John Schettler - Altered States

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Convoy HX-49 was a fairly large assemblage of merchantmen, oilers and cargo vessels out of Halifax on the 9th of June, 1940. It was the largest convoy to make the crossing to Liverpool that month, with several tankers carrying oil and lubricants, an ammunition ship carrying aircraft munitions, ships with steel and scrap iron, and a mix of grain, paper, wheat, wool, lumber, cotton and other odd resources. Considering its value it was lightly escorted, as U-boats were mostly congregating in the Atlantic south of Ireland at this time and little trouble was expected in the first week of the long journey east.

To avoid the wolfpack area the convoy route saw it steering northeast to a point just off Cape Farewell, Greenland and then turning gradually east to pass beneath Iceland to eventually sail north of Ireland, taking the narrow strait to pass the Clyde. At this point the convoy would disperse, with ships heading to any number of destination ports in the UK.

Two small destroyers from the British-Canadian Halifax Escort Force, Assiniboine and Saguenay, led the convoy out, then returned to Halifax a day later when the sole trans-Atlantic escort HMS Ausonia arrived to take up the duty on June 10. Oddly, Ausonia was not a warship by trade, but a large 14,000 ton ocean escort liner originally built by the Cunard line in 1921 and requisitioned and fitted out as an armed merchant cruiser when the war broke out.

She was given eight 152mm guns, four on each side, and a pair of 76mm guns with one fore and aft. A slow ship at just 15 knots, Ausonia could waddle along with the large pack of merchantmen, but looking after 50 ships was a tall order for her Captain, Horace Norman of the Royal Navy. There wasn’t anything he could do if they did encounter a submerged U-boat, and if a German raider were to come upon the convoy, the ship might try to look imposing with her size and give the impression that there was, indeed, a large British heavy cruiser present in escort.

This was just the dilemma Captain Norman found himself in on June 12th as he steamed in the van of the large 50 ship formation arrayed behind him in six wide rows of six to nine ships each. The sea was calm that day, the slate grey sky low, shrouding the horizon with clouds that made sighting potential threats a chancy affair. No one from the watch called the sighting, but the Captain had been watching the sea off his port bow when he saw what appeared to be a ripple of green lightning and a strange phosphorescent glow. Thinking he was seeing the onset of a sudden squall, his eye strayed to the nearby barometer, which raised an eyebrow. It read an even 30 millibars of pressure, approaching fair weather conditions, so he instinctively reached out and gave it a tap to see if the needle might be stuck, yet it remained unmoved.

“Have a look there, Mister Bates,” he said quietly to his Executive Officer. “I thought we were to have even seas and quiet skies for another 48 hours.”

Bates noted the odd light on the horizon. “Squall brewing up?” He raised his field glasses, taking a closer look without much concern. “It’s very odd, sir. St. Elmo’s fire?”

“More like ball or sheet lightning, yet no sound of any thunder, and the color is very strange.”

“It is, sir. Should we signal LDI and MAC that there may be rough weather ahead?” He was referring to the two call signs for the convoy Commodore and Vice Commodore steaming in the first line behind them.

“They undoubtedly can see what’s going on, but do note it for the log: 21:30 hours, sighted squall line on port horizon.” He looked about as if to survey the conditions behind him, seeing the convoy steaming sedately in those long slow lines. In this northern latitude the sun would not set for another two hours and a half moon was already up, but glowing through the clouds on another heading. So that peculiar lighting wasn’t a moonrise, he thought, and the sun was low to the west, and certainly not off our bow.

“Might it be an aurora, sir?” Bates was still watching through his field glasses.

“Never saw one so low on the horizon like that,” said Norman.

“Well, sir. It doesn’t look like anything to be concerned about.” But the longer he watched the more that trouble on the horizon loomed as a possible threat in his mind, and he soon saw something there that finally alarmed him, an odd angular shadow in the light.

“Perhaps we should send up to the mainmast to see if the watch has anything, sir.”

“Go ahead and call up, but we can see it as plain as day from here.”

Bates indulged himself, walking to the voice pipe up and asking about the contact. A minute passed before he heard a voice calling back, and now he was concerned.

“Ship sighted, Captain! Right at the edge of that squall.”

Now it was Captain Norman reaching for his field glasses, his eyes lost in the rubber cups as he squinted and adjusted the focus. Damn if it wasn’t true, he thought. Damn my eyes, there’s something there, a shadow crowned with lightning, and it looks big. He knew in his bones this was a warship.

“Mister Bates,” he said quickly, “pipe the W/T and report ship sighted, a warship, identity unknown. Give our position and ask if we’re getting a new escort. Otherwise I’m afraid we’ve an uninvited guest this evening. The ship will come to battle stations.”

“Aye sir. Battle Stations, and piping to W/T now.”

“Notify LDI and MAC and tell them we’re investigating. The convoy may have to come twenty points to starboard. Helm, port ten and ahead full.”

“Port ten, aye sir, and full on.”

The ship’s alarm was sounding and they could hear the scramble of heavy boots on the decks below. Men were already rushing to man the 76mm bow gun and he knew the same was happening on the larger 5.7 inch guns to port and starboard. Well, he thought, I hope to god you are not what you appear to be. They had heard nothing about any imminent threat from a German surface raider when they left port three days ago to link up with the convoy. The last information he had was that the British were busy with the final evacuation of Norway, and in fact, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were reported off the Norwegian coast on the 9th of June, but there was no way those ships could be here today.

“Mister Bates, signal that ship by light and wireless. Request identification.” The Captain knew that if this were a German raider he would likely get his answer with a salvo of 11-inch shells. In that event he had few options here. He would come about and present his broadside to the enemy, firing with four 152mm guns in the hope he might run the enemy off, but he did not think they would run, not when they did have better guns and a nice fat big target like Ausonia . Behind him the convoy would have to scatter, and he knew that even now the Commodore was tensely watching the situation, ready to give that order at the instant hostilities opened. Then it would be every man and ship on its own, like sheep scattering to flee from a prowling wolf.

That’s what the shadow looked like now, large, dark and threatening as Ausonia came around to have a good look at the contact, her nose pointed at the threat and search lights flashing, lamps fluttering, the fingers on the wireless keys tapping out their fitful messages.

Bad weather was now the least of Captain Norman’s worries.

Fedorov stared at his data, clearly perplexed. They were not where they had hoped to be, in 2021. Chief Dobrynin had called up to the bridge, but in the business of all that was then underway, a Mishman was holding the line.

“Look there, Fedorov, what do you make of that?” The Admiral was pointing to the Tin Man Display, and when Fedorov looked up for the first time his eyes widened with surprise.