by James Young
The seas around the Exeter suddenly leaped upwards, the waterspouts clearing her mainmast.
“Enemy battleship is taking us under fire!”
Looking over at Norfolk, Eric saw an identical series of waterspouts appear several hundred yards ahead of their companion.
“Two enemy battleships engaging, range twenty-two thousand yards.”
“Where’s our battleline?” Gordon asked bitterly. “Report the news to the King George V.”
Another couple of minutes passed, the Exeter continuing to close with the turning Lutzow. Four more shells exploded around the Exeter.
“The Nelson is disengaging due to opening range,” the talker replied. “The remaining ships are closing our position to take the enemy battleship under fire.”
Again there was the sound of an incoming freight train, and the Exeter was straddled once more, splinters ringing off the opposite side of the bridge.
“Corpsman!” a lookout shouted from the crow’s nest.
Okay, someone stop this ride, I want to get off, Eric thought, bile rising in his throat.
“Commodore Vian reports he is closing.”
“Right then, continue to attack!” Gordon shouted. Eric winced, convinced he was going to die.
Unbeknownst to Eric, the Bismarck and Tirpitz had only returned to persuade the British battleline to not pursue the Scharnhorst. Finding the two British heavy cruisers attacking, Bey had decided some 15-inch fire was necessary to discourage their torpedo run as well. In the worsening seas the German battleships’ gunnery left much to be desired, but still managed to force the Exeter and Norfolk to both intensify their zig zags.
Unfortunately for the Germans, the decision to concentrate on the heavy cruisers meant that Commodore Vian’s destroyers had an almost undisturbed attack run. Vian, realizing that he would not be able to bypass the aggressively counterattacking Hipper, split his force into two parts. The lead division, led by himself in Somali, continued after the crippled Scharnhorst. The second, led by the destroyer Echo, he directed to attack the Hipper in hopes that the heavy cruiser would turn away.
The German heavy cruiser reacted as Vian had expected, switching all of her fire to the approaching Echo group. For their part, the British ships dodged as they closed, the Echo’s commander making the decision to close the range so that the destroyers could launch their torpedoes with a higher speed setting. Seeing the German cruiser starting to turn, Echo’s commander signaled for his own vessel, Eclipse, and Encounter to attempt to attack from her port side, while the Faulknor and Electra were to move up to attack from starboard.
Discerning the British destroyerman’s plan, Hipper’s captain immediately laid on his maximum speed while continuing his turn towards port. Ignoring those vessels attempting to move in on her starboard side, the German vessel turned her guns wholly on the trio of British destroyers that was now at barely seven thousand yards. With a combined closing speed of almost seventy knots, there was less than a minute before the British destroyers were at their preferred range. In this time, Hipper managed to get off two salvoes with her main guns and several rounds from her secondary guns. Her efforts were rewarded, the Echo being hit and stopped by two 8-inch and four secondary shell hits before she could fire her torpedoes. That still left the Eclipse and Encounter, both which fired their torpedoes at 4,000 yards before starting to turn away. The latter vessel had just concluded putting her eighth torpedo into the water when the Hipper’s secondaries switched to her as a target, knocking out the destroyer’s forward guns.
Pursuing the Hipper as the German cruiser continued to turn to port, the Faulknor and Electra initially had a far longer run than their compatriots. However, as the German cruiser came about to comb the Echo group’s torpedoes, the opportunity arose for the two more nimble vessels to cut across her turn. Hitting the heavy cruiser with several 4.7-inch shells even as they zigzagged through the Lutzow’s supporting fire, the two destroyers unleashed their sixteen torpedoes from the Hipper’s port bow. Belatedly, the German captain realized that he had placed himself in a horrible position, as he could not turn to avoid the second group of torpedoes without presenting a perfect target to the first.
It was the Eclipse which administered the first blow. Coming in at a fine angle, one of the destroyer’s torpedoes exploded just below the Hipper’s port bow. The heavy cruiser’s hull whipsawed from the impact, the explosion peeling twenty feet of her skin back to act as a massive brake. The shock traveled down the vessel’s length, throwing circuit breakers out of their mounts in her generator room and rendering the Hipper powerless. Looking to starboard, the vessel’s bridge crew could only helplessly watch as the British torpedoes approached from that side. In a fluke of fate, the braking effect from Eclipse’s hit caused the heavy cruiser to lose so much headway the majority of the tin fish missed. The pair that impacted, however, could not have been better placed. With two roaring waterspouts in close succession, the Hipper’s engineering spaces were opened to the sea. Disemboweled, the cruiser continued to slow even as she rolled to starboard. Realizing instantly her wounds were fatal, the Hipper’s captain gave the order to abandon ship. The order came far too late for most of the crew, as the 12,000-ton man-o-war capsized and slid under the Atlantic in a matter of minutes.
“Well, the destroyers just put paid to that heavy cruiser! Let’s see if we can get a kill of our own!” Gordon said, watching the drama unfolding roughly twelve thousand yards to his west. Another salvo of 15-inch shells landed to Exeter’s starboard, this broadside somewhat more ragged due to the heavy cruiser’s zig zagging advance.
“Battleships are returning to aid us.”
“About bloody time!” Gordon snapped.
When the Warspite’s first salvo landed just aft of Jean Bart, Admiral Bey had more than enough. Signaling rapidly, he ordered the Scharnhorst and Lutzow to cover the remainder of the force’s retreat. Firing a few desultory broadsides, the Franco-German force reentered the mists.
Eric watched through his binoculars as Lutzow gamely attempted to follow Bey’s orders, slowly coming about so she could continue to engage the destroyers closing with Scharnhorst. Barely making fifteen knots, the pocket battleship was listing slightly to port and down by the bows. Just as Lutzow finished her turn, several shells landed close astern of the German vessel.
“King George V is engaging the pocket battleship.”
“Good. Maybe she can slow that witch down so we can catch her.”
“Warspite and Prince of Wales are switching to the closest battleship.”
Gordon nodded his ascent, continuing to watch as Lutzow attempted to begin a zig zag pattern.
“Destroyers are running the gauntlet,” Gordon observed drily, pointing to where the Lutzow was engaging the five destroyers passing barely eight thousand yards in front of her. Eric nodded grimly, then brought his attention back to Lutzow just in time to see the King George V’s next salvo arrive. Two of the British 14-inch shells slashed into the pocket battleship’s stern, while a third impacted on the vessel’s aft turret with devastating effect. Eric was glad that Exeter was still far enough away that he could not identify the contents of the debris that flew upwards from the gunhouse in the gout of smoke and flame, as the young American was sure some of the dark spots were bodies.
“Looks like you got your wish, sir,” Eric observed as the Lutzow began to continue a lazy circle to port. There was a sharp crack as the Exeter’s secondary batteries began to engage the pocket battleship, leading to a disgusted look from Gordon.
“Tell Guns we may need that ammunition later,” he snapped. “I’m not sure those guns will do any damage, plus she’s almost finished.”
I was wondering what good 4-inch guns would do to a pocket battleship, Eric thought. Especially when Norfolk is pounding away with her main battery and a battleship has her under fire.
“King George V is inquiring if we can finish her with torpedoes?”
Gordon looked at the pocket battleship, n
ow coming to a stop with fires clearly spreading.
“Report that yes, we will close and finish her with torpedoes, she may assist in bringing that battleship to bay,” Exeter’s master stated.
“Norfolk is firing torpedoes,” the talker reported.
Eric brought up his binoculars, focusing on the clearly crippled Lutzow. As he watched, one of the German’s secondary turrets fired a defiant shot at Norfolk. Scanning the vessel from bow to stern, Eric wondered if the gun was the sole thing left operational, as the pocket battleship’s upper decks were a complete shambles. Looking closely at the Lutzow’s forward turret, he could see two jagged holes in its rear where Norfolk’s broadsides had impacted. The bridge was similarly damaged, with wisps of smoke pouring from the shattered windows, and the German vessel’s entire amidships was ablaze. The vessel’s list appeared to have lessened, but she was clearly much lower in the water.
“Should be any time now,” Gordon said, briefly looking at his watch. “Tell guns to belay my last, we’re not wasting any more fish on her than necessary.”
Eric turned back to watching the Lutzow, observing as Norfolk hit the vessel with another point blank salvo an instant before her torpedoes arrived. Given that the Lutzow was a stationary target, Eric was surprised to see Norfolk’s torpedo spread produce only a pair of hits. It was still enough, as with an audible groan the Lutzow’s already battered hull split just aft of her destroyed turret. Five minutes later, as Exeter drew within five hundred yards and Eric could see German sailors jumping into the sea, the Lutzow gave a final shuddering metallic rattle then slipped stern first into the depths.
“Stand by to rescue survivors,” Gordon said, dropping his binoculars. “How are the destroyers doing with that battleship?”
The answer to Gordon’s question could be summed up with two words: very well. The Scharnhorst had briefly managed to work up to sixteen knots, and had Lutzow’s fire been somewhat more accurate, may have managed to escape the pursuing destroyers. However, as with the Hipper, Vian’s destroyers split into two groups even as Scharnhorst’s secondaries increased their fire. Another pair of hits from Prince of Wales slowed the German light battleship even further, and at that point the handful of tin cans set upon her like a school of sharks on a lamed blue whale.
Like that large creature, however, even a crippled the Scharnhorst still had means to defend herself. As the Punjabi closed in from starboard, the battleship’s Caesar turret scored with a single 15-inch shell. The effects were devastating, the destroyer being converted from man-of-war to charnel house forward of her bridge. Amazingly, Punjabi’s powerplant was undamaged by the blast, and the destroyer was able to continue closing the distance between herself and the larger German vessel. The timely arrival of a salvo from Warspite sufficiently distracted the Scharnhorst’s gunnery officer, preventing him from getting the range again until after both groups of destroyers were close enough to launch torpedoes.
Severely damaged, Scharnhorst still attempted to ruin the destroyers’ fire control problem at the last moment. To Commodore Vian’s intense frustration, the battleship’s captain timed his maneuver perfectly, evading twelve British torpedoes simply by good seamanship. Had Scharnhorst had her full maneuvering ability, she may have then been able to pull off the maneuver Hipper had attempted by reversing course. Whereas geometry and numbers had failed the German heavy cruiser, simple physics served to put the waterlogged battleship in front of three torpedoes. Even then, her luck remained as the first hit, far forward, was a dud. Then, proving Fate was indeed fickle, two fish from the damaged Punjabi ran deep and hit the vessel just below her armored belt. Finishing the damage done by Prince of Wales’ hits earlier, the torpedoes knocked out the German capital ship’s remaining power and opened even more of her hull to the sea. Realizing she was doomed, her captain ordered the crew to set scuttling charges and abandon ship.
“King George V is inquiring if any vessels have torpedoes remaining.”
Gordon gave the talker a questioning look.
“I thought Commodore Vian just reported that the enemy battleship appears to be sinking?” Gordon said, his voice weary. “No matter, inform King George V that we have all of our fish remaining.”
Wonder what in the hell that is about? Eric thought. Looking down, he realized his hands were starting to shake. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to calm himself.
Well, this has been a rather…interesting day. I just wish someone would have told me I’d get shot down, see my squadron leader killed, and participate in a major sea battle when I got up at 0300 this morning.
“Leftenant Cobb, are you all right?” Gordon asked, concerned.
Eric choked back the urge to laugh at the question.
“I’m fine sir, just a little cold,” he said, lying through his teeth. The talker saved him from further inquisition.
“King George V is ordering us to come about and close with her. She is also ordering Commodore Vian to rescue survivors from Punjabi then scuttle her if she is unable to get under way. Norfolk is being ordered to stand by to assist Nelson.”
“What about the Germans?” Gordon asked.
“Flag has ordered that all other recovery operations are to cease.”
There was dead silence on Exeter’s bridge.
“Very well then, guess the Germans will have to come back for their own. Let’s go see what King George V has for us,” Gordon said.
Eric was struck by just how far the running fight had ranged as the Exeter reversed course. From the first salvo to the current position, the vessels had covered at least thirty miles. The King George V was a distant dot to the south, with her sister ship and Warspite further behind.
No one is going to find any of those survivors, Eric thought. Especially with this weather starting to get worse. He could smell imminent rain on the wind, and even with Exeter’s considerable size he could feel the ocean’s movement starting to change.
“I hope this isn’t about to become too bad of a blow,” Gordon observed, looking worriedly out at the lowering sky. “Not with the flooding we have forward.”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to avoid going swimming again today,” Eric quipped.
“Wouldn’t be a swim lad. If we catch a big wave wrong, she would plow right under,” Gordon replied grimly. “What has got King George V in such a tussy? She’s coming at us full speed.”
Eric looked up and saw that the battleship was indeed closing as rapidly as possible. As she hove into visual range several minutes later, the King George V’s signaling searchlight began flashing rapidly.
DO YOU READ THIS MESSAGE? DO YOU READ THIS MESSAGE?
“Acknowledge,” Gordon said. A few moments later Eric could hear the heavy cruiser’s signal crew employing the bridge lamp to respond to the King George V.
YOU WILL PROCEED TO HOOD. ONCE ALL SURVIVORS ARE OFFBOARD, YOU ARE TO SCUTTLE.
“What in the bloody hell is that idiot talking about?” Gordon exploded. He did not have time to send a counter message, as the King George V continued after a short pause.
YOU HAVE TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES TO REJOIN. FORCE WILL PROCEED WITHOUT YOU IF NOT COMPLETE. TOVEY SENDS GOD SAVE THE QUEEN
“God save the…oh my God!” Gordon said.
Eric looked at the Exeter’s captain with some concern as the man staggered backward, his face looking as if he had been personally stricken.
“Ask,” Gordon began, the word nearly coming out as a sob before he regained his composure. “Ask if I may inform the ship’s company of our task?”
Three minutes later, the King George V replied.
AFFIRMATIVE. EXPEDITE. HER MAJESTY’S SAFETY IS THIS COMMAND’S PRIMARY GOAL.
“Acknowledge. Hand me the loudspeaker,” Gordon said, his voice incredibly weary. Eric could see tears welling in the man’s eyes.
This is not good, Eric thought. This is not good at all. Although he was far from an expert on British government, he dimly remembered seeing a newsreel when Ranger h
ad been in port where the Royal Family had been discussed. He felt his stomach starting to drop as he began to process what the King George V had just stated.
“All hands, this is the captain speaking,” Gordon began. “This vessel is proceeding to stand by the Hood to rescue survivors. It appears that His Majesty has been killed.”
Holy shit, Eric thought. Isn’t Princess…no, Queen Elizabeth barely sixteen?
Eric looked around the bridge as the captain broke the news to the Exeter’s crew. The reactions ranged from shock to, surprisingly, rage. As Exeter’s master finished, the young American had the feeling he was seeing the start of something very, very ugly for the Germans.
I would hate to be someone who got dragged out of the water today, he thought. That is, if any Germans get saved. Eric’s father had fought as a Marine at Belleau Wood. In the weeks before Eric had left for the academy, his father had made sure that his son understood just what might be required of him in the Republic’s service. One of the stories had involved what had befallen an unfortunate German machine gun crew when the men tried to surrender after killing several members of the elder Cobb’s platoon. Realizing the parallels to his current situation given the news he had just heard, Eric fought the urge to scowl.
Looks like you don’t need a rope for a lynch mob, Eric thought as he reflected on the “necessity” of leaving the German and French sailors to drown. He was suddenly shaken out of his reverie by the sound of singing coming from below the bridge.
“Happy and glorious…long to reign over us…”
The men on the bridge began taking up the song, their tone somber and remorseful.
“GOD SAAAAVEEE THE QUEEEEENN!!”
Almost a half hour later, the Exeter sat one thousand yards off of the Hood’s starboard side, the heavy cruiser’s torpedo tubes trained on her larger consort. The Hood’s wounds were obvious, her bridge and conning tower a horribly twisted flower of shattered steel. Flames licked from the vessel’s X turret, and it appeared that the structure had taken a heavy shell to its roof. Further casting a pall on the scene was the dense black smoke pouring from the Hood’s burning bunkerage, a dull glow at the base of the cloud indicating an out of control fire. The battlecruiser’s stern looked almost awash, her bow almost coming out of the water with each swell, and as Eric watched there was an explosion of ready ammunition near her anti-aircraft guns.
