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The three great ships were a study in contrasts, changing designs, and the
philosophies of differing countries. One of the ships was a very familiar
sight at Scapa Flow, HMS Hood. A poised, graceful vessel, that always seemed
to be making thirty knots, even at anchor as she was now. Her guns were the
biggest of the three, but old. The Great War vintage battle cruiser was a
massive ship, a symbol of British naval power throughout the years of peace.
The next ship in the line... was not such a sight to feast the eyes upon.
Captain Nicholai Chevalier felt a pang of sympathy for Captain Leach of the
Prince of Wales. The ship was still being fitted out, but it was complete
enough
that Nicholai knew already the KGVs were in heavy competition for the "ugly
duckling" class of the Royal Navy against the Nelsons. Oh well.. If they
fought well, it didn't matter. Still, the twin turret superimposed over a
quadruple turret looked pitifully small. The crew of the Prince of Wales
would probably be disappointed when they found out, but they were not going
to be joining the Hood when she sortied that evening... It was judged that
the fitting out would continue as quickly as possible, and the Prince of
Wales would sail with her sister ship, King George V, and the carrier
Victorious. They would meet up with the Repulse and sail when German
intentions were
more clear... For the new German battleship Bismarck was in Norway,
apparently preparing to sortie into the Atlantic.
No.. Not the Prince of Wales, that as yet unfinished ship, would be
accompanying Hood north to cut off one possible route for the Germans to
break out into the Atlantic... That would fall to HIS ship.. HTMS Trevanne,
the last ship in that particular line of anchored dreadnoughts. Long, very
long indeed, and not particularly beamy, she had the lines of a battle
cruiser,
but she was definitely far, far better armoured than the old Hood. She was a
very new
ship as well, and Captain Chevalier could not help but feel great pride in
his
awesome command. With the new 'Super Heavy' shells for her nine 14in/50cal
guns, thirty one knot maximum speed, and the best all or nothing protection
that could be
packed onto her 'slightly over 35,000 ton' hull, Trevanne was surely a
marvel to behold.
The tall tower superstructure added to the elegance of the profile and that
sharp, curving
hull. Behind it, two funnels, angled slightly aft, jutting up, gave the
Trevanne a rakish air.
With the main armament in three triple turrets, the forward ones
superimposed, it only
added to that quality. Like Hood, she seemed to always be at speed, but in a
different
style.
With Rear Admiral D'Artagnan de Lafayette, Captain Nicholai Chevalier was
sitting in the traditional English Pub-style British Officers' Club (Allies welcome), from
which the ships could just be discerned. They were by the windows, away from
the boisterous assortment of junior officers
from other ships. The Rear Admiral had invited him ashore, so that they
might speak, and, as he had
said, 'See your ship from a distance.. Captains spend so much time aboard
their ships, but they never get to look at them much in profile.' Well, if
the Rear Admiral wished buy him a drink and speak a bit, Captain Chevalier
didn't mind a bit. He needed to keep himself occupied... rather desperately.
Nicholai Chevalier came from a long line of shipping merchants. Over the
years, his family had built up a massive shipping fleet, and, at several
points in history when the Terentrian Navy was weak or otherwise occupied,
they had used privately owned warships to defend it. Though the days of
Chevalier
Privateers in their wooden ships, herding convoys of Chevalier-owned
merchant
ships, had long since gone, a new tradition had come up in the family.
Though
the first born son learned how to run the business and assisted the father,
the second born son, if there was one, always served in the navy. Nicholai
Chevalier was the second born son, and as per that custom, he had gone into
the
Royal Terentrian Navy. As his father had said; Someone must protect the
family's ships. Never before had that been more true. Though the main threat
to the ships of the Chevalier family was from U-Boats, as they were now
gainfully employed in hauling massive amounts of 'Lend-Lease' supplies from
America to Tarrantry, other threats could just as easily dispatch them..
Namely, the Bismarck. But they were not his father's ships, anymore, or even
his brother's ships... For both of them had been killed during the German
bombings of Colnille, when they were aboard and inspecting one of their
ships
that had arrived, miraculously surviving a torpedo hit from a U-Boat and
making it safely to Colnille, when it was struck repeatedly by bombs from
Luftwaffe aircraft. Because of that, he had inherited the entire company..
Though that was really nothing, at least as long as the war lasted, with all
ships part of the Merchant Marine, in addition to his duties as Captain of
the Trevanne.
Captain Chevalier looked to the white haired, clean-shaved man across from
him. Thin, tall, Rear Admiral D'Artagnan de Lafayette might have a name of
French origin, but he was very much a Celt in blood; And probably more than
a
bit of English blood in more recent history. Navigator of Ste. Catherine at
Jutland during
the Great War, D'Artagnan had seen more than his share of naval warfare, and
was most
likely to see quite a bit more before this war was over. He did not smile
much, but he was
a brilliant commander with an odd flair for poetry. He was a loner, having
never married
his entire life, as far as Captain Chevalier knew, and as dedicated to the
Terentrian navy as
the Delacroix clan was.
Nicholai drained the rest of the ale in his pint mug; Like D'Artagnan, he'd
limited himself to one, of course. Though he preferred a fine wine, even
wines got repetitive after a while, and studying his ship while nursing a
mug
of ale was oddly relaxing. D'Artagnan abruptly took out his old-fashioned
pocket watch, checking it, and then he looked to Nicholai. "We'd best get
back to the Trevanne, Captain." His first words in five minutes.. And it was
no surprise what they were. They did need to get back. Nicholai stood first,
and then his commanding officer. Together, they headed down to the docks and
the launch that awaited them. In his heart, Nicholai felt pangs of
uncertainty; This would be his first combat action, if Hood and Trevanne met
the Bismarck. He thought of his darling Jeanne at home, six months pregnant,
and then pushed the thoughts aside.. He had his duty to do. As for
D'Artagnan.. He was as coldly silent as ever. Just as strangely, it was
rather
comforting to Nicholai. He did not yet trust himself in combat, but
D'Artagnan
would stand like iron against any threat, he was sure, and even if the
overall command was to the British Vice Admiral L. E. Holland, Rear Admiral
de Lafayette was a man of whom it was an honour to serve under. The kind you
might not like, even in his occasional moments of poetry, but who would lead
you safely out of hell.. After every time he charged you straight into it.
Nicholai was sure of that. He had always been a good judge of men, both
superiors and subordinates, and one look in the Rear Admiral's eyes had told
him so.
Viktoria studied the two ships through the field glasses; Standard issue to German army officers. Standard issue, too, to any resistance sniper who could take them off the dead body of their target before more Germans showed up. She had one advantage in identifying them that the others did not; An eidict memory. She had 100% total recall of everything she saw, read, heard, smelt. It was a very rare gift.. And a very damning one. Her and Jorgen had been married only four months, when the Germans came. That would have seemed like a long off nightmare, to anyone, those days of chaos before everything settled down to brutal occupation and gurellia warfare; But not her. She had to remember ever single second, every single little event that had happened... Jorgen had been a junior officer at a shore artillery battery, which had been vital in sinking several German warships. For that, she had pride. But he had died soon enough, fighting the Germans on shore. Thankfully, she had been spared having the eternal, perfect memories of his body. She'd been told by another man of the battery who'd fought alongside him on shore and escaped. He'd ran for the hills, to keep on fighting back. She'd been to stunned, to saddened, to grief-stricken to follow.. And she'd paid the price.
Rape. Such a short word, for something so horrific.. And, as cursed as she was with an eidict memory, forced to remember.. Always. That had been the final straw. She didn't need any further prodding, she never would. Every time she slept, she dreamt it, over, and over. So she had killed her first Nazi. The officer had taken a fancy to her and moved in to her and Jorgen's house. And one night, when he'd been a bit to careless regarding his personal safety, she'd killed him with a steak knife... And fled into the woods, with his pistol and his binoculars, the ones she viewed the two ships through now, to join the resistance. To kill Nazis.. Germans, it didn't matter. They'd all pay. It was really the only pleasurable thing left in the world to her. She was horrified at the very monster she had become, but she'd had no choice in the matter, and as long as the cursed captors of their entire nation were the ones she focused all her hated upon, then she didn't care, either.
Right now, she would have given her life quite gladly for a torpedo battery for her comrades in the resistance to use. God, they made such tempting targets, that Blucher class Heavy Cruiser, and the ship that looked like a massive big brother to it, definitely a battleship, steaming out to sea. But they didn't have one. They could just report, and hope the British and the Terentrians could stop the two monsters.
There was a slight rustling behind her... She let the binoculars drop to the strap around her neck, the captured German pistol drawn and held in two hands.. Straight at Nils. She sighed softly, in relief, and spoke in quiet tones; She hadn't spoken above a whisper, she was sure, in months. "What is it?" she snapped softly. "You know we shouldn't have more than one of us exposed out here at a time." There was a fear in his eyes, though.. She didn't like that, and his answer left her all the less sure.. "Viktoria, the Gestapo has apprehended our contact.. We have no way of getting word to the British, now, that those ships have sailed, and if he breaks...." He didn't need to finish. She just nodded once. "We'll head north, then, I think. I'm not going to take the chance.. We can't. Alert the others, and we'll meet at the usual point, and head out from there after we've decided.." Nils just nodded once, and headed back into the underbrush. Damn. There was no way of alerting the British now... Viktoria just hoped they'd be able to find out on there own. She had more important things to worry about, right now.. Like evading the Gestapo, if their contact broke. She cursed being alive once, and her memory twice, and then also heading down from her looking spot.. Leaving the two German warships to sail off into the gathering darkness, north and west, towards that "Thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice" as it had once been called.
The sound of the anchors clanging home could be heard on the HTMS Trevanne. Ahead of them, HMS Hood had likewise already weighed anchor, and farther to their stern, the lights of Terentrian cruisers Imperatrice and Ardent, the Imperatrice being a treaty cruiser of 9 x 8in guns and the best protection possible on her tonnage, with Ardent being the lead ship of a class of light cruisers armed with sixteen six inch guns in four quadruple turrets. Each also had one quadruple launcher for 21in torpedoes on each side of the ship, and a good armament of secondary guns. Behind them, further still, were the destroyers Electra, Anthony, Echo, Icarus, Achates, and Antelope, all of the Royal Navy. Vice Admiral Lancelot E. Holland had given the order for the ships to weigh anchor, and leave Scapa Flow, but minutes before. They were to sail to Hvalsfjord, Iceland, to refuel, and then patrol the Denmark Strait. That was all the sailors knew about their mission. But, every man felt that something more was happening, surely, in that way that seamen feel it.. A sense of both dread and excitement flooded through every ship of the squadron weighing anchor.. But on the bridges, it was especially palpatable. The Captains knew most, and especially Rear Admiral D'Artagnan de Lafayette, that feeling deep in their bones. Within a few days, their ships would be fighting. There were other routes to take, of course, but instinct told the Rear Admiral that the Germans would take the Denmark Strait, and there they would be, to meet them, and send them to the bottom. He also felt that Lancelot must know it as well... But what, he wondered, would the butcher's bill be, this time.
It was late. Too late. These long days were taking their toll on Vice Admiral Delacroix, and he did force himself to sleep, simply out of the rationale he'd forced upon himself that having less of a rested commander was better than having more of a weary, witless one. But tonight he couldn't.. He knew he'd sleep soon, and probably in a cot inside the building, but for now.. He simply couldn't. The bombing raid on the Bismarck and Prinz Eugen had failed miserably thanks to the weather, and now he was awaiting further word from the Norweigan resistance regarding the disposition of those two ships; It was the only source availible to them, as long as the bad weather held over Bergen.
Chief Forgeron entered from the radio room and saluted, holding a dispatch tucked under his left arm. Vice Admiral Delacroix acknowledge the salute, and took the dispatch as Chief Forgeron spoke. "It's from Scapa Flow, sir." Delacroix nodded once, and read the dispatch. HMS Hood, Trevanne, Imperatrice, Ardent, and six escorting destroyers had weighed anchor and were leaving Scapa Flow for Hvalsfjord. He then looked up at the map, even as Chief Forgeron was going to move the markers representing the ships leaving Scapa Flow. In particular, he focused on the Norweigan coast, and the last known locations of the Bismarck and Prinz Eugen. "Chief," he asked, already though he already knew the answer, "Has any word reached us from the Norweigan Resistance about the disposition of the Bismarck and the Prinz Eugen?" The man answered as he finished positioning the markers for the squadron leaving Scapa Flow. "No sir, I'm afraid not." Vice Admiral Delacroix sighed slightly, and nodded. Some people likened war to a game; A chess match. Delacroix knew better; War was a bloody reality. But there was one game in it.. The waiting game. And the only way to escape playing that was to sleep. Well, he had the excuse now.
"Chief, awaken Lieutenant Commander Bertin, and have him report here immedietly. I need rest... And you do, as well. As soon as you've awakened the Lieutenant Commander, awaken your own replacement and get some rest." The Chief saluted again, "At once, sir," and headed out of the War Room. Vice Admiral Delacroix again looked to the map, and thought of all that had happened in the past months. The initial outrage of Tarrantry over Mers-el-Kebir and Operation Catapult, done without consulting or even bothering to inform their Terentrian allies, and before that the stunning sinking of the HMS Glorious by the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. And, of course, the equally stunning though really unsurprising, when the facts were made clear, mutual sinkings of the Kormoran and Aigle by each other.
After that, naval operations had been few on the surface by the Kriegsmarine; Both the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were in for refit and the apparent replacement of their 11.1in guns with 15in twins, while construction continued on the first of Germany's H type Battleships, a ship believed to be of an improved Panzerschiffe design, and a third of identified type that had been laid down coinciding with a firey speech by Hitler declaring that Germany would outbuild Britain and Tarrantry combined at any effort, with any ships, and promised a Kriegsmarine 'Ten times more powerful and more glorious than the High Seas Fleet,' proof of the technical skill and industrial superiourity of the Aryan Race or some other 'general rot' as a British colleague had called it. All other surface warships larger than destroyers under construction in Germany with the exception of the now complete Bismarck and the Tirpitz on her trials, along with another Hipper class cruiser, had been scrapped in favour of submarines.
Vice Admiral Delacroix glanced to the door and noticed Lieutenant Commander Bertin arriving. Good... He could finally sleep, and, with any luck, avoid an ulcer. He silently wished that the Bismarck would just crack her hull open on an iceberg, but he knew that fate would never let the German battleship be dispatched with so easily.
And so they left Scapa Flow. Rear Admiral D'Artagnan de Lafayette watched the rocky island slow pass behind them in the darkness, and then looked ahead. He was on the main bridge of the Trevanne; No reason to go to the Flag Bridge, yet. The passage out of Scapa Flow had been thankfully uneventful. He remained silent, simply watching the bridge crew go about their duties, and Captain Chevalier occasionally give orders. But his eyes were drawn to a sight outside the bridge windows, directly ahead. The "Mighty Hood", leading the column. The shape of the Hood was eerie in this light, at this darkness. D'Artagnan had always seen possibilities. He posessed an exceptionally fertile imagination, something that had allowed him to excell time and time again in the fleet. He didn't think of himself as having some special ability of foresight. He simply imagined every possible future, plotted it out in his mind.
His ability to think for himself, to plot what the enemy could do, what might occur, had helped him over his career, most certainly, in wargames.. And the actual war. It was then, that the ancient memories rose to haunt him. Jutland, and duel between Ste. Catherine, Tiger, and Derfflinger. The second had been brutal to the Ste. Catherine, and had been when his hair first started to turn white.. But it was the first to which he thought, now. The destruction of the two RN Battlecruisers.. mad, chaotic melees of the night.. The sinking of the Hercules by a daring German torpedo attack, and the same by the Royal Navy's destroyers against the old Pre-Dreadnought Pommern... The pounding of the old battlecruiser Lutzow into a battered hulk and watching that ship sink beneath the waves. All a chaotic jumble of memories.
But as his cold blue eyes focused on the eerie sight of the Hood, one imagine rose the strongest in his mind. HMS Queen Mary exploding. For a moment, the two images seemed to be the same in his mind. He shook his head slightly, but did nothing else. He couldn't shake away that image, though. Queen Mary and Invincible had both died by violent magazine explosions at Jutland, and Hood was another British Battlecruiser. But, then, Vice Admiral Holland knew that just as well as he did. Or so he hoped.
Hood was signaling now, for the destroyers to assume screening postions around the Trevanne and the Hood, and for zig-zagging to commence, while coming to a heading of three hundred and ten degrees. It was beginning. D'Artagnan knew that combat had been his life, and he also knew that it would be his death. He would fight for King and Country, and somewhere off the frozen shores of that massive, frozen island of Greenland, destiny was waiting. And nipping at her heels.. Death.
Onboard the bridge of the Light Cruiser Ardent, Captain Lennard Deveraux felt his ship turning into the first "Zig" of the course. Here was to a battle he was hoping to avoid. Hvalsfjord awaited.. And with any luck, that would be it. Lennard would be quite content to keep the Kriegsmarine bottled up in harbour, or Norway, for the entire war. Though it wasn't official, rumour spread like wildfire on all the ships, Ardent included, that they would be fighting the Bismarck. It did make sense; The Germans favoured the Denmark Strait as the preferred passage, even after the sinking of the Lutzow there. Though he would prefer that they simply maintain the blockade, or that another group of ships engage the Bismarck, he'd inspected the ship before they'd left Scapa Flow. Everything was in perfect readiness, or as close as it could come, should battle fall upon them. He would just assume avoid it, but if it came to a fight, if one fought only half-ready, then it was really just a slaughter.. Of yourself, and the men under your command, and your ship. Well, despite his relative youth, he was as prepared for that as he ever could be. Ardent, crew, and captain, had all yet to see combat.
Grand Admiral Raeder waited for his special train to arrive. His Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, was at the Berghof. And he had ordered the Bismarck and Prinz Eugen to sortie.. Without informing him. Though, technically, he did not need to, the Fuhrer took an extreme interest in all things military. Raeder had been certain that if permission had been asked, it would not have been granted. Though the damage inflicted on the HMS Norfolk when that ship, the Exeter, and two light cruisers had fought the Graf Spee during her "Goeben Dash" to Argentina, had left the ship easy prey for the U-Boats, the only major successes against the Terentrian and British navies the Kriegsmarine had through the war so far was the sinking of the Royal Oak, again by U-Boat, the sinking of the Glorious by the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, and the sinking of the Aigle by the AMC Kormoran, which had also sunk in that battle.
The problem was that the victories over the two carriers, if Aigle could really be called one, had utterly convinced Hitler that carriers were worthless at sea and his battleships could pose a threat to the Royal Navy and the Royal Terentrian Navy. After the sinking of the Glorious and the sacking of Admiral Marschall, Hitler had ordered the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau brought in to be refitted with 15in guns, and ordered accelerated construction on the Hindenburg; The decision of which had been made to continue construction of after the loss of Lutzow, thanks to Raeder's last minute convincing of the Fuhrer that the problem was not surface ships, but rather outgunned and underarmoured surface ships. After the sinking of Aigle, though, Hitler had given him unusual though perhaps not unexpected shipbuilding instructions. Of all major warships under construction; Hindenburg, Bismarck, Tirpitz, and Seydlitz were to continue construction, while two new ships of a large size were to be laid down. One was an improved Panzerschiffe that would use two turrets from the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. The second was to be named the Friedrich der Grosse, and use the other four turrets from Scharnhorst and Gneisenau; Slightly smaller and faster to build than a third Bismarck and definitely more so than completing the second Hindenburg class Battleship, Mackensen, especially when using the 11.1in turrets.
Still, with the economy on war footing, it seemed that the two new large ships ordered could be built in addition to the Mackensen; Likewise, despite their worthlessness in the Fuhrer's eyes, Raeder had gone over some studies to convert the Graf Zeppelin and Peter Strasser into Cruisers. Now, nearly a year later, Raeder knew that Barbarossa was less than a month off... That the Soviet Union was being invaded, and all availible materials were poured into preperations for that invasion. They were lucky to get what they had gotten, and... The implications for the long term survival of the Reich, though, he preferred not to dwell on.
Finally, his train pulled up. About time.. He only hoped the Fuhrer would take a personal visit and careful explaination behind the reasoning for the operation better than he would a telegram or other such message informing him of it.
Onboard the bridge of the HMS Kent, Rear Admiral Wake-Walker paced silently. Outside, the weather was, unsurprisingly, frigid, and the bridge was not particuarly better. Though the Kent was an older "County" class Cruiser, she did have torpedo tubes, the only Heavy Cruiser in the RN to still have them, and had been recently refitted with the latest radar and radios availible to the Royal Navy. Still, he'd feel much better once the Suffolk had returned Hvalsfjord.. And he might actually be able to relax when Vice Admiral Holland arrived with the Hood and the joint British-Terentrian battlegroup. If Bismarck decided to try her luck at the strait, before the Hood and Trevanne arrived.. Well, he'd just do his best to stay out of gun range and hope the radar did the job for them.
