Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) (35 page)

Somerville
took up a typewritten page and began:

“It is
impossible for us, your comrades up to now, to allow your fine ships to fall
into the power of the German enemy. We are determined to fight on until the
end, and if we win, as we think we shall, we shall never forget that France was
our Ally, that our interests are the same as hers, and that our common enemy is
Germany. Should we conquer, we solemnly declare that we shall restore the
greatness and territory of France. For this purpose we must make sure that the
best ships of the French Navy are not used against us by the common foe. In
these circumstances, His Majesty's Government have instructed me to demand that
the French fleet now at Mers el Kebir and Oran shall act in accordance with one
of the following alternatives:

(a)
Sail with us and continue the fight until victory against the Germans.

(b)
Sail with reduced crews under our control to a British port. The reduced crews
would be repatriated at the earliest moment.

If
either of these courses is adopted by you we will restore your ships to France
at the conclusion of the war or pay full compensation if they are damaged
meanwhile.

(c)
Alternatively if you feel bound to stipulate that your ships should not be used
against the Germans unless they break the Armistice, then sail them with us
with reduced crews to some French port in the West Indies—Martinique for
instance—where they can be demilitarized to our satisfaction, or perhaps be
entrusted to the United States and remain safe until the end of the war, the
crews being repatriated.

If you
refuse these fair offers, I must with profound regret, require you to sink your
ships within 6 hours.

Finally,
failing the above, I have the orders from His Majesty's Government to use
whatever force may be necessary to prevent your ships from falling into German
hands.”

Somerville
put the paper aside. “That was the easy part,” he said. “The real work is in
your hands, gentlemen. Should all else fail the code word signaling opening of
hostilities is Anvil, and the guns of the battleship squadron shall be the
hammer. We sail for Oran in three hours. That will be all.”

Those
three hours never went by so quickly. The destroyers were out first, eleven in
all. Then came the light cruisers,
Arethusa
and
Enterprise
.
Behind them the big battleships moved in a stately procession,
Resolution,
Valiant, Nelson
and
Rodney
. Wells was to bring up
Glorious
in
the rear, with a flotilla of destroyers waiting in escort when the ship cleared
the harbor. It would be a journey of 420 kilometers to Oran, which was over
twelve hours sailing time east into the Alboran Sea and the Mediterranean.

As the
ships steamed out of the harbor, a man was watching from the Spanish coast
sitting lazily on the beach at the little coastal town of Concepcion, north of
the isthmus of Gibraltar. He raised a brown hand, squinting, then stood up
slowly, brushing off his white trousers and slipping his sandals back on. It
was a beautiful hot late July day, and he wished he could stay longer, but now
he had business to attend to.

Juan Enrique
Calderon had sat on that beach every day that month. The show he was watching
now was supposed to have been staged much earlier, on July 3rd in the history
Fedorov knew. Instead the action in the Denmark Strait had delayed these
events, and shuffled the cast a bit, but the script of the play would remain
the same, right down to each letter and period in Admiral Somerville’s note of
ultimatum.

Now
Juan had his little part to play, just a note scribbled on the margins of these
great events, but one that would have a most dramatic effect. He walked into
the little hotel there on Paseo Martimo, and slipped into the telephone booth,
his brown finger dialing quickly.

The
voice on the other end of the line answered with the familiar greeting, and
Juan Enrique spoke his quiet message. “Just calling to confirm that I will
definitely attend the event tomorrow morning. Please tell my friend that it is
a beautiful day here. The birds are lovely off the coast, I saw four white
doves and a nice fat goose! I wish he could see it.”

That
was all.

Yet it
was enough to change all the history that would be recorded on the following
morning, for Señor Calderon was working for a deeply nested intelligence
section keeping a close eye on British ship movements at Gibraltar, and the
four white doves were the four battleships out there on the horizon now, with
one fat goose behind—HMS
Glorious
.

* * *

When
Admiral Marcel-Bruno Gensoul received the news that a
large British task force was now heading east from Gibraltar, he was
understandably tense and upset. What would a British force of that size, four
battleships and a carrier, be doing? He knew before he had even finished asking
himself. The question now was what would he do? He looked out on the fleet where
it lay at anchor and realized his predicament. The guns of his most modern
ships were pointing landward.
Strausbourg
and
Dunkerque
had two
quadruple turrets both forward of the conning tower. If caught in their present
position they would have no chance if hostilities were to break out.

A
disciplined and efficient man, Gensoul was under no illusions about his
situation now. Unless he took his fleet to sea, and quickly, it would not
survive. He immediately sought instructions from the French Admiralty, pacing
as the sun hung lower in the sky, knowing that the British had departed from
Gibraltar at 15:00. At 17:00 he was informed by cable that Darlan could not be
located, and that the French Chief of Staff, Vice-Admiral Le Luc at French
Naval headquarters at Nerac, was now issuing an order for all French naval
forces to prepare for imminent hostilities.

Admiral
Gensoul was in a quandary. He knew what the British really desired, not conflict
but alliance. They hoped his fleet would be sailed to English ports, but this
would clearly be impossible. To do so would immediately violate the terms of
the armistice signed with Germany and could lead to the complete occupation of
all free French territory by the German army. Yet to turn his guns on the
British was also an agony. It would create a situation where Vichy France
became a de facto ally of Germany, in full cooperation with the Nazi regime,
which was a proposition he knew Darlan was strongly considering.

His
third alternative would be to try and sail to a neutral port, perhaps
Martinique in the Caribbean, where the Old French carrier
Béarn
had
sailed after secretly hauling a load of gold bullion from the Bank of France to
safety in the United States. In return
Béarn
was receiving a new air
wing from the Americans consisting of 27 Curtiss H-75s, 44 SBC Helldivers, 25
Stinson 105s, and also six Brewster Buffaloes. The planes were to be loaded and
delivered as part of the Belgian Air Contingent, but that was over now. There
was no free government in Belgium any longer. He could not sail west in any
regard. Not without the likelihood of encountering the Royal Navy and a battle
at sea.

That
left the sour alternative of scuttling his ships in place, and he knew that
this is what the British would demand in time. Refuse that and their guns would
fire soon after. He had little doubt of the outcome should he leave his ships
where they were.

Vice-Admiral
Le Luc sent a further message at 17:20 indicating he was planning to send the
French squadrons at Toulon and Algiers to Oran as an immediate reinforcement,
but Gensoul knew this would also be a mistake. Mers-el-Kebir could not
accommodate these additional ships, and this move would only lead to another
battle at sea. The only alternative he could think of was to reverse that
order, and take his ships to Toulon. Yet he knew if he sat there, sending
messages to Nerac, waiting for Le Luc to respond, arguing the matter should his
suggestion be rebuffed, the British would draw nearer with each passing minute.
He knew what he had to do—order the fleet to action at once! He must present Le
Luc with a de facto situation that he knew would be the only solution now.

And
this is exactly what he did.

Chapter
32

Newly
promoted Captain Wells
received the message from the W/T room with some surprise.
‘MOST IMMEDIATE –
Admiralty informs the French fleet at Mers-el-Kebir has worked up steam and is
now moving out to sea. Course and destination unknown. Imperative you ascertain
location and intentions of the French Oran Squadron.’

Wells
looked at the chronometer, 21:10, and the sun was just on the horizon behind
them, setting in minutes. He would have twilight conditions for the next hour,
but if he wanted to have any chance of spotting the French fleet he had to get
his planes up immediately. The moon would not rise until quarter after one, a
half moon that would provide some light. Should he launch now, or just before
moonrise?

“Mister
Lovell,” he said quickly. “Send down to Air Commander Heath and get that flight
of
Swordfish
up for extended search to the east at once. The French have
put to sea.” He had two
Skua
fighters on the forward catapults ready for
immediate launch, and a squadron of four
Swordfish
aft on ready alert.

A
signalman ran in with a further message, breathless from his trip up the
ladder, and Wells took it quickly, raising an eyebrow at what he saw.
‘Considering
gravity of present situation, HMS Glorious is herewith detached with DD
Flotilla 8 and will make best practical speed ahead in effort to effect contact
with French fleet. Main battle squadron will follow at best speed.’

Flotilla
8 consisted of six destroyers,
Faulknor, Foxhound, Fearless, Forrester,
Foresight,
and
Escort.
They had been steaming off both sides of the
carrier in two lines of three, providing a very effective ASW screen for the
valuable ship. The remaining five destroyers of Flotilla 13 were attending to
the four battleships.

Wells
felt the rising adrenaline as he realized what was now happening.
Glorious
was the fastest ship in Somerville’s squadron, ten knots faster than any of the
battleships. The situation had obviously changed. Somehow the French must have
gotten wind of our operation, he thought quickly. We’ve lost the element of
surprise, and they are slipping away. But where are they sailing? Suppose they
are coming west in an attempt to reach Casablanca or Dakar? In that event I’ll
have
Glorious
out in front and run into the entire French battle
squadron! Would they sail west? The more he considered it the more he thought
that unlikely. No, they will go home to a French port now, or further east to
Algiers. Nothing else made any sense.

Yet
he knew what that might mean, and the urgency that was now in the order for
Glorious
to move on ahead. They will order me to strike, he thought. It’s all on me now,
the whole bloody mess.

“Mister
Lovell, the ship will come ten points to starboard and increase to 30 knots.”

Lovell
hesitated, ever so slightly, then the reflex kicked in and he quickly repeated
the order. “Aye sir, starboard ten and ahead full.”

“Lampsmen,
signal destroyers on our starboard side and order them to make way.”

Wells
walked quickly to the chart room, remembering how he had assisted Admiral Tovey
in the fleet flagship aboard
Invincible
. He had to now make some very
quick calculations, and an equally quick decision. They were still west of
Melilla, and 124 miles from Oran. His fairy
Swordfish
had a range of
about 475 miles out and back, which might be extended to 525 with additional
fuel, and no torpedo. This was a good deal more than the two Blackburn
Skuas
he had on the catapults, so he would go with his
Swordfish
.

If
he launched now he could have his planes move ahead at their best speed and in
an hour they could be just north of Oran with a little light before complete
darkness set in. The
Swordfish
might then have another hour loiter time to
shadow the French before they had to turn for home. It would be enough to at
least find and mark the position and heading of the French fleet, which is what
he had been ordered to do. So he would let his order stand. The planes would
launch immediately.

The
Swordfish
were already sputtering to life, and he quickly had Lovell
send down instructions as to his intentions for their course and mission. Come
first light, he thought, the decks would likely be crowded with the whole of
823 Squadron, armed and ready. I have better inform Mister Heath, he thought.

“Mister
Lovell, please ask Mister Heath to come to the bridge at his first
opportunity.”

* * *

The
calculations Wells had made were spot on. His
Swordfish
thrummed away
east, vanishing into the twilight and labored off at their best speed. It was
no more than an hour later before they reported back.
‘Spotted large
flotilla, four capital ships, heading 030 degrees NW. Speed 20. EST - My
position follows.’