Kirov Saga: Hinge Of Fate: Altered States Volume III (Kirov Series)

by Schettler, John

  Now Karpov began to entertain even more suspicions. If Volkov wanted to mount a further offensive on the border zone he would definitely want to cut the Trans-Siberian rail, and an isolated place like Kansk is a perfect place to do that. We’ve moved the whole 18th Siberian Rifle Division into Omsk, except for this battalion I have with me here. If Volkov cuts the rail line here, and manages to also tie down two or three of my airships in this little spat, then everything we have east of Kansk is cut off from Kolchak at Irkutsk until we re-open the rail line. He could have five or six more airships loaded with troops and ready to swing across the border zone at any time. What if this whole mission is aimed at pulling in all our mobile and ready reserves here, well away from the front?

  Technically a state of extended truce is now in force after the Omsk accords. Is Volkov going to throw that all out the window? If so there would have to be a major operation in the works. Could he be coordinating with the Japanese on this? There’s been a considerable buildup in Mongolia in the last three weeks. Damn! Too many questions and not enough answers. I need to know what’s going on out west.

  “Signalman!”

  “Sir!” The young mishman rushed to Karpov’s side and saluted crisply, ready for orders.

  “Signal all western frontier stations to report any unusual troop movements on the border, anything at all. And all Topaz stations are to report to me over the military fleet channel every half hour. I want to know if any airship movement is detected. Cable Tomsk. I want that airship to move north and scout along the Ob River line as far as the Chulym tributary. ”

  The man saluted again and was off at a run.

  Karpov walked to his map room, leaning over the table where he had set up the current strategic situation. Volkov was very accommodating to give us Omsk back like that. With his troops there the entire region between that city and Novosibirsk had been a no man’s land for the last three months. Karpov had pushed his 82nd Motorized Division forward to keep a wary eye on the border with Orenburg, and his tough 2nd Siberian Cavalry was patrolling well north of Omsk itself. But the bulk of his forces had remained in their defensive positions along the Ob River from Tomsk through Novosibirsk, and then in the wide bend the river made as it came north from Barnaul, and the high mountains south of that city.

  He had four divisions along that line, though they were under the nominal control of Kozolnikov. As far as his intelligence served, Volkov’s troops were all still in their old winter line positions as well, six divisions at intervals along the long border zone from Oskemen in the south to Tyumen in the north. These were largely infantry formations, though there were undoubtedly more mobile formations behind that line somewhere.

  Yet now that Volkov had openly joined with Nazi Germany, what were his plans for the main front along the Volga? That had to be the reason he took that meeting with me at Omsk in the first place. He wants to quiet his eastern sector down so he can move those mobile reserves to the Volga, and perhaps even pull one or two infantry divisions off his line here in the bargain. Then why make a move like this? Why risk a provocation, unless he is finally seeing the connection to his strange fate and Ilanskiy. He certainly knows I got real curious. I was foolish to come here so directly. I should have busied myself with routine matters, and then worked my way here in due course. Volkov saw me make a beeline to this place, and now he wants to know why.

  Now Abakan was nose up and still climbing to reach that favored position of superior altitude in the event things should come to a fight. There were twenty helium gas bags within the main enclosure of the airship, each one nested within an air sack called a ballonet. The air in these external sacks could be vented and refilled by pumps, a procedure that was essential in managing the altitude of the airship. Venting air from a ballonet decreased the ratio of lighter than air helium to that of the heavier air inside the ship. A positive helium ratio meant the ship would rise, lighter than the surrounding air. Venting air from the forward ballonets lightened the ship there, and helped get the nose pointed up for a climb while the Elevatorman was working his wheel.

  Because the helium expanded as the ship gained altitude the ballonets also had to be vented to allow for that expansion. The procedure required careful monitoring to avoid a situation where the helium gas bags would reach maximum expansion, known as the “pressure height” of the ship, also called the “design ballonet ceiling.” For Abakan that ceiling was about 7000 meters, or 23,000 feet. Climbing beyond that point risked a rupture of the gas bag, and so emergency valves could vent helium to prevent that, which was never desirable. The engines and horizontal fins could also incline to assist the ascent, and in this case where an emergency ascent had been ordered, ballast was dropped from the forward sections as well.

  The procedure was reversed during a descent. All they had to do was take in more air from the atmosphere and pump it to the ballonets until there was more heavy air relative to the helium. If necessary, helium could also be pumped to steel storage tanks. At this point the airship would become negatively buoyant and begin the descent. Once at a desired cruising altitude, manipulation of the elevator controls and minor venting or inflation of the ballonets would be enough to make trim adjustments. These methods eliminated the necessity of venting any helium gas, which was a commodity that was simply too rare and valuable to lose in typical operations.

  Abakan had dropped off all but a single platoon retained aboard the ship for a security detail. One of the airship fleet’s greatest utilities was its ability to move troops and supplies rapidly from one place to another. Every airship carried at least a platoon of 25 men, but they had enough lifting power to accommodate ten to twelve times that, a full battalion.

  Debarking the men at a mooring tower was accomplished easily enough, but for deploying them in the field where no facilities were available, another procedure was necessary. It involved more significant pumping of the helium in the main gas bags to smaller pressurized tanks spaced at intervals along the keel. When pressurized, helium became heavier than air to help compensate for the sudden gain in positive buoyancy when the men deployed. The airship stored a small amount of this helium as a reserve in highly pressurized tanks that could be sent to the main gas bags in the event of a helium loss that threatened the buoyancy of the ship, yet this was only for emergency situations.

  Heavier ballast could also be taken on in the form of water from the air moisture condensers and rain collectors if necessary, but there were limits to both these technologies in 1940. For practical purposes, it was risky to try and debark more than a single company, or 120 men at any given time without being properly moored to a tower with a ground anchor.

  Airship operations were all a careful balance of buoyancy, pressure, ballast, fuel and cargo weight, elevator and rudder control, and engine thrust, but in the hands of a well trained crew, the airship was easily maneuvered.

  Air Commandant Bogrov watched carefully as Abakan passed through 1000 meters. The Airship was a “high climber,” which was a designation that arose during the First World War when the Germans built high flying airships that could operate well above the flight ceilings of British fighters of that day. He would take the airship up to 5000 meters, which was normal combat altitude by 1940, a little over 16,400 feet. If necessary he could climb another 2000 meters after that if the situation demanded such a maneuver, and reach a ceiling pressure height of 23,000 feet.

  At such heights there were a whole new set of challenges for the crew—oxygen deprivation and altitude dizziness, bitter cold that could affect weapons, engines, oil and lubricant lines. Even the viewport windows could frost over and crack.

  “Take us north at your best speed, Commandant.” Karpov wanted to see what he was up against as soon as possible.

  “15 degrees right rudder, and coming around to zero-one-zero north.” Bogrov gave the order, and the ship began to turn as it climbed, nosing up into the endless skies.

  “Have our fighters scrambled?”

  “We
got a report from Krasnoyarsk, sir. They have three I-15 bi-planes and another three I-16s available. Most everything else is farther west near the main front.”

  “They will have to do,” said Karpov, making a mental note to increase fighter deployments to the Krasnoyarsk airfield. The I-15 and I-16 fighters were old models, some flying in Spain in the mid 1930s, but mostly getting their combat experience against the Japanese where they dueled with Ki-27 fighters over Mongolia. The newer Yak-1 had just been introduced by Soviet Russia in January of that year, but in spite of efforts to purchase them, the Free Siberian State had not been able to acquire any. Air power was limited in the eastern state, though newer models were in production at Novosibirsk as the war began to heat up. In 1940, however, they had ten to twelve squadrons of these older fighters, and few squadrons of Tupolov twin engine bombers or Ilushin-2 and Ilushin-4 fighter-bombers.

  The I-15s could reach 7000 meters, but their four 7.62mm machine guns would not bother a Vulcanized airship much, if at all. They did carry six RS-82mm rockets that could do a little more damage if they scored a hit, though they were notoriously inaccurate. Even fired from a range of only 500 meters, only about one in a hundred RS-82’s could hit a stationary target on the ground. While the massive bulk of a zeppelin made for an enticing target, the pilot would still have to get very close to fire those rockets, braving the intense anti-aircraft fire from the airships to do so.

  Abakan had five MG dimples along each side where twin 12.7mm heavy machine guns could rattle out a fairly lethal fire out to 2000 meters. This meant a fighter hoping to deliver its RS-82s would have to run that gauntlet to get close enough to have any chance of scoring a hit. To make matters worse, there were four ShVAK 20mm autocannons mounted atop the airship on a reinforced open air firing platform.

  Against a formation of airships, this handful of fighters would be good for little more than reconnaissance, thought Karpov. Yet they can get around much easier, and if they find a target, I can order them to shadow it and radio back the enemy course and altitude. Then we’ll get up to a good firing position above that, and see if they want any trouble here.

  Using instincts long honed in combat at sea, Karpov knew information was his first weapon. Find the enemy, get into the best firing position, kill the enemy. It was a lethal formula that he had used time and time again. It wasn’t long before his fighters had found something and his battle plan could take more definite shape.

  “Sir, we have fighter reconnaissance reports of two large airships bearing 290 from our current position, about 110 kilometers out.” The signalman had just rushed in from the wireless room. “We should have them on our Topaz radar soon.”

  “Two? Only two contacts?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Very interesting, thought Karpov. If Volkov knew I was here with Abakan, then he certainly knew that I had Angara with me as well. If he meant to make a power play here, why send only two airships? He knows I’ll see them long before they get anywhere near Kansk. He’s either being very overconfident or acting stupidly. There is no way those airships could be bringing enough men and equipment to threaten my position, but he’s certainly checking up on me, isn’t he. Something tells me he wants a much closer look at my operation here than his intelligence arm can give him. He turned to his signalman.

  “Altitude?” The look of displeasure on Karpov’s face was enough of a lesson to the young midshipman.

  “I’m sorry sir. The contacts are at 3500 meters.”

  Karpov raised an eyebrow at that. “Let me know the minute that changes.” Then to Bogrov he said: “Make your altitude 4000 meters, Commandant. But be ready to climb again on short notice.”

  He was going to show these interlopers his gondolas, and let them get a good long look at the guns there for their trouble in coming all this way. But even as he thought that, he suspected there was something more to this move by Volkov than it seemed at first glance.

  Chapter 6

  The Airships hung in the grey sky, as if suspended from the heavens on unseen cables. Karpov was standing on the main gondola bridge of Abakan, his eyes lost in a pair of field glasses as he studied the enemy ships, noting tail numbers, the training of their top mounted guns, the thin wisps of exhaust at the engines, the trim on the big tail rudders and elevator fins. Abakan was 500 meters above, and broadside to the intruding ships. From their tail numbers he soon knew what he was up against.

  The lead ship, about a thousand meters in the van, was the very same ship he had protested over at the conference—the ship that had been brazenly named Omsk. Yet now he saw the bright fresh white paint that had been applied and the newly stenciled lettering: Alexandra—Symenko’s ship. He had heard of the man, a veteran Captain, and a bit hot under the collar from all accounts. Symenko was a Squadron Commandant in the Eastern Airship Division of the Orenburg fleet, a surly man, ill tempered, too eager to find trouble. He was probably not happy to put his painters back to work so soon. Karpov smiled, thinking. Why send this man?

  The second ship was the Oskemen, named for the big city on the southern border zone, and both ships were in the same class as Karpov’s airships, about 100,000 cubic meter lift, maximum airspeed at about 120 knots, and each with six recoilless rifles mounted on the gondolas, with two more top mounted on the rigid gun platforms there. Yet Karpov knew he had the edge for the moment as the airships squared off, because even though he was presently outnumbered two ships to one while Angara was hastening to the scene from her recon sweep to the northeast, Abakan could bring all six of its gondola mounted guns into action, while the two opposing airships could only train their two top mounted rifles at the moment. He had the Orenburg ships outgunned six to four. They would have to climb 500 meters quickly to get any of their gondola mounted guns into action, and Karpov wasn’t about to let them even try. He had them outgunned, and he intended to keep things that way until Angara reached the scene.

  The niceties of protocol had already begun. Karpov sent over a challenge, requesting both ships hover in place and make no change in altitude. He asked them to state their business in Siberian airspace in no uncertain terms. Now he moved to the radio for a two way conversation with Symenko to take the measure of the man.

  “What are you doing here, Symenko? You’re a long way from home.”

  “Begging your pardon to barge in like this,” came the voice on the headset. It was a harsh, gravelly voice that matched the man’s temperament, and there was no real apology in his tone. “This is a diplomatic mission, and I come bearing a pouch for your eyes only.”

  “From Volkov? Papers to sign? I thought we settled all that at Omsk.”

  “I’m not privy to the contents, but I’m told to deliver it to you, Karpov, and so here I am. You want it, or not? If so then I’ll request permission to heave to over your tower on the river.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed of this mission? I could have put my guns on you the moment we sailed up, Symenko. You’ve a lot of nerve violating Siberian airspace like this.”

  “Set off alarm bells all along the rail line from here to Novosibirsk, did we? Well like I said—I have orders and I follow them. You want to complain about the violation of your precious airspace? Then you can write Volkov a nice long letter about it and I’ll happily carry it home and deliver it personally.”

  Karpov frowned. The man was a real smartass, he thought, just the type he enjoyed goading from time to time. So he stuck in a barb, just for the pleasure of it.

  “Nice paint job, Symenko. A lot more letters now, eh? Were you eager to drop your ground anchors at Omsk? What’s the matter. Weather doesn’t suit you at Alexandra?”

  “Try that tone with me when I’m sitting 500 meters above your prow and see what it gets you, Karpov.”

  “Yes? Well it looks like I’m the one sitting on your nose, Captain, and don’t think to move a muscle or you’ll soon find out that I can be a most disagreeable man.”

  “That so? Well I can drop ballast and pop up there in th
ree minutes if you’d care to do this eye to eye.”

  “Drop ballast? If I so much as see anyone take a piss off that ship of yours to lighten your load I’ll put a nice fat 105mm round into your forward gas bags, and that will slow you down, won’t it? Look, Symenko. Enough with the pleasantries. You can dock at Kansk, but we’ve only room for one ship there. Deliver your pouch and then get the hell out of my airspace.”

  There was a long pause before Symenko came back on the line again. “I’m told this is to be hand delivered, by me personally, and directly to you, Karpov. No intermediaries. I’m to wait here for your answer.”

  Most unusual, thought Karpov. What was Volkov thinking? What could he possibly want? There was no way he was going to ground himself with this man now. He was up in fighting trim, and with good position on these brigands, and he meant to stay there.

  “I’m a busy man, Symenko. It will take you an hour to dock at Kansk and then move off so we can do the same, and there’s no way I’d ever allow this ship to do that under your guns in any case. So we’ll do this another way. I’ll ease over and send down a sub-cloud car. You want to hand off that pouch, then you can climb aboard and we’ll reel you in.”

  The sub-cloud car, also call the “spy basket” or “observation car,” was first developed by the Germans as a means of anchoring their radio antenna, and then later made into a small finned gondola that could hold one or two men. It could be lowered up to 200 meters on a cable, dipped through a heavy obscuring cloud deck to allow for observation of the ground. A “man in the basket” could spot landmarks on the ground and call them up to the main gondola on a telephone line. In this case Symenko could climb aboard and be hauled up to the Abakan to make his delivery.

  “Very well, Karpov. We’ll do it your way. You can ease on down and send us a basket. But I’d feel a whole lot better to see those gondola guns of yours trained elsewhere.”