To Hunt and Protect

by M L Maki

  “Sir, you chose them and had them loaded. I never saw them.”

  “Right. Your point is made.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  ADMIRL DONITZ’S HEADQUARTERS

  2015, 20 March, 1942

  A lieutenant runs down the hall to the admiral’s office. He runs past the startled secretary, and into the admiral’s private office. He puts a message on the desk, and bends over, fighting for breath, “Sir.”

  Admiral Karl Donitz, commander of the U-boats, reads:

  TO: 7UBLFOT

  FRM: 575

  REG: US Superweapon

  Kptlt. Sohler, the American weapon is a…

  Donitz looks up, “Have you been able to raise them?”

  “No, sir. The entire wolfpack is not responding.”

  “Thank you. Send this out.” He writes a brief message and hands it to the aid.

  TO: ALL U-BOATS

  FRM: BdU

  REG: RECALL

  All vessels currently on patrol, return to port expeditiously. Cease all deployments. All flotillas contact headquarters.

  DONITZ

  USS LIVERMORE, IRISH SEA

  1010, 26 March, 1942

  CDR Vernon Huber leans toward his XO, “So, this tender, the Beaver, is obviously important. After dropping the convoy at Plymouth, our escort has increased.” Three of the new tribal class British destroyers, are in front of the tender, and the two American destroyers who made the crossing with them, are behind. Beyond them is the cruiser, HMS Ajax, and to their west is the cruiser, HMS Exeter.

  LCDR Henry Morrison, “Perhaps my grandson might meet a good Scottish girl. The Morrison’s are Scot.”

  Huber, “I, for one, wish him the very best. We made it across without a loss. Thank God. Now, we’re to pull in at Glasgow and get orders. He might not be the only sailor to find a Scottish girl. We’ll need to remind our ratings to be gentlemen here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO

  1016, 26 March, 1942

  Cumberland paces the control room. Miller, “We’re at 150, sir.” Cumberland waves his hand. Miller continues, “Right standard rudder. Let’s see what’s out there.”

  “Conn, Sonar. New contact, bearing 163. Designate Tango 32. Sounds like a drifting fishing boat.”

  Miller pushes the button, “Very well.”

  “Conn, Sonar. New contact, bearing 181. Designate Tango 33. Another drifting fishing boat.”

  “Cumberland, “That’s over a dozen fishing boats. Make our course 236. I want out of this fucking mess.”

  Morrison, “They’re approaching the Firth of Clyde and we’ve sniffed out the deep water around here. What are we going to do, sir?”

  Cumberland, “We escorted them to the Firth, which is what our orders said. Now, we’re free to hunt submarines. That is what we are going to do. We don’t have to pull in until the 30th.”

  Morrison, “Yes, sir.”

  “Where the fuck did they all go? We haven’t found one since the wolf pack.”

  USS LIVERMORE

  Tugs carefully push the Livermore to a quay near one of the dock yards. CDR Huber and LCDR Morrison work together in practiced harmony, each doing their own tasks. Once the lines are drawn tight, Huber points out a strange looking contraption on the quay near their ship. It’s larger than a gyrocopter, but that is what it looks like.

  They see a door slide open, and a man in khakis and a watch coat, walks up parallel to the bridge as a crane lowers the brow. There are four stripes on the man’s shoulder boards. Huber and Morrison quickly go down to the quarterdeck. Once the brow is secured, the captain walks up. The watch rings the bell, “Captain, United States Navy, arriving.”

  Holtz salutes the flag, then the quarterdeck. He puts out his hand, “Commander, I’m James Holtz.”

  “Honored to meet you, sir. I’m Vernon Huber. This is my XO, Henry Morrison.”

  “A pleasure to meet you both. Is there a place where we can talk?”

  “Of course, sir.” Huber leads them to the small captain’s office in the in-port cabin. His steward serves coffee and cookies.

  Holtz, “Okay, first, I should give you your orders. A 1990 submarine is going to be using the tender Beaver in Holy Lock as its home port. A submarine on the surface is very vulnerable. For that reason, I asked for a destroyer to escort the sub in and out of port. The Navy chose you. It isn’t a glory job, but it’s important.”

  Morrison, “I’ve met the sub’s XO, sir.”

  Holtz leans back, “Really?”

  “He put on a training class on submarine tactics and the San Francisco’s capabilities when it was in port at New London.”

  Holtz sighs, “Good. Very good. Okay then, you know what the show is and when to dance. Interesting that you and the XO share your last name.”

  “He’s my grandson.”

  “Wow. Okay, I had no idea. So, you understand a bit about just how special this submarine is.”

  Huber, “We saw it sink five U-boats before we even knew they were there.”

  “Wow. That makes it a bit easier. One concern that’s crossed my mind is your crew being temporarily assigned to an overseas port. These folks have been at war for a long time. They’ve been dealing with shortages and rationing. I want our sailor on their best behavior. I recognize that sometimes shit happens, but we need to stave off as much trouble as possible.”

  “Sir, are you going to serve on our ship?”

  “No, I’m a pilot. I fly out of Alconbury near Cambridge.”

  Morrison, “Can we ask for your title, sir?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m dual hatted: Commander of Task Force Yankee and Commander Naval Forces Great Britain.”

  Huber, “Do you fly that gyrocopter, sir?”

  “No. I fly an F-14 fighter. We’ll be protecting Britain’s skies, and I need you to support the San Francisco as it protects the convoys. The sub is supposed to stay out until 0800, 30 March. We’ll need you out on the Firth of Clyde to meet them. Until then, you can manage your crew’s liberty as you see appropriate. You’ll be assigned here for some time, so I assume you’ll want to get underway for training. That’s fine with me, though, I need to be kept informed of your movements. If you need any repairs, coordinate with the Beaver for times when the sub is gone. If you have expenses beyond your resources, let me know, and my people will take care of you. If there is a liberty incident, injury, equipment malfunction, combat action, or other problem, I want to be informed soonest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, let’s go over how you can do that.”

  BRUNO SUB PEN, BERGAN, OCCUPIED NORWAY

  1230, 28 March, 1942

  Fregattenkapitan Hans Cohausz studies the U-255 in dry dock. The guns have been removed. The sound of the grinders rings throughout the concrete dry dock bunker. He looks at the engineer, “What is this thing?” He points at a thirty-five-foot-long, eighteen-inch wide tube with a large bulb on one end and a sleeved tube on the other end.

  “That, sir, is the new snorkel. It allows the diesel to run while the submarine is submerged.”

  “I thought it would be bigger?”

  “Sir, it is all that is needed to provide for the diesel.”

  Cohausz, “Yes, but what provides for the crew? They need fresh air as well.”

  “I hadn’t considered that. The outlet will be in the forward end of the engine room.”

  “Can you duct it forward and aft?”

  “I suppose, sir. Why?”

  “Doing that would mean the diesel uses the stale air in the submarine and the crew gets the benefit of the fresh air as it’s drawn in, I wish that modification for all the submarines in the Flotilla.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have the modifications to the shape of the sail been tested?”

  “Yes, Captain. They’ll reduce the turbulence, making the boat faster, quieter, and able to operate longer without charging the batteries.”

  “Good. We have another
dozen submarines waiting, so, I will not delay you further.”

  CHAPTER 29

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, ON THE FIRTH OF CLYDE

  0840, 30 March, 1942

  Cumberland spins the search scope. The grassy, rocky hills of Scotland close around them. Ahead is a small guide boat. Behind them, the destroyer Livermore, its guns ready. Morrison looks through the attack scope, “Fishing boat, 030. Looks like its setting sail from Wemyss.”

  Cumberland, “Got it.” A navy motor launch is already heading in that direction. He looks away from the scope at Morrison, “Where the fuck did all the U-boats go?”

  “I don’t know, sir. There’s no way they’ve given up on submarine warfare. They’re committed to it.”

  “It’s pissing me off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cumberland falls silent. They follow the guide boat in. They round the corner into Holy Loch and see two tenders tied together and anchored at the center of the loch. One has a WWII style submarine and two small craft moored to its port side. The other has two long skinny barges tied to it. As they get closer, they see the one with the sub is British, and the other tender is the Beaver.

  Tug boats help them spin around, then gently push them against the long skinny barges. Wood rub plates and rubber fenders protect the sub from the barge. The crane already has a brow ready to lower.

  The tenders line handlers toss the lines over, and they are tied into place. They see three officers walking down to the barges. Cumberland, “Shit. That CAG wasn’t kidding.”

  “What, sir?”

  “The Captain, he’s a flyboy named Holtz. He’s in charge of our squadron.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Holtz waits until the quarterdeck is set up and the CO and XO are present. Then, he walks aboard to the boatswain’s pipe, “Naval Forces Great Britain, arriving.”

  Holtz salutes the flag, then the quarterdeck. Cumberland and Morrison salute, and Holtz returns it and offers his hand, “Commander Cumberland, Commander Morrison, it’s good to see you. With me is Marion Little, CO of Beaver, and Mike Simmons, Nuclear Maintenance Officer.” Two F-14s scream across the sky on afterburner. Holtz looks up, “Swede and Hot Pants. They got it. Gentlemen, is there a place where we can talk?”

  Cumberland leads the group down to the wardroom, after waiting for the engineers to come up to hook up shore services. In the wardroom, Holtz, “Could you give us a succinct report on your operations?”

  Cumberland goes through it, “…We haven’t found a U-boat for ten days.”

  Holtz, “According to radio traffic, most, if not all the U-boats are in port. How are you handling IFF out there?”

  Cumberland, “Sound, location, and behavior. We’re building a library to help identify the different subs by sound profile. Sometimes we’ll get reports regarding the location of friendly subs. Other times, we can figure it out based on their actions.”

  Holtz, “Right. Commander Cumberland, Western Approaches, the British convoy command, wants to talk to you. That means a trip to Liverpool. It’s a hell of a drive, so we’ll arrange a helicopter ride. One other thing, unless you have pressing maintenance, I want your crew to enjoy Scotland. Eventually, this will be a working port. For now, make it a liberty port. Understood?”

  Cumberland narrows his eyes, then looks down, “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, after four days in port, I want you back out there. By then, the torpedoes we received from the Camden should be here. With that, you can replenish. So, you get back underway 4 April. Before that, I’ll need a complete plan for your next movements. Clear?”

  Cumberland, “Sir, why do you need our movements?”

  “So, in the weird circumstance that you need help, or have a surface ship sniff you out, we’ll know where you are.”

  Cumberland, “But, if there’s a leak, the enemy will know, too.”

  Holtz, “Have the itinerary hand delivered. My staff has been vetted and only they know where you are. With that, we’ll still only have an approximate location.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Holtz, “Now, I may send my chief of staff up here in my stead. I believe you both have met Commander Hunt?”

  Morrison smiles, “Yes, sir.”

  Cumberland pales, “Yes, sir.”

  FLEET LANDING, SANDBANK, SCOTLAND

  1110, 30 March, 1942

  ST1 Brown and ST3 Guthrie, along with a some of the crew, climb out of the boat and walk into the small village. To the north they can see the wooden buildings of a boat yard. High Road is the main drag through town and all the commercial buildings are on it. They are all wearing their dress blues, with the peacoat, in an attempt to protect themselves from the rain.

  About a block down, they find the Mac and Mc pub and walk in. In the center of the pub is a stove, fired up and warming the space. The bar is on the left of the deep and narrow space. An older woman is filling a cup for an old man. She asks, “What can I get for you?”

  Brown, “Do you have food?”

  “We do. We got stovies, roast mutton, salmon, or if you like, we have bangers with neeps and tatties.”

  Brown, “The salmon and a beer, please.”

  Guthrie, “What are stovies?”

  “It’s comfort on a plate; sausage, pork, and beef with tatties. Um, tatties are potatoes.”

  Guthrie, “I’ll try that with a beer, please. Is American money okay?”

  “It’s fine. You’re not the first Yank to show up. Our loch is filling up with them.”

  Brown, “Yes, ma’am.” They find a table and she brings their beers.

  Guthrie, “You know, Mike. Scotland couldn’t be more different from Australia.”

  “Yeah, here we’re kind of in the back of beyond. It’s the whole point. Out here, folks won’t find us.”

  The hear the rumble of jets overhead. Guthrie, “Are those ours?”

  The old timer says, “Unless ye brought us some jets, them is Germans.”

  Brown, “I don’t know any of the details, but I understand, we did bring jets.”

  “Well, good. That should help some. What boat are ye offa?”

  Brown, “The USS San Francisco. It’s an anti-submarine vessel.”

  The old timer spins his chair around on one leg, “My name is Sheamus Stewart. Welcome to Scotland, lads.”

  They both stand and shake his hand, “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “I dinna know about that. Tell me lads. If your boat’s made to kill the subs, have ye killed any?”

  Brown nods, “Yes, sir. Since we came back, we’ve sunk a bunch. In the Atlantic, we sank nine U-boats.”

  “Nine. Bloody hell. Nine. We’ve heard of none of ye.”

  Brown, “Nor will you. Our ship is supposed to be kept quiet.”

  Their food comes out and Stewart says, “Mary, darlin, I got their meal and get them another beer.”

  Mary, “Okay, Sheamus.”

  Brown gets up and asks for the restroom. Mary points to the door. He quietly asks, “Ma’am, can Mr. Stewart afford to pay our tab?”

  She smiles, “He can. Sheamus is a retired landscaper. He sold his business ten years ago and is doing fine.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Mary, please. If you keep callin’ me ma’am, I’ll start putting on airs and walking like the Queen.”

  Brown grins, “Got it, Mary. Thank you.”

  When he returns, Sheamus asks, “Do you lads have supper plans?”

  Guthrie, “We have no plans. But we have duty tomorrow.”

  “Well, Mary can give you directions. Come by around five, and I’ll have Laureen put on a bit for us.”

  Brown, “We understand that you’ve been on rations for a long time, sir. We wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “We’ve enough, young man. Please come.”

  Sheamus leaves and Mary hands them directions, “Tis a bit of a walk, lads. Perhaps you should hire a car.”

  Brown, “Are you sure we aren’t putting them out? I know foo
d and stuff are tight.”

  “I told you, he sold his company and retired. They live on a farm up on the hill and grow much of what they need. Mind, I’ve never seen him take a liking to a sailor type before, and a Yank to boot.”