Because major reinforcement of the Central African pocket would be a big setback for the Axis, they had to do everything possible to prevent the convoy from getting through. This meant the Axis High Command could not preserve their war-fighting assets as a force-in-being, in order to menace the Allies indirectly or reduce the Allied side’s options; those assets had to come out and fight. In the bigger picture, this was good, so long as the military value of the U-boats sunk equaled or exceeded that of the convoy ships and escorts sunk — where the measure of value included human lives and weapon stocks. If the trade-off went the other way, and the value of U-boats lost was much less than the damage they inflicted, the Allies would suffer adverse attrition at sea, apart from the question of the fate of the Congo-basin pocket. Even now, with the passage of time having allowed Sonar and Fire Control to assemble more data, Jeffrey didn’t know who was winning and who was losing.
There’s a definite possibility, that the slaughter on both sides will be so extreme that in the end neither can claim to have won.
All this put Jeffrey in a black mood. He still needed to stop the von Scheer somehow. That ugly thought recurred: Maybe I just have to face the fact that Ernst Beck is better than me.
Jeffrey eyed the gravimeter. The Valdivia Seamounts loomed a short distance ahead, clustered like a drowned archipelago. Somewhere behind him, he knew, the von Scheer was coming his way — Beck could read the same charts.
“What gambit this time, Captain?” Bell asked.
Jeffrey forced himself not to sigh. “If we try the same thing three times in a row, I don’t know if that’s what Beck will expect or it isn’t what he’ll expect.”
“You mean, he might think you’d never pull the same tactic thrice when it didn’t work twice?”
Jeffrey nodded. “The point is the tactics didn’t work, twice. Both times von Scheer got closer to the convoy, and we risked irreparable damage with nothing to show for it but fewer weapons left in our torpedo room and more injured crew. I can see some other choices, but I like all of them even less.”
“Captain?”
“I prefer to keep my own counsel for now.” Jeffrey felt terribly alone, brooding over crushing facts he couldn’t escape.
“Sir, with respect, I need to understand your intentions.”
Jeffrey hesitated. “Okay.” He had other officers take the conn and fire control. He led Bell aft to his stateroom. They went in and shut the door.
Jeffrey glanced at himself in the dressing mirror. His eyes were sunken, with dark bags under them. His eyelids drooped, as if he’d been up late drinking or had a serious case of the flu.
Worse than either of those. I’ve been through two tactical nuclear skirmishes. My head hurts worse than from any imaginable hangover. My body aches worse than from any known flu.
“This’ll be easiest for both of us if we make it quick. You know I had a private session with Hodgkiss before you picked me up?”
Bell nodded tentatively.
“He told me we’re expendable in an equal exchange with von Scheer to protect the convoy…. More normal tactics now, with two ships and captains so evenly matched as we’ve seen, it’s a toss-up who’d win. The odds are unacceptable that the winner would be Beck. If Beck wins, the convoy loses.”
Bell looked at the deck and pursed his lips; Jeffrey proceeded. “A forced one-for-one exchange may be our only remaining alternative. We can’t let him get past us. In a regular fight, the odds are fifty percent we’re dead already anyway.”
“Trade the remaining half, the odds we survive, for a hundred percent odds that Ernst Beck dies? Mutual suicide?”
“I hate to use that word. But basically, yes. A knowing self-sacrifice in the line of duty, for greater good… Sometimes the calculus of war is very cruel.”
“There’s just one thing. Your combat tactics in the past. They’ve been extremely risk oriented, sir. They sometimes bordered on suicide, or you intentionally mimicked suicide, to defeat an enemy captain emotionally and then tactically.”
“Right. And we know Beck knows that firsthand.”
“The danger is you’re becoming predictable again.”
“There’s one important difference, XO. This time I mean it. This time I’m not bluffing. This time I think we really need to make the one-for-one exchange.”
Bell went ashen. “Sacrifice the ship to save the convoy?”
“Those were my orders if I deemed it necessary in the last extreme. The Axis land offensive along the coast is a ticking time bomb. It’s a whole other issue besides the von Scheer. We eliminate von Scheer, at least we halve the problems for our seniors in command. It’d be a damn shame to lose Challenger, but the consequences if we put our own survival first… If we lose the pocket, then the Germans and Boers own all of two continents, and they grab a quarter-million U.S. and coalition POWs. With nukes in play and escalating, we’d never dislodge the Axis then. America would have to sue for an armistice, a dishonorable peace on enemy terms. We can’t let that happen, XO.”
Jeffrey glanced at the picture of his parents on the wall. I wish there was some way I could at least say good-bye.
Jeffrey thought of that photo of Bell’s wife and kids he’d seen him take from his wallet. Bell must be horribly torn inside. Never had the burden of command been so heavy. Jeffrey blinked and fought off the wetness that tried to gather in his eyes. Bell stared at the deck, lost in contemplation, regret etched on his face. At last he looked up and met Jeffrey’s gaze heroically.
“Sir, if you offer a one-for-one exchange with Beck and act suicidal, he’ll assume it’s one of your tricks. You’ll gain the ultimate advantage, because we know it isn’t a trick. It’s just, well, it’s just an ironic way to choose to become unpredictable.”
“Tragic, you mean.” Jeffrey had trouble talking; there was tightness in his throat. He thought of the 120 people in his crew he’d condemn to die. He thought of the widows and orphans they’d all leave behind.
Then he remembered the tens of thousands of people he’d be protecting, and the tens of millions he’d bring closer to release from under the boot of Axis tyranny. One side of the balance scale vastly outweighs the other: the unforgiving calculus of war…. I know what I must do.
“I’m — I’m with you all the way, sir…. What about our people?”
“They’ll do what we tell them to do. This is private.”
“We better get back to the control room, Captain.”
“One more thing. I’ll skip the corny crap; you know what I’d say and I don’t need to say it. Just make sure, for everyone’s morale, we don’t go in there like we’re on death row.”
Jeffrey was surprised how, once he’d made the decision, his mind cleared and he felt much less morose.
Sure, now I know I have no worries beyond my next encounter with von Scheer. No growing old and prostate trouble or arthritis, no more doing my income taxes, no endless hard work and competition as I try to climb the navy ladder. No more regrets I never married and never had kids. No on-and-off strange and strained relationship with Ilse Reebeck.