In the Middle Channel steamed the destroyers Tarter and Active, mimicking the actions of their sisters in the North Channel. Behind them at a respectful distance were the cruisers H.M.S. Kenya and H.M.S. Norfolk. They, like Hermione, were fast and in surface actions they would be the spoilers, waiting to slip in and unleash torpedoes at capital ships, laying down smoke with the destroyers; hounds after a boar.
In the South Channel came Lance and Anthony and behind them, towering over the destroyers, was H.M.S. King George V. KGV. Vickers-Armstrong, Walker Navy Yard, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and only a child. Laid down on 1 January 1937, she was completed in 1940 and after her working up trails, she was accepted by a grateful Royal Navy. She had ten fourteen-inch .45-caliber MK VII guns and she’d fought Bismarck, but she was young and arrogant and wanted more. She wanted Sea Lion. She wanted to be the first in and the first to draw blood, and the one to send Sea Lion to the bottom of the North Sea.
Out of the three channels, North, Middle, and South, steamed the Home Fleet and when they were well clear of the channels they would increase speed and seek out the enemy. At a time that would be most opportune for the mission, the six destroyers would fall out and return to Scapa Flow because this was an emergency, and the three cruisers and two battleships would make a high-speed run, traveling much farther, to save Prince of Wales and sink the enemy, and the destroyers could not keep pace.
The six destroyers would turn once the others were safe out to sea and, bidding a farewell to the larger ships, sail home. Destroyers — born many years before to destroy torpedo boats that could quickly run up and launch torpedoes into the side of slower vessels, adapted to fight U-boats during the First World War, now designed to find and sink the descendents of those U-boats. The natural enemy of U-boats: fast, loaded with depth charges, vicious little predators that bit happily into the green seas with a bone between their teeth so that they could run up on the U-boats and kill them — destroyers.
Irony.
Twelve U-boats, in the hands of twelve skilled Kapitans waiting precisely in the path of the Home Fleet; targets aplenty for the six veteran destroyers of the Royal Navy that escorted the battleships to sea. Battleships not nearly as maneuverable as destroyers and cruisers not as adept at fighting U-boats as destroyers. Big targets for U-boat torpedoes.
Soon the vessels that could best fight and certainly defeat the U-boats that lurked in the depths of the ocean would be turning their backs to their traditional enemies and steaming back to Scapa Flow.
Chapter 27
“It’s called kye,” Land said to Cole as a rating handed the American a cup of thick hot chocolate.
“It’ll foul your plumbing if you take too much of it,” Hardy added in disgust. “Best to stick to tea. You’ve got to piss a pot full every ten minutes, but you can do that over the side if times demand it.”
“I don’t suppose you have any coffee,” Cole said, deciding against the kye. He found the only use for the sludge with a thin sheen of grease floating on the top was to wrap his hands around the chipped porcelain cup for warmth.
“You suppose right, Mr. Cole,” Hardy said. “The Royal Navy does not have the luxuries that you’re used to in the American Navy. We’re smaller and not as wealthy, but we’re as keen as mustard when it comes to a go at Jerry.”
“Yes, sir,” Cole said, handing the kye back to the seaman.
“For God’s sake we’re civilized enough to have alcohol on board. Well managed of course. Takes the edge off the excitement a bit. Smoothes a man’s nerves when the time’s right. You chaps don’t go in for that sort of thing, do you? Prohibition and all that. Uncivilized practice. Goes against nature.”
“I believe Prohibition was repealed some time ago,” Land offered.
“What?” Hardy said. He turned to Cole for confirmation. “Is he right about this? You Americans finally came to your senses?”
“Yes, sir,” Cole said.
“Well,” Hardy said with satisfaction, as if his comments had had something to do with the turnaround in attitude. “High time, I say. Puritans, wasn’t it? Mormons? Who brought about that silly practice in the first place? Methodists, by God, it must have been the Methodists. Never find a member of the Church of England even contemplating such a thing.”
“You’re Methodist, aren’t you, sir?” Land said.
“Shut up, Number One.”
Cole watched as Land moved diplomatically back to the wheelhouse. He was on his own with this strange man.
“I can’t say, sir,” Cole replied.
Hardy gave his suggestion some thought before announcing his decision. “Puritans,” he said emphatically.
“Fleet in sight, sir,” the starboard bridge lookout called out. “Green oh-two.”
“There they are,” Hardy confirmed through his binoculars. “Mr. Cole, soon you will be introduced to Prometheus, Windsor, and Eskimo. The latter two are of no matter — only Sir Whittlesey Bloody Martin and his big cow.” Hardy lowered his glasses and fixed Cole with a hard glance. “Kindly note the ranker, will you?”
“Of course, sir,” Cole said, trying to hide his amusement. This guy is a first-rate character, he thought. Probably a little insane.
Number One handed Cole a pair of binoculars. “See for yourself.” Cole let his eyes adjust and swept the horizon with the binoculars. He picked up the vessels, thin black smudges on the gray-green tabletop.
“You must not accept everything that our captain says at face value,” Land said with a smile. “He can be eccentric at times, but his skills as a seaman can’t be denied.”
“The best sailors are a little odd,” Cole said, returning the binoculars.
“He’s a fighter as well,” Land said thoughtfully, wrapping the straps around the binocular frame. “He’s had a bad time of it lately, but he’s a fighter.”
“Dove?” Hardy called to the chief yeoman of signals. “When we’re within Aldis lamp range make to the flagship, ‘Mission accomplished. Two on board.’” He joined Land and Cole. “Your fellow survivor is resting comfortably, I’m told. No danger of a needle through the nose.”
“That’s how we tell if a chap is dead,” Land said. “Destroyers don’t carry medicos, so we stitch a fellow’s nose closed and if he protests, he’s alive. A bit barbaric, but it does the job.”
“Beats the alternative,” Cole said.
“Beats the…” Hardy said and then laughed loudly. “By God, he’s right. It would be a crying shame to send a man to his doom when he wasn’t ready. Eh, Number One?”
Before Land had a chance to answer, there was a loud whistle through the voice tube. “Bridge? W.T.”
Land answered it. “Bridge here. What is it?”