“I don’t know,” Linlithgow suddenly sounded very old, very tired and utterly broken-hearted. Quietly, Nehru cursed himself for causing the man who had done so much for India such distress on what should have been a happy day. “I never thought, never dreamed, that I would see a day like this. Halifax’s Armistice is against everything that I thought we stood for.”
“Look overhead; Hudsons of the Indian Naval Air Force. India stands on its own feet today and we stand for the ideals Britain taught us. We may be going our own way, Victor, but we still stand for them. The Empire still stands for them all. Britain taught us well and we will hold to those lessons. In us, Britain lives on; in time, we will bring her back to life again.” Nehru meant the words as meaningless comfort to a distressed friend; but, as he spoke them, he suddenly realized he believed every one of them.
Chapter Ten
HEATED WORDS
“I see you’re off to for your afternoon nap. Could I organize a nice cup of cocoa for you?”
The remark sounded impertinent; but, in truth, the Swordfish pilots heading for the briefing room were definitely on the old side compared with the young lieutenants from the ship’s company. But, there was a reason for that. They were hard-core Fleet Air Arm veterans; ones who had started their careers flying the long-forgotten Blackburn Baffin and the almost equally obscure Blackburn Shark. They were low-ranked for their age and service careers; a residual effect of the limited career prospects in a Fleet Air Arm dominated by the Royal Air Force. Yet they had been quietly and diligently pursuing their craft throughout the lean years of the 1930s. The eighteen Swordfish crews on Eagle were probably the finest torpedo bomber pilots in the world. It was a pity their equipment still didn’t match their skills.
“Cheeky little bastard.” Lieutenant James MacFleet growled at the impudent snottie who had dared to remark upon his comparatively advanced age. The youngster stepped to one side as MacFleet bore down upon him.
Inside the briefing room, all eighteen Swordfish crews were assembling.
“Gentlemen, settle down please.” Captain Stuart Munroe tapped his podium with a pointer. “We have a critical mission to perform. We have been informed by Maryland reconnaissance aircraft that the Italian battle fleet is out. A Maryland from Malta confirmed that they had left Taranto yesterday evening and this morning we got confirmation that they are heading our way. They were reported south of Zakynthos at 0920; course one-three-five, speed 20 knots. The Maryland reported three battleships, four heavy cruisers and eight destroyers. If that formation holds course and speed, they will be eightythree miles west of us at 1300. According to our current plans, that is when you gentlemen will sink them. All of them, for preference. I need not tell you that Britain needs a cheerful Christmas present right now.”
MacFleet looked around. Eighteen crews and fifteen ships didn’t augur well for the wholesale destruction Munroe appeared to be expecting.
“Sir, am I to assume that the battleships will be the priority targets?”
Munroe shook his head. “No. The situation is this. The group we will be attacking are the covering force for a large convoy heading for North Africa. There are at least twenty of Italy’s largest merchant ships in that convoy and their loss will be a massive blow to the Italian ability to support operations in North Africa. In addition, there are ships carrying an armored group of the Italian Army. Those ships will split away later on and head for Benghazi, while the supply ships head for Tobruk. It will be the job of Warspite and her cruiser-destroyer group to make sure they do not get there. To do that, we need to clear that covering force out of the way. It is not necessary to sink all the ships in that group, just hurt them badly enough to send them home. We want hits made on as many ships as possible; not a lot of hits on a few of them. Is that clear.”
“Sir. Enemy fighter cover?”
“As far as we can determine, there will be none. Technically we will be just in range of land-based fighters, but coordination between Italian ships at sea and aircraft based on land does not appear to be good. The Marylands are reporting no fighter interference.”
“Sir, do we have any information on which ships are in the group?”
The leader of B-flight, Lieutenant Colwyn Caradoc, was Welsh through and through. His accent added something undefinably melodic to the briefing. It also made a number of the pilots feel homesick. They were all aware that the split between Britain and the rest of the Empire meant it could be a long time before they went home.
“Our information is that it includes the battleships Andrea Doria, Caio Duilio and Conte di Cavour. Heavy cruisers Bolzano, Zara, Fiume and Gorizia. That’s what the Marylands say, anyway.” Munroe added the comment quickly. The ability of RAF crews to recognize warships was not one of their most advanced capabilities. “We don’t know who the destroyers are. One thing I must stress, if Warspite and the group with her can get into the Italian convoy, it will be a catastrophe for the Italians. Not just in terms of ships and supplies sunk, but in the position that their troops in Italy will be left holding. Headquarters now believes almost 100,000 of their men are cut off along the coast between Mektila and Mersah Matruh. They will have to surrender within three or four days at the most, unless a relief effort can be mounted. Every day that passes means that relief effort gets more difficult. We had news this morning that the Australians are moving into Bardia. If that city falls, then the nearest port to the Italians will be Tobruk. We believe that is why the merchant ships are heading for there; the Italians evidently believe that Bardia cannot hold out.”
Munroe stopped speaking as a messenger from the Signals Division entered with a message flimsy. He took it and read the contents. A slow smile of satisfaction spread across his face.
“Gentlemen, I am pleased to inform you that the Italian battleships are continuing to head south at a somewhat higher speed of advance than originally thought. They are currently off Cape Methoni, some 120 miles north west of us. ”
He turned to the map behind him and marked the latest position report on the chart. Then, he drew the connecting line joining their position to that of Eagle and her four escorting destroyers. The navigators in the crews quickly noted down the positions and the course needed for the intercept. “We have 15 Swordfish ready to launch and will hold the remaining three, plus our three Sea Gladiators, in reserve. Man your aircraft, gentlemen; we launch immediately.”
“There are how many Eye-ties in there?” Sergeant Joe Solomon couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
“About 45,000, so the big brass says.” Lieutenant Garry Oswin repeated the numbers he had been given. “With thirteen tanks and about a hundred machine gun carriers. And nearly 300 guns; ranging from our old friend the 65mm mountain howitzer to 150mm heavy guns. All defending an 18-mile perimeter.”
“Strewth.” Solomon was surprised at the sheer size of the force that was trapped in Bardia. “And we’re attacking it with a single battalion?”
“Not us, Joe. Our part in this is a demonstration. The 16th Brigade will be doing the real work, hitting the defenses on the western end of the perimeter. They get the Tillies supporting them. Our job is to draw the attention of the Italian defenses here, in the east. We’ve got some porteed twopounders to back us up if the Eye-tie tanks show up. We’re not supposed to get into a real fight though. Just prevent the Eye-ties from moving any of their troops westwards.”