To Hunt and Protect

by M L Maki

  CHAPTER 31

  BATTLESHIP TIRPITZ, 100 MILES NW OF VESTVAGOYA ISLAND, NORWAY

  2320, 13 April, 1942

  Oberleutnant zur See Helmut Schmitt stands OOD on the bridge. The weather is snotty with a force 9 gale blowing out of the west and heavy seas forcing the large ship to work into the waves. He steps out onto the starboard bridge wing.

  Somewhere out there is the cruiser Koln, but he cannot see it. Spray pounds his foul weather gear and the chill wind creeps into every seam. Looking forward, he spots a dark image a little higher than the waves. He studies it to assure his eyes are not playing tricks, then asks the lookout, “What can you make out two points off the starboard bow?”

  “It’s a ship. Sorry, sir.”

  “It’s cold and miserable, but we must be attentive to our duties. Carry on.”

  Schmitt walks into the bridge. The warmth envelops him like as a fog. Steam rises from his foul weather gear. He dials a phone, “Sir, contact two points off the starboard bow.”

  “Do you have identification yet?”

  “No, sir. Just the distant sighting.”

  “Call when identified,” the captain hangs up.

  The phone talker says, “Port lookout spots a second contact dead ahead.”

  Schmitt, “Very well”

  SS SHENANDOAH, OIL TANKER, 11 MILES NORTH OF TIRPITZ

  Second Officer Torrance Breve studies the waters ahead. The seas just keep pounding the large ship. Green water on rolls over the bow and along the deck. The ship was well made and only three years old, but the seas were disquieting.

  He is restless and puts on his foul weather coat and walks out on the starboard bridge wing. All is endless waves to the front. To the starboard he can see the Canadian destroyer, HMCS Ottawa, H-60, also laboring against the wind and waves.

  He looks astern and sees a formless shape. He adjusts his binoculars and sees blooms of orange-yellow appear. He freezes, hearing the shriek of a million pieces of paper ripping at once. A column of water rises up behind them. He rushes back into the bridge and grabs the phone, pushing buttons with shaking hands. The ship’s master, David Langtree, walks in, “Are we under fire, Breve?”

  “Y…Yes, sir.”

  “Calm. It will be what it will be. Ring the engine room for ahead full.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  HMCS OTTAWA, H-60

  Commander Colin Donald walks onto the bridge just as the battle stations alarm stops, “What is it, Peters?” He hears the shriek of the next salvo and looks astern. “Ahead flank. Left full rudder. Run the torpedo tubes out as soon as manned. Open fire with all guns as manned.”

  Lt. Peters, “Sir, are we in gun range?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We need them to focus on us.”

  Mount X, a QF 4.7-inch cannon starts firing.

  Donald puts binoculars to his eyes. The ship is coming about smartly, heeling heavily in the waves, and picking up speed. Their rounds fall short. The next salvo from the Tirpitz lands behind them, “Right full rudder.”

  The destroyer heels again, all four of Ottawa’s QF turrets firing.

  Donald, “Left full rudder.” The bow swings back toward the big German battleship. Another salvo. This time the Tirpitz splits fire and a round hits the Shenandoah. The two rounds aimed at the Ottawa land to their port side and a wave of water crashes down on the deck.

  Donald, “Right full rudder.” Again, in the hard turn, all four turrets fire. X turret scores a hit, starting a fire forward on the port side of the Tirpitz. “Left full rudder.” B turret scores another hit. An explosion on the Shenandoah hits them with a shock wave, heeling the destroyer even more.

  Then, at five miles, Donald, “Fire all torpedoes.” Four torpedoes shoot off their launchers into the sea.

  TIRPITZ

  Kapitan Topp sees the flames from the torpedo launch. He can barely trace the faint line of their bubbles in the heavy waves. “Right full rudder. Ahead flank power limiting. We must avoid the torpedoes.”

  Schmitt repeats and relays the captain’s orders. The lee helm is sweating, his hands trembling. Schmitt, “Easy Brandt. They will miss. The British have no eyeglasses because every new pair they order, our submarines pour out on the bottom of the Atlantic.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Admiral on the bridge.” Admiral Ciliax walks in, “Captain, we bled them. Time to withdraw.”

  Topp nods, “Yes, sir. I agree.”

  The Ottawa’s torpedoes slide harmlessly down their port side.

  HMCS OTTAWA

  Donald watches the Tirpitz make the turn, firing its stern guns as it withdraws. The plucky destroyer scores three more hits, dodging the huge shells. Donald, “Right full rudder. Come to new course 355. The Shenandoah will need us.”

  The last 14-inch round from the Tirpitz hits just aft of Y turret and passes completely through the destroyer before exploding. The hit mangles both shafts and floods the stern of the destroyer. Five miles away, the Shenandoah burns.

  As the destroyer slows, wallowing in the heavy swells, Donald realizes he cannot get to the tanker that needs them. His engineer comes onto the bridge and salutes, “Fires out. The bulkhead forward of Mount Y is holding. 27 dead. 19 wounded. We need a doctor and a tow, sir, but we won’t sink.”

  He returns the salute, “Thank you, Clyde.” Donald turns and looks out the windscreen. He sees movement on the water. He realizes he is seeing the burning Shenandoah backing toward them. He smiles, “Good. Man the boats. When they’re close enough, we need to take them aboard.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO

  1710, 14 April, 1942

  Cumberland, “We should be hunting submarines, not rescuing a Canuck destroyer dumb enough to fight a battleship.”

  Morrison, “We have our orders, sir.”

  Cumberland shakes his head, “Blow ballast, Morrison. It’s going to be fucking cold out there. You have the bridge. Sarvis, Novogradic, are you ready?”

  The two men, in unison, “Yes, sir.”

  Morrison is the first one up the hatch. The sub wallows side to side in the deep swells. When he gets to the top, he sees the destroyer close aboard. Its stern is awash, but both funnels have smoke coming from them. He uses a flashlight for a blinker, “Interrogative: How many survivors?”

  “136 from both ships. Interrogative: What vessel?”

  “San Francisco. Interrogative: Engines repairable?”

  “In ship yard only”

  “Understood. Tirpitz in port. Interrogative: Medical assistance?”

  “Affirmative.”

  On the phone, “Sir, they need our doc.”

  “Morrison, I’m following below. How are you going to transfer him?”

  “Sir, if we maneuver down wind, they could float us a ship’s boat.”

  “Very well. Do it.”

  Morrison blinkers his plan. He maneuvers the sub downwind, off the destroyer’s starboard bow, so the destroyer can moderate the wind and waves. The Ottawa puts a wooden boat in the water, strung out on a line with six rowers.

  Morrison, “Hold the bell and rudder position. They’re coming along side.”

  The wood boat bounces off the port side of the sub and Sarvis grabs the line, holding it in while Novogradic tosses his supplies into the boat, then jumps in. Then, the destroyer pulls the boat back alongside and hoists it aboard.

  Morrison on blinker, “We will submerge now. A tow is coming. No submarine or enemy surface craft will get close.”

  “Thank you, San Francisco.”

  Sarvis climbs back up the sail, “Sir, what hit them?”

  “A 14-inch round from the Tirpitz. That destroyer held off the Tirpitz and then, rescued the crew of a doomed tanker.”

  “Shit. Amazing they’re still afloat.”

  “Yeah, it’s a ship worth saving.”

  TIRPITZ AT ANCHOR, KAAFJORD, NORWAY

  1845, 14 April, 1942

  Helmut Schmitt walks around the forward port missile launcher. One of the destroyer’s
shells hit it and killed his friend. The smell of burning flesh still hangs on the air as the crew begins removing the jagged metal. Kapitan Topp approaches and Schmitt salutes. “Oberleutnant, do not fret that this launcher is hit. Rounds rarely fall on the same place twice.”

  “Sir, I was thinking of the men who died here. It seems so random.”

  “It is We must each do our best to minimize the enemy’s opportunities to hit us again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You do well, Oberleutnant, do not over react to what you see.”

  “Yes, Kapitan.”

  HMCS OTTAWA NEARING ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND

  11 April, 1942

  HM1(SS) Vince Novogradic does his rounds He’s managed to improvise an infirmary and all of his patients are undercover. He has seven burn patients, nine with broken bones, and several other critical injuries. He’s protecting the burn patient’s skin with sterile wraps. A real challenge in this environment.

  The worst is Boatswains Mate Billy Atherton’s stomach wound. A piece of steel tore through his intestines. Novogradic had no choice but to perform surgery. He cut out the severely damaged portions of the small intestines, reattached the clean ends, and sewed together the torn muscles and skin. He filled Billy with antibiotics and wrapped him in sterile bandages. Now they wait.

  He looks down at Billy, “How are you feeling?”

  “No fever, doc. I think. Not quite ready to go dancing, but getting there. When can I eat?”

  Novogradic peels back the bandages. The wound has stopped weeping and the redness is going down. “You are looking good. Sorry about the liquid diet. I need to keep your guts clean. Besides, the yogurt will help restore the biome the antibiotics are destroying.”

  They hear the sound of a helicopter, then, “Deck division. Standby to receive personnel at Mount A.”

  He redresses Atherton’s wound, and touches his shoulder. He then goes to this next patient, “Chief Potter, how are you?”

  “Doing well, considering my career as a pianist is over.” Potter looks at the stump of his right arm, smashed by a collapsing bulkhead.

  Novogradic smiles, “So, you play the piano?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pretty sure you could manage the harmonica.”

  “I suppose I could.”

  The see a small man in black BDU’s and carrying an enormous back pack come in and go to immediately wash his hands. Novogradic, “Who are you, sir?”

  “HM1 Shockley, Seal Team 1. What do you have?”

  Novogradic goes over the status of each patient. They change bandages and speak with each man, then walk out of the canvas division separating the infirmary from the mess decks.

  Shockley, “How many did you lose?”

  “It was almost a day before I got onboard. Those unsavable, were already lost.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “You saved a lot of lives here. Good job.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Once in port, we’ll transfer your critical patients by helo to Guys in London. Your boat is, I think, still underway. I could use you at Alconbury.”

  “Cool.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, 300 MILES SOUTH OF GREENLAND

  8 May, 1942

  Cumberland paces back and forth waiting for the radioman to finish sending their report. “Where the fuck are they?”

  Morrison, “The convoys are getting through. There’ve been a few attacks in the med, but they got that one. It didn’t happen in our history. I can’t believe they would give up.”

  ETC Barton hands Cumberland a message:

  FROM: COMNAVFORGB

  TO: 711

  REG: MOVEMENT

  711, RTB morning tide, 5/16/1942 for tasking.

  Holtz

  Cumberland hands it back, “Jesus Christ, if he has a new assignment, why do we have to go back in to receive it.”

  “Sir, he’s the boss.”

  “Fucking wing wiper. He doesn’t know the first thing about what we do.”

  Quietly, Morrison says, “But, he’s the boss, sir. It’s wrong to criticize the boss in front of our crew, sir.”

  Cumberland looks around, “Morrison, they all get it. We should have a submarine officer commanding our squadron.”

  “Sir, there are no 1990 submarine captains or admirals, that I know of. A 1941 wouldn’t understand what we can do.”

  “Neither, does he. Set our course. Let’s hunt our way to Scotland.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  DAVID TAYLOR MODEL BASIN, CARDEROCK, MARYLAND

  1250, 10 May, 1942

  Mallory watches the submarine he designed being carefully lowered into the test tank. It is at the end of a six-foot pole with an instrument box and counter weight. It has fins to keep the model balanced straight in the water. When the rig is pushed through the water, the resistance is measured on a calibrated weight scale.

  Admiral Klindt, “It’s a sensible design.”

  Mallory, “Thank you, sir. I just hope it stays straight.”

  “Your counter balance and fins should do that. I can’t find a flaw in your design.”

  The first model they run is that of a Gato class submarine. They run it six times down the course, making small adjustments to the controls. The runs share an average resistance number. Then they install Mallory’s design. Eight runs later, the numbers speak for themselves. Though, the sub is wider, the resistance is substantially lower.

  Mallory, “Sir, it’s a start. With this tool I can refine the shape further.”

  “Do so, but keep in mind, we have to build the shape you settle on.”

  “Yes, sir”

  STEWART FARM, SANDBANK, SCOTLAND

  1815, 11 Mary, 1942

  Jean Luc plays with this toy truck, stopping and listening to the birdsong. He picks a daisy and runs to his mother who’s standing where she can see down the hill toward the loch.

  Sheamus walks up beside her, “He’s coming back.”

  “How do you know, Da?”

  “You ken the large ship a floating out there with the destroyer tied to it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That ship, tis here for your lad’s submarine. As long as it is here, he’ll be back.”

  Laureen hugs Sheamus, “Thank you, Da.”

  “Ye know there’s a good bit of war left. He might be gone time to time, for even years. Ken ye live with it?”

  She sighs, “I did for William. If he’s for me, I’ll wait. It…just now we’re not anything. No promise. Not even a maybe.”

  “Dinnae fash yerself. He’ll be back. I’ve seen him looking at you. He’ll be back. You’ll see. I’m pure right.”

  “Thank you, Da.”

  THE FIRTH OF CLYDE

  0730, 16 May, 1942

  Cumberland, “Blow ballast.”

  As they surface, Morrison is on the periscope, “Livermore at 230. Our guide boat is at 050.”

  Cumberland, “Very well. It’s raining out there. Morrison, you have the bridge team.”

  “Yes, sir.” The men on the bridge are all in foul weather gear. The sub works its way into Holy Loch. The tug parks them. Because it’s their second time in, the crew knows where everything is. At 0915 liberty call goes down for section two and three. The Livermore anchors in the loch and sends over a launch.

  The launch pulls alongside the San Francisco and the officer calls out, “Sirs, Commander Huber invites your wardroom, not on watch, to the Livermore tonight for dinner.”

  Quietly to Morrison, Cumberland asks, “Must we?”

  “Sir, we are socially obligated to say yes.”

  Cumberland turns back to the boat officer, “My wardroom, of course, will attend. I hope you’re also offering transport. As you can see, we’re somewhat short on ship’s boats.”

  “Of course, sir. It begins at 1600.” He directs the coxswain back to the Livermore.

  Morrison, “I’ll give the wardroom the news.”

  Cumberland,
“Do you suppose he has any information regarding our orders?”