Altered States k-9

by John A. Schettler

  “Was the enemy ship identified?”

  “No sir. And there was one other detail. I don’t know quite what to make of it-something about naval rockets.”

  Lindemann turned his head, a disgusted look on his face. “Rockets?”

  “That’s what the message says, sir. ‘Gneisenau struck by rocket, Severe fire amidships. Number four boiler down. Speed off 8 knots. Proceeding to discretionary rendezvous point to refuel and repair. Beware.”

  “Beware?” That didn’t sound like Hoffmann. Lindemann knew the man. Yes, he had orders to evade British capital ships. Lindemann had read them again just that day, realizing that the situation might dictate new orders at any moment.

  ‘The objective of Scharnhorst amp; Gneisenau is not to defeat enemies of equal strength, but to tie them down in a delaying action, while preserving combat capacity as much as possible, so as to allow Bismarck and Tirpitz to get at the merchant ships in allied convoys. The primary target in this operation is the enemy's merchant shipping; enemy warships will be engaged only when that objective makes it necessary and it can be done without excessive risk.’

  Hoffmann obviously found the engagement necessary, but it appears he got more than he expected. Yet Lindemann was bewildered by this notation concerning rocket fire. What was that about? Hoffmann was clearly attempting to warn him, but he could make no sense of it…unless the notation was metaphorical. That did not matter in the end. The reality of the situation was that Gneisenau had sustained damage, and Hoffmann’s force was now withdrawing north to the discretionary rendezvous point. That would be the tanker Nordmark. There had been no sign of pursuit by the British after the successful strike made by Graf Zeppelin. Then came the weather front they were still plowing through, which provided him good cover to make his breakaway to the east.

  The weather officer had predicted that they would see clearing skies on the morrow, but this was not good. Fog would follow, hopefully by the time he reached the strait. With the sun up all day at this latitude, the lighting will be favorable all night for sighting his ships. If he could not have darkness as a cloak, then heavy fog would do. It would hobble his air units off the carrier, but also hamper the British planes as well.

  During their bold attack, the pilots off the Graf Zeppelin had indentified two British heavy warships, and one was the Invincible, her unique configuration impossible to mistake. A pity the Stukas did not put their bombs there. That ship is one of the few I need to respect, he thought.

  Subsequent searches indicated the British had broken off and were no longer pursuing him north of Iceland. Now the planes were down with the weather, so the British might still be there, hiding behind the rain squalls like a shadow of death. His-B-Dienst team, a special Marine signals intelligence unit serving aboard battleships to try an intercept and decode enemy communications, had no real information for him yet. The British were being tight lipped. He knew it was Admiral Tovey out there hunting him, new to command, perhaps breaking in new staff as well. Yet he did not know enough about the man to anticipate how he might react to the attack on his force today. It was all just educated guesses at the moment. There was no word from Wilhelmshaven either.

  Where were the British now, he wondered? If they are not following, then they certainly know where we are headed and they must have moved south of Iceland. The Royal Navy clearly had cruisers watching the Denmark Strait, and now capital ships from this report. He correctly surmised that the British were now consolidating their battle fleets in an attempt to find and stop him there-in the Denmark Strait.

  So what was waiting for them? He had already left the older battleships Rodney and Nelson behind him, and they were of no concern. That left few candidates in his mind, and he now began to suspect that the British had assigned their faster ships to this operation, Hood, Renown, Repulse and the fleet flagship, Invincible. We may have taken one out of the equation with that air strike. That leaves three more to deal with, and the usual entourage of cruisers and destroyers.

  Well, I have a substantial force here, and with Hoffmann’s flotilla we are more than a match for the British this time around. But those orders from Raeder and Lütjens nagged at him… The primary target in this operation is the enemy's merchant shipping; enemy warships will be engaged only when that objective makes it necessary and it can be done without excessive risk.’

  I have already violated that mandate when I sent those planes out. Raeder may not be happy about that, but the results should serve as a consolation. Two hits on a British battlecruiser! That may stiffen Raeder’s resolve. It is obvious that I cannot fulfill my primary orders unless I first gain the Atlantic. To do so I may have to either face whatever the British oppose me with and prevail, or else evade them completely. Unless we get good concealment in the fog, evasion may be the more difficult thing to accomplish. With Graf Zeppelin along I have options that no other German commander at sea has ever exercised, and I have already used them to good effect to put off the initial chase. But the Royal Navy learns quickly…too quickly. They will now do everything possible to neutralize the advantage I have just demonstrated with Graf Zeppelin. In many ways that carrier is now the most valuable ship in the Kriegsmarine, and for an old gunnery officer like me to admit that says much.

  So I am to attack the convoys, but avoid fighting the British toe to toe in order to get there. Now that our planned diversion by Scharnhorst and Gneisenau has failed to break out, the Royal Navy will be gathering like a flock of seagulls in the Denmark Strait. Do I fight my way through under these circumstances? Even as he asked himself that question he knew he would have to send to Wilhelmshaven and Naval Group North headquarters for the answer.

  “Make to Wilhelmshaven, Leutnant Reiner. They undoubtedly have the message you have just handed me from Hoffmann. Now what do they propose I do? Tell them that I expect the whole of the British Battlecruiser Squadron to be waiting for me in the Denmark Strait. All Scharnhorst and Gneisenau have done is ring the bell at the police station! If presented with the possibility of a major engagement, what is Admiral’s Raeder’s pleasure? Does he want his ships to fight here? If not, I welcome his advice on the matter. That is all.”

  * * *

  Hoffman was in his flag ready room, sitting at the table, a cigar in one hand and a ruler in another. His orders folio was open beside him, and he was checking on the position of Nordmark and plotting the ship’s coordinates. He picked up a compass and pen and quietly stepped off intervals along the lines he had drawn on the map. They had been making 24 knots, which was more than he expected after he saw that rocket strike Gneisenau amidships. The fires were out now, no longer marking their presence on the horizon, and that damnable jamming of his radars and communications had finally dissipated once he got north away from the last British contact.

  So his instincts had been correct. There was another ship in the Denmark Strait, watching, waiting. It wasn’t an ice ghost, frigid bergs piled on drifting floes from the glaciers that were often sighted and mistaken for ships in these waters. It wasn’t a mirage of hoarfrost or snow swirling over the icy coast. No. It was well out in the center of the strait. He had seen it with his own eyes, taken in the long dangerous lines, felt the odd aura that seemed to be about it, as if it was something wholly unaccountable, beyond his experience and perilous in a way he could not yet comprehend. Then came that flashing attack, precise, deadly, the destructive power and reach of the weapon shocking with its accuracy. A rocket…so well aimed that it bored in unfailingly on the target and seemed to leap at Gneisenau like a sea demon, finding the vital superstructure of the ship and not the heavy side armor.

  Something told him that this might be some new vessel, a command ship, lurking on the scene, vectoring in the enemy battlecruisers, jamming his communications to leave him blind. It had to be dealt with, and he passed a moment of regret that he did not allow his gunners the time to find the range.

  Yet orders were orders. With Gneisenau burning, the extent of the damage as yet unkn
own, the nature of the enemy a mystery itself, his instinct had proven to be the wisest course. Fall back, consolidate, refuel and allow time for Gneisenau to effect repairs. Wait for Lindemann.

  He took a long drag on his cigar, exhaling slowly, thoughtfully. Then he called in Huber. “Make to Bismarck and Lindemann. Request rendezvous and Kapitan’s meeting at the alternate refueling point. Tell them we can be there tomorrow by 14:00 hours.”

  “Very good, Kapitan.” Huber hesitated, the hour late, the ship quiet after the long day, yet still with a restless edge about the men as they hastened north. They had seen what happened, and were no doubt wondering what this sudden course change north would mean. Were they beaten? Was the mission to be called off? Then he turned and asked the question that had been on so many of their minds.

  “What was that ship out there, Kapitan?”

  Hoffmann took another long drag on his cigar, thinking, his eyes holding a distant look. “I don’t know.”

  That answer seemed heavy with portent, and Huber knew that something had happened that had upset all the careful planning by the naval staff adjutants at Wilhelmshaven…. something big. It seemed as though some dark impending shadow now hovered over them, like the shadow of death, and it brought an unwelcome chill in the silence between the two men.

  Huber saluted and started for the wireless room.

  Part XI

  War Councils

  “All wars are planned by old men in council rooms.”

  — Grantland Rice

  Chapter 31

  Denmark Strait ~18 June, 1940 ~ 08:00 hrs

  “Something up ahead on radar, sir.” Kalinichev gave the report matter of factly and Rodenko came to his station to have a look.

  “The signal is very weak and somewhat dispersed.” Rodenko studied it for some time then went to Fedorov with his report.

  “Captain, we have a weak contact ahead, about ten kilometers out now. I believe it is flotsam.”

  “We had no surface contacts for ships on that heading. Could it be drift ice? ”

  “More likely a debris field. We’re well out in the channel so I don’t think this is ice. We could use the helicopter to verify or perhaps the Tin Man could give is a better look ahead.”

  “Let’s keep the KA-40 aboard at the moment. Use the Tin Man.”

  Moments later they could make out distant shapes on the overhead monitor that appeared to be two lifeboats on the sea, riding the restless swells. In time they encountered a wide oil slick and small fragments of floating debris, spars, deck planks, a section of mast, rigging and canvass. Something had gone down here, and then the bodies in the sea told the tale. Kirov slowed to five knots to have a closer look, seeing a lifeless man bobbing in a circular life preserver, and the stenciled name of his ship was now evident. It was HMS Birmingham.

  “So the British cruisers did not fare well,” said Fedorov. “Make for that nearest life raft. And get launches ready to recover survivors.”

  “You want to bring them aboard?”

  “Where else, Rodenko? We can’t leave them here, can we? Detail Sergeant Troyak to supervise the recovery operation. I will notify the Admiral.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Mister Nikolin.”

  “Sir?”

  “Please report to Sergeant Troyak on the launch deck and accompany his operation. I’d go myself but your English is better and it will come in handy. Report on the identity of the survivors by ship’s channel radio, please.”

  When Troyak and a detachment of Marines reached the boats they found the men there hungry and cold, but alive. There were five in one boat, six in the second, where Nikolin reported that the ship’s Captain was present, and in need of medical attention.

  The Admiral agreed that there was no recourse but to render aid and bring the survivors aboard. The crewmen were given medical attention, a good meal and quartered off the helo hanger deck, their eyes goggling a bit when they first got sight of the KA-40. Fedorov put out a message on the ship’s intercom for English speakers to report to Troyak and selected a Mishman to serve as a liaison with the British there. Captain Madden was taken to the sick bay for a lacerated arm, and when Admiral Volsky and Fedorov arrived with Nikolin, there he sat next to Doctor Zolkin, the two men both in bandages and chatting amiably in English, as Zolkin had studied in London for some years earlier in his career.

  “Ah, Fedorov, Admiral,” said Zolkin in Russian. “May I present Captain Alexander Madden, HMS Birmingham. Apparently they had a run in with a German heavy cruiser and did not fare so well. The Captain here tells me that they took several hits, and could not flood their forward magazines before they exploded. Most unfortunate.”

  “Kindly offer the Captain my regrets,” said Volsky. “Particularly for heavy loss of life. We have recovered another four men in the flotsam, and I have ordered a further search to see if we can find anyone else out there, but for the moment there are only fifteen survivors”

  Zolkin translated, and the Admiral smiled at his old friend, seeing the animated life had returned to his eyes as he first introduced the Admiral and Fedorov. As Zolkin’s English seemed quite adequate, Nikolin was able to return to his post on the bridge.

  “What ship are you, if I may ask, Admiral?” said Madden, somewhat bedraggled but recovering his strength after I.V. fluids and some good food and coffee.

  “We are the cruiser Kirov, a Russian ship as you may have deduced.”

  “Well you are certainly very far from home waters here, Admiral, and in fairly dangerous waters if the fate of my ship is any testimony. We were trying to intercept and shadow a pair of German battlecruisers, but it seems there were three German ships and they got the best of us. They’re likely well south by now.”

  Zolkin translated, and Volsky nodded.

  “He’s been remarking on the size of our ship, Admiral, and I think he would have many questions.”

  “As do I,” said Volsky. He decided to get round to his real reason for wanting to speak with the British Captain. “Doctor, be so kind as to tell the Captain that we believe there are several British warships south east of our present position, and we could see that he is given safe passage to those ships.”

  Captain Madden brightened at that news, thanking the Admiral.

  “Tell him also that our ship is presently a neutral in this conflict, but I would be most interested in meeting with the commander of those British ships. I wonder if he might be able to make the introductions and smooth the way for such a meeting. Our ship is, indeed far from home and, as you have seen, we present a fairly respectable silhouette. I would not wish to alarm your British friends by making a sudden approach under these circumstances. Would the Captain assist us in making this contact?”

  Zolkin translated and Madden looked from one to the other. “I can’t think that it would be I any way improper. I clearly saw your naval ensign, and yes, I would be pleased to call ahead on your behalf and eager to do so. We have not been able to communicate with superior officers as to our fate since my ship went down. In fact, we failed to get off anything more than a brief message indicating we were engaged. I believe it was the Admiral Hipper that happened on us, just as we sent Manchester off. That was our companion cruiser on patrol here. We managed to lead Hipper off in a fairly wild run, and she seemed keen on engaging us. I wonder if you’ve had any word on Manchester?”

  “We have not encountered the ship,” said Volsky, “but I believe it was able to slip away. We saw the action on radar. You succeeded in leading the Germans off, sir, and may have saved your companions from a similar fate by sacrificing your own ship. I ask you to take heart with that thought. The fortunes of war can be cruel and hard, but we must find some way to muddle through. Yes, I think your Manchester is safely on her way south.”

  “That is a great relief. Radar you say? I was not aware that you navy had deployed the devices. If we’d had our sets installed in time I might not be in this position now.”

  Volsky could see the
flash of anxiety in the man’s eyes, the weight of responsibility he carried here, and the restrained way in which he held his obvious sorrow over the loss of his ship and most of his crew.

  “Well, Captain Madden,” he said. “These last days have been very hard. Please get some rest and, when the good Doctor here feels you are fit, I will be pleased to meet with you again and we can contact your comrades.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” said Zolkin, smiling as he translated. “You are very kind, and your assistance is much appreciated.”

  “And how is that arm and shoulder, Doctor?” Volsky pointed at Zolkin’s bandages.

  “Well enough, Admiral. This old bird still has some life in him. Don’t worry about me.”

  As they walked to the bridge Fedorov finally spoke. “So you plan to meet with the British commanders, sir?”

  “That has been on my mind, Fedorov. The last meeting went fairly well in the Mediterranean, wouldn’t you say? You have seen Nikolin’s message intercepts. The British Admiral Tovey is coming to rendezvous with an Admiral Holland. As for the Germans, they appear to have gone off north to refuel. Both sides are huddling, but something tells me they will soon be deploying again, and we are still right in the middle of things here, with a reactor down, damage to the bow and house guests.”

  “Chief Byko reports he’s made good progress on the bow, sir. They have sealed off the sonar bulge, and patched the damaged section from the outside. We’ve lost the sonar there, but I think we can make way now if the reactor comes back on line soon. Dobrynin says he felt it necessary to remove the special control rod there and mount a spare, sir. He believes he can begin ramping up power in another three hours.”

  “That is good news.

  * * *

  Admiral Holland was on the flag plot room of HMS Hood when the radio call came in. His Flag Lieutenant, Commander Smith seemed a bit surprised by the call. “Radio message, sir, using our call sign.”