Grand Alliance (Kirov Series)

by John Schettler

  And it was the massed air power of Halsey’s fast carriers that rose to challenge Karpov, even with two other modern ships at his side. The sheer number of aircraft the American Pacific Fleet could put into the sky was like a great wave that threatened to swamp the ship, depleting its missile inventories and leaving it open to destruction from above, as so many other great ships had died.

  Thus far, Kirov had avoided serious harm. Yet the ship was wounded, by the shrapnel of enemy shells, near miss torpedo explosions, and the raging attacks of enemy planes. It had survived all these battles through the skill of its officers, the sheer power of its weaponry, and at times pure luck. The U-boat Kapitan Rosenbaum had caught the ship by surprise where he lurked in Fornells Bay off Menorca, and the torpedo he fired came within inches of striking a devastating blow to Kirov’s hull. Even in 1908, the dogged attacks made by Admiral Togo’s fleet had managed to put damage on the ship, and the mine struck there had forever destroyed Kirov’s forward ‘Horsejaw’ sonar dome.

  Now Argos Fire was in the same crucible of war that Kirov had faced, but they had not had time to learn any of these lessons. They had great strengths relative to the enemy they were facing. They could see them on radar over vast distances, and had the speed to use that advantage to keep their distance and strike with long range missiles. Yet they had not faced ships of heavy armor yet, and their missile inventory was nowhere near the size of the one Kirov had brought to this world. Argos Fire had only 24 Gealbhan Sparrow missiles under her forward deck, and of these many had been used in the Black Sea. They had only seventeen left now, and the first to strike the oncoming Franco-German fleet had found a worthy target in the battlecruiser Strausbourg, sending fire and wrath against her forward conning tower, but it was not a fatal blow like the missile that had easily gutted the lightly armored destroyer Vautor.

  The thickness of the armor on the ships they were now facing would make all the difference, as long as the officers commanding them had steel wills and backbones for the fight that was now unfolding.

  Admiral Laborde saw the second missile flashing on the horizon, and it looked to be heading directly for his ship. “Hard to starboard!” he roared, as if he were attempting to outmaneuver an enemy torpedo. The helmsman spun the wheel, turning the ship slowly as the missile flashed in, low on the sea. Seconds later it was the Normandie that felt the shuddering impact and fire, which might have hit the long bow if it had not been for that instinct to turn. Instead the missile struck low on the side armor of the battleship, just beneath the massive B turret, and there it made a glancing blow that looked far worse than the damage it actually inflicted.

  Bright orange fire blazed against the side of the ship, but the armor held, and the fires caused by the residual fuel were the worst of the damage, scorching the hull black from just above the water level to the gunwales. Both hits had been shocking to all the men of the fleet. The leading destroyers were amazed to see how the missiles had even changed course to deftly avoid the screening ships and vector in on the heart of the formation. But that shock was the worst of it, and it did not break the steel in the men that day. They would fight.

  Admiral Lütjens was steaming three kilometers off the port side of Normandie, his flotilla of four ships slightly separated from the French Fleet. It had been an uneasy alliance, as the French were reluctant allies here, and he knew there may be many men on those ships who still tasted the bitter bile of their defeat at the hands of the Germans. He lowered his field glasses and looked at Kapitan Adler, a wry smile on his face.

  “So the British have rockets here as well,” he said, stating the obvious. “How are they spotting us?”

  “Perhaps just as we surmised in the Atlantic,” said Adler. “They must have a submarine close by to send the general coordinates of our fleet.”

  “But the accuracy of these attacks is uncanny,” said Lütjens. “Did you see how that second rocket avoided the destroyer screen? It was as if the damn thing had eyes!”

  “Yes,” said Adler. “We would have taken a hit like that on the Graf Zeppelin if our destroyer had not been right alongside at that moment.”

  “How do we beat a weapon like this?” Lütjens shook his head, clearly impressed, but Adler stood taller, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “They must be firing from just over the horizon, Admiral. We have speed—let’s use it! Look, the French heavy ships are still in formation. They will control those fires and I am willing to bet they are not seriously harmed. What we do now is charge with the heavy cavalry, sir. How many of these rockets can the enemy have? We may take hits, but they cannot sink us all before we get them under our guns. Then we settle the matter the old fashioned way.”

  Even as Adler finished they saw another thin contrail in the sky, this time a SAM fired to take down the seaplane spotter that had just launched from the Normandie minutes before. It exploded with the unerring hit, sending murmurs through the bridge crew that prompted Lütjens to turn and give a stiff rebuke to his men.

  “We are not here to ooh and ahh at the British fireworks! We are here to find and crush them, and that is exactly what we will do!” Then to Adler he said: “Signal Admiral Laborde. If their ship can still make way, I advise we increase to full battle speed and sail right down that heading.” He pointed a gloved finger at the smoke trail low on the sea from that second rocket strike.

  “Shall I signal the Goeben to launch Stukas?” Adler waited on the Admiral’s order.

  “Not just yet, he said. The French are launching more seaplanes. Let’s see how they do before we give the British more targets for these rockets. Now… helmsman, all ahead full!”

  * * *

  Aboard Argos Fire MacRae was leaning over the radar map with Mister Healey. He had seen the firing tracks of his first two missiles, and they waited briefly, looking for any diminishment of speed in the two contacts that were hit. Five minutes later it was clear that the enemy was undeterred. Smaller, faster contacts were increasing speed. They saw two groups of five, which appeared to be destroyer squadrons increasing to nearly 36 knots. Many ships were also now launching seaplanes, as these were carried even down to the light cruiser class in the French Navy. They saw six more planes aloft and fanning out ahead of the fleet.

  “Look at that,” said MacRae. “Do we want to commit another six Vipers against seaplanes?” He looked at Morgan now.

  “Twenty minutes and they break our horizon in any case. If you want my advice, I’d begin retiring on the British Fleet now and try to stay ahead of those bastards. Save your missiles. It’s only a matter of time until they make contact with us.”

  MacRae agreed, and ordered the ship to come about to a heading that would take him west of the British squadron. No sense leading those brigands any other place, he thought.

  “Well, our opening salvo doesn’t seem to have made much of an impression.” Gordon looked Elena’s way, but she stood in icy silence, watching the operations but saying nothing. Executive Officer Dean was quick enough to realize what had happened. Miss Fairchild had ordered the Captain to conserve ammunition, which was understandable. He had looked at the results of the initial missile strikes and realized the difficulties.

  “If I may, sir.” He said, drifting to MacRae’s side. “We might make better use of our SSMs if we target their lighter class ships. The core of their fleet is most likely well armored battleships. Some of these ships have belt armor exceeding ten inches thick. Our missiles weren’t built to penetrate that, but against their cruisers and destroyers we’ll likely get a mission kill with every hit. It’s either that or we’ll have to program every missile for popup maneuver and try to hit the superstructure, but even the conning towers of the heavier ships would be very well protected. We’ll shake them up and start a fire, but going after the escorts is our best bet. It might winnow down the odds a bit.”

  “Aye,” said MacRae. “Let’s see what we can do. One more missile, Mister Dean. You make the target selection.”

 
Dean huddled with Healey to get his best advice and then they decided to fire at what looked to be an escort cruiser. It was moving out in front of two other ships, and making just over 30 knots. They did not know it at the time, but they were fingering the light cruiser La Galissonniere, lead ship in a class of three that formed the 3rd Cruiser Division of the High Seas Fleet at Toulon. The missile was away, and it would do considerably more harm when it struck. Yet even for a light cruiser, La Galissonniere was protected with side armor exceeding 100mm, and 95mm on the conning tower where the blow fell. The missile had sufficient kinetic impact to blast through, but just barely, and the resulting fire was very bad on this smaller ship of just over 9100 tons full load. The bridge was put out of action by the smoke and flames, but the message got passed aft and the engines reduced speed. One brave soul stayed with the helm and brought the ship around, turning about and seeking safety behind the fleet to try and fight the fire. Dean had been correct. The fires were bad enough to take the ship out of the fight, a mission kill if not an outright sinking.

  “That’s a little better,” said MacRae when they saw th eship turn on radar. “I’ll want those X-3s in the air at once, Mister Dean. They are to look for light destroyer class vessels and put their Sea Skuas to good use. The British will have enough on their hands without having to worry about the enemy torpedo runs.”

  As the first helo lifted off Morgan found MacRae and spoke quietly. “This isn’t looking good, Gordie. When those big fellows out there catch up to the Queen Elizabeth…”

  “I understand,” said MacRae. “But we’ll do what we can.”

  * * *

  “Let’s move Tommy,” said Lieutenant Ryan as he strapped himself into his X-3 helicopter. His co-pilot, Tom Wicks was in and settled in his seat in no time, and the props were turning on the sleek new bird, a hybrid craft that would ascend like a helo and then use a pair of turbo props to achieve speeds well over 470KPH, nearly as fast as fighters of that day. It was swift, agile, and today it would have four Sea Skua missiles aboard, two on each outer pylon. It could also carry Hellfires, Hydra-70 rocket pods, and had a lethal chain gun in the nose. The Sea Skuas would take up all the room on the pylons, leaving only two points on the outer edge for a pair of ATAS Air-to-Air Stingers for defense against planes. But the chopper’s best move would be its speed, aerodynamic agility and stealth.

  “Fast and low, Tommy,” said Ryan. “That’s the recipe here. I’ll want both helos to go in tandem. There’s something on the wind today, and we’re out to give them a good sting.”

  That last attack order he had received in the Caspian had been sheer madness when they had flown into the teeth of the Russian 847th Coastal Air Defense battery, equipped with the Triumf S-400, the same deadly long range spear that Kirov used against enemy aircraft. His wing mate, Matt Wilson, had gotten the wrong end of one of those, and when Ryan saw his intended target, a nice big fat floating power plant, simply vanish from his radar screen, he figured the Russians had some slick new jammer to spoof his electronics. Either way, it added up to a quick abort. That decision, and a little luck, was the only reason he and Tom Wicks were still alive that day. But this time things would be different.

  This time there would be no enemy radar to paint them red, and no deadly volley of S-400 SAMs to confront. They would need no ECM jamming, only a steady hand on the stick and a good eye on the radar for target data. That was Tom Hicks’ job, and once they were inbound he saw a formation of five contacts soon enough.

  “Five ducks up ahead, Lieutenant, and I don’t think they see us. At least they’re not shooting at us yet!”

  “See us or not, we’re on their horizon now. But remember, Tommy, these fellows don’t have any missiles. This is World War Two, me boyo, and we’ve got the thunder this time out. Let’s not fool around. Put two missiles on each ship.”

  “My pleasure!” Wicks tapped out his targets and the missiles were away, not the lightning fast supersonic darts that the ships would fire, but a decent high subsonic speed missile that could range out 25 kilometers, well beyond any danger of enemy flak. They would approach low, rise as they neared the target to acquire it with radar, and then bore in with a semi-armor piercing warhead that was enough to penetrate the thin skin of a destroyer. Once through the hull, the small 28kg high explosive warhead was still enough to do some serious damage.

  Tempete and Tornade were the two ships to feel the X-3’s bite. One missile blasted the superstructure, and the second pierced the hull of the 1300 ton destroyer Tornade. Blast, shrapnel, smoke and fire were soon enveloping the small ships, and the second X-3 scored four more hits on two others in the formation. In one hot minute the X-3s had bludgeoned the destroyer flotilla, Mistral and Orage faring little better than Ryan’s targets.

  “Well that’s that!” said Ryan with a smile. “Talk about an unanswered punch. They don’t know what hit them! Let’s use those Stingers to take out a few spotter planes and be done with this.” He pulled to get altitude, the other X-3 following smartly, but once they climbed, the radar was alive with new contacts.

  “Blessed Savior,” said Ryan, staring out the wind screen when they got close enough to see the enemy fleet. “I told you there was trouble on the wind, Tommy. No wonder they wanted us out here. There must be twenty ships, and not this lot that we’ve been poking at. Look at the size of that big fellow! Let’s get back to the Argos Fire.”

  “Aye,” said Wicks as the X-3 banked for home. The words of Kipling were suddenly on his lips, and he gave Ryan a smile as they sped away. “While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind," But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind…”

  Part IX

  Strange Bedfellows

  “This is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. Alas, the storm is come again! My best way is to creep

  under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery

  acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the

  dregs of the storm be past.”

  ― Shakespeare: The Tempest, Act 2, Scene 2

  Chapter 25

  Karpov had a new airship. He had ordered its construction shortly after he took command of the Siberian Air Corps, and now it was finally ready to join the fleet, larger and more powerful than any other Zeppelin in Siberia, if not the world. With airships named for every major city of note, he decided to christen this one with a regional name, derived from the river valley where the ship’s duralumin metal frame had been mined and forged, in the cold, inaccessible north. So it was that Tunguska joined the fleet in late January of 1941, with a full 225,000 cubic meter volume, and the best recoilless guns and most advanced radars that Siberian industries could produce.

  Tunguska was 250 meters in length, larger than any other airship in the Orenburg fleet, and bigger than the Narva in Soviet Russia by a full ten meters. It was even slightly larger than the mighty German Zeppelin Hindenburg that had been destroyed in a tragic fire that ignited its hydrogen lifting gas in 1937 before the war. To avoid that, this airship would use the rare helium gas, which had been mined from now classified sources within Siberia, and conserved to support the fleet. By reaching those metrics in her design, Tunguska would rightfully claim the title as the largest aircraft ever to be built and fly on the earth, three times the length of the biggest jumbo jets of modern times.

  With all that lifting capacity the ship was endowed with a suite of 24 recoilless rifles, six more than Volkov’s flagship Orenburg, and the advantage was all in the bigger 105mm rifles on the main gondola. Better yet, there were secret racks of new rocket designs that Karpov had initiated a year ago for this project. They were based on the RS-82mm and RS-132mm rockets that had been in development as early as 1920 by the Soviets, but Karpov had used the information he commanded in his service jacket computer to modify them, and give them much better aerodynamic performance. They were unguided, and still too inaccurate to use against sm
all ground targets, which was the reason the Russians abandoned them as a potential tank killer, and moved to the more promising PTAB bomblets instead. But Karpov believed they would still be useful as an area saturation weapon, like the dread Katyusha rocket that appeared in the Soviet arsenal, though that was not his primary use for the weapon.

  Another airship was a very big target, and airship duels could often occur at very close ranges. So Karpov had a special swiveling rack installed forward of the main command gondola, and there he hid away his little surprise, one of several built into the design of this new airship. After seeing the success ‘Big Red’ had with his air fuel bomb, he also had a special bomb delivery rack installed on this ship so it could easily accommodate that weapon. When finally completed and commissioned, Tunguska had more guns and sheer fighting power than anything in the sky, and a double thick self sealing lining on the interior gas bags. With six powerful 1200hp engines, a third more power than the Hindenburg, it was capable of reaching speeds of 115km per hour in spite of its mass, or just over 70 miles per hour. And it could climb higher than any other airship then designed, capable of reaching 15,000 meters and still operating safely, which was well above the service ceiling of any fighter aircraft of the day.

  Karpov had his Kirov, a fighting airship that he believed was unmatched by anything that might try to challenge him. Tunguska was twice the size of the Abakan, and so he naturally transferred his flag the day of the commissioning, and promoted his trusted Captain Bogrov to this new command. He was told to scour the fleet and select the very best air crews to serve aboard Tunguska, and he assigned it a company of his best troops for security, led by his Intelligence Chief Tyrenkov.