Her stern, burning fiercely from the first shell, quickly drifted away from the bow, which began to fill with water and in minutes, was jutting thirty degrees out of the frigid ocean like a tombstone. This section quickly filled with water and rolled over slowly, tossing screaming sailors into the dark sea. If they lasted minutes in the water that sucked the heat from their bodies they were lucky. If they were killed instantly they were luckier still.
The bow slid into the darkness easily, without giving any indication that it marked the resting place of several hundred men. All that remained of Nottingham were bits of nameless debris that covered the iron-gray water, corpses of dead sailors, and a thick coating of black fuel oil that, when any light managed to break through the clouds and fog, shimmered demurely.
Chapter 17
As a young officer, Doenitz had always considered Grand Admiral Raeder the perfect Kriegsmarine officer: tall, sophisticated, resolute, kindly to his subordinates, and unwavering in his loyalty to his superiors — even Hitler. Perhaps a bit old-fashioned and certainly far too enthralled with the presence of big ships and big guns, but he was a product of the old Imperial Navy and that was to be expected. For that matter, Doenitz was pragmatic enough to recognize that his position on U-boats was that of a quiet zealot. He knew that they, not the great, lumbering targets, were Germany’s true salvation.
So, knowing Grand Admiral Raeder as Doenitz knew him, and respecting him as he did, he was very surprised to enter the plotting room to find Raeder in the middle of what one would definitely describe as a tantrum.
“What has he done? What was in his mind that he has done this?” Raeder said, his tone a mixture of frustration and barely suppressed anger. He caught sight of Doenitz, who had just handed his gray kid gloves and cap to an orderly. “The arrogance of the man!”
“What is it?” Doenitz said, approaching the large plotting table in the center of the room. He felt suddenly superior to Grand Admiral Raeder; the cool subordinate, ready to take charge and put everything back in order. A twinge of guilt accompanied his thoughts about the older man, but it was momentary — his own ambition prevented him from feeling more.
“Mahlberg has taken Sea Lion in pursuit of an English cruiser,” Raeder said.
Doenitz studied the table. Each wooden ship was marked with a little paper flag. Male and female Kriegsmarine personnel — Bootsmanns, Bootsmannsmaat, and other ranks and ratings scattered about, and to make sure that all functioned as it should, a Stabsoberbootsmann with a Leutnant overseeing the activity. It was a flurry of movement and sound; sailors speaking quietly into mouthpieces, pressing W.T. headsets against their ears, hovering steadily around the table to sail the tiny vessels with wooden rods that ended in graceful hooks.
“Everything jeopardized for a cruiser,” Raeder said as Doenitz reviewed the latest messages from Sea Lion. Mahlberg reported that he was being followed by a British cruiser and planned to sink it before it reported him. More likely had already reported Sea Lion’s presence. Mahlberg simply wanted to try out those big guns on an enemy vessel.
“Where is Prince of Wales?” Doenitz asked.
“Here, Admiral,” one of the Stabsbootsmann said, indicating the British vessels with a rod.
“Distance from Sea Lion?”
“Approximately six hundred kilometers.”
“Course and speed?”
“Estimates only, Admiral. Three-one-zero at twenty knots.”
Doenitz locked his arms across his chest in thought. “The damage is not irreparable,” he said, trying not to sound condescending. “Although it does create difficulties.” He held up the message from Sea Lion. “Why did Mahlberg wait so long to report?”
“He didn’t,” Raeder said. “The one thing that he did correctly was report immediately. You know weather conditions in the Strait — it took us this long to pick up and decode the message.”
But Doenitz wasn’t listening to the grand admiral — he was considering the options he had left to him in the position of the U-boats spread out across Prince of Wales’s path. What Mahlberg did was not as catastrophic as Raeder thought. He would certainly have been detected by the British patrol vessel anyway — the Straits were far too narrow for Sea Lion to pass unnoticed. And the fact that he took on the cruiser meant little unless he took an inordinate amount of time to destroy the enemy. That was not yet known.
What was surprising and a stroke of good fortune for Sea Lion and the operation was that Prince of Wales was not farther along.
“Are we certain of Prince of Wales’s position?”
An Oberbootsmann clicked his heels. “Yes, Admiral. We are tracking her radio transmissions.”
Her escort is slowing her down, Doenitz thought. Without them she could easily add another five knots to her speed. “Grand Admiral, I propose that we send to Sea Lion immediately to break off action at once and proceed on the mission. I also recommend that her escorts return to base.”
“Return to base? That’s a full day ahead of time, Admiral,” Raeder said. “I am not comfortable with that suggestion. We are not yet certain that your U-boats are on station.”
“Yes, Grand Admiral, I understand, but the British vessel cannot hope to match Sea Lion’s maximum speed. We yet may be in a better position than we realize. If we had difficulties receiving radio transmissions, who is to say that the British did not as well?”
Raeder saw that the idea had merit. “They may be as blind as we.”
“A perfect time to add another level of confusion,” Doenitz said.
Raeder shot Doenitz a troubled look. “You want to begin Operation Funker?”
“Yes.”
“I must give this matter much thought before I consent to this suggestion.”
“With your permission, Grand Admiral,” Doenitz began calmly. “Funker will confuse and distract the British even more so. They are aware of Sea Lion and perhaps they are aware of what she is capable of doing to her ships. They will be distracted. The increased W.T. transmissions will create more confusion. We can immediately follow Operation Funker with Operation Umkreis. The British will never consider their Home Fleet the object of an attack. Not virtually within sight of Scapa Flow.”
“We must be cautious,” Raeder said hesitantly. He nodded, confirming his own uncertainty. “Careful consideration.”
He is afraid, Doenitz thought. Bismarck had taken away his courage and replaced it with doubts, and yet that was understandable. If Sea Lion failed, which was to say if Sea Lion were sunk, it would be more than a missed opportunity to kill Churchill.
Britain’s Home Fleet might escape, and Germany’s war effort would suffer another psychological blow. The vast resources that went into building Sea Lion and launching this operation would have been a waste. But the U-boat’s reputation would remain unscathed.
Hitler tolerated the U-boat service because those vessels cost very little to build and yielded great results in comparison to their size. If a U-boat failed to return from patrols, it was seventy men lost — less than an infantry company.