They had been detached ten hours ago, and Convoy WS-8B was now steaming due south, diverted away from the area where the Royal Navy was trying to find and engage a German raiding task force led by the much feared battleship Bismarck. Captain Hamilton was looking for support for a decision he was already leaning heavily on, and Paul was just the man to give it to him. He might have done as much by transmitting a message, but something told him the situation needed a firmer hand, and so he resolved to go in under cover of this assumed identity and nudge things along.
“I’ve got some information I’ve been ordered to share with you, sir.”
“Information?”
“Yes, sir,” Paul leaned in, lowering his voice slightly as if to convey the notion that he was now speaking confidentially. The others were clearly interested.
“We have a Coast Guard cutter at sea in the vicinity of the operations out west,” he began. “Her regular duty is ice watch patrol, but it seems one of your convoys out of Halifax took it on the chin recently. She was therefore detailed to assist in survivor recovery for convoy HX-126.”
“Yes,” said Hamilton. “Bloody business that. The poor lot ran afoul of a wolf pack. Lost quite a few ships, I’m afraid.”
“Right,” said Paul, “Cockaponset, and British Security went down in the final attack. Darlington Court had a near miss. Well, the Modoc, that’s our cutter, reported in yesterday, sir, and I am now at liberty to disclose this message to you here. She sighted battleship Bismarck at these coordinates and times.” He handed the captain a paper, and Hamilton squinted at it briefly before handing it off to his navigator.
“If you chart that,” Paul continued, “You’ll see that this present heading is all wrong, sir. It’s clear that Bismarck has turned southeast, and we believe she is making for Brest, or possibly even trying to have a go at convoy WS-8B. You’ll have to turn due south at once to have any chance in the world of becoming a useful asset in this campaign.”
“I see,” said Hamilton. “I assume this report was also forwarded to the Admiralty? We’ve heard nothing from them at all on this.”
“As you might imagine, sir, Western Approaches Command is all astir with this Bismarck business. The message was sent, but whether it received prompt attention or not is anybody’s guess. I’ve been there, and I can say the situation gets a bit chaotic at times, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”
“Not at all,” said Hamilton. “Get enough Admirals in any one room and no one ends up knowing what to do.” He considered for a moment. “And what course would you say we adopt, Lieutenant Commander Wellings?”
“180 degrees due south, sir. It’s really your only option, and you will have to make your best speed even then if you’re to get to the party on time.” Paul folded his arms. He had made his pitch, and knew enough not to say anything further until someone else spoke first.
“Gentlemen?” Captain Hamilton regarded the other men present, but no one seemed to have any objection to the idea. The navigator knew his business well, and even without having to look at a chart he confirmed what Paul was saying. “We’ll definitely be out of it if we don’t turn, sir,” he said.
“Very well, gentlemen,” Captain Hamilton decided. “I think we have a consensus here, and I must say I agree with everything that’s been said.” To his navigator and senior staff officer he said: “Come round to course 180 degrees south at once and give me all the speed we can manage. The faster the better, should there be any U-boats about. That’s a good bit of timely intelligence, Wellings. I appreciate your candor. Now then, let’s get a signal off to the Admiralty notifying them of our intentions. I daresay Admiral Pound may have other ideas about it, but I believe Admiral Tovey on King George V will be more than gratified to learn of the action we’re taking here.”
“Very good, sir.”
At least for the moment, Golem 7 had prevailed.
Hamilton’s concern about lurking U-boats was well founded. Wohlfarth on U-556 had only just lowered his periscope, amazed to see yet another large British warship steaming on in apparent haste, and without proper escort.
Someone is all in huff over Bismarck, he knew. Damn the Royal Navy. You could sink five battleships and they would still find a way to pull another one out of their hat when needed. He had been listening to signal intercepts and had been mentally putting together a picture of the action forming up to his west. He had already taken one British battlecruiser out of the action, sure to earn the Knight’s Cross for that. But there were at least three big ships, a carrier, and a gaggle of light cruisers still chasing Bismarck. He remembered the pledge he had made to Captain Lindemann, half in jest, and half to cover the brash incident where he had deliberately fired on Bismarck’s towed target ship during gunnery exercises months ago.
He smiled inwardly, remembering the day he had gone over to the great ship himself, awed by her fearsomely sleek lines and menacing stature. He had knocked on Captain Lindemann’s ward room door and introduced himself with a stiff salute. At that meeting he had presented Lindemann with a drawing he had made, depicting himself as brave Sir Persifal, rushing to the rescue of Bismarck as she was harried by three British Swordfish.
He remembered exactly what he had written: ‘We, U-556, hereby declare before Neptune, Lord over oceans, seas, lakes, rivers, brooks, ponds, and rivulets, that we will provide any desired assistance to our Big Brother, the battleship Bismarck, at any place on the water, under water, on land, or in the air.’
A curse on the British! Those were steep enough odds already for Bismarck. Now a fourth battleship, was apparently steaming to get after her as well. He must notify Group West immediately of his sighting, and now he regretted his wanton attack on Convoy HX-126 in such an increasingly target rich environment.
“Damn,” he said aloud. “If only I had another few torpedoes!”
His navigator, Sub-Lieutenant Souvad returned at once. “But Captain, we do have two more torpedoes. They are in the reserve container on the outer deck.”
Wohlfarth spun about and looked at him, thinking. He had forgotten all about those last two fish because it was almost impossible to get them out of their casings and into the lower decks in bad weather. The weather was rough, and likely to get even worse according to the last meteorological report he had read. Yet if he could get at those last two torpedoes…. It was certainly worth a try at least. He waited for a few minutes, giving the big British ship ample time to steam on, then he gave the order ‘up periscope’ again and had a look around for safety’s sake, satisfying himself that there were no destroyers about.
“Bring the boat up at once,” he said sharply. “Make ready to load torpedo reserve.”
“In this weather, sir?” His executive officer had obvious misgivings. “They’ll never manage a winch with the seas like this.”
“Perhaps not,” said Wohlfarth, “but they’ll damn well try, won’t they. Order it at once!”
Minutes later the U-boat had surfaced, tossed in the heavy swells but still stable enough in Wohlfarth’s estimation to mount the winch and see if he could get those last two torpedoes down below and into his forward tubes. He set a double watch and assigned the strongest men he had on the boat to the job. They strained and cursed, and labored for a long hour, opening the deck container and slowly working the torpedoes down into the cargo access hatch, one by one.