An hour later they were airborne on a heading of about 240 degrees southwest, out over the Celtic Sea and giving a passing nod to Old Grimbsy Island off their left wing as they went. It was to be a simple out and back—a little over 350 miles one way, and they would be out in their search zone in little more than ninety minutes.
It was then that they picked up an excited radio calclass="underline" “One German battleship sighted, course 115—“ The message cut off abruptly, and there was no position given for the spotter. Campbell got on his short range wireless at once.
“You hear that, Johnny?”
“Something about a battleship, it was. Couldn’t pick out any location, could you?”
“Doggy message,” said Campbell. “Well, steady on this course until we hear something more.”
Half an hour later he needed no further confirmation. He looked out his stubby forward canopy and there was a massive ship dead ahead, a clear white wake in the grey sea marking her heading.
“Well I’ll be,” he breathed. “Hello, Johnny, Lane—you see what I see?” The battleship was already lighting up as the AA guns winked at them. “Tally ho, brothers! Let’s go in and deliver our cargo! Somebody signal St. Evaclass="underline" Sighted Bismarck, course 115, our position. Attacking now!”
He throttled up, hearing the two big engines respond with a powerful roar and he banked and began to descend. The Bristol Beaufort was not a relic from WWI, like the old Swordfish off Victorious. It was a fast, twin engine attack plane that could run out to 270 miles per hour with her 1400 horse power motors, and deliver a powerful blow. Later model variants would be dubbed the “Ten Gun Terror,” but this one was affectionately known as “the Beau,” sporting four .303 caliber machine guns in addition to her heavier torpedo or bomb ordnance.
Bismarck was lighting up the sky with everything it had to fire, but to Campbell this was nothing compared to what he had faced the previous month at Brest. He had been determined then to strike Gneisenau, and he was equally determined now to put his Type XII torpedo into the German ship’s gut. He lined up on the target, speeding in very low off her port bow, heedless of the sharp crack and dark exploding smoke of flack bursts ranging ever nearer.
Three seconds, two seconds, one. He dropped the big torpedo, immediately pulling back to gain a altitude. Yet a little too gallant, or a little too curious, he lingered on his attack run a moment too long. The sighting predictors on Bismarck’s AA guns were not fooled this time by the lumbering slow Swordfish. This was exactly the sort of plane they had been designed to oppose and kill, and Campbell heard a loud explosion, felt the shudder as a large round virtually blew off the big Hercules engine on his right side, and all of the outer wing as well. His wind screen was struck by fiery shrapnel and shattered as the Beaufort careened out of control, still aimed directly at the great ship’s bow where it struck in a massive broiling red black explosion.
It had not been Campbell’s lucky day in this round. Mother Time had finally balanced her books on his account, and he would get his Victoria Cross after all, for conspicuous gallantry in the face of the enemy.
Lt. John Hyde saw him go in with disbelief and shock, but the close proximity of flack ranging in on his own plane jarred him with adrenaline. Lane had already safely launched his fish, and Hyde had the last. He lined up on Bismarck’s port beam and then banked slightly to the left so the angle of his attack would run on an intercept course. The torpedo fell like a great white orca into the churning sea, streaking towards the target. He banked safely away, feeling his plane riddled by shrapnel from a near miss, and noted he had scored a second hit! Lane’s torpedo had been avoided, but Squadron 22 had put two javelins into Bismarck’s side, and they transmitted the jubilant news at once. As he banked sharply away Hyde passed a moment in silent prayer. There would be an empty chair tonight at the officer’s mess. He sighed, turning for home, one man short.
Aboard Bismarck Lütjens heard the thump and explosion of the torpedoes with dismay. They had been cruising all day with nary a sign of the enemy. He had finally come to feel he had given the pursuing British ships the slip, as Prince Eugen reported that their ploy had been successful. The British were following her out into the Atlantic! In the meantime Bismarck sped east, intent on finding the fat convoy they had been warned about. Then, out of the grey sky came a big Catalina sea plane, and he knew they had been sighted again at last.
The real surprise had been the flight of fast enemy torpedo bombers that followed soon after. Thankfully his men had clamored to action stations when the search plane overflew their position. So when the attack came in Bismarck was ready for it, shooting down the first plane that had been overly bold on its torpedo run. He watched the spectacular careening crash of the Beaufort, cursing under his breath when it struck the forward bow. It was small consolation.
“What was the damage, Lindemann?” Reports were coming in from below decks where the engineers and damage crews had swarmed to the site of the explosions. On the foredeck the still burning wreckage of Campbell’s Beau was already being hosed down by the fire crews.
“That will be no problem,” Lindemann pointed forward. “They’ll have that fire out shortly, and we’ll patch up the deck. None of the main turrets were involved. And the torpedo amidships struck our heaviest armor there. Minor damage. It’s the first torpedo I’m worried about. The one that devil put into us.” He pointed to the burning wreckage on the bow.
They soon learned the lighter armor at the bow had been breached and there was severe flooding. It was necessary to slow the ship down to prevent the inflow of the sea and allow the damage crews and divers a chance to fit temporary patches and begin pumping out the water. “We’ll have to cut our speed in half,” said Lindemann. “It may be only for an hour or two, sir.”
Lütjens frowned, eager to get on after the British convoy. “Make 12 knots while repairs are completed. Keep me informed, captain. As far as we know there isn’t a British ship within a 150 miles of us now. This is nothing more than a brief delay.” He was very wrong.
Chapter 26
Tovey was informed of the Beaufort strike and he beamed with elation. “Got that one right,” he said. “Good old Coastal Command. They lost one plane but they put two torpedoes into Bismarck for it. I guess that first signal was from a Catalina after all. Now with any luck that will slow that devil down and get us back in the fight.”
“We were very lucky to have turned when we did,” said Brind. “But we’re still over a hundred miles behind her now, sir. Hopefully we can close up some of that distance in the next hour or so. But if we do catch her, we’ll be looking at a battle with the sun behind us, or worse, a night engagement.”
“And Hood?”
“Admiral Holland sends his regards, sir. He’s at least thirty miles ahead of us, and somewhat north of our heading. He’s closing on a course to intercept Bismarck now. He’ll get there first, sir. Should we have him go in or wait for us to form one battlegroup and all have a go at Bismarck together?”