Now Böhmer had to assume he had been spotted. Minor engine problems had seen the ship lag behind when the order was given to turn east. Böhmer did not think it important enough to report, and kept on at 15 knots until his engineers sorted the problem out. In the meantime, he had effected a rendezvous with Kurt Hoffmann, glad to have a surface escort again. The dark silhouette of the Scharnhorst was a most welcome sight. Yet the four fighters he had up now would be running low on fuel soon, and would have to be relieved. As for the British, while he had a general idea of their location, the morning recon operation sighting reports were already well over an hour old. He could send his Stukas out, looking for trouble, but his inclination was to get a good fighter defense up first, which is exactly what he ordered. He had eight 109s still available, and sent them all up, intending to send a few to cover Tirpitz to the north. The fighters began taking off, fanning out to the west, and it was Willie Brandt in Number 5 who made the first contact—a group of four enemy planes.
Hans Schiller in Number 7 to the south saw them too as he was climbing through 20,000 feet. They appeared to be coming from the southwest, but a minute after 12:00, another warning came in from the west. Kempf in Number 8 also had contacts, at least five planes. He saw another Messerschmitt streak in to attack, but it was caught in a withering fire from the rear mounted guns on this new plane type. A pair of Vickers K .707 MGs gunned him down, and he made a mental note to swing round and make his pass from the front of this target.
Over the next 30 minutes, those eight Germans fighters had to contend with two well coordinated strikes from the British carriers. The sky was suddenly alive with the movement of enemy aircraft. Brandt could see several groups of planes in formation, lower, slower, and obviously looking for trouble. He dove on one group, riddling one plane from above and sending the others scattering to evade. So the British have a new torpedo bomber, he noted. The heavy round nosed lances were evident beneath their fuselages as he climbed after his pass. Then two fighters came swooping in and he quickly banked right, soon finding himself in a heated dogfight.
Those eight German fighters pirouetted about, more maneuverable than anything else in the sky, and their dizzy dance seemed to multiply their numbers in the minds of the British bomber pilots. Two of the three strike groups had been broken up, twos and threes reforming and getting back on their attack heading. The pilots strained to look for targets, squinting at the sea below and still casting wary glances this way and that for German fighters. Then one man called out on the radio—Skunk at three o’clock! Lieutenant Commander Robert Everett of 810 Squadron thought they might keep on and find more targets. This looked to be nothing more than a destroyer. He pressed on, but saw nothing but the empty sea. The Germans had turned east some time ago, and by the time the planes got out to the reported location of Peter Strasser, the fleet-footed carrier was nowhere to be seen.
If all these angry bees are here, the hive must be somewhere, thought Everett. He kept on, with four wing mates, but saw nothing but that lone destroyer. It soon became a question of better than nothing, and so he took his planes in. That was going to seal the fate of DD Gunnar that day. It would dodge four of the five torpedoes after it, but not the one from Lieutenant Commander Everett. He saw the contact explosion, high white spray amidships, and grinned. Now the only carrier he had to find out here was the good ‘Old Ark.’
Kapitan Theodore Kranke was not happy. He had been given a very privileged role in this operation, the lead scouting group for the fleet, and he had certainly done that well enough, finding the enemy the previous day. Yet that engagement with a single destroyer and cruiser had been very costly. The sight of his brother ship Lutzow careening over like that was most disheartening. A destroyer, a cruiser, and finally a battleship, and that had been the end for Lutzow, a most able ship.
Raeder is getting too bold now, he thought. He had another aircraft carrier, and so he thinks he can send the fleet anywhere he pleases. We barely got away from that battleship—a new ship from the looks of it, and fast. If this were 1940, my ship would have little more than a British cruiser to worry about, unless we ran into the Hood. Now, most every battleship I’m likely to see in the Norwegian Sea has the speed to get after me, and I can do nothing about that except turn and run.
He shrugged, realizing his ship had been built to fight in 1940, but things were very different now, and Admiral Scheer was already obsolete. That was what had just happened to him. After slipping away, leaving Newcastle, Ledbury and Lutzow to their fate, he made a wide circling maneuver west and north around Jan Mayen, using the island itself, wreathed in fog, to mask his position. He had it in mind to then turn northeast and run on a course roughly parallel to the one he expected the convoy to take. Then he could come 30 points to starboard and see if he could take those merchantmen on the flank. The maneuver had been executed perfectly, over a long 24 hour period, and he was approaching the convoy zone again, guns ready, lookouts high on the mainmast, eager for vengeance. There, to his great surprise, was the looming presence of yet another British battleship, heavy on the horizon. He saw the long silhouette begin to compress, and knew that the enemy had turned toward him to give chase.
“Helmsman! Come about, 180 degrees! All ahead flank!”
Turn and run…. It was all he had in his pocket for such an encounter, and he steamed, angry to find himself right back where he was the previous day, running from a British battleship. It was as if a hungry man had just snuck into the kitchen after hours and was caught by a knife wielding cook. He could keep his distance now if he ran full out. The King George V class topped out at 28 knots, just like his own ship. As long as he was out of range of those 14-inch guns, he was safe. But if they had a pair of cruisers to harry him as well… Lutzow, rolling over into the dark cold sea, and nothing he could do for those men now. He had many friends on that ship.
So now we play the game again, he thought. How in the world did they know where I was? Could they have picked me up on radar? Was I spotted by a plane we failed to see? It was frustrating, and maddening at the same time. Here in these latitudes it was daylight round the clock in this season. There was no inky black darkness to hide in at night, just the long dull grey smear.
After running an hour, they eventually shook the dark shadow of the battleship and Krancke turned south west, intending to loop around and see about coming at the convoy from behind. It was then that the watchmen sounded the alarm again—ship sighted, only this time it was just what he feared, a pesky destroyer, a ship that had the speed to find him, mark his location on a chart, and stay on his heels. Only time could shake a determined destroyer Captain. Admiral Scheer had very long sea legs and could out last a ship like that. Yet if he turned to engage it, the destroyer could simply make smoke, put on speed, and race away. The worst of it was this—where there was a destroyer, a British cruiser or two were not far behind.
So the battle yesterday jangled their nerves, he thought. They know I’m still out here, and now they have two sightings in the space of an hour, so they also know what I’ve done with this last maneuver. I have no air cover, and it wouldn’t surprise me to see us fighting off an air strike soon. Damn the British. Damn the Royal Navy, they are simply too efficient! Yet it could be worse…. Yes? It could be very much worse. Thus far we have not heard a whisper about naval rocketry, so whatever I encountered up round the Cape in the Kara Sea last year isn’t on the prowl…. Yes, it was almost a year ago—Operation Wunderland. I was to go show the flag to the Russians, reconnoiter their bases, harass their shipping, but look what happened to me.