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Well, it was time, thought Admiral Lutjens. A pity that the destroyers didn't have the range to accompany the Bismarck and the Prinz Eugen. Gunther Lutjens still hurt from the memory of losing the Lutzow, and then having both Scharnhorst and Gneisenau damaged under his command.. All by a single Terentrian Panzerschiffe, no, Large Cruiser, he corrected himself, and then that damnable ruse of using a star shell exploding on deck to simulate a magazine detonation. He wanted revenge for that, but his orders were clear, and strict. Avoid engagements with enemy capital ships whenever possible. And, unlike that stupid, reckless fool Marschall, he intended to obey them. Lutjens turned to the Petty Officer beside him. "Order signal flags hauled up for the destroyers to turn back to Bergen. They've gone as far as they can go with us." The Petty officer saluted. "At once, Herr Admiral!" and went to relay the orders.
Captain Henry St. John Fancourt watched from the side of the field as the "Maryland" type aircraft, normally used for target towing, accelerated down the runway on takeoff. Onboard was the pilot, Lieutenant Noel Goddard, and the experienced navigator and observer Geoffrey Rotherham. They were flying straight for German-occupied Norway.. For Bergen... On a mission of paramount importance to the fate of potentially thousands.. And millions of tons of shipping on the Atlantic. They were going to see of the KM Bismarck and KM Prinz Eugen were still in port.. Or if they had sortied. The risks were considerable, but as the Maryland winged it's way into the sky, heading low over the ground, out towards the water.. Racing across the inhospitable sea towards Norway, Captain Fancourt was confident they'd succeed in getting word back. He was uncertain, though, if the airmen themselves would return. Shaking his head silently, he returned to the main building, the Maryland already out of sight.
Grand Admiral Raeder, supreme commander of the German Kriegsmarine, commander of the sixth most powerful navy in the world (though, in his mind, fifth, as the Regina Marina was so utterly incompetently handled..), paced in the hallway outside the door leading to his Fuhrer's personal study. His train had been delayed by engine problems along the way to the nearest stop, and then he'd had trouble getting a car up to the Berghof. When he'd finally arrived, he'd been told Hitler was busy, offered a guest room, and simply ignored until a new appointment.. Which was due in one minute. Raeder hoped that the delay, certainly not his own fault, would not infuriate Der Fuhrer any more than he doubtlessly would be when he learned that the Bismarck had sortied. The two SS guards in the corridor simply ignored him.
Raeder considered himself a supporter and believer in most of the basic principles of the Nazi party, though he sometimes questioned the bizzare excesses of the SS. Not a proper military branch, anyway, he believed they had no buisness nosing around where true soldiers should be fighting. However, he acknowledged it as a necessary evil. There were other things about the Nazi party he positively loathed, though. As the door to Adolf Hitler's study opened, one of them walked out. Fat Boy, AKA Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering.
Goering did not look particuarly happy to see Raeder. After the sinking of Glorious and then Aigle, Hitler, having become utterly convinced in the lack of capability of air power against ships had given more materials to the Kriegsmarine.. And more favour to Raeder. This, of course, did not make Goering happy. The man was glaring at Raeder. Raeder decided that until he walked into the room and spoke with the Fuhrer about what he had ordered, his political standing was high enough that he could sneer back with impunity at his Fuhrer's successor.. And so he did. Goering stalked off without a word, though his face was reddened with anger at Raeder.. Simply because the Grand Admiral was doing his job. Another reason to hate Fat Boy. Raeder had enough already.
Stiffening himself slightly, Raeder marched into the Fuhrer's study.
Sitting there was, of course, Adolf Hitler himself, leaning back in a chair, head slightly to the right side, looking generally comfortable. The look in his eyes was anything but. Raeder came to attention and gave the Nazi saltue. "Heil Hitler!" Hitler just nodded and waved his hand. "Sit, sit, Grand Admiral. You said you had urgent news for me, and then you do not show up on time. What is going on? Why were you delayed?"
Raeder sat cautiously in one of the chairs, not relaxed at all. "My Fuhrer, first my train was delayed, and then I had trouble getting a car from the station to the Berghof; My apologies." Hitler seemed to straighten a bit, and nodded curtly. "Very well. Then what is your news, that it is so important that you must tell me in person?" Raeder nervously cleared his throat, and began. "My Fuhrer, yesterday I gave the orders for the Battleship Bismarck and the Cruiser Prinz Eugen to commence an operation designated Operation Rheinubung. Obeying those orders, yesterday evening they sortied for the Denmark Strait, and then, to break out into the Atlantic and commence attacks on allied convoys." As the explaination progressed, Adolf Hitler grew progressively angry looking. As Raeder finished, he had already stood, and began pacing. "So! You have sent off my most powerful battleship without my permission, and a valuable cruiser, as well! Remember what happened when you sent the Lutzow, Scharnhorst, and Gneisenau into the Denmark Strait? Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were damaged and forced to turn back, and Lutzow sunk! What posessed you to take this risk with my ships just to sink a few freighters!?"
Raeder spoke quickly, but carefully. "My Fuhrer, you never gave orders that all naval operations had to be cleared with you before they were commenced. I apologize for ordering the operation without consulting you, my Fuhrer. However, the risk is calculated, and with their speed and Bismarck's firepower, I am confident they can easily break out into the Atlantic. Admiral Lutjens is in command; He is a careful commander, and I have the utmost faith in him." Hiter stopped pacing and turned to him abruptly. "But Admiral Lutjens was commanding Scharnhorst and Gneisenau when they let Lutzow get sunk.. And they didn't even sink that Teretrian cruiser.. That is a pathetic combat record. He should have engaged and sunk those Battlecruisers!" Raeder's response was quick, still calm, though... You could lose your own temper when the Fuhrer was in a bad mood. "My Fuhrer, Admiral Lutjens is most cautious, and chose wisely not to further engage the Terentrian Battlecruisers after Sans Souci had so damaged his ships' upperworks. He is sure to avoid enemy capital ships and chew through their convoys, severly hampering the allied war effort." The Fuhrer, however, did not seem to be in the mood for listening. "Freighters! All you want to sink is freighters! It is one thing to send the U-Boats off to sink freighters.. But battleships.. No! Battleships should be sinking Battleships, not some collection of old tramp steamers hauling grain to England!"
"Respectfully, my Fuhrer," Raeder countered. "We do not yet have the fleet capacity to engage either the British or Terentrian lines of battle and hope for victory.. Even against isolated squadrons. Perhaps, when we have completed all our ships currently under construction, an operation could be commenced to lure a portion of the allied navies to where they can be outnumbered and destroyed by our surface warships, but for now, we must do all we can to cripple the war efforts of Tarrantry and England.. And that can only be done by sinking their freighters." Luckily, the Fuhrer quickly focused on the new topic opened by that line of conversation. "Yes.. New construction! Albert Speer had to increase production from our industry back in September of 39 to support the buildup of the Kriegsmarine while still preparing for Operation Barbarossa. The German people go without, so that you can have more floating toys to play with!" Raeder felt himself getting more stiff, at that... The Fuhrer himself had given those orders, after all, so that he could teach 'That mongrel de Fossier' a lesson. "My Fuhrer, much of the capacity has been placed into the building of additional U-Boats, and because of this the strain on building capital ships is great indeed. And there is a war going on, My Fuhrer. The German people realize this; They can endure. There are few shortages, as it is. Just more overtime.. More pay for the Volk." A faint smile, there. It didn't do much to convince Hitler.
"But our resources are not infinite, Grand Admiral! At least not yet!" He waved his hand towards a map of the Soviet Union. "Once we've bashed down that rotten system and that rotten country, then we can build the greatest navy in the world for you.. Then the Reich will truely last for a thousand years! But we don't have those resources yet, and if are to get them, we need steel for tanks!" The Fuhrer's expression softened a bit. "Still, you are correct. Britain and Tarrantry must be knocked out of the war.. Starved out, if need be. Especially Tarrantry.. A haven for Jews and Gypsies and all the refuse of Europe! We should wipe it off the map! Atleast the British are pure, and of the blood! And they know how to grind their lessers under their heel, and make them work for their betters.. If it wasn't for that damned half-jew Churchill, England would have already sought peace with us! But no, he resists, and so you are right, we must crush them, crush them both! Very well, Grand Admiral.. I shall not order the ships recalled." Hitler got a rather odd, almost distant look in his eyes. "But... I have a bad feeling about this... This 'Operation Rheinubung'. Yes, a bad feeling, indeed." And then the Fuhrer of the Greater German Reich stalked back to his chair and sat again, wiping the sweat off his forehead that had collected. "Other news, then. Give me a report on projected completion dates for our current major naval projects."
Raeder was thankful for that. He had survived with his career intact, weathering another of the Fuhrer's angry lectures. "Well, My Fuhrer, work on Hannover, Schlesien, Schleswig-Holstein, and Hessen is progressing as scheduled; By late august, the ships should be finished in shipyards, bulged for mine protection, with new guns added, and new engines. They will be effective as coastal defence ships in the Baltic, and to support our troops in advances along the shoreline into the Soviet Union." Hitler nodded, listening patiently for once. Raeder thought the ancient pre-dreadnought hulks should be scrapped or converted into training and target ships, and indeed Hessen HAD been a target ship, but Hitler had wanted monitors to support Operation Barbarossa, and he had wanted them while at the same time wasting no steel that could be put into tanks.. So the idea had been conceived to fully rebuild the four old Pre-Dreadnoughts still availible to Germany to serve that task. Hessen had already been refitted with turbines, and had it's Barbettes intact, so the conversion back to a monitor of sorts had not been complicated.
The Fuhrer spoke, again. "So the Baltic is our's.. It's not like the untermenschen of Russia could fight off those Monitors, nevermind a proper capital ship. What of the main building program, Grand Admiral?" His tone was rather that of a teacher questioning a small child in school, but Raeder swallowed his pride and continued the report. "The Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau will be refitted and equipped with six fifteen inch guns each by March of 1942, My Fuhrer. The refits also include some changes to their armour schemes for better protection, based on the results of the engagement against the Terentrian Battlecruisers in thirty nine. Tirpitz, of course, will be fully worked up and ready for combat operations in three weeks now that we have gone to a wartime working up schedule. Seydlitz should be completed by December of 1942, Friedrich der Grosse by January of 1943, with Hindenburg and Moltkecompleted by August of 1943. By that time, we should also have twenty four destroyers capable of operations outside the Baltic. U-Boat and E-Boat construction continues at the maximum rates allowable by our availible resources." Hitler nodded once, and then stood again. "Very good, Grand Admiral. Everything is on schedule. Another thing, though. I want Fleet Admiral Marschall reinstated at once." Raeder had to keep himself from letting his mouth drop open.. Marschall was a reckless fool who had risked Scharnhorst and Gneisenau to sink Glorious in direct disobidience of orders to avoid conflict with capital ships.. But Hitler wasn't thinking along the same lines.. Indeed, the opposite. "His orders, after all, were to avoid engaging capital ships.. But Carriers are not capital ships. His sinking of Glorious and then the loss of Aigle have proven they're nothing but cheap toys for countries to waste money on. Marschall never disobeyed orders after all, and I want him reinstated and placed in command of the new Baltic Fleet immedietly!" Raeder stood as well, stiffly. "Very well, My Fuhrer. He shall be reinstated immedietly, as you order." Hitler nodded sharply once more. "Very well, Grand Admiral. Let us hope that Bismarck's sortie is successful. You're dismissed." Raeder saluted.. "Heil Hitler!" And marched out with military formality... Quite glad to be back in the corridor, and leaving the Berghof.
Behind him, Hitler sighed and sat down again. He really did have a bad feeling about Bismarck and the entire operation. He contemplated calling Raeder back in and ordering him to recall Bismarck and Prinz Eugen anyway, but decided against it. Still... Oh well. He hated the navy, anyway. It was nothing to worry about, when he had the conquest of Russia to plan.
Viktoria was gathered in the forest grove with the sixteen other members of the resistance cell of which she was a part of; Four of them had also lived in the country, hiding from German patrols, like she had. Twelve were from inside the city, but all were possible comprimised by the capture of their contact; The previously leader of the cell had been foolish enough that everyone had known everyone else, but, unsurprisingly, he had also been killed by a German patrol. Her and Nils pretty much ran everything now... And they had to get out.. North. To the North, she knew, some resistance groups were living in the forests and actively fighting the Nazis when they could.... Though they were mostly communists, they were killing Nazis. They might not get involved in the actual operations, but when they went north, they'd help as they could. They would just have to join them, now, or end up dieing under the not-so-caring hands of the Gestapo. Abruptly, Viktoria could hear a faint droning... "For cover, now!" She hissed, more of a whisper, than anything else. A sharp look from Nils was added to that, and they scattered from the grove to the trees... Herself, as well. Once there, though, she caught sight of the dot of the aircraft.. And, a faint hope rising, brought those field glasses up to her eyes, straining. She could just make out the markings on the Aircraft... It was British! She lowered the field glasses, grinning brightly. So.. It looked like their allies would get a chance to send the damned German ships to the bottom, after all. They'd have to know they were gone, now. But it also meant German aircraft would be over the area very soon. She didn't want them spotted accidently. "We'd better get out of here quickly, now, Niels." she spoke softly. The British and Terentrians had alot of fighting ahead for them.. But she did, too.
Vice Admiral Delacroix led Lieutenant Commander Bertin into the War Room... Though the bombing of Colnille was not remotely as bad as it had been during the 'Mini-Blitz', it did happen occasionally. However, a raid at this time of day was unusual. As it turned out from the report given to him by Chief Forgeron, it had only been a German Recon plane... And they had all headed down to the shelters for that. Wonderful. Over-excited young spotters and reporters for the air defence network, no doubt.
Just as the Vice Admiral and his deputy had returned to duty, Chief Forgeron hurried back into the War Room, offering them both a salute which the Vice Admiral acknowledged.. Chief Forgeron's face actually seemed a bit pale. "What is it, Chief?" Vice Admiral Delacroix asked, quietly. "The British at Scapa Flow have relayed a message to us, sir. They managed to get a scout plane over Bergen.. It's initial report is that both Bismarck and Prinz Eugen are not there." Bertin thought quickly in this situation.. Vice Admiral Delacroix was more surprised. He had not been expecting the Germans to sortie; They had been playing at it, but he did not expect a sortie this time of year by them.. It could be something else, but.. No. They were heading for the Atlantic, he knew it... Chief Forgeron, experienced veteran of the War Room, knew it as well. "Is there confirmation?" Lt. Cdr. Bertin asked. "No, sir. We'll have to wait for that until the scout plane returns to Scapa Flow and provides a detailed report in person." Bertin looked to the plotting board. "Well, no need to change the position of the two ships until we have confirmation, sir.."
Vice Admiral Delacroix shook his head grimly. "No.. We will change it. Towards the Atlantic.. I'm sure they've sortied, now.. It's just a matter of which passage." He then realized that Chief Forgeron did seem more concerned than he usually did.. "Is something wrong, Chief?" The answer was calm, but still had a note of.. Nervous anticipation, perhaps. "My younger brother is in charge of the port torpedo mount on the Ardent, sir." Ah.. That explained it. Vice Admiral Delacroix gave a slight, reassuring smile. "If they do try the Denmark Strait, with have them outnumbered.. They're not getting out into the Atlantic.. And if they do engage the First Battlecruiser Force, the Germans will be far to occupied to fire at a light cruiser." With those words of reassurance offered to a trusted Chief, who, though he might be a tough, experienced one, still had the natural fears any man would for a relative going in to harm's way, Forgeron went over to the plotting map, changing the position of the markers for the Bismarck and Prinz Eugen to indicate their presence away from Bergen.. But where next.. But where next.. Wondered Vice Admiral Delacroix. Oh well. He would just have to wait, now.. There was still a faint possibility that the report was faked or incorrect, but he very much doubted that... It was going to be a long night.
Captain Nicholai Chevalier looked on, to the Hood ahead of them, though rather distantly spaced. Two destroyers were keeping escort with each of the capital ships, one destroyer with each of the cruisers. Some six hours earlier, they had succesfully completed a Range and Inclination exercise, and then resumed course and speed, zig-zagging, on that course of three hundred and ten degrees.
And.. Ahead on Hood, Nicholai spotted signal flags coming up. A young ensign on the bridge brought up his binoculars and read them off. "Orders from Vice Admiral Holland, sir. Force is to change course to 283 degrees." Nicholai nodded once, and picked up the phone, punching in for signals. "Run up 'signal understood and acknowledged.'" He heard the response confirming the order being received, and set the phone down. "Ensign, go to Admiral de Lafayette's quarters and inform him of the course change." The answer was prompt, as Nicholai brought his own binoculars up to watch for the 'Execute' signal. "Yessir!", and then the young man was off. Nicholai smiled faintly. The exhuberence of youth, indeed. He could remember spending half his days as an ensign running about like a frightened animal, or so it seemed now. As the rest of the squadron acknowledged, the flags ran up on the 'Mighty 'Ood'.. 'Execute'. "Course change, to 283 degrees northwest." he ordered. The helmsman acknowledged promptly, putting the helm over as he spoke. "Changing course to 283 degrees northwest, sir."
In his quarters, Rear Admiral D'Artagnan de Lafayette sat quietly, reading a book. It was an account of Trafalgar; One of doubtless hundreds that had been written in various forms over various times. One often thought of Trafalgar as a stunning British victory, and it was, but the untrained, unthoughtful person would note that the British had lost no ships, and think it an easy one. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. In those days, the British might not have lost a ship, but the decks of those ships had run red with blood. Of that, D'Artagnan was glad of modern naval warfare. Atleast he didn't have to spread the decks of his ships with sand to give the crewers footing as they ran over the lifeblood of their dead comrades. God, he hated this.. But it was his path in live, and at the same time as hating it, he also loved it. He could not help but remember that famous saying by the American, no Confederate.. "It is fourtunate that war is so terrible, or I should fear that we would grow to fond of it." He quoted softly.. Though maybe not precisely, Close enough, atleast. There was a rap on the door. "Yes?" He asked strongly, setting the book aside. A young voice, probably that of an ensign, answered. "Captain's compliment's, sir.. He ordered me to inform you that Vice Admiral Holland ordered a course change to 283 degrees, sir." D'Artagnan stood up. "Very well." Back to the monotony of the patrol... But not for long, he thought grimly.
Captain Henry St. John Fancourt looked out, watching the Maryland come in for a landing, relief flooding him. They'd gotten back safely after all.. And with any luck, with confirmation of the grim message they had sent earlier.. The Bismarck had indeed sortied from Bergen. Well... It better be gotten to Admiral Tovey as quickly as possible, one way or another.
Admiral John Tovey, Commander-in-Chief of the British Home Fleet, had decisions to make. The confirmation had just come in... Bismarck and Prinz Eugen were confirmed to have sortied, along with possibly three or four destroyers, though the later were unlikely to accompany them any distance.
The question was.. Where.. Where were the Germans going. Well, the Admiralty and Tovey himself agreed on that one. The only serious option was an attempt at breaking out into the Atlantic.. One that the forces under his command would have to stop. He paused to think..
Inform Terentrian Naval Command of the news, and the orders. Then, order HMS Suffolk from Hvalfjord to rejoin HMS Kent and Rear Admiral Wake-Walker on patrol in the Denmark Strait. Order the HMS Arethusa to leave Hvalfjord to join the Manchester and Birmingham in the Iceland-Faeroes Passage. Order the First Battlecruiser Squadron.. Oddly that it was named, with HTMS Trevanne accompanying, to not refuel at Hvalfjord and instead sail directly to their patrol destination operating north of sixty two degrees latitude. Finally, The KGV herself, accompanied by the Prince of Wales, the carrier Victorious, the cruisers Galatea, Aurora, Kenya, and Hermione, and eleven destroyers would sortie from Scapa Flow to meet up with the Repulse and five more destroyers from the River Clyde and then sail out as a 'backstop'.. Should Bismarck and Prinz Eugen be able to evade Rear Admiral Wake-Walker's and Vice Admiral Holland's squadrons. He briefly considered ordering Kenya and Aurora to patrol the Faeroes/Shetlands passage, but the Terentrian submarine Exocet was already there, and he thought that passage a highly unlikely one for the Germans to take. Very well, then.. It was decided. He turned and began to give orders.
Chief Forgeron came in from the code room, his expression rather serious. Salutes were exchanged, as Vice Admiral Delacroix had long become accustomed to. "The message is from Admiral Tovey, sir." It was offered over for Vice Admiral Delacroix to read, now. He did, his free hand clenching slightly into a fist as he read it. It had begun. So far.. All the orders made sense.. And now it was a waiting game.. And one, all the more, for the men on the British picket cruisers up in that icey hell of the polar north.. They had to find the Bismarck, or else the convoy system could easily fall to pieces with a combination of panic and the onslaught of heavy guns. Still, there was someone else he needed to inform. Vice Admiral Delacroix looked to the woman who operated the landline phones in the War Room. "Get me Prime Minister de Fossier.. Immedietly. Tell him I have most urgent news." She nodded once. "Of course.. Right away, Admiral." She started dialing in the numbers, and Vice Admiral Delacroix set the paper down. For a very brief moment, he wished he was in Vice Admiral Holland's place. He remembered meeting the man during the early part of the war, and thought well of him.. Still, no.. He really wouldn't want to be sailing up into the ice to fight the new Kriegsmarine Dreadnought if he had the choice. Neither would Holland, really. But then, that choice had been taken away by Adolf Hitler years ago. Years.. It seemed incredible that such time had passed, that France had fallen.. But, indeed, it had.
Captain Chevalier and Rear Admiral de Lafayette stood together on the bridge of the Trevanne, now. The Admiral should have retired thirty some minutes ago, but he simply wasn't tired. His insomnia was about to be rewarded. Another young ensign on Bridge duty had replaced the earlier one. To de Lafayette, being rather tired, they all seemed to look alike. Ah well. A bit better light, and a bit more sleep, and he could probably even remember the boy's name, but neither was in great supply at the moment. The ensign abruptly saw the flashes of the signalling light from the Hood, back to the Trevanne. However, D'Artagnan's eyes, still strong and well trained, a navigator's eyes, focused in on them himself, and he raised his binoculars to his eyes, motioning for the ensign to stay silent, as he read off the blinker-signal, translating it in his head... And murmuring it softly as he did, so Captain Chevalier could hear. "Bismarck and Prinz Eugen have left Bergen in company of three destroyers.. Confirmed. Orders are to procede directly to patrol point. Maintain course and speed... Holland." He looked to the Ensign. "Order signals to reply that we have received the message, ensign, and be quick about it." Then, he turned to Captain Chevalier. "Well.. It has begun. And good enough reason to that sleep.. I won't have time later." With that, Rear Admiral de Lafayette left the bridge of the HTMS Trevanne to the now grim-faced Captain Chevalier.
Two shapes sailed in the darkness, unobserved except by the men onboard each of them. In the frigid blackness of the far polar north, the ships turned on to a Southwest course and increased speed to twenty seven knots, heading down the Denmark Strait... And into history.
Rear Admiral Wake-Walker stood on the bridge of the Kent, observing the HMS Suffolk off to the port. Ten hours of steaming had brought the Suffolk back to the Kent at their patrol position, and now they were finally ready to start patroling for the dreaded Bismarck and the Prinz Eugen.. Which, were they heading down the Denmark Strait, could come into range any minute, any hour. It was uncertain, indeed, impossible to tell. "Signals, inform the Suffolk to commence patroling the Greenland side of the strait. They are to keep the ice on the edge of their radar at all times.. I want them to have enough room to manuver should they come in contact with the enemy." Kent would take the Iceland side.. And Wake-Walker was sure the Germans would not be slipping by HIS force.
Rear Admiral Dartagnan de Lafayette once again strode onto the bridge of the Trevanne. As a student of history, he was rather more tempted to refer to her as the Trevanna, but the francophone version of the name was good enough. It was a fitting name for a ship... Dartagnan had always been mildly amused by the idea of naming positively feminine objects after famous men. "Status report?" he asked the executive officer, currently standing watch. "Last known position was 62º 55' North, 02º 14.8' West, sir. Heading is 270 degrees." Dartagnan nodded slightly. "Very well." The sea, he thought, looked like it was starting to get rougher.
"Sir," the signals officer began to Vice Admiral Sir Lancelot E. Holland, "Antelope and Anthony are both signaling.. They're low on fuel and request permission to detach from the force and head for Hvalfjord to refuel." The weather was cloudy and grey, and the sea swells heavier, now... Getting worse as the day wore on. Not a proper storm by any standards, and indeed mild weather by the standards of the hellish north, it was still a reminder that the enemy wasn't the only threat a sailor in the far north. "Very well," Vice Admiral Holland replied.. He'd been expecting this. "Signal Antelope and Anthony that they have permission to detach from the squadron and make for Hvalfjord to refuel." "Right away, sir."
The Suffolk was on a south-westerly heading on her patrol route, in seas rough through most of the world, normal for that 'Thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice,' at that time immortalized throughout recorded history after it had come to pass. Suffolk was at her most vunerable then; Her radar had a blind spot to the stern. Able Seaman Newall, Starboard after lookout of the HMS Suffolk, was one of the men making sure that the Suffolk was not jumped by the Germans. Likewise, Suffolk was closer to the massive fog bank towards Iceland at this point in her patrol route. The nervous tension onboard the ship was abruptly shattered in that minute, as Able Seaman Newall's eyes, aided by his viewing binoculars, spotted a ship out of the mists of the Denmark Strait, barely visible. He knew it couldn't be the Kent. Eyes still focused through the binoculars, he picked up his phone to the bridge. "Ship bearing green one four Oh." A second later, he saw another shape, more faintly, through the mists to their aft.. And, more urgently.. "Two ships bearing green one four Oh!"
The reaction of the HMS Suffolk's Captain Ellis was swift as he realized two enemy ships were bearing down fast on his lightly armoured cruiser's stern. "Helm.. Rudder hard over to the port! Engines.. Ahead full!" The ship had already been at action stations since the commencing of patrol, at responded like a taut rope, heeling over and accelerating for the protection of the fog bank quite smartly. At the same time, Suffolk began broadcasting transmissions of her sighting report.
"Signals from Hood, sir!" exclaimed the voice over the phone from Signals. Captain Chevalier looked up as he listened. "Go ahead." The crewer on the other end seemed rather excited.. Nicholai wondered what it was. "Force to raise steam for full speed and prepare to change course to a heading of two hundred and ninety five degrees northwest, sir.. Confirmed!" Nicholai spoke to no one in particular for his first response. "Summon the Admiral to the bridge immedietly." And then into the phone for his second. "Raise signals to Hood confirming our reception." He set down the phone, barely hearing the response, feeling a faint tremble of excitement, and looked to the helm. "Prepare for course change to heading two hundred and ninety five degrees northwest." "Aye, sir," was the calm response from the experienced helmsman currently serving there. Next, Nicholai picked up the Phone for engineering. "Chief.. Prepare the ship for full speed on my orders." The chief engineer of the Trevanne replied in his distinctive Basque-related accent. "Understood, Captain. One moment, and you'll have as much speed as she can handle!" Nicholai couldn't help but grin at the man's enthusiasm. Of course, the idea of sending nearly 38,000 tons of steel hurling through the waves of the North Atlantic at speeds approaching thirty knots surely held some appeal to anyone.
The signals officer again approached Vice Admiral Holland, half grim, half excited. Holland took one look at the officer and realized the news he held. "Go ahead." The man, realizing he had been pre-empted, started anyway. "Sir, we've received word, and confirmation, that Suffolk has made contact with the enemy." He handed over the transmission to Sir Holland. "The coordinates are there." He read them once, and nodded grimly. The order for the course change and full speed had already been made; the squadron was racing ahead at nearly twenty nine knots, the elegant old lady, HMS Hood, keeping that speed superbly. Everything seemed so oddly marvelous at that moment. "Pass the news along to Trevanne, Lieutenant." And with that, Holland turned to look over the bridge, and out to sea, nodding first, once, to Captain Ralph Kerr.
Vice Admiral Delacroix read the message a second time. Behind him, on the plotting map, Chief Forgeron was already moving the ship indicators to represent the positions of the KM Bismarck and KM Prinz Eugen. They'd taken the Denmark Strait.... And if all went well.. sometime in the next twenty four hours, most likely much less, Hood and Trevanne would see action. He walked over to the desk with the phones on it, taking one, and dialing in the number himself. It took less than a minute to convince the Prime Minister's secretary to let him speak with de Fossier.. He was always on the top list of receiving calls. "Yes, Vice Admiral Delacroix?" came the voice from the other end of the line. "Prime Minister.. I've received confirmed news that the cruiser HMS Suffolk has sighted Bismarck and Prinz Eugen heading down the Denmark Strait." The was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. "Expect me in the war room as soon as I can get there, Vice Admiral... I believe this shall be a long night, but not one I would sleep through.. Not ever." And then the Prime Minister of Tarrantry hung up the phone rather abruptly.
The Kent had been manuvering for nearly the past hour, to join Suffolk in keeping contact on the Bismarck and Prinz Eugen as they headed Southwest in a dash down the Denmark Strait. They had intermittent radar contact with the two ships, but they were having some problems with their set, and were getting closer to be sure that they could keep contact.
Abruptly, on the bridge of the Kent, the fog bank through which they had been sailing cleared... They had either skipped out of it, or it had retreated slightly. Either way... Rear Admiral Wake-Walker could see the two distant ships... Bismarck and Prinz Eugen. They had to get back into the fog bank.. Fast.
"Visual contact with enemy cruiser.. County class!" The announcement rang across the bridge of the Bismarck. They had been at action stations for an hour, since they had sighted the first County class Cruiser but had been unable to commence firing before it had slipped into the fog. Now, however, this cruiser, or possibly the same one, had exposed it's self quite nicely.
Kapitän zur See Ernst Lindemann looked to Admiral Gunther Lutjens. The Admiral nodded once. "You have permission to open fire, Kapitän." Lindemann gave the order. "First Artillery officer, commence firing main batteries at County class Cruiser to our port."
First Artillery Officer of the KM Bismarck, Korvettenkapitän Adalbert Schneider, was already preparing a firing solution on the County class Cruiser in his sights as the main turrets swung around to bear. Though firing half-salvos might have brought him the range faster, they had not had much training in firing full salvos.. Best to get it in now, when the only target was a cruiser. For the first time, the guns of the Battleship Bismarck roared in unision, firing in anger, flinging eight 15in shells towards the HMS Kent. Even as the shock reverberated through the new ship, and the guns came back in place for reloading, the shells raced on to their target, splashing long. Aim was adjusted.
Rear Admiral Wake-Walker had to stifle the urge to duck as he heard the heavy caliber shells shriek overhead and splash into the water behind the Kent. "Captain.. Anything you can.. Get us back into the fog!" he shouted. The Captain of the HMS Kent gave the orders quickly. "Lay down a smoke screen... Flank speed and come about to port.. Helm, steer best course to get us back into the fog!"
The shells raced down again, splashing short of the target, throwing up great columns of water between the Kent and the Bismarck and Prinz Eugen. The Germans began to reload for a third salvo, drawing closer to their target.
"Firing!" Announced Korvettenkapitän Schneider, as he fired the main guns of the Bismarck in unision for a third salvo, the ship shuddering, the sound of the awesome reports virtually defeaning as tongues of flame bellowed from the guns and the 15" shells went on their courses. They were relying on optical control; The first salvo had given shock damage to the forward radar. He watched, barely able to see the shells on their arcing courses.... And then... "Straddle!" cried a junior gunnery officer beside him, excitedly, and indeed it was. The cruiser was laying smoke and racing for the fog, but Bismarck had the range.
"Guns ready!" came the crackling announcement as the turrets reported in, virtually in unision... The timing, the precision, perfect, though Schneider, as adjusted aim and fired another broadside towards the cruiser... Watching, watching.... Again, "Straddle!" cried the young gunnery officer beside him. But there were no tongues of flame, or distant sounds of impact, to indicate a hit. Fourth.. No hits. Damn. The Britishers were getting closer to the Fog Bank.. They didn't have much time.. Enough for one more salvo.. Just one more..
He heard the announcement again, after seconds.. Seconds that seemed like hours. Guns were loaded and ready. The final aiming adjustments were made... And for a fifth time, Bismarck fired a broadside in anger. Again, Schneider watched the shells along their course... And thought he saw one hit. But there was no tongue of flame, no indication.. It still looked, faintly, like one shell had hit the cruiser in one of it's funnels.. But now there was to much smoke to tell.. And a moment later, the cruiser plunged into the fog bank, and was lost to him. With a sigh of dismay, the announcement was given. "Target lost in the fog.. One hit possible."
On the bridge below, it was acknowledged. "Very well," announced Kapitän Lindemann. "Secure from firing and from Action Stations." Admiral Lutjens spoke up then. "Signal Prinz Eugen to take the lead.. With our forward radar down, I want all the warning we can get should there be more Britishers lurking further down the strait."
Rear Admiral Wake-Walker felt like the luckiest man alive. Bismarck had gotten off five full salvos at the Kent, but only one shell had struck, piercing through the after funnel and then slamming into the sea on the other side of the Kent, before she had reached the safety of the Fog. "Transmit a sighting and combat report immedietly."
Below them, HMS Hood, HTMS Trevanne, and their accompanying cruisers and destroyers, they raced to intercept the Bismarck, while the mighty German battleship steamed down the Denmarck Strait, the Prinz Eugen now in the lead. Behind them lurked the HMS Suffolk and the HMS Kent, like hounds nipping at the heels of lions. The Bismarck was the wolf, sent to lurk, to prey, to attack, maim and rip through the convoys that were the lifelines of Britain and Tarrantry, and in the best traditions of their respective navies, Hood and Trevanne sortied forth to bring her to battle.
