Paradox Hour

by John Schettler

  Part IX

  Maxim 17

  “The longer everything goes according to plan, the bigger the impending disaster.”

  ― Maxim 17: The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries

  Chapter 25

  Admiral Volsky was on the bridge when Fedorov came up, his heart heavy as he had just lain yet another man to rest, where he would stand his watch for eternity in the deep sea. How many had died? The fact that he did not know the number was equally disturbing. When you start losing count, then you know the bill is too high, he thought. And how many more will die before this is over, if it will ever be over?

  Fedorov came onto the bridge, announced by Rodenko, and he saluted with that hand, giving it a sidelong glance as he did so, and flexing his fingers after Volsky returned his salute.

  “Welcome Fedorov, something wrong with that hand?”

  “Not at the moment,” said Fedorov, “as long as the damn thing stays put.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Volsky, and Fedorov stepped closer, lowering his voice as he told the Admiral what had happened after he threw the Devil’s Teardrop overboard.

  “That is most disturbing,” said Volsky. “And this is why you do not have on your leather gloves. Yes? Have you seen Doctor Zolkin?”

  “I doubt there is any pill he can give me for that, sir. But this reinforces my belief that the object may have been responsible for destabilizing the ship’s position in time.”

  “I am glad that thing is off the ship. Will you be alright now?”

  “I hope as much,” said Fedorov. “It may be just a temporary effect from handling the object those few moments. It happened so quickly that I thought I might be seeing things.”

  “Let me know if you have any further trouble.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Now then,” Volsky adjusted his officer’s coat. “Mister Rodenko has our situation report.” He looked over his shoulder for Rodenko, and the Starpom was ready at hand.

  “The KA-40 was up just after sunset,” he said. “We could fly any time, but why waste the air defense missiles if those German fighters are about. In any case, we’ve had a good look forward, and can now report the locations of both German battlegroups. One is here, about 280 miles northwest, and the other due north of that position, about here. They have turned on these new headings to effect a rendezvous. This contact here is a British battlegroup composed of two ships, and there are another two here, due east of the predicted German rendezvous point.”

  “The first group will be King George V and Prince of Wales,” said Fedorov. “The second group are the battlecruisers Renown and Repulse.”

  “A lot of power there,” said Volsky.

  “Perhaps,” said Fedorov, “but this single German group to the north could match all those ships. My enigma decrypts show the Tirpitz, with two battlecruisers, another heavy cruiser, two destroyers and the wild card, Graf Zeppelin. The situation is not favorable. As the Germans come east for Rodney, the two British battlecruisers will not be able to stop them, and the remainder of the British heavy ships will arrive piecemeal, behind the action from the west. Admiral Tovey tells me that they are also bringing Duke of York and Hood down from the Denmark Strait, and they would be the last to arrive.”

  “Then we must give the Germans something to think about if they continue to move east.” Volsky tapped the enemy contacts on the Plexiglas screen. “We are in missile range now with the weapons we received from Kazan. They range out over 600 kilometers. Unfortunately, they are not our heaviest warheads, only 200 kilograms, and firing at this range will also expend most of their fuel, so the fires will not be as much of a factor. You know these enemy ships, Fedorov. How do you suggest we proceed?”

  Fedorov took a deep breath, realizing he was now about to plan their battle action, and sign the death warrants of many men with each word he spoke. Yet it could not be helped. They had committed themselves to this course, to this battle, and now it had to be fought. It was either that or they would surely see the British take heavy losses. The Rodney alone, even with the two battlecruisers in support, could not stand against the German fleet. They had to act.

  “Given the situation,” he began, “I see the main threat at the outset to be the German aircraft carrier, Graf Zeppelin. I believe they will be launching Stukas at dawn, and so we must strike them tonight, and attempt to either sink that ship or take it out of the action. The Stukas are a grave threat.”

  “And the battleships?”

  “They won’t reach the scene until later tomorrow, and as they approach, they will come within range of our heavier Moskit-II and MOS III missiles, so we have plenty of time to plan for them.”

  “Agreed,” said Volsky. “Always get the carrier first. That is a rule that will stand even to our time in 2021. But there are seven ships in that German battlegroup, can we identify that target?”

  “They will come into range of the Fregat system radar in three or four hours,” said Rodenko. “With that I think I can select out the carrier. We will see the radar returns of any planes it launches or recovers, and I can designate it as the primary target for any salvo you fire.”

  Volsky looked at his watch. “They are not likely to fly off much tonight. Let us wait until the pre-dawn hours. Then, when you identify your target, we’ll give them a rude awakening with the Onyx missiles we stole from Kazan. They will do the job, yes, Fedorov?”

  “Graf Zeppelin has armor, but not anywhere near the protection of the battleships. Yes sir, they will do the job.” Fedorov rubbed his forehead, a worried look on his face.

  “I know what you are feeling, Fedorov,” said the Admiral. “Legendary ships out there, commanded by men you have read about, and perhaps idolized in your mind these many years. But you must kill them.”

  “Correct, sir. Once, after Yamato, Karpov told me it would get easier in time, but I have not found this to be the case.”

  “That is because your conscience is still intact. Killing is never an easy thing to do for a man of conscience. Karpov sees things otherwise, because his soul is darkened. He is an efficient and deadly man at the helm of any ship he commands, but he kills wantonly, and without regret. So be thankful that you feel some of the pain our missiles may inflict on these men and ships out there. Yes, I say ships as well, for we live with them, bond with them, whenever we take to the sea. They are the raft of life itself for us here. Without them we are like Lenkov, sinking into the depths of oblivion. So when we sink one, we know what it is to put men into the cold sea, and know we cannot save them. Never forget that, but also never let it prevent you from doing what is necessary to win the day.”

  “I understand sir, but this does not make it any easier.”

  Volsky nodded. “Once I relied on you to do what we should do in these situations, and on Karpov to do what we must. Now I’m afraid that you must wear both hats, Fedorov. You are Captain of this ship, and I may not always be standing at your side here.”

  “I will do my best, Admiral.”

  “Then we attack near dawn. They will see the missiles fire, and know we are here. It will be another red day, Fedorov, and when we are done, Lenkov will have more than a few friends, but it must be done.”

  “I will see that Admiral Tovey is informed, sir,” said Fedorov. “Nikolin will be here soon. And sir, why don’t you get some rest now. I can relieve you for the night shift.”

  “As long as you are fresh for the morning, my young man. Very well, I will see if I can get some sleep.” He lowered his voice. “But let me know if you have any further problems with that hand…”

  Carrier Graf Zeppelin ~ Norwegian Sea ~ 7 May, 1941, 04:00

  The flight deck of the carrier Graf Zeppelin was still and calm, with the first of the morning fighter contingent still below decks being armed. Six fighters were scheduled for launch at 06:00, to be followed soon after by the first squadron of Stukas. The carrier had sortied streikschwere, with a strike-heavy compliment primarily compose
d of modified Stuka dive bombers. There were two Stuka squadrons aboard, a baker’s dozen in each, for a total of 26 strike aircraft, and another six BF-109Ts in reserve, with four Arado seaplanes to make 42 planes in all.

  The former first officer of the Admiral Scheer, Kapitan zur See Kurt Böhmer, was still in command of the carrier, arriving on the bridge early that day to oversee the morning launch.

  We are missing Marco Ritter these days, he thought. I was thinking to see him down on the flight deck with that red scarf flapping in the wind. But he’ll be out there. Word is that the Goeben did very well in the Med as a scout ship, and Ritter cherry picked the best Stuka pilots from my flight crews here to look after Hindenburg. That said, they could not stop those rocket attacks. Nothing we have can stop them. So the only thing we can do when the sky lights up with those missile trails is put up a good shieldwall.

  Brinkmann is in Prinz Eugen out in front, and I have the new destroyers Loki and Thor to either side. After what happened to Sigfrid, we must have a destroyer abreast of us at all times, and that failing, one of the heavier ships must stand in for that duty. We can take no chances that those rockets will find us again. Yet for now, the sea is empty, and we will pluck out the eyes of any aircraft that come looking for us. The British carriers are well to the south and west in any case, so we should rule the day here. Now to get our boys up and after the British. If I can sink that old battleship we’re looking for, I can save Lütjens and Topp the trouble. Then they can turn and slug it out with the battleships.

  The Schweregruppe of the task force was out ahead of Prinz Eugen. He could not see the tall main masts and superstructure of Tirpitz in the darkness, but he could feel the ship’s presence, the cold hard Wotan Hart steel plying through the waters like a great shark. Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were cruising to either side, guarding the battleship as the destroyers stood watch over his carrier. Once bitten, twice shy. Now that the Germans had faced the British rocket weapons, they sailed in shieldwall formation, with one ship protecting another from the deadly sea skimming missiles.

  Kurt Böhmer looked at his watch, seeing the elevator bringing up another two fighters, wings still folded as they rose to the main flight deck. It was then that he saw what he had feared since that first astounding attack near Iceland. There were lights in the sky, high up, rising like shooting stars fleeing the earth and seeking the darkness of the night again. But they would not stay high for long. The watchmen had seen them as well, and alarms were ringing all over the ship. He looked to see men running to battle stations, and reached for his field glasses, his heart beating faster.

  One… three… four rockets were in the sky now, climbing, then appearing to hang in the darkness like a line of cold steel stars. Then they fell, one by one, as if they were a formation of precision fighters peeling off to attack a target at lower altitude. Down they came, as the men shouted and footsteps rattled the decks. Guns were turning and training, barrels elevating, and then he heard a gunnery officer shouting at his men.

  “Not there!” he pointed with a baton. “Lower your guns. They will come in right over the wave tops!”

  It was something his men had been oblivious of in that first attack, but forewarned was now fore armed. The Germans knew what to expect. According to plan, they tightened up their sailing order, like a school of fish seeking safety in a group of closely packed ships—like a group of Viking warriors crouching behind their shields. Graf Zeppelin held Loki on the right arm, Thor on the left. Now the guns began firing, for the director had been correct, and the missiles were diving for the sea.

  Böhmer knew what to expect, that dizzying dance over the wave tops, as if the rockets were deliberately taunting the gunners to try to hit them. The roar of the AA guns now became deafening, the bright fire of the exploding rounds lighting of the sable sky and glowing on the dark waters below. He watched, spellbound again, thinking they must surely miss. How could the British even know where his ships were to target them? Did they have a U-boat nearby to give away his position? They could never find him with a random shot like this. He was thinking of them as a spread of torpedoes, dangerous, but something that might be avoided by maneuver. Yet nothing would stay these lethal weapons from their appointed round…

  On they came, low on the sea, the bright fire from their tails now suddenly visible. They were so fast that it was impossible for the gunners to adjust for the oncoming range. Böhmer would see them come right at his ships again, unerringly, as if they had night eyes, bat like things, creatures of the night that flew with senses unknown to man, vampires. To his utter amazement, the first of five came boring in right towards his formation.

  “Hard to port! All ahead full! All ships to match speed and turn!”

  He scarcely had time to shout out the order when the first lance struck his shield on the starboard side. Loki was hit just forward of the bridge, smashing right into a 4.7-inch dual purpose gun turret as it fired in futile reprisal. The turret exploded, completely obliterated by the 200kg warhead, and bright orange fire lit up the scene with its angry light.

  Then the second missile pummeled Loki amidships, the small 6800 ton destroyer rolling with the heavy punch. It was just the size and type of ship the missile had been designed to kill, and it would do exactly that, just as Sigfrid had died in this same way a year earlier.

  Then, to Böhmer’s amazement, he watched the next two missiles alter their course. They were not simply well aimed lances thrown from beyond the horizon, a feat that was astounding enough. They maneuvered, making lightning quick turns that not even the most agile fighter could have achieved. They maneuvered—right into the gap between Prinz Eugen and his own ship, but it was not the veteran Prince they were after that morning.

  Graf Zeppelin was struck on her starboard side, about 200 meters forward of the main elevators. There were two 15cm guns there in twin-gun Dopp MPL C/36 casemate mountings, with 1.2 inches of armor. It was not enough to stop those 200kg warheads, and the turrets fared little better than the smaller guns on Loki. The fury of the fireball glowed orange and red on the grey hull of the ship, and then the second missile smashed right behind the heavy anchors suspended on the bow, piercing the thin armor and blowing clean through the ship and out the port side.

  The last thing to strike the bow of the ship had been a bottle of champagne during the launch, but now it was a blackened wreck, with heavy fire and smoke coiling up from the wound.

  Böhmer soon learned that neither rocket had penetrated to the arming deck, where the Stukas were sitting like a flock of densely packed black crows, with heavy bombs mounted beneath the stubby, folded wings. How in god’s name could they move like that, he thought? These are precision guided weapons! Nothing on earth could fly so fast, and turn so smartly to find his ship in the middle of the formation like this. It was almost like magic!

  And it was only the beginning.

  Chapter 26

  Aboard Kirov, Volsky was standing by the Captain’s chair, where he had insisted Fedorov take his seat to lead the opening action against the German fleet. He was watching his young Captain closely, as if he thought Fedorov might wince when Rodenko reported that all five missiles launched had found targets. That was no surprise. Karpov had said it many times before—what we target, we hit, and what we hit we can destroy.

  Yet Fedorov did not feel like Karpov that day. Yes, he was bothered by the thought that each order he gave here was sending men to their death, and burning their ships, still unseen over the far horizon. At least it was not as bad as that day when they had faced off against the great battleship Yamato, its mighty guns flinging massive shells at Kirov, coming within a hair’s breadth of striking the ship at one point, and sweeping away the top radar mast as it passed overhead like a merciless hammer of doom, striking the sea with a thunderous roar.

  Thankfully, they had replaced that system when they returned to Vladivostok, and now it spun rapidly on that same mast overhead, its electronic fingers seeking out the German task for
ce in the early pre-dawn hours.

  “They had another ship in tight on the primary,” said Rodenko. “It looks like it absorbed two hits, and I think we will sink that ship. Two more missiles struck the primary. They have made a hard turn to port and are coming around 180 degrees.”

  Fedorov looked at Volsky. “Two hit’s sir.”

  “What is your assessment, Fedorov?” said the Admiral. “Will they be enough to put that ship out of action?”

  “We will not know that unless we get the KA-40 back up for battle damage assessment, or unless they begin launching planes. In that instance, I believe we must fire again.”

  “Agreed,” said Volsky. “This is an armored ship?”

  “No more than 100mm on the belt,” said Fedorov. “45 to 60mm on the flight deck.”

  “Then it is vulnerable to plunging fire as well.” The Admiral folded his arms. “We might do more damage that way if it becomes necessary.”

  They had decided to strike in the early pre-dawn hours, thinking to pre-empt any air strike that may be launched by the German carrier. Now they sat like a dark spider at the center of an electronic web spun out by the ship’s powerful radar systems. All about them, their adversaries were creeping into that web, unaware of the danger that lurked over their horizon… until those first missiles broke the stillness of the dawn, and the battle began.

  Fedorov knew it was to be a one sided affair. Their enemy could not even see them, let alone strike at them in reprisal. With their speed, they could stay well beyond the range of the massive guns on the German battleships, so it would be a simple and merciless equation as he saw things. It would be a contest of fire and shock against German steel. How much of a pounding could their ships take before the steel broke in the wills of the Admirals and Captains who commanded them.