I Sank The Bismarck Read online

  The three fighters that were already on patrol at 8,000 feet were directed by the fighter direction officer to fly to the north of the fleet, where the radar operators in Sheffield had identified a number of aircraft circling above some stratus cloud. As they approached they saw that they were a group of fifteen Stuka dive-bombers under the protection of six Messerschmitt Me110s, twin-engined long-range fighters. The Luftwaffe really had arrived, and the news was radioed back to the Ark. Then Lt Commander Douglas in the lead Fulmar turned into the Me110 fighters and fired at two in turn, seeing the second one he hit go down into cloud. It was the first victory, but the reargunners of the Messerschmitts both returned the fire and Douglas's Fulmar was hit in the leading edge of both his wings, his hydraulic system was damaged and fluid started pouring out into the slipstream.

  Petty Officer Leggett, Douglas's wingman, dived straight on to the circling Stukas, but one of the German fighters attempted to intercept him. Leggett turned inside the Messerschmitt and fired a burst from his machine gun into its cockpit, putting the reargunner out of action. The German aircraft seemed to stall and turn, then dived into cloud with a trail of white smoke behind it. Lieutenant Firth was met by two of the German fighters climbing towards him and he made a head-on approach, firing into the leading aircraft. The pilot also turned away and dived into cloud, with smoke pouring from one engine. The second Messerschmitt was also fired on by Leggett, and it too manoeuvred away from the attack into cloud.

  These three pilots had, in an incredibly brave and aggressive approach, driven off six Messerschmitt fighters, probably damaging at least three. The three Fulmar pilots continued to search for them under the cloud, but could not locate them and, running short of fuel and ammunition, they had to return to the Ark and land on the flight deck. It had been a stunning success. The Fulmar could fly at a maximum speed of only 230 knots and would have been outrun and outmanoeuvred by the single-engined Messerschmitt 109 fighters. The Me110s, however, were at more of a disadvantage, although they had some powerful machine guns and cannon in the nose, as well as a rear-firing machine gun.

  The four other pilots that had taken off from Ark Royal to intercept the formation of German aircraft climbed to 9,000 feet and saw that, as well as the six escorting Messerschmitts, there was one group of sixteen Stukas and a second group of twelve. Lieutenant Taylour dived into the formation to break them up, carried out several attacks and pursued them into cloud for about 30 miles. His plane was hit, however, and the starboard undercarriage leg dropped down, forcing him to return to the Ark. Petty Officer Dubber, Taylour's wingman, made a head-on attack at a group of Stukas, then turned and started firing at them from the rear quarter. One of the escorting fighters then attempted to protect the dive-bombers and made a stern attack on Dubber's Fulmar, from which he escaped by diving into cloud.

  Lieutenant Gardner had split off from Taylour's section and aggressively attacked another section of sixteen Stukas, pouring a burst of gunfire into the nearest one, which turned over and dived into the sea. Gardner hurled through the formation, firing at close range at several others. His own aircraft was hit, with bullets smashing the windscreen and punching holes in the engine radiator, but he broke up the formation and several of the Stukas started to jettison their bomb load. Psychologically, this was the point where the enemy was defeated. They made the decision that it was pointless to continue their attack, and so got rid of their load to give themselves more fuel and speed to escape. Gardner's aircraft, however, was badly damaged and he had to return to the Ark, but his number two, Lieutenant Firth, continued to attack a formation of three Messerschmitt 110s, which scattered into cloud. Searching for more targets, Firth flew on and attacked a formation of Stukas before becoming embroiled in a dogfight with an Me110, which broke off the action. Firth again launched his fighter at the Stukas, pursuing a straggler into cloud with smoke pouring from it. His air gunner, Leading Airman Shaw, saw at least one Stuka go down in flames.

  At 2139 all the Fulmars had landed back on Ark Royal. Not one Stuka had succeeded in making an attack on the fleet, despite their overwhelming superiority. Yet the day wasn't over. At 2030, before all the Fulmars had returned, a separate attack was started. Sneaking in under the radar, while everyone was focused on the attack from the German dive-bombers, three low-level torpedo bombers flew both at Renown and at us on the Ark. One broke away after antiaircraft fire started to hit it and bits of its fuselage were seen flying off, but the other two launched their torpedoes. For the second time that day we made a sharp turn to port after torpedo bombers roared overhead, and the torpedoes passed 50 metres away on the starboard side.

  This was the final attack of a day that had seen us face an onslaught of more than fifty aircraft in total, defended by a maximum at the beginning of the day of just twelve serviceable Fulmars out of two squadrons on board. I thought it was unbelievable. Some of us were puzzled that the German dive-bombers hadn't pursued their attack with more determination, and there were theories that the Luftwaffe pilots mistook the Fulmars for the more effective Hurricane fighters. Yet they had faced Fulmar aircraft when they had successfully dive-bombed Illustrious, so this seems unlikely.

  The German attack was made late in the day, as it was growing dark, and the vigour and aggression of the Fulmar pilots may have been a nasty surprise. Several of the Stuka formations were broken up, and the German pilots may have become unhappy about continuing their attack, which was clearly going to be opposed, in the dwindling light.

  Whatever the reason, the actions by the pilots, air gunners and observers of 807 and 808 Squadrons had saved both us and an extremely vital convoy. Captain Loben Maund, who had taken over from Captain 'Hooky' Holland, sent round a message to us all, saying, 'The immunity of the convoy and Fleet from damage due to air attack on this day is largely attributable to the work of this small force of fighters, made possible only by the exceptional efforts of the personnel of the flight deck and hangars.' We had been sorry to see Captain Holland go, but he had been in command since Norway and needed the rest. Maund, however, had shown he could handle the Ark in a tight corner!

  The only tragedy of the day had been the loss of Lt Commander Tillard, the commanding officer of 808 Squadron, and his observer, Lieutenant Somerville, Admiral Somerville's nephew. They had never returned to the Ark, and their plane was never found.

  Two days later, the group of destroyers that had escorted the transport ships through the Skerki Channel to Malta were returning west when they were attacked by four bombers flying low and using broken cloud as cover. None of the ships had radar, or any air defence. Four sticks of bombs were dropped and the destroyer Faulkner was severely damaged by a cluster of four or five near misses very close to the stern. Her speed was cut in half, but she managed to limp back to meet Force H and eventually reach Gibraltar. It was a salutary reminder that the threat from the air never went away.

  There was an enormous party in the wardroom when we got back to Gibraltar. The Fulmar pilots were naturally completely stressed, and in a bit of shock, after that day of action and they had needed more than one night's rest to overcome it. Despite the euphoria over seeing off the Luftwaffe, we felt that we had lived through an incredible battle. We must have thrown tons of metal into the sky; my ears were still ringing from the crash and blast of the anti-aircraft guns; and I have no idea of the number of enemy aircraft that were focused on destroying us. We drank as if there were no tomorrow.

  12

  Against All Odds

  I was now part of a ship that was probably the best and most well-trained carrier in the navy. I am sure that a host of others will protest, but the ethos on board Ark Royal was one of practice and more practice. I have already said that my CO, Lt Commander Coode, was the sort of chap to inspire enormous confidence in us younger members of his squadron, and the leadership of Force H was similarly driven. Admiral Somerville was a stickler for training and practice, so, whenever the opportunity arose, at the end of a trip we would carry out ex
ercises in torpedo attacks and dive-bombing, and would work on speeding up our flying on and off the flight deck. These exercises were not only for the benefit of us on board the Ark, but were also designed for the benefit of anti-aircraft gunners, to improve height-finding and aircraft-recognition in the escort vessels. We reckoned we had got our crews – and that meant everyone involved in ranging and striking down the aircraft, as well as the aircrew – worked up to a very high level of efficiency. Admiral Somerville was known to be very quick to ask questions if there was a delay in landing on or taking off, and we aimed for an average time between landings of thirty seconds. The slowest pilot landing on had to stand drinks in the wardroom to the rest of his squadron.

  Despite this attention to detail, there was a real camaraderie. The admiral's flagship, Renown, had damaged part of her hull while going into a heavy sea. A forward section of the anti-torpedo bulge had been torn free. Some of our Swordfish had flown low over the ship to take a look at the damage before they landed on and Somerville had sent a signal saying, 'Why the interest? Is there something sticking out of Father's pants?' The reply had been sent back, 'You flatter yourself. It is only hanging out!' There were few squadrons in the navy, let alone in any foreign navy, where that sort of stuff would be signalled back and forth.

  This esprit de corps sprang from self-confidence, a feeling that I have experienced in a rugby team when everybody knows that they are playing at the top of their game. Our efforts on the last operation added to that feeling. I was very pleased to be on the Ark and felt that I had achieved more than I had a right to. What else was there to do?

  We made another trip to fly Hurricanes off to Malta, and returned, carrying out our usual programme of training exercises as we got closer to Gibraltar. We had been in Gibraltar for a day when, at around 0100 on 23 May, the Ark started to stir, tannoys sounded, hatches closed up with a bang, and the sound of feet running up the companionways and walkways signalled that we were going to put to sea. That meant that the morning flying schedule was probably changed and I might be woken early.

  An hour later, when I was oblivious to the world, tugs pulled us from the side of the wall and we passed slowly along the detached mole to leave by the northern entrance. Then we headed south and into the Straits. If we were heading west, it was possible to see the lights of Tangier pass on the port side, and then in another hour we would be going at high speed, our bows biting into the big swells of the Atlantic Ocean. By 0500 Swordfish aircraft with folded wings would be brought up from the hangar decks on the lifts to start the first antisubmarine patrols of the day. I would be awake, and with other pilots and observers would be getting my briefing about the expected weather, the planned course of the ship over the next two or three hours and any latest intelligence about submarine sightings, the presence of convoys and any surface vessels in the vicinity, be they ours, the enemy's or neutrals.

  I would expect that our job in the Atlantic was either to find and escort a convoy, on its way from Sierra Leone to Liverpool or vice versa, or to meet a small group of fast ships to escort them back into the Mediterranean, or I might be on the lookout for the two raiders still moored in Brest, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. The Ark's very first orders on 23 May were to provide an escort for a Sierra Leone convoy, but after a few more hours the word went round that a new threat was possibly entering the Atlantic – a new German battleship, Bismarck. I wouldn't say that we had much idea about this warship, but we quickly picked up what we could from the squadron office and the commander air staff. This was a true battleship, significantly bigger than Scharnhorst or Gneisenau; in fact, she was the biggest warship afloat, longer than Ark Royal and weighing 50,000 tons compared to the Ark's 21,000. She seemed to be bristling with guns, with a main armament of eight 15in guns and a secondary battery of twelve 6in guns. She was well defended against attack from the air, with sixteen high-angle 4in guns to shoot down aircraft, numerous batteries of 20mm cannon and machine guns, so it was reported, and with very thick armour plating protecting her hull. She would be a tough nut to crack! However, as she was still some way away and was being hunted by the Home Fleet, we did not think she was something we would have to worry about.

  The more immediate problem was the presence of Scharnhorst and Gneisenau in Brest: if they chose to make a foray into the Atlantic at short notice, then we would have to try to stop them. With the fleet concentrating their efforts on Bismarck, now would be the perfect time for the two battlecruisers to join the fight.

  The impact that these German raiders in the Atlantic had was not just the damage to shipping or the loss of life that they could inflict, although that was extremely serious. No, it was the fact that, with up to six convoys in the Atlantic at any one time, it was very difficult for the navy to assign a battleship with the necessary anti-submarine escort to each one. To do so would drain resources from elsewhere, particularly from the Mediterranean, where the Germans were really stepping up their offensive in North Africa and had also begun the invasion of Crete. The threat from the U-boats was severe enough; Britain just could not afford to have powerful surface raiders loose in the Atlantic as well.

  These considerations were of only passing interest to us, however. My task was to get into the cockpit, take off on a patrol and keep alert for two hours, then find the carrier to land on, where I would warm up and grab some food before embarking on another patrol before the day finished. On the 23rd, however, it got progressively harder. As the day wore on, the sea started to get rougher and the landings became more difficult. Fortunately, all twelve Swordfish that had flown patrols that day completed them without incident.

  However, events had been developing rapidly 2,000 miles north of the Ark. Bismarck and a companion ship, the battlecruiser Prinz Eugen, had left harbour in Germany on 19 May. They had sailed through the Kattegut, that belt of water between Denmark and Sweden, on the 20th and had then moored in a fjord south of Bergen so that Prinz Eugen could take on more fuel. The start of their mission into the Atlantic had already come to the notice of the Admiralty. Reports of their sailing through Danish waters had been passed on to the British naval attaché in Sweden, and by the time the two warships had moored in Norway a photo-reconnaissance Spitfire was able to fly over them at high altitude and take photographs. That night, unaware that they had been photographed, Bismarck and Prinz Eugen, her fuelling completed, continued on their journey. Later, on the 22nd, a Fleet Air Arm Maryland took off from Hatston in very bad weather on a reconnaissance of the Bergen area, and was able to alert the Admiralty that the two warships were no longer at anchor.

  There were several routes that German warships could use to enter the Atlantic. There was the Denmark Strait, between Iceland and Greenland, which in May was reduced to a width of about 60 miles because of extensive pack ice; there was a passage between Iceland and the Faroe Islands about 240 miles wide; there was the gap between the Faroes and Shetland, which was about 140 miles wide; and there was the Fair Isle Channel between Shetland and the Orkneys. The most northerly was the most remote from any aerial reconnaissance flights, and this seemed to Admiral Tovey, who was in charge of the Home Fleet moored in Scapa Flow, the most likely. It was the same route that Scharnhorst and Gneisenau had taken for their own highly successful raid on merchant shipping at the start of the year, when they had been the subject of a long and unsuccessful hunt by the Ark. Nevertheless, the Admiralty took precautions to cover the other routes as well.

  HMS Suffolk and Norfolk, two heavy County class cruisers armed with 8in guns, under the command of Rear Admiral Wake-Walker, were dispatched to monitor the Denmark Strait, while the sea between Iceland and the Faroes was patrolled by HMS Arethusa, Birmingham and Manchester, light cruisers mounting 6in guns as their main armament. These warships wouldn't have a hope against Bismarck, but their job was not to take her on; it was merely to report the presence of the German warship and continue to follow her until a larger force of battleships could arrive on the scene.

  Two of the Ho
me Fleet's big ships had been sent to Iceland from Scapa Flow in readiness to engage Bismarck: they were the battlecruiser Hood and Prince of Wales, a modern battleship recently handed over to the navy by Cammell Laird and still in the process of working up. They were to be joined by other ships from the Home Fleet after it was revealed that Bismarck had left Bergen. Late in the evening of 22 May, the battleship King George V and Victorious, the navy's newest aircraft carrier, put to sea from Scapa Flow. They were joined by the battlecruiser Repulse, accompanied by four cruisers and a group of destroyers. Also, HMS Rodney, a 16in-gun battleship, was diverted to join up with the ships of the Home Fleet.

  Before sailing, Admiral John Tovey, commander of the Home Fleet, had paid a visit to Victorious and met the commanding officer of the Swordfish squadron, Lt Commander Esmonde. Victorious had been scheduled to steam to Gibraltar, then onwards to replace Formidable in the fleet at Alexandria. The voyage south would have given the carrier the opportunity to carry out exercises and train up the new crew. They would not now have time for that, and Tovey wanted to hear at first hand Esmonde's assessment of his squadron's abilities. Esmonde assured him that, although young and mostly inexperienced, his pilots knew what to do and would be utterly committed. Tovey left with as much reassurance as it was possible to get under the circumstances.

  The stage was now set for a successful interception of Bismarck, the finest and most formidable product of German shipbuilding. Admiral Tovey had made his dispositions, his ships greatly outnumbered the German ones and there was, on the face of it, no reason why we on the Ark, several thousand miles away to the south, would need to become involved in this battle. His assessment of the likeliest route into the Atlantic was correct. Bismarck and her escort, Prinz Eugen, under the overall command of Admiral Günther Lutjens, were set on a course that would take them very close to the pack ice bordering the coast of Greenland. There were usually banks of sea mist swirling across the Strait that offered concealment, and Lutjens had received a weather forecast for the area that promised low clouds, snow and rain squalls, which would also cloak his presence. He believed too that his radar and sonar would help him avoid contact with our ships.