Altered States -Volume III. Hinge of Fate

Chapter 20

“This latest information from Bletchley Park is somewhat alarming, sir.” Daddy Brind had come in with another dispatch, but the mention of Bletchley Park immediately got Admiral Tovey’s attention.

“The Germans seem to be running several mobile divisions through training in Southern France, very near the Spanish frontier. I don't know quite what to make of it, but scuttlebutt seems to think the Germans may have intentions involving Spanish neutrality. We received word from Bletchley Park yesterday that there may be a high level meeting being arranged.”

The implications of what Brind was saying were not lost on the Admiral. Spain's neutrality had been a great bulwark for the British operating out of Gibraltar. The vast land area of the Iberian Peninsula, safe behind the ragged walls of the Pyrenees mountains, offered a welcome buffer of security for the vital British base. Admiral Tovey raised an eyebrow, thinking.

“If the Germans have intentions involving Spain,” he said, “then all these troop movements we’re seeing may have a darker purpose. Perhaps the Admiralty is keeping a hat on this for the time being, but I expect we'll hear about it if there is any truth to these rumors. Lord, what a nightmare.” The Admiral’s mood was somber and serious now, and Brind found him somewhat distracted, a distant look in his eye, as if he were considering something deeply that seemed insoluble to him. He seemed a bit haggard of late, ever since that meeting at the Faeroe Islands with the Russians.

“Do you really think the Germans would attempt to mount an invasion of Spain at this time, sir?” Brind folded his arms, his eyes serious, his expression one of genuine concern.

Tovey set down his tea and perked up, drawn back to the here and now. “It may interest you to know that R.A.F. has had a look at this concentration in southern France, Mister Brind,” said the Admiral. “It appears there are two full mechanized divisions forming up just north of the passes. Latest intelligence has them designated 16th Panzer Division and 16th Motorized Division.”

“Only two divisions?” Brind was not impressed. “It's a long way from France to Gibraltar, sir. If the Germans commenced an operation of this nature my guess is it would take 30 days or more, even if Spanish resistance folded in the face of such an attack. That would give us plenty of time to load up fast troop ships and get some boys down to Gibraltar if need be.”

“And suppose there is no resistance…” Tovey let that hang there, watching Brind close to gauge his reaction.

“You mean to say-”

“Yes Daddy, this note from Bletchley Park you mention could be the ticket the Germans need now. What if Franco throws in with them? These two heavy divisions in southern France could just roll right in unopposed. This is an entirely new kettle of fish. It’s not my watch, but if the Germans are bold enough to pull off something like this we’ll be looking at plans for a counter-invasion of Spain before we know it, and the Navy will be paramount in that instance. In this light, all this steam up in the German fleet seems rather ominous. Let's just hope the rumors are simply that.”

“Well sir, there are also rumors about the buildup on the Polish Russian frontier, but that may not be a wise move for Hitler, not now that hostilities have resumed between Orenburg and the Siberians.”

“That's what's so damnably bothersome about all this.” The Admiral leaned back in his chair wishing he had had another three hours sleep. “That meeting at Omsk led us to believe Volkov had come to an arrangement with the Siberians. Then a week later he crosses the border with six divisions. Well he won’t want a fight with the Soviets until that resolves itself, and the Germans would be wise to leave Russia sleeping quietly as well-and that is what worries me. Spain… It's the logical next move for them. It's either that or they open hostilities against Russia. Big build up there as well. Hitler may be taking on more than he can chew, but we'll have to plan for every possible contingency.”

“That we will, sir,” said Brind. “Good to know the Russians have thrown in with us. This offer of a technology transfer was gracious. Is their radar really that good, sir?”

“So I have been told.” Tovey folded his arms, wishing he could fully unburden himself here and let Daddy Brind in on all that he had learned during that conference with the Russians. Away from them three days now, the normal routine of his work at fleet headquarters here at Scapa Flow had occupied his mind, but the amazing revelations that had been made still lay on him like a magic spell. At times he found himself sitting at his desk, staring out the window, or pouring tea and taking a single sip and then letting it go cold in his hand as he sat, his thoughts ranging on distant possibilities that he struggled to foresee.

“Well,” he said. “I’ve been sitting on my duff reading and writing reports the last three days. Now I must make a few deliveries. Have a plane waiting for me at Kirkwell, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I see Hood has been swaddled up at Greenock. I’m going down to have a look at her and see how the work is going. But I’ll be flying directly to London from there. Have the two new fellows out there ready for a stroll in 48 hours. I’ll want them north of Londonderry, and HMS Invincible can join them. I’ll collar a destroyer in the Clyde and come out to join the party when my business is concluded.” The two new fellows were King George V and Prince of Wales, Britain’s newest additions to the fleet.

“Very good, sir. I’ll make the arrangements and see that all the invitations go out.”

“Good then… Oh, and Mister Brind, make sure I’m kept fully in the loop regarding that operation at Dakar. And as to that buildup north of the Spanish Border-phone down to RAF Saint Eval and ask them to have another look. Put my name to the request.”

“I will, sir.”

Tovey was up and on his way, opening the door and hearing a dry squeak that seemed to grate on him. We’ll need to get that oiled, he thought, stuffing the thought away like a man pocketing his handkerchief and forgetting about it. But far to the south, the dry squeak of the hinge of fate was grating on other men, in the warm late summer waters off Dakar.

“The Flagman seems to be well into it this morning,” said Wells as he stood on the weather bridge of HMS Glorious. Commander Lovell nodded agreeably, smiling as the man stiff armed his flag signal and sent the last plane from 823 Squadron running down the deck for takeoff.

Wells leaned on the gunwale, noting how the new slate grey paint still looked so fresh on the ship’s wounds. They had done a bang up job to get her up and running again, but he knew the old girl was still scarred underneath that greasepaint, with the char of smoke and battle.

“Mister Heath has called up, sir,” said Lovell. “He’s recommending another pair of Gladiators from 802 Squadron come up for fleet air defense.”

“Good enough,” said Wells. “In fact, I’d be more comfortable with a full flight of four planes up. See that Heath gets the message.”

“Aye sir.” Lovell flicked off a salute and went inside, leaving Wells to his muse.

So today’s the day, he thought, another showdown with the French. I can’t believe they will be any less agreeable, and they’re out there somewhere, probably within easy range of Dakar if they hope to defend that place.

Dakar was situated on a long 40 kilometer isthmus that jutted east from the African mainland and came to a sharp point, which was the westernmost point of Africa. Beneath this the isthmus stretched another 14 kilometers, angling back towards the mainland until it reached another sharp point at Cape Mamuel. The harbor was just north of this, one of the best on the African coast, and a knife pointed directly at British convoy routes bound for Freetown and Capetown.

After learning that the harbor at Dakar was empty, Wells had a bad feeling about this mission. This was not expected, though it should have been assumed after what happened at Mers-el-Kebir, he thought. The French were of no mind to sit on their backsides and wait for us to come calling. They obviously got wind of what we were up to here and slipped away. Now I’ve got to find them. HMS Glorious is the eyes of this battle squadron, and the thought that a pair of French battleships are at large now is most disconcerting.

He remembered the last two battleships that had caught Glorious napping on her return leg from Norway. That would never happen again, he resolved, but the shadow of that engagement still lay heavily on him. Two more battleships… I don’t think Vice Admiral Cunningham had things planned this way. We’ve a pair of old ladies out there ourselves, good ships, but a bit long in the teeth. Barham was passed over when they refit the rest of her class. They had only replaced a few AA batteries and pulled her old wisdom teeth in the two remaining torpedo tubes. She had just come out of the dock yards at Liverpool a few months back, after suffering a torpedo hit from U-30 the previous December. Resolution had kept company with the 1st Battle Squadron of the old Grand Fleet during WWI. Both were slow at no more than 23 knots, and if it came to a chase they would have no chance against the newer French ships they were now hunting.

How could the French have slipped away like this, he wondered? Our cover operation to Freetown as Force M obviously didn’t fool anyone. It was put out that Force M was in transit to Capetown to pick up a convoy. The French might have men there who relayed information as to our departure, but we turned south and got well out to sea before swinging around to head north for Dakar. In spite of that the French seemed to know our every movement. It was as if they had read the fleet orders and knew our exact planned arrival time here at Dakar.

With the French fleet missing, the troop convoy assigned to the landing operation was kept to the south until the enemy could be located again. There was no way the operation could be launched until those ships had been accounted for. Three hours later Wells received a signal from his scout planes. The French fleet had been spotted north of the long Ishmus of Dakar, but they were not running north for Casablanca as Vice Admiral Cunningham believed they would. Instead they were heading south, and the light of battle and a thirst for vengeance was in the eyes of their commander, on one of the most formidable ships that would ever sail, the battleship Normandie.

Rear Admiral Plancon, Flag Officer, French Navy West Africa, had decided to take personal command of the operation. Once inclined to continue as an ally of Great Britain, he had suffered a hard change of heart after the attack on Admiral Gensoul’s fleet fleeing from Mers-el-Kebir. He called an emergency meeting with Admiral Laborde on the Normandie, and Captain Marzin on the battleship Richelieu, and resolved to immediately put to sea when he received the dispatch indicating the British intended to occupy Dakar. He would not allow his ships to be caught in the harbor. So after first steaming north to evade detection and communicate with his reserve squadron at Casablanca, he turned about and resolved to hover north of the long isthmus of Dakar and lie in wait there.

Plancon knew the British had a great advantage with their carrier based aircraft, and he was under no illusions that he would actually surprise his foe, but the sudden realization that the French intended to seek battle here would certainly give them second thoughts about pressing any claim to Dakar, or so he believed. France had produced some superb modern battleships, but had been blind to the utility aircraft carriers would provide. Their single operational carrier, the Bearn, was now in the Caribbean with a pair of cruisers. The ship they had begun to build to replace the aging Bearn had just been captured by the Germans.

So he had only the few planes he could launch from his capital ships for eyes, and no radar, yet he knew one thing-the British would come to him. He did not have to worry about finding them. The Royal Navy would act with the same confidence and determination that it had demonstrated earlier, only this time they had not truly taken the full measure of their adversary. The French fleet was fully capable of defending itself, and posed a far greater challenge than Vice Admiral Cunningham believed.

It had once been called the Force de Raid, based on the Atlantic with the mission of challenging any German ships that might threaten French territory. The officers and sailors were proud of both their country and their mission, and though they did not have the long years of experience of the Royal Navy, they had determined to fight as best they could.

Richelieu alone would have posed a grave threat at sea, given her speed, heavy armor, and an escort of fast modern cruisers and destroyers to sail with her. If the two British battleships could catch her, the issue would have been decided their way, though not without risk of sustaining damage in the battle. But Richelieu was not alone. The ship the French had built to answer Washington Naval Treaty violations by Germany was with her, the true heavyweight of the fleet, battleship Normandie.

Inspired by the design of Richelieu, the Normandie had the same heavy protection, including 320mm belt armor and 170mm on the decks, which was 6.7 inches at its thickest point. Where Richelieu had two quadruple 15-inch gun turrets mounted forward, Normandie had this exact same armament, and then a third quadruple turret mounted aft. Pound for pound, her broadside of twelve 15-inch barrels had a throw weight that would match designs built later in the war like the American Montana and Iowa class battleships, fully a third more powerful than either Barham or Resolution. Together these two ships would outgun the British with twenty 15-inch barrels to sixteen. And while the British gun turrets had good protection with 330mm face armor (13 inches), the French ships had at least 430mm, of good face armor. Their sides and roofs were also better protected, so with the business end of the battleships, the guns, the French had a clear advantage.

Normandie had to have special docks at Brest built for her, and when completed she truly lived up to the name Dumas had used to describe her, a “super battleship” capable of meeting and defeating any other ship on earth. Yet the ship was raw and untested. Her guns and fittings were only recently installed, and the magazine was half empty when she fled her homeland for African ports. Work crews still roved her labyrinthine corridors and inner decks, tightening fittings, and laying cable and wire to get her internal communications in working order.

Her commanding officer, Admiral Jean Laborde, was a disciplined and loyal man, though he had no great love for his superior, Admiral Darlan. His animosity towards De Gaulle and the British was even greater, and as the newly appointed commander of the French High Seas Fleet, he was determined to make them pay for the insult and treachery they had demonstrated in attacking Admiral Gensoul’s Squadron. Laborde was the fighting Admiral, Plancon his nominal equal as the authority commanding naval operations in French West Africa, and together they would stand on the bridge of Normandie and lead the fleet to battle.

A man of 62 years, Laborde still exhibited a youthful aspect and had much physical energy. He was, in fact, in the prime of his life at that age, and destined to live to the venerable age of 99 years-if he could survive the battle he so eagerly sought here with the Royal Navy this day. His ships were untested, their crews unbled, and they were pitted against both veteran ships and crews. It would be the face off of the old well tried ships and guns of the British, which had first faced battle in WWI, against a new navy that had been built to face the challenges of this new age.

And it was about to begin.