Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series)

by Schettler, John

  It wasn’t the Germans he had to worry about for the moment, he thought. Strange to think it was the French now! That navy has some fine ships in it. What if they fight? Will it come to that? One look at those two fat battleships out there told him all he needed to know about what might happen. So now he set his mind on planning what his role would be in these operations.

  Soon they reached Gibraltar, the men glad to feel the warm July breeze of the Mediterranean as the ship pulled into the harbor. It was not long before he was summoned to present himself to Admiral Somerville, who now set his flag on HMS Nelson.

  * * *

  “Mers-el-Kebir, gentlemen,” said Somerville. “That is the primary French base in French Algeria, Oran, and I am now in receipt of a message from the Admiralty directing me to take immediate and drastic action against French ships remaining in Oran. “

  The Flag Officers and senior Captains were all meeting on HMS Nelson for the final briefing prior to the launch of what was now being called “Operation Catapult.” Somerville opened with a brief rundown of what Force H might encounter.

  “A pair of older battleships are presently there, Provence and Bretagne, but also the two new battlecruisers, Strausbourg and Dunkerque. They are accompanied by four light cruisers, sixteen destroyers and a fist full of submarines. The rest is riff raff. Now while I should be delighted if Admiral Gensoul decides to join with us, we must be firm in insisting his ships are demilitarized, and that failing, scuttled in place should he decline other options. Any questions?”

  Wells immediately raised his hand. “Have we communicated with Admiral Gensoul on this matter, sir?”

  “Not yet,” said Somerville, tall, trim, his uniform immaculate and every bit the English gentleman that he was. A navy cadet at the age of just fifteen, he made Lieutenant in only five years, a specialist in radio signals and communications. He won the DSO at the Dardanelles campaign in the first war, then commanded a destroyer squadron during the Spanish Civil War before coming home to study radar applications. In 1940 he had served in the evacuation at Dunkirk before being sent to the warm Med again to organize Force H at Gibraltar. Churchill had now handed him the first real heavy lifting for the new battlegroup, a showdown with the powerful French Navy. He had requested Hood and Ark Royal, but they sent him Nelson, Rodney, and Glorious instead. That was good enough.

  “No,” he continued. “We want to maintain the element of surprise. Once we appear off shore at Oran, then we have a good man slated to go in on a destroyer and may the initial contact. We will give the French a list of reasonable alternatives, but must be prepared to act decisively, and in a timely manner, if they are not accepted… as distasteful as this prospect seems. I must also tell you that Admiral Cunningham at Alexandria has expressed strong opposition to the proposal that we resort to force, and while I am inclined to agree with him. We could make a defeated ally into an active enemy if this operation spins out of control. I have expressed these views to the Admiralty and I have been informed that the civilian leadership, remains adamant on the matter.”

  Everyone there knew that the civilian leadership meant Churchill, and the word adamant was well applied

  “Then we are to attack the French by surprise, sir?”

  “We intend to arrive by surprise, Mister Wells, and then give fair warning. I must place Force H in a position to have every option available, and therefore this movement will benefit from the element of stealth. We will leave at dusk, steam throughout the night rigged for black, and expect to reach our destination at dawn.”

  “Sir, should our proposals be rejected, am I to expect orders to coordinate a torpedo attack?” Wells wanted to know just what he was in for, as distasteful as it seemed to be planning the betrayal and demise of a former friend and ally. All the other senior officers were equally bothered by the prospect, yet ready to do their duty if so ordered.

  “You opinion on that, Captain?” Somerville handed the question back to him.

  “Without some supporting fire to silence enemy flak guns protecting the harbor, sir, it would be very risky, and could be a costly option.”

  “Admiralty was of the same opinion,” said Somerville. “The presence of netting at the harbor entrance also precludes the use of destroyers to make such an attack. You should, however, be prepared to execute mining operations so as to prevent any French ships from leaving port. Yet do not be too eager, Mister Wells, even this option will likely be an order of the last minute. To do so too soon could be perceived as a hostile act at a most delicate moment, and prevent the French from accepting our proposals.”

  “I understand, sir. May I suggest that our first operation be limited to reconnaissance? This would allow us to determine if any of the French ships are making steam or hoisting boats to indicate signs of imminent departure.”

  “A good point, Mister Wells, and so ordered. It would also be wise to keep a close eye on the submarines present. Should any be seen to slip their births, 8th destroyer flotilla will be prepared to handle the matter. Your aircraft should be prepared to support this action. Now then, I think it best I read to you the ultimatum I have drafted, if you will all bear with me. I think it’s fair, and I hope it will be well received.”

  Somerville took up a typewritten page and began:

  “It is impossible for us, your comrades up to now, to allow your fine ships to fall into the power of the German enemy. We are determined to fight on until the end, and if we win, as we think we shall, we shall never forget that France was our Ally, that our interests are the same as hers, and that our common enemy is Germany. Should we conquer, we solemnly declare that we shall restore the greatness and territory of France. For this purpose we must make sure that the best ships of the French Navy are not used against us by the common foe. In these circumstances, His Majesty's Government have instructed me to demand that the French fleet now at Mers el Kebir and Oran shall act in accordance with one of the following alternatives:

  (a) Sail with us and continue the fight until victory against the Germans.

  (b) Sail with reduced crews under our control to a British port. The reduced crews would be repatriated at the earliest moment.

  If either of these courses is adopted by you we will restore your ships to France at the conclusion of the war or pay full compensation if they are damaged meanwhile.

  (c) Alternatively if you feel bound to stipulate that your ships should not be used against the Germans unless they break the Armistice, then sail them with us with reduced crews to some French port in the West Indies—Martinique for instance—where they can be demilitarized to our satisfaction, or perhaps be entrusted to the United States and remain safe until the end of the war, the crews being repatriated.

  If you refuse these fair offers, I must with profound regret, require you to sink your ships within 6 hours.

  Finally, failing the above, I have the orders from His Majesty's Government to use whatever force may be necessary to prevent your ships from falling into German hands.”

  Somerville put the paper aside. “That was the easy part,” he said. “The real work is in your hands, gentlemen. Should all else fail the code word signaling opening of hostilities is Anvil, and the guns of the battleship squadron shall be the hammer. We sail for Oran in three hours. That will be all.”

  Those three hours never went by so quickly. The destroyers were out first, eleven in all. Then came the light cruisers, Arethusa and Enterprise. Behind them the big battleships moved in a stately procession, Resolution, Valiant, Nelson and Rodney. Wells was to bring up Glorious in the rear, with a flotilla of destroyers waiting in escort when the ship cleared the harbor. It would be a journey of 420 kilometers to Oran, which was over twelve hours sailing time east into the Alboran Sea and the Mediterranean.

  As the ships steamed out of the harbor, a man was watching from the Spanish coast sitting lazily on the beach at the little coastal town of Concepcion, north of the isthmus of Gibraltar. He raised a brown hand, squinting, then stood up slo
wly, brushing off his white trousers and slipping his sandals back on. It was a beautiful hot late July day, and he wished he could stay longer, but now he had business to attend to.

  Juan Enrique Calderon had sat on that beach every day that month. The show he was watching now was supposed to have been staged much earlier, on July 3rd in the history Fedorov knew. Instead the action in the Denmark Strait had delayed these events, and shuffled the cast a bit, but the script of the play would remain the same, right down to each letter and period in Admiral Somerville’s note of ultimatum.

  Now Juan had his little part to play, just a note scribbled on the margins of these great events, but one that would have a most dramatic effect. He walked into the little hotel there on Paseo Martimo, and slipped into the telephone booth, his brown finger dialing quickly.

  The voice on the other end of the line answered with the familiar greeting, and Juan Enrique spoke his quiet message. “Just calling to confirm that I will definitely attend the event tomorrow morning. Please tell my friend that it is a beautiful day here. The birds are lovely off the coast, I saw four white doves and a nice fat goose! I wish he could see it.”

  That was all.

  Yet it was enough to change all the history that would be recorded on the following morning, for Señor Calderon was working for a deeply nested intelligence section keeping a close eye on British ship movements at Gibraltar, and the four white doves were the four battleships out there on the horizon now, with one fat goose behind—HMS Glorious.

  * * *

  When Admiral Marcel-Bruno Gensoul received the news that a large British task force was now heading east from Gibraltar, he was understandably tense and upset. What would a British force of that size, four battleships and a carrier, be doing? He knew before he had even finished asking himself. The question now was what would he do? He looked out on the fleet where it lay at anchor and realized his predicament. The guns of his most modern ships were pointing landward. Strausbourg and Dunkerque had two quadruple turrets both forward of the conning tower. If caught in their present position they would have no chance if hostilities were to break out.

  A disciplined and efficient man, Gensoul was under no illusions about his situation now. Unless he took his fleet to sea, and quickly, it would not survive. He immediately sought instructions from the French Admiralty, pacing as the sun hung lower in the sky, knowing that the British had departed from Gibraltar at 15:00. At 17:00 he was informed by cable that Darlan could not be located, and that the French Chief of Staff, Vice-Admiral Le Luc at French Naval headquarters at Nerac, was now issuing an order for all French naval forces to prepare for imminent hostilities.

  Admiral Gensoul was in a quandary. He knew what the British really desired, not conflict but alliance. They hoped his fleet would be sailed to English ports, but this would clearly be impossible. To do so would immediately violate the terms of the armistice signed with Germany and could lead to the complete occupation of all free French territory by the German army. Yet to turn his guns on the British was also an agony. It would create a situation where Vichy France became a de facto ally of Germany, in full cooperation with the Nazi regime, which was a proposition he knew Darlan was strongly considering.

  His third alternative would be to try and sail to a neutral port, perhaps Martinique in the Caribbean, where the Old French carrier Béarn had sailed after secretly hauling a load of gold bullion from the Bank of France to safety in the United States. In return Béarn was receiving a new air wing from the Americans consisting of 27 Curtiss H-75s, 44 SBC Helldivers, 25 Stinson 105s, and also six Brewster Buffaloes. The planes were to be loaded and delivered as part of the Belgian Air Contingent, but that was over now. There was no free government in Belgium any longer. He could not sail west in any regard. Not without the likelihood of encountering the Royal Navy and a battle at sea.

  That left the sour alternative of scuttling his ships in place, and he knew that this is what the British would demand in time. Refuse that and their guns would fire soon after. He had little doubt of the outcome should he leave his ships where they were.

  Vice-Admiral Le Luc sent a further message at 17:20 indicating he was planning to send the French squadrons at Toulon and Algiers to Oran as an immediate reinforcement, but Gensoul knew this would also be a mistake. Mers-el-Kebir could not accommodate these additional ships, and this move would only lead to another battle at sea. The only alternative he could think of was to reverse that order, and take his ships to Toulon. Yet he knew if he sat there, sending messages to Nerac, waiting for Le Luc to respond, arguing the matter should his suggestion be rebuffed, the British would draw nearer with each passing minute. He knew what he had to do—order the fleet to action at once! He must present Le Luc with a de facto situation that he knew would be the only solution now.

  And this is exactly what he did.

  Chapter 32

  Newly promoted Captain Wells received the message from the W/T room with some surprise. ‘MOST IMMEDIATE – Admiralty informs the French fleet at Mers-el-Kebir has worked up steam and is now moving out to sea. Course and destination unknown. Imperative you ascertain location and intentions of the French Oran Squadron.’

  Wells looked at the chronometer, 21:10, and the sun was just on the horizon behind them, setting in minutes. He would have twilight conditions for the next hour, but if he wanted to have any chance of spotting the French fleet he had to get his planes up immediately. The moon would not rise until quarter after one, a half moon that would provide some light. Should he launch now, or just before moonrise?

  “Mister Lovell,” he said quickly. “Send down to Air Commander Heath and get that flight of Swordfish up for extended search to the east at once. The French have put to sea.” He had two Skua fighters on the forward catapults ready for immediate launch, and a squadron of four Swordfish aft on ready alert.

  A signalman ran in with a further message, breathless from his trip up the ladder, and Wells took it quickly, raising an eyebrow at what he saw. ‘Considering gravity of present situation, HMS Glorious is herewith detached with DD Flotilla 8 and will make best practical speed ahead in effort to effect contact with French fleet. Main battle squadron will follow at best speed.’

  Flotilla 8 consisted of six destroyers, Faulknor, Foxhound, Fearless, Forrester, Foresight, and Escort. They had been steaming off both sides of the carrier in two lines of three, providing a very effective ASW screen for the valuable ship. The remaining five destroyers of Flotilla 13 were attending to the four battleships.

  Wells felt the rising adrenaline as he realized what was now happening. Glorious was the fastest ship in Somerville’s squadron, ten knots faster than any of the battleships. The situation had obviously changed. Somehow the French must have gotten wind of our operation, he thought quickly. We’ve lost the element of surprise, and they are slipping away. But where are they sailing? Suppose they are coming west in an attempt to reach Casablanca or Dakar? In that event I’ll have Glorious out in front and run into the entire French battle squadron! Would they sail west? The more he considered it the more he thought that unlikely. No, they will go home to a French port now, or further east to Algiers. Nothing else made any sense.

  Yet he knew what that might mean, and the urgency that was now in the order for Glorious to move on ahead. They will order me to strike, he thought. It’s all on me now, the whole bloody mess.

  “Mister Lovell, the ship will come ten points to starboard and increase to 30 knots.”

  Lovell hesitated, ever so slightly, then the reflex kicked in and he quickly repeated the order. “Aye sir, starboard ten and ahead full.”

  “Lampsmen, signal destroyers on our starboard side and order them to make way.”

  Wells walked quickly to the chart room, remembering how he had assisted Admiral Tovey in the fleet flagship aboard Invincible. He had to now make some very quick calculations, and an equally quick decision. They were still west of Melilla, and 124 miles from Oran. His fairy Swordfish had a range of ab
out 475 miles out and back, which might be extended to 525 with additional fuel, and no torpedo. This was a good deal more than the two Blackburn Skuas he had on the catapults, so he would go with his Swordfish.

  If he launched now he could have his planes move ahead at their best speed and in an hour they could be just north of Oran with a little light before complete darkness set in. The Swordfish might then have another hour loiter time to shadow the French before they had to turn for home. It would be enough to at least find and mark the position and heading of the French fleet, which is what he had been ordered to do. So he would let his order stand. The planes would launch immediately.

  The Swordfish were already sputtering to life, and he quickly had Lovell send down instructions as to his intentions for their course and mission. Come first light, he thought, the decks would likely be crowded with the whole of 823 Squadron, armed and ready. I have better inform Mister Heath, he thought.

  “Mister Lovell, please ask Mister Heath to come to the bridge at his first opportunity.”

  * * *

  The calculations Wells had made were spot on. His Swordfish thrummed away east, vanishing into the twilight and labored off at their best speed. It was no more than an hour later before they reported back. ‘Spotted large flotilla, four capital ships, heading 030 degrees NW. Speed 20. EST - My position follows.’

  “See that is forwarded to Admiral Somerville at once.”

  “Aye sir.”

  The French were just north of Oran, and if there were four battleships then they had emptied out the harbor. He had little doubt now. They were most likely running for Toulon. He passed a moment of relief, glad to know he might not blunder right into them as Glorious sped east at 30 knots. In the plot room off the bridge he was working out the situation on the chart, marking off the range with a compass. It was immediately obvious to him that Admiral Somerville’s battleships were not going to catch up.