“Very well, Captain. Can you hold here for a few more minutes? I’ll relieve you at zero-one-hundred hours.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Karpov raised two fingers in a brief salute. Then he turned to the mishman and said in a clear voice: “Captain off the bridge!”
The men saluted as he went, and yes, he never would forget how it felt—so very different this time. He was the Captain. Not just one of three or four officers on the ship who held varying degrees of that rank. He was the Captain of Kirov, flagship of the Northern Fleet, and it felt good.
He was not long reaching the sick bay, and found Admiral Volsky looking much better on the cot, his cheeks reddening up again, eyes brighter, and that look of agonizing pain gone from his face.
“Mister Fedorov!” The Admiral greeted him, “You have just missed another good meal.”
“Something tells me he has a nose for good borscht,” said Zolkin. “They made it right this time, cooked it up yesterday so all the flavors would blend correctly—carrots, parsnips, turnips, good cabbage and of course, the roasted beets!”
“It smells wonderful,” said Fedorov. He removed his cap and took a deep breath.
“Sir,” he began. “I have increased to thirty knots with the aim of trying to reach our objective before the British fleet can return to Gibraltar.” He stood stiffly, hat tucked under his arm, waiting.
Volsky was still cleaning his hands with a white linen napkin. “I see,” he said. “Go on, Mister Fedorov.”
The young captain explained his reasoning, and Volsky listened quietly, saying nothing. “It will be close,” he said. “Even at thirty knots we may not get by them in time, but I won’t know that until I have an exact fix on their position, course and speed.”
“And how close will we be to this Force Z? “ He looked at Zolkin for a moment. “It sounds dangerous, eh Dmitri? Force Z.”
“That will depend on a number of things,” said Fedorov, “whether they have sighted us and marked our heading; their position, their orders, and perhaps even their curiosity may all figure in the mix. But I must be honest and say that there is not much room in the Alboran Sea. We will be in the bottle neck, but there is still much more room there than we will find at Gibraltar in the straits.”
“Assuming we can get by them, we will of course outrun these ships?”
“Their big ships, yes. The battleships would have no chance to catch up with us if we take the lead in this race. They could pursue with their lighter ships, but not far, and they are much less a threat to us than those 16 inch guns. We have a number of factors in our favor sir. They have the lead at the moment, but I checked the service records on the battleships. HMS Rodney is having trouble with her boilers and steering mechanism. It has been an ongoing problem with the ship for the last several months and apparently was aggravated with all the maneuvering required when the convoy came under air attack. I would be surprised if she was capable of any more than fifteen knots, and we have twice her speed now. Nelson could probably get up twenty knots, but I think they would want to keep their battleships together.”
“Agreed,” said Volsky. “And what other cards do you see us holding?”
“We may have an advantage of surprise. They may not have a fix on us and our sudden appearance could hamper their response. Then we could try our ruse as a French ship and perhaps buy a few crucial minutes, or even hours. It is my intention to go in weapons tight unless we are immediately threatened. I want to use our speed, sir. That is our primary weapon now.” He paused a moment, then nodded as he spoke.
“Of course I understand you were considering negotiations, Admiral. I must tell you that I have come round to the belief that they will be fruitless. I cannot see the British taking any less than days to sort this out with us, and one question will likely pile in on top of another. There will be no expedient solution for us in my opinion. If, however, you wish to countermand my decision, I will support you in any way I can during any negotiation you may choose to initiate. For now, I have chosen to act first, and talk later if we must. If I have made an error, sir we can reduce to twenty knots at any time.”
Volsky looked at him, a smile brightening in his eyes. “No, Mister Fedorov. You have made no error. You have made a command decision, and I will support you. You have my approval to carry out your planned operation, but please keep me informed.”
Fedorov stood just a little taller. “I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” He smiled. “Then if you will excuse me, Admiral, I must check with Dobrynin and make certain we can run at high speed without any difficulties, and then I am scheduled to relieve Mister Karpov on the bridge.”
Chapter 24
Admiral Fraser settled into his chair in the officer’s wardroom aboard HMS Nelson, exhilarated by his recent transit to the ship, his cheeks and brow still red, the tang of the sea in his nose, and eyes alight. He took a moment to compose himself while the orderly brought in the afternoon tea. It was just as Admiral Syfret had promised him—Earl Grey, nice and hot.
Fraser was a fast rising star in the Royal Navy. He had served with distinction in the First World War, an expert in naval gunnery, and he supervised the internment of the German High Seas Fleet when that conflict concluded. His broad experience included a stint on the carrier Glorious, service as Chief of Staff for the Mediterranean Fleet, Third Sea Lord, and Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath. History would record that he would lead the British Battleship Duke of York and sink the German raider Scharnhorst in late 1943 before moving to a post in the Pacific Fleet, and he would one day sign the instrument of Japan’s surrender on behalf of the British Empire aboard the battleship Missouri in Tokyo Bay. History, however, had a way of taking some very unexpected turns, though Fraser could not know that as he sat down for tea that afternoon.
“Well, Neville, it seems we’ve got a bit of a mystery on our hands. I know you were in the thickets back there, and had a mind to see it through just a little longer, but I received the same orders as you undoubtedly have, to turn about at once and make all speed for Gibraltar.”
“I certainly hope you’re going to tell me why, Sir Bruce,” said Syfret. The two men had known each other for many years, and were accustomed to drop the formalities of rank and protocol when they met. They had shared many a toast and tea together, though seldom under circumstances such as these. “What, has there been a problem with this Operation Jubilee? I thought it was not to be mounted until this convoy was seen through to Malta and we could get Force H reconstituted at Gibraltar and in position to lend a hand if needed. You know we’ve been rather beaten up out there. They threw planes at us by the bushel, and God bless those boys in the carrier fighter squadrons, they were absolutely superb.”
“Quite so,” said Fraser, his sandy hair now white with his years, but his ruddy features still giving him an animated life and energy. He turned to the orderly, who was standing by the doorway in attendance. “That will be all, young man.”
“Very good, sir.” The man saluted, and quietly left the two men alone. When he had gone Fraser leaned forward and lowered his voice nonetheless, an air of caution about him now.
“No, it has nothing to do with Operation Jubilee—in fact that whole party has been cancelled. Sixty squadrons set back on their rumps at home, and the whole fleet up in a tither over something else.”
“Something else? Do go on, Sir Bruce.”
“Neville, I must first apologize that you will have no inkling of what I’m about to say here. Nobody knows everything, I suppose, and for that matter I only learned about this business when I assumed my post as Deputy Commander Home Fleet when Daddy Brind shipped over to the Admiralty as Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff. I’m just getting my feet wet, you see, and I never expected to hear very much more about the matter, but it concerns that incident a year ago south of Iceland. I’m sure you’ve heard something about it.” He smiled politely.
“I knew Repulse never came home,” Syfret said sullenly, “and we all saw the damage to King
George V and Prince of Wales. I must say I made inquiries about it back then, but I’m old enough to know when a door’s being closed in my face, and so I shut up and let the matter go.”
“You heard the rumors, of course.”
“The rocketry? Some new German raider raising hell out there. It was hard not hear about it. Word has spread round through every bar and brothel in the kingdom by now. But sailors say a lot of things, don’t they. We were told to squeeze the necks of any man we caught spreading such rumors, and I dare say I’ve squeezed quite a few.”
Fraser nodded, taking a long sip of his tea and setting down the cup. “Well I’m to tell you that these rumors have more substance to them than we were first led to believe,” he said. “In point of fact, most every last one was the gospel truth. There was a ship, a German ship we believe, and there was quite a row at sea when Home Fleet went hunting for it a year ago. As you know, the Americans were in on it as well, and they were hurt even worse. You’ve read the papers.”
“Yes, that torpedo attack on the Mississippi. A stroke of good luck for us, if you want my mind on it. Brought the Yanks right in on our side just as Sir Winston was hoping.”
“Yes…well there was no torpedo attack…”
Syfret raised an eyebrow, realizing that Fraser was now getting round to the front door on the matter. “No torpedo attack?”
“It was something else,” said Fraser. “Bletchley Park says it was one of Herr Hitler’s wonder weapons. You know he’s got these rockets on the drawing boards, of all sorts. Well he’s also got one bloody hell of a warhead to mount on them. Why do you think we’ve scattered command elements all over the Kingdom in the last year? What do you make of those underground bunkers they’ve been building in the Scottish Highlands?”
“I thought they were to be for munitions stores.”
“So did I, until they started trucking in desks and telephone equipment, and all the other accouterments that clutter up the Admiralty offices. They’ve been spreading the butter and jam thin, Neville, because they don’t want everything together if another of these rockets comes thundering in on Whitehall one day.”
“I see… But what has this to do with our present orders, Sir Bruce? Why the rush home to Gibraltar?”
“Neville, this new General Montgomery is stiffening up the line at Al Alamein, and we think we can keep Rommel out of Alexandria for the time being. So that means Suez is safe—at least for the moment. Now, you’ve done your damndest to secure Malta, and in spite of the losses I think we got enough through to keep them running a few more months there. It’s a pity it cost us so much, what with Manchester, Nigeria, Cairo and others all gutted, and losing Eagle was a hard blow. But Burrough will be turning west in about three hours with the remainder of his Force X, and Admiralty has indicated to me that Operation Pedestal is now of secondary importance.” He tapped his finger on his tea cup as he spoke, his mind running on.
“Operation Jubilee is cancelled, and now all the plans for Operation Torch are up in the air as well. It’s come down to this, Neville. The threat now is to Gibraltar…” he left that on the table for a moment, sipping his tea and noting Syfret’s reaction.
“A threat to Gibraltar? Have the Spanish thrown in with Hitler after all?”
“No, Franco wants none of that. It’s something else, a matter for the Royal Navy, which brings us round to our orders again. It seems there’s another ship at large—right here in the Med. 248 Squadron got a look at it a few days ago. Park sent film through Gibraltar and it ran all the way into Bletchley Park. I’m not quite sure how just yet, but it apparently has something to do with this incident we had a year ago off Iceland. They’ve slapped a code word on it and we’re to be ready to oppose any and all unauthorized sea traffic approaching Gibraltar. You’re to go to full battle readiness at the first sign of any contact at sea, and they want your planes to begin searching north and northwest of our present position at once.”
“I see,” said Syfret, setting down his tea. “Forgive me if I seem a bit thick, sir, but what are we looking for?”
“A ship—a battlecruiser of sorts—the very same ship our 248 squadron took a nip at two days ago. We lost four of six Beaufighters, you know.”
“I heard the report, but had more on my plate to worry about and dismissed it.”
“Yes… well it was the way we lost these planes that got the Admiralty all rankled. They were shot down by rocketry, Neville. There’s another ship out there, and it’s apparently heading our way. That first sighting was in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and apparently this ship ran up north and on through the Bonifacio Strait.”
“An Italian ship?”
“That’s what we thought at first, but there was an engagement off the western approaches to Bonifacio that set Admiralty on its head. Apparently this ship tangled with a couple of Italian battleships, and came off the better for it. I was only informed this morning.”
“Then it must be a French ship,” said Syfret. “They’ve been goading the Vichy Fleet to Join Admiral Darlan for some time.”
“That was my opinion as well, but Admiralty isn’t sure. A few things add up. If it was a Vichy French ship it might be likely to take a shot at anything that came in range. That much makes sense. Then again, it might be a renegade ship and crew making a run out of Toulon. Nobody knows for sure, but we do know one thing, this ship is heading our way, and we’re to see that it gets nowhere near Gibraltar.”
“Well if it drove off a pair of Italian battleships it would have to be the Dunkerque, Strausbourg, or perhaps even both. Then again, Dunkerque took quite a pounding at Mers-el Kebir. Ark Royal put a torpedo into her a few days later for good measure. It would have to be Strasbourg. She got clean away in that incident, and was still seaworthy. Probably the only ship the French still have that might have a chance against the Italians like that.”
“This is what I suggested, but Admiralty isn’t sure.”
“What do you mean they aren’t sure? What else could it be?”
“They haven’t been able to get a long range reconnaissance flight over Toulon to see if all the eggs are still in the nest, and until they do, well, you know the routine.”
“Too well, I’m afraid.”
“Right then. They’ve given this ship, or ships, a codename—calling it Geronimo. That is to be kept close to your vest and not shared with anyone without this nice thick stripe on his cuff.” He pointed to his own cuff insignia, the thick gold base braid that indicated Admiral. “This ship appears to be heading our way, and they want us to find it and say hello. We’ll have company soon. Admiral Tovey is at sea this very moment with Home Fleet.”
“I see…” That last bit surprised Syfret. “Do you think that is really necessary? I certainly hope we won’t have another incident with the French, Sir Bruce. Wasn’t Mers-el-Kebir enough of a thumb in their eye?”
“If it comes down to it, your orders are to stop this ship, by whatever means. It may be running for Dakar, but it is not to approach Gibraltar. Supposing it is a renegade French ship, we have yet to know who’s side it might end up on. Strausbourg has eight big guns, all forward, and it seems to fit the general profile of this Geronimo—one main tower amidships, and a smaller one behind. I’d hate to see those 13 inch guns lobbing shells at Gibraltar. If we do have a disaffected captain out there, he may be looking to stick us one for Mers-el-Kebir.”
Fraser was referring to the regrettable but necessary decision by Admiral Somerville to order the British Fleet, Force H out of Gibraltar in fact, to fire on the French fleet at Mers-el-Kebir on Aboukir Bay when they refused to surrender.
“Some feel that the French may have even gotten wind of this Operation Torch, and that this might be some sort of preemptive action against Gibraltar, or even an attempt to reinforce their forces in North Africa.”
“I see, “ said Syfret, thinking for a moment. “Strausbourg can run up near thirty knots, Sir Bruce. You’re aware of the situation with Rodney. We’ve been lucky to mak
e eighteen knots today.”
“And it’s likely we’ll have to trim that to fifteen knots. Those boilers are insufferable, but we’ll have to keep pushing on as best we can. It’s imperative that we get the cork in the bottle before this ship breaks through to Gibraltar.”
Fraser had put the best possible explanation to the mystery, and if he knew any more than he said, he wasn’t prepared to share it at the moment. Yet he reinforced the one message he had come to deliver here, leaning in to emphasize his point. “We’re to sink this ship if she won’t heave to, Admiral.” The added formality made it plain that this was an order.
“Very good, sir. If we get in front of them I think Nelson and Rodney can handle the matter.”
“Right you are.” Fraser’s tea was cold and he stared listlessly at the half empty cup. He knew that Tovey was heading south as well with a lot more firepower to throw in, though he couldn’t imagine why if this was, indeed, the Strausbourg as he suspected. It seemed entirely too much bother for a lone French battleship, but there it was. The Admiralty obviously knew, or at least believed, that this Geronimo was more of a threat than it seemed in his own mind. The fact that they cancelled Operation Jubilee was one surprise. Now he reasoned that the potential threat to the Operation Torch landing may be behind it all. If this French renegade were to add steel to the Vichy bastions on the North African coast it could become quite a problem. Still, this business about the rocketry was dangling like a badly tied shoe at inspection. He sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair.
“The world is going to hell, Neville. The whole bloody world is mixed up in this war now.”
“Sadly so, sir Bruce,” said Syfret, reaching for the tea pot to warm his friend’s cup. “But at least we’ve got our tea.”
Part IX
Desertion
“Desperation is the raw material of drastic change.
Only those who can leave behind everything they have
Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) Page 24