Aye it would tie down some elements of the Home Fleet but if there was an invasion going on I think they'd send south what they could whilst keeping sufficient forces up north to watch the Germans. And if the matter was in doubt, then fuck it, flood the channel with everything we've got that floats.
You know what would actually be quite hilarious?
Well... it just occurred to me, if a Sealion is even possible-looking it's because of a maximum-effort push to down the RAF and ward off the RN...
S-Day plus one
Bridge, HMS
Hood
"Damned it," Whitworth muttered, staring at the brown smudge of the Norwegian coast on the horizon.
He turned to Captain Glennie. "They made it back to port," he said with a sigh.
"Seems so," Glennie agreed. "Pity, I was hoping the bastards would break down."
Whitworth paced the bridge, while his captain privately wished that the Admiral would take himself back off to Flag Bridge where he really belonged.
Then the Admiral blinked. "Wait a second. Have you been hearing all this about the South Coast?"
"Indeed, sir," Glennie replied with a nod. "Which is why I've been wondering when we're going to make our course south-west. It's obvious by now this was a diversion."
"A diversion indeed," Whitworth said with a nod. "And why are we being diverted?"
"So the damned Krauts can invade, of course!" Glennie supplied.
"Indeed." Whitworth pointed southwest. "And that means every other ship they have will be down there, fighting to keep their supply lanes open. Every ship, every plane, every submarine - every mine they can spare."
He strode to the signals officer. "Get me
Furious."
Bridge, KMS
Bismarck.
"I can scarcely believe we got away with it," Lindemann said with a sigh, sitting down.
His command had - almost unbelievably, after the previous day - made it back to port in Norway. None of the big capital ships - every German capital ship that could float and had a crew - had been lost, even with the best efforts of the Royal Navy.
They'd even spotted and sunk a British
Untersee-boot, though that had probably been luck.
Still, now they were safe. And-
"Aircraft!" someone called.
Lindemann came to his feet and strode to the door. "What?" he barked, then spotted it himself.
It was a biplane. Probably - he picked up his binoculars, and adjusted them. Yes, it was a Swordfish. A British torpedo plane.
Were they planning on attacking him here, at anchor? Ridiculous - the harbour bottom here was barely deep enough for his big ships, no torpedo could run that shallow.
He took another look, and frowned. No torpedo.
Were they just checking that he was nicely in port? Sensible, perhaps...
Then he caught sight of something. Just a momentary flicker in the clear blue sky...
"General quarters!" he called. "We're under-"
Explosions marched across the water, about a mile seawards of the moored German capital ships.
"-attack!"
Bridge, HMS
Hood
S+1
"Splash," the communications officer reported tonelessly. "Forward air reports undershot one mile, bearing off to the North approximately one-half mile for
Hood."
"Correcting," gunnery reported in turn, relaying the information.
"I don't like this, sir," Glennie muttered. "We're too close to the shore. If there's shoaling-"
Hood heeled over on her side as her eight 15" guns fired in pairs.
"We have destroyers out taking soundings with ASDIC," Whitworth replied. "In any case, damn shoaling, this is our chance to really hurt the damned Krauts."
Fainter thunder boomed off to the north, as
Nelson fired her own guns in a spaced volley at maximum elevation. Every man on Hood had resented the slower battleships' presence all through the long stern chase... but now they were glad to have them.
"Splash. Range good, bearing good - we have them bracketed," the communications officer supplied. "Pour it on, gunnery!"
Swordfish no.4 in 825 squadron, FAA, attached to HMS
Furious
"Now that is intensely satisfying," the pilot said, half-absently, as the third 16" heavy shell smashed into KMS
Scharnhorst.
The whole FAA had been hoping for payback after the loss of Glorious, and it looked like it was 825 - with a little incidental help from the Mighty 'Ood and the NelRods, of course - who were giving it.
"No bloody fighters, either," the observer said with satisfaction. "Think they're all down in Kent?"
"Seems likely," the pilot allowed judiciously, banking again to prevent the few Flak guns in operation from getting a bead on him.
Not that it would help the Krauts, there was another Swordfish further to the west to act as replacement in case of trouble, but he didn't fancy a swim.
"Looks like they're drifting north a bit," he added, looking over his shoulder at the observer. "Get them to adjust back south before-"
Bismarck blew up.
"Bloody hellfire," the observer breathed, voicing the thoughts of the whole crew, as chunks of armour and steel hundreds of tons in weight went everywhere. "What just-"
"What colour smoke was that?" the pilot snapped, recovering, and banking around again.
"Um... green," the observer reported. "I think. The other green bursters went off at about the same time, and I count seven of them."
"Excellent," the pilot added, much more calmly. "I believe the rest of the Navy might just owe
Hood a drink."
Bergen
Lutjens crumpled his cap in his hands, staring out across the water at the ruin of his career.
The ruin of the Kriegsmarine.
After so many years, so much hard work fighting under Weimar's stupid government for the merest crumb of funding, and then battling it out with the Heer and the Luftwaffe for more money...
The pride of the navy was three great wrecks, sliding under the waves, and smaller debris that had already vanished.
That fucking moron, Doenitz. He must have been behind this asinine diversion plan - the whole point of a diversion was to lure the enemy, yes, but it wasn't much fucking good if you lost your entire fleet doing it because the same moron had stripped the defences of your home port for everything that he could use further south!
And as for that bastard Goering...
One fighter. One single solitary fighter. That's all it would have taken.
Lutjens winced as a secondary explosion took place on Gniseneau, setting the water seething again and making the rescue boats rock on the Fjord's surface.
Then, quite deliberately, he stood up and started down the street.
His billet had some Schnapps. Perhaps he'd feel better once he wasn't looking at the evidence.
Bridge, HMS Hood
Evening of S+1
"Victorious reports aircraft all struck down, sir."
"Very good," Admiral Whitworth replied. "Convey my thanks to captain and crew."
He paused.
"And... increase fleet speed to full, due west. We should get out of the vicinity as quickly as possible. At midnight, make your course for Rosyth."
He turned to his flag captain. "Captain? I believe it might be appropriate to splice the mainbrace."
"My word, sir, yes," Whitworth agreed. He staggered slightly on the deck, as the pumps laboured away corrected
Hood's list.
The long, deep scrape along her port side that Hood had suffered from getting too close to shore was going to keep her in dock for months... but then, she needed a refit anyway.
Even for Whitworth, it was entirely worth it.
(Pretty much written off the cuff... hope it's not too silly. I'm aware that depth charts would probably render this impossible unless they were in the shipping channel, too...)