“Status report,” he ordered, refusing to seem as if he had been even slightly worried by the battle. “How many did we lose?”
“We lost one fleet carrier and two smaller carriers,” the radio officer said as he tallied up the reports. The remainder of the German air-force was fleeing for home now. The RAF squadrons would have to head back to their tankers soon, before they ran out of fuel and fell out of the sky. “Two battleships were badly damaged. Three cruisers and nine destroyers were sunk, three more damaged.”
“I see,” Fraser said. Truthfully, he’d expected much more damage; the Germans had taken more of a beating than he’d dared to hope. “Is there any report from the CAG?”
“They are engaging the German fleet now,” the radio operator said. “I have no report on progress as yet.”
Fraser hadn’t expected one.
“Good,” he said. He glanced down at the plotting chart. If everything went well, they could put an end to the war in an afternoon. “Inform me the minute you get an update.”
As one of the Fleet Air Arm’s most experienced pilots, and one of the handful who could paint a German carrier on his cockpit, Flight Lieutenant Stanley Baldwin and his Gannet was in the lead force of British carrier aircraft approaching the German fleet. The briefing had been clear; the Gannets were to concentrate on the carriers. The older aircraft, armed with torpedoes and other surprises, were to wait until the German carriers had been sunk, or if Baldwin and his squadron mates failed, they were to engage the carriers themselves. Baldwin wasn’t particularly surprised at the orders; if the German carriers were sunk, the British Navy would be able to sweep the seas of German ships with ease.
What had surprised him had been the miniature carriers, converted freighters that had been quickly rigged up into tiny carriers something he’d heard about. The designs had been sitting on the back shelf somewhere in the Admiralty, gathering dust, until some of the fleet carriers had been sunk at Scapa Flow. The flight from one of those terrifyingly short decks had been the stuff of nightmares, something that he had never wanted to do in practice; the RAF pilots might think that they had it hard, but anyone who had flown off a carrier’s deck knew that they had the most dangerous job in the fleet. Baldwin would have felt safer standing in a crow’s nest during a battleship duel than flying off one of the tiny carriers — so small they didn’t even have names — but there had been no choice. It was a minor miracle that the squadron had gotten into the air without losing a single aircraft to the drink.
The enemy fleet appeared ahead of them and so did the enemy aircraft. Like the British, the Germans divided their carriers wings between fighters and various different kinds of bombers, providing a mixture of protection for the carrier and striking force for the German Navy. The British fleet had sent all of its fighters out to escort the Gannets, and, as the German aircraft drew closer, Baldwin could see that they would be well matched. The Germans were flying their modified aircraft from the last war; the British pilots were flying Seafires, modified Spitfires designed to serve on-board carriers. They were the last Spitfires in Britain, although there were still some squadrons of Spitfires in the Middle East, Australia and India, and both sides knew that this would be their swansong.
He ignored the fighters as they duked it out for air supremacy and peered down at the German fleet, hunting for the carriers. From this height, the German ships looked tiny, little toys gliding across the water, but there was little amusing about their presence now. He could see puffs of smoke, far below, that signified the firing of anti-aircraft guns… and, moments later, felt the air violently swirl around the aircraft as the shells detonated. The Germans were supposed to have some really good proximity fuses, to match with the radar guided guns, but so far, nothing was coming close to his squadron.
There, he thought, as he saw the German carriers. There were four of them, all spread out and well-protected from any submarine assault, but they were dependent upon their combat air patrol to protect them from British aircraft… and most of their fighters were busy. They would be recalling them now, trying to get them back to cover the carriers before the British bombs fell on them, but Baldwin knew that it was already too late. The last war had started with aircraft trying to bomb ships from high up in the sky and missing more often than not. Now, they would engage the German ships through a sharp dive and release their bombs at the lowest possible attitude.
His aircraft nosed down as he dove. The German carrier grew as he closed at phenomenal speed. He could see an aircraft on the deck, with tiny Germans scurrying around as if it were the end of the world. The German fighters were closing in, firing. He pulled the release handle, knowing that even if they shot him down as he tried to pull out of his dive, it would be too late for the carrier. He yanked back on the stick, feeling the plane shudder as it tried to pull out of the dive and save them both… as the rockets ignited, driving the bombs down towards the carrier with terrifying force. They would punch through the carrier’s deck and detonate inside it’s bowels.
The force of the explosion stunned him. The plane jerked as he struggled to maintain control, trying to get away from the German pilot he knew was on his tail, out for blood and revenge. He glanced back, risking his life, and saw the German carrier burning brightly and settling into the sea, other German ships were burning or firing at him as he tried to escape. It all seemed hopeless as he skimmed over a German destroyer, seeing the crewmen on the deck for a lightning-quick moment, too fast to fire on them with the Gannet’s cannons.
He found his course and sped away from the German fleet, trying to escape… and then a German fighter slipped in behind him. Baldwin tried to escape, but a Gannet was no match for a German fighter… and the aircraft disintegrated around him as the German fired, sending him smashing into the sea at a colossal speed. He died knowing that he’d hurt the Germans far worse then they’d hurt him.
“Only nine aircraft survived?”
“Yes, Admiral,” the radio operator said. His voice was profoundly shocked. Fraser had no time for shock. “All four German carriers and two of their larger ships are confirmed sunk, along with several smaller ships, but only nine of our aircraft were able to escape from the German aircraft.”
Fraser nodded once, grimly. He’d expected heavy losses, but nothing like that… and it meant that he would have to alter his plans. “I want to cut loose the Lightning and her force,” he ordered, after a moment. The destroyer Lightning headed twenty-one destroyers, the latest and most modern destroyers in the Royal Navy, and they had an excellent record for sinking German submarines. “The Lightning is to escort the remaining carriers back to Scapa Flow, where they can be rearmed and prepared to go out to sea again.”
“Yes, sir,” the radio operator said. There was a long pause. “The ships acknowledge and are starting to separate now.”
Fraser looked down at the chart. The German fleet was out there, wounded, but still dangerous, very dangerous. It was a gamble, but if they won…
“Order the Nelson and the Jellico to accompany them as well,” he said. The two battleships had both taken a serious beating and wouldn’t be fit for action for months. The remainder of the fleet is to form up on the flag and prepare to advance.”
He smiled darkly. “And signal to all ships,” he said, remembering Lord Nelson’s famous signal. It was oddly fitting for the last battleship duel that Fraser expected to see in his lifetime. “We go now to fight and sink the remainder of the German Navy before it can escape; England expects every man to do his duty.”