Golem 7 (Meridian Series) by Schettler John

Author:Schettler, John [Schettler, John]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780984946501
Publisher: Writing Shop Press
Published: 2011-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

The Air crews of squadron 825 were already up on the flight deck, twenty seven men in all, ready to mount the cluster of planes huddled at the far end of the ship. Each plane would carry three men, and soon they had the signal to mount their winged horses, heavy brown leather flight jackets glistening wet with windblown spray as they hurried over the rolling armored flight deck to the planes. The launch crews were huddled there to receive them, holding on to the still cabled planes in the wind. One by one the crews clambered up into the rickety biplanes, signaling thumbs up. The last was “Speed” Pollard, so named for his slow ways, though even he seemed to move with a sense of newfound urgency.

Victorious, steaming well behind Tovey’s column, steered round into the wind and the planes were unhitched. Just ahead of the clustered Swordfish, the deck crews lurched in and pulled away the chocks. Soon the initial flight of three planes was staged slightly ahead of the others, their engines sputtering to life as the wind ruffled them, wing cables creaking as the first moved forward. The sea spray was caught by the swirling props and flung back against the windscreens. A big wave broke high enough to send spray well up and over the ship’s bow and, as she scudded on through, one of the Swordfish slipped slightly off center, prompting crews to run to the tail and bring the plane round again.

All eyes were on the Flight Deck Officer, where he stood, legs well apart and braced against the wind. By now the first flight was wet with spray, the seawater gleaming on the metal props and dampening the canvas fuselages. Then the green flag was sharply lowered and the roaring engine of the number one plane revved up to full power. The plane’s brakes were released and it went careening down the deck toward the bow, its fixed landing gear lashed by ocean spray as it cleared the ship and slowly gained altitude.

One by one the other eight planes followed, all managing to get off without incident. Minutes later they had formed up over the carrier, and then turned together on a heading of 225 degrees southwest, bound to intercept Bismarck where she was still reported to be steaming due south, not twenty miles ahead.

Tovey watched them come up and over King George V, squinting through his field glasses, smiling when the last went by, and winking at his Chief of Staff.

“I’m sure they’ll find Bismarck,” he said. “Getting good light now.” He had already turned his fleet south as well, and was now running on the parallel track he had discussed with Brind earlier, well off the enemy’s Port beam, and just over the horizon. He had little doubt the enemy had him fixed on radar, though his own equipment still showed the Germans holding course and speed due south.

At least they weren’t inclined to pursue us, he thought. The fact that we’re here may give them some pause.

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