A relentless, silent hunt of vast proportions was afoot last week. The field was the gale-blasted barrens of the North Atlantic Ocean. The hunters were patient, powerful units of the Royal Navy, equipped with aircraft which soared ceaselessly like gulls of vengeance far up the shores of Greenland and Iceland, high over the crinkled fjords of farthest Norway. They hunted a killerthe German surface raider, probably the pocket battleship Admiral Scheer or Lützow, which last fortnight fell upon a big British convoy in Lat. 52°N., Long. 32°W., halfway between Newfoundland and Eire (TIME,...
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