Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series) Read online

  He resolved to get two search planes up at once, one from his ship to have a look out east, just in case this survivor’s report was more than his wishful thinking, and a second from Gneisenau to have a look north and see about Hipper and the British cruisers.

  * * *

  “Well, Mister Fedorov, it seems our plan has achieved mixed results.” Volsky was looking at the latest long range radar plots, clearly not happy. “The Germans are moving south in spite of our intervention. We apparently have a man with considerable backbone in command of that squadron, and though our message to the British seems to have prompted them to turn as well, it does not look like they will intercept any time soon. What is the predictive plot on this, Rodenko?”

  “If both contacts hold present course and speed they will sight each other in five hours, and the Germans be on our horizon in less than an hour if we remain here. They’ll pass just west of our present position, very near the horizon.”

  The ship had been hovering, describing a wide circle about twenty-five kilometers from the scene of their torpedo strike on Altmark. Now Volsky had to decide their next course.

  “Five hours. That would be a sight to see, eh Fedorov?”

  “Under other circumstances I might agree, sir, but after dueling with Rodney and Nelson, and then hammering it out with Yamato, I think I’d prefer to keep as far from a hostile battleship as possible.”

  “Agreed.”

  A call from the intercom interrupted them, and Rodenko flipped the switch. The voice of Chief Dobrynin was on the line, and he sounded bothered and very concerned. “Admiral, we have a problem.”

  “What kind of problem, Chief?”

  “I’m getting those unusual flux levels in the core of number one reactor—that’s the system we used in this last shift, sir. I don’t like it, and I want to cut power there immediately to have a closer look and see what is going on.”

  “What will that mean, Chief? We may have company soon.”

  “You’ll have fifty percent power until I bring that reactor back up, and it could be several hours.”

  “How serious is it? Can the procedure wait?”

  “I would not advise it, sir. I’m not happy about these flux levels. If they get any higher we could get a reactor scram, and I have had to lock out our special control rod.”

  “What does this mean, Chief?”

  “If a scram occurs all the unused control rods are immediately inserted into the core to stop the reaction, sir. But I’ve locked out the special rod in the number 25 position. We won’t get a complete shutdown in an emergency and I could be forced to use a boron injection. That could contaminate the fuel cladding. In that event restart is much more complex and could take a good long while.”

  Volsky folded his arms. This was not good. The ship was already hobbled by the hull damage to the bow, and now to have the reactors acting up was even worse. They had superb situational awareness, able to see any potential threat on radar long before it could close with them, but without the speed to evade contact, they could find themselves in a very uncomfortable situation.

  “Very well, Mister Dobrynin. I’ll need power for at least an hour. Can you hold things together that long?”

  “I will monitor it closely, Admiral.”

  “Keep us informed if the situation worsens.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Volsky looked at his senior officers. “Not a very satisfactory situation. Plot a safe course to evade the Germans as they come south, Mister Fedorov. The last thing we need now is a pair of German battlecruisers darkening our horizon.”

  They turned east at twenty knots, chasing the last squall lines as they fled towards Iceland. Rodenko was keeping a watchful eye near the radar station when he was surprised to suddenly pick up airborne contacts. He started to report, then stopped himself, realizing how he had been hovering over Kalinichev there, and assuming his duty. So he tapped the man on the shoulder. “Make your report, Kalinichev. I’ll update the situation map.”

  Kalinichev nodded. “Con, Radar. I have two airborne contacts. One bearing two-eight-zero, very close at 22,000 meters. Designate Alpha one. The second bearing one-one-five, range 150, flying low and slow. It just came on my scope, sir.”

  “They have to be seaplanes off the capital ships,” said Fedorov. “The German battlecruisers carried the Arado 196.”

  “So we have jammed their radar and they want to have a look around,” said Volsky. “I assume the British are doing the very same thing.”

  “The weather is clearing, sir. This is a logical deployment.”

  “Very well…We’ve already been sighted once by British search planes without incident. The Germans are another matter. Are these planes armed?”

  “They could carry 250 kilograms of bombs, but I doubt they will be configured that way for a simple search operation. It’s unlikely they would attack if they sight us, sir.”

  “But they would reveal our position to this German Captain out there. How fast are his ships?”

  “Both were rated for thirty-two knots, Admiral.”

  “And Dobrynin is asking us to reduce to fifteen. Well that cannot happen any time soon now. If we hold this speed we may just be able to ease off to the east, but if those German ships get curious?”

  He raised his thick grey brows, a warning in his eyes.

  * * *

  Schulman saw the ship plain as day. He had been flying the Arado for three years now, and was well experienced. The Kapitan had told him to have a look out east, and lo and behold, what was this hovering just over the horizon? It was big, a large warship to be sure, and every line and angle of the ship looked threatening. There was power there. He immediately notified his signalman to send off a message.

  “Let’s hope they hear us,” the man returned. “The ship’s communications were all fouled up, from what I heard.”

  “Send it anyway. This ship is very close. If need be I can turn around and get back to Scharnhorst in a few minutes.”

  Even as he said that he knew that it was the wisest course. That had to be a British warship out there, a battleship, he thought. It was just his luck that he came upon it as Kirov was still cruising west, ready to make its turn to evade any possible conflict here. But the course change came too late. Schulman had seen enough to be justifiably worried. In his mind the ship was bearing down on his comrades and he set his mind to make sure they were warned.

  “Has Scharnhorst confirmed receipt of our signal?”

  “Not yet, Leutnant.”

  “Then we go and deliver the mail ourselves. That ship is not far over their horizon and it looks to be trouble.”

  He banked away, feeding power to his engines and turning for Scharnhorst again. It was the easiest search patrol he had ever flown.

  Part X

  Shadow of Death

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff

  they comfort me...”

  ― Psalms 23:4

  Chapter 28

  Kapitan Hoffman had just settled into a chair in his ready room for much needed coffee when the lookouts spotted the plane returning. They called the air warning, sending the ship to battle stations and quickly ending his anticipated rest. He was up on his feet again at once, and out onto the weather bridge.

  “What is it?”

  “There, Kapitan.” Huber pointed low on the horizon where a plane was bearing down on them. “Someone is curious.”

  Hoffmann took a pair of field glasses from the rack and raised them to his tired eyes. A minute later he smiled. “Secure from battle stations,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong with your eyes today, Huber? That’s our Arado.”

  He handed Huber the glasses, and the other man looked again. “So it is, sir. I thought it was a Swordfish. What are they doing back here already? They just took off fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Most likely engine trouble,” said Hoffmann.
“I’ll be in my ready room off the bridge, and my coffee better not be cold, Leutnant.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  The Kapitan’s coffee was still warm, but he soon learned there was nothing wrong with the seaplane’s engines. The plane circled, fluttered off the starboard side and landed on the sea, the long green pontoons scudding through the waves as it thrummed its way toward the ship. Scharnhorst slowed as the plane came along side and they signaled Gneisenau by lamp to take the van. It was not long before Huber was in the Kapitan’s ready room again.

  “Schulmann has come back to report a sighting, Kapitan, south east over the horizon. Very close!”

  “What’s wrong with his damn radio? We have to slow to five knots to recover his plane and that submarine could still be out there.”

  “The interference, sir. He says he sent the message but received no confirmation, so he came back himself, and lucky for us. He reports a large warship—heavy cruiser or battleship!”

  “Battleship?” That got Hoffmann’s attention, and all he could think of was that odd story Rolf Zanger had told him in the boiler room. There was another ship close by. Like an itch that had just been scratched he nodded with a self-satisfied half smile on his face.

  “Tell Schulmann to get back in his plane and take off again. Come to thirty knots and turn on the reported heading. Signal Gneisenau and see that they are informed.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Any news yet on the whereabouts of Hipper?”

  “Nothing yet, sir. But the wireless—”

  “Yes, the damn wireless is still all fouled up.”

  Another ship, thought Hoffmann. This could be the ship that has been jamming us. There may have been a third cruiser out here working with the others, or perhaps a battleship.

  “What was the contact’s course and speed?”

  “Two-three-zero and cruising at about fifteen knots.”

  “In no hurry…” But that heading would put it off his port bow in little time. “The ship will come to battle stations. Raise flags for Gneisenau.”

  “We are going to fight here, Kapitan?”

  “I want to have a look at this ship. If it is a cruiser, then it was probably shadowing us for some time and with the radar jammed we could not see it. In that event we will see how they like our guns. If it is a battleship, then we will show them our wake. If they pursue and manage to keep station that will say much as to what this ship is. Only a fast battlecruiser like Hood could keep up with us.”

  “And if it is Hood, sir?”

  Hoffmann gave him a long look. “Why then things get very interesting, don’t they, Huber. Go! Get to the bridge with those orders. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  * * *

  “We’ve been seen, but the plane has turned away, Admiral.” Rodenko saw that it had already slipped back over the horizon. “It appears to be returning to the German battlecruisers.”

  “The tattletale runs home,” said Volsky. “I don’t suppose it would have done us any good to shoot that plane down. The missile fire and explosion would have been seen by those ships. We are too close, and now we are sitting here like a big fat goose in a pond. How long before the reactors can give us normal power again?”

  During the sighting they had another call from Chief Dobrynin. The flux levels were too high. They were very near a critical state on the number one reactor that would soon require a complete shutdown if not mitigated. He wanted permission to begin scaling down that reaction to see what was happening, but it meant that the ship had to reduce power for a time. Kirov slowed to just ten knots, and there was a noticeable rise in the tension on the bridge.

  Rodenko kept a wary eye on the radar with Kalinichev, soon seeing what he feared most. “They are turning, Admiral. And their speed is up near thirty knots now. They should break the horizon in a few minutes off our aft port quarter.”

  “And what will they think of us here,” Volsky thought aloud.

  “We won’t give away much from that perspective,” said Fedorov. “But if we come around and give them our full silhouette, we might put the fear of the lord into them when they see our size.”

  “You are suggesting they may break off if they see us as a threat?”

  “It’s a possibility, sir. Their real intent is to get into the Atlantic and attack the convoys. All we are is an obstacle. If they think we are a cruiser trying to shadow them, we could be in jeopardy here. But if they think we are something more…”

  “There they are, sir!” A forward lookout had seen something on the horizon.

  “Activate the Tin Man. Let us have a closer look.”

  All eyes were fixed on the overhead screen as the high powered cameras in the Tin Man focused and resolved on the contact. First one, then a second ship appeared, their battlements tall and dark against the horizon. Admiral Volsky glanced at Fedorov.

  “That will be Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, sir. No doubt about it now. The British called them the Twins.”

  “Beautiful ships.”

  “Beautiful but deadly, Admiral. They will be carrying nine 11-inch guns each and will have the range in five minutes.”

  Volsky raised an eyebrow at that. “Helm come left to three-thirty. Let’s show them our full silhouette as Mister Fedorov suggests.” It was as if a pair of gunfighters were slowly squaring off a fifty paces, and Kirov was reaching to move aside its overcoat, and reveal the gun on her hip. They wanted to look every bit as threatening as the distant ships closing on them.

  “The ship will come to full battle stations,” Volsky said quietly, his eyes fixed on the Tin Man display, watching the other gunfighter’s hands very closely for the slightest twitch or indication that he was ready to draw.

  “Mister Samsonov, what is our present SSM missile inventory?”

  “Sir, nine missiles on each of the three primary systems.”

  “Then ready on the MOS-III system. Target the lead ship.”

  The Admiral looked at Fedorov. “In for a penny, in for a pound, Fedorov. If those ships fire I’m going to show them who they are dealing with, and in no uncertain terms…before they demonstrate that famous German marksmanship and end our little journey in a most uncomfortable way.”

  Fedorov said nothing.

  * * *

  Hoffmann was on the weather bridge, eyes glued to his field glasses and standing like another tin man, his posture stiff and straight. He saw the dark shade stain the horizon and had an eerie feeling, as if he were looking at the shadow of death itself. It slowly fattened and extend and he knew the ship was turning. The squadron was at battle stations, running fast, their bows white with sea spray. He saw the big turrets turn, barrels elevating, and looked again.

  “What do we have here?” he said aloud to himself. “That is no cruiser…” No. It was much too big, its bow high and the long foredeck strangely clean and empty. Then the superstructure rose, tier after tier to a high mast where something gleamed in the grey light, a blur of motion there. But he could see no guns, nothing more than a few secondary batteries. He thought this might be a large liner, another British auxiliary cruiser impressed into the ranks and forced to wear war paint, but it did not look like any passenger ship he had ever set eyes on.

  This is a battleship…Look at it. It has an evil aspect, imposing, menacing. Look at its size! The bow is high and proud, and the bridge and main mast is well back. The ship looks fast, but they can’t be making any more than ten or fifteen knots, as if they had all the time in the world, heedless…or fearless…but where are the guns? There’s nothing on that long forward deck at all.

  It was not Nelson or Rodney. This ship was much longer than either of those ships, by at least a third. It was easily as big as Hood, though it looked nothing like that ship. Could it be the British G# battlecruiser? But no, that ship had two prominent stacks. There were no stacks here. This ship is not making smoke at all, just sitting there, turning like some grey behemoth that has slowly taken notice of intruders, with bad intent.<
br />
  There was a high standard on a mast amidships, but he could not make it out at this distance. It fluttered like a black ghost above the ship, indiscernible. They can clearly see us, but yet they do not fire, he thought. Perhaps this is some strange commercial ship, a big toothless tanker rigged out to look like more than it is.

  The Germans had played tricks of their own like that. Their commerce raiders like Orion, Thor and Komet would carry false stacks, wooden and canvass facades to mimic new funnels, gun turrets, and change the ship’s superstructure and silhouette. Deception was as much a part of war as anything else, but this was the most mysterious looking ship Hoffmann had ever seen. It was time to break the impasse and send greetings and salutations. If the radio was jammed then he would do it the old fashioned way. If this ship was his dark and nefarious shadow, the source of the jamming that had confounded his radar and communications, then he would soon find out. There was nothing else in the sea around them that would be deemed a friendly vessel, except the Hipper, and he could recognize that ship’s silhouette easily.

  He passed a brief moment of hesitation. What if this is a neutral ship, an American warship of some kind? So he decided to begin with a warning shot, the proverbial shot across the bow.

  “Huber! Signal Gneisenau to hold fire for the moment. We will say hello with Anton and see what comes back.”

  Anton was, of course, the forward “A” turret on the ship. He looked over his shoulder, craning his neck as the battle flags rose to communicate his message. Gneisenau winked her aft lamps to indicate they had received and understood the order. Satisfied, Hoffmann settled his cap firmly on his head and slowly raised his field glasses. ‘The praetorian’ was going to announce himself.

  “Warning shot off the bow. Lead them, but make it close.”