John Schettler - Golem 7

“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 allof 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.”