The Invasion of 1950 (61 page)

He smiled to himself as he checked out his own fleet. He’d brought nine of his battleships to the encounter and dozens of smaller ships to cover their flanks, but the important part of the duel would be between the battleships. His force was spread out into line of battle, steaming directly towards the Germans, but spread out enough so they could turn to bring their stern batteries into play at a moment’s notice. He expected that the Germans, knowing they had the inferior numbers would attempt to pass through his fleet and bring their weapons to bear as quickly as possible. He welcomed such a manoeuvre. He had the fire-power to handle it and the crews he needed to hold such a steady course. The Germans might decide to try to retreat, turning at just the right moment to bring their own weapons to bear by crossing his ‘T,’ but if that happened, he would simply match their manoeuvre and pour fire on them.

The German battleships were getting closer.
Any moment now
…he smiled as he saw the flashes of light on the German ships. Their main guns had opened fire, blasting heavy shells towards the British ships. He doubted that they would hit anything at that range, even with the help of radar to guide their shells, but the fountains of water were too near his ships for comfort. He studied the German formation again and issued a set of orders, watching as the operators passed the orders on to the other ships in the fleet, which were still holding their fire. Fraser was proud of their discipline. The Germans fired again. This time, the geysers were much closer to his ships. How long had it been since either side had fired a shot in anger at another battleship? 1941?

“Fire,” he ordered quietly.

The bridge was meant to be soundproofed, but the noise of the guns echoed through the hull as the ship fired, sending a pair of heavy shells back towards the Germans. The gunnery officers would be watching them through radar now, calculating the location of the German ships and adjusting their own fire to compensate. The Germans would be doing the same. It was a battering match and one he was confident of winning. He had the numbers, and the Germans did not. He raised his binoculars to his eyes once more as towering plumes of water erupted near the German ships. A German destroyer, struck broadside by shells intended for a battleship, was blown apart in a tearing gout of fire.

Poor bastards
, Fraser thought, with the slightest flicker of amusement. The German crew had been hit by accident, but as the old saying had it, no ship could do very wrong if it struck an enemy ship. The Germans would be concentrating their own fire on the British battleships – a massive gout of water burst up near the
King George V
– but so far neither side had scored a real hit on the other’s capital ships. The ships grew closer.

“The
Howe
reports one hit, minor damage,” the radio officer reported. Fraser scowled. The Germans had found their range first and would probably plaster the unfortunate
Howe
until they cracked her open and sent her down to the bottom. He glanced over towards the
Howe
, a battleship almost completely identical to the
King George V
, and saw smoke pouring from the side of the ship. It looked bad, but his experience told him that such things were often illusionary; as long as the ship was firing and moving normally, the damage wasn't that extensive. “Her Captain reports she's still in the fight.”

Fraser’s lips twitched. “That's good,” he said, watching as the Germans grew closer. Their guns were firing rapidly now – he was almost numb to the sound and fury of the British guns, pounding away at the Germans – and he was grimly aware that it was only a matter of time before the Germans scored a hit on one of the British ships. He studied one of the enemy ships as he saw a flash and smiled as he realised that one of his ships had scored a direct hit, striking the German ship directly on its forward turret.

King George V
rang like a bell. Fraser bit off a curse as the deck rolled under him, wondering just where they had been hit; judging from the way the ship had moved, the shell had come down on the starboard armour. Damage control teams rushed through the ship as the Germans scored a second hit, moments before fire from two British ships bracketed the German battle-cruiser, sending it leaping out of the line of battle. Fraser smiled as the Royal Navy paid off an old score. The
Scharnhorst
had been a pain in the neck ever since the Germans had built it and sent it out on raiding missions. His expression fell as the Germans scored several hits in quick succession on
Prince of Wales
. Both sides were scoring regular hits now, while their smaller ships dashed around and tried to make torpedo runs or prevent the others from making torpedo runs.

“Signal to all ships,” he ordered, as one of the German battleships was enveloped in a bright light. He hoped, for a second, that they had hit it hard enough to kill it, but the German ship shrugged off the blast and kept coming. “Execute Armageddon in one minute.”

“Signal sent,” the radioman said. There was a long pause, during which the
King George V
rang again. Smoke billowed from the Prince of Wales. She was taking a pounding, and Fraser prayed that she would last long enough to take part in Armageddon. The timing was important here. In order to bring all their weapons to bear on the advancing German fleet before the enemy could take advantage of his brief moment of exposure, Fraser's ships would have to execute their turn quickly and efficiently. “All ships acknowledge Armageddon in one minute, sir
.
”

Fraser counted down the seconds in his head. The Captain barked the order at precisely the right moment and the mighty battleship began turning in the water, bringing all of its batteries to bear on the German ships. It was a trickier manoeuvre than it might seem – there was a very real danger of collision if it wasn't done properly – but the British Navy had practised it endlessly to iron out the flaws. The battleship shook again, violently, as a German bombardment smashed into the main armour covering the battleship’s vitals, but then the main guns boomed, instantly doubling the amount of fire-power that could be brought to bear on the German ships.

“Sir,” the radioman said, “
Prince of Wales
is…”

The battleship finally gave up and fell out of line. Her main batteries continued to fire on the German ships, but she had lost her conning tower, her interior seriously damaged by German shells. Fraser found himself praying that the Germans didn’t recognise the ship’s weakness. If they pounded her again, they might punch through to the ship’s magazines and detonate the shells stored there.

Prince of Wales
exploded with a fireball that rivalled anything he’d ever seen.

If there were survivors, if some of her crewmen had managed to get out of the ship and into the water, the destroyers would have to pick them up.

The smaller ships were hopelessly out of place in such a crash of the titans. As long as the Germans kept coming forward on that course, they were going to find themselves being hammered twice as hard as they could dish out. They would have to alter course themselves.

The
Graf Spee
fell out of line and heeled slightly to port. The Germans built very good ships, Fraser remembered, and they didn’t seem to have had the ill-luck of seeing the magazines exposed and detonated. The battleship wasn't shooting any longer, but was still floating, even if it had fallen out of line. The chaos was awesome, scary in a way that impressed even Fraser. The massive castle of steel was dying, but in its final moments, trying to take down one of its enemies.

And the mad slaughter went on.

***

“
Come about,”
Generaladmiral
Förste ordered as he watched the
Graf Spee
burn. It would only be a matter of time before the ship sank. They couldn’t raise anyone on the battleship, it would have to be assumed lost. They’d sunk one British battleship and seriously damaged two more, but the British were pounding them harder than he had feared.

He barked out more orders as the fleet altered course, moving so that they would head on a parallel course to the British ships, but heading in the opposite direction, widening the range enough to allow him to catch his breath. The destroyers and other smaller craft would distract the British – under the right circumstances, a destroyer could take out a battleship – while his forces completed their manoeuvre, and force them to chase him. A stern chase would be a long one, one that he knew the British would lose. They wouldn’t want to risk coming too close to the land.

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Generaladmiral
,” the operator said. The mighty ship shuddered as it altered course; it seemed as if the
Tirpitz’s
first major action would be her last. “The remainder of the fleet acknowledges.”

If I lose all these ships, my country will not forgive me
, Förste thought, coldly. Hitler himself had maintained a passionate interest in the heavy battleships since they had been constructed, although that hadn’t been matched with an interest in actually sending them out to be shot at, something that many in the Kriegsmarine
resented. The ships they'd had in 1941 could have ended the war under much more favourable terms than they’d ended up with in 1943. The combined German battleships would have been able to outfight or outrun anything they’d met.

“Concentrate fire on target nine,” he ordered as the fleet completed its long manoeuvre. For a moment, a single British ship was incredibly exposed, and as every battleship in the German fleet poured fire onto her, she broke open and exploded faster than Förste believed possible. The British were altering their own course, trying to come about as they realised what the Germans were trying, but it was too late. “Set course for home.

The battleship came under heavy fire as the British ships struck back. Förste gripped onto his chair and held himself tightly as the battleship vibrated under the impact of the British shells, before one of the shells finally scored a hit on the bridge. Förste died without knowing what had struck him and vaporised his body; while the secondary bridge would take over command of the ship, the German fleet had lost its head.

***

“
They’re making a run for it,” Fraser breathed as the German ships completed their own manoeuvre, attempting to make their way back to Kiel. The German anti-shipping aircraft had taken a beating, but he would bet good money they were trying to scramble everything they had to save their fleet.

He frowned. They didn’t have long to inflict major damage on the German ships.

“I want all ships to give chase,” he said grimly. The Germans would probably be vectoring in U-boats and other unpleasant surprises. They were supposed to have the entire area heavily mined. He didn’t want to risk his ships if he could avoid it. “Continue firing until the Germans break contact.”

The battleship shuddered again as the German ships fled and the British ships moved in pursuit. Fraser watched as the Germans slowly opened the range. A stern chase was always a long one, and judging from the way the Germans were moving, it was also going to be one that the British would lose. Shells were splashing down around the German ships, sometimes finding a target, but mainly striking the water. The Germans had taken terrible losses, but they still had four battleships and they would remain a threat.

It tore at him to issue the order, but he knew his duty. “Signal all ships. Break contact and fall into line with the flagship to proceed to Scapa Flow.”

“Aye, sir,” the radioman said. The battleship was smoking in several places, but as the reports came it, it became clear that the
King George V
hadn’t been seriously damaged. The same couldn’t be said for several other ships; the Germans had hammered them badly. Who knew what would have happened if the Germans had sought mutual immolation rather than trying to break contact?

The radioman looked up at him. “The fleet has acknowledged. They have damage reports ready.”

“Later,” Fraser acknowledged wearily. There was one final duty to be done before he could rest. “Send a signal to London…”

Fraser knew just what to say. There would be time for a full report later, one that counted the cost and the gains of the engagement, but that could wait. Churchill had said that London needed good news, and that was what Fraser intended to give them. He would give them the best news possible.

He stroked his beard as he spoke. “Tell them…that we have met the enemy, and he is ours.”