Second Front

Chapter 10

The convoys to Russia had begun with all optimism, in spite of the ever present threat from the German Navy, and in the beginning it seemed the effort would prove fruitful. With Ivan Volkov sitting in the Caucasus, and the Japanese controlling Vladivostok, there was only one way to Soviet Russia, the icy northern route to Murmansk and Arkhangelsk. From there, Allied supplies and equipment could move by rail down to Leningrad, the one major city in Russia that remained secure from enemy attack. By May of 1942, twelve convoys had been sent, and with the loss of only one of 103 merchant ships, largely because the heavy losses at sea had prompted Raeder to keep his remaining capital ships in port.

Graf Spee and Graf Zeppelin were gone, along with Gneisenau. Hindenburg was at Gibraltar, and Bismarck laid up with extensive repair work at Toulon. In the north, that left only the Tirpitz as a threat powerful enough to challenge any Royal Navy ship it encountered, but that fact alone meant that each and every convoy to Murmansk had to be covered with a sizable force that would include at least one battleship and one carrier for air support. Admiral Dudley Pound lamented that the convoys were becoming a “regular millstone around our neck.” It was enough to have fast battleships available to watch the breakout zones to the Atlantic. Having to assign a battleship to convoy duty in the far north was indeed a regular added burden on the already strained resources of the Royal Navy.

Commander P.Q. Edwards was a very busy man as he organized this effort, and the code names for the convoys would steal his initials, PQ. For the first six months, the principal threat to the convoys was mounted by the U-Boats operating from bases in Norway. That long, ragged coast stretched the whole way along the eastern flank of the convoy route, and the U-boats would sortie like moray eels emerging from their dark hidden caves to strike at schools of slow moving merchant ships. Bombers at German controlled airfields also posed a grave threat, and in the late spring of 1942, the attacks began to ratchet up.

Admiral Tovey remarked that if the Germans ever added a credible surface threat, they might easily overwhelm the effort to escort and guard these precious supply runs. Yet the convoys simply had to get through. Soviet Russia had barely survived the winter of 1941, and every sign now pointed to an impending German summer offensive that might knock the Soviets right out of the war, a disaster that had to be forestalled at any cost. Russia needed munitions, food, oil, and most of all trucks and aircraft. The Murmansk Run was the only way to get those vital supplies through, and so that millstone had to be carried, no matter what the cost, and the escorts had to be found.

Tovey had been warned of one bloody choke point in the history that waited to be re-written—Convoy PQ-17. Fedorov had told him it had been savaged by the Germans, but as the numbered convoys were ticked off in the schedule, no German surface threat appeared. Then, spooked by faulty intelligence that the Allies were planning an invasion of Norway, Hitler ordered Raeder to strongly reinforce Norwegian ports and coastal defenses. With this order, the effort to build a strong bastion in the north for the Kriegsmarine was redoubled. Trondheim was selected as the best location, and the long planned naval air base there would suddenly be built out to a scale never seen in Fedorov’s history. It would be called ‘Nordstern,’ the North Star of the Reich, and so in May of 1942, Raeder ordered the cream of his surface ships in the north to sail from German ports for the cold waters of the north.

The German force there would soon be comprised of the Battleship Tirpitz, the battlecruiser Scharnhorst, two new Panzerschiff super heavy cruisers, Rhineland and Westfalen, and the two older commerce raiders, Lutzow and Admiral Scheer. Reaching Nordstern first, the Tirpitz made one threatening run to let the British know the game had now changed. Admiral Ciliax took the ship out with three destroyers to get after convoy PQ-12, but the presence of British carrier borne aircraft forced a hard lesson. Albacores bravely harried the foe with their torpedoes, forcing Tirpitz into a wild evasive dance on the sea, with every AA gun firing as it ran for the cover of friendly planes to the east. While no hits were scored, Raeder immediately ordered a halt to sorties into the Norwegian Sea until the Northern Fleet was further reinforced.

Five more ships would be sent, the heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper, and the first of his fast ocean going destroyers in the new Valkyrie Class. This last group would form the main escort for one more notable addition—the aircraft carrier Peter Strasser. That was really what Raeder had been waiting for, a ship that could again provide the necessary aerial reconnaissance for the fleet. The workmen had been working feverishly in the shipyards to get the ship operational, and now it was finally ready.

With that single ship the entire balance would be upset in the north, for now the Germans could take out sea based fighter cover, and the British would be forced to double down on their own carrier assignments to PQ convoys. Raeder had kept all these ships ‘in the cupboard’ for long months after the heavy losses off Fuerteventura in the south. All the while, he husbanded precious fuel oil to support a major operation, and quietly shipped it to Nordstern with the small convoys lifting troops, workmen, and supplies. Now, with the completion of the new base, and the arrival of Peter Strasser, it was time for his knights to sally forth.

The news of this major naval move coursed like ice through the veins of the Admiralty. Admiral Tovey had been busy planning the raid on Saint Nazaire when the word came in, and he was forced to depart on a plane from the Azores immediately. Up until that time, Admiral Holland had been Chief of the Nore while Tovey was operating in the South, still aboard the ship that should have been sunk the previous May, the venerable HMS Hood. The much needed support from the Americans had relieved the British on Iceland and the watch on the Denmark Strait. There, an older battleship, the Mississippi, and a new addition, the Massachusetts, had been holding down that patrol zone, allowing Holland and Hood to watch the Faeroes Gap.

“Gentlemen,” said Tovey. “This is a most unwelcome turn of affairs. King George V has been the mainstay for convoy covering operations, backstopped by the Hood, but I’ve had to send her south now to reinforce Duke of York in Force H. Now this new German battle fleet settling in at Trondheim is the most powerful threat we have faced in the north since Lütjens first began his major breakout sorties. Lütjens is gone, and there’s no telling who the Germans might be sending in his place, but those ships intend mischief. Under the circumstances, the entire PQ convoy schedule could be ripped to shreds.”

“This new base at Trondheim is getting more than ships,” said Admiral Pound. “The Germans are reinforcing their air squadrons there as well, and we must also expect that Döenitz will send more U-boats. PQ-16 had 36 ships, and all but 8 arrived safely. We’ve been lucky thus far with these runs up to Murmansk, but now it looks like they’re going for the jugular.”

“PQ-17 is up next,” said Tovey, shuddering inwardly as he considered all that Fedorov had told him. “Might we postpone that convoy until we sort this all out?”

“We might,” said Pound, “but the Prime Minister won’t hear of it. The Germans are on the move again in Russia. They’ve been repositioning most of their mobile forces on the southeastern segment of that huge bag they’ve been in all winter. That Soviet winter offensive was remarkable, and a godsend to the war effort as a whole, but the Soviets are played out. Their divisions are spent, troops exhausted, and they need new equipment, trucks, and more than anything, aircraft. Churchill insists that we maintain the convoy schedule. Sergei Kirov has made a direct appeal that every effort be made. Gentlemen, if we lose the Soviets now, we lose this war—it is just that simple. The American President Roosevelt is equally insistent, and the belief now is that we should proceed, even if we sustain heavy losses. If even half the ships get through, that would be acceptable to the war cabinet. So let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work here. What can we do?”

Tovey shrugged. “Up until now, we have only had to worry about the Scharnhorst up near Tromso. The Germans have restricted their surface sorties to the North Cape region. Now, with this buildup at Trondheim, we must consider that they could just as easily sortie directly from that port, meaning we’ll have to provide much stronger escorts in the close covering force. Rear-Admiral Hamilton’s cruiser squadron will have to be reinforced,” said Tovey.

“More easily said than done,” said Pound. “We lost Edinburgh when it was hit by U-boats while escorting PQ-15. Jerry tried to finish her off with destroyers, but there was nothing wrong with Edinburgh’s guns and they put the destroyer Hermann Schoemann down for good. But they managed to get off one more torpedo, and that finished our cruiser off. Trinidad was up at Murmansk and nursing a wound on the way home. The Luftwaffe got to that one. Even with our new Knight Class cruisers coming active, we’re still stretched thin on that count.”

“At least we’ve taught them they can’t sortie with destroyers as long as we can still cover those convoys with cruisers. The catch is finding those ships. Norfolk was scheduled to return, but I had to order her to remain on station with Force H, along with both the Knight Class cruisers. That leaves us with very little to spare. Kent has been on the Murmansk Runs for some time, and was scheduled for refit. I’m afraid her Type 273 radar set will have to wait. We’ll need her for one more run. We’ve assigned London, and Cumberland is now available after her repair and refit. We were going to send Shropshire to the Australians, but that’s impossible with this news, so count on that ship as well. Nigeria is available, along with Jamaica, and both of those ships are presently watching the Faeroes Gap. They could join Hood for the distant Covering Force. Newcastle and Sheffield are at Scapa Flow if needed, and they’ll sail with the two new battleships, Anson and Howe.”

“Here-here,” said Pound, tapping the conference table. “It’s about time we got some fresh blood for the battleships. The Americans will also send their fast battleship Massachusetts for the close cover force. That should help out immensely.”

“Hopefully so,” said Tovey. “Now then… The waters east of Bear Island have been the real danger point all along, but with this new naval facility the Germans have established near Trondheim, I’m inclined to think we may find trouble well before we reach the cape. Logistically, it’s much more economical for the Germans to Operate from Nordstern.”

“The North Cape was always a choke point,” said Pound. “The ice forces us south near the Norwegian coast, and under their air power at Kirkenes and Petsamo. And the U-boats love those restricted waters.”

“Yes, well the arrival of Peter Strasser changes all that. Now the Germans can take their air power out to sea, and so we’ll need a second aircraft carrier on this run. Ark Royal is the only candidate, and I propose that we add her to the Home Fleet Squadron coming up from Scapa Flow.”

“Very well,” Pound agreed. “Four battleships, two carriers, eight cruisers…. With these dispositions, I’m prepared to go forward with PQ-17, and Godspeed, gentlemen.”

The convoy was two weeks early in this history, and already on its third day out from Halva Fiord when first contact came. Flight Leutnant Eric Meyers was elated to have been the very first pilot to take a plane up off the Peter Strasser on a bona fide combat patrol. The carrier had rendezvoused with the battleship Tirpitz, which was now 180 nautical miles west of Tromso with Rhineland, Westfalen, and three of the Z-Class Destroyers, Valkyrie, Brynhild and Grimhild. Another 42 nautical miles to the south, Kurt Hoffmann was cruising in the battlecruiser Scharnhorst with the heavy cruiser Hipper and two more of the new destroyers, Gunnar and Sigurd. Once again, the German Navy was now operating in a manner that was quite different. Instead of isolated raiders, those two battlegroups now sailed in close support range, and Peter Strasser had just begun routine recon operations to the west. Meyers soon had an eyeful.

He had come down from the north, ready to make a turn and head back towards the carrier, when the clear creamy wakes of several ships were evident on the calm seas beneath him. The weather had been excellent, and he had come down to 12,000 feet to get a better look at what he now believed was the main British covering force for their next convoy. There was a battleship, a cruiser, several destroyers and a carrier. The battleship was unmistakable, long, sleek and with four twin turrets, not the old fat profile of the Queen Elizabeth class. This was the Hood. Knowing there would most likely be fighters up, he decided to look for his wing mate and head east,

With Ciliax taken ill, General-Admiral Rolf Carls had been given overall responsibility for coordinating the maneuver. When he got the report, he realized that his advanced scouts, the Admiral Scheer and Lutzow, would be very close to that contact, but clearly no match for the Hood. He immediately sent a signal ordering them to turn southwest, thinking that they might best slip by the British to see what may be lurking beyond. At 16:20, however, he received yet another sighting report, this time from KapitänleutnantFriedrich-Karl Marks on U-376. He had taken his boat out from Bergen on June 7th, looking for British merchant shipping coming up from Iceland. This time he saw a good deal more—another British battleship, two cruisers and two destroyers about 140 nautical miles west of the two Deutschland class raiders.

It was now quite clear that something big was up. This convoy had to be very important to warrant the commitment of so many British ships. Then again, Kapitan Topp on the Tirpitz had little doubt that the British had observed the new addition to their own fleet. They had to know Peter Strasser was at sea, and perhaps they intended to try and sink that ship. Would there be naval rockets this time? The old commander of Graf Zeppelin had been fished out of the sea in the Atlantic—Kurt Böhmer. Instead of retiring him in shame, Raeder had put him right back in his old position as Kapitan Sur Zee of Flugzeugträger Nord, a most desirable position. Familiar with the class, Böhmer was getting a second chance now, but he had been told, in no uncertain terms, that he must always operate with a destroyer off each side of his ship. That was a thankless job for the destroyer Kapitans, to realize their ships were there to shield the carrier from rocket attack. Yet it was just one way an escorting ship would stand on defense of its charge.

So there it was, two strong battlegroups on either side, each with an aircraft carrier at hand in what was about to become a classic duel in the north. When Flight Leutnant Eric Meyers found Topp’s battlegroup again, the sky above it was already dark with crows. The Stukas had formed up over the carrier in two squadrons of 9 planes each, and six more Bf-109s were already heading west to engage any enemy CAP that might be up on defense. Meanwhile, at 16:48, U-376 signaled it had positively identified the cruisers London and Shropshire, asking for permission to attack. It was granted.

The long agony that was PQ-17 was about to begin.

Chapter 11

Even though Meyer’s sighting would be over 40 minutes cold by the time they launched, the Stuka pilots would simply head west with every confidence they would find the enemy again. Only a few of the Ju-87 pilots had seen much combat in Russia. Most were specially recruited for the navy, with training on carrier based operations, but not in the grueling mill of close ground suport. As such, few had ever really attacked an enemy ship at sea, but they were now about to get their first real opportunity. The long white wake of HMS Hood was soon spotted by one of the leading fighters, and word was flashed to the strike squadrons to follow his lead.

Victorious had six fighters up that afternoon, in three groups of two, with another two planes spotted for immediate takeoff. The Martlets, as they called them, were really the American F-4F Wildcat, already a proven carrier based fighter in the Pacific. While it was not a match for the Bf-109, it would be good enough in numbers to provide a decent CAP over Holland’s group. They had spotted Meyers earlier, chased him briefly until he sped away to the north, and then lost him. When CAP 2 saw the first BF-109 again, they thought it might be the same bandit still lurking about to try and shadow the battlegroup, but they soon learned the enemy was bringing uninvited guests.

Word was flashed to Victorious, and Captain Henry Bovell immediately ordered up those two ready Martlets as CAP 4. Soon the dizzy fighter duel began, which was just what the Germans intended while the 18 Stukas made a beeline for the enemy ships below. They had two primary targets, that battleship and the carrier, and each of the two squadrons took one ship, screaming down with their Jericho trumpets wailing like banshees. More planes were launching from Victorious even as the enemy came in, the sea suddenly erupting with the tall splashes of the bombs. Most fell very wide, their thunder exploding beneath the surface and sending shock waves against the hull, but Victorious was a sturdy ship, and weathered the blows easily enough. The same thing was happening to Hood, which was straddled but largely missed by the bombs, her heavier side armor shrugging off the shock of two very near misses. Finally, one bomb hit, but it was well forward on the newly armored deck, and caused little real harm.

It looked to be a mediocre showing, until the last Stuka came in and put a bomb right through the flight deck near the island on Victorious. It would reach the hanger deck and explode to take out three Martlets and six Albacores, though fortunately none of those planes were armed or fueled, and so the damage was restricted to the loss of the planes, which was bad enough. For that hit, the best of the lot, the crows lost one plane coming in, and two more were taken down by the Martlets on the way out. But those Bf-109s were also exacting a toll on the British fighters, and five of twelve that eventually got up into the fray would not make it home. It was all over by 18:00 and the planes were heading home to their respective carriers. The long hours of day light in these northern latitudes made for easy flying, but it was still several hours before Peter Strasser had collected all her aircraft again.

General-Admiral Rolf Carls, with his flag aboard the Tirpitz, immediately sent over an order to get all the Stukas rearmed and fueled, and that would again take over two hours, given that several more Stukas had minor damage that needed to be addressed. In the meantime, he had four fighters spotted on deck in case the enemy decided to launch a counter strike.

“I doubt they know where we are,” said Kapitan Topp. “We’ve seen no enemy planes over our task force this whole time.”

“But yet they know we are out here,” said Carls. “The question now is what to do this evening.”

“Hoffmann is south of us with Scharnhorst,” said Topp. “He’s too close, and we will not want him tangling with Hood alone if they find him there.”

“Agreed. We also have the two Deutschland class ships well to the south. My inclination is to order Hoffmann to turn and give this enemy covering force a wide berth. As for us, Peter Strasser aside, we will continue west on this heading.”

“You intend to look for Hood?”

“And that enemy carrier as well.”

“Good enough.” Topp had been wanting to get his ship back into action for many months now. The news of what had happened to Bismarck off Fuerteventura had been most disconcerting. But at 21:15, a series of messages from two U-boats would begin the real game. Kapitan Max-Martin Teichert was also out from Bergen in U-456, and he had taken up the watch on another covering force first seen by Marks on U-376 earlier. Together they had identified two British cruisers, and then Marks turned further west, leaving Teichert to shadow the enemy force. Now he added a battleship to that contact list, an American ship.

“Most likely the Mississippi,” said Carls. “It has been operating in the Denmark Strait.” He was wrong, of course, for the Germans did not yet know that a much newer and faster ship had come on the scene, BB Massachusetts. That report sent tumblers clicking in the Admiral’s mind, and knowing his enemy well, he realized this must be the close covering force. That meant the real prey was probably close at hand, the nice fat merchant ships of PQ-17.

That was the very same thing Kapitan Marks had in his mind when he turned west at periscope depth, and a little after 21:30 he spotted two groups of enemy merchantmen. After maneuvering for position for some time, torpedoes were in the water at 21:50. Firing in salvos of two, his first fish ran right between the lead ships in the formation, the Hartelbury and Olpana, missing both. The number two salvo had no better luck, skirting past the bow of the Samuel Chase and passing harmlessly through the formation. Frustrated, he put two more torpedoes in the water, grateful that there was no sign of enemy destroyers yet. They would also miss, and he cursed under his breath, this time determined to line up better before his next shot. His determination paid off, much to the chagrin of the Hartelbury, which he hit amidships with torpedo 5.

“Got him!” he shouted. “Now fifteen points to port, I can get one more off.” He would then hit the Richard Bland, both ships penetrated and with flooding and fires lighting up the scene and undoubtedly getting the Convoy Master to grit his teeth. Now he needed time to let the men manhandle more torpedoes from the magazines and get them mounted in the tubes. So he turned east away from the two ships he had set afire, still running at periscope depth. There was another group of eight merchantmen off his port side, and he was thinking to line up on the nearest ship when his careful eye spotted trouble in the high foaming bow wash of a destroyer. That was enough to dampen his ardor.

“Secure periscope,” he said. “Enemy destroyers to the north. Dive!”

“Goblin!” said Captain George Stephenson, Master of Hartlebury. “Where are the bloody destroyers?”

His First Officer, a man named Gordon, came staggering in from the radio room. “Got a signal off,” he breathed. “Help is on the way.”

“Look to our damage, would you? I think one of the Oerlikon gun-platforms has collapsed.”

Even as he said that, the Captain had a strange inner thought, seeing himself there on the outer deck, that gun platform right on top of him, hearing the shouts of several men, the gunners that were flung into the sea. His head was throbbing with pain, there was blood running down his forehead into his left eye, and the twisted steel legs of the platform restricted his movement, pinning him to the deck.

He shook his head, as if to chase that fearful image from his mind, but his First Officer’s report was darker than he expected. “The whole mount is gone,” he said. “Five men overboard there, and two guns lost. There’s heavy damage to two others on the deck below, and a nice hole in the hull near the water line—a fire there too, though it looks controllable.”

Right where I might have been, thought Stevenson, though he did not know why. His strange intuition was, in fact, the fate he had suffered in Fedorov’s history, where the Hartlebury had been one of the last ships to be hit, well up around the North Cape. In that incarnation, his First Officer and a Marine had dragged him to safety, away from that fire, but that would not be his fate in this time line. Matthew 20: verse 16 applied in some skewed way to this whole affair—‘the last shall be first.’ Here, now, Hartlebury had been the first ship hit, and Stevenson was still safely in the confines of the bridge. It was U-355 that had ended the ship’s life in the old history, but now it would be Hartlebury that would put an end to U-376.

The destroyers had all been too far ahead, well out in front of the merchant ships, even the four that should have been well aft of the main convoy. Marks had slipped in very quietly to become the first wolf to get at the fold, very pleased with himself. If he had known that he was silently creeping towards his own doom, he might have changed course, picked another target, and lived into his eighth war patrol in the Bay of Biscay as he once did. It took him all eight in that history to get just two ships, and he had already scored two hits here, so he seemed to be riding a resurgent swell in the seas of time. But he had picked on the wrong ship out of sixteen different targets he might have fired at that day. Hartlebury was also harboring the Vice Commodore of the entire convoy, and so she had a special Naval Signals staff aboard, who were very quick to get hold of the Aft Destroyer Screen and read them the riot act. What were they doing forward of his formation if they were the bloody Aft screening force? Couldn’t they see that an attack was underway?

So the bow wash Kapitan Marks had seen was from the O-Class Destroyer Onslaught, and its name would be well given that day. Chastened by the sharp radio call he had received, and somewhat angry, Commander William Halford Selby was about to put an end to the career of Kapitänleutnant Friedrich-Karl Marks. Selby had spotted the wake from the U-boat periscope just before Marks had given that dive order. Now he turned and bored in relentlessly at 28 knots, knowing that if he was quick to the scene his depth charges would likely find the enemy below.

He was correct. He began his run, two charges at a time, the sea erupting behind him as the Onslaught continued, The booming explosions were heard in the convoy, where the men cheered to see their defenders arriving on the scene. Eight charges were put down, one exploding just 200 feet from the submerged U-boat, which was enough to wreak havoc. Fatal flooding followed, and patrol number four would be the last for Kapitan Marks and his crew.

This little drama would soon be eclipsed by a much greater threat to the life and liberty of PQ-17. The two Deutschland Class raiders had been well south, swinging in a wide arc towards the west. Now they knew the position of the enemy convoy, and they were hastening up like a pair of wolves out after a flock of sheep. Yet the course chosen by Kapitan Krancke aboard the Admiral Scheer took the raiders right astride the oncoming Home Fleet Group, where the carrier Ark Royal, steamed with battleships Anson and Howe, the cruiser Newcastle, and several destroyers. It was yet another plucky destroyer, the Ledbury, that would bravely challenge the intruders, turning everyone’s well laid plans on their head and setting off a major naval battle that would soon go off like a string of firecrackers. Out in front, Ledbury made the first sighting at 21:40, reporting what looked like two cruisers ahead. Unfortunately these cruisers had 11-inch guns, but that did not stop Ledbury from engaging with some very disciplined and accurate fire.

Lt. Commander Roger Percival Hill was often called ‘Percy’ by the men after his middle name, and for the reason that he had quite openly proclaimed that he was gunning for an appointment to one of the new Knight Class heavy cruisers, Sir Percival. Before that could happen, he had to get a leg up in rank and another ‘Mention in Dispatches,’ and he was quite eager to get started here. Hill decided to take his destroyer up to get a closer look, and when the enemy seemed to be putting on speed, he countered by ordering all ahead full. Minutes later, he had a much better look at the silhouettes, and immediately sent a W/T signal indicating he had hold of two Deutschland Class ‘pocket battleships.’ That should have ended his little foray, but Hill was determined, and boldly began opening fire on the trailing ship, the only one within his range. To his great delight, he began getting hits.

Word was flashed from ship to ship, and Admiral Wake-Walker, his Flag aboard the Ark Royal, quickly dispatched Newcastle to see about getting hold of the German raiders by the heels. He also signaled Captain Charles Woodhouse aboard the battleship Howe, and ordered that ship to make a fifteen point turn to port and put on speed. Anson and the remaining destroyers would continue on as close escort for Ark Royal, which also began spotting planes.

Lt. Commander Hill’s audacity was going to reap a considerable harvest, but it would come at a cost. Lutzow began returning fire, and minutes later, the leading ship, which Hill presumed to be the Admiral Scheer, also joined the action. No destroyer leader in his right mind would stand in a fight under such unfavorable odds, and Hill now realized discretion was the better part of valor here. He gave the order to turn when an 11-inch shell landed so close to the ship that it literally shook loose steam pipes, boiler cowlings and hull plating. Ledbury wallowed to one side with the hit, taking two more smaller rounds from secondary guns as she did so. One struck the conning tower, if it could be called as much, smashing the radio room and killing three men there.

Thankfully, the light cruiser Newcastle was now racing to the scene, and seeing Ledbury’s distress, Captain Powlett opened fire on Lutzow. The ensuing gun battle then fell upon his ship, with both German raiders redirecting their fire. Powlett’s ship should have been in the Mediterranean for Operation Vigorous, a convoy escort to Malta, but that history had changed and so she was reassigned to the Murmansk Run instead. Once Powlett had encountered the twins, both Scharnhorst and Gneisenau on the 23rd of November, 1939, and he had often boasted that he might have had them were it not for foul weather that allowed the German ships to slip away. Fair weather might have sealed his own fate instead, but his bravado was taken for what it was. Now, with Gneisenau gone, the British had taken to calling the last two Deutschland class ships the younger twins, and Powlett had his moment yet again—only this time the weather was good, with excellent visibility even at this late hour in the far north.

The Captain and Newcastle would also find themselves quickly overmatched. The ship was straddled, then pummeled badly five minutes later, seeing two of her four triple 152mm turrets knocked out, along with several Bofors mounts. One hit penetrated her side armor, smashing the boiler room and drastically reducing the ship’s speed. That blow might have saved her from more grievous harm, as the lead enemy ship was running on and opening the range. In return Newcastle managed three hits on the Lutzow, also slowing that ship with boiler damage. It was then that the battleship Howe loomed on the horizon, coming up quickly from the southeast. That was the straw that would break the camel’s back—for Lutzow.

While Ledbury’s 120mm guns continued to score numerous hits on the German ship, few penetrated completely, and most of that damage was to superstructure, binocular stations, AA guns, secondary batteries. Newcastle had done better, but being hit by an 11-inch shell had put her out of the game and forced Powlett to break off and turn south to save his ship. The appearance of Howe ended the matter, her 5.25 inch guns raking the wallowing German ship, which had fallen off in speed to just 7 knots. Then a 14-inch shell found its target, and the resulting blast damage opened Lutzow’s hull on the port side below the water line. The ship gulped seawater, the boilers flooded, screws stilled, and Lutzow soon went into an uncontrollable list. The second of Germany’s fabled pocket battleships was going down that day, and the news would come as an electric shock to Admiral Carls.

Chapter 12

He might have taken it easier if he had stayed in the comfort of his office back at Naval Group North at Kiel, but out here, aboard Tirpitz, with the wind raw and the seas grey in the wan light of June 16th, it came harder, colder, and with an edge of foreboding.

He leaned heavily over the map table, his eyes dark with concern. “We have sunk a damn destroyer,” he breathed. “And for that we lose the Lutzow.”

“What about Scheer?” asked Kapitan Topp.

“Running northeast, and being chased by a goddamn British battleship. It must be of the King George V class to stay in the hunt. And now Hoffmann reports he has sighted another large capital ship as well. Where are the British getting all these battleships?”

“It must be the Hood, sir. Pilots reported it was breaking off from that British carrier we attacked earlier today.”

“Under the circumstances, I believe we should alter course and move north towards the cape. We know where they are going. Let’s get there first. With two British carriers on the scene, the few fighters we have on Peter Strasser will not be sufficient. We need to get back under our land based air cover. As for Admiral Scheer. I do not think it will be useful to make a run for the Denmark Strait. The Americans have another battleship there, and several cruisers. Their present course suggests that option, and so that alone will have an effect. Instead, I will order Kranke to come about and shadow that convoy, but he is not to engage until we learn more.”

At that moment, a messenger came up with a signal, and the Kapitan Topp took it with some interest. “Ah,” he said. “U-456 reports two groups of merchantmen escorted by a single destroyer. We’ve reacquired their position.”

Topp had a fleeting thought that the Admiral had suddenly lost his nerve. Earlier, he was talking about hunting for the Hood, but now he seemed in no way eager to engage, even though they had a good idea where the battleship was. Aside from HMS Invincible, no other ship in the British fleet had quite the reputation of the Hood. It’s Achilles heel had not yet been exposed, for it never fought that fateful duel with the Bismarck. It had fought well against Lütjens the previous year, and after being hit by Stukas off the Graf Zeppelin, it had gone in for a refit that saw its deck armor toughened up considerably.

Perhaps the Admiral was wise to give that ship the respect it was due, thought Topp. Most of the medals on his chest date to the first war—that’s when he won that Iron Cross. But like Hood, I must give the man his due respect as well. His reasons for turning east now are sound. And yet… we are standing on the bridge of the Tirpitz. One day we will meet that ship. I can feel it, and today is as good a day as any other.

A second message arrived at 06:50. “Rhineland and Westfalen also have a sighting south,” said Topp.

“Probably a pesky British cruiser trying to shadow us,” said the Admiral. “Signal Peter Strasser. Have them get a couple Stukas up to have a look, and let them know we still have a stinger. As for U-456, if he can close, perhaps we can take another bite out of the flock. Good for him. In the meantime, I want all our ships steering 045 and ahead full.”

Rhineland trained her guns on the distant silhouette, but at 06:30 they saw the pair of Stukas come in and the cruiser itself disappeared over the horizon. Once up at 12,000 feet, the pilots identified the shadow as a British heavy cruiser, and some 15 nautical miles behind it, there was a larger ship, undoubtedly the Hood. The news after that was not good. The two Stukas dove on the cruiser, but both were hit by flak and went down in the sea. One got a 500 pound bomb off, scored a near miss, but the pilots were still too green to make an effective attack, the British veterans behind those AA guns simply too good that day. The Admiral elected to keep his remaining Stuka’s ready, and instead put up fighters to try and find the British carrier. That was the most immediate threat in his mind, and with the long sleepless night passed, he turned the matter over to Böhmer and retired.

Thus far the British had done a splendid job in defending this valuable convoy. Hartlebury was badly damaged, though still seaworthy. It was decided to have that ship return to Reykjavik after the Convoy Master transferred to another vessel. As for the Richard Bland, It was dead in the water, its crew taken off by the destroyer Ashanti, and then the ship would have to be put down. Destroyer Ledbury was gone, and the light cruiser Newcastle had sustained enough damage to her boilers to force her to be detached and sent home to the Faeroes with the destroyer Leamington. Everything else was afloat, safe and still on course, and Admiral Holland aboard the Hood had maneuvered in such a threatening way that the Germans soon vanished to the east of his position.

The British were wise enough to know what the Germans were doing. Holland was well settled into the Captain’s chair on Hood, and musing inwardly, zombie thoughts circling in the mind of a man who should be dead now.

They’ve broken off east, he thought. Precisely what I would do. The question now is whether we should get after them with the two carriers. If we can hound them sufficiently, perhaps they’ll throw in the towel and head for a Norwegian port. That would certainly be good, but I think it unlikely, unless we really get lucky and hurt them. Yet we must try and drive them off. Otherwise, they’ll make for the North Cape, and then we’ll have the real battle on our hands.

Admiral Holland was a very wise man.

It was work for the carriers now, with each side laboring to improve their situational awareness. Ark Royal put up a seaplane and sent it northeast, with two fighters up on CAP. This carrier was leading a bit of a charmed life in this retelling of events. It should have met its fate at the end of a torpedo from U-81 in the Med during a run to support Malta. With that island in German hands, and Crete being supplied more easily from Alexandria, Ark Royal was reassigned to the Atlantic, and had spent most of her time in the Faeroes Gap. Now she was the second carrier Tovey had added to this convoy, coming up with Anson and Howe in the Home Fleet group to make PQ-17 one of the most heavily guarded convoys ever to set sail in the war.

Further north with the distant covering force, Victorious also put up a pair of fighters and sent them to keep an eye on the retiring German battlegroup. It was able to identify several ships, but there was no sign of the German carrier until 11:30. The seaplane off Ark Royal had just altered course to investigate an unknown ship, and so Fighter 1 off the Victorious, having completed its reconnaissance run, was vectored south to join the party. Amazingly, they spotted the carrier alone, without escort of any kind. German fighters were spotted, high above, slipping in and out of high clouds. The fighter’s climbed to look for them, but it was a shadow dance and the contact was lost. Meanwhile, the seaplane off Ark Royal confirmed the sighting, and soon both British carriers had the location of the enemy prize.

After damage sustained by that hit the previous day, Victorious had only 6 Albacores available for a possible strike, but they were ordered to take off immediately, receiving an escort of three fighters. On Ark Royal, there were 12 new planes, the British Buccaneer, which was next in line to replace the Albacore. All 12 were ordered up, with six fighters in escort, also new Fireflies replacing the older Fulmars. During all this time, the Germans had no idea the enemy was shadowing them, until that seaplane loitered just a little too long, and two Bf-109s on CAP spotted it. They swooped in, chasing the plane through one drifting cloud after another, before they finally got their quarry.

Now Böhmer had to assume he had been spotted. Minor engine problems had seen the ship lag behind when the order was given to turn east. Böhmer did not think it important enough to report, and kept on at 15 knots until his engineers sorted the problem out. In the meantime, he had effected a rendezvous with Kurt Hoffmann, glad to have a surface escort again. The dark silhouette of the Scharnhorst was a most welcome sight. Yet the four fighters he had up now would be running low on fuel soon, and would have to be relieved. As for the British, while he had a general idea of their location, the morning recon operation sighting reports were already well over an hour old. He could send his Stukas out, looking for trouble, but his inclination was to get a good fighter defense up first, which is exactly what he ordered. He had eight 109s still available, and sent them all up, intending to send a few to cover Tirpitz to the north. The fighters began taking off, fanning out to the west, and it was Willie Brandt in Number 5 who made the first contact—a group of four enemy planes.

Hans Schiller in Number 7 to the south saw them too as he was climbing through 20,000 feet. They appeared to be coming from the southwest, but a minute after 12:00, another warning came in from the west. Kempf in Number 8 also had contacts, at least five planes. He saw another Messerschmitt streak in to attack, but it was caught in a withering fire from the rear mounted guns on this new plane type. A pair of Vickers K .707 MGs gunned him down, and he made a mental note to swing round and make his pass from the front of this target.

Over the next 30 minutes, those eight Germans fighters had to contend with two well coordinated strikes from the British carriers. The sky was suddenly alive with the movement of enemy aircraft. Brandt could see several groups of planes in formation, lower, slower, and obviously looking for trouble. He dove on one group, riddling one plane from above and sending the others scattering to evade. So the British have a new torpedo bomber, he noted. The heavy round nosed lances were evident beneath their fuselages as he climbed after his pass. Then two fighters came swooping in and he quickly banked right, soon finding himself in a heated dogfight.

Those eight German fighters pirouetted about, more maneuverable than anything else in the sky, and their dizzy dance seemed to multiply their numbers in the minds of the British bomber pilots. Two of the three strike groups had been broken up, twos and threes reforming and getting back on their attack heading. The pilots strained to look for targets, squinting at the sea below and still casting wary glances this way and that for German fighters. Then one man called out on the radio—Skunk at three o’clock! Lieutenant Commander Robert Everett of 810 Squadron thought they might keep on and find more targets. This looked to be nothing more than a destroyer. He pressed on, but saw nothing but the empty sea. The Germans had turned east some time ago, and by the time the planes got out to the reported location of Peter Strasser, the fleet-footed carrier was nowhere to be seen.

If all these angry bees are here, the hive must be somewhere, thought Everett. He kept on, with four wing mates, but saw nothing but that lone destroyer. It soon became a question of better than nothing, and so he took his planes in. That was going to seal the fate of DD Gunnar that day. It would dodge four of the five torpedoes after it, but not the one from Lieutenant Commander Everett. He saw the contact explosion, high white spray amidships, and grinned. Now the only carrier he had to find out here was the good ‘Old Ark.’

Kapitan Theodore Kranke was not happy. He had been given a very privileged role in this operation, the lead scouting group for the fleet, and he had certainly done that well enough, finding the enemy the previous day. Yet that engagement with a single destroyer and cruiser had been very costly. The sight of his brother ship Lutzow careening over like that was most disheartening. A destroyer, a cruiser, and finally a battleship, and that had been the end for Lutzow, a most able ship.

Raeder is getting too bold now, he thought. He had another aircraft carrier, and so he thinks he can send the fleet anywhere he pleases. We barely got away from that battleship—a new ship from the looks of it, and fast. If this were 1940, my ship would have little more than a British cruiser to worry about, unless we ran into the Hood. Now, most every battleship I’m likely to see in the Norwegian Sea has the speed to get after me, and I can do nothing about that except turn and run.

He shrugged, realizing his ship had been built to fight in 1940, but things were very different now, and Admiral Scheer was already obsolete. That was what had just happened to him. After slipping away, leaving Newcastle, Ledbury and Lutzow to their fate, he made a wide circling maneuver west and north around Jan Mayen, using the island itself, wreathed in fog, to mask his position. He had it in mind to then turn northeast and run on a course roughly parallel to the one he expected the convoy to take. Then he could come 30 points to starboard and see if he could take those merchantmen on the flank. The maneuver had been executed perfectly, over a long 24 hour period, and he was approaching the convoy zone again, guns ready, lookouts high on the mainmast, eager for vengeance. There, to his great surprise, was the looming presence of yet another British battleship, heavy on the horizon. He saw the long silhouette begin to compress, and knew that the enemy had turned toward him to give chase.

“Helmsman! Come about, 180 degrees! All ahead flank!”

Turn and run…. It was all he had in his pocket for such an encounter, and he steamed, angry to find himself right back where he was the previous day, running from a British battleship. It was as if a hungry man had just snuck into the kitchen after hours and was caught by a knife wielding cook. He could keep his distance now if he ran full out. The King George V class topped out at 28 knots, just like his own ship. As long as he was out of range of those 14-inch guns, he was safe. But if they had a pair of cruisers to harry him as well… Lutzow, rolling over into the dark cold sea, and nothing he could do for those men now. He had many friends on that ship.

So now we play the game again, he thought. How in the world did they know where I was? Could they have picked me up on radar? Was I spotted by a plane we failed to see? It was frustrating, and maddening at the same time. Here in these latitudes it was daylight round the clock in this season. There was no inky black darkness to hide in at night, just the long dull grey smear.

After running an hour, they eventually shook the dark shadow of the battleship and Krancke turned south west, intending to loop around and see about coming at the convoy from behind. It was then that the watchmen sounded the alarm again—ship sighted, only this time it was just what he feared, a pesky destroyer, a ship that had the speed to find him, mark his location on a chart, and stay on his heels. Only time could shake a determined destroyer Captain. Admiral Scheer had very long sea legs and could out last a ship like that. Yet if he turned to engage it, the destroyer could simply make smoke, put on speed, and race away. The worst of it was this—where there was a destroyer, a British cruiser or two were not far behind.

So the battle yesterday jangled their nerves, he thought. They know I’m still out here, and now they have two sightings in the space of an hour, so they also know what I’ve done with this last maneuver. I have no air cover, and it wouldn’t surprise me to see us fighting off an air strike soon. Damn the British. Damn the Royal Navy, they are simply too efficient! Yet it could be worse…. Yes? It could be very much worse. Thus far we have not heard a whisper about naval rocketry, so whatever I encountered up round the Cape in the Kara Sea last year isn’t on the prowl…. Yes, it was almost a year ago—Operation Wunderland. I was to go show the flag to the Russians, reconnoiter their bases, harass their shipping, but look what happened to me.

He had been warned, yes, warned about an unseen ship of war by Hoffmann, Kapitan of the Scharnhorst…. “It stuck a fast moving rocket right into Gneisenau’s belly. It was astounding, Krancke! You would have to see it to believe it, but I saw the whole thing with my very own eyes, and I will never forget it. This was the same weapon that sunk Sigfrid, and hit Bismarck. We had the heart of the fleet with us, yet this ship forced Lindemann to back off. Now they are sending you? Be careful!”

Krancke never liked the way Hoffmann said that—now they are sending you? I was in line for a battlecruiser, he thought. I had my eye on Kaiser Wilhelm, but they gave that ship to Heinrich. At the very least, I should have been moved up to Rhineland or Westfalen, but after Operation Wunderland, I suppose I am lucky they didn’t ship me off to Berlin to command a desk. I have never forgotten that experience, the humiliation, the sense of utter helplessness to feel rounds striking this ship from a vessel we could not even see! Raeder was kind enough to give Admiral Scheer back to me after we patched it together again, yet the message was clear. Class was again in session, and if I ever expect a higher command, a better ship, then I had better make the next sortie count. Well, here I am, with Lutzow in her watery grave, and now an impudent little British destroyer squawking my position to the entire Royal Navy.

They gave me the dirty work this time—slip through, find the convoy, and shadow it north. Yes, we knew there would be destroyers, and possibly cruisers in escort, but nobody said anything about battleships in this close to the merchantmen. They usually hold forth in the covering forces. Remember when Hoffmann handed me those three cigars? I always saved the third one after surviving that encounter in the Kara Sea. Smoke that one if you get back alive, he told me. That’s what this will soon become for me, another case of survival.