John Schettler - Golem 7

“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?