Karpov needed to move the ship now, but how bad was the damage? If he put on speed would he cause even more flooding? He decided to risk ten knots, feeling exposed and helpless at this slow speed. He could see the diving boat was gone, and they could come back for any man left in the water once he had found and destroyed this sinister enemy. But if they did not move soon they might all be in the sea.
The comm-link rang sharply and a watch stander answered. “It’s Byko, sir. He has initial damage reports.”
Karpov took the handset and heard what he had hoped. The torpedo had struck and destroyed the diving boat, which was five meters off the port side of the ship. The explosive concussion of the warhead was still enough to shake the ship and fling fragments of the destroyed boat against the hull, but learning lessons from the terrorist attack on the American Destroyer Cole in the port of Aden, Kirov had been reinforced amidships with a long 100mm anti explosive bulwark. It was enough to protect the watertight integrity of the hull, and Byko’s men reported some minor buckling, but no flooding or damage below the waterline. That was exactly what Karpov had hoped to hear. Now they had their speed and maneuverability back, and he immediately ordered all ahead full, with a hard turn to starboard and the open sea just as Fedorov burst in through the hatch, breathless from his long run up to the bridge.
“Captain on the bridge!”
“As you were,” Fedorov said quickly, seeking out Karpov, who quickly filled him in on what had occurred.
“What now?” asked Fedorov. “I think we should use the KA-40.”
“Correct,” said Karpov. “This sub must be very close. I used the ASW rockets as a kind of covering suppressive fire to keep his head down. These subs cannot fire when deeply submerged, yes?”
“Not at this stage of the war. They will need to be on the surface or at periscope depth to fire with any hope of hitting anything.”
“Good,” Karpov rubbed his hands together, the excitement of the battle animating him. “Now that we have full speed we will not be targeted again easily. How fast is this devil, Fedorov?”
“Slow. Perhaps no more than five knots submerged on battery power like it must be now. This is a diesel-electric boat, Captain. Where do you reckon it to be?”
“Do you have a chart?”
Fedorov motioned to his old navigation system and they had Tovarich call up the digital file for the Balearic Islands. “This is Menorca,” Fedorov pointed. “And we are here, near this long inlet.”
“Could he be there?” Karpov asked.
“I doubt it,” said Fedorov. The entrance is narrow and the size of that bay is deceptive. The charts show enough depth for a boat to enter submerged, but half way into the bay it shoals quickly to a very shallow depth.”
“Then I suspect this submarine is probably here.” Karpov pointed off the coast to their east. “He would not run west for fear of being penned up against the headlands of that long cape. No, the bastard will run east, along this shoreline here, and try to get round that fat isthmus east of the bay. I will have Nikolin move the KA-40 off that coastline and we will soon find out. In the meantime, I have given him our backside and put on thirty knots. What is the range of his torpedoes?”
“5000 meters at best.”
“Can they home on our wake?”
“No, they were largely straight runners after firing, unless fitted with a pattern running device, which would probably not be used here.”
“Good. We will be outside his firing range in just a few minutes. Then we use the helicopter to make contact and prosecute. If their Captain survives another hour he will regret the day he set eyes on this ship, I assure you.”
Karpov sighed heavily now, removing his cap and wiping the sheen of perspiration from his brow. He hated submarines—detested them—but now that he had Kirov safely away from the threat, moving at high speed, the foe did not seem so dangerous. It was slow, with old weapons that could not seek him out or follow his wake. He had little doubt that he would get this sub easily enough.
“Five knots?” he said. “Yes, they are slow. Compared to our training to go against those fast American attack subs, this will be no problem.”
Minutes later the KA-40 had dropped three sonobuoys in a triangular pattern well east of the small inlet but perfectly positioned to cover the coastline. One would use active sonar to make the contact, the second to determine its bearing and the third would calculate the range. The helo could also use its dipping sonar, lowering a device into the water from above to refine the data and get a hard fix.
They waited while the KA-40 conducted its search and fed the telemetry directly to Tasarov’s ASW board. Time passed, and the minutes stretched out without any sign of the enemy submarine, and Karpov began to pace, his boots hard on the deck as he walked back and forth, watching out the forward viewport.
“May I maneuver the ship?” He asked Fedorov, who nodded in the affirmative. “Very well, helm, reduce to two thirds and come right thirty degrees rudder to course 065 northeast.”
“Thirty degrees rudder, aye sir. Coming around to course zero-six-five and steady at twenty knots.”
Karpov was turning east to run parallel to the course he had expected the submarine to take, but as time passed and the KA-40 had no contact, he began to suspect they were up against a very wily U-boat captain.
“Come on, come on. Where is he?” he muttered as he paced.
Fedorov was still at the navigation station, studying the charts with Tovarich and missing his old post. What they needed now, he realized, was just a little time to complete repairs on their main sonar systems. They could just sail off at high speed to outrun this submarine. There would be no way the U-boat, if it was a German boat, would ever catch them, so he went over to consult with Karpov again.
“Captain, we are well out of range, and we can outrun this boat at any time. I suggest we use this interval to slow and complete our repairs. Take the ship back west and move the KA-40 between us and the island. We’ll work round that long cape there and find some open sea to complete these repairs. The KA-40 can cover us all night if necessary.”
“We’ll lose the bastard,” Karpov pointed at the sea, clearly unhappy.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s just too slow submerged to pose any further threat. Restoring full functionality on our sonar is more important now.”
Karpov clenched his jaw, but relented. “Very well,” he agreed. “The devil is most likely sitting on the bottom somewhere along that coast. If there are rocks there he would be hard to find in that kind of clutter. But if he so much as moves a rudder, I’ll be on top of him with the helo in no time.”
Karpov was angry that they had been caught sleeping like that. If this ship were in the Atlantic, he thought, we would not have a scratch on us. Nothing would have come within fifty miles of us to pose a threat. But here in these restricted waters we have seen one engagement after another, with damage to radar systems, sonar, the missile accident, hull damage, the loss of a KA-40, men dead and injured—even the Admiral. It was inexcusable.
“We lost men on that diver tender,” said Fedorov. “I’m putting another boat in the water to recover anyone still alive out there. I’ll notify Byko of our decision and have him get more men into wet suits, but this could take time. We have the aviation fuel to burn in this situation, so we’ll have to use it.”
That decided, they turned the ship and Fedorov ordered another boat launched for search and recovery. After an hour they had found only one survivor adrift at sea and clutching a floating spar of broken wood. Two other divers, the boat’s pilot and the marine guard Siyanko were gone. All in all their casualties were not high, but now they had lost seven men to the sea, and Fedorov wondered how many more would die in the days ahead.
He spent some time next to Tovarich at the navigation station, accessing his database on German U-boat movements. What was this submarine doing up here, he mused? Was it Italian? It would definitely not be a British boat. Most of the Italian boats
should be in the Sicilian Narrows opposing Operation Pedestal, and they would base out of Cagliari, Palermo, or other bases in Southern Italy. The Germans were operating out of La Spezia, and he ran a search for this day trying to figure out who it might be.
U-205 was out and deployed against the British to the south, but it would not come this way, and returned to Pola on the Adriatic coast instead of La Spezia. U-83 was way off to the east near Alexandria, and U-331 had just departed La Spezia and was north of Corsica on this day. Unless that boat also left port early, then this contact had to be U-73 under Rosenbaum, the very same boat that had sunk its teeth into the carrier Eagle two days ago. He checked its daily reported track, noting that it should still be south along the line of the British convoy advance, but could he rely on the information any longer? The early movement of the Italian 7th cruiser Division, and the surprising sortie by those two battleships had shaken his faith in the history. It was clear that Kirov’s unexpected presence in these waters was causing ripples of variation in all directions. Ships were moving out on missions they had never been assigned in the history he knew. Engagements were being fought that never should have happened.
What if this U-73 had been moved north, or had come north earlier than the history recorded? He noted that when it did return to La Spezia, it came very near this very island of Menorca along the way. Suddenly curious again, he took yet another look at his navigation charts, his eye suspiciously falling on that long inlet of Fornells Bay. If this U-boat was running on battery it would be very quiet, but three sonobuoys and active dipping sonar should have found it if it was hiding along the coastline where Karpov expected it. He wondered…
That night U-73 put out divers as well, a team of two skilled frogmen slipping away to scout the bay for prying eyes. He had learned the trick from another U-Boat captain who used it up on the Norwegian coast, slipping his boat into the many fiords there and then putting men ashore to give him eyes and ears on the situation, and watch for enemy destroyers. When the proverbial coast was clear, they could sneak out again.
Once ashore on the eastern side of the bay they made their way up a prominent hill, some hundred meters in elevation, and crouched atop its rocky ridge to search the seas to the north. Able seaman Heinrich Waldmann peered through his binoculars to the north , but saw nothing in the moonless night. Then he caught sight of something winking in the distance, and an odd sound came to him.
He did not know it then but he had glimpsed and heard the KA-40 helicopter where it now orbited Kirov’s position, standing guard like a watchful sheep dog. Even so, he reasoned that must be the location of the enemy ship, and he and his mate slipped back down the craggy hill to get back to the U-boat and report. Sometime later the news gave Rosenbaum a chill, for it meant that this battlecruiser was still close at hand.
“Could you see any sign of fire? Smoke?”
“No sir, just an odd sound, almost like an aircraft, and a few running lights.”
He clearly heard an explosion, and knew his torpedo had struck the target, but apparently the damage was not as great as he hoped. At least we’ve wounded him, he thought. He’s probably cruising off shore with men in the water to survey the damage. It will be safe enough to surface here now for a quiet breath of fresh air. Then we can slip out of the bay and creep up on him again. They probably think I am long gone, and wishing to get as far away from this place as possible. But they are wrong. I’m going to get this ship, for Klaus, for U-73, and to beat my lucky number seven as well.
Chapter 21
Just before dawn on the 13th of August, 1942, Kirov was still hovering off the northern coast of Menorca, her sonar repairs and further hull inspections well underway, though it would be another six hours before they would finish. The KA-40 had good endurance and was able to stay up a full six hours before refueling. Though Fedorov regretted the loss of the aviation fuel, he kept the chopper aloft all that night and it kept a watchful eye and ear out for the enemy submarine, but saw nothing. Byko certified the aft Horse Tail towed array was now fully functional again and promised all would be ready on the forward dome by noon.
On his way back to the bridge he stopped briefly at sick bay, hoping to check up on Admiral Volsky. Zolkin was there with him, and the two men were chatting like the old friends they were, a bowl of good hot soup in the Admiral’s lap where he sat up on the recovery cot.
“Mister Fedorov,” Volsky smiled. “I was hoping to hear from you. What was it this time? Did we strike a mine?”
“No sir, the ship is well, but we had a very near engagement with a German U-boat.”
“A U-boat? You sound very confident about that.”
“ I believe I know the boat, sir. And I think I know where it might be hiding as well.”
“Your books tell you all this?”
“Not exactly, sir, but I have made some well informed assumptions. We put sonobuoys in the water where Karpov directed and yet did not find anything, so there is only one place this boat could be.”
“Did you tell Karpov about it? The man is very edgy when it comes to submarines.”
“I believe Captain Karpov has gone below, sir. Rodenko has the bridge for the moment, and I am heading there now. I just wanted to see how you were recovering and give you a report. Dobrynin says the reactors are stable, so the ship is stable as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well sir, every time we have moved—experienced these odd effects and time displacement, there has been a strange flux in the reactor core. I think it happened several times after we first vanished from the scene of that last nuclear detonation. I found these odd references in the history to the sighting of a ship the allies believed to be a Hipper class cruiser, and on the very course we were making when we went down to investigate Halifax.”
“Yes,” said Volsky. “I remember you bringing this up. You are still ruminating on that?”
“It’s just that I was considering that it might happen again, sir. It obviously did happen again, or why else do we find ourselves here, still stuck in the middle of this war?”
“Have you considered telling Dobrynin to fiddle with the reactors a bit more,” Zolkin spoke up.
“What do you mean, Doctor?”
“Tell him to turn his dials, or whatever else he does down there, and maybe we will move again. Then we don’t have this problem of Gibraltar in front of us and the British can relax, fight Germans and Italians, and leave us poor Russians alone.”
Volsky got a laugh from that, but held up his soup spoon, a glint in his eye and said: “The Doctor makes a good point. Tell Dobrynin to plot a course for Severomorsk, the year 2021. Then we could all go ashore and forget this nightmare.”
Fedorov smiled, still considering this for a moment. “I was thinking about something else,” he said. “Perhaps it is only a coincidence, but it was twelve days from the day of Orel’s accident until we eventually vanished into this odd green sea again. That was from July 28 through August 8, counting both days as bookends. Then we vanish again, and it is another twelve days sailing in that desolate world we discovered until 20 August—and we move again.”
“You are suggesting there is an interval involved here, that we move every twelve days?”
“It was just a thought, sir. Perhaps it is mere coincidence. For that matter, we have never determined what sent us back in the first place.”
“I thought it was all these nuclear explosions,” said Zolkin.
“We all assumed as much,” Fedorov agreed.
“Then if nobody tries to lock us up here in my sick bay and we can manage to keep our nuclear warheads in the magazine and not on the missiles, we should be fine,” Zolkin concluded glibly. “We’ll just sail about the Mediterranean until we run out of things to shoot at—or until we run out of missiles to fire at them.”
“Not a very appealing prospect,” said Volsky. “I would much rather find that deserted island in the South Pacific, but to do that we have to get there alive and in o
ne piece. The longer we stay here, the more chance we have for these unhappy encounters with airplanes, battleships and submarines. Something tells me we have more trouble ahead of us than behind us if we are ever to get out into the Atlantic again.”
“I have an idea,” said Zolkin. “This submarine business aside, these waters are relatively safe, are they not? Wasn’t Spain neutral in the war? Don’t these islands belong to Spain? We could drop anchor here in neutral waters and wait another week or so to test Mister Fedorov’s new theory. Maybe the ship will move again, on the twelfth day, and then we don’t have to kill anybody else, and they don’t have to kill us.” He folded his arms, a satisfied look on his face.
Fedorov smiled, his thoughts returning to the problems in this moment. “Well, sir…We still have the KA-40 up and I could probably prosecute this submarine contact further, but repairs will be completed by noon and the ship is sound. However I am sorry to report the loss of four crewman in this last incident.”
He told Volsky what had happened, and the luck that had saved them from a direct torpedo strike when the diving boat inadvertently shielded the ship and took the blow instead.
“Astounding,” said Zolkin. “It could have been much worse.”
“Very much worse, Doctor,” said Volsky. “That torpedo would have probably caused severe damage, and flooding as well. We were very lucky.”
“Sometimes fate does things like that,” said Zolkin, his dark eyes wide. “We could have been hit, perhaps we should have been hit. Who knows how many we might have lost in that event? These four men died in their place, and that is all we have to console ourselves. It would be so much better if we were not sailing around here in these metal machines shooting at one another, but we are—until men come to their senses, I suppose, and realize that choosing life is better than death, even if it means you do not win the day or avenge a fallen foe.”
Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) Page 21