Golem 7

Chapter 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right away, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What could she be up to, Brind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She did put in a satisfactory exercise this afternoon,” said Brind.

“That she did, but I wasn’t comforted with the conversation we had with their Senior Squadron Commander. Those men are raw fruit. Never landed on the deck of a carrier before their arrival here. And they’ve no experience making torpedo attacks either. I’m not sure what good they’ll be to us in a situation like this.”

“Yet having a carrier with us, even with a very few planes, could prove useful,” said Brind. “We can fly them off in air search missions—extend our eyes should Bismarck manage to slip out. It’s a big ocean out there and we’re stretched all too thin.”

“I suppose you have a point in that,” said Tovey. “Very well. Victorious will come along then. I want to be ready to sail just after midnight.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll see that the orders are sent.”

“By lamp,” said Tovey. “We’re to observe strict radio silence from this moment on. No use letting the Germans know we’re on to Bismarck, eh? I had a hunch that devil had put out to sea. Only I didn’t think we’d possibly get confirmation for another day or longer. With this news we’ve saved at least 24 hours. I don’t know who this Lonesome Dove is, but I’m glad he flew my way. Let’s get to sea!”

Hood and Prince of Wales threw off their moorings, slipped out though the anti-submarine netting and were out to sea in short order. Tovey would follow with the rest of Home Fleet four hours later. Word went out to all cruisers on patrol to be especially vigilant, then orders were given to enforce radio silence unless any cruiser had a confirmed enemy sighting. In the meantime, it was incumbent upon Admiral Tovey to get heavy assets into a position to intercept the German task force at the earliest opportunity. Bismarck would be sailing with the eight inch gun cruiser Prince Eugen, and together they would prove a formidable battle force. Though the great German battleship had yet to fire her main 15 inch guns in anger, her design and specification, as known to Tovey at that time, were ominously impressive.

It was therefore his intention to send no less than two capital ships against her in any engagement. His own flag ship was a modern design, one of the fleet’s newer additions, built with the prospect of a second war in mind and launched in February of 1939. Most of the Fleet still sailed in ships dating back to the First World War, however. In fact the old lady, HMS Hood, had her keel laid in 1916 and launched two years later. While she was the pride of the fleet, she had been built with considerable firepower while sacrificing armor for speed. She could run out to 31 knots in her early sea trials, but by 1941 her best practical speed was 28 knots, still fast for a vessel carrying eight big 15 inch guns. Yet her deck armor was thin, less than an inch in some places and no more than three inches at best.

Tovey also had another old battlecruiser in hand, the HMS Repulse, two years older than Hood, and carrying 15 inch guns, but only six of them, paired in three turrets. Among the fastest ships in the world when she launched, Repulse could still easily run out to 28 knots, and then some if needed, though her engines and plants were showing their age.

The ships that followed these venerable battlecruisers into service had been powerfully built and well armored battleships, the Rodney and Nelson. Their design was unlike anything else in the fleet, with nine heavy 16 inch guns, all mounted in three forward turrets. The unusual arrangement allowed her to present enormous firepower as she approached a target, but she could only run out to 21 knots. If these ships had been built to chase down enemy battleships, their sluggish speed made them completely unsuited to the task.

So it was that the Royal Navy decided to fill the need for a truly modernized battleship with the newer King George V class. The designers wanted the speed to catch anything they set their sights on, the power to hurt and sink it, and the armor to stand with the best the enemy could throw back at them. King George V was not a perfect design, but she answered those three requirements well enough. Her guns were slightly smaller than Hood, just 14 inchers, but she carried ten of them in an unusual configuration. One turret with four guns each was placed at her bow and another at her stern. Then a second, smaller turret with two barrels was mounted above and behind the forward guns. This gave her six barrels in her forward arc of fire, four aft, and a broadside of ten. Her armor was better than either Hood or Repulse, approaching 15 inches in thickness at the belt, with deck armor up to 5.4 inches, twice the thickness of Hood. And she could run out to 28 knots in speed, giving her a potent combination of firepower, protection, and vital speed.

In making his deployments Tovey had paired two capital ships in each task force. Hood was stronger than Repulse, so Admiral Holland made his flag there and sailed with the latest addition to the fleet, another KGV class ship, the Prince of Wales. This ship was inexperienced, still beset with mechanical problems, and put to sea with repair crews aboard to work the bugs out of her firing turrets. In setting these two ships off together, Tovey hoped the experience of Hood would augment the youth and rawness of Prince of Wales, and together they could turn 18 big guns on any enemy they did battle with.

For himself, he set his flag here aboard King George V and would order the battlecruiser Repulse, now at anchor in the Clyde, to join him once he put to sea. Each ship had experienced crews, though they had slightly less firepower together than Holland had, being two guns short on Repulse.

Still, it was a sound deployment, thought Tovey. Bismarck had only eight 15 inch guns, even if she was fast and very well armored. He still reasoned that either of his heavy task forces would outgun her, and the lighter 8 inch gun cruiser Prince Eugen would not be a significant threat if they could get some early hits on the larger battleship.

So it was that he put to sea just after midnight as the 21st of May slipped away to a new day. It would be a momentous time, he thought. He could feel it in his bones, smell it on the cold night mist over the Flow. One task force or another was going to find and confront the German behemoth, and the outcome would decide the course of the war in the North Atlantic for some time to come.

But which would it be, Tovey wondered? Would Bismarck make for the more distant, yet narrow passage of the Denmark Strait, or the closer and more direct passage between Iceland and the Faeroes? That choice would determine who fought her, and hundreds of miles away, Admiral Lütjens was considering that very question aboard the most powerful ship in the German Navy.

Chapter 14

Coming to Bergen was a mistake, thought Ernst Lindemann, Kapitan of the Bismarck, but Admiral Lütjens must have had some reason to delay here. Was it only to provide time for the new paint? The deck crews had been busy the whole day, painting over the dazzle ship camo scheme and covering up the prominent swastikas on the decks with canvass. The ship would get a new coat of “battleship gray,” which was much more suitable given the steel gray sky and waters of the Norwegian Sea.

Perhaps it was Prince Eugen, he decided. The smaller ship had been ordered to take on fuel from the tanker Wollin, but we could have just as easily steamed directly to the Weissenburg, another tanker on station in the Arctic Sea. It did not surprise him when a lone RAF Spitfire overflew the harbor at 1100 hours that morning, photographing Bismarck riding boldly at anchor right under the curious and astonished noses of the local sheep farmers.

Strange that the Admiral seemed to feel no need to refuel Bismarck. True, she had much greater range than the cruiser, but the ship was already 200 tons light due to a faulty refueling hose, and they had already burned that much again just to reach this place.

The Admiral came in to the ward room, and Lindemann gave him a brisk salute.

“It’s good to be underway again,” he said. “I trust you are ready for some exciting days ahead, captain.”

“To put it lightly, Admiral. Have you given further thought to our course?” The decision as to which passage they would take was crucial now, but Lütjens pursed his lips, as though the matter was still troublesome in his mind.

Günther Lütjens was a tall, aristocratic seaman, a career officer with a long and distinguished record. The navy had often insulated itself against the encroaching ideology of the Nazi party, and Lütjens was a perfect example of that. He was definitely not a party man, and believed the appalling treatment meted out to the Jews was a stain on German honor. He provided aid to certain Jewish associates, and also refused to dismiss any valuable staff member simply because there was a suspicion of Jewish blood in their genealogy. More than this, he went so far as to make a formal written statement protesting the atrocities of Kristallnacht against the Jews, and when Hitler had come to tour the Bismarck just before its launch, the Admiral boldly greeted him with a standard navy salute, and not the stiff armed salute of the Nazi Party.

With nearly 30 years in naval service, he had early experience on fast torpedo boats before landing his first command on the Karlsruhe in 1934. After that he commanded many of the newest German raiders, including both Scharnhorst and Gneisenau in the recent Norwegian campaign, as well as the heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper the previous year. Now he set his flag on the Bismarck for operation Rheinübung, or “Exercise Rhine” as it was to be called. His mission was to break out and strike the convoy system, and this time the presence of a single battleship as escort for the slow fat prey would not give him pause.

First, however, he had to choose the best route into the Atlantic, and get by the Royal Navy screens. There were four possible routes, but the first two he discarded immediately, being too close to British air assets and their Home Fleet at Scapa Flow. He knew he would most likely have to fight his way out, but there was no sense thumbing his nose at the British by trying to race for the Orkney or Shetland Island passages. No, it would come down to the Faeroes or the Denmark Strait.

The more distant passage was a narrow channel, with one side choked with sea ice and the other often shrouded in fog and mist. Far from enemy planes, it had been used successfully time and again by the raiders which had broken out earlier. Admiral Sheer and Hipper had used it, as well as Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, both now laid up in the French port of Brest for repairs.

That was the problem, he thought. Once a ship did break into the Atlantic it would find few friends and many enemies. The Germans had positioned weather ships and oilers to resupply the raiders, and of course there were packs of U-Boats here and there, but with a speed of no more than 15 knots they were too slow to keep up with the fast raiders, and could only pose a temporary threat to pursuing British ships, or temporary reinforcement should any be in the vicinity of a surface engagement.

“If it’s Denmark Strait we should have taken on more fuel as well,” said Lindemann, and he reminded the admiral about the faulty hose.

“Don’t concern yourself with such details,” said Lütjens. “Look at the big picture. Once we break out they will have fits trying to find us, and stopping us is out of the question.”

“I would like to be of the same mind, Admiral, but they managed to bottle up Scharnhorst and Gneisenau.”

“Those ships don’t compare to Bismarck,” said Lütjens—but at that moment there was a knock on the door and a midshipman made a crisp salute when Lindemann let the man in.

“Signal from Group North, sir.” He handed the captain a decoded message, saluted again, and left.

Lindemann read the note, a look on his face that spoke the misgivings in his mind without a single word. “Home Fleet has sailed from Scapa Flow,” he said quietly. We got a Heinkel in for a look three hours ago. All the major vessels have put to sea.”

Lütjens was not happy. “How did they manage that?” he said.

“There are enemy coast watchers everywhere, sir,” said Lindemann. “We would have done better to have stayed well away from the Norwegian shore, and lingering in a fiord, even for the few hours we spent here to refuel Prince Eugen was almost certain to stir up interest. Our new paint job may come at a high price.”

Lütjens nodded grimly and moved ahead in his thinking. He turned to the stolid captain, his hands clasped behind his back as he considered. “Your thoughts, Lindemann?”

“Let’s put on speed and get well out in the Norwegian Sea,” he said. “We can make the decision later. If we remain undiscovered, all the better. But if they find us first our choice may be forced upon us. For now we should get as far from British air cover, and the watchful eyes on this coastline, as possible.”

“I agree,” said Lütjens. “The British have occupied the Faeroes, but intelligence has seen no sign of an airfield there yet.”

“But there is a carrier at Scapa Flow, sir—or there was. It’s more than likely put to sea with the British Home Fleet.”

“Something to consider, but not to fret about, Lindemann. British carrier power is weak and over rated. “If we could have finished up Graf Zeppelin and brought her along with us we would be all but invulnerable, but if wishes were horses…” He was referring to the sole German aircraft carrier, a ship still fitting out after construction had been halted and her AA batteries cannibalized for duty in Norway. If the Germans had known how important carriers would eventually be to the outcome of the war, they might have given the ship top priority. As it was, naval strategy in the Atlantic was still dominated by the deployment of battleships. The era of the dreadnought had not yet come to an end.

“Steer 315 degrees northwest, and increase speed to 28 knots,” said Lütjens. “We’ll make a brisk run out to sea, then slow to 24 knots while we re-assess the situation. And one of us had better get to the bridge with that order.”

“I’ll go, sir,” the captain offered. “You rest and join me in the morning. I’ve managed to get a little sleep as we came north.”

“You are too kind,” said the admiral. “Very well, but inform me at once of anything important.”

A half hour later Lütjens was resting in his quarters, his mind still rolling with the increasingly heavy seas. The entire Home Fleet had sailed, which meant enemy intelligence was much more persistent than he imagined. Was he being too careless? Lindemann’s warning, first about the need for additional fuel, and then about Bergen and the Norwegian coast had already been proven wise. That damn fuel hose, he thought. Yet if they held this present course for a few more hours he could still steer north to rendezvous with the oiler Weissenburg. It would be his last chance to top off his tanks before he sailed south.

The thought also passed his mind that this was only postponing the inevitable. He could waste as much fuel going north and back again as he might gain. Why not simply turn south west and make a run for it? With two ships he could blast his way past any opposition. The British could not possibly concentrate the whole of their fleet against him. They had to plan for every eventuality, and would be spread like too little butter over bread. Yet, knowing the British, they would scrape up enough of a battle force to make a credible showing.

He thought about the problem, considering the ships that would sail to meet him. There were two old ladies, Hood and Repulse. Old, yes, but dangerous nonetheless. Then there were two newer battleships, King George V and Prince of Wales. One was seasoned, the latter barely off the fitting docks. Neither should be dismissed lightly, he thought, though he had every confidence Bismarck would prevail against any of these ships. In fact, with Prince Eugen at his side the odds were in his favor even if he met two of these ships together. But if he met three?

He gave a moment’s thought to the carrier Victorious, then put that ship out of his mind. Her puny aircraft, few in number, would pose no real threat. They were slow, single engine biplanes from a bygone era, and no match for the Bismarck’s considerable anti-aircraft guns. He would blow them out of the sky, even if they were to be so lucky as to even find his ships.

Again the question returned to his mind. Will it be the Denmark Strait or the Iceland Faeroes Gap? He had taken Scharnhorst and Gneisenau through the former easily on his last outing, but consistency was the hobgoblin of little minds, he thought. Would the British be expecting him there again?

Sleep eluded him, and he rested fitfully that night, though there were no alerts, and thankfully no air raids. His task force remained undiscovered when he arose the following morning to join Captain Lindemann on the bridge.

“Good morning, captain, any developments I should be aware of?”

“One signal intercept,” said the captain. “We’re observing radio silence and so I did not acknowledge it.”

“And what was the subject?”

“It seems we have a list of the dinner guests,” said Lindemann. “Hood and Prince of Wales are steaming together and heading for the Denmark Strait. The remainder of the fleet is following four hours behind, but it is my assumption they will be watching the Iceland Faeroes Gap.”

“I see,” said Lütjens, considering. “How did we come upon this intelligence, I wonder?”

“We must have a man on Iceland,” said Lindemann. “It seems there is a lot of activity—preparations for refueling operations, and the name Hood was heard at the docks. Group North was not specific, but they seem to have the matter in hand.”

“Very well,” said Lütjens. His mind seemed much clearer now, in spite of the long, restless night. He decided. “I want to come about to 225 degrees southwest,” he said flatly.

Lindemann hesitated. “Then we are turning now, sir? You don’t want to rendezvous with Weissenburg?”

“We’ll steer for the Faeroes Gap at once,” said the Admiral. “Our fuel should be more than adequate, even at high speed.”

“I see,” said Lindemann. “Are we prepared to take on the Home Fleet?”

“That is not the question, Lindemann.” The admiral gave him a shrewd smile. “The question is whether they are prepared to take on Bismarck. Now, if you would be so kind…” He gestured toward the ships navigation station.

Lindemann had a strange feeling of misgiving about the turn. Something told him the world had shifted slightly off its axis just now. What was it the Admiral had cooked up in his sleep? He was turning right into the teeth of the enemy fleet, heedless of the consequences. Against his better judgment, he put duty first and said nothing more.

“Come about to course 225 degrees,” he said firmly, and the order was quickly repeated, the ship turning smartly in response. “Signal Prince Eugen the same,” he finished.

A few moments later both Fate and Bismarck were on a new heading, south by southwest, into the Faeroes Gap.

Chapter 15

Cruiser Arethusa was steaming well up in the gap, her patrol skirting the coast of Iceland. Off to her right, well over the horizon, two other cruisers rolled in the increasingly heavy seas. Manchester held the center post, and Birmingham the segment closer to the Faeroes. Together the three ships made up the Northern Patrol Line, yet it was still a vast gray ocean around them, with too few eyes scanning the sea for any sign of the enemy.

Of the three mice stealing out in the wide Iceland-Faeroes Gap that day, only Arethusa was blind insofar as radar was concerned. Her equipment would not be installed for another month. The other two cruisers already had their sets, installed late in 1940, and so they would use their type 286 radar to look for the enemy in their wider ranging patrol areas. Being a fixed antenna, this system could only scan the forward arc of the ship, and so the cruiser had to be steered this way and that, in a ziz-zag pattern to widen the arc of her radar search. The equipment itself had been adapted from RAF air to surface radars for planes, and was also limited in range, but it was yet one more way they could gain a vital contact and establish a bearing in the gray, squall swept ocean.

Arethusa had a long service history, and had been active in the defense of Norway and assigned to Home Fleet ever since. She had the honor of conveying the president of Poland to safe ground in the England in June of 1940, and briefly wore the flag of Admiral Somerville before he transferred to the HMS Hood just two days later. Also active in the Med, she had served with Force H and was only recently over a rough patch after a collision with a merchant ship that had sent her into the Tyne for repairs late last year. The crew called it “The Curse of Mers-el-Kebir,” for Arethusa had been with Somerville’s battle squadron on that fateful day when the British opened fire on the French Fleet. She had concentrated her effort against the French shore batteries and harbor area, doing some damage there. But after the affair, it was said that many ships who took part in that action ended up suffering some mishap at sea or a spate of bad luck.

Her Captain Graham was not a superstitious man, however, and he sailed his ship with confidence in spite of the appalling weather conditions that day. There were also strong forces nearby that shored up his confidence. HMS Hood and Prince of Wales had passed well south of his position some time ago. He noted the time at 2000 hours, or 8:00 pm.

By now Admiral Lancelot Holland on the Hood had been ordered to forsake his refueling stop at Iceland and proceed directly to his assigned patrol station in the Denmark Strait. Almost due south of his position Admiral Tovey was at sea with the Home Fleet, though he was some 200 miles away. Still, it gave him comfort to know the fleet was there. All these great ships were waiting on the cruisers, he thought. Unless they caught sight of the German raiders soon the big battleships could do little more than steam about wasting precious fuel. It was his job to see what could be done about that, and he had already spent the better part of two long days in a fruitless search.

He did not have long to wait.

Off in the mist, shrouded by low lying clouds and fog, her forward watchmen thought he saw something dark against the slate gray sea. He looked again, waiting, until the clear shape of a superstructure and hull emerged from a bank of sea fog.

“Ship sighted, right ahead!” he shouted, and it was a monster.

The warning claxon sounded, and the crew beat to quarters, manning her small six inch gun turrets, though Arethusa was not there for a fight. Her captain immediately gave the order hard to starboard and the cruiser careened through the heavy sea, her wake fuming as the screws spun up to high revolutions for 32 knots. She sped away, heading east towards the nearest friendly vessel as her signals operator tapped out the warning that would now set every other ship at sea in motion, tens of thousands of tons of heavy metal suddenly energized by the call to arms.

“Bismarck sighted, 22:07 hours, NNE my position.”

Days earlier, U-556 under her young captain Herbert Wohlfarth had been lucky enough to find a few ships as well, convoy HX-126, inbound to Liverpool from Halifax. With 38 ships in all, two other German U-boats had already picked off a few stragglers, and now it was Wohlfarth’s turn.

His U-boat had an odd connection to events that were about to transpire. Newly built, it had the distinction to berth right next to the mighty Bismarck while she was also fitting out, and came to think of her as an elder sibling. When his boat was to be commissioned in late January, 1941, Wohlfarth had petitioned the splendid band aboard Bismarck to mark the event with a stirring song. To make his plea, he had gone so far as to send a cartooned drawing to the battleship’s Captain Lindemann, depicting his tiny U-boat as a bold knight fending off torpedo attacks against the larger German ship, and towing her safely away from harm. Lindemann was good humored enough to have it framed on his wardroom wall, and sent along his band. Thereafter, Wohlfarth had pledged he would defend the mighty Bismarck in any sea, and do his utmost to keep her from harm.

Now, however, he feasted on the slow, lumbering transports of convoy HX-126. On his inaugural cruise he had done quite well, sinking four other ships before he found this convoy. His tubes were running low on torpedoes, but he had enough left for one more good attack before he turned south for the safety of the U-boat pens on the French coast. The sea was clear and relatively calm that morning, and he quickly put two torpedoes into his forward tubes, ready for launch.

They lanced out against a hapless steamer, the Cockaponset, and quickly broke her back, capsizing her and sending her to the bottom in short order. Wohlfarth smiled at the hit through his periscope viewer, and gave the order to load tubes again.

“Just three fish left now,” his executive officer admonished.

“A pity,” said Wohlfarth. The convoy was wholly undefended. “We can pick them off at our leisure!”

“We might find better fare elsewhere,” his XO suggested. “These ships are no more than 5000 tonners. And don’t forget that signal from Group North, sir. There’s a major operation on, and Bismarck may be heading this way in time. We may have a chance to sail with her after all!”

“All the more reason to save a few torpedoes,” his navigator Souvad, put in, siding with the executive officer. “This whole area is likely to be full of British warships in little time if Bismarck attempts a breakout. If we could get a hit on a British cruiser it would be a Knight’s Cross and commendations for all.”

Wohlfarth thought, looking through his periscope again where another steamer was ponderously before him, silhouetted by the light of the burning oil slick from Cockaponset. Her name was British Security, a tanker, though he did not know that at the time; quite the misnomer, as her position could not be more insecure at that moment.

It was too much of a temptation, and Wohlfarth gave the order to fire. Two more torpedoes were soon on their way, and they struck the tanker fore and aft, assuring she would be a leaking, burning wreck within minutes.

“Looks like we hit an oiler,” said the captain.

“With two torpedoes, captain?” the navigator had an edge of protest in his voice. “One would have done nicely. Now we have only one fish left.”

“Thank you, sub-lieutenant,” Wohlfarth said quietly. He rotated his scope, scanning the horizon. There were plenty of ships he could maneuver on, though with only one torpedo remaining he would have to line up his position much more carefully. Perhaps he could find another straggler. The convoy was already making a hard 90 degree turn to try and escape. They would set loose more smoke rafts to mask their position, but it wouldn’t help them. Only the presence of an attacking British destroyer would matter now. But there were no destroyers or escorts in his immediate vicinity.

He thought for a moment. Six ships was not a bad tally for his first mission, but he wanted number seven, lucky seven, he thought. That would make a nice story back at the U-Boat pens in France… but if it were a British cruiser he might have the honor of telling it to Admiral Raeder himself!

“Very well,” he decided. “We’ll continue heading west and save our last torpedo for something better. But you had best find me a cruiser, sub-lieutenant Souvad.”

His navigator smiled. “I’ll do my best , sir.”

He would soon make good on that promise.

Days later, Tovey received the signals report with both excitement and apprehension. One of his cruisers had found the German task force near Iceland, pushing south into the Faeroes Gap and he immediately altered course to intercept. He was well south of the position reported by Arethusa, and so he took a direct route north, steering just shy of 360 and thinking to close the distance as quickly as possible. His course would take him directly across the westward path chosen by Wohlfarth’s navigator, and the plucky U-boat Captain would get his chance after all.

Tovey was on the bridge of King George V, occasionally using a pair of field glasses for a better look ahead, though his radar and watchmen would do the job for him well enough. They had been steaming at 27 knots for some hours now, eagerly awaiting the next report from their cruisers to the north. Yet Arethusa never reported again, and there was still no word from the next ship in the patrol line, HMS Manchester. What had happened? He was tempted to send out a wireless radio message, but knew that would only foolishly give away his own position. Yet where was Bismarck?

An hour later he had a message from the Admiralty informing him that they had a suspicious DH radio fix to his north, but there was no word from Arethusa. Ne noted the position and time on his chart, but the news gave him little comfort. A DH fix would have been obtained by a radio transmission intercept. Why would Bismarck break radio silence at a crucial moment like this… Unless it was to crow about her first kill, he thought. Was she still heading south on a collision course with his battle fleet, or had she steered southwest. In that case Hood and Prince of Wales would have to deal with her first. He had ordered Admiral Holland to also plot his best estimated intercept course, and so at that very moment Tovey was satisfied to know he now had four big ships bearing down on the scene, more than a match for Bismarck and her cruiser escort.

Yet those odds were soon about to change.

Unbeknownst to the admiral, a German U-boat, number 556, was gliding quietly beneath the turbulent waves above. It was the sister ship to boat 557, the very same U-boat that had sunk Tovey’s old light cruiser, the Galatea, off Alexandria. Somehow fate had entangled the two boats with Tovey’s life line, and U-556 was about to complicate his mission enormously.

The fleet was kicking up high spray as it labored through the heavy seas, and the sound of the churning props would make any hydrophone contact on the submersed sub impossible. Nor would radar do him any good, even if U-556 were to have surfaced. The tiny U-boat would be lost in the much higher wave crests, which were already sending false contact echoes back to the forward radar screens.

Aboard U-556 Captain Wohlfarth was informed of the noise of many turbines over head. His heart leapt, both with the danger and the opportunity this might afford him. Wary of running afoul of a lethal British destroyer, he nonetheless crept his boat quietly up to periscope depth, though he would be nearly exposed due to the turbulence above. The tiny boat heaved about in the high seas, but Wohlfarth was amazed when he looked through his periscope to see a line of large British warships steaming right across his path! If he fired quickly the chances of getting a hit were very good.

“Load that last torpedo!” he shouted. “Make ready to fire!” The claxons sounded and the small boat was suddenly alive with activity and men leapt from rest stations, fell from swinging hammocks, and squirmed through narrow passages and up ladders to reach their action stations. For the next breathless minute Wohlfarth struggled to get a bearing. “Starboard fifteen,” he ordered, and his navigator responded.

“Starboard fifteen sir, coming around as best we can.”

“Fire now! Down scope. Make your depth 150 feet.”

The whoosh of the torpedo was followed immediately by the dive claxon, and U-556 plunged into an oncoming wave, nearly thirty feet in height, and did not emerge. She slipped beneath the sea to a safer depth and immediately changed heading again to confound any possible response from the enemy. Wohlfarth wanted to get as far from his torpedo track as possible, as any escorting destroyer would sight down that track to range on his position. Once safely away he would surface and see if his last torpedo had been lucky after all.

It was.

Aboard HMS Repulse the warning call of the leeward spotters came too late for the ship to maneuver. “Torpedo off the Starboard side!” Astonished at the alarm, all her captain could do was put on speed by ordering all ahead full. Had he not done so the torpedo would have struck his battlecruiser full amidships, where the belt armor was thickest and the anti-torpedo bulge was designed to shield the inner hull and divert the explosion up and away from the ship. Yet every captain would do his best first to avoid a hit, and he had no clear sighting of the torpedo’s wake to make any better judgment at the time. As it happened, the increase in speed caused the torpedo to strike him astern, very near his rudders, where the armor was much thinner and the potential for serious damage much greater.

Repulse had been struck a fateful blow. The explosion was heard as a mere thump on the bridge when it struck, but moments later the captain had his report on the damage, for his ship veered to starboard almost immediately, his speed falling off considerably.

Aboard King George V Admiral Tovey was informed of the trouble at once. “A U-boat attack?” he said to his Chief of Staff. “At this speed?”

“Must have run right afoul the bastard,” said Brind. “Report from Repulse indicates her rudders are badly damaged, sir. She’s had to fall off to 14 knots and is steaming in circles until they can get divers in the water to have a closer look at the situation.”

“Damn,” said Tovey. “Of all the bloody bad luck!” he fumed. Yet his mind immediately took stock of what he must now do. “We’ll have to leave the destroyers here with her, now. They’re running low on fuel in any case. Better they stay here with Repulse than just set off homeward. They can draw fuel from her if need be.”

“And may I suggest we detach a cruiser as well, sir?”

Tovey thought for a moment. He also had to consider the carrier Victorious, surely a prize target if there were U-Boats about. He had little worry for his own ship, believing the hit on Repulse to have been nothing more than sheer luck at the speed they were making. Yet, where there is smoke, there is fire. How many other U-Boats might be near? He may have run right over wolf pack in a picket line, deliberately deployed here to assist Bismarck.

“Detach Aurora, but the rest of the fleet will keep station. I’m afraid we’ll have to zig-zag now, at least for the next hour.”

The signalman sounded off with a new message. “Admiralty reports Coastal Command has a sighting, sir.”

Tovey read the message: Two ships sighted; presumed Bismarck and Prince Eugen, heading 200 Degrees south, southwest. Cruisers Manchester and Birmingham now maneuvering to shadow contact. He noted the position and time, leaning over his navigation chart with Brind, Captain Patterson and two staff officers, Lloyd and Bingley.

“He’s altered course after the sighting, sir,” said Lloyd, as he did some quick calculations with his ruler and plotting pen. “We’ll have to steer due west to intercept now.”

“Make it so,” said Tovey, still broiling at the loss of Repulse at a crucial time like this. Now his battle fleet had been reduced to the King George V and a handful of light cruisers. Victorious would bring up the rear, but she would steer well away from any potential surface action if they found the enemy. He was haunted by the thought that just a few degrees bearing to port or starboard, his task force would not have encountered the hidden U-Boat and this could not have happened.

“Can Victorious hope to launch anything in this weather?” said Brind. “If we could get some further confirmation on Bismarck’s position from the shadowing cruisers it would surely help matters. We might even return the favor and put a torpedo or two into her gut, sir.”

“Wind near forty knots, seas at forty feet… I very much doubt it,” Tovey replied. “But things change,” he breathed. “Things change…”

“Aye, sir. Coming round to course 270 degrees west.”