10:46 (GMT)
Friday, January 17, 1941
Admiralty headquarters, London
England
“Sir, we just received a message from H.M.S. RAMILLIES. While on convoy escort duty in the North Atlantic, it spotted the SCHARNHORST and the GNEISENAU. Both German battlecruisers refused combat with our battleship and slipped away.”
Admiral Pound got up from behind his desk and went to the large naval chart on one of his office’s walls, followed by the duty operations officer.
“Show me their last known position, Captain.”
“They were last spotted about 200 nautical miles southwest of the Faeroe Islands two hours ago, heading West. The RAMILLIES had to stay with her convoy and we are very thin in that area at this time. H.M.S. HOOD and H.M.S. QUEEN ELIZABETH are in Scapa Flow but they would need at least twelve hours to be ready to leave port. The QUEEN ELIZABETH would be too slow to catch those battlecruisers anyway.”
“Show me the roster of ships available in Scapa Flow.”
What the operations officer showed to Sir Pound was very thin indeed. None of the few destroyers and the single cruiser now in or around Scapa Flow could get to the target area quickly enough to have any chance of catching the two German battlecruisers. Pound’s eyes slipped to a part of the roster listing ships under repair or not commissioned yet.
“What about those two?” Said Pound, pointing at two names.
“The DOLPHIN and FLYING FISH, sir? But they are still not officially commissioned yet and just barely completed their acceptance trials.”
“Are they provisioned and ready for combat, Captain?”
“I can check, sir, but I believe that they are loaded and fuelled up.”
“Then, if they are, send them to intercept those battlecruisers.”
The navy captain hesitated for a moment before objecting again.
“If I may, sir, those are unarmored craft displacing only 810 tons each at full load. I know that they are very fast, but to send them against two 40,000 tons armored battlecruisers would be condemning them to their destruction, sir.”
“Captain, if those two German warships slip through into the Atlantic and are allowed to attack our merchant convoys, hundred of merchant sailors and thousands of tons of precious supplies could be lost. If our craft could at least slow down the SCHARNHORST and the GNEISENAU enough for our heavy units to catch up, then their sacrifice would be well worth it. Send them out within a hour, Captain.”
“Yes sir!”
The operations officer left the office of the First Sea Lord, his heart heavy with gloom.
11:15 (GMT)
Scapa Flow naval base
Orkney Islands
“Commander, get your men ready! You are going out for a combat mission in half an hour.”
The navy captain had not even waited to be on board to shout his order while still crossing the access plank. The H.M.S. FLYING FISH, like its sister craft H.M.S. DOLPHIN, was at rest at quayside in Scapa Flow harbor. Commander Bennett, standing on the port open wing of his bridge, looked at the navy captain as if he was completely crazy.
“Sir, do you realize that we have barely finished our acceptance trials and that I still don’t have my full regular crew yet? Christ, I still have on board RAF mechanics I had to borrow in order to complete the trials.”
“RAF mechanics?”
“Yes, sir! This craft is propelled by Hercules XVII radial engines, the same used on RAF bombers. We are still short of navy personnel qualified on these engines, so we had to borrow some mechanics from the RAF. The DOLPHIN is in the same shape as I am.”
“Well, tough luck! We have an emergency on our hands. Are you ready or not for sea combat, Commander?”
Bennett controlled his anger with difficulty. This was not a very good start for what he had hoped to be an exciting new command. The paint on his fast attack surface effect ship was barely dry. Added to that was the motley crew on board. At least he was loaded up on fuel and ammunition.
“Alright, sir, what’s the emergency?”
The navy captain handed him an official dispatch as he spoke.
“The SCHARNHORST and the GNEISENAU were spotted this morning southwest of the Faeroe Islands. Your mission is to take the FLYING FISH and the DOLPHIN and to intercept those two surface raiders. You are to slow them down and damage them enough to give a chance to the HOOD and the QUEEN ELIZABETH to get out of port and catch them.”
Bennett’s eyes widened in disbelief at those words.
“They are sending my two crafts against two battlecruisers?”
The navy captain looked at him with what seemed like pity, his voice coming out subdued now.
“I realize that this could be a one-way mission, Commander, but it has to be done.”
Bennett’s face hardened before he came to rigid attention and saluted solemnly the navy captain.
“Then we will leave port within the hour, sir.”
“Good luck, Commander.”
The navy captain was about to leave the bridge when he saw on the open deck a young woman wearing an RAF coverall, a toolbox in one hand. His face reflecting shock, the senior officer faced Bennett.
“What are women doing on a Royal Navy craft, Commander?”
“Those RAF mechanics I told you about are women, sir.”
“All of them?”
“All five of them, sir. There are three more RAF women on the DOLPHIN. I guess that, when we asked the RAF for spare mechanics, they decided that this was a good time to pull a swifty on us. The problem is that we won’t be able to put to sea without them, sir.”
The captain swore violently and pounded his fist on the bridge railing but managed to calm down after a few seconds.
“We have no choice then. Put to sea, Commander!”
The captain then left the FLYING FISH and headed towards the DOLPHIN, moored just aft. Bennett put his intercom on ship-wide mode.
“Attention all hands! We are departing base for a combat mission within the hour. Stop all maintenance work and prepare for departure. All department heads are to report to the bridge now.”
Within three minutes, his five officers and single chief petty officer, along with Flight Sergeant Ann Sheldon of the RAF, were around the navigation plotting table with Bennett. He briefed them quickly on the orders he had just received, then requested a status report from each of them, starting with Lieutenant Commander Waddington, his first officer. Waddington was ready to protest their orders but kept his mouth shut on seeing the expression on Bennett’s face.
“We have full provisions, spares and enough crew to man the craft, sir. We are ready for sea.”
Waddington could not avoid looking at Flight Sergeant Sheldon when he mentioned the crew. Lieutenant Tyne, the weapons officer, was next.
“Our ammunition load is complete, sir, including a total of sixteen torpedoes on board. Unfortunately, half of our four inch ammunition is of the high explosive-fragmentation type instead of armor piercing.”
Bennett grimaced: H.E.-frag shells would not do much damage on the armor of a battlecruiser.
“Too bad but we don’t have the time to load the proper shells. Just make sure that the armor piercing rounds are first on the gun mounts. Lieutenant Lawrence, how is your motley crew of mechanics?”
“Well, sir, I have enough qualified mechanics on board to do the job and the engines are just fine. I doubt however that the admiralty would have given us this job if they had realized beforehand that we have female RAF mechanics on board. No offense meant to your crew of course, Flight Sergeant Sheldon.”
Everybody smiled at that little barb, including Ann Sheldon, who raised one hand to make a comment.
“Sir, in case you become short on 20mm gunners, myself and one of my girls, Corporal Moran, are familiar with Oerlikon cannons. Once operating, you really need only two persons to run your engines, sir.”
Bennett had a wide smile while he stared at the small brunette in her mid-thirties.
“Do I smell a Nancy Laplante virus around, Flight Sergeant?”
Sheldon’s eyes lit up at his remark.
“You met her, sir?”
“Met her? Hell, she was with me on board LCMAC-1 for its initial sea trial. We sank a sub during those trials, with then Major Laplante jumping behind a 20mm cannon to replace a dead gunner. Lieutenant Tyne, how are you on 20mm gunners?”
“I could use a couple more loaders for them if combat becomes real heavy, sir.”
“It will become heavy, Mister Tyne. Use those women once we meet the enemy.”
“Yes, sir!”
The signals officer, Sub Lieutenant Burbanks, and the navigation officer, Sub Lieutenant Carpenter, had nothing to say. Chief Petty Officer Putnam had one look at the smiling Ann Sheldon and, lowering his head in mock disgust, said that he had nothing to add. Bennett strongly suspected that what Putnam would have liked to say would not have been fit for sensitive ears.
“Alright men, er, people, let’s put to sea. Flight Sergeant Sheldon, start the engines now.”
Ann Sheldon sat at the engines control station to the right of the helmsman’s station and started the lift engines one by one, then the propulsion engines. The bridge configuration of the FLYING FISH was actually very similar to that of the LCMAC-1. One thing that had however been improved compared with LCMAC-1 was the armor protection of the bridge. Since it was the vital point of the craft in combat, the bridge was protected by a thick layer of aluminum and ceramic laminated armor. Bennett did like the arrangement of his bridge, even if he was unsure about how really effective its armor was.
Its catamaran hull lifting nearly completely out of the water as air pressure built up between its bow and stern rubber skirts, the FLYING FISH soon moved away from the quay, propelled by its three shrouded contra-rotating propellers. Followed by the DOLPHIN, it sped towards the harbor’s entrance, passing close alongside the HOOD and the QUEEN ELIZABETH, which were building up steam pressure before they could depart themselves. On the spur of the moment, Bennett had all of his crew, including the female RAF mechanics, line up the open decks on the side facing the two battleships. The big ships blew their horns on their passage as they saluted. Bennett grinned when he saw that at least one senior officer on the bridge of the HOOD dropped his binoculars in surprise. The two surface effect ships were soon out of the harbor and heading West in the North Atlantic at maximum cruising speed.
12:20 (GMT)
Admiralty headquarters, London
The duty operations officer’s face had a strange expression on it as he handed silently a message to Admiral Pound, who stood in the operations center. Sir Dudley Pound read it, did a double take and looked at the navy captain.
“Those slimy RAF bastards! Colonel Laplante will die laughing on this one.”
He was told much later that she nearly did just that.
14:50 (GMT)
North Atlantic
The Short Sunderland seaplane had to fly low to clear the gray clouds. However, its centimetric wave radar compensated much for the low visibility. The radar echoes of the two German heavy battlecruisers were anyway impossible to miss once within detection range. Knowing that two high-speed crafts were on their way, the pilot had the position, speed and heading of the German ships sent immediately by radio. He then started a dangerous game of hide and seek with the two battlecruisers, constantly sending updated position reports as exploding anti-aircraft shells shook his aircraft from time to time.
15:53 (GMT)
H.M.S. FLYING FISH
Bennett plotted the report they had just received, then invited Waddington and Tyne to join him at the plotting table.
“Gentlemen, we are now less than twenty nautical miles from the SCHARNHORST and the GNEISENAU. Now, in a straight long-range slugfest with those two big bullies, we would not stand much of a chance. Our one big advantage is speed, angular speed to be more precise. Let’s use it to the maximum.”
“What do you mean, sir, angular speed?” Asked Tyne, perplex.
“Think of it as with trying to shoot at flying ducks. If they pass far from you, you will have no problems laying your shotgun on them and to follow them in your sights. However, if they fly right across your face, you will never have a chance to point your shotgun before they are gone. This is what we are going to do: fly across the face of the Germans at very close range and maximum speed. The first pass or two will be used by our gunners to spray the battlecruisers’ superstructures and kill as many anti-aircraft gunners as we can. Those anti-aircraft guns will actually be our worst enemies, not those big eleven inch guns. Once they are softened up enough, we will then make our torpedo runs. Questions? No? Then let’s go to battle stations!”
As Bennett sat back in his command chair, Flight Sergeant Sheldon, still sitting at the engines controls, turned her head towards him, her face somewhat pale.
“Sir, what kind of armament do we actually have?”
“This craft has two twin four inch gun mounts, eight 20mm cannons, eight torpedo tubes and two dept charges racks, plus one anti-submarine projector.”
“And… the bad guys, sir?”
Bennett recited from memory.
“The SCHARNHORST and the GNEISENAU have each nine eleven inch guns, twelve 150mm guns, fourteen 105mm guns, sixteen 37mm cannons, eight 20mm cannons and six torpedo tubes, apart from sporting steel armor up to fourteen inches thick.”
Sheldon swallowed hard.
“Frankly, sir, what are our chances of getting out of this alive?”
“Flight Sergeant, we may hurt them badly yet, believe it or not. The trick will be to use our speed to best advantage.”
The radar operator sitting to the left of Bennett’s chair suddenly yelled in excitement.
“Enemy in range, sir! Bearing 263, distance nineteen nautical miles.”
“Gunners, load armor piercing! Helmsman, steer to 263! Flight Sergeant Sheldon, start the booster engines now!”
Everybody on the bridge suddenly became too busy to be scared. The surface effect ship, helped by a relatively calm sea and its air cushioned ride, accelerated quickly to over 100 knots under the additional thrust of its pulse jet booster engines.
“Gunners, once level with the targets, keep firing until we are passed. At our present speed, you will have the targets in front of you for only about four seconds. Shoot at the superstructures, not the hulls.”
15:59 (GMT)
Battlecruiser SCHARNHORST
“Two high-speed crafts approaching from our six O’clock, sir.”
The captain of the SCHARNHORST took the time to raise his binoculars to look at the newcomers. They were very fast indeed.
“It must be two of these damn new skimmer boats. Battle stations! Ready for surface action!”
The disbelieving voice of the fire control officer then came on the intercom.
“Captain, according to the rangefinder readings and triangulation calculations, those craft are going at over one hundred knots.”
Everybody on the bridge of the battlecruiser looked at each other in consternation. The captain finally came back to life with new orders.
“Fire control, use our anti-aircraft guns, forget the main turrets.”
The German captain then watched on anxiously as the first British skimmer craft was on a heading straight to crash in the stern of his battlecruiser. At the last possible moment, the British craft veered slightly off and flashed along the starboard side at high speed, making it nearly impossible to target. Heavy cannon and gun fire then erupted for a few seconds, before the second British craft did the same, also raking the starboard superstructures with gunfire. None of the German gunners had a chance to fire, the British craft passing so close that the battlecruiser’s guns could not depress low enough to bring their fire to bear.
“Damage report!” Yelled the captain as distant cannon fire told him that the GNEISENAU was getting the same treatment. He got the bad news a minute later.
“Number two 150mm turret destroyed! One third of the 105mm and 37mm servants are dead or wounded, sir.”
“Damn! Where are the British now?”
“Enemy craft approaching from our starboard bow side, sir!”
The crew of the Short Sunderland, circling around the German battlecruisers, looked on with excitement as the two surface effect ships repeatedly raked the starboard side of both German ships. The seaplane hangar on the GNEISENAU suddenly erupted in flames: the aviation fuel tank inside must have been hit.
“Come on guys, keep picking at them!” Urged the pilot. One of the starboard 105mm turrets of the GNEISENAU exploded on the third attack pass, with secondary ammunition explosions lighting up the nearby turrets. The DOLPHIN, sensing that the GNEISENAU was in trouble, then performed a wide circle and headed into the starboard side of the wounded battlecruiser.
“She’s launching torpedoes now!” Yelled the forward gunner of the seaplane. “I count eight torpedoes in the water. They’re going to hit!”
At that moment a 105mm turret, finally presented with a manageable target by the DOLPHIN’s maneuver, achieved two direct hits on the surface effect ship. One destroyed the craft’s bridge, while the other blew open the forward skirt section. The craft’s nose then dipped and, since it was already starting to perform a high-speed turn, hit the water at an angle while still going at 105 knots. Under the horrified eyes of the crew of the Sunderland, the 810 tons craft literally cartwheeled on the surface of the sea and crashed on top of the middle starboard side of the GNEISENAU, dousing it with over 150 tons of aviation fuel from its punctured tanks. The 54 men and women of H.M.S. DOLPHIN, along with over 300 of the GNEISENAU’s gunners, died in the huge fireball that resulted. More Germans died when the eight torpedoes of the DOLPHIN’s ultimate salvo, tightly grouped and running slower than the craft that had launched them, hit the starboard underbelly of the battlecruiser. The eight huge geysers were greeted by triumphant yells aboard the Sunderland. Its machinery space ripped wide open by the torpedo salvo, the GNEISENAU quickly started listing to starboard, then capsized in less than two minutes.
The combat was suspended for a few minutes as the surviving protagonists looked on, stunned and grieving. The massive gun flashes from the SCHARNHORST’s aft eleven-inch gun turret, chasing a receding FLYING FISH, marked the battle’s resumption. On its next pass, the British craft chose to fire a volley of four torpedoes from astern of the battlecruiser, braving heavy automatic cannon fire to do so. Three of the torpedoes hit under the stern, their explosions destroying the battlecruiser’s propellers and rudders and breaking the ship in two just aft of the rear eleven-inch gun turret. The SCHARNHORST was now doomed. Amidst the cheers of his crewmen, the Sunderland’s pilot contacted his radio operator on the intercom.
“Max, send the following to Scapa Flow, along with our position: GNEISENAU capsized, SCHARNHORST sinking with stern broken off. H.M.S. DOLPHIN lost with all hands. H.M.S. FLYING FISH apparently intact and returning to base.”
The pilot then looked at the departing craft and saluted it.
“Jolly well done, men!”
23:11 (GMT)
Scapa Flow naval base
Admiral Holland looked on from the quay as H.M.S. FLYING FISH bumped gently against it and stopped its engines. Holland and five other senior officers could now clearly see the numerous impact holes of cannon fire hits on the craft’s superstructures. Two sailors from the FLYING FISH deployed the access ramp, permitting the admiral and his aides to climb aboard. Holland stared for a moment at the obscenely young ship’s boy saluting him, his uniform splattered with blood, before saluting back. Lieutenant Commander Waddington then went to him to greet him on the open deck, wearily saluting him.
“I’m sorry that Commander Bennett could not greet you, sir. He was wounded during the battle and is still on his bridge.”
“Then lead me to him, Mister.”
The officers had to pass besides one of the 20mm cannons on their way to the bridge. A dead gunner still hung from the mount’s harness, frozen in place.
“My god!” Whispered Holland, staring into the dead eyes of the gunner.
“This is Corporal Cynthia Moran, sir, one of the five RAF mechanics we had on board.” Explained Waddington in a tired voice. “She replaced the original gunners after they were killed. I’m sorry that we couldn’t take care of her properly, sir, but we had barely enough people left intact to take care of the wounded and to bring the boat back to port.”
Still looking in the woman’s lifeless eyes, Admiral Holland came to attention and solemnly saluted her, imitated by the other officers. The shaken admiral then stepped inside the bridge of the craft. What he saw there appalled him: what looked like heavy cannon fire had raked the bridge, blowing in all the Plexiglas viewing ports. There was blood everywhere, covering shattered instruments and deck alike. In the middle of the bridge, sitting on the deck and with his left leg blown off below the knee, was Commander Bennett, looking blankly in front of him while caressing the head of a dead Ann Sheldon.
Admiral Holland found afterwards that, out of a crew of 46 men and five women on the H.M.S. FLYING FISH, 29 were dead and sixteen others wounded. On the german side, only 147 shivering survivors out of a total of 3,682 men were found on rafts in the icy North Atlantic.