Winter Warriors

the Russians.

Hedgehog, The Regina Rifle Regiment, Kola Front

“That’s all we’re getting Sir. Battery shoot. Two rounds per gun of proximity-fused airbursts, one of Willie Pete and a last proximity salvo as an envoi. I hope that for what the Finns received they were truly grateful.” The forward artillery observer switched his radio link off and went back to eating his lunch. A can of beans, Haversham noted.

Bridge, KMS Lutzow, North East of the Faroe Islands, North Atlantic

“More problems?”

Captain Becker rubbed his eyes. He was deathly tired and the bitter cold had long seeped into his bones. There was no shelter from it, Lutzow was too torn up for that. Just a shattered pile of steel slowly, painfully, heading her way towards an inevitable end on the rocks outside Thorshaven. “Diesels are overheating. It’s not surprising, we were never built to go backwards this long. The intakes are designed to scoop up water while we are going forward, not backwards. The flow isn’t enough and the engines aren’t being cooled properly. Can we turn around and go forward for a while?

The Damage Control Officer thought, or tried to. His mind wasn’t working properly; hunger, cold, exhaustion and fear had shrouded him in a blanket that seemed to strangle every thought before he could even get it out. He breathed deeply, trying to compose himself. “How far are we out, Sir?”

“Thirty kilometers, perhaps fifty? No more than that. If we can just keep running for four more hours, we can make it to the rocks.”

“We’ve got more timbers up on the false bow, we’ve stiffened it a bit. Provided we don’t go too fast, it should hold. For an hour or two, to cool the diesels at worst, get us in at best.”

“Captain.” The Navigator’s voice was slurred also. “Why don’t we send Z-27 ahead? If we go down, there’s nothing they can do for us. If we don’t, they can spread the word, get us some help. Get the men ashore across the rocks or get fishing boats out to take off the wounded. Anything.”

“Good idea. Do it. By signal lamp.” Becker rubbed his eyes again and saw Z-27 pulling away from the sinking cruiser. “Turn us around, we’ll go forward.”

The orders were carried aft by word of mouth since the ship’s internal communications had long since failed. Under his feet, Becker felt Lutzow shudder and start to swing. Behind him, the long line of men passing buckets of oil-stained water from below stopped work and looked around. Was the ship going down at last? Then they saw her make her slow, anguished turn and realized what was happening. Wearily, they started the bucket chain again, painfully passing the flood water from one hand to the other.

One of the men looked down suddenly at the contents of his bucket. “Hey, I recognize this lot. We threw it over the side three hours ago.”

There was a tired surge of laughter from around him; then back to throwing the buckets of water over the side. Becker found himself looking over the brutally-amputated bows of his ship. She was going forward again.

“Engineers? How are our engines?”

“Cooling slightly Sir.” He nodded. That had solved one problem but had it created another?

“Damage Control, what is the situation up forward?”

The reply came quickly. “Leakage is down a bit, Sir. Water still coming through but it hasn’t increased the way I thought it would.”

“Suction.” Another officer spoke quietly. “When we were heading backwards, the cut-off area acted like a transom stern. There was suction there, pulling the timbers outwards. Now there is pressure pushing them back together. It will mean that when the leaks start again, they will be worse, but until then, not so much.”

Becker nodded and suddenly looked through his binoculars. “There, in front of us. You see it? On the horizon? Land. Just another couple of hours, that’s all.”

Another officer looked. “Might just be cloud, Sir?”

“Perhaps, but for the men’s ears it is land ahead.”

It was. For the next hour, Becker saw the shadow on the horizon solidify and enlarge. It was land. It had to be the Faeroes. He saw something else as well; a small boat coming out to meet him. It took time to pull alongside, He saw it was a fishing boat, a sailing craft. He didn’t find that surprising since the Faeroes probably hadn’t seen diesel fuel for years.

“German battleship. Are you heading for Thorshaven?”

“We are, God willing.”

“Your destroyer told us where to find you but you cannot bring your ship into our harbor. You will block it when she sinks.”

“We do not wish to. We would beach her outside.”

“That is good. There will be other boats and men on shore to help your crew. Can you steer a course?”

“Not with accuracy. We are setting the rudder by hand. But we can try.”

“Set ten degrees to port. This will put you on to a sand beach. Your men will stand more chance there than on the rocks.”

“Very well.” Becker gave the helm order and felt Lutzow shift again. The island grew in front of him, quickly swelling in size. He had to make several more small changes of course to try and hold the line the Faeroese fishermen wanted but they managed it. Soon, he could see the beach, a small cove, sheltered, welcoming. Much better than he expected.

“Get everybody out from down below. Minimum crew for running the ship only. Everybody else on deck.”

“German battleship?” The voice came from the fishing boat again, still distorted by the loud-hailer. “We can take your most wounded if you wish. There are other trawlers coming out. If you lower your wounded down to us we will take them to Thorshaven.”

“Thank you.” Becker wanted to say more but he couldn’t think of the words. He was just too tired.

Slowly, Lutzow was surrounded by fishing craft. Her crew lowered the worst of the wounded down to the larger trawlers. More small craft were joining them by the minute, ready to take the survivors off when the sinking cruiser hit the beach. That wouldn’t be very long now. Becker could feel her getting more sluggish as the water filled her hull.

“Time to go. Engineers, full power from the diesels, the harder we hit that beach the better. Means we’ll be closer to dry land. What’s the tide?”

“High tide, Sir.”

“Good.”

There was a blast on Lutzow’s sirens and the ship started to pick up speed. The wooden false bow started to disintegrate as the water lapped at it but it really didn’t matter anymore. Becker felt the vibrations as the hull started to touch the bottom followed by the vicious slam as his ship grounded fully. The engines pushed her ashore, through the bottom sand and onto the rocks beneath. Eventually, she stopped, hard aground, barely fifty meters from the high tide mark. When the tide went out, she would be almost wholly exposed. Becker felt something else. As his ship had grounded, she’d changed. Something had gone from her. In his heart Becker knew the truth, Lutzow was dead. She’d got her crew to safety and she’d died doing it.

Alongside, the small craft were pulling men aboard, catching them as they climbed down from the decks and pulling them to safety. The little boats ran them ashore before coming back for more. Then Becker saw something he couldn’t credit. Groups of Faeroese Islanders were running into the sea, long chains of them secured by lifelines. They grabbed at the German sailors and manhandled them back to the beach, just as the same sailors had manhandled the buckets all through the night. Others waited on shore with blankets. They wrapped the survivors in them as they reached safety and rushed them off to be warmed and sheltered. Quietly Becker marveled. After the ruthless bombing the day before, it was almost too great a contrast to bear.

As custom demanded, he was the last man off. He even made a tour of the ship to make sure she was deserted down below. Then he came to the demolition switches. There he hesitated. The standing orders were to blow the ship up but he held his hand. It wasn’t the ship, the cold, empty stillness told him more clearly than anything else that Lutzow was dead. Whatever it was that made her a ship rather than a