“That sounds likely, sir.”
At that point the radar watch sounded a warning. “Sir, range decreasing. My contact is much stronger now, I make it just under 18,000 meters, and closing.”
“Closing? Then they’ve fallen off in speed.” The Captain’s eyes narrowed. He wondered if his enemy had turned to give battle again. “How fast is that range diminishing?”
“Very slowly sir. I’d make their current speed at about 24 knots.”
“24? Then they’ve gone to ahead two thirds. Steady on at this speed for the moment….” He looked at Laurence. “What do you make of this? He hasn’t turned, because the range would be diminishing much faster if that were the case, but why reduce speed like this? Might he have difficulties with his engines?”
“Possibly,” said Laurence. “But they’re running into the thick of that foul weather out there, so he may have reduced in rougher seas. Then again, it might be a fuel issue sir. We don’t know how much they might have taken on before we interrupted the party.”
“I’m inclined to think that,” said Sanford. “Let’s close up to about 16,000 meters and then reduce to match their speed. If we do keep on at our best, then we’ll catch him in about two hours. If he is in the thick of that storm, we would be too. It would be all gunnery by radar, and we haven’t a lick of training under our belts with that. Those salvoes we fired back there were the first gunnery trial we’ve had. Engaging a cagey enemy in a close quarters gun duel by radar doesn’t seem advisable.”
“I would agree.”
“So we’ll ease up to get a better fix on his position with our own radar, and then fall off to match his speed. In the meantime, we’ll have to keep an eye over our shoulder for that carrier.”
In another twenty minutes, they fell off to 24 knots, and the range to contact held steady. There was no sign of any contact to their south or east. The Goeben had made a clean break, but they knew it was out there somewhere, and it could come only one direction soon—north. Captain Sanford’s plan of getting astride that route was a good one, and it was going to toss the hot potato to the Germans in short order, and force some difficult decisions on them.
Chapter 2
“Are they still closing?” Kapitan Heinrich was getting concerned now. It seemed that he was going to have to fight, one way or the other here. They had fallen off to 24 knots, and had been watching the enemy slowly close the range. Even at this speed, he was burning more fuel than he wanted to, but now his plan had changed. There was no way he could run all the way to Casablanca, but soon they would have daylight, and a good possibility of strong air cover, depending on the weather. He had already messaged the Luftwaffe to demand any support they could fly, and when Admiral Raeder seconded that request an hour later, the local commanders at those southern airfields were already planning to get crews out in the rain to prep the aircraft.
Then he got the answer to his question. Their pursuers had also fallen off in speed. The range was now holding steady at about 16,000 meters. Just to discourage them further, he had Schirmer fire off one salvo by radar, but nothing came back at them. At their present speed, it would be another 16 hours cruising time to the German held coast of Spanish Morocco, about 740 kilometers northeast now. By sunrise they would cut 500 kilometers off that distance, and be just within Stuka strike range. Every minute after sunrise favored his game, but he wondered what the Goeben was doing.
The carrier had gone radio silent, knowing the British had Huff Duff teams all along the African coast, and not wanting to let them triangulate to get a fix on their position. But the Goeben had to be well south, the distance being determined by how far they ran to the east before they would have to turn north. This was what Kapitan Heinrich was assuming, and it would mean that the pursuing British cruisers would probably get themselves into a position to cut the carrier off. Goeben would not be able to fly her aircraft in this weather, not off that small flight deck in these seas. If they were caught, they would be badly outgunned.
That would put a tough choice before him. It was agreed that if either ship was again engaged in what looked to be a fixed battle, they would send a signal to that effect, as their position would already be known to the enemy. If he got such a message from Goeben, should he then come about to render assistance? Or should he cut cards with the enemy, and continue north at his best speed, hoping to save at least one half of his precious cargo? That was the dilemma. Admiral Raeder had told him to avoid combat, but the thought of abandoning Goeben in her hour of need galled him.
Yet you accepted this risk when you agreed to Falkenrath’s request to separate, he thought. As it stands, neither one of us can make it to Casablanca at anything over 18 knots now. Every minute I run north, even at 24 knots, I come closer to the moment when I might find this ship dead in the water, with all our fuel exhausted. I will have to reduce to 18 knots in an hour, and that might get me to Agadir with a little left in the bunkers, assuming the British don’t get to us first.
Then he got a strange coded message. It was just one line. “FM: GW, TO: KW — 005 – 022642 / 21:42 — MEET YOURSELF OFF SPANISH MOROCCO – ZZZZ.” The first two code words were simple plays on initials. GW was Group West, and KW was the designation for Kaiser Wilhelm. The number 005 indicated the number of words in the message segment, followed by the date, and time. Then came the message…
Meet himself? Of course! The German carrier Prinz Heinrich was still up there, and Raeder had been using it to run aviation fuel out to the Canary Islands. They had installed fuel pumps and hoses on that ship. If we could make a rendezvous with the carrier, it could serve to refuel us enough to reach Casablanca. But again, what about the Goeben? Perhaps I could make that rendezvous, transfer my cargo to Prinz Heinrich and take on enough fuel to turn south and give battle. That was going to be his hope and plan, though he still wondered if the Goeben could survive an engagement with those two new enemy heavy cruisers long enough for his effort to matter.
He did not know it then, but he was worrying for no reason. The Goeben broke off to the east, but it was not coming north now as both Heinrich and Sanford expected. Like a falcon on the wing set free by its handler, Kapitan Falkenrath had run due east until he was out of radar range of the enemy, then he made a wide turn, not to the north, but to the south. He came about, and then took a course due west again, back-tracking, about 20 kilometers south of the position where the two ships first separated. All the while the two British cruisers ran northeast at high speed after Kaiser Wilhelm, and Goeben was now free to ease on out into the Atlantic.
There was no way the Goeben would ever reach Casablanca now, or so Falkenrath had deduced. But he had no intention of taking the course the enemy most expected. He was heading west instead, intending to find Ermland again, and then he would drink his full and slip out into the Atlantic, looking for fair skies and open seas.
“A sticky situation,” said Somerville to Wells aboard HMS Formidable. “The Germans are making a run to the northeast. It appears they have no intention of operating against our convoys. The last message from Captain Sanford indicated they had been attempting a refueling operation with a tanker at sea. He broke that up, and then got into a footrace northeast with the Germans.”