Paradox Hour (20 page)

* * *

“Well
Gentlemen,” said Tovey. “We have a problem.” The Admiral had signaled
Kirov
that he wished to convene a private conference using the special equipment the Russian engineers had given him. They had rigged out a small radio set, with special encryption module, that would allow
Kirov
and
Invincible
to communicate by voice without the need to worry their conversations might be intercepted. Using the computing power available to them, they were rapidly rotating the encryption stream on the data, and unscrambling it as the signal was received on each unit. Anyone listening in would just hear a wash of static that would sound like jamming, but the communication was crystal clear on both the friendly ships, and it was something no power on this earth of 1941 could ever decipher or unscramble. A similar unit was given to the
Argos Fire
to allow Miss Fairchild to listen in from her executive office.

 Tovey had more to discuss than simple wireless message traffic could easily carry. He opened the conference with the news he had just received from Captain Dalrymple-Hamilton on
Rodney
.

“In spite of our best effort, it appears we’re already too late.
Rodney
has happened across a German U-boat, and she’s been hit by a torpedo, right amidships. There’s flooding below decks, very near the cargo hold, and a small list has started. They will counter-flood, but the outcome is uncertain. Seas are rising, and things could get… difficult.”

Elena Fairchild cringed at that. She was listening with her own Captain Gordon MacRae, and Mack Morgan. She fingered the send button, unable to contain herself. “Is the ship in danger of sinking?” she asked, the worry evident in her voice.

“Not at the moment,” came Tovey’s reply. “But that could change. There were four destroyers in escort, and they went off like mad hounds after that U-boat. There was no confirmed kill, but the enemy appears to have been beaten off.
Rodney
has had to cut speed to ten knots, and now it appears unlikely that she’ll be able to make the transit to Boston. Her Captain has convened a meeting of his own, and he’s asking me for orders now. Admiralty will hear about this in due course and weigh in. It’s very likely the ship may be recalled to a British port. In that event, sailing in and announcing you have a cargo inspection to make will be somewhat complicated. In fact, it may be out of the question. Any suggestions?”

“We need to get to that ship while she is still at sea,” said Elena. “I can break off and make the rendezvous directly if you still wish to stay in pursuit of the
Hindenburg.”

“Yes,” said Tovey. “I had thought I might be of some use in that meeting, but we’ve other news that bears on all of this. The
Tirpitz
group is making a good run on the Faeroes-Iceland Gap.
King George V
and
Prince of Wales
are on that watch, but we must plan for every contingency. If those ship’s break through, I’m afraid
Invincible
, and the Fleet Admiral commanding her, will have to continue west.”

“Then we must divide our forces,” Admiral Volsky suggested. “I might recommend that we send our own submarine,
Kazan
, along with Miss Fairchild. That would secure the undersea threat to
Rodney
. As for your business west, Admiral Tovey, I do not think it wise that you sail alone.
Kirov
will accompany you, and we will stay in the chase. Does anyone object?”

“That is well and good, Admiral,” came Tovey’s voice. “Captain Hamilton has asked about transferring his cargo to
Britannic.
In fact
,
if it is determined that his ship is seriously compromised by this damage, I believe that is exactly what the Admiralty will order.”

“They’ll attempt to move all that cargo?” said Fairchild. “Won’t that be dangerous. Gold bullion and these Elgin marbles are quite heavy.”

“Indeed,” said Tovey. “It would mean that Britannic will have to moor alongside Rodney, and the two ships will be one big target if there are any more U-Boats in the region.”

“All the more reason to get
Kazan
moving as soon as possible,” said Volsky. “Gromyko may have more work than he expected out here.”

The Admiral’s comment was prophetic, and it was a matter of some discussion far to the north, where another conference of Naval hat bands was being convened aboard the Battleship
Rodney
.

Chapter 17

HMS Rodney, 00:10 hours, 6 May, 1941

“Well Gentlemen,
that’s our present situation,” said Captain Hamilton. “We’ve no further instructions from the Admiralty, but that could change. Your thoughts are, of course, welcome.”

The Captain had pulled his senior officers together, the Commander John Grindle, RN, the navigator Lt. Cdr. George Gatacre, RAN, the Torpedo Officer Lt. Cdr. Roger Lewis, RN, Captain Coppinger from
Britannic
, and an American, one Lieutenant Commander Joseph H. Wellings, USN. He looked at the American as if he knew the man would be the first to speak, and he was not disappointed.

Wellings had come aboard as a liaison officer, and was now returning home to the United States. He seemed to want Dalrymple-Hamilton’s ear the moment he arrived, and had pressed him on details concerning the ship’s course, and other events underway that might affect operations here.

“If I may, sir,” said Wellings. “What’s to be gained by holding this heading? With that torpedo damage, we’ll be lucky to make ten knots, and the danger from U-boats remains very real. Beyond that, I have learned there is a strong German battlegroup to our northeast. A lame duck makes for easy prey. If they get wind of us here, our situation could become even more perilous.”

He was a tall, thin man, dark eyed, clean, and dressed out in proper US Navy whites. The stripes on his cuff and shoulder insignia made him to be a Lieutenant Commander.

But Wellings was more than he seemed.

He had first come on the scene in Bristol, England, near the Clyde anchorage where HMS
Rodney
had been waiting to escort Convoy WS-8B on her initial outward leg, before breaking off with
Britannic
and heading west to Halifax and Boston. It was the second half of the ‘Winston Special’ series that was bound to reinforce the British position in Egypt. The first half had been designated WS-8A, dubbed the Tiger Convoy by Sir Winston himself, as he wanted it to sail boldly across the Med instead of going round the Cape of Good Hope. Thankfully, he had been persuaded that would be suicidal, and the presence of unexpected reinforcements in Egypt mitigated the urgency.

So Tiger Convoy had become a domestic cat instead, passing safely round the cape, and making a much needed delivery of precious Matilda and Crusader tanks, and Hurricane fighters, to General Wavell. Those tanks would soon help Wavell and O’Connor hold off Rommel’s new offensive aimed at Tobruk.

That night in Bristol the real Lieutenant Commander Wellings, USN, was having dinner at a hotel when a tall man in crisp navy whites came drifting into the dining room, his eyes searching and immediately falling on his fellow naval officer. He came right over, removing his cap as he spoke.

“Lieutenant Wellings?”

“Yes?”

“May I join you, sir?”

Wellings was accustomed to receiving odd messages at any hour, for he had been an American Assistant Naval Attaché in London for the last year. Now he was heading home, scheduled to board the British battleship
Rodney
for the trans-Atlantic cruise. The battleship would escort Convoy WS-8B out of the Clyde, and then eventually steam for New York and Boston for a refit.

The man seated himself opposite Wellings and smiled. “Forgive the interruption, sir, but I have new orders for you.”

“New orders?”

“Yes, sir.” The man handed him an envelope. “It seems Washington would like you home just a bit sooner. You’re now scheduled to fly out of Bristol on DC-3 number 171, sir. Your flight will leave at 20:30 hours. One stop at Reykjavik, Iceland for a 24 hour layover.”

“Damn,” said Wellings. “That’s only just enough time to get to the air field.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sir, I’ve arranged a cab for you. It should be waiting outside in about twenty minutes. They’ll hold the plane.” The man looked at a wrist watch, too loose on his thin wrist, and smiled again. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. Somewhat of an inconvenience, but at least you’ll get straight home in a couple of days.”

“Better than idling aboard
Rodney
for a week,” said Wellings, finally warming to the idea. The man saluted, excused himself, and slipped away. He didn’t even recall his name, though he did note the man was of equal rank. Funny he should not have met him sooner, but he assumed he was one of many new officers arriving in theater as the war began to heat up to a low boil.

We’ll be in it soon enough, he thought, but for the moment I’m happy to be out of it. Wellings finished his steak, quaffing down the glass of wine he had hoped to linger over, then opened the envelope and briefly noted his new assignment. Everything seemed in order—a bit hastily typed, but in order. He sighed, looking at his watch, then got up and went to look for the cab.

Hours later a man boarded HMS
Rodney
with a crisp salute as he was piped on, one Lieutenant Commander Wellings, American Liaison to the Admiralty, at least according to the guest manifest. Yet he was not who he seemed.

Sometime later Wellings sat contentedly in his navy whites, and comfortably in his assumed identity, one of seven men around a table in the Captain’s quarters on HMS
Rodney
. They had been detached ten hours ago, and Convoy WS-8B was now steaming due south, diverted away from the area where the Royal Navy was trying to find and engage a German raiding task force led by the much feared battleship
Tirpitz
. Captain Hamilton was looking for support for a decision he was already leaning heavily on, and Wellings was just the man to give it to him.

“I’ve got some information I’ve been ordered to share, sir.”

“Information?”

“Yes, sir,” Wellings leaned in, lowering his voice slightly as if to convey the notion that he was now speaking confidentially. The others were clearly interested.

“We have a Coast Guard cutter at sea in the vicinity of the operations out west,” he began. “Her regular duty is ice watch patrol, but it seems one of your convoys out of Halifax took it on the chin recently. She was therefore detailed to assist in survivor recovery for convoy HX-126.”

“Yes,” said Hamilton. “Bloody business that. The poor lot ran afoul of a wolf pack. Lost quite a few ships, I’m afraid.”

“Right,” said Wellings, “
Cockaponset
, and
British Security
went down in the final attack.
Darlington Court
had a near miss. Well, the
Modoc,
that’s our cutter, reported in yesterday, sir, and I am now at liberty to disclose this message to you here. She sighted battleship
Tirpitz
at these coordinates and times.” He handed the Captain a paper, and Hamilton squinted at it briefly before handing it off to his navigator.

“If you chart that,” Wellings continued, “You’ll see that this present heading is all wrong, sir. Your Admiralty may believe the
Tirpitz
group was still on a heading to the southwest, but from this sighting, it’s clear they have turned southeast. We believe they are now attempting to rendezvous with another German task force emerging from the Med.”

“Bad dinner guests,” said Captain Hamilton, “the lot of them.”

 “I’m afraid so sir,” said Wellings. “Remember,
Tirpitz
is not alone. We had seaplanes up from Iceland to see if we could spot this battlegroup, and one had a good look… before it was shot down.”

“Nasty flak guns on the
Tirpitz
,” said the Captain. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Oh, it wasn’t shot down by flak, it ran into a German fighter patrol. Gentlemen, the German carrier
Graf Zeppelin
is also a part of this enemy battlegroup, along with the battlecruisers
Scharnhorst
,
Gneisenau
, a heavy cruiser and two destroyers. If this is so, our position here, and any further movement west on this course, is extremely hazardous. You’ll have to turn due south at once to have any chance in the world of evading the
Tirpitz
battlegroup. In fact, returning to England would be the better course.”

“I see,” said Hamilton. “Excepting the fact that I have orders to the contrary, Mister Wellings. I assume this report of yours was also forwarded to the Admiralty? We’ve heard nothing from them at all on this.”

“As you might imagine, sir, Western Approaches Command is all astir with this business. The message was sent, but whether it received prompt attention or not is anybody’s guess. They may not have picked up this heading change yet. I’ve been there, and I can say the situation gets a bit chaotic at times, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”

“Not at all,” said Hamilton. “Get enough Admirals in any one room and no one ends up knowing what to do.” He considered for a moment. “And what course would you say we adopt, Mister Wellings?”

“If you intend to stay at sea, then 180 degrees due south, sir. It’s really your only option, and you will have to make your best speed even then, in spite of the damage. Wellings folded his arms. He had made his pitch, and knew enough not to say anything further until someone else spoke first.

“Gentlemen?” Captain Hamilton regarded the other men present, but no one seemed to have any objection to the idea. The navigator knew his business well, and even without having to look at a chart he confirmed what Wellings was saying. “We’ll definitely be in the stew here if we don’t turn, sir,” he said.

“Very well, gentlemen,” Captain Hamilton decided. “It may also interest you that I am in receipt of a message from Admiral Tovey that pertains to this decision. In fact, I was just discussing it with Captain Coppinger of the
Britannic
when this damn U-boat stuck it to us. This isn’t just any mission we’re on here. This is the King’s business, and my charge is to get this ship, and its cargo, safely to Boston. However, Admiral Tovey is of a mind with Mister Wellings here. He suggests that given the German operation now underway, to proceed west as planned would be very perilous. In fact, he has asked me to move south to effect a rendezvous at sea with a ship being detached from his task force, an air defense cruiser, though he did not mention what ship. Considering his opinion on this matter as the commander of Home Fleet, and in the absence of any response to my request for instructions from the Admiralty, I think we have a consensus here. I must agree with everything that Mister Wellings has said.”