On more than one occasion the boat was slapped by a heavy wave and a sleek torpedo swayed dangerously on its hoisting harness, but the men had hold of her from two sides, one nearly slipping and falling off the boat before a burly master chief grabbed his arm to steady the man.
All the while the watchmen nervously scanned every horizon for any sign of British ships or planes. They were in the Western Approaches, a dangerous zone for a U-boat to be spotted, but an hour later, with much sweat and toil, the crews had their weapons secured below and were closing off the upper hatches.
Wohlfarth scratched at his short cropped curly beard, beaming with satisfaction. It was as if he had been given a second life, and he had every intention of using it to best advantage.
“Chief of the Boat, come round to course 180 degrees south,” he said excitedly. “Increase to fifteen knots. All ahead full.”
“Aye, captain.”
Now, he thought. Let us not incur the wrath of Neptune, God, Fate or Captain Lindemann. If the British want a fight, I will give them one. I’m going to follow that big fat British battleship and see where she leads me! We will see if I can change the odds yet again…
Part IX
The Last Hours
“…these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean’s skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang.”
Chapter 25
Dawn broke, grey and cold, with the winds rising and the seas churning with the tumult of an oncoming storm. Rodney was a large ship, however, with a wide beam and she rode out the swells with good stability. The big Scot, Hamilton, was on the bridge, and he had invited the American officer to join him there as he considered his situation.
Hamilton was well accustomed to USN officers aboard his ship. Earlier that year he had hosted the American Rear Admiral Ghormley, Mr. James Forrestal, Under Secretary of the USN, and a baker’s dozen of American Air Corps Officers. Secretary Forrestal was en route to negotiate the Lend-Lease agreement with the British Government at the time, and he found the other officers bright, fit, and well skilled. This one seemed no different.
“It seems we have new orders,” said Hamilton.
“Sir?” Paul was immediately concerned.
“Yes, the Admiralty wants us to steer 225 degrees. They believe Bismarck may attempt to meet up with an oiler in the Atlantic.”
Paul expected this, and he had his argument ready in hand. “I see,” he began. “But if I may, sir… what good would that course change do us now? We’re already 200 miles east of Admiral Tovey. If Bismarck has turned on 225 for the Atlantic we’ll never catch up. Yet consider your situation here, sir. You have passengers aboard, your decks are stacked high with boiler tubes in packing crates.”
“Yes, and then some,” said Hamilton. He did not tell the American he was also carrying the famous Elgin Marbles from the British Museum and many cases of gold bullion in his lower forward holds, ordered to deposit them safely in the United States. Apparently the marbles were not deemed safe enough where they had been hidden in the concrete reinforced Tube tunnel near the Aldwych branch of the Piccadilly subway line.
“Well, sir,” Paul went on. “Sir Winston’s convoy will be just fifty miles east of us by now, and heading south. There’s no heavy escort there aside from Exeter. What if Bismarck turns east for that convoy instead? If I know about it, it’s likely the Germans know about it as well. Our southerly course has served two purposes. We moved to a much better position to intercept Bismarck if she does head for France, and we’re also covering Convoy WS-8B. In fact, sir, I would even come two or three points to port now if I were in your shoes, but steering 225 will put us out of the game.”
“I quite agree,” said Hamilton. “Plotted it out this morning. And just between the two of us I’m having some difficulty interpreting this latest Admiralty order. Sir Dudly Pound’s fingerprints are all over it, and it appears unclear… for the moment,” he added at the end.
“Of course, sir.” One did not flaunt the orders of the First Sea Lord lightly, or without second thoughts. “I will say that your appraisal of the situation is much more aligned with our intelligence, sir.”
“That is somewhat encouraging,” said Hamilton with a smile. The man had to be an intelligence officer, he thought. How else would he know the positions of all these ships; know that only Exeter was left shepherding that convoy?
“If I may, sir,” Paul suggested. “Those crates stacked high on your B turret won’t do well if it comes to action stations.”
“Quite so,” said Hamilton. “I gave the order that they were to be removed, discretely, and stowed below decks. It’s getting a wee bit tight down there, what with all the passengers aboard. But tell me, Commander Wellings, what do you make our chances of sighting Bismarck on this heading and actually seeing action?”
“On this heading, sir? I make it a fifty-fifty proposition. Give her a nudge to port and I’d up those odd considerably.”
Hamilton raised an eyebrow at that, and had the sure feeling that this man knew more than he was telling for the moment. He seemed very well briefed on the navy’s current dispositions. “Well, sir,” he said. “I’ve got gimpy boilers all due for a major overhaul. If a nudge to port will help me close the distance, then I’ll indulge you.” He tipped his hat to Paul and spoke a clear order to the helmsman. “Three points to port and steady on 175.”
The captain was gratified to learn he had been right in his bones about holding a southerly course. Events to the west were to soon prove him, and this American, correct.
Off to the west, Admiral Tovey had completely missed Bismarck’s last turn. He steamed straight on his heading of 180, stubbornly following Prince Eugen, and soon was well south of Bismarck’s new easterly heading, though he had no reason to suspect the German ships had separated at the time. It was not until the search teams off the Victorious had landed and been fully debriefed that he began to feel he had made an error.
Hood and Prince of Wales had already turned east, ordered to try and close on Tovey’s position, and they crossed the Admiral’s wake sometime around 10:00 hours. He received notice of the Admiralty’s order for HMS Rodney to steer course 225. Where was the big battleship? It would have been sporting of them to include her position in the code, but they did not do so. Should he signal Admiral Holland to turn south now and conform to his movement following Prince Eugen?
It was then that he received what looked to be an urgent signal, tapped out in Morse code and apparently coming from a plane, given their take on its bearing. It read simply: “One German battleship sighted, course 115—“ and there was nothing more.
“One battleship?” he said to Brind. “One bloody battleship steering 115? If that’s Bismarck then who in bloody blazes are we following? Radar still has a contact forward?”