By Douglas Reeman
It really is 1943, and the seas are haunted through Hitler's lethal U-boats and cruisers. After the mysterious dying of the Reliant's final captain, man Sherbrooke is given command of the mythical battlecruiser. an emblem of every thing the Royal military stands for, the battlecruiser boasts the rate of a destroyer and the firepower of a battleship.
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Extra info for Battlecruiser (The Modern Naval Fiction Library)
Men he had known. Men who trusted me. Stagg leaned forward, a lock of chestnut hair falling above one eye. “You’ve done well, Guy. Damn well. ” His tone hardened. “But I wanted you as captain. ” He was suddenly on his feet, the uncontrollable energy manifesting itself again. “In every war it takes time to get rid of the deadwood. Look at the last one, for God’s sake! Ideas that had scarcely changed since Trafalgar, rules that went out the window when the first U-Boats put to sea! Winning is what matters, what counts.
Officially, the mess was democratic. But this particular space, known to Reliant’s officers as “the Club,” was, unofficially, for the ship’s senior officers, the heads of departments, where they could sit, talk, drink, and complain, without any chance of a word being overheard or misinterpreted. In a corner, close to a sealed scuttle, one armchair was occupied by Commander (E) Hugh Onslow, “the Chief” as he was known here, as in most ships. He was a large, heavy man with a round, jowled face, and bushy eyebrows which were almost white.
Even up here, they were manned. Not even a battlecruiser could afford to be careless. He could picture the chart exactly in his mind, as if he had just examined it. They were three hundred miles south of the Icelandic coast, Seydisfjord to be exact, and some two hundred miles west of the Faroes. A wilderness, but a jungle, too, Battlecruiser 43 where hunter could so easily change roles with the hunted. Their destroyer escort numbered six, some of the new M-class, probably the largest of their type yet built.