John Schettler - Golem 7

“We could break radio silence and make the suggestion,” said Kerr, “but then Jerry would hear us as well and know he’s got someone on his starboard beam.”

“Quite so,” said Holland. “Mums the word then. We’ll carry on.”

With Home Fleetthey were working feverishly in the aircraft bay of Victorious . The Air Crew Chief shook his head, pointing at a long sleek Type XII torpedo on its loading dolly. “Careful with that now, mates. We’re heaving and pitching all over the place. Keep a firm winch on that as you load it.”

The crews were arming the nine remaining Fairey Swordfish, the old WWI era biplanes that were the primary torpedo strike plane for the British in 1941. Dubbed “Old Stringbag,” the planes were light, canvass sided, and lumbering slow, with a limited effective strike range of about 120 nautical miles. Their targets were already inside that range circle, or so the rumors had it. Whispers came down from the signal room and made their way into the guts of the ship, tossed from one man in a swinging hammock to another below decks, to another in a crawlway or stair ladder. Others shivered at their action stations, their faces wrapped in heavy woolen scarves, their eyes goggled against the biting cold wind, wishing they had had no news at all and thinking how much better it would be if they were asleep in a relatively warm bunk somewhere.

“We’ll give these fish a new nose,” said a midshipman. He was referring to the new magnetic pistols they had been fitting into the noses of the torpedoes, and he kissed his hand, slapping the cold metal side of the weapon for good luck.

“Well, see that you get them on straight,” said the Crew Chief. “The darlings flying these old girls will need all the help they can get. Green tomatoes, every last one of them. Don’t know how they managed that demo flight at the Flow before we left, but they did. Yet this is no parade show here, mates. This is mean contemptible ocean out there, waves up at forty foot high, and the wind on deck at forty knots. When these Fairies get sight of a few fireflies from them German ships we’ll see the boys made men soon enough.”

He was referring to the wink of flak bursts the German ships would fling at the slow planes as they came in on their attack run. “Well, see that you get them pistols on straight then, eh? Least ways they might not have to actually hit the damn targets.” The magnetic pistols were keyed to go off in close proximity to the metal hull of the ship, and so the torpedo was designed to run beneath the hull and explode on the soft underbelly. “Set the depth at 34 feet. It’s Bismarck we want with these lovelies.”

“Hey Chief, what do you make our chances without Repulse along for the show?”

“Bit of bad jam, that was,” said the Chief. “I’ll bet the admiral is hacked off to no end over on King George . But that’s a worthy ship, mates. She’ll give good account of herself if it comes down to it. Don’t you worry none about that. Yours is this business right here,” he pointed with his spanner again. “Get them fish tipped off and strung up on them planes, now. And be quick about it!”

Two hours laterthe radar watch on King George V reported a signal ahead at long range, just over 22000 yards, and seconds after the crews were arming up the main turrets, the massive 14 inch shells heaving up on their hydraulic lifts. The riveting shrill sound of the alarm had shaken the crew to life, jangling nerves and setting the whole ship alive with frenetic, urgent motion and energy.

On the bridge Admiral Tovey waited anxiously for confirmation from his range finding stations. He considered his own theory now, the tactic he had long advocated of making a fast forward rush at the enemy at high speed to close the range. If he had been leading in Repulse , he would have given it strong consideration. Her decks were far too thin to accept plunging, long range fire, and she would do far better up inside 14,000 yards. But Repulse wasn’t here, and he was missing her six 15 inch guns as well. So instead of steaming full on at the enemy, he decided to open his aft fire arcs as well and get all his available guns into play. King George V had the armor to better endure a hit at this range.

The cruisers would help with Prince Eugen, but not make much impression on a ship like Bismarck. That was for King George V alone now, and he wanted all ten guns in action as soon as possible. As the range closed to 21000 yards he considered his situation.

The sun would be rising behind him soon, starkly silhouetting his task force against the lightning horizon while his ships fired at an enemy still wreathed in shadow and mist. He was missing Repulse, and two of his five cruisers were now safely escorting the light carrier Victorious from the scene. That left him with King George V and a few cruisers to take on the enemy. While an even match on paper, perhaps, Tovey was experienced enough to know that anything could happen the moment the big guns began to fire. He still had time to alter course and break away. He could stand off, shadow the enemy, and wait for Admiral Holland and his two big ships to come up on the scene.

I should wait, he thought. I should not fight here. Not now. Not without Repulse and Holland’s task force. God only knows where he is now. But that will go hard on me at the Admiralty, won’t it, particularly if anything happens and the enemy slips away. To have Bismarck in sight and turn away without a fight would just not do. The silence from Arethusa leads me to suspect the Germans have already got their fangs into us. For the Home Fleet to back off now would not go well at all. He bit his lip and decided to begin hostilities.

“Port fifteen,” he said to Captain Patterson, bringing the ship slightly to the left so that his rear turret could bear on the targets, adding four more big 14 inch guns to the action. “Execute when ready.”

The word was passed quickly and the massive thunder of his first salvos shook the whole ship, their yellow orange fire lighting up the night, followed by the black billow of cordite smoke. Watchmen could smell the power when it ignited, and taste it in their throats as they pressed their eyes tightly on the rangefinder goggles hoping to see the result on the char black horizon to the west. One thought he saw the tall white plumes of the shells leap up in the far distance, and then a shape emerged, darkening the early morning further, as if it stood watch against the sun itself, an ominous shadow at the edge of the sea. Another smaller shadow followed in its wake, Satan’s apprentice. The dreadful Bismarck had been found at last.

King George V was soon ready to fire again, this time from her forward batteries where the four barrel number A turret would sync with the smaller two guns above it to fire a salvo of six shells. The second massive concussion lit up the night, but seconds later Tovey saw the horizon crackle with gold and ochre fire. The enemy had returned his greeting, and he soon heard what sounded like a distant ripple of thunder, then the incoming scream of heavy metal. The salvo fell astern, mostly over his ship, and churned up the sea in the interval between King George V and her first cruiser escort.

The cruisers were led by HMS Kenya , a new ship, only just commissioned in August of 1940 as one of the first Colony Class Light Cruisers. She was a sleek, fast vessel, and, as the sun slowly began to lighten the sky in the east, she would soon possess a unique defensive advantage. Called “the Pink Lady” by her crew, the ship had been painted out in the “Montbatten Pink” camo scheme. A shade of mauve, it had the effect of blending the silhouette of the ship into the violet tinged sky of the early dawn or gloaming dusk. The British fleet had an inherited disadvantage in that they were steaming with the sun rising behind them, but the Pink Lady would remain largely invisible to spotters at this range, seen only when her twelve 6 inch guns fired their salvoes. She was the second British ship to open fire, selecting the smaller trailing shadow in the distance with her weaker guns.