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Hitler had been impatiently pacing about the signals room ever since the
last message from Admiral Lutjens. As time wore on, the men got more and
more nervous, and Hitler got more and more impatient. Finally, the message
was received from naval headquarters; It was not what he wanted to hear..
But, of course, the order had been given to read it as soon as it came
through, and nobody disobeyed the Fuhrer. "Mein Fuhrer, report from naval
headquarters." The Fuhrer snapped back immedietly. "Why are you waiting? You
already have the order!" The man was pale as he read. "Heavy damage
sustained in engagement with Trevanne class Battleship. Turrets Bruno and
Dora lost. Prinz Eugen sunk. Am turning back for Bergen at best possible
speed. Request all assistance possible." Hitler's face grew red with rage as
he listened to the full report. "That damned coward, Lutjens! Get me Raeder
on a secure phone at once!"
"Sir," reported a wearied signals officer, on the bridge of the Ardent,
"Rear Admiral de Lafayette wishes to know if we need a ship to stand by..
And take off the crew. He wants to know if we need to abandon ship, sir."
Captain Lennard Deveraux nodded grimly, tiredly, and looked at the flames
out in front of the bridge, in the remains of A turret. "I guessed as much.
Reply to Admiral de Lafayette that we still have a chance to save the ship,
and so we shall take it." The signals officer nodded. "I'll inform him right
away, sir."
Down below, in a hastily cobbled together makeshift triage station, most
other aid posts abandoned from the flames, the surviving surgeon and
corpsmen worked feverishly to save the wounded. TMC Edmund Forgeron was
among them, with his leg wound from earlier, and now a piece of shrapnel
imbedded in his lower right shoulder, and a mild case of hypothermia, along
with severe blood loss. Compared with the average occupant, he was in
excellent shape. Many of them had their blankets pulled over their faces,
after all.
"Last reported heading and speed of Bismarck?" Rear Admiral de Lafayette
asked quietly. He already knew.. But, confirmation was important now.
"Heading of fourty five degrees North-East, speed, roughly nine knots." The
Rear Admiral nodded slightly, and drank from the mug of black coffee he was
now holding. "Very well. Captain, I want Trevanne to come about onto a
heading of fourty five degrees and reduce speed to eight knots..
Temporarily. We're rather ahead of Bismarck, now, and I want to slow enough
to give damage control a chance to recover some of that flooding." Captain
Chevalier turned to the helmsman. "Come about to course zero-four-five." Then, to the
man on the engine room signals, "Reduce speed to eight knots." They were
sailing blindly in the fog, with Bismarck somewhere to port. Time would tell
what would happen next.
"Sir! Another report in from Rear Admiral de Lafayette." Admiral Tovey
turned to the signals officer. "Go ahead." The man composed himself, and
began. "'Bismarck on course 045, covered by fog. Imperatrice maintaining
radar contact. Pursuing.'" Interesting, thought Tovey. As his ships steamed
on, he tried to decide on what he'd do, in de Lafayette's place, with the
resources available to him. The answer came quickly enough.. Torpedo attack,
most likely.
The same message that had reached Admiral Tovey arrived at the War Room
eight minutes later. Unsurprisingly, Vice Admiral Delacroix was thinking
along similiar lines, though to perhaps a different conclusion. He wished he
was back at sea, then. Commanding here might be like having a God's eye view
of every naval combat in the world involving Allied warships.. But it was
one where your hands were essentially tied.
They had been in the freezing waters of the Denmark Strait for over an hour
now. Those who had tired of swimming had long since expired. Ardent, burning
though she was, was not far off.. An appealing target for the German seamen
to swim to, now that Bismarck had left them to their fate, some twenty
minutes ago. Of those who had tried, two had made it, now Prisoners of War
onboard the crippled, burning cruiser. That left twenty six still in rafts
that had floated off the Prinz Eugen's wreck or pieces of wreckage big
enough to support a man. Among them was Kapitän zur See Helmuth Brinkman.
And now, slowing to a stop beside them, was the HMS Kent... Only yards off
from the nearest of the rafts, actually. Damaged, but her Battle Ensigns
still snapping smartly in the breeze, her flag flying from the fantail. A
symbol of something that seemed eternal: British naval power. The British
had always been a rather honourable foe, at least at sea.
The crew of the Kent worked fast, scramble nets already over the side,
a few bilingual sailors and officers who could speak German shouting
instructions.. Lines were tossed to the rafts in reach, as the other
German sailors made the swim for it; One raft further out
started paddling in. There was wounded man who'd made it half-way
up the scramble nets when he fell back into the water. A British Tar heedlessly
leaped into the cold Denmark Strait, and hauled him back up to safety... Barely.
The British sailor himself barely knew how to tread water.
Speed had been nudged up to 9 knots five minutes ago, and held steady. The
latest reports from Imperatrice had put them slightly behind Bismarck, but
not by more than a thousand yards, if that. She was also roughly 30,000
yards off to their port. The signals officer came onto the bridge of the
Trevanne. "Sir, a report from Rear Admiral Wake-Walker. 'Destroyers have
approached. Have detailed them to proceed immedietly to Hood's location
while I recover survivors from Prinz Eugen. Request permission to conduct
torpedo attack on Bismarck with cruisers to port, destroyers to starboard.'"
D'Artagnan had long since finished his coffee. The decision was a simple one
to make. "Inform Rear Admiral Wake-Walker that permission is granted. He is
to position his ships based on reports from Imperatrice, and when they are
in position, signal me for permission to conduct the attack."
The fog here was dense.. Very dense. The Captain of the Icarus knew that
somewhere off to the port, Bismarck was lurking. Somewhere to the starboard
and slightly ahead, perhaps, was Trevanne. It didn't matter.. For the
moment. Soon, they'd head to the North, to close with Bismarck, but for
now.. They had the most solemn of duties. Searching for the survivors of
Hood. The four destroyers split up for this, though not by much, combing the
area.. Signs of debris here and there.
They'd had permission to sweep for but ten minutes before joining the
attack. Visibility was roughly four thousand yards. Six minutes into the
sweep, Icarus herself came across the life rafts, tied together, in which
the five survivors of the Hood had clustered. It took Icarus some twelve
minutes to successfully recover all of them, hypothermia set in, four nearly
unconscious. By that time, the other destroyers had finished their sweeps,
the commanders of those three ships taking the extra minutes granted them by
Icarus' needing to recover the survivors to sweep for more. There were none.
After seven more minutes, the destroyers were formed up and accelerating
towards speeds past thirty knots, towards their position, preparing to do
their part... To avenge the Mighty Hood.
Rear Admiral Wake-Walker knew the destroyers had been delayed by rescuing
the survivors of Hood... Merciful God, only five, but it was worth the
effort. They were steaming fast, now, towards their assigned heading and
position from Bismarck, the messages constantly being sent from Imperatrice,
with her working radar, to guide the destroyers in. Kent was but a cable's
length off Imperatrice's stern, and slightly to her starboard. The two
cruisers were less than 11,000 yards astern of Bismarck, and four thousand
yards to her port. In this rolling, dense fog bank, though, she could not be
discerned, period. Imperatrice's operational radar was the one thing that
gave them the advantage. They were traveling at nine knots; Keeping the
distance from Bismarck. Wake-Walker would have liked to be in the lead, but
they needed Imperatrice's radar there for the moment.
"Sir! Distress signals on Ardent!" Captain Ellis, beleagured, battered,
and exhausted by the ordeal of stabilizing his ship and supervising the
vicious battle against the fires which at threatened to leave her a burnt
out hulk, looked up promptly. He'd assigned one lookout with binoculars to
keep an eye on the crippled and burning Ardent. Though he did not know it,
the bulkheads separating her engineering spaces had finally given way.
Ardent had perhaps little over an hour to live, at
best. He brought his XO's binoculars up, and confirmed the distress signals
flying on Ardent. His binoculars were shattered.. And his executive officer
was dead. Well, the rest of the fleet was off bringing Bismarck to bay.
There was only one thing to do. He strode across his shattered bridge, and
brought up the phone to engineering. The reply was weary, but his question
brought a spark of life back into an exhausted man. "How much speed can you
give me?" The Chief Engineer answered promptly. "Fifteen knots, Captain. But
not all the fires are under control..."
"I know. We have to take the risk. Ardent is showing distress signals. Give
me fifteen knots." There was a pause.. But a very brief one. "Aye sir,
fifteen knots at your discretion." Captain Ellis hung the phone up, and
*looked to the Helmsman. "It'll be a tough job, keeping the ship on course,
with only the starboard shafts powered.. But we've got to get to Ardent."
The Helmsman nodded. "Aye, sir." He'd heard. So Captain Ellis gave the
orders. "Fifteen knots ahead... Helm, steer for Ardent!"
They had broken out of the fog. They could still see it, though, the fog
bank extending in tongues out further, much further beyond them.. In some
areas, at least. The sun shone brightly down upon the Trevanne, all fires on
her extinguished, all damage contained. A more splendid fighting ship there
simply could not be, on that brutal morning in the Denmark Strait.
"Admiral, sir.. Signals from Rear Admiral Wake-Walker.. The destroyers are
in position!" D'Artagnan nodded once. "Captain Chevalier, how many knots is
Trevanne good for?" Nicholai turned back to D'Artagnan, smiling. "The report
came in from the chief engineer but minutes before, Admiral. Trevanne can
make twenty two knots." Rear Admiral de Lafayette smiled. "Then turn to
port.. Course.. Due North. Increase speed to twenty two knots, and sound
imminent action! If Bismarck evades the torpedoes, I want to be in position
to engage." He turned to the signals officer. "Signal Wake-Walker and the
destroyer leader that they are to commence their attacks."
Kapitän Ernst Lindemann knew his ship was being trailed. He couldn't
confirm it, here in the fog, visibility down to four thousand yards, but he
felt it. It was obvious, anyway. Though, in the nearly two hours since
action had been broken off, they had brought the fires under control, the
flooding was contained, some compartments even pumped out, and Bismarck kept
a steady nine knots, it would take another hour before the uptakes could be
cleared. Even then, the Lehmann said that twelve knots was overly optimistic
for a top speed, considering the condition of their propellors and shafts.
Still.. There was a chance. And they had four guns. They could fight, they
could steam, and thankfully, with the rudder utterly blown off, they at
least had a decent chance of maneuvering by engines. But, ahead, something
ominous was happening. It was growing lighter.
"Sir... Rear Admiral de Lafayette has ordered us and the destroyer group to
begin our attacks, sir!" Rear Admiral Wake-Walker smiled grimly. It was
time. "Sound imminent action and raise signals for Imperatrice: Commence the
Attack, Flank Speed." He turned to the captain of the Kent. "Captain, bring
Kent to all ahead, Flank."
The entire bridge crew was tense. Very tense.. They were nearly to the edge
of the fog... And then plunged out of it, or it rolled slightly back, and
the sun shown down, and for a moment, they were all but blinded, it seemed.
And then came the cry from one of the lookouts. "Sir! Trevanne class
battleship off our starboard bow!" Kapitän Lindemann felt fear grip his
heart. "Signal the damage control parties to clear the decks immediately!
Inform aft artillery control that they have permission to open fire on the
enemy!"
"Confirmed, Admiral. Range is now twenty seven thousand yards and closing,
their speed is nine knots, and their heading is fourty five degrees, north
east." D'Artagnan smiled thinly. "It appears we shall be the first to
commence action... Shall we draw their attention? Captain Chevalier,
permission to open fire is granted." Already, on distant Bismarck, turrets
Anton and Caesar were swinging into action.
His first two salvoes had been short, but Kapitanleutnant
Mullenheim-Rechberg had been drawing closer to the enemy, the Trevanne class
Battleship, out there, in the distance, closing like death on the crippled
Bismarck. The had traded salvo for salvo, so far, and, likewise, the enemy
had no hits. His guns were ready for a third salvo.... He fired, and Anton
and Caesar spat their shells at the distant Trevanne.
"Enemy in sight! Six thousand yards ahead... Four thousand yards to port!"
Icarus in the lead, the four ships in close formation, they broke out of the
fog, which was rolling back, and there, close, was Bismarck. The destroyers,
their engines pounding hard and racing the nimble craft towards their
target. Bismarck. The torpedo tubes were already swung out to the port on
the ships.
Bismarck had fired her fifth salvo at Trevanne, and the shells raced in as
Trevanne countered with her fourth. Both were to score hits. One of
Bismarck's shells slammed into Trevanne, forward, just below the waterline,
opening up additional compartments to flooding and undoing the hard-fought
efforts of damage-control parties. It was a very serious, very lucky
flooding hit, but not threatening the ship, outside the citadel that it was.
Those on Trevanne watched as the long-range vunerabilities of Bismarck were
finally demonstrated. Though one of the shells, of the two of six fired that
hit, slammed into Bismarck's main belt harmlessly, the second slammed into
her deck armour over the machinery spaces; Had it been over the magazines,
it would have been likely fatal against Caesar's or Anton's. The shell penetrated
through, striking deep into Bismarck's vitals, wrecking machinery; Machinery that
wasn't operating at fully power, though. The Chief Engineer prayed, and the
engineering crew worked feverishly to keep their speed at a hard-fought for
nine knots.
Rear Admiral de Lafayette could tell that the flooding hit was a nasty
one.. Lucky of Bismarck. The German Dreadnought had a lot of luck on her
side, but it had run out, one way or the other. "Come about to a course of
ninety degrees east and maintain best possible speed.. We've drawn their
fire when it counts."
"Sir, lookouts confirm.... Four British destroyers to our starboard.. Six
thousand yards astern, maybe less now, sir, and closing fast!" Kapitän
Lindemann knew now, that his ship was doomed. That wouldn't stop them from
fighting to the end, though. "Order the secondaries to commence firing.. And
have the main guns shifted to the destroyers!"
The only secondaries that could bear on the destroyers were a single twin
turret of 5.9in guns. It obediently swung around under local control and was
aimed at Icarus.
The destroyers were ticking away a mile every two minutes, pounding down
the range, while Bismarck struggled to maintain nine knots. The Terentrian
battleship had turned away after the last hit, the only hit of the brief
exchange, and Mullenheim-Rechberg felt proud of that, but he had more
important things to do. Only turret Caesar was able to bear, and he'd grimly
fired those two guns once, at the second destroyer, wondering how much good
his AP shells would do against the craft. Now he was ready to fire a second
time, and he did.
The two shells shot out of Turret Caesar, battered, valiant Turret Caesar,
where the crew worked tirelessly to fight, wounded, bloodied, some of their
number struck down by earlier hits, they fought on. Icarus had already been
hit by one 5.9in shell, but maintained the lead, and Turret Caesar likewise
met the call to the final duty. On the second salvo, a single massive 15in
shell slammed through Electra's bow, but passed through the thin-skinned
destroyer without detonating. It was high enough up that Electra's speed was
unimpaired, and she raced on.
It was then, that through a long tongue of the fog-bank,
Mullenheim-Rechberg saw emerging two cruisers. In the lead, a Terentrian
Imperatrice class Cruiser, and behind it, a British County, making over
thirty knots, and also at a range of but four thousand or so yards astern of
the Bismarck. Without bothering to wait for orders, he switched the fire of
turret Caesar to the lead heavy cruiser.
Both the cruisers had already opened fire on them.
The one twin 5.9in turret and two twin 4.1in mounts to the port that were
still intact had opened up on the cruisers as well, and Mullenheim-Rechberg
had turret Caesar ready again. Sighting carefully, he fired. The first shot
was a bit astern of Imperatrice and a bit short... Meaning that, with the
two ships bunched so closely together, it slammed into HMS Kent, just aft of
the bridge, starting fires all about, that threatened her torpedo mount. But
it would take time for the fires to grow.. And Bismarck did not have time.
Grinning with success, with exhilaration of the moment, knowing he might
die, but at the same time realizing he was fighting for all his worth, he
kept on aiming for the lead cruiser.
Eight-inch shells began to slam home on Bismarck, though, again
starting fires on the decks of the battered ship, and penetrating into her
hull through the light belts, at this range. Likewise, shells from the
British destroyers began to find purchase. That, of course, wasn't the real
threat.
Kent staggered under the blow, and so did Admiral Wake-Walker, as heard the
crackling of flames roaring up behind them, and the screams of dying men,
and the shouts as the damage control parties brought their hoses to play on
the blaze behind the bridge. Nobody made an attempt to move from it.. not
much longer..
Turret Anton could now bear; The cruisers were but two thousand yards back,
and coming on fast. Mullenheim-Rechberg fired a four gun salvo, and shells
splashed all around Imperatrice, but no hits were scored. He felt an
explosion nearby, of an 8" shell going off, and watched with stunned eyes as
shrapnel cut down one of his comrades in the artillery directing tower. But
grimly, he kept to his work, sighting on the lead cruiser.
On the bridge of the Bismarck, Lindemann waited. With torpedo-bearing ships
to each side and no rudder, they didn't have a chance in hell to evade the
torpedoes by turning. He just had to do his best to outsmart them.. To hope.
Torpedoes were a finite thing... That was the only chance, really.
His next salvo had missed, as well, a minute before, but they were
reloaded. All of the decks seemed aflame, now, as eight inch shells and the
light shells of the British Destroyers rained home. The secondary guns to
the port were silent from hits, though the port 5.9in mount was still
firing, and the I-type British destroyer was burning, but still coming on.
Mullenheim-Rechberg fired his guns again. Finally, they struck on
Imperatrice's hull. A 5in mount ceased to exist in a blinding flash of the
explosion, and a fire raged on the starboard, stern section of Imperatrice.
Still, the cruisers came on.
Mullenheim-Rechberg had hit Imperatrice a second time, a massive shell
slamming home far aft, that staggered the Terentrian cruiser but did not
slow her. The cruisers had hauled ahead, now, outrunning Bismarck...... And
getting into position.
"Torpedoes Away!"
"Torpedoes Away!"
"Torpedoes Away!"
"Torpedoes Away!"
The fog was clear from this area, perhaps, so that the ancient Nordic Gods
could look down, and laugh as the game of death was played out. They were
spectactors, even in the Sagas that the Nazis so admired, those who watched
the warriors fight and die, and laughed, and watched it all. Ragnarok was
their time to fight; Here, it was the struggles of the mortals that amused
them. But perhaps Thor would respect this sacrifice. The torpedoes,
seventeen of them, from the first four ships were away, and the ships were
turning. The other two destroyers were coming up fast.
It was 0937 hours. On the bridge of the KM Bismarck, Kapitän zur See Ernst
Lindemann ordered all engines, full reverse. Smoke in the engine rooms
didn't matter now. Strain on the propellors and shafts damaged by Ardent's
torpedo strike didn't matter now. Only one thing mattered now.. Survival.
Bismarck's goals had been reduced from raiding, to getting home, and now, to
living a minute longer. Kapitän Lindemann was not the type to easily give up
his ship.
On the bridge of the Icarus, Commander Gregson, formerly of the HMS Hood,
watched silently as their ship, the destroyer, turned away, torpedoes racing
towards the target, Electra following.
Behind them, Echo and Achates let loose another eight torpedoes. Twenty
five fish swarmed the waters of the Denmark Strait as the destroyers and
cruisers turned hard away to avoid their own fish, should some miss. They
were, of course, set at the fastest speed, and shortest range, for such an
eventuality.
Kapitanleutnant Mullenheim-Rechberg scored one last hit, as Caesar and
Anton bellowed their salvoes, and struck Imperatrice.. Hard. The shell bored
through, to open one of her shafts to seawater, and she heeled and slowed,
but quick counterflooding and good design kept the heavy cruiser above
twenty knots, her stern now towards the Bismarck, leaving, as their attack
ran home, as their fish swam in.
The first torpedo to strike was Imperatrice's. Three raced past Bismarck's
bow, missing, though barely. The other slammed home along her port
side...well forward, blowing a hole clean through the bow, adding to the
damage Kent's torpedo had done from the opposite side, there...the great
column of water rose over Bismarck.
Moments later, Kent's torpedoes struck home. Two slammed home nearly right
next to each other, just aft of Bismarck's armoured citadel, the great
columns that sounded the death-knell of the Nazi battleship, as she
staggered under the multiple torpedo impacts. The other pair missed aft.
Almost simultaneously, from the opposite side, the destroyer torpedoes
struck. Adding more damage to a tortured area of the ship, one of Icarus'
five torpedoes struck home against the bow of the Bismarck, holing it once
more. The hit was forward, again, in an area so badly damaged now that it
effectively ceased to exist...structural failure was beginning.
One of Electra's torpedoes hit, inside the armoured citadel, just inside of
it, more flooding racing into Bismarck's vitals.
The water rushed in, as Bismarck began to sink rapidly by the bow, listing
to port, as well. Kapitän zur See Ernst Lindemann realized the time had
come. But one thing, first. He looked to Admiral Lutjens' old signal
officer, and spoke quietly. "Get a message off, if you have the time and
power. Tell them.. Crews of Anton and Caesar turrets.. Deserve highest
medals they can be awarded. Tell them.. The same, of the engineering crew...
And, special commendations, and medals, if they can, for gunnery officers
Korvettenkapitan Schneider and Kapitanleutnant Mullenheim-Rechberg... Tell
them.. We are dead. Bismarck is sunk." Without a word, the signal officer
ran to perform his last duty.
Abruptly, one after another, a series of three more water columns rose
along Bismarck's starboard side. HMS Achates and HMS Echo were getting their
hits in, as well. As the ship staggered, Lindemann reached out for the
compass and held onto it, to keep from falling, and then staggered over to
the general intercom, and gave the order. "Achtung! Achtung! All hands...
ABANDON SHIP! ABANDON SHIP!" The bridge crew did not need a moment's more
hesitation. They went for their lives. Lindemann made no attempt to.
Bismarck's list was now correcting from port.. To starboard. He made it to
the helm alright, though, and gripped it tightly, staring ahead, as the bow
got lower in the water.
Mullenheim-Rechberg had heard the call, less than a minute to go, and now
he was racing out of the aft artillery tower, racing for his life. He ran,
through the flames, and the chaos of the men trying to make it into the icey
arctic seas.
Bismarck lurched lower into the waves, bow first, listing slightly to
starboard.
The bow was now submerged, and the battered, wrecked stern, so mangled as
to nearly be blown off, was exposed to the sky for the first time since her
launching.. And the last time ever. On the bridge, Kapitän zur See Ernst
Lindemann clung to the ship's wheel, and waited.
Mullenheim-Rechberg reached the starboard side of the ship, through the
flames which he had so luckily navigated, and saw a raft, several men in it
already, drifting by that side, though far enough out to be safe, he
thought. Bracing himself.. No time, now, for any waiting, he jumped, he
leaped over the side of the ship, plunging down into the water.
Bismarck was much lower by the bow, now, and listing more severely to the
starboard. The signals officer had just finished personally transmitting
that last message of Kapitän Lindemann's, and had just gotten it off, when
the power failed. His last order was fulfilled. The signals officer stood,
and tried to make his way out... But the last order would be the last, for
him.
Mullenheim-Rechberg hauled himself up into the life-raft with the help of
the sailors there, and fell in.. Looking back towards the ship on which he
had served.... Towards KM Bismarck. She'd nearly reached the point where
she had no bouyancy left.
There was too much water in her stern for her to rear up high into the sky,
nor was there enough to snap her in two aft.... And even as her bow sank
beneath the waves, and her stern rose, flag still snapping in the slowly
growing breeze, she hesitated. Flames consumed her, unfought, and it
was a grim, horrific spectacle, to the crew of the gallant ship. They'd
fought the Mighty Hood, and won, but they'd paid the price. There
wasn't much time left, now.
Rear Admiral Wake-Walker watched, grimly, as Bismarck's stern rose,
and she began to sink, the fires still raging. She was slowly turning into
a torch... A massive death pyre for the bodies and souls of her crew,
held aloft by some Norse God, as the monument to the fallen. It was
a horrifically fascinating thing, and Wake-Walker admitted to himself
that he was glad that the monster was going down. But the cost...
He thought of Hood, again.
Helmuth Brinkman stood on the fantail of the HMS Kent, watching through
a pair of binoculars loaned to him by a British officer... Right at the bridge of the Bismarck.
He couldn't make out figures, though. Well, that was that, he thought.
He expected to never see Ernst Lindemann again. He was right.
Everyone on the bridge of the Trevanne with binoculars was pointing them towards Bismarck,
watching as she listed further starboard, as her bow went lower into the water, the flames on
the portions still above the surface raging while they could. Rear Admiral de Lafayette's
face was set in stone, for all that Captain Chevalier could see. "Well, Captain," the Admiral
finally spoke, "Now it's over, and we've won, and we can count the cost, and someone can
call it a victory. It won't be me, though. Reminds me of Derfflinger.. Flag flying till the very
end." The bridge crewers were silent, as was the Captain. There were no words for such
a moment.
The signals officer reported to the bridge, then, with the latest message. The clock ticked over to
0948 hours. "Sir, report from HMS Suffolk. They're alongside Ardent and taking off the crew, sir.
Ardent's bulkheads went and she's going down." D'Artagnan just nodded once, his eyes focused
on Bismarck. "Very well." A moment passed. "Make a notation in the log.. Advise.. That the name
Ardent never be without a ship in this navy, again." He thought of that. Valiant ship, valiant crew.
It had taken guts to do what they had done.. Bismarck might have survived had they not. Atleast
most of the crew would survive. The same could not be said for Bismarck's.
Bismarck finally had no bouyancy left. She was too strongly built, she didn't have enough weight
up in the air, to snap in half, nor to stand fully on end... But, flag still flying, she rolled slightly to
starboard, and then her bow tilted sharply further downward, water spilling out of some
compartments well aft even while it flooded in those forward, and dragged her under, the flag
the last part of her to see the light of day. Defiance to the last.
Mullenheim-Rechberg watched silently from his life-raft. He would be the highest ranking of
one hundred and thirty five survivors.
The order was given. "Come about, helm.. Reverse course, and prepare to heave-to for recovering
survivors!" The order was likewise given on the four destroyers; Imperatrice was struggling with
damage, but in a gallant show that the RN was not alone in such displays of honour, her Captain
gave the order anyway.
"Come to port, course two-twenty, maintain speed of eighteen knots," Captain Chevalier told the
helm and the man manning the engine-room signals next to him. The order from D'Artagnan had
just been given, as the cruisers and destroyers moved to perform their last duty of the day.
Behind him, D'Artagnan was relaying orders to the signals officer. "Message as follows to Admiral
Tovey and Terentrian Naval Command: 'Bismarck Sunk. Am recovering survivors. Ardent in sinking
condition, Suffolk recovering crew. Will transmit full action report shortly. First Battlecruiser Force
will make best possible speed for Hvalfjord when survivors have been recovered.'"
Vice Admiral Delacroix watched as Chief Forgeron came in, palish, but at the same time showing some
grim pride. The Prime Minister looked with him, as Chief Forgeron came to attention and saluted.
"Sirs, another dispatch from Rear Admiral de Lafayette. 'Bismarck Sunk. Am recovering survivors. Ardent in sinking condition, Suffolk recovering crew. Will transmit full action report shortly. First Battlecruiser Force will make best possible speed for Hvalfjord when survivors have been recovered.'" Delacroix felt relief. It
was over... Trevanne had put the German Dreadnought on the bottom, in hours of bloody combat....
In that frozen hell. Now it was a matter of the cleaning up.. The bloodiest, grimmest part of all. And then,
he remembered Chief Forgeron's brother. "Chief, you have the rest of the day as leave. I'll try to get you
word on your brother." Chief Forgeron smiled.. Very, very faintly. "It's alright, sir. The work will keep my
mind of it, anyway... And it wouldn't help me find out any faster, sir." Delacroix nodded. He'd somehow
expected as much. "Very well, Chief." He then turned to the Prime Minister. "Well.. This episode is over, Prime Minister. I fear what shall come next." de Fossier smiled. "One day at a time, Vice Admiral, one day at a time. It's the only way we'll ever get through this war."
Captain Lennard Deveraux held his hand high in salute, as did the other crewers, the other survivors, of the
HTMS Ardent, as he watched the valiant little Light Cruiser slip beneath the waves.. And then he brought it
down. His service about the Ardent, indeed, the life of that ship had been very short.... But he could not help but feel pride at the incredible gallantry of his crew throughout this entire battle. They had done their duty. Captain Ellis stood by him, and offered a grim nod of understanding. It would feel like hell for any Captain to lose a ship, Lennard knew, and Suffolk was not in the best of shape, herself. Indeed, some of
the Ardent's uninjured crewers were working with Suffolk's crew on repairs. "Thank you, Captain Ellis.
I shall go below to visit my wounded men, now." Ellis nodded once. "Very well, Captain Deveraux."
It had been a harrowing crawl back at fifteen knots, the best possible speed of Suffolk and hence the
First Battlecruiser Force, but they had made it. Hvalfjord did not have extensive fleet facilities, but
it had hospitals for the wounded, the facilities to offload the survivors of Bismarck and Prinz Eugen,
and enough facilities to make temporary repairs, pump out some water, and get the ships in a better condition for the trip to Scapa Flow; They could have made it directly, but it was riskier. D'Artagnan
was not one for unnecessary risks. He turned to Captain Chevalier and smiled tightly, when the anchor struck bottom in Hvalfjord, the crew of a British Oiler they had anchored alongside cheering them like wild. Though the mainmast was gone, the aft turret a ruin, and generally everything aft of the forward tower burnt at some point or damaged, Trevanne was a lovely sight to those sailors. News of the victory had raced around the world like a whirlwind, suitably tailored by British propaganda experts, unsurprisingly. "Well,
Captain.. I should think that we understand each other, now."
Valiant Ardent and the Mighty Trevanne.. They were household names, now, in the homes of
allied families who waited for news of their own boys, off fighting. They were also names from which
many of the sailors who had fought upon them would never be coming home. There were hundreds of
bodies on those allied ships. Hundreds of mangled, charred, shattered bodies. After all, it could be said
that, in those chilly nordic waters, the great Battleships had been the incarnations of the Gods. And when
the Gods clash... Mortal man dies. That is a lesson long, long ago learned by man.. But as long as ships
sail the seas, some of them shall carry guns. And... The Mighty Hood. That is the name that will outlast
all the others. However old, however flawed, she had done her duty.
