroyers had acquitted themselves well, finally chasing off the pesky French destroyers. Devonshire and Cumberland had minor damage, though Cumberland’s aft Y turret was out of action. Resolution had taken three hits and a torpedo, but Barham got the worst of the beating with four 15-inch gun hits, the loss of an aft turret, and two torpedoes to the body, both on the same side of the ship. She was listing badly and her Captain Cooke was counter-flooding to try and stabilize the ship.

Resolution moved ahead and took her in tow, and with the two heavy cruisers in attendance, the British squadron limped south, bound for Freetown. De Gaulle fumed when he received word that the planned landing at Dakar would have to be cancelled, and his troop convoy was turned about as well.

“Operation Menace” was over, or so it seemed, but the French also had one last parting shot to administer. Hidden beneath the sea, a doughty knight named Lancelot was peering through his periscope at the ponderous retreat of the British battleships. He quietly turned the nose of his sub, the Beveziers, and fired a pair of torpedoes at the trailing ship, like a wolf singling out a wounded water buffalo. They would both strike home on the badly damaged aft quarter of the ship, and it would be the final blow for old Barham that day.

Already foundering, Barham began to ship more water heavily aft, and the damage was so severe that it was soon evident the venerable old ship would be lost. Captain Cooke got the bulk of his crew off to be pulled out of the heartless sea by the British cruisers. The destroyer squadron churned up the area looking for Captain Lancelot and Beveziers, but to no avail. All things considered, the French Navy would soon realize it had scored its first victory against its old nemesis since the days of Napoleon, when a French squadron in the Indian Ocean, under Guy-Victor Duperré achieved a victory over a British Royal Navy squadron commanded by Captain Samuel Pym in August 1810.

Britain now concluded that it was facing a dangerous new foe with the French squadrons based at Casablanca and Dakar. This threat, and the shadow looming over the Rock of Gibraltar, now became the focus of the war. When First Sea Lord Dudley Pound learned of the setback, and the details of the battle were forwarded, he immediately began looking for a head to chop off.

The reinforcements Vichy France had sent to Dakar had played a prominent part in the battle. While the light cruisers Georges Leygues, and Montcalm were badly beaten, with the former sunk, three large destroyers that had joined Admiral Plancon’s task force had ended up causing considerable harm after finding their nerve. Pound insisted the ships should have been intercepted as they transited the straits of Gibraltar, and fixed blame for this failure on Admiral North, who was Somerville’s nominal commander at Gibraltar.

As to the conduct of the battle itself, there was much ballyhoo in the reports, and the actions of Christopher Wells were roundly praised. It was decided that his timely air strike had perhaps prevented the loss of the battleship Resolution as well. Wells had received no orders to mount his strike at that time, and did so on his own initiative. While Vice Admiral Cunningham received some criticism for his conduct of the battle, his head did not seem big enough to put on the chopping block. Instead the conduct of Wells was used as an example of proper initiative in time of dire threat, and became the whip the Admiralty used to flay Admiral North for failing to intercept the French reinforcements.

The word soon went forth from Whitehall: “Their Lordships cannot retain full confidence in an officer who fails in an emergency to take all prudent precautions without waiting for Admiralty instructions.” North was soon packing up his desk at Gibraltar, but before he could catch his plane home, other events of a much greater magnitude would overtake him.

 

* * *

 

News of the French victory echoed in the halls of Berlin, and Hitler’s last reservations over adoption of Operation Felix were put aside. “The French put their battleships to good use,” he crowed as he signed the final orders. Plans for the operation were then given the highest priority, and a meeting was convened with all the principle commanders to finalize matters. At that time, Admiral Raeder emphasized the importance of the Atlantic island outposts in the Azores, Cape Verdes and Canary Islands.

“These must be also considered as primary objectives,” he urged. “They should be one of our main blows against Britain.”

“And how do you propose we get the troops there, Raeder?” Hitler’s question was an obvious one. “You cannot even promise me command of the Denmark Strait! Must I go to the French for naval support in such an operation?”

Raeder reddened under the insult, though the truth behind it was the real sting. The French had just turned back a British operation aimed at Dakar. Might they not then provide the perfect covering force for the extended operations from Gibraltar to Spanish Morocco and the Atlantic Islands? He stiffened as he regarded the map on the conference room table, swallowing his pride and thinking strategically to give the best advice he could.

“What you say is obviously true, my Führer, but the French cannot conduct such an operation alone. The British have just suffered a humiliating defeat, and they will be keen to avenge it. I have little doubt that they are planning reprisals even as we speak. Certainly they will have their eyes on these Atlantic islands, even as we do. The seas around the Azores, for example, are a black hole. That region is too far away for them to provide air cover, and so it makes good hunting grounds for our U-boats. They will want to redress that.”

“Canaris?” Hitler looked at his intelligence chief now. “What do you know about this?”

“We have developed some information that the British have such operations planned. One is aimed at the Azores, under the code name “Accordion.” Another is aimed at the Cape Verde Islands under the code name “Sackbut.”

“Sackbut? What in the world is that?”

“I believe it refers to a musical instrument of the renaissance era, my Führer, a trombone.” Canaris pantomimed the instrument as he spoke. “The name literally means push-pull.”

“Yes? Well if the British have such operations planned then push may soon come to shove. I will direct the Luftwaffe to see to the possibility of air lifting troops to these islands. Once they get there it will be Raeder’s responsibility to keep them supplied.”

“In this the French forces at Casablanca and Dakar will prove most useful,” said Raeder. “Once the first phase of the Gibraltar operation is concluded, and that port is secure, then we will see what we can develop in the way of naval support for this extended thrust to the islands. Once secured, they will prove invaluable to our U-boat operations and force the British convoys to traverse the deep Atlantic. This is an operation that could decide the war. I will therefore consider it a top priority that heavy units of the Kriegsmarine break out for deployment to this region. We are working round the clock to prepare adequate facilities at Brest and Saint Nazaire, and also to move enough anti-aircraft defense to those ports to protect them from inevitable attack by the R.A.F.”

At this Goering spoke up, his cheeks red, eyes alight, for here was finally an operation his Luftwaffe could undertake with every hope of success. “Now that the direct attack on Britain has proved to be more challenging than we expected, I will be able to relocate fighter assets to protect these ports and support our Mediterranean strategy. I can provide one fighter wing and two bomber wings. Our initial air raid will be launched from Bordeaux. While this is underway the other fighters will transfer to bases near Seville.”

“Yes?” said Hitler, his eyes dark and unfriendly. “I hope you put them to better use here, Goering. Do not think I believe those inflated statistics you have sent me on British losses over England. I have it on good authority that your air offensive has been a disaster! That said, I can perhaps believe what you say now. The British have very little in the way of fighter defenses to oppose Operation Felix.”

“Now that we will have access to airfields in Spain, that will remain the case,” said Goering.

“Very well,” Hitler concluded. “With Gibraltar secure, we will continue the operation, occupy Spanish Morocco, and then immediately move troops by any means possible to the Western Sahara.”

“A preliminary appraisal of good basing areas has already been prepared,” said Goering. “Certainly we can gain access to the French bastions there at Casablanca and Dakar, and the Rio de Oro area south of the Canary Islands has been selected as good ground for an aerodrome.”

“What troops will be assigned to the operation?” Hitler looked at Keitel now, representing OKW and the Army.

“My Führer, the Sturmdivision is now ready for action. The 98th Regiment of First Mountain Division will be commanded by General Hubert Lanz, and his men are hardened veterans from South Bavaria. They have been joined by Count von Schwerin's motorized Infantry Regiment Grossdeutschland. The elite Brandenburgers will spearhead this attack on Gibraltar.”

“And what if the British land in Portugal?”

“Two mobile divisions will prevent that—the 16th Panzer and 16th Motorized.”

“And the islands under discussion?”

“Once Gibraltar is secured I have earmarked three infantry divisions for support and follow up. Goering has assured me he can move men by air if need be.”

“I have been collecting transport aircraft required,” said Goering. “The 22nd Luftland Air Landing Division performed admirably during the invasion of the Netherlands. They are the right men for the job. Infantry Regiment 16 of this division is ready for immediate transport to Spanish Morocco. It will be accompanied by the Division Reconnaissance Battalion, and Pioneer Battalion 22.”

“Reliable men,” said Keitel. “Once they are on the ground and the Royal Navy has been sent packing, then we can begin the follow up phase and move infantry to the African Coast. From there, we will be able to execute the planned operations against the Atlantic islands.

“And what is the planned start date?” Hitler tapped the table, an eagerness in his eyes now.

“September 16th,” said Goering.

“The sixteenth?” Raeder seemed surprised. “That is a full moon.”

“Of course,” Goering smiled. “My bombers need to see what they will be aiming at.”

“But the British will see your planes as well, Goering.”

The portly Air Marshall clucked, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Raeder. There is only one small airfield at Gibraltar, with no fighters assigned. I will smash the place in three hours.”

 

 

Chapter 23

 

Admiral Tovey sat at his desk with the reports on Operation Menace, a blight of typewritten pages that became a litany of excuses and finger pointing. He shook his head, again realizing how unprepared Britain was for the task of launching offensive operations that relied on combined forces from the army and navy. The operation had been problematic from the start. There was confusion from the very first, on the docks at Liverpool when the stevedores reported they had not adequately planned for the stowage of all the equipment and supplies required by the land forces. Truckloads of equipment were wheeled in, stowed, yet without any proper accounting of what was going on each ship. Cargo vessels were stuffed to the gills when it was found that tonnage remained on the docks that had been allocated to ships that were too full to take on even one more crate… And on it went.

In typical British understatement that Tovey knew carried much more weight than it seemed on the surface, the Admiralty had noted that “the present organization for combined operations is not satisfactory.” If the German planners knew just how unsatisfactory Britain’s combined operations and sealift capabilities were in the late summer of 1940, they might have been even more assertive. It was not surprising then that early consideration of the Atlantic islands Raeder had been keen to occupy came to a lukewarm recommendation that they should not be occupied, unless it was believed that the enemy was about to do so.

The troops assigned to the failed Operation Menace were returned to Freetown, Sierra Leone, arriving there on the 20th of August, 1940, along with the Royal Navy covering force.

“Well Mister Brind, It appears that we are going to have to spread the butter a little thinner in the weeks ahead. With Barham gone and Resolution getting ready to limp home to Rosyth for repairs we’re no better off now than we were two months ago, even with the new battleships coming off trials and ready for duty.”

“That is regrettably true, sir,” said Brind.

“And look here—this late directive from the Admiralty expresses dissatisfaction that our Denmark Strait patrols are to be handed over to untried elements of the Russian Navy—that is exactly what it says here.” He handed Brind the note. “Has anyone informed their Lordships that those untried elements were largely responsible for turning back the German Operation Valkyrie?”

Brind gave him a long look. “You’ve seen this Russian ship up close, Admiral. What do you think?”

Tovey raised an eyebrow. “A marvelous vessel, to be sure. The ship has weapons and technology aboard that would make you blush with embarrassment, Daddy.” Tovey knew he had to be very discrete here, as much as he might want to confide in Brind. For the moment, however, he had sent a quiet message to Alan Turing at BP instructing him to secure the contents of the Geronimo files, as they were now being called, and await further notice, and to say nothing whatsoever about any of it until he had heard directly from Tovey.

The Admiral knew he was now sailing in dangerous waters, concealing from his own government, and the Admiralty itself, the true nature of the Russian ship, and the evidence that had apparently already been gathered about it by the Navy… in another world, another time line! It was something he still struggled to admit to himself in his own mind, and he knew that he could not hope to ever breathe a word of what he knew to men like the First Sea Lord, Dudley Pound. Not knowing what to do about it, he opted for secrecy as the Russians had urged him, but there was a lonesome edge to that watch, like a man standing alone on the last wall, with the awful weight and responsibility for the fate of his nation now resting squarely on his shoulders.

“The Russians can hold their own in the Denmark Strait. I’m convinced of that, and will make every effort to convince the Admiralty as well. We’ll watch the passages east of Iceland, and see that Force H at Gibraltar has what it needs to get back up on its feet.”

“There was more in the basket than Cunningham took with him,” said Brind. “If Rodney and Nelson had been along, I wonder if the French would have been willing to lock horns with us.”

“Indeed, but they were well east covering that supply run out to Malta. I’m afraid that is an operation we will have to repeat time and again, and at some risk.”

“The Italians haven’t had much stomach for a fight,” said Brind.

“They may take heart after seeing what the French just accomplished,” Tovey admonished. “Now… What to do with the forces allocated to Menace? Resolution will have to be brought home.”

“Of course, sir.” Brind was looking over the list of those ships. “Cumberland took a knock as well, sir. She’s missing a couple teeth with the loss of Y turret.”

“Then get her to Rosythe. We’ll leave Australia and Delhi at Freetown in her place. The other cruisers and the F-Class destroyers should return to Force H. What about the ground element? We’ve got a Royal Marine brigade and all of De Gaulle’s force at Freetown now.”

“Admiral Keyes seems ready to have another go,” said Brind, referring to the former Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes, who had come out of retirement to take an appointment as the Director of Combined Operations—the man who had been responsible for the overall planning for Operation Menace.

“So he wants to take another swing, does he? Well he had best get his stumps, bails and creases in order when he draws up the field plan next time around.” Tovey was referring to the layout of a cricket field, thinking the whole operation was nothing more than a proverbial ‘sticky wicket,’ when the ball might take an unaccountable bounce on wet ground.

“The Prime Minister suggested a coup de main against Casablanca,” said Brind. “Keyes is all gung ho for the venture. I read the report this morning, sir. Here are his exact words.” Brind lifted a page from the pile on his desk and read: “If the enterprise is confided to us we will get on with it full blast. If I have the responsibility, you may be certain that it will be planned to the last detail, and you will not hear anything about difficulties, hazards, and potential dangers.”

Tovey smiled. “Confidence is one thing, Daddy, but reckless abandon quite another. We shall have to take the full measure of difficulties, hazards and potential dangers every step of the way now. We have no leeway for further mistakes.”

“Well Keyes says he has over 2500 first class men down at Freetown now, led by excellent officers spoiling to fight. De Gaulle is stuck there with his troops as well and the two forces won’t like sharing billets there for very long.”

“They need not worry on that account,” said Tovey. “I have no doubt the Germans will find work for them very soon. This talk of an operation against Gibraltar freezes my blood. I’m going over to Bletchley Park to see about the intelligence personally, but in the meantime Force H is light two battleships. What can we possibly send them, Brind?”

“A good question, sir. The entire battlecruiser squadron is on crutches, and we won’t get Hood back until next year at this rate. Renown and Repulse are somewhat better off, but will still need long weeks in the shipyards.”

“So that leaves us with only Invincible, King George V and Prince of Wales here,” said Tovey. “Somerville will just have to get on with what he has: Valiant, Nelson and Rodney. As for Cunningham at Alexandria, he still has Malaya, Warspite and Queen Elizabeth. We’re stretched thinner now than ever, unless we pull Revenge and Ramillies off convoy escort duty, and I see no alternative to that now.”

“Agreed, sir. Shall I cut the orders?

“Make it so.”

“Where to you want the old girls, Admiral?”

“Bring them home. If nothing else they can watch the waters east of the Faeroe Islands. That leaves us only the Iceland passage to worry about.” Tovey sighed, feeling very weary, but knowing he had yet another long flight to London ahead of him. “I’m off to Bletchley Park, and I shall meet up with fleet units by jumping a destroyer at Holyhead as usual.”

Tovey had every reason to be worried about Gibraltar. All through the Kingdom the grey heads were coming to the conclusion that the Rock was in a very precarious situation now. No formal announcement of Spanish cooperation with Germany had been made, but rumors were circulating at Whitehall, and bits and pieces of intelligence were beginning to paint a grim picture. German units were drilling on the Spanish Frontier, and undercover men in Spain had observed road clearing operations and repair work being done on bridges and causeways.

Churchill had been casting about for some remedy should the base be lost. Some had suggested an operation against Oran or Casablanca. Oran was discarded as being too vulnerable and with an unsuitable harbor. Casablanca was already considered, as Tovey knew, but was also deemed too vulnerable to enemy air attack, and requiring too much in the way of ground forces to defend against any concerted effort pushed down from Spanish Morocco. The Atlantic islands also glittered now as potential wergild should Spain turn her back on Britain. Could the islands be seized without creating a diplomatic mess with Portugal, or forcing Franco’s hand? Churchill expressed his attitude very simply one day, his pragmatic logic cutting through the problem easily enough.

“All my reflections about the danger of our ships lying under Spanish howitzers in Gibraltar leads me continually to the Azores,” he had written to Whitehall. “Must we always wait until a disaster has occurred? I do not think it follows that our occupation temporarily, and to forestall the enemy use of the Azores, would necessarily precipitate German intervention. Moreover, once we have an alternative base to Gibraltar, how much do we care whether the Peninsula is overrun or not? I am increasingly attracted by the idea of simply taking the Azores one fine morning out of the blue, and explaining everything to Portugal after.”

When Tovey arrived in London the following day, a plan to do exactly what Churchill was proposing materialized out of the blue and landed in his briefcase. It had been in the works for some time under the code name “Accordion,” but for security reasons it had recently been renamed “Alloy.” Three battalions under Brigadier General Morford had been detailed to seize the Azores, and another two battalions under Brigadier General Campbell would occupy the Cape Verde Islands under code name “Shrapnel.”

As for the valuable Canary Islands, they were seen as a possible prime target of the enemy, and also as the island group that might offer Britain the most easily defended port facilities should they lose Gibraltar. A plan was also mounted here under the codename “Chutney,” but it was soon changed to “Puma,” and Churchill commented that “one wanted the biggest possible cat to catch a canary.”

Tovey would now find out exactly how the cricket field he would have to play upon might soon look. Planners for these operations, most notably Admiral Sir Roger Keyes, were eager to begin. “Procrastination is the thief of time,” said Keyes, “and time is half a victory, which, being lost, is irrevocable.” Tovey was presented with a list of merchant ships, oilers and troop liners available, and asked to provide two aircraft carriers, two battleships, two heavy cruisers and at least eighteen destroyers.

He took the news like a bleeding man being asked to donate blood, but in the end he agreed that Ramillies and Revenge could be pulled off convoy duty as he had already decided. He could either assign Ark Royal and Illustrious to the operation, or bring Furious out of her berth at the Clyde, and pull the enterprising Captain Wells and HMS Glorious from their present duty. In the end this was what he decided to do, still wanting carriers available for the watch on northern seas. Admiral Pound agreed, and Tovey was off to Bletchley Park, his briefcase just a little fatter with these reports and plans, and his resources just a little thinner.

It wasn’t until his car pulled up at the estate, and he saw Alan Turing fiddling with his bicycle gears, that he allowed himself to smile. This time he was the one about to spring the big news on the intelligence master. Let’s see if Turing can decipher this business about the Russian ship when I tell him what I know now, thought Tovey.

“Good to see you again, Admiral, though I wish the news in the intelligence circuits wasn’t so gloomy.”

“I can certainly agree with that,” said Tovey. “Anything more on the German buildup in Southern France?”

“We’re getting some bits and pieces decoded. The two motorized divisions we’ve identified are now on standby notice, and this might interest you, sir, the Germans have moved one of their big ships from the eastern Baltic to Kiel.”

“The Hindenburg?”

“I’m afraid so. The ship has apparently just completed trials. We’ve decoded an order indicating the Germans are bringing their fleet to a higher level of readiness again. Graf Zeppelin has moved to an anchorage off Oslo, and a few of their newer ships were assigned to that task force.”

“Is the Admiralty aware of this?”

“They will be shortly, sir. I believe the dispatches went out this morning, but you have it right from the horse’s mouth now.” Turing smiled.

“I must say it’s the last thing I’d care to hear about. I’ve just come from a meeting with Admirals Pound and Keyes. They seem to be intent on teeing up an operation against the Atlantic islands. It’s all this worry over Franco, Spanish neutrality and Gibraltar.”

“Those worries may be well founded, sir.” Turing had no comfort for Tovey this day. “We have now identified the code word for a planned German attack against Gibraltar as Operation Felix.”

“Any indication as to timing?”

“We’re watching, but the general consensus is that they might not go forward with such a plan until the next favorable moon. That could be any day now, as the moon is waning and will be dark on the 31st. If nothing develops, then the next window would be September 30th to October 3.”

“Let us hope nothing does develop in the short run,” said Tovey. “We’re playing for as much time as we can get now, what with so many ships laid up for repairs.”

“I saw the reports on Operation Menace, sir. Not very encouraging.”

“Indeed, well they’ve just handed me another briefcase full of the same sort. Coincidentally, those plans call for operations during that same period, September 30th as the moon wanes to black. You never heard that from me, Mister Turing.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tovey seemed to linger on an inner thought for a moment. Then he fixed Turing with a steady eye. “What I am now about to discuss will fall firmly within that same category. In fact, you will be the first and only person privy to the matter.”

Turing raised an eyebrow, proud to be so trusted, but also realizing what this must be about. “I assume it pertains to the envelope you asked me to send?”

Tovey smiled.

 

Chapter 24

 

“It does indeed,” said Tovey. “I shared those photographs with the Russians in a very private meeting recently, and I must tell you that they were as flummoxed as we both were over the matter. Yet that was only half of it. They pointedly admitted that the photographs were authentic.”

The interval of silence harbored something quite profound, yet both men now seemed to know that they were of the same mind. “Mister Turing,” said Tovey. “You made a telling point when I last left you, suggesting that no one could have anticipated or predicted the events depicted in those photographs, and that it would therefore be a complete waste of time for us to consider the documents you uncovered were part of some deliberate deception. It would be nonsensical.”

“Agreed, sir.”

“Well, this is precisely what the Russians believed, and more, their Admiral indicated that those photographs depicted events that he personally lived through!”

“Yet those dates are in the future,” said Turing.

“Quite so, and this was leading to a very alarming conclusion.”

It was that overwhelming question that he had run through his mind on the verse of T.S. Eliot…. Oh, do not ask what is it, let us go and make our visit. This brought him to the tour of the Russian ship.

“At that point the Russians invited me to visit their ship, and what I will now tell you must be held at the highest level of secrecy. No one else will know it, and I mean no one—not the Admiralty, not even the Prime Minister…. The real thunder comes now, Mister Turing. I was told that the photographs are authentic, and when I discretely pointed out the obvious misdating on the labels, I was told those dates were also accurate.” He let that stand, scratching his nose uncomfortably, but Turing simply nodded.

“You do not seemed surprised to hear that,” said Tovey.

“Oh, I find it earthshaking, but I suppose I’ve had a good long while to consider the matter. This echoes the very same logic I applied to the situation when I first uncovered those files. If they were all fabrications, that led to one mystery, as to why anyone would be producing such material. If, however, they were authentic, dates and all, then we had hold of another cat by the tail, and a rather ferocious one.”

“Well I think it may have sunk its claws into the both of us,” said Tovey. “The question now is how could this be possible? That was, of course, what the Russians asked. They were very disturbed by those photographs. One, in particular, was supposedly taken just after this Admiral Volsky and I had concluded a meeting—the very same meeting referenced in those reports you found in that box. Yet it was the date and time of the meeting that was truly astounding. The man claimed it occurred on August 17, 1942.”

“Indeed…”

“Do you take that with a grain of salt or are you inclined to believe such a statement?”

This was the heart of it, and Turing could see that Tovey was obviously leading him to the front door on something here, so he leapt ahead and rang the bell.

“Admiral, as impossible as it may sound, I must tell you that I am willing to take this Russian Admiral at his word. Because I have already worked out the only possible explanation for all of this, and I think you are about to confirm my own judgment on the matter.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes sir. You see, for any of this to be true, the photographs, the reports, the testimony of these Russian officers, one fact, and one fact only must also be true, and that is that these men, and their ship, have come from another time—a future time. It’s the only way this Russian Admiral could claim he met with you in 1942. Yes?”

Tovey smiled. “You have it exactly,” and he seemed very relieved, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “Now then… As to this ship I was invited to tour, that was the icing on this little cake we’ve had in the oven. You will be amazed at what I tell you next. I was shown things on that ship that boggle the mind. I understand that you have designed some unusual equipment here to aid in your decryption effort.”

“Yes, we’ve developed what you might call an analog computer of sorts. That is, in fact, what the German Enigma machine is. I’ve spent some time thinking in that direction.”

“Your Universal Turing Machine?” Tovey smiled.

“You know about it?”

“I read your paper on it shortly after we met. Very interesting work, Mister Turing. Well now… and I mean no disrespect here, but it seems the Russians have taken your work to heart. I was shown devices on that ship that make all our computing machines look ridiculous. They use electronic machines to control every aspect of their operations—navigation, radars, fire control for their weapons, communications—all of it. While I cannot say I am up to speed on all our latest technologies, I knew enough to realize I was seeing things that were entirely beyond our present capabilities, things that would take us decades to develop on our own. Well, these Russians told me flat out they had come from the year 2021, a statement any man alive today would dismiss as pure malarkey. Stating the impossible, is one thing. I suppose any man capable of telling a straight faced lie could do so, and I’ve heard more than my fair share of tall tales over the years. But seeing these devices, these incredible machines they have on that ship, well, it was very convincing. In fact, assuming this ship had come from some unseen future was the only thing that made sense.”

“I can only imagine,” said Turing. “Perhaps you might arrange a little tour of that ship for me as well. I would be most interested to see what you are describing here.”

“I have no doubt. It was all quite a revelation—truly life changing. Ever since that ship turned up off Cape Farewell I have been haunted by the feeling that I knew what it was, and now these men have confirmed that was so. Do you recall what you said to me at our last meeting, that one of the envelopes in that box revealed who the culprits were behind those photos and reports?”

“Envelope nine,” said Turing quietly.

“Yes, well these men confirmed that as well. It was you and I, Turing. We were the ones who gathered that material together and stowed it away, and it was all very hush hush. These men lived through those years, and everything in that box is a testament to that fact. The only question they had for me was how we possibly came by that material, here, in 1940, and well before any of those events happened.”

“That is certainly something quite frightening when I think about it,” said Turing. “It is a real anomaly of the first order.”

“The Russians thought the same thing.”

“And I suppose they immediately wondered how that material could be in our possession, sir.”

“They did indeed. Have you given that any thought?”

“A good deal of thought,” said Turing. “This may sound odd, but I have a favorite watch. Why, it’s right here in my pocket, but a month or so ago it vanished. Of course I simply thought I had misplaced it, and looked everywhere as one might, but it was nowhere to be found. Then, as I was shuffling through that box to select the photographs you asked me to deliver, there it was.”

“Your watch?”

“Precisely!”

“In that box? Are you sure you didn’t leave it there by chance?”

“I’m quite certain that was not the case. It was like a missing tooth, and quite gone, until that very day when you were last here. Yet how could it have hopped out of my pocket and into that box—a box sealed off with thick masking tape, and buried under so much dust that it looked like it had sat there undisturbed for… well, for decades?”

“Quite strange,” said Tovey.

“Eerily so! An anomaly. That’s what I have come to call it. I’m a very meticulous man, Admiral. Some say I can be a bit absent minded at times, but they have no idea what is actually going on inside this noggin of mine. When I set my mind to solving a problem, it becomes all consuming for me. So you will please believe me when I say that I was able to work out the very last day when I could recall having possession of this watch, as I remember using the stop-watch feature to time the revolutions on my bicycle and plot out the mean time between incidents of gear failure—the chain tends to slip after a good ride, and that was the day I rode into town to do a bit of shopping. I even found the receipt from the store, and so the date is quite certain.”

“I see,” said Tovey, not exactly following what Turing was leading up to here.

“Yes, I worked it all out, then noted the date on the receipt. The 12th of June, sir. That was the day my watch went missing, and I cannot recall laying eyes on it again until I found it by complete chance in that file box.”

“The 12th of June?” Tovey found himself searching his recollection for anything significant that he could hang on that date, but it was all a blur. Thankfully Turing had more clarity.

“Yes, sir. That was the very day in June when we first receive the reports from HX-49 regarding that ship.” Turing raised his eyebrows, waiting for a reaction to register on the Admiral’s face.

“You mean to say you believe the appearance of that ship had something to do with… Forgive me, Mister Turing, but I’m not quite sure I follow you.”

“I’m not certain of it, Admiral, but facts are stubborn things. Isn’t that what the American statesman John Adams asserted? Yes, stubborn things indeed. All I know now is that my watch vanished the very same day that ship appeared, and it ended up in that box—the box named for that very ship—the Geronimo file.”

Now Tovey nodded, suddenly intrigued by Turing’s deduction.

“Very astute reasoning,” he said. Might it be mere happenstance?”

“Possibly, but the coincidence is somewhat unnerving.”

“And what do you conclude from this?”

“A possible answer as to how that box can now exist here—in 1940, and contain evidence of things that have not yet transpired.”

“Things that might never transpire,” Tovey put in. “The Russians were of that mind. Those photographs clearly depicted our relationship as adversarial, and the Russian Admiral confirmed that. The report you gave me of a meeting on Las Palomas Island was supposedly arranged to work out a truce. Yet now, with their appearance here in our time, they believe that none of those events will occur.”

“Quite amazing,” said Turing. “Well I find it very odd that my watch should turn up in that box… as if I had put it there myself and forgotten about it, but I assure you, that is not the case, at least not in this year. In fact, I’ve rummaged about in that archive many times, and I have never stumbled across this file box before. That in itself proves nothing, but I am beginning to suspect that box turned up on that very same day, dust, cobwebs, and all.”

“What? On June 12th?”

Turing nodded in the affirmative.

“Well that would be quite a little mystery, wouldn’t it? Yet I suppose no more astounding than what we have already learned. But why, Turing? Why would your watch suddenly go missing like that?”

“It’s really quite simple, Admiral. Assuming the material in that box does indeed come from a future time, then I must assume that everything I found their did so as well.” He gave Tovey a knowing look.

“You mean your watch as well?”

“Exactly. It is already apparent that I was instrumental in gathering all that material, so I can only suppose that I must have deliberately placed my watch in that box. Assuming that, this is my theory. That box, and everything in it, is a remnant from that future time, the time this Russian Admiral claimed he lived through. When that ship appeared here, it must have dragged that remnant along in its wake. Don’t ask me how or why this is so, but it is what I have come to deduce. Time was making a little delivery, and all was in order except one item—my watch. You see, nothing in that box existed here at the moment it might have appeared—except my watch! That item could not come to this time from the future as it already existed here, and that would be quite a little paradox. And so, to resolve the matter, one of the variables had to be cancelled out. My watch goes missing in the here and now, and then mysteriously turns up in that box!” Turing smiled, folding his arms with a satisfied look on his face, as if he had just completed a perfectly sound mathematical proof.

“Rather astounding,” said Tovey. “Well… Not to dispute your theory, Turing, but the Russians suggested something else.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The Russian Admiral seemed to rely a great deal on his young Captain to try and sort things out. The man seemed very sharp. The two of you should meet one day. That aside, this man Fedorov suggested that the only possible explanation as to how those photographs could exist would be if they were brought here by someone.”

“Brought here? By who?”

“Therein lies the rub,” said Tovey. “The Russian Admiral hinted they knew of other men who had traveled in time. He called them dark angels, and said there are dangerous men at large in this world—possibly from the future. We shall have to keep a sharp watch, and possibly put your machines to work on that little mystery. Yes?”

Turing nodded gravely. “Even so, Admiral, my theory still remains viable. No one could bring an object from the future if it already existed here. That would be very inconvenient. How could the second watch be accounted for? Something would have to happen to one watch or another. The watch from the future would have to be left behind, or in this case I think Time found a more elegant solution—the watch that existed here was simply moved.”

“Most alarming, Mister Turing. All of this gives me the shivers, and the worst of it is this…. If these men have come from the future, then they have knowledge that can be decisive to the outcome of this war. They must know how it all turned out, and of course I asked this question. The answer I received was equally disturbing. They told me that events they have observed here are out of order. Things are happening that never occurred in the history they know—my flagship being a perfect example. I was told it never existed in the world these men came from, and that was the least of it. They said their homeland was not divided in civil war as it remains today. It was one unified Soviet state.”

“Remarkable,” said Turing.

“Sadly, these men have come to believe that it was their earlier intervention, the events documented in that box, that may have been responsible for these changes.”

“Is that why they have come here, sir? To set matters right?”

“No, Mister Turing, they told me they tried to re-set the table, but the china is so badly broken that it came to no avail. In fact, they told me their movement in time was unintentional, quite by accident—something to do with a mishap in their ship’s propulsion system.”

“Amazing,” Turing was riveted by all of this. “Yet they seem to have bounced about a good deal, sir. The Geronimo file documents their movement from 1941 through 1942, and now they are here. Did you ask about that?”

“There were a thousand questions in my mind,” said Tovey, “Each one crowded out the last, and there was too little time for answers. I did press gently on the matter of the outcome of this war, and though they seemed reluctant to disclose information on that, I was given to hope that things might take a turn for the better.”

“Possibly,” said Turing. “They may hope as much, even as we do. But it could be that they now realize what I have already concluded.”

“And what is that?”

“If what you say is true, and events here have been altered because of this ship, then they may not really know how things resolve.”

Tovey nodded. “They did say something to that effect. The Russian Admiral told me he had already seen one possible outcome of all this, and it was rather bleak and foreboding. He said this war would not be the last, and that was a rather difficult thing to hear. Then he said the only way we will know how it all turns out is to live it all through, one day at a time.”

“I see….” Turing seemed very thoughtful now. “Well Admiral, we seem to be marked men, you and I. Our initials and fingerprints are all over that box, and just as you say you have been haunted by the feeling you knew all of this, I have felt the very same way. It could be that more than my pocket watch was shuffled about when that ship appeared here on the 12th of June. Our lives seem to have been changed as well. How very strange it feels. One fine morning you simply wake up a different man, with memories in your head you take to be dreams and mere imagination—but they are not dreams. No. They are real, as all of this is real—that box, that ship, Geronimo. Things have changed, Admiral. You feel it, I feel it and know it to be so. It isn’t just our own fate I speak of now. The whole world is caught up in the maelstrom, and you and I, well we are standing right in the eye of the storm.”

 

 

 

 

Part IX

 

Fimbulwinter

 

“When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?”

 

—William Shakespeare: Richard III, 2.3

 

Chapter 25

 

Kirov was out to sea, cruising in the Denmark Strait after setting up the Ice Watch with an Oko panel radar team at Hornsrandir, the northernmost cape of Iceland in the Westfjord region. Fedorov coordinated the mission, seeing to security and the movement of adequate supplies to the outpost. The Americans will have a similar outpost here in the future, he thought as he finished up and returned to the ship on the KA-40. Yet the moment he was back aboard Kirov his mind returned to the impossible news he had received. Troyak had succeeded! His Marines got through to Ilanskiy and demolished that back stairway—but how? How was that possible given what Kamenski had told him?

He recalled his words from their earlier conversation, the discussion that was so daunting that it had prompted Admiral Volsky to take a sip from his vodka flask.

“Don’t hold your breath, Mister Fedorov,” Kamenski had said quietly, as he took another long slow drag on his pipe.

“Sir?”

“Well… If your Sergeant Troyak destroys that railway inn in 1940, then how in the world did you go down those steps in 1942, to eventually end up here and get the idea for this little mission? For that matter, how did Volkov go down those stairs in 2021?”

But he did it! Kamenski was wrong. Troyak had reported mission accomplished. To put it more bluntly, he radioed that he had blown that stairway to hell. That sent Fedorov off to the bridge to check their present situation and see if there was any unusual news on the airwaves. Were things still the same? Out here on the sea, isolated in the ice fog of the Denmark Strait, they would have seen nothing if it changed.

The first thing he checked on were the two British cruisers Admiral Tovey had assigned to this watch, placing them directly under Admiral Volsky’s command. He soon learned that they were still there, Sheffield and Southampton, on what they believed were forward radar picket duties. Shiny Sheff, as the Sheffield was called, had been one of the first British ships fitted with the Type 79Y early warning radar, effective out to about 50 kilometers.

The two cruisers were still there, right on station as Kirov’s own radar had them. So nothing must have changed, thought Fedorov. Nikolin also confirmed that news of the Orenburg Federation was again on the wires, with renewed fighting reported at the Siberian city of Omsk. Apparently the “Omsk Accord” as it had been called earlier, had fallen apart. So if Orenburg remained, and the civil war continued, then Volkov must have taken his trip down those stairs. Sergei Kirov’s name was also prominent in the news items that continued to follow the treaty now being signed with England.

Fedorov now wondered if he had been wrong about the importance of those stairs. What had happened? How could the history here remain inviolate? Were the changes so subtle that they had not yet been noticed? He could not help but think that Troyak’s mission had created some great contradiction, and was again dogged by the feeling that it would be his fault if it did. Kamenski’s voice returned again.

“Yes, the edge of paradox is a very dangerous precipice to hike along. We must be very careful here. I cannot say how that problem might resolve itself, Mister Fedorov, but something tells me that time would find a way. Yes. Mother Time does not wish to have her skirts ruffled any more than necessary. She would find a way.”

Time must have found a way, thought Fedorov. But how? If Sergei Kirov was still safely alive and in power in the Soviet Union, then he must have used that stairway as before, and in 1942. If Ivan Volkov was alive now then he must have also used it safely in 2021.

Then the answer struck him like a wet fish in the face, so obviously simple that he was surprised he had not considered it earlier. Troyak may have just destroyed the stairway, but he obviously did not destroy the time rift itself! So the only solution to his problem was that someone must have rebuilt those stairs. Could this be done?

This had to be the answer. The inn was restored, sometime between this moment and that date in 1942 when he first discovered the rift. Then the darker implications of what he had concluded struck him. Was the restoration done by someone who knew what they were about—someone who knew that rift in time existed? If so, who might that person be? He realized that any number of people might have inadvertently gone up or down those stairs, and now he wondered if that inn had a history of these events, the people who may have boarded there and unwittingly stumbled through that rift as he did. Some may have returned to their correct time, even as Fedorov returned when he retreated back up those stairs. Yet others may have been trapped in some other time, like Volkov.

Then he realized that there was a record of everyone who had ever boarded at that inn—the guest register! Boarders would sign in on a routine basis, and there might also be billing records. Did the innkeepers know about the strange effects on that stairway? Could they be the ones behind this restoration, or was it someone else?

That thought led him to one dark name that might be on the list of possible suspects, and one of the primary reasons he sent Troyak on that mission in the first place—Vladimir Karpov. The threat that stairway represented may have only been temporarily forestalled by Troyak’s mission. Yet there might be no way he would ever know who rebuilt the inn, or when they might do this, which would make any future operation difficult to plan.

Yes, Mother Time had found a way, and he could at least know that he was not responsible for creating another insoluble paradox with his mission plan. That thought gave him little solace.

“Admiral on the bridge!”

Fedorov turned to see that Volsky had returned to take up his post after a long eight hour shift below decks.

“Good day, sir,” he said, but Volsky took one look at his face and knew something was wrong.

“You do not look so happy today, Mister Fedorov. Is something troubling you?”

“No sir… I was just thinking how we will recover the mission team.” Fedorov did not want to burden the Admiral again with more talk of paradox and time theory that neither of them really understood in the first place.

“Ah,” said Volsky. “I have sent a message to Admiral Golovko on this while you were busy setting up the Ice Watch team. The Narva has safely returned to Murmansk, refueled, and is already on its way to rendezvous with us here. Along the way they can reconnoiter to see if the Germans are up to anything.”

“A very good idea, sir.”

“Yes, and how was the deployment of the Oko panel? Any problems?”

“No sir. We laid in a month’s supply of food, fuel and other items for the six man team there. They are on-line now and feeding data to our main radar display. Contacts will display on our navigation board in blue.”

“Is there adequate security? We must not allow this technology to fall into the wrong hands, which is why I hesitated to release it to the British unless necessary.”

“The Ice Watch is very isolated, sir, and the team would certainly see anything coming by air or sea in time to warn us. I’ve also given some thought to the risk of sharing technology. Perhaps we were too paranoid earlier with the fear that nothing must ever fall into enemy hands.”

“Oh? Why do you say this, Fedorov?”

“Well sir, there is simply no way any of our technology could be reverse engineered in this era. Think about it for a moment. Take the Oko panel radar set, for example. It uses a powerful 6m² radar antenna with 360° azimuthal coverage. The processing power in a single unit exceeds that of all computational devices that will be made on planet earth through the 1980s! It has integrated micro-circuitry, millions of transistors, and wafer thin digital circuits, exotic materials and other components that no power on earth could even begin to duplicate until the 1990s. The technology could be used by men from this era trained to do so, but there is no conceivable way it could ever be reverse engineered or duplicated. In many ways the same can be said of our missile technology. Our engineers could certainly improve existing models of rocketry here, but face it, you could gather the very best of the missile scientists of this era into one project, and they could not reproduce a functioning Moskit-II if they worked round the clock for ten years! It simply requires advances in too many technological areas. Our computer technology is quantum leaps above anything of this era, and it is an essential integrated component in all of our systems. Computers handle all radar and infrared detection, inertial navigation, guidance and targeting. Without them the missile is just a very efficient and deadly unguided bomb, and no power on earth could ever duplicate our computers in this era. It simply could not be done.”

“Now that you explain it this way, I must agree with you. In fact, one day the shoe may be on the other foot and we may wish these people could manufacture just a little more 30mm ammunition for our AR-62 close in defense guns.”

“That might be possible, but all our missiles and munitions benefit from decades of advanced metallurgy. We might get a 30mm round from them that we could fire, but certainly not with the performance of our own munitions.”

“Which is why we must be very stingy about using them,” Volsky admonished, though he knew Fedorov would be the last to use unwarranted force in battle.”

Nikolin interrupted them, saying he was receiving a radio message from Operations Chief Orlov on the Airship Narva. In the next few minutes they learned that the Germans had finally stirred again from their cold northern outposts on the Norwegian coast. The Narva was flying high, and could not recognize exactly what they were seeing, but they had spotted two large ships out from Narvik and on a course that might take them very near the Island of Jan Mayen.

“There’s one more thing, sir,” said Nikolin. “I’ve been monitoring long range signals traffic and pattern filtering. The volume has taken a sudden increase, and when I listened in I discovered those letter sets again.”

“Letter sets?”

“Yes sir. A stream of letters in sets of five, and quite of bit of that now.”

“Do you have any of it?”

“I printed out this latest message, but there’s a good deal more.” Nikolin handed Fedorov the message, and he noted the telltale letter sets that indicated this was a special message being sent in the German Naval Enigma code. NVXCO TYQUY BTURS OVWPD VPVKZ UPZGH, and on it went. Fedorov wasted no time getting to his pad device with the Enigma decoding application. Using that day’s date, he soon established that his rotor position should be set at IV-V-III, with a rotor start position KXU and the rings set at VQG. Ten letter pairs were also set on the plugboard, and when he decoded the message he soon had his answer. It read: ‘Activate Plan Fimbulwinter, Stage I, with Alfargruppe, effective immediately. Fleet commander to execute Stage II, with Jötnargruppe, at his discretion. Plan Felix to follow.” The Admiral was watching him closely, noting his intense concentration with some admiration.

“Trouble, Mister Fedorov?”

“What else? These are fleet movement orders, Admiral. These words here are ship units being ordered to sea—a major fleet movement, sir. The shocking thing about it is that there are only two ships on that list which might have been active at this time in the war, Scharnhorst and Bismarck. Unless they are code names, there are others listed that I’ve never even heard of. They must be code for something else, because the Germans could not possibly have this many ships operational in 1940.”

“I suppose we should not be surprised, Fedorov. Admiral Tovey has a new ship. Yes? So the Germans may have been busy in the shipyards as well.”

“Indeed sir. But it’s this last word here that I’m worried about.” He pointed to his application screen. “Felix.”

“A new German battleship?”

“No sir. The battleships on the list are Bismarck and Hindenburg, more than enough to worry about. But this last word comes later, after a series of movement orders. It refers to an operation name—Operation Felix. That was the German plan to attack Gibraltar! But it never happened in the real war.”

 “The real war, Mister Fedorov? This one isn’t convincing enough for you?”

Fedorov forced a smile at that. “This would indicate a major point of divergence, sir. At this time the Germans had three options for prosecuting the war. One was to strike directly at Great Britain with Operation Seelöwe. That plan was discarded when Goering failed to break the R.A.F. and secure airspace over the Channel. The second option was to open hostilities against Soviet Russia with Operation Barbarossa, but that did not happen until 1941. The third was to pursue a Mediterranean strategy, striking indirectly at Britain by driving a wedge right through the heart of her empire. Remember our discussion when we were down there, Admiral?”

“How could I forget it? I still get headaches from that fall I took.”

“Yes, well there are three places Britain needs to hold to have any chance of prevailing in the Mediterranean and eventually knocking Italy out of the war. Suez in Egypt is the heart of their operation in the east, Malta is the lynchpin in the center, and Gibraltar the key outpost in the west. It’s the gateway to all future offensive plans there—Operation Torch, the landings in North Africa, the Tunisian campaign and invasion of Sicily and Italy—these all depend on Gibraltar standing as a viable British base of operations. Up until now the war in the West has followed a fairly familiar course. The campaigns in France and Norway have turned out much as they did in our history. But if Gibraltar falls we could be looking at a radical change in the entire course of the war. It would have to mean that Spain is either invaded by Germany or that it becomes an active belligerent against England. If this is so the Germans will have access to ports from Tromso to Gibraltar.”

“These German ships plan to sail all that distance? That does not make good sense to me.”

“Agreed. But I don’t think that is their objective. These orders simply indicate the Germans are planning to put battlegroups out into the Atlantic. Operation Felix would be undertaken by the army, but a sudden sortie by the Kriegsmarine like this would certainly strain British resources. It would mean Admiral Tovey could not send reinforcements to Force H at Gibraltar.”

“That at least makes sense. Does it say where the Germans are planning to break out?”

“No specific locations are mentioned, but there are references to rendezvous points. The names for battlegroups appear to be Jötnar and Alfar. I looked those up. They refer to giants and elves in Norse mythology. And the whole operation is being called Fimbulwinter.”

“Codes within codes.”

“It appears so, sir, but I do not have to think too hard to interpret this. Fimbulwinter was the name of a harsh north wind that comes before the end of the world. Jötnargruppe would probably be the heavy battleships, Alfargruppe the lighter supporting ships.”

“I see…” Volsky pursed his lips, considering all this. “A cold wind blowing from the north…. We had best pass all this on to the British, Mister Fedorov.”

 “With your permission, I will have Nikolin send a report to Sheffield, and they can transmit to the Admiralty on their normal channels.”

“Agreed,” said Volsky. “And we should notify the Ice Watch that the weather in the Denmark Strait may be taking a turn for the worse. They may soon be picking up this contact the Narva spotted. In the meantime, let us steer to the southern end of the Denmark Strait. We may have unexpected guests for dinner, though I do not think they will like what we have on the menu. If the Germans bother my watch, I’ll be serving up missiles in short order.”

 

Chapter 26

 

More than one dinner was going to be bothered by uninvited guests that night. Phones jangled in the Admiralty, and alarms leapt over the wires from Whitehall to Scapa Flow. The British already had wind of the operation, the first rising swells of a cold north wind. There was movement in the Norwegian Sea, and reports of much activity on the waterfront and berthings at Kiel. The berth for Germany’s formidable new battleship Hindenburg was reported to be empty from the latest R.A.F. overflight. The Bismarck was also missing, and presumed to be on the move north. Giants were on the loose again, and British Sunderlands took off, flying north of Dogger Bank to scour the sea even though sighting was hampered by thick clouds and fog. the Germans had deliberately chosen this weather as the perfect cover for their operation.

One Sunderland pressed on north towards Kristiansand and got into trouble when a pair of Me-109s found it and riddled the plane with gunfire. The signalman got off a plaintive S.O.S. before he went down into the sea for a forced water landing.

High above, Oberleutnant Marco Ritter banked his Me-109 and came around with a grin.

“Somebody is getting curious!” he said over his short range radio to his wing mate.

“And someone else gets credit for another kill,” came the return.

“Not for me, Heinrich,” said Ritter. “I don’t count fat seaplanes. If you want it you can chalk it up on your account. I’m just counting British fighters.”

Ritter was flying top cover again for the Graf Zeppelin, operating now to clear the airspace around the carrier and its escorts as the ship waited the arrival of her principle battle units, Bismarck and its big brother, the new flagship of the German fleet, the Hindenburg. Admiral Raeder’s heavy chess pieces were on the move. Their mission was to first link up with the carrier, then move at high speed up to Bergen. From there they were to continue north into the Norwegian Sea, eventually turning west towards Iceland.

The two ships that had been reported by the Narva west of Narvik were the battlecruiser Scharnhorst and the heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper, a bishop and a knight taking up their posts south of Jan Mayen. Kurt Hoffmann led Alfargruppe, and its mission was to demonstrate towards the Denmark Strait in advance of the main breakout attempt by the heavier battlegroup, Jötnargruppe under Admiral Lütjens. It was Raeder’s shadow play, as he called it. With a big operation slated to begin soon in the Mediterranean, he wanted to draw the British Admiralty’s eye north to the cold Norwegian Sea, and thereby prevent any further reinforcement of Force H.

The Kriegsmarine had licked its wounds over the last several months, refueling and repairing ships damaged in the abortive Operation Valkyrie. Of the bigger ships, only Gneisenau was still in the docks, but the Bismarck and Tirpitz were ready for operations again, though the latter was being held in reserve at Bremen. The second aircraft carrier, Peter Strasser, was not yet operational as hoped, and it would be another six months fitting out and running through trials in the Baltic. Graf Zeppelin was therefore out on her second major operation of the war, and Marco Ritter and Hans Rudel, both survivors of the first engagement, were out for blood again.

While both of the older pocket battleships Deutschland and Admiral Scheer were also still under repair, they had been replaced in the order of battle with the addition of two faster new Panzerschiffe class units, the Rhineland and Westfalen, and another even faster new design, the battlecruiser Kaiser, was included in this operational plan. There was one more surprising ship in the flotilla, steaming twenty kilometers to the east in the heavy fog, a secret new addition to the Kriegsmarine that Raeder was now adding to his active ship list, the Goeben. Marco Ritter had a special assignment involving that ship, but it was one he kept under his hat, saying nothing to any of his wing mates until the moment was at hand.

 These were the names Fedorov had decoded with his Enigma application, all assigned to a new operations It was dubbed “Operation Fimbulwinter,” a cold north wind to chill the frayed nerves of the Royal Navy on the eve of an even bigger operation planned to the south. Admiral Raeder would show the British his cards, let them see his Ace, King and Queen, and in so doing put as much pressure as he could on the already overburdened Home Fleet.

The movement of his ships would coincide with yet another sortie by the French Force de Raid from their Atlantic African ports. The long month since the action off Dakar had allowed them to make repairs, though their fuel situation was not good, and stores were running down at Casablanca. Yet they had enough to join in the operation now being planned, a strong wind from the south as well. The battleship Normandie would be joined by Jean Bart, two cruisers and four destroyers, again in a feint towards Gibraltar with the aim of keeping Force H well occupied for the real thunder yet to come with Operation Felix.

Now the cold north wind began to blow across the tall battlements of Germany’s newest and most powerful battleship, the Hindenburg. First conceived nearly a decade past, the ship was laid down in late 1935, the first of six planned ships authorized by Hitler in his fateful meeting with Raeder in January of 1936. Hitler first proposed that ships H and J be named after two relatively obscure figures from German history, Ulrich von Hutton and Gotz von Berlichingen. The former was a scholar, poet and leader of Imperial Knights, the latter an iron fisted mercenary who was known as Gotz of the iron hand, literally because he wore prosthetic metal forearm, complete with moveable thumb and five fingers that could be fashioned into an armored fist.

Raeder eventually suggested the name Hindenburg would be more closely associated with the modern era as Germany rose from the humiliation of WWI. Hindenburg was the symbolic heart of Germany’s new rise to power and Brandenburg the province surrounding Berlin itself, the heart of the nation. Hitler fretted over the dark possibility that either ship might be sunk.

“That name is associated with disaster,” he complained, referring to the terrible loss of Zeppelin LZ 129. “And we have already had a ship by that name in the first war.”

Raeder shook his head, his demeanor calm and confident. “My Führer, we are not building another airship here, but the greatest battleship on earth. SMS Hindenburg was the last battlecruiser to be built by the Imperial German Navy, and the last to be sunk when the fleet was scuttled. Now let this new ship be the first of this new era of German sea power, Hindenburg, rising from the ashes like a phoenix, just as Germany rises again under your able leadership. It must have this name! The symbolism is perfect.”

“And what if the ship is lost like Graf Spee? What then?”

 Raeder eventually convinced Hitler that this was a trivial concern, and one unlikely to ever happen. We will build it so well that no British ship could ever stand against it,” he crowed, and Hitler finally agreed.

The massive ship was just over 911 feet long, 118 feet longer than Bismarck, and much heavier at 62,600 long tons fully loaded, largely due to extra armor and the weight of the bigger 16 inch gun turrets. Her secondary armament was identical to that of Bismarck, with twelve 5.9 inch guns, sixteen 4.1 inch dual purpose guns and another sixteen 3.7 inch AA guns, and the ship could work up to 30 knots, making it one of the fastest battleships in the world.

Raeder had done much to try and make good on his boast that the Hindenburg would never be sunk. Her double bottomed hull was divided into 21 water tight compartments, and an anti-torpedo bulkhead of Wotan Weich steel was added. Side armor was originally proposed at 300mm, but increased to 360mm at its thickest point, which was 40mm thicker than Bismarck. The turrets were protected with 385mm, or 15.2 inches of steel, compared to 14 inches on Bismarck. And Hindenburg was also better armored on the decks and bow to protect against vertical shell falls, bombs, and splinter damage.

When finally completed, the ship was not the 80,000 ton behemoth with 18 inch guns that Hitler dreamed of, but a far more practical and efficient design, with a perfect combination of speed, power and protection. Only one ship in the Royal Navy could justifiably claim a slight advantage against the fearsome new ship, and that was the G3 class wonder where Admiral Tovey set his flag on HMS Invincible. The British ship was two knots faster, had 13mm more side armor, and one extra 16-inch gun, though Hindenburg had more extensive secondary batteries. It was even money as to which ship might come away the better, and perhaps would come down to seamanship and fate if the two ships ever met in combat.

Admiral Gunther Lütjens was on the bridge of the new battleship in the pre-dawn hours of September 10th, and a rising young protégé Kapitan Zur See Karl Adler was at his side. Lütjens was a complex and conflicted man. On the one hand he was proud to see the rising strength of the new German Navy, yet he also harbored deep misgivings about its eventual fate, particularly over Germany’s lack of adequate fuel oil to sustain operations. That prospect had brightened somewhat when the Orenburg Federation under Ivan Volkov had joined the Axis powers. Orenburg controlled the rich oil reserves of Baku and the Caspian region, but there was still the problem of how to get the oil. Soviet Russia under Sergei Kirov controlled all the railroads, and the neutral states in the Balkans and Turkey all the major sea lanes and ports which might deliver that oil to Europe and eventually Germany.

With the Royal Navy prominently based in Alexandria, the Eastern Mediterranean was under their thumb unless Regia Marina could find some way to neutralize Admiral Cunningham’s fleet. So in order for the oil to reach ports in Italy and southern France, Raeder’s Mediterranean strategy would have to succeed, and the British must be driven from Egypt. Another solution might be to invade the Balkans and open ports like Constanta, Varna and Burgas on the Black Sea coast of Romania and Bulgaria, and Mussolini was contemplating such a move. That was, in fact, how most of the oil Germany needed was now reaching the Reich, but the minor powers controlled the rate of that flow, which might be doubled or tripled if Germany could revitalize those rail lines and utilize its rolling stock.

Lütjens was well aware of these strategic shortcomings and, in spite of Germany’s remarkable string of victories, he remained doubtful over the long term prospects for the war. And now, a new shadow troubled him with the news that the Russians had been able to unhinge two German operations at sea with the deployment of advanced naval rockets. He was aware of Germany’s own missile development programs, but shocked to learn that Soviet Russia had leapt so far ahead.

“What do you make of all this talk of rocketry, Adler,” he asked his young Kapitan.

“Rockets? I find it hard to believe, Admiral. Most of this talk comes from Kurt Hoffmann, which surprises me even more. He is not a man given to exaggeration, or one to back down from a fight at sea.”

“Böhmer says he saw the rocket that sunk the Heimdal. Lindemann saw them too,” said Lütjens. “He’s a fighting Kapitan, but elected to terminate Operation Valkyrie when these weapons struck his ships.”

“That was also surprising, sir. He had Bismarck and Tirpitz! Those two ships could have backed down anything the British have.”

“Agreed, but after seeing the damage to Gneisenau, I have come to believe Lindemann was correct to be cautious at the outset. In spite of all the fanfare at the docks when we slipped our berth, we may have to be cautious here as well.”

“Tell that to Axel Faust,” said Adler, referring to the ship’s burly gunnery officer. His name meant “fist” and he was the hard master of the Hindenburg’s real power, and an ex-champion boxer for the navy as well.

“Something tells me Faust will get his chance this time around,” said Lütjens. “We have orders to get down to Saint Nazaire. Raeder wants to make sure nothing bothers that new French aircraft carrier in the shipyards there. I told him the Luftwaffe would provide all the defense he needs, but he insists that we must establish ourselves there to gain access to the Atlantic without first having to fight our way past the British up here.”

“I agree, sir. We will be right astride the convoy routes there, and it will give the British fits. We can sortie at any hour and there is no way they can stop us.”

“Perhaps,” said Lütjens, with far less enthusiasm. “But we have to get there first, Adler. And Axel Faust may be busier than he realizes in a few days time.”

Adler looked at Lütjens, thinking something, but saying nothing. He had come to feel that the Admiral was becoming too sour of mind and heart, and did not think he had the same iron in his backbone that the builders had put into his ships. “Well sir,” he said at last. “Perhaps we may soon be able to call on Gibraltar! The operation is underway on the Franco-Spanish border this moment. Five days from now our troops will be ringing the doorbell there.”

“That would be most promising if we could take Gibraltar,” Lütjens agreed.

“Of course, sir. And if it comes to a fight up here, I do not think Axel Faust will disappoint us. I heard him talking with Hartman down in Bruno turret yesterday. The men are eager for battle. They are tired of shooting up garbage scows for target practice, and want a real British battleship to sink this time around. This is not Gneisenau, sir.”

“True,” said Lütjens, “but may I remind you, Kapitan, that Gneisenau had 350mm on her side belt armor, only 10mm less than we have here. That was a very sturdy ship, and it will be months before we can put it to any use after the beating it received from those naval rockets. Most of the damage was on the superstructure, where the side armor was of no help.”

“Don’t worry, Admiral. With Graf Zeppelin alongside we will find the enemy long before they even know we are close at hand. And he who finds his enemy first also has the option to strike first. This is the difference. Gneisenau was taken by surprise. From what Otto Fein told me, they thought they were steaming up on a slow British man-of-war when it fired those rockets at them. Forewarned is forearmed. We will have air cover over us, and more than sufficient warning of the enemy’s dispositions.”

Lütjens smiled. “That was what Kapitan Böhmer thought aboard Graf Zeppelin last time out. Then the missile found his task force before his planes ever had sight of the ship that fired them. I will tell you one thing, Adler, if that is true then it changes everything. All our ships would be rendered obsolete overnight! So I find myself of two minds. I want to see these rockets first hand and learn for myself what their capabilities might be—assuming they do not sink us first.”

Adler said nothing to that, as he could not imagine it possible. Then Lütjens looked at his watch, noting the time.

“Speaking of Böhmer,” he said, “we had better signal our intentions. Tell him I plan to steer 240 for the next three hours, but then we are heading south. See that Lindemann gets the message as well. Bismarck will be in the lead position.”

“So soon, sir?” That will put us on a course for the Faeroes. I thought we were heading out to Iceland.”

“Not this time,” said Lütjens. “No… This time we are going to be just a little more direct. The British will be thinking we will try the Denmark Strait or Iceland passage again, just as before. We will do everything to strengthen that notion, as Hoffmann has orders to demonstrate there with Scharnhorst and Hipper. Alfargruppe is already operational, but that is just a feint, and this time we play our hand out with an inside strait. I have a few surprises planned for the British as well.”

 

 

Chapter 27

 

Admiral Tovey received the warning through channels from the Admiralty, his eyes darkening with concern. The Germans were on the move, and the operations now seemed to be associated with an even more ominous prospect—an attack against Gibraltar! Tovey had been there with the Cruiser Squadron just before being promoted to Admiral of Home Fleet. He knew the place well, yet had no illusions about its prospects of resisting a determined attack from the land. There were no more than four battalions in the garrison, and it was unlikely Gibraltar could be reinforced by sea once the attack began.

The Admiralty was of the same mind, in spite of the vital nature on the base and its intrinsic value as a symbol of British power. Gibraltar was a hinge of fate in so many ways, and yet the screws were weak, and rust had crept in over the long decades of British rule. The War Cabinet had long known that if Spain cooperated with Germany, the airfield at Gibraltar would be useless within hours, and the harbor within a day. Now the Admiralty was already casting about for some alternative place to base the units of Force H while also mounting some effective counter to the juggernaut of the German military.

Churchill was flabbergasted to learn that the Admiralty had no firm plan to reinforce Gibraltar. When it was explained that it would be impossible to land fresh troops in a harbor under fire from enemy artillery, the grim reality of the situation became apparent. Gibraltar would have to stand or fall with the garrison it had, but Force H would do what it could to lend support if the Germans actually carried out an attack.

The instant Tovey received the warning that Hindenburg was missing he ordered his ships to four hour steam, and put to sea immediately thereafter. Yet now he had a new problem to deal with. Admiral Pound had never been easy with the posting of a Russian battlecruiser to the watch on the Denmark Strait. He made the obvious point that even though Russia had signed a pledge of alliance with Great Britain, the Soviet Union had not gone so far as to declare war on Germany. Still involved in obvious negotiations with France and Spain, Germany had also refrained from declaring war on Russia, and so an uneasy tension remained all along the Polish frontier.

“Suppose this Russian ship is capable of defending the Denmark Strait,” Pound had said at the Admiralty meeting. “That alone would be a stretch, but even if it were so, this creates some rather thorny political problems. The Russians are not keen to engage in open hostilities with the Germans—this Admiral Volsky you speak of aside. Unless they go so far as to declare war on Germany, I find it inappropriate to have that ship posted to such a vital position. The Denmark Strait is the route most often chosen by German raiders.”

“Believe one thing,” said Tovey. “This ship can fight. I have no doubt it can hold its own on that watch. That said, I agree with your political assessment of the situation. If, however, I ask the Russians to withdraw, then I shall have to take up that watch myself in HMS Invincible, and leave the Iceland Faeroes Gap to the debutantes.” Tovey was referring to the two new King George V class battleships, still untried and out for their first combat sortie.

“They should be able to manage,” said Pound.

“Perhaps, but it had been my intention to keep the battleships together with me and undertake a more active campaign by entering the Norwegian Sea. Playing on the back row to guard all the exits to the Atlantic allows the enemy to choose his breakout point, and it will force me to spread very thin resources even thinner. If I take all three ships north now, we might catch the Germans before they turn for their intended breakout point.”

Their Lordships discussed it further, but in the end Admiral Pound would have his way. So Tovey caught a plane to Holyhead where he jumped on a fast destroyer to rendezvous with HMS Invincible, already well out to sea. Home Fleet was a full day out of port from Scapa Flow, now steaming at 20 knots to a position southwest of the Faeroe Islands. With him Tovey had his two new battleships, five cruisers, and a handful of destroyers. The carrier Ark Royal was already further west approaching Iceland to use her air wing there on active search. Tovey would take Invincible and the cruisers Norfolk and Suffolk to comprise his western task force. HMS Illustrious would stay on the Iceland-Faeroes watch with the other two battleships and remaining escorts, York, Glasgow and Newcastle,

His dispositions complete, Tovey signaled the remainder of his squadron farewell and detached at high speed for Reykjavik, where he intended to meet with the Russians and convey the decision Pound had forced upon him. He had some misgivings about leaving the debutantes on their own, but had faith in his Captains, Louis Hamilton taking a new post from Otway-Ruthven, who was taken ill aboard Prince of Wales, and Wilfred Rupert Patterson as the Squadron Flag aboard King George V.

Some hours later Tovey got a signal from Kirov indicating that at least two German warships seemed intent on trying a run through the Denmark Strait. They had been spotted by the Russian Airship Narva approaching Jan Mayen. He went to his chart room, laying out a ruler on the map. That was just over a thousand kilometers to the north. If the Germans made good speed they might be able to run the strait to a position west of Reykjavik on 24 hours. That gave him plenty of time to get Invincible into position. He put on thirty knots and aimed to be off Reykjavik in seven hours, one good night’s sleep away. There he would meet briefly with Admiral Volsky to explain the Admiralty decision and relieve Kirov in the Denmark Strait.

As to Hindenburg, the weather was very bad, and no word had come from the north, where F.A.A. planes had been out searching for any sign of the battleship. Last reported near Bergen, the Germans could now be anywhere in an ever widening farthest on circle. Initial reports had suggested there might be at least two battleships in the German task force, which is why he wanted to stay with his two new girls and maintain an advantage in firepower. As it was, his strength was diluted on a much wider front now, largely at Admiral Pound’s insistence.

He passed a fitful night’s sleep, with images of the dark silhouettes of distant ships sailing through his mind. When morning came he shook off the weariness and tried to clear his thoughts with a cup of stiff coffee. The weight of command was now heavy on his shoulders, but the closer he came to his newfound Russian allies, the lighter the burden became. If the Admiralty only knew the full truth he had discovered about this Russian ship… He shook his head, realizing that he could not breathe a word of what he knew and still be regarded as sane by any man he had sat with at the recent meeting. Perhaps Admiral Fraser might eventually be brought into the foyer. Fraser had always given him a sympathetic ear and fair hearing, but how would he react to the truth if it was finally revealed?

He would think it preposterous, thought Tovey, even as I did when Turing first began to open that Pandora’s box of photographs and reports. The shock of seeing his own hand writing on those documents was still profound. He clearly heard his own voice in the line and letter of those reports, just as he might have written them, yet it was all… preposterous. That was the only reaction a sane man could offer.

Word came from Ark Royal that the forward scout planes had sighted a large warship on an intercept course. Kirov was approaching, and he turned the bridge over to the able hands of Captain Bennett to get down to the aft boat deck.

 

* * *

 

“Your airship has done me a great service,” said Tovey as he shook hands with Admiral Volsky and Fedorov again aboard Kirov. “It appears that we have wind of the fox loose up north, but there is still a wolf at large.” He shared his report concerning the German battleship Hindenburg.

“That would be Jötnargruppe, from a word referring to ancient Norse giants,” said Fedorov, and Nikolin translated.

“Well named, because this is a monster of a ship—a match for my flagship Invincible, which says a great deal. We are not yet certain as to its intentions, but coast watchers reported it leaving Bergen ten hours ago and heading north. It may be planning to join with these other contacts to form one powerful battlegroup. In this event, I should be grateful for your assistance here, though I do have some news to share with you.” He told them, as diplomatically as possible, what the Admiralty had decided.

“This does not come as a surprise,” said Volsky. “We have already quarreled with the Germans on two occasions, and the situation is somewhat delicate. Thus far I have exercised considerable restraint, but if we were to engage again, and sink a major German capital ship…”

“I understand the implications,” said Tovey. “If at all possible, I should like to bear the burden of combat here, though your assistance in finding the enemy would be much appreciated.”

“But what if the Germans do form a battlegroup too large for your single ship to engage?” said Fedorov.

“They must choose one passage or another,” said Tovey. “Indications are that they are looking at the Denmark Strait again. That is the opinion of the Admiralty. But I have two good ships posted in the passage east of Iceland should they take that route. Given the circumstances, it would be my decision to fall back and recombine Home Fleet if either of my present task groups is overmatched. A position a couple hundred miles southwest of Reykjavik would put me in a good location to intercept a German task force in either passage as it exits into the Atlantic.”

“A sound tactic,” Volsky agreed. “Well we have certain assets that may assist your search. We have set up one of our radars on the northwest cape of Iceland. It will see any ships as they enter the Denmark Strait, with coverage nearly all the way out to the Greenland Ice floes, about 200 kilometers for surface ship contacts. How might we cover the passage east of Iceland, Mister Fedorov?”

“The airship Narva is meeting us here in six hours, sir. They have an Oko Panel radar system aboard, and if we send them out to a position on the northeast coast of Iceland, that will see any ship attempting to take that passage. The airship can loiter over land indefinitely.”

“Good, that will be much better than using our KA-40. Well, Admiral Tovey, I think we can assure you that if the Germans come anywhere within 200 kilometers of Iceland, we will find them.”

“Thank you, Admiral. I am truly grateful for your assistance. We’ve a number of convoys to and from Liverpool, and we wouldn’t want to let the fox into the chicken coop.”

“Or the wolves,” said Volsky.

Tovey smiled, wondering how to bring up his next question, then he decided to just come out with it. “As to the other matter revealed in that Enigma intercept,” he began, “you say it bore the code name Felix?”

“Yes sir,” said Fedorov. “It was a German operational plan for an attack on Gibraltar.”

“I see… Well, you will forgive me for wanting to take a peek at the cake while its baking, but I cannot help myself. This operation Felix… Does it succeed?”

“We do not know,” said Fedorov flatly. “It was never attempted in the history we know. If it does take place, then it would be a major divergence in the course of the war as we know it. I must tell you, however, that if the Germans do launch such an operation, at least as planned, I believe it has a very good chance of succeeding.”

“You know of this plan?”

“It was well documented. The Germans would commit at least three full regiments, all veteran troops, and they will also have two divisions in reserve on the Iberian Peninsula to forestall any move you might make by landing troops in Portugal. I can give you the exact German order of battle, though it may have changed from the history we know.”

“I will gratefully pass it on to the War Cabinet, though I don’t know what good it will do us to know just how steep the odds are. A landing in Portugal? I’m afraid that is out of the question. It would take months to plan an operation on any scale that would make a difference, and we’re still on invasion watch.”

“Admiral, if the Germans do launch Operation Felix, then I think it is safe to say their plan to invade England has been cancelled. We have followed the radio reports on the air battle over Britain. You have done remarkably well in checking the Germans there, just as it occurred in our history.”

“Yet not without great cost. It was very thin with the R.A.F. at times, and I was tempted to ask you for one of those radar sets. As it happened, we managed on our own. The pressure seems to be easing now. In fact, we’ve learned that the Germans have pulled out several bomber squadrons for other deployment—possibly this operation Felix we are discussing.”

“That would be very likely,” said Fedorov. “I must also tell you the German Plan Felix also contained provisions for the possible occupation of Spanish Morocco, and the Canary Islands.”

“That would be a matter of some concern to us. We do have plans to kick a little sand in Jerry’s face should he get pushy at Gibraltar. We have several operations, some underway even as we speak. It will be our intention to immediately seize the Azores, and then Madeira. Our recently failed operation against Dakar will be revisited, this time with adequate naval force to deal with the French. And Wavell has been ordered to begin an offensive against the Italian advance into Egypt.”

“Operation Compass.” Fedorov knew of the operation.

“You know of it?”

“Yes sir, though it did not occur quite this early in our timeline.”

“Yes, Wavell tells us he’s not quite ready,” said Tovey. “But the War Cabinet has urged him to do anything possible to defend Egypt. My God, the thought the Germans may be coming for the Rock is enough to deal with, but we simply cannot lose Egypt…” His eyes carried the obvious question, and Fedorov could see the terrible dilemma. Here they were holding the keys of time and fate, with knowledge of the entire course of the war, at least as it once played out, and Tovey was knocking at the gate and asking to be let in.

“Wavell may surprise you,” said Fedorov. “But I’m afraid that if the Germans do launch this operation, the war will hold many more surprises, even for us if we remain here. Everything will change and I can only take an educated guess as to what may or may not happen. Will Wavell and O’Connor hold off the Italians? They did in our history, but if the Germans attack Gibraltar it may mean they have chosen the Mediterranean as the main focus of their war effort in the next year. That could mean you will be facing more than the Italians in the Western Desert, and possibly very soon.”

Tovey took a deep breath, and his anguish and worry were quite evident. “I must tell you, gentlemen, that this whole affair is on the razor’s edge at the moment. When you arrived on the scene in June we had only seven planes on Malta, another vital outpost. We’ve 36 there now, and plans to deliver 12 more Hurricanes in a few days time. We have exactly three radar sets in the entire Mediterranean theater—one at Gibraltar, one at Alexandria and the last at Aden. The operations we have planned against the Azores and Madeira will involve no more than a single Royal Marine Brigade of three battalions. We’ve got one more teed up with the Free French to have another go at Dakar, or perhaps the Cape Verde Islands. Our effort now is purely defensive. We must seize these outposts to secure the convoy route to Freetown, South Africa and by extension to Suez and Egypt. But I must tell you that it will be some time, perhaps as long as another year, before we can build up enough strength to contemplate further offensives. We’ll be fighting to hold Egypt for the foreseeable future. The question now is when will Russia and America join in?”

Fedorov looked to Admiral Volsky, who nodded, giving him quiet permission to speak further. “As to Soviet entry into the war,” he said, “Hitler decided that in June of 1941 when he launched an operation called Barbarossa and attacked the Soviet Union. That may or may not occur now. It all remains to be seen. As to the American entry into the war, they are of a mind that they can remain neutral until such time that they have adequate forces built up to make a meaningful entry. But you can count on their support, Admiral. I think you already know that much. The timing of their entry, as we knew it, was late in 1941.”

“A long wait,” said Tovey with another sigh.

“And there is one more thing you must know,” said Volsky. “We are here now, Admiral Tovey, but we do not know how much longer we can stay put. Our candle is burning as well, and if Mister Fedorov is correct, it may soon blow out. We may be forced to leave this time before late July in 1941, or we could be facing another problem—annihilation.”

“I don’t understand,” said Tovey.

Volsky explained. “We first shifted in time to arrive on the 28th of July, 1941. That date therefore looms as quite a threat to our continued presence here.”

“I see…” Tovey thought for a moment, suddenly remembering Alan Turing’s long discourse concerning his watch. He shared the story with the Russians to see what they might make of it.

“Amazing,” said Volsky. “You say the watch vanished the day we arrived here, and then turned up in that box?”

“Quite so, Admiral, and our Mister Turing seems to think that when faced with the inconvenient problem of having to account for two identical timepieces trying to occupy the same moment, time seems to have simply moved his watch. Might the same thing happen to your ship come next July?”

Volsky raised his heavy eyebrows, wondering. “Fedorov? What do you think of this?”

“Very strange, sir. Time seems to have exercised a little sleight of hand, just as Kamenski might describe it. I would like to think we might get off just as easily, but we are human beings, sir, not pocket watches, and moving us about like that may be… uncomfortable.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part X

 

Wolves

 

“Don’t expect justice from the Lord of the Manor,

nor mercy from the Wolf Pack.”

 

—German Proverb

 

Chapter 28

 

Convoy HX-69 was making good time, though it was just a little late embarking from Halifax for the long journey to Liverpool. Now it was three days out from its destination port, and though the sailors could almost smell the scent of home in the tang of the rising wind and sea, this was one of the most dangerous legs of the voyage.

It was 23 ships when it first set out from Halifax on the 28th of August, under command of Commodore J. S. Ritchie of the Royal Navy Reserve, aboard the Dutch steamer SS Ulysses. Nine more ships joined the odyssey at sea two days later, and another 15 ships on September 1st to swell the ranks to 47 ships. Ulysses was a stately looking merchant steamer, with a long black hull trimmed in white at the gunwales and a tall single stack amidships. There had been no suitable British ship available at Halifax, and so the Commodore gratefully accepted Ulysses as his convoy flag. The Dutch crew was smart and efficient, though Ritchie noted they were a bit loose in maintaining steady revolutions on the turbine. The ships speed might vary between seven and ten knots, but maintained a good average over time.

Captain Jugtenberg and the other Dutch officers were excellent navigators, taking regular measurements with compass and sextant, and there was easy cooperation between Ritchie’s staff officers and the Dutch crew. The convoy was carrying a wide range of minerals and supplies—iron ore, bauxite, steel, lumber, diesel oil, gasoline, sulfur, and other general cargo.

Commodore Ritchie had been pleased to have had a fairly uneventful crossing until they encountered heavy swells on September 3rd. One sheep, the SS Condor fell astern with engine trouble, but managed to catch up in time for the planned emergency turn maneuver executed on September 5th. Ritchie remarked that the station keeping and overall speed of the convoy was the best he had ever seen. On the 7th, however, the sea increased at midnight, with a fresh gale force wind from the northwest frothing up rough seas at dawn the following morning. Fimbulwinter was upon them, though no man in the convoy knew it just then.

The ships were spread out in lines of nine abreast, with Ulysses in the number five position on row one. Seven of the ships were newly arriving escorts, sent out to bring the convoy home on this final three day run. They included older Admiralty Class destroyers like HMS Arrow and Winchelsea, the Canadian destroyers Saguenay and Assinboine, and corvettes HMS Heartsease, Clarika and Camelia.

Ritchie felt fairly well protected to have seven sheep dogs escorting his flock now, but the wolves were about on the wild sea that day and they would have more work than they expected. Arrow was part of the Western Approaches Defense Force based at Greenock. Commander Herbert Wyndham Williams, had her out in front of the convoy, nervously sniffing the waters for any sign of the U-boats that made this place a favorite hunting ground. He was supposed to have been destined to take a promotion to the light cruiser Birmingham one day, but that would not happen in this timeline. The Germans had already put that ship at the bottom of the Denmark Strait.

HX-69 was also supposed to have completed its run into British ports without incident, but that history was about to change as well. Williams had already seen evidence of wolves on the prowl when he stopped to pick up survivors of Poseidon, a Greek ship that had been torpedoed a few days ago. Now he was feeling just a little ill at ease, the cold wind biting, with the promise of a hard winter to come in the months ahead.

At 09:00 a signal came in that a periscope had been spotted off the starboard side of the convoy. HMS Winchelsea was on the watch there, and was quick into action churning up the choppy seas even more with a burst of speed. Commodore Ritchie ordered the convoy to make an emergency turn to port, away from the attack but he was too late. A torpedo wake was sighted and within a minute the oiler Charles F. Meyer exploded in an angry red fireball and was soon enshrouded with acrid black smoke.

U-99, a Type VIIB boat under Kapitan Otto Kretschmer, had just taken the first bite out of HX-69. When he saw the massive explosion in his periscope, Kretschmer smiled, thinking his good luck was holding after a shaky start. On his first patrol, he was returning to Bergen with a medical casualty when he sailed into the path of the German battlecruiser Scharnhorst. An eagle-eyed Arado pilot thought he was seeing a British submarine and swooped into attack. Before he reached port the submarine was attacked a second time by German aircraft, and six days later he had to make another emergency dive when a German plane dropped three bombs on his position, sending him all the way to the seabed where he bumped his nose with a hard knock.

Those days were over, and he had settled in to three more good patrols since that time. He logged 22,700 tons on his second patrol, bettered that with 57,890 tons on his third patrol, and already had over 18,000 tons up on this patrol with another two weeks left to hunt. Kretschmer already had one Knight’s Cross for his work, and he was aiming to get his oak leaves this time around, and destined to be the number one U-boat ace in the Kriegsmarine.

“That had to be in oiler,” he said quietly to his First Watch Officer, Leutnant Klaus Bargsten. “Come right twenty degrees. Emergency down bubble, and make your depth 150 feet. There's a pesky destroyer up there looking for us.”

Winchelsea would have no luck that day, because Otto Kreschmer was a fated man. Bargsten nodded with a smile, not knowing at that moment that his own personal fate would be destined to become entangled with that of a mysterious unknown ship. In one telling of those events, Bargsten would command U-563 with orders to join the Grönland wolfpack forming up south of Iceland in August of 1941, but the boat’s Captain would see something in his periscope lens that pricked his curiosity. He spotted what looked to be two British battleships, which were in fact King George V and Repulse hastening west. Both ships were hit and burning, and Bargsten came to believe that there must be other U-boats about. Eager to get into the action, he turned west, and eventually came very near another strange looking vessel, which he tried to engage with a badly planned long shot. He paid for that mistake with his life, because the long shot he took came in a moment of great tension on the bridge of the battlecruiser Kirov.

At that time Captain Vladimir Karpov had just seized control of the ship in the North Atlantic, intending to force a decisive engagement with the Allied fleets that were hunting him. The strident warning called out by Tasarov, torpedo in the water, set Karpov off like a time bomb, and before the incident ran its course, the massive angry mushroom cloud of a nuclear weapon would blight the Earth for the first time in human history.

In so many ways, Bargsten was the match that lit the fuse to begin the great unraveling of the history that had taken so many centuries to weave. His was but a single errant thread, yet, when pulled upon, it precipitated chaos in the loom of fate and time. And there he was again this day, huddled in the conning tower of U-99, smiling at his Kapitan, taking silent lessons as he watched how easily Kreschmer commanded his boat—the devil’s apprentice.

Kreschmer would hit 46 ships in his brief career, under the emblem of the lucky golden horseshoe painted prominently on the sail of the boat. A quiet, methodical man, Kreschmer had earned the nickname ‘Silent Otto’ as he worked his craft. His motto was ‘One torpedo… one ship,’ and he demonstrated that with the swift kill he had just logged against the oiler Charles F. Meyer. He would always say that his mission was to sink ships, and not men, and would render assistance to any survivors he ever could, but this time the close proximity of the British destroyer forced him to evade. But he had his kill, on his way to become the tonnage king of the U-boat service sinking over 273,000 tons.

One day I will get my chance, thought Bargsten as he watched his Kapitan with admiration. He would end up sinking less than one percent of Kreschmer’s unmatched tonnage, just 22,171 tons in the five kills he would log in his career, but the last torpedo he would fire would shatter the history of the world.

“We’ll linger here for a while, then creep up on them again tonight,” said Kreschmer. He was famous for his night attacks, firing from the surface, but with the moon waxing, the weather would have to stay clouded over for him to risk that tactic. He would end up getting one more ship later that day, a vessel carrying sugar and rum called Traveller, much to the chagrin of sailors back in Liverpool who were expecting the rum. That kill convinced Commodore Ritchie that he was in infested waters here, which prompted him to make a fateful decision.

“We’ll get no mercy from the wolf pack,” he said to his first mate. Let’s alter course just after sunset and come fifteen points to port.”

The convoy would execute the maneuver smartly on command, and it would take the remaining 45 ships right into the path of another great wolf, the Lord of the Manor, flagship of the German Navy, battleship Hindenburg.

 

* * *

 

Tovey was back aboard HMS Invincible when he got the news that a scout plane out from the fledgling air base on the Faeroe Islands had failed to return. What he first took to be trouble with the thickening weather soon became cause for alarm. A message was received saying the plane had been engaged by German fighters, and shot down. That could only mean that the German aircraft carrier Graf Zeppelin was on the prowl somewhere near those islands, as they were too far from Bergen to be bothered by fighters based at that location.

This led Tovey to reconsider his deployment of the other two battleships. They had been steaming northwest all day, and were now in a position some 200 miles west of the Faeroes. What if the Germans shunned the more distant coast of Iceland and turned south near those islands instead? He immediately sent a signal to the Admiralty, and Captain Patterson on King George V, suggesting this possibility, and advising the cruiser Kent should investigate. Admiral Pound sent back a contrary opinion. Tovey was handed the message ten minutes later. “Admiralty and First Sea Lord do not concur. Continue on your original posting. HMS Kent to remain on station with Illustrious.”

This was his fate now, he realized, to be shadowed by the meddlesome Admiral Pound, second guessed, with his orders countermanded at every turn. This was the price he was paying for the hospital bill he had handed the Royal Navy on his first major engagement—Hood, Renown and Repulse all laid up for repairs.

When the next message was brought in, it was a sad vindication in seeing his worst misgivings confirmed. R.A.F. Vagar in the Faeroes, the place where he had learned the startling truth concerning the Russian ship and crew during his meeting with Admiral Volsky, was being shelled!

“R.A.F. Vagar under large caliber naval gunfire at 23:20 and taking heavy damage. Three planes destroyed and base no longer operational. Casualties.” He read the message slowly to Captain Bennett. “By God, they’ve snookered us! The Germans are running the inside passage! Large caliber naval gunfire—that can only be from a capital ship, and here I am nearly 600 miles to the west watching the back yard while Hindenburg is skulking right past the front gate!”

He was over to his plotting table at once, scratching his forehead as he eyed the position of Captain Patterson’s battlegroup. “Send to King George V,” he said to a Watch Officer. “Tell them to come about and steer 190 and come to full speed. The Germans will have to steer that course to get down round Ireland… And my God, look here, Captain Bennett. That’s HX-69 there, bound for Liverpool.” He fingered a spot on his chart, right in the path of the oncoming threat.

“We’d best inform the Admiralty,” said Bennett, “and have them scatter that convoy, dangerous as that may be in those waters.”

“Agreed,” said Tovey. “Make it so. He placed two rulers on the chart now, laying one along the suspected course of the German squadron, and another from his own position to a point about 500 miles east of Glasgow. An equilateral triangle formed between the Faeroes, that point, and his ship.

“We could get back into it,” he said glancing quickly at Captain Bennett. “I could turn now and put on thirty knots. Certainly the Germans will do the same, and they’ll have to steer this course until they reach this latitude. Only then can they turn south around Ireland.”

“Right through the Bloody Western Approaches,” said Bennett. “Damn bold maneuver, wouldn’t you say?”

“That so,” said Tovey. “Well, we must make them pay for that.”

“What about Patterson’s group?” Captain Bennett eyed the position of King George V to the north.

“He’ll make 28 knots at his best speed. The Germans have a slight speed advantage, only two knots, but that means they’ll slip away unless we stop them.”

“And what about our watch here?” Captain Bennett stated the obvious, and Tovey gave him a look that seemed to see right through him, his mind obviously fixed on some solution.