John Schettler - Golem 7

Then came a violent red orange light on the horizon, followed soon by a sharp crackling roar and a low growl. No one who heard it would ever forget the sound, and the British crews knew unconsciously that the first salvo they had seen had been from Prince Eugen , and that this time it was Bismarck’s wrath flung at them from the distant sea. The sound of the incoming shells was a fearsome wail, and Admiral Tovey was stunned to see huge columns of seawater straddle his ship, great fuming geysers sending sea spray all the way up and over his bridge, the grey white foam drenching the forward view screens. He heard a hard chink, and knew intuitively that metal shrapnel had struck the armor siding of his ship.

“Damn!” he said sharply. “Two points to port, captain. That was too close for comfort.”

His rear four gun turret returned the fire, but only two barrels answered the call, a weak rejoinder to the deadly accurate fire of the enemy. Seconds later the Germans fired again, this time both ships ripping loose in what looked like a long chain of ball lightning on the horizon. The deadly shells arced up and fell, plunging heavily into the sea around them, but one found metal, striking King George V on her forward decks, very near the edge of her main turret there. The resulting explosion billowed up in smoke and fire, blotting out all view of the enemy ships for a time.

“A-turret reports a fire, sir!” Captain Patterson was listening intently, the voice tube pressed against his ear.

Aboard Bismarck his opposing counterpart, Captain Lindemann, smiled when he saw the explosion strike the British battleship. “It’s a hit!” he said eagerly.

He was a serious man, with sharp, bird-like features, thin blonde hair pressed tight on his head, penetrating beady eyes and prominent ears. He held binoculars in one hand, and a cigarette in another as he watched the battle begin. Standing a few feet away, Admiral Lütjens smiled with satisfaction.

“Give them another,” he urged. “Our guns will make short work of them. What do you see, Lindemann? How many capital ships?”

“One battleship in the lead sir, and two cruisers behind her. The cruisers appear to be falling off station. There’s a considerable gap between them and the lead battleship.”

“As they should,” said Lütjens. “Signal Prince Eugen to concentrate her fire on the cruisers. We’ll deal with this battleship.”

Anton and Bruno, the two forward turrets on the great German ship, fired again. Seconds later Caesar and Dora fired from the ship’s aft quarter. The Germans had the range, and they could already smell blood in the water. Hours earlier these same guns had made brief work of the hapless Arethusa , striking her amidships and breaking her back in a massive explosion. The crew of Bismarck had watched in awe as fire and smoke engulfed the target, and the cruiser shuddered down into the violent sea, keeling over as the great waves clutched at her.

Like a killer whale that had once tasted human flesh, the Bismarck was now a dangerous and rabid thing set loose on the seas, a thing of darkness and vengeance. Anger and death were in her guns, and the great mass of the ship seemed to split the sea itself, surging through the tumult of white capped waves at 28 knots, riding easily in the high seas with her great weight and wide beam making her a stable firing platform even in rough water.

Lütjens could not know just how much was at stake on the table of fate that morning as he clawed at his enemies. He was caught up in the heat of the moment, smelling the hot cordite and watching the enormous roar and fire of his guns. He had been fortunate that the enemy came out of the rising sun, for his range finders were able to bore in on the lead ship at once. Yet, even as he squinted through his binoculars at the distant enemy, he was unaware of another threat stalking him from the shadowy swells off his distant starboard beam.

There Admiral Hollandwas leading Hood and Prince of Wales in a valiant charge, engines straining as the props pushed the great ships through the heavy wave sets. They were still hidden over the dark western horizon, their bows rising and falling as they labored toward the rising sun, and the faint rumble of thunder ahead.

“Marching to the sound of the guns,” said Holland to Captain Kerr. “They’re out there somewhere,” he pointed, “and when we come up on it we’ll be in a good position. The whole scene will be silhouetted against that violet sky.”

“Aye, sir,” said Kerr. “If we get there in time, that is.”

Holland thought for a moment, how many battles like this had been fought in the past, by brave men at arms marching into uncertainty, or wriggling through the night on their bellies as they crept up on enemy lines. King George V was in a fight for her life, there was no question of it now. She had a slight advantage with 10 guns against eight on the Bismarck , and Tovey’s light cruisers could stand against Prince Eugen. It was a fairly even match, he thought, and in such circumstances it all came down to pluck and luck. But if he could arrive, in the nick of time, stealing in like Blucher on Napoleon’s flank on the field of Waterloo, then the odds would shift dramatically against the Germans. He would bring the eight 15 inch guns of the mighty Hood into the fray, and behind him Prince of Wales was the image and likeness of the ship that now bravely engaged the German dreadnought. Together they would add eighteen big guns and an equal measure of valor to the British cause.

If he could only get there in time…

The sunwas coming, still veiled by the purple horizon which rose in shades of vermillion to a pale blue above. The weather was off their starboard beam, where the western horizon was still wreathed in shadow and low cloud. The winds had fallen off somewhat, but the seas were still high. Bismarck surged ahead, her big guns firing again and again—nine salvoes in all until the flash and smoke of yet another hit on the leading British ship was seen, this time amidships.

“We’ve got her again,” said Lindemann, but they soon heard a thump and crash, felt the ship rock slightly, and the admiral looked at his captain.

“It seems they’ve got us as well,” he said quietly.

The news came up quick enough, and Lindemann smiled. “Near miss aft,” he said through a puff of cigarette smoke. “We took most of it on our side armor there. Minor damage.”

“Good news,” said the admiral.

“She’s turning sir!” A staff officer pointed to the battle line ahead. Lindemann and L tjens watched as thick black smoke enveloped the lead ship and she veered in a sharp turn. The line of cruisers followed behind her, firing as they made their turn. Lindemann peered through his binoculars. “There’s a third cruiser now. I thought they were falling off given the lengthy gap behind the battleship, but there’s a ship there! She just fired.”

The Pink Lady, HMS Kenya had been largely invisible, but now revealed herself with a full salvo of twelve 6 inch guns. They streaked in, falling behind the big German battleship, but two struck Prince Eugen , and they could clearly hear the explosions. Then this ship turned away, and the cruisers following her were all making smoke, adding a thick smudge of black and grey to mask the rising sun on the horizon.

Aboard King George V Admiral Tovey was not a happy man. His forward main turret was jammed by debris from a near hit and unable to bear accurately on the target now. He still had two guns above in the smaller turret, but now his rear main battery reported two misfires in the last salvo, and the crews feared that if they opened the breaches on those guns the cordite bags packed in behind the heavy shells could explode. To make matters worse, the ship had taken a second hit amidships, and damage reports were unclear. The shell had narrowly missed his rear smoke stack and sheered away the launching crane for a small seaplane mount. There was a fire, he didn’t know how bad, but he presumed it would eventually be controlled.