Why did she feel like a traitor for considering MI5’s offer? Despite Kraus’s kindness, the Germans were her enemies. The Nazis killed Dirk and many more like him. They sent innocent people to concentration camps simply for being Jewish.
Crossing your enemy wasn’t betrayal at all.
Cilla opened her eyes. “I’ll do it.”
8
HMSHood, Scapa Flow
Wednesday, May 21, 1941
Lachlan stroked one of the aft turrets housing twin 15-inch guns aboard HMSHoodas the battlecruiser passed through Hoxa Sound back into Scapa Flow. “Imagine what we could have accomplished if theAntelopehad guns like this for horns.”
Lt. Edmund Fitzsimmons laughed. “These guns would sink theAntelope.”
“Aye, mate.” Lachlan grinned at his former shipmate and at the image of the nimble wee ship bogged down by massive gun turrets.
Under a cloudy sky illuminated by the early-evening sun, theAntelopetrailed in “The MightyHood’s” wake, along with fellow destroyersElectraandEcho. Accompanying the ships on exercises in Pentland Firth had been Lachlan’s first assignment of any account at Scapa Flow.
Fitz waved his patrician hand upward to the array of Type 279M radio direction finding antennae gracing theHood. “I’m looking forward to seeing what we can accomplish with ournew RDF equipment. If only we’d had more time for exercises before sailing.”
“Aye. Are your lads ready?”
“They must be.” Fitz paused whilst a pair of ratings exited the turret and sauntered forward up the deck, then he leaned close to Lachlan with his green eyes serious. “This morning, the Admiralty received word that theBismarckhas sailed from Germany.”
“Aye,” Lachlan said in a low voice. For months, the Home Fleet had dreaded the day the new German battleship would break out into the Atlantic to attack British shipping. “Yesterday she was sighted in the Baltic Sea.”
German U-boats wreaked enough havoc on the convoys bound for England. But over the last few months, German battleships and heavy cruisers had created additional carnage. Without the food, fuel, and supplies carried by those convoys, the British people would starve and industry would sputter to a halt.
British submarines and the RAF kept watch on the warships at Kiel in Germany and in Brest in France. Bottling them up in port was best, but now theBismarckand the heavy cruiserPrinz Eugenhad sailed.
“This could be our chance to sink her, sink them both.” Fitz set a cigarette between his thin lips, flipped on his lighter, and shielded the flame.
Adm. John Tovey, Commander-in-Chief of the Home Fleet, would order the warships to sail as soon as reconnaissance confirmed the Germans had broken into the North Sea. Lachlan’s chin firmed. “We must sink them.”
Fitz led Lachlan forward past the two aft turrets. “Has being at sea today led you to regret your new assignment?”
“No. Our work is important, and it suits me.” The Luftwaffe had sent reconnaissance flights over Scapa Flow every day in the past week—more proof that a breakout was in order.Lachlan’s command was preparing dummy ships to fool those aircraft after the Home Fleet departed, to lull the Germans into complacency.
A low rumble issued from Fitz’s throat, and he climbed the ladder to the shelter deck. “You should request a transfer. Your skills are wasted here. You’ve a level head in combat, a quick mind. We could use you on board.”
“Wheesht.” Lachlan’s cheeks warmed.
At the top of the ladder, Fitz tapped the wavy lines of gold lace on his own sleeve. “You and I are in the RNVR. The only path to promotion, the only path to a naval career, is at sea, in combat.”
“Aye.” Lachlan joined Fitz on the shelter deck. Fitz didn’t know that no amount of combat experience, no string of decorations on Lachlan’s chest would grant him a naval career.
But two of the three men chatting by the twin 4-inch dual purpose guns knew, and Lachlan’s stomach caved in.
Fitz strode up to the trio. “Johnny, look who’s here.”
“Mackenzie!” Johnny Johnson bounded over, a grin crossing his freckled face. “Fitz told me you were on board. Good to see you, old chap.”
Lachlan tried to muster a smile for his fellow officer from theAntelope, but how could he with his past blowing hot air down his neck?
“Lachlan Mackenzie?” Disgust shriveled Neville Forth’s voice. “What is he doing here?”
Clive Stanley harrumphed. “Wartime emergency or not, such men don’t belong in uniform.”
