Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) (36 page)

“See
that is forwarded to Admiral Somerville at once.”

“Aye
sir.”

The
French were just north of Oran, and if there were four battleships then they
had emptied out the harbor. He had little doubt now. They were most likely
running for Toulon. He passed a moment of relief, glad to know he might not
blunder right into them as Glorious sped east at 30 knots. In the plot room off
the bridge he was working out the situation on the chart, marking off the range
with a compass. It was immediately obvious to him that Admiral Somerville’s
battleships were not going to catch up.

His
good friend
Lieutenant
Robert Woodfield had come onto the bridge as senior officer of the watch,
relieving Lovell, and he waved him over.

“Have a look here, Woody. The French are slipping away like a
proverbial thief in the night. Our search detail is already turning for home, but
if they stay on their present heading I’ve worked it out that Somerville hasn’t
a chance to ever catch up.”

“Not a very satisfactory turn of events,” said Woodfield.

“You know what this means,” said Wells. “If the Admiralty remains
determined to get at these ships, we’ll be the ones they tap on the shoulder.”

“Does Heath know?”

“Yes.
I spoke with him half an hour ago and he’s down there arming 823 Squadron with
torpedoes even as we speak. I have little doubt I’ll have a launch order well before
dawn.”

“Right,”
said Woodfield. “Well we’ll just have to make the best of it, hard as it may
be.”

“Sun
will be up at 07:20, but I’ll have everything ready to go in another hour. We’ll
recover our search detail a half past midnight. I’ve plotted their farthest on circle
here,” he pointed to the chart. “So if we steer this course and swing up near Cartagena,
we could be about 90 miles west of them if they have turned north towards
Mallorca.”

“And
if they turned east for Algiers?”

“Then
I’ll have to steer 040, right down the middle. In that instance I think we can
get even closer. We’re closing the range on them at ten knots per hour.”

“My
guess is that they will run parallel to the coast to a point north of Algiers
before they head north, if Toulon is where they are really headed.”

“I
thought the same. So I’m steady on for the moment unless I hear anything to
compel me to move north.”

“Right
you are, Welly… You don’t mind my calling you that, Captain?”

“Perhaps
not best in front of them men,” said Wells, “but between the two of us I’ll
miss it if you don’t.”

The
signal Wells had been waiting for, and mostly dreading, came shortly after
midnight, just as the
Swordfish
were beginning their approach for a
night recovery
. ‘Considering present situation, and decisions taken by the Admiralty,
Case Anvil is hereby ordered for 04:00 hours. Imperative you give main battle
squadron every chance to catch up.’

Woodfield
was still at his elbow when he received the message, and he handed it off to
his friend, saying nothing.

“You
know what this means,” said Woodfield quietly. “Have we even given them our
ultimatum?”

“I
can’t see how.” Wells had a look of anguish on his face.

“Some
Anvil,” said Woodfield. “That squadron out of Oran may be joining up with ships
from Algiers.”

“And
we’re the hammer now, Woody. 823 and 825 squadrons against the whole French
fleet!”

* * *

July
28, 1940 was a hard day. The leading
Swordfish
of 823 and 825 squadron had assembled on deck, two groups of eight spotted for
takeoff, two more groups waiting on the hanger deck below.
Glorious
had
closed to a range of just 60 miles, and so eight
Skua
would also be
added to the strike, for a total of 40 planes. Their engines were spinning up
and sputtering to life at 05:00 And the whole formation was aloft and assembled
over the next twenty minutes.

Wells
had been informed that the demands to be made of Admiral Gensoul had been
directly transmitted to the French Admiralty, now modified to require the
French ships immediately proceed to either Alexandria to come under British
control or to Algiers where they were to be scuttled within six hours. An
affront to French honor, and in accordance with Admiral Darlan’s orders that
the French fleet would not comply with orders from any foreign Admiralty, the
offer was rejected. Now well out to sea and still over 150 miles ahead of
Somerville’s battleship squadron, the French did not believe that the British
could back up their threats any longer.

At
05:40 that morning, the pre-dawn quiet was broken by the low, distant drone of
the
Swordfish
, coming in over the wave tops after finally locating the
French fleet again. Gensoul knew he had been spotted, but was so confident that
the British no longer posed any real threat that he remained on his heading,
taking no further evasive action.

Following
orders, Wells transmitted the follow up sighting report, indicating his planes
now had Gensoul’s squadron in sight. Five minutes later the signalman handed
him a one word message:
Anvil
, which was in turn immediately transmitted
to Commander Heath. The Old Stringbags were going in.

823
Squadron broke formation, approaching from the left, with 825 Squadron on the
right. The heart of the formation was a line of four large capital ships, the primary
targets. Ahead of them was a second formation of six light cruisers, three from
Oran and three more from Algiers. Eight to ten destroyers were steaming on the fringes
of this grand formation. As they approached, the
Swordfish
pilots
claimed they could hear the sound of alarms and sirens blaring on the bigger ships
ahead, and soon cold fingers of white light probed the darkened skies as the
ships began to switch on searchlights.

Guns
began to fire, almost randomly at first, puffing up the sky with white
explosions. Three ships launched flare rockets, which whistled up and descended
on slow parachutes, illuminating the targets more than affording any aid to the
gunners. By the time the planes were actually seen, and not simply heard, the
Swordfish
were already well lined up on the end of the formation, closing on the lumbering
battleships
Bretagne
and
Provence
like a pack of hyenas stalking
water buffalo on the African savannah.

The
pilots took aim at the leading battlecruisers, but their torpedoes would not
find them that dark morning.
Strausbourg
in the van of the battle
squadron immediately accelerated to its top speed of 32 knots,
Dunkerque
following in her frothing wake. A gap appeared between those sleek new ships
and the old WWI era battleships behind them, already struggling along at only
just 20 knots.

The
first eight planes on either side had little luck. One torpedo struck a fitful
destroyer running alongside
Bretagne
. Another hit the battleship full
amidships. The second wave got in much closer, braving the thickening AA fire
as the French finally focused their defense. Two planes were hit and felled,
the remaining fourteen all getting torpedoes in the water. Of these eight would
find their targets, four plowing into
Provence
at the rear of the
formation and four more striking
Bretagne
.

The
explosions rocked the big ships from side to side, and it was soon apparent
that they had both taken severe damage.
Bretagne
, hit five times now,
was quickly listing to her starboard side.
Provence
had taken one hit
that disabled her port side engines. She wallowed in the sea, down at the stern
and the last ignominious attack was put in by the escorting
Skuas
, which
swooped down from above to deliver bombs. Three more hits were obtained and it
soon became obvious that neither one of the battleships would survive the attack.

Like
bees that had delivered their only sting, the
Swordfish
could do little
more. They fluttered about, some making a vain attempt to get after the faster
French ships with bombs, but to no avail. When all was said and done, the sun
rose over the scene to reveal that the British attack had claimed the two old
battleships, the destroyer
Mogador
, and the lives of over 1300 French
sailors.

By
08:00 the planes were being recovered and Wells messaged Admiral Somerville
with results, asking if another strike should be mounted. The British had
learned that the incident had stirred up the Italians on Sardinia, and that
planes were up from Cagliari, the humpback three engine bombers out to see what
they could find. The French had another 380 sea miles to go before they were
safely home, but now, with Italian bases active at Cagliari, Sassari and
Ajaccio it was deemed imprudent to allow the sole carrier to linger. Somerville
signaled that the ship should turn and rejoin his battle squadron, which
proceeded to Oran, finding no more than a few submarines, minelayers and
Colonial Sloops remaining there. Algiers was also abandoned.

In
the end the British were left with a result that was 90% of what they had
accomplished in the history Fedorov knew, and with the same consequences. The
attack was reviled in France, lining up all the remaining French naval units in
sworn opposition to the Royal Navy from that day forward. It also dealt a hard
blow to General Charles De Gaulle’s efforts in organizing his Free French
resistance, but Operation Catapult did accomplish one thing politically by
proving the resolve of Great Britain to fight on without scruples, which
immediately stiffened the flagging morale at home and did much to bolster
Churchill’s position.

Yet
the real prizes within the French fleet still remained at large. The fast
battlecruisers
Strausbourg
and
Dunkerque
, and all the light
cruisers and remaining destroyers made it safely to Toulon where they would
continue to pose a dangerous threat. More than this, the operation had not
challenged the three modern French battleships,
Richelieu
at Casablanca,
and
Jean Bart
and the late arrived
Normandie
at Dakar. These five
ships would loom ever larger over the scene in the months ahead, though Britain
had achieved at least one thing by preventing the concentration of all these powerful
ships in one location. Three of the five were east of Gibraltar at Casablanca
and Dakar, potential prizes for the British if they could be obtained, certain
enemies otherwise. The last two were At Toulon, potential prizes for the
Germans and Italians that would cause much strife in the days ahead as Britain
considered how it could maintain the long supply line through the Med to
Cunningham in Alexandria.

As
a adjunct to Operation Catapult, a small British detachment under HMS
Hermes
had mounted an air raid on the
Richelieu
in conjunction with a mining
operation by frogmen, but failed to inflict any serious damage. This served
only to telegraph future British intentions to Rear Admiral Plancon, Flag
Officer, French Navy West Africa. He called an emergency meeting with Admiral
Laborde on the
Normandie
, and Captains Barthes and Marzin on the other
two battleships in French West Africa. The universal consensus was that Vichy
France should extend their armistice with Germany to the status of alliance,
and forsake Britain and the West altogether.

Admiral
Darlan had been leaning this way for some time, believing England’s days were
numbered and wanting to place the last of his dwindling chips on a winning
number. He met with Marshall Petain, and a delegation was sent to Berlin. Three
days later the news shocked the world and rattled the grey heads in Whitehall.
France had not only fallen as an ally, it had now become a foe.

Chapter
33

“What
have we done, Woody?” said Wells when
it was all over. “We sink a pair of old hulking dreadnoughts that would
probably have spent the entire war rusting in port, but the fast battlecruisers
got clean away!”

“We
did what we had to,” said Woodfield. “You weren’t flying the planes, Wells. All
you could do was get the ship in close and carry out your orders, and that you
did well enough.”

“Yet
we were supposed to try and stop them, weren’t we?”

“You
got hold of their leg and took a good bite, Captain. Then you were out there,
well in front of the rest of Force H with Italian bombers inbound and only 8
fighters for air cover. What more could you do? Somerville was simply too far
behind to finish the job.”

“Yes
we did, but it’s my name written in the history books this time, isn’t it. I’ll
go down as the man who ordered the dastardly deed. I got hold of Admiral
Gensoul’s leg alright, then stabbed our former friend and ally in the back. Now
look what has happened. The Vichy government is in cahoots with Hitler, and
it’s all my fault.” He felt that, of all days, this surely must be England’s
darkest hour.

“Don’t
get a big head on your shoulders, Welly.” Woodfield jabbed his friend in the
shoulder. “That order came from well above your pay grade.”