Tuesday May 27, 1941 dawned as a gloomy day with dark grey cloud cover and a strong westerly wind that refused to allow the sea any rest. British destroyers split the waves as white foam washed over the decks. The larger ships were better suited to the weather, but the wind that swept past the Ark Royal’s flight deck was so strong it was feared that the Swordfish aeroplanes would be damaged.
In spite of the depressing morning, morale on board the British ships remained high. The previous day, the Bismarck had seemed to escape the revenge so dearly longed for by the Royal Navy. Now the situation had reversed completely and preparations were made for battle. All loose items were secured or stowed away. The seamen changed socks and underwear as a precaution against infection in case of suffering from wounds. Men serving on deck or in gun turrets and as shell handlers collected the white equipment that protected against gun flashes and burns. Lifebelts and steel helmets were put on, whereupon resolute men who tried to collect their thoughts as well as possible, to cope with the tasks they had to perform, manned battle stations. Although most of the men on the British cruisers and battleships felt anxiety as well as fear, all but a few also looked forward to avenging the destruction of the Hood. Fatigue was forgotten. A final exhortation, a final battle, and the men could return to the sleep, the safety and the recreation on land.
On the Bismarck, exactly the opposite situation prevailed. The seamen had already persuaded themselves that the dangerous part of the voyage lay behind them. Plans for home leave or adventures in France were already being discussed. Then, suddenly came the improbable torpedo hit. The younger men perhaps did not realize quite how desperate their situation was. In their minds, they were immortal. Men died in war, but other men, not they. It would be dangerous, but somehow they would survive. The older and more experienced were more realistic. They could not know much about the forthcoming battle, but they realized the British would send sufficient forces to ensure their destruction. However, they kept their thoughts to themselves so as not to spread unnecessary panic among the younger men. The only chance of survival lay in every man performing his duties as well as possible.
The officers knew what the damaged steering system would mean to their chances in the forthcoming battle. They could afford to ignore the calls in the loudspeakers urging the crew to watch for German submarines and aircraft, as they realized it was only a measure to strengthen morale.
In the damage-control centre, Artificer Josef Statz decided to remain at his post, no matter what happened during the coming battle, and to follow the ship to the bottom of the ocean if the battle ended badly. After a long period of inactivity, Lieutenant Jahreis called for their attention. ‘We have some time now,’ he said. ‘Let’s think once more of the homeland!’
‘Yes, and of wives and children most of all,’ someone added.406
When Müllenheim-Rechberg made a final visit to the gunroom, he was met by an oppressive silence, sometimes interrupted by dispirited comments. Suddenly one of the officers made a remark that would forever engrave itself on Müllenheim-Rechberg’s memory: ‘Today, my wife will become a widow, but she doesn’t know it yet.’
‘It was depressing,’ Müllenheim-Rechberg wrote later, ‘too depressing to stay.’407
He left the gunroom and continued to the bridge, where silence met him. To his surprise, he saw that Lindemann already wore a life vest and appeared absent-minded.
He saw me coming, but he did not return my salute, which I held as I looked at him intently in the hope that he would say something. He did not say a word. He did not even glance at me. I was greatly disturbed and puzzled. After all, I had been his personal adjutant and the situation we were in seemed to me unusual enough to merit some remark. I would have given a great deal for a word from him, one that would have told me what he felt about what had happened. But there was only silence, and I had to interpret it for myself.408
It was decided that one of the floatplanes would fly to France with the ship’s war diary, the films shot on board and an account written by one of the war correspondents. The fortunate airmen who were given a chance to avoid the impending catastrophe dressed for the mission while their Arado was moved from the hangar to the catapult. When the pilots reached the deck, seamen who had written their last words to parents, friends, wives or fiancées and wanted these greetings to be taken home surrounded them. With a mixture of relief and disgrace for leaving all the other men to their fate, the airmen put the papers in their pockets and entered the aircraft. But the aircraft could not be launched. After a while, it was discovered that a splinter originating from a shell fired by the Prince of Wales had punctured the container with the compressed air that propelled the catapult. It could not be repaired and the two airmen were again left to share the fate of their comrades.
Meanwhile, Tovey tried to gather his forces, to coordinate the attack. Although the Bismarck was damaged, she could not be dismissed as an impotent adversary. It could not b forgotten that she had sunk the Hood within a few minutes. The position reports given by Vian’s destroyers did not seem to fit with Tovey’s data and he could not see any star shells or flares. He wanted to approach the enemy head to head, from the west-northwest. But he could not accomplish that without knowing the position of the enemy. The latest report, from the destroyer Maori, told him that the enemy sailed at a course of 300 degrees. Fifteen minutes after dawn, Tovey altered to an easterly course. To the north, he could see the Rodney; not as close as the Prince of Wales had been to the Hood but allowing Dalrymple-Hamilton sufficient room for individual manoeuvre.
Like Tovey, Somerville had his share of problems to consider, partly caused by the unreliable position reports. He feared that Force H would accidentally encounter the Bismarck, which might hit and damage, or even destroy, the Ark Royal or Renown before Tovey arrived on the scene. There was also a risk that the Renown might mistakenly be fired upon by Tovey’s battleships when visibility was reduced by rainsqualls. Aerial reconnaissance had not produced any results yet.