John Schettler - Golem 7

Wohlfarth swiveled about, leery of just that, but he saw no other ships and he was surprised to find the big ship was apparently steaming alone. The British must be very worried to risk a large ship like that without proper escort. He noted its course and bearing, realizing that this ship must have been detached from convoy duty to join the battle against Bismarck . That thought disturbed him somewhat. Though he knew the Rodney could never catch Bismarck at sea on her own, if she came upon his big sister ship in the thick of a fight, the considerable power of the battleship’s nine 16 inch guns would weigh heavily in the action. He knew what he must do.

“Signalman,” he said quietly. “Raise your antenna, I want to send a message to Group West.”

“And break radio silence, captain?”

“How else?” said Wohlfarth with a wink. “Send this: HMS Rodney bearing 225 degrees southwest, my position. Speed 18 knots. No escorts. Time stamp it and send it at once.”

“Aye, sir.”

The captain would at least let the powers that be know that another large British ship was on the prowl here. It was yet another stroke of fate.

“That shipis of no concern,” said Admiral Lütjens, when the signal came in from Group West. Strategic command was passing now to that headquarters as Bismarck moved further south out of Group North’s domain.

“I agree,” said Lindemann, “But we haven’t managed to shake off the British Home Fleet,” he cautioned. “They know exactly where we are now, and I can only assume they also know the speed and capabilities of their own ships. They’re vectoring Rodney in on us, sir.”

“This position information shows her over 150 miles away,” Lütjens protested. “There is no possible way she could move to intercept us. That ship is lucky if it can make twenty knots in these seas.”

Lindemann took another long drag on his cigarette. His coffee was already cold in his mug and he needed sleep. It had been a long day, beginning with the adrenaline of a quick naval engagement with the British Home Fleet followed by an air raid. Thankfully no further planes harassed the ship that morning, but at mid day a second wave of Swordfish torpedo bombers came at them again, and this time none of their torpedoes exploded on contact with the water. All ran true, and it was only his expert seamanship that allowed them to avoid a hit. The British may blunder about at times, but they were at least smart enough to learn from their mistakes.

The captain did not like his situation. His ship was running fast and true, with little damage and many prospects, but they could not shake off the pursuing enemy all that day. This news of yet another big British battleship vectoring in from the east was therefore disturbing. He was thinking in practical terms now, not in the mindset of the admiral. Bismarck and Prince Eugen had been steaming for several days now, and at high speeds required for the breakout they were burning a lot of fuel. That damn leaky fuel hose had cost him 200 tons of fuel, and Lütjens decision not to top off at Bergen loomed like a shadow in his mind now.

They were running full out, at a whisker over 28 knots in these seas, but anything could happen, he knew. If one of those antiquated British planes got a lucky hit, they could lose speed if they had to make repairs, and the pursuing enemy would quickly catch them up. Bad torpedoes and leaky fuel hoses, he thought. As much as he respected the admiral and valued his own judgment as well, these were the things that too often decided the fate of nations.

“I don’t like it,” he said, exhaling a puff of heavy smoke. “They are too close—and not simply cruisers. We now know of at least two battleships gunning for us now. Rodney may be out of the action as we see things, but King George V is still right behind us with a pack of fast cruisers. And where are Hood and Prince of Wales? I can only assume that they are behind us as well. In fact, the British may have broken off simply to join forces and assemble a larger battle fleet. ”

“Let them come,” Lütjens said flatly. “We had no trouble with them earlier, and we’ll have no trouble should they be brazen enough to challenge us again.” It was boastful, and the Admiral knew it, but there was little more to be said about it. The situation would play out as fate would have it.

“Perhaps you are correct, Admiral,” said Lindemann, but he still held deep misgivings about this mission. Assuming no further damage, then it all came down to fuel. His ships might outrange the British, particularly their newer battleships, which were notoriously short legged for a big ship. How long could the enemy keep up this pace in pursuit before these same worries about petrol were dancing in the heads of the British fleet commanders?

“I suggest we alter course at dusk, sir,” said Lindemann. “Let’s see if we can shake off the hounds for a time.”

“That’s the spirit, captain. We’ll steam for another few hours on this heading, then you may make your maneuver.”

Two hours later the watchmen reported all clear behind, seeing nothing on the horizon. The purple sky was deepening slowly to a deeper color of good red wine, and Bismarck signaled ahead to Prince Eugen to make a sudden turn to port, steering due south.

As the lightbegan to fade Admiral Tovey was still restless on the bridge of King George V . The flight crews on HMS Victorious were gaining experience, but the weather report had taken a severe turn for the worse. The front that had been stirring up the waves and chasing them south all day was finally upon them just after the second torpedo strike they launched at mid-day. Winds were up again, gusting over forty knots and promising worse as the evening came on. The raw air crews were tired, edgy after their first two real combat missions, and needed rest. He gave the order to halt operations for the night, hoping for better weather in the morning. Yet the meteorologist had no good news for him.

“I’m afraid we’re in for a bit of a rough patch, sir,” the man said. “I don’t expect clearing for another 48 hours.”

This was the crucial time, thought Tovey. Bismarck would try to shake him off tonight, he was certain of it. The two fleets had already steamed over 400 miles at high speed since the engagement that morning. His guns were all back in operation now, but Bismarck was well out in front of him. He sent the fast light cruiser Kenya out in the van now, more certain that this ship could keep a hold on the big German battleship visually than he could. But Kenya had not yet been fitted out with her Type 271 surface radar kit, only the Type 279 Air radar. Still, she could make all of 32 knots, and her unique camo coloring was best suited for operations near dusk.

He had no word from the Admiralty, or from Holland on the Hood , though he assumed that this force was still steaming on a parallel course to his own. As evening colored the sky with deep violet, the enemy made their move. Yet thankfully, the keen eyes of the lookouts on Kenya still kept the tall superstructure of the Bismarck in sight—though the inverse was not true. The ‘Pink Lady’ was out in her finest satin mauve dress at this hour, her coloring blending perfectly into the skyline. No one on Bismarck sighted her, or knew they had even been seen as the big ship made her getaway turn to the south.

The watchman in the high crow’s nest on Kenya’s main mast was shivering with the cold and queasy with the rolling seas. The winds buffeted him fiercely, but he stolidly kept his eyes on the target ahead, until it seemed the shadow of the enemy battleship deepened in hue and grew larger. His first thought was that the ship had turned to confront its pursuers, intent on battle at dusk, and he sent as much down the line to the bridge, warning “ Bismarck turning on our position, right ahead!”