“Sir, Hood reports multiple contacts, bearing oh three oh relative, range thirty thousand yards,” the talker at the rear of the bridge said. It was if his words touched off a current of electricity around the entire compartment, as each man seemed to stiffen at his post.
“Well, glad to see that she’s got better eyes than we do,” Gordon muttered under his breath. “Pass the word to all stations.”
Eric saw motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the Exeter’s two forward turrets training out and elevating.
“Flag is directing a change in course to one seven zero true,” the talker continued. “Vessels will turn in sequence. Destroyers are to form up for torpedo attack to our stern.”
Gordon nodded in acknowledgment, and Eric could see the man was obviously in pensive thought. After their earlier exchange, Eric had no desire to attempt to discern what he was thinking. Judging from the look on the man’s face, it was probably nothing good. Looking to port, Eric could see the British destroyers starting to steam past for their rendezvous astern of Exeter, a scene that was repeated a moment later on the starboard side.
Is it my imagination, or is it getting a little bit easier to see again? Eric thought. If so, is that a good or a bad thing?
“Enemy force is turning with us,” the talker said quietly.
Now that is definitely a bad thing.
Eric had a very passing familiarity with radar, as he had been the target dummy for Ranger’s fighter squadron to practice aerial intercepts. It was obvious, given the visibility, that the Hood hadn’t sighted the enemy with the naked eye. Unless the Germans had a team of gypsies on their vessels, it appeared that they also had the ability to detect ships despite the murk.
Explains how they were able to shoot down Commander Cobleigh, Eric thought, feeling sick to his stomach. My God, they probably knew we were there long before we came out of the cloudbank but wanted to make positive identification.
The visibility was definitely starting to get better, at least at sea level. With only the distance of the British line to judge by, Eric guesstimated that visibility to the horizon was somewhere around twenty thousand yards.
Well within maximum range of everyone’s guns, he thought. I hope someone on this side knows what size force we’re facing, as I doubt the Germans are idiots.
“Sir, the Hood reports she is…”
With a roar and spout of black smoke from her side, the British flagship made the talker’s report superfluous. The rest of the British battleline rapidly followed suit, the combined smoke from their guns floating backward like roiling, black thunderheads.
I can’t see what in the hell they’re shooting at, Eric thought, searching the horizon as he felt his stomach clench.
In truth, Hood and her counterparts had only a general idea of what they were engaging. Indeed, if the commander of the opposing force, Vice Admiral Erich Bey, had actually followed his orders to simply compel the Home Fleet to sail a relatively straight course while avoiding contact, there would have been no targets for them to engage. Instead, Bey had decided to close with the last known position of the Home Fleet in hopes of picking off the vessel or vessels the Kriegsmarine’s U-boats had allegedly crippled that morning. Regardless of his reasoning, Bey’s aggressive nature had inadvertently led to his superiors’ worst nightmare—the hastily organized Franco-German force being brought into contact with the far more experienced Royal Navy.
Admiral Bey, to his credit, played the hand he had dealt himself. Moments after Hood’s initial salvo landed short of his flagship, the KMS Bismarck, the German admiral began barking orders. The first was for the radar-equipped vessels in his fleet to return fire. The second was for the entire column to change course in order to sharpen the rate of closure and allow the Vichy French vessels, limited to visual acquisition, to also engage. The final directive was for a position report to be repeatedly sent without any encryption so that nearby U-boats could immediately set course in an attempt to pick off any stragglers.
“Well, looks like the other side is game,” Captain Gordon drily observed as multiple waterspouts appeared amongst the British battleships. A moment later the distant sound of the explosions reached Eric’s ears.
“Looks like they’re over-concentrating on the front of the line though,” Eric observed.
Gordon turned to look at the American pilot.
“Would you prefer they spread their fire more evenly so we can have a taste, Leftenant?”
“No sir, not with the shells that are being slung out there.”
Gordon brought his binoculars back up.
“Still can’t see the enemy yet, but that’s why the boffins were aboard during our refit,” Gordon said. The man turned to his talker, jaw clenched.
“Tell Guns they may fire when we have visual contact or the enemy reaches nineteen thousand yards, whichever comes first,” Gordon said, his voice clipped. “Inform bridge of the eventual target’s bearing so we may get a look.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Gordon turned back towards Eric and opened his mouth when he was interrupted by the sound of ripping canvas followed by the smack! of four shells landing between Exeter and the next British cruiser in front of her. A moment later, a bell began ringing at the rear of Exeter’s bridge. Eric was about to ask what the device signified when the heavy cruiser’s forward turrets roared, the blast hitting him like a physical blow. The look of shock was obviously quite apparent, as Gordon gave Eric an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, guess I should have…”
Exeter’s captain was again interrupted, except this time by two bright flashes aboard the cruiser forward of her the British battleline. The other vessel was visibly staggered by the blows, with a fire immediately starting astern.
“Looks like Suffolk has worse luck than we do,” Gordon observed grimly. The British heavy cruiser’s turrets replied back towards the enemy, but it was obvious, even to Eric, that their companion vessel was badly hit.
“Guns reports target is at bearing two nine zero, range twenty thousand yards…”
The bell ringing cut the rating off, as it was followed immediately by the Exeter unleashing a full broadside. Gordon had already begun to swing his sight around to the reported bearing, and bent to see what his guns were up to. Eric, looking past the captain, saw Suffolk receive another hit, this one causing debris to fly up from the vicinity of her bridge. He suddenly felt his mouth go dry.
Someone has the range, he thought grimly.
“Bloody good show Guns!” Gordon shouted into the voice tube near his sight. “Give that bastard another…”
The firing gong rang again, Exeter’s gunnery officer apparently already ahead of Gordon. Eric braced himself, the roar of the naval rifles starting to cause a slight ringing in his ears. He turned to look towards the horizon, following the direction of Exeter’s guns.