by M. L. Maki
“Thank you.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1030, 29 September, 1942
Morrison, Backes, Fronczak, and Bruce sit around the table going through the items gathered from the trawler. Morrison, “Any idea where the gold came from?”
Bruce, “They’ve been diving on iron signals all down this coast. They must have found an old wreck. It looks like Swedish coins.”
Fronczak, “That’s logical.”
Morrison, “We put all of it in a sealed box in the ship’s safe. When we return, we turn it over. No souvenirs, guys.”
“Yes, sir. It’s all here.”
Morrison, “We put their search map in the safe as well. I want to put the other chart with ours for now. It may have shoals we don’t have on our charts.”
Bruce, “From their personal effects and ID, we know they were SS. One was an officer. The other two were enlisted.”
Morrison, “Intel in Britain may want their personal effects. If not, we keep them to return to their families after the war.”
“Yes, sir.”
Morrison, “I would like to thank all of you again. The conduct of your team has been far above and beyond.”
Fronczak, “Thank you, sir.”
GERMAN SUBMARINE RESCUE VEHICLE, NEAR THE F/A-18
1052, 29 September, 1942
SS- Oberführer Von Bergan watches the diver’s head broach the water. In a minute he is on deck and takes his helmet off. Bergan, “Did you find it?”
“I did. It has burned significantly, but it should be safe to lift.”
“Korvettenkapitän, we must lift it immediately.”
“Yes, Oberführer.” He directs two additional divers to suit up and hangs rigging gear off the crane hook.
The diver says, “Oberführer, I also found this.” He hands a tool to Bergan.
Three hours later the F/A-18 nears the surface.
A crewmember, “Kapitän, ships approach.” The captain walks to the rail and sees two destroyers flying the blue flag with yellow cross of Sweden.
The aircraft is lifted onto the deck. Bergan looks under the wings. He sees the mounting rails, but all four devices are gone. He studies the damage. The cockpit and radome are nearly melted through. Both engines are also slagged. He sees no scorch marks around the burns. It dawns on him, “The fire was deliberate. This is not a fuel fire. Not in the cockpit. Not the nose. The Swedes said nothing of injuries to the pilot. But how?” He crawls under the plane and tries the tool the diver gave him. It fits.
He hears, “Ahoy. Thank you for recovering our property.”
Bergan goes to the rail, “Your property? It belongs to our enemy.”
Per Albin Hansson, The Swedish Prime Minister, “It’s in our waters. It belongs to us. We’ve been watching your spies search. We’re quite glad they found it. Now, you will land it on our stern.”
“And if we do not?”
“I would think Germany already has enough enemies. You are violating our sovereignty. We will not allow this to stand.”
Bergan digests the man’s words, “But, we are military officers. Those are not our decisions to make.”
Hansson, “You are a military officer. I am the Prime Minister. The aircraft will be landed on our stern. If you do so, nothing more will be said. If you don’t, we may choose to cooperate with the allies. Sir, how much is that wreck worth to you?”
Bergan looks to the men. “Take pictures and transfer it. We have five of this type in better shape, and the bombs have been removed.”
“Sir? How are you certain they were here?”
“The burning happened while the aircraft was on the bottom. No scorch marks. Now do as I say.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0700, 30 September, 1942
Morrison eats his scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. They have been out long enough, that it is powdered eggs. At least, the toast and coffee are fresh.
“Captain, come to conn.”
He scoops the last of his eggs onto a slice of toast, puts his tray in the scullery, and eats while he walks to control, “What do you have?”
Backes, “Sonar found something odd. It’s designated Sierra 1 and Tango 66.”
Morrison walks into sonar, “What is it, Gordon?”
“I’m not sure, Captain. It’s a submerged submarine with a ship above it, like a sea trial. The weird part is, I’m hearing diesels in the sub.”
Morrison picks up the spare headphones, “Play it, please.”
Morrison listens to it, “Could it be a noisy air compressor?”
“No, sir. That’s a different sound. Also, this is discharging under water. No reason to do that for a compressor. Even when we LP blow, it’s from a flask and wouldn’t have this pulse.”
“Okay. I’ll get you closer, so you can get a good profile.”
SCHARNHORST, NORTH SEA, 180 MILES NE OF NEW CASTLE
0736, 30 September, 1942
Kapitän zur See Friedrich Hüffmeier paces his bridge. The Scharnhorst is a battle cruiser with nine eleven-inch guns in three triple turrets. Their mission is to escort supplies to the army in England. It is a mission that must succeed. “This fucking fog.” He smiles at the OOD, “I worry like a hen that our chicks will run into each other in the fog. Self-inflicted casualties are the very worst sort.”
“They need to follow the kernels of corn we leave, sir.”
USS LIVERMORE, NORTH SEA 175 MILES NE OF NEW CASTLE
The seas are calm with thick fog banks. LCDR Henry Morrison walks out on the bridge wing and looks aft. About four miles astern, The heavy cruisers HMS Suffolk and USS Tuscaloosa steam in line. To their port, are the light cruisers, HMS Penelope, HMS Glasgow, and USS Savannah. The USS Holtz steams outboard of the three British destroyers to their starboard.
Morrison spots a blinker signal from the admiral on the Suffolk, ordering the group to spread out more before the next fog bank.
CDR Huber joins him, “The admiral spreading us out?”
“He is.”
“Good call. God, I wish they would let us use radar in this shit.”
Morrison, “I understand the reasoning, but we’re navigating by braille.” They sail back into fog so thick they can’t see their bow. As they come out, they see the German battle cruiser Scharnhorst three miles away, with a light cruiser, and some destroyers, escorting cargo ships.
Huber, “General quarters! Ahead flank! Gunnery action starboard! Torpedo action starboard!”
Henry Morrison picks up the ship to ship, “Scharnhorst, and cruisers four miles off our starboard bow. Engaging.”
The Admiral, “Let the cruisers handle the Scharnhorst, Livermore.”
Henry, “Roger, sir.”
“Condition zebra set.”
“Manned and ready.”
Morrison looks through his binoculars, “We caught them flat footed. If we aim for the second cruiser, we’re lined up so any torpedo that misses might hit the supply ships behind, sir.”
Huber, “Left rudder.” The ship starts turning. “Steady as she goes. Fire all torpedoes.” All ten torpedoes fire off their launchers.
Huber, “Mount 1 and 2, engage the destroyer at twenty degrees, relative. Mount 3 and 4, engage the Scharnhorst.”
Morrison, “Sir, 2 and 3 are missile launcher, now.”
The first two rounds from Mount 1 falls short. The first missile hits the destroyer behind the bridge and starts a fire.
Mount 4’s rounds hit the Scharnhorst with their first shots, slightly damaging its superstructure. A missile hits the smokestack, pockmarking it with holes, and starting a fire.
Huber, “Left full rudder.”
The ranging fire from the allied heavy cruisers splash around the Scharnhorst. Only a few hit.
The Livermore swerves away from the German line as their torpedoes race closer to the light cruiser Köln.
The Köln turns toward the Livermore, firing a full salvo, and attempting to avoid the incoming fish.
Huber, “
Right full rudder.”
Henry Morrison, on the bridge wing looking toward the Köln, sees the rounds coming. He picks up the 1MC, “Brace for shock! Brace! Brace!” Hanging onto the rail he sees the water columns of their torpedo hits on the cruiser.
SCHARNHORST
The crew of Scharnhorst scrambles to battle stations.
Kapitän zur See Friedrich Hüffmeier looks aft from his starboard bridge wing. Smoke exits the funnel from a hole in its side. Behind his battle cruiser he watches the cruiser Köln capsizing. “Not good.”
“Sir, cruisers forward.”
“Direction finders on. Engage.”
Six- and eight-inch rounds crash near his ship.
“They are cruisers. They stand no chance.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, BEHIND U-792, TYPE XVII
Morrison has headphones on, listening.
Gordon, “Sir, it’s definitely a diesel. Two of them. The drive is electric with one screw.”
“Could it be some kind of air independent drive?”
Gordon’s eyes light up, “Yes, sir. That would make sense.”
“Okay, now we know they’re working on air independent propulsion. How are you doing?”
“I’m looking forward to getting out of the Baltic.”
John, “Me, too.”
Gordon looks at Pritchel, then the skipper, “Sir, are we still under the UCMJ, or some other rules?”
“The UCMJ until congress clarifies our status. For many things the old rule, generally is the same. It was called rocks and shoals, though it had a formal name that I don’t remember.”
Gordon makes eye contact, “I suppose being gay is punished under rocks and shoals, too?”
John looks at Gordon, “Officially, I suppose so. In reality, now, as it was in 1990, individual commands have wide latitude. As long as a crew member is not causing problems within my command, I would never, ever prosecute someone because of who they love. Who a crew member loves is, frankly, none of the Navy’s business, and none of mine. However, if there was someone like that aboard, I would caution them to be extremely careful pursuing a relationship in 1942. Especially in the US. Now, if I knew I had a professional sailor aboard who was like that, I would do everything I could to protect his privacy and wish him all the happiness his heart could hold.”
“Thank you, skipper.”
“Thank you for stepping up as a leader. It’s appreciated.”
USS LIVERMORE
Henry Morrison struggles to his feet. A piece of metal from the forward mount penetrated the bridge wing. The rail he is holding onto is bent. He hurts everywhere. He steps into the bridge and finds the OOD, Lt. Fred Edwards crumpled to the deck with a missile launcher arm across his hips and chest. Fred looks at him, pain in his eyes. Blood is pooling under him.
Henry kneels, grabs the launcher arm, and heaves. It moves and shifts. Henry shoves with all he has, lifting it and dropping it clear of the lieutenant.
Fred coughs. “Thanks.”
They hear, “XO, contact combat.”
The helm and lee helm struggle to their feet.
Morrison, “Mind the helm.”
“Aye, sir.”
He picks up the 1MC, “Investigators out. Damage Control report to the bridge. Medical emergency on the bridge.” He growls combat, “This is the XO. What is your status?”
“Sir, the captain is in medical, sir. He has a head wound.”
“Where’s the enemy?”
“I don’t know. We have several ships on radar. There is a blip eight miles off our starboard bow.”
Morrison looks at the compass and checks their heading. He feels the ship pounding the waves at ahead flank. “We must be in front. Engage it with Mount 1. Who’s the senior guy down there?”
“Lieutenant Davis, sir.”
“Okay, Davis, get your shit together. We have a battle cruiser out there somewhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
The forward five inch starts firing.
He looks back down at Lieutenant Edwards. His blank eyes stare at the ceiling. “I’m sorry Fred.” He feels tears filling his eyes, “Not now.” He wipes his eyes and picks up the 1MC, “Lieutenant Jefferson, lay to the bridge.”
SCHARNHORST
Kapitän zur See Friedrich Hüffmeier growls Engineering Control, “Can you get me more speed?”
“The stack was hit, sir. The boilers aren’t drawing right.”
Another round hits his stern. “We are boxed. We need every bit of power you can give.”
He sees the allied ships firing from in the fog. Blossoms of orange and red fill the sky. All nine of his eleven-inch guns are firing. To his port a ship explodes.
“Left full rudder.” His ship shakes as it is hit again. “The supplies must get through. These are cruisers. We are their better.”
USS LIVERMORE
Henry Morrison studies the foggy image they have been firing at. The fog clears and he sees a German cargo ship. It is settling by the bow and is covered in intense fire. He grabs the phone, “Combat, check fire. Point us to the next target.”
Lt. Jefferson comes onto the bridge.
Morrison, “Assume the OOD.”
“Yes, sir.”
The medical team arrives and carries the fallen Lt. Edwards below.
Morrison spares a moment to watch them gently put him on the stretcher. He sees another cargo ship on their port side, “Combat engage the target at eleven o’clock with 1 and 4.” He releases the button, “OOD, right full rudder.” The ship turns sharply. Mount 1 and 4 open fire. “Left full rudder.”
“Left full rudder, no course given.” The guns transition to the port side and maintain fire on the cargo ship.
He steps out onto the starboard bridge wing. A round is fired from out in the fog. “Steady as she goes.” The round hits the cargo ship. He runs back in and grabs the ship to ship, “British destroyer to our starboard. This is Livermore. Livermore.”
“Greetings Livermore. I didn’t know you could move so fast.”
“No problem. Can we hunt together?”
“Absolutely. We are Onslaught.”
The cargo ship off their port side explodes, fiery objects flying hundreds of feet into the air.
Morrison, “Check fire. Ahead full. Right standard rudder.”
“Ahead full ordered and answered.”
“Right standard rudder. No new course given.”
The phone talker reports, “Fires out forward. Commence overhauling.”
Morrison, “Steady as she goes.”
“Steady as she goes, aye. She goes 164.” The British destroyer comes along side.
Commander Huber walks onto the bridge, his head wrapped in bandages and his left arm is in a sling. “Captain on the bridge.”
“Carry on.” Another cargo ship looms in the fog.
Morrison, “Combat. Engage target at one o’clock.” He picks up the radio, “We will pass down his port side. Onslaught, can you pass down his starboard?”
“Of course.” The guns on both destroyers begin firing.
“Bridge, Combat. We have four aircraft approaching from the south.”
Morrison, “Combat, try to contact them.” The cargo tanker they are firing on goes up in a massive explosion.
“They have not responded, sir.”
“Lock on with the stern director. Once in range, engage. Any more surface targets?”
“Bridge, Combat. Come to 192. Surface target at 192, twenty thousand yards.”
Morrison, “Helm, right full rudder. Come to course to 190.”
“Bridge, engaging aircraft.” The rear mount fires. The missile flies straight and it blots a ME-262 from the sky.
Morrison, “Very well.” Back on the ship to ship, “Onslaught, how fast can you go?”
“Thirty-five, Livermore.”
Mount three fires again. The missile roars out into the fog, destroying another ‘262.
Morrison, “Roger, coming up to thirty-five.” He hangs up the radio,
“Ahead flank, turns for thirty-five knots.”
Huber joins him, “Continue Henry. You’re doing well.”
“Bridge, Combat, Aircraft have turned south. They are no longer in range.”
Morrison picks up the phone, “Very well, combat.”
They hear, “Fires are overhauled and dewatered.”
“Livermore, Onslaught, this is Savannah. I believe you are north of me at 012.”
Morrison, “Savannah, Livermore, can you turn to starboard?”
“Livermore, Savannah, we can.”
“Bridge, Combat contact at 192 is turning to starboard.”
“Roger, Combat. Do you have any other contacts?” As Savannah becomes visible through the fog, they can see smoke rising from fires on her decks and there is significant battle damage.”
“Bridge, Combat, new contact seven miles aft of Savannah.”
Morrison, “Savannah, can you identify the contact to your stern?”
“Negative, Livermore.”
Morrison, “Roger. Onslaught, we are turning west. Can you come to our stern?”
“We can, Livermore.”
Morrison, “Onslaught, do you still have torpedoes?”
“Affirmative, Livermore.
Morrison, “Roger, Onslaught. I will identify and run interference for your torpedo run if it is hostile.”
“Understood.”
Morrison, “Ahead flank, maximum rpms. Come to 213.” The Livermore slowly accelerates to 37 knots, pulling away from the Onslaught. Morrison puts the one good lens of his binoculars to his face.
Huber, “Henry, I see it. He’s on fire.”
Morrison, “He is. He’s shooting at us.” They can see the flame from a double turret. “Sir, he’s almost certainly friendly. The Scharnhorst had triple turrets.”
“Agreed. The rounds land long and to the starboard. “Right full rudder.” Huber calls the British cruiser on the radio.
They hear the Onslaught doing the same.
“Right full rudder, aye. Rudder is right full. No new course given.”
Morrison, “Chasing splashes, sir?”
“Yep.”
Morrison picks up a phone and growls.
“Signal bridge.”
“This is the XO. Hoist the holiday ensign.”
“Holiday flag, aye.”
Huber, “Good call.”
The Livermore breaks through the fog with a huge American flag flying from their mast.
