The dark shapes on the sea ahead were the very same ships Kirov had engaged earlier, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, with the heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper. They were hastening to the sound of the guns, even as Kirov was, latecomers to the battle, but ships that might weigh heavily in the balance and decide how fate would rule in this crucial engagement. Rodenko’s radar report told the tale. The British would be out gunned if these ships arrived on the scene. Invincible had scored a stunning long range hit, causing the Germans to veer off, but they had just skirted north to slip over the horizon and continued on.
Volsky knew this brief moment of calm, a breathless anticipation, would soon slip from him like his frosty breath. He could not wait here, watch here, a simple bystander letting the history they had created play out as it might. They had made a choice.
The time for battle was again at hand, but what should they do? They had no more than 26 SSMs remaining, and perhaps five long years of war ahead if they could not find a way to move forward to their own time again. Each missile was worth its weight in gold. Even if they could move forward, what would they find? The world might be fractured beyond all recognition. Is that what Gromyko found when he shifted on Kazan? What would he do? What if he shifts again? These and a hundred other questions ran through his mind now as he turned and opened the outer hatch to the citadel bridge. The red light of battle stations fell on him as he entered, like a baptism of blood and fire.
“Admiral on the bridge!”
“As you were.” Volsky pulled off his gloves and pocketed them, reaching for a handkerchief to chase the chill from his nose. “A cold summer night,” he said. “But the sea is calm.”
“Aye sir,” said Fedorov. “Those planes have veered on a heading of zero-four-zero and engaged the Germans. I thought they had mistaken Admiral Tovey’s ship as the target for a moment, but it appears they sorted things out.”
“That is good,” said Volsky. “I’m glad they did not find us here and we were not put in the uncomfortable position of having to fend off an attack. But now we must look to the action ahead. I just had a good long look at that contact to our north.” Volsky pointed to the overhead Tin Man video screen that was now tracking the ships vectoring in from the northwest.
“It looks like those ships will arrive at a most inconvenient time for Admiral Tovey. What should we do about this, Fedorov? I would be prepared to take further action here, but what would you recommend?”
Fedorov thought for a moment, hearing and seeing the launch of a missile in his mind’s eye, with all the drama and spectacle that would create. It would be clearly seen by the Germans again, and by Tovey’s ship. Perhaps it would make their claim as a warship just a little more convincing, he thought, but it would certainly raise quite a few questions should they ever share lunch and gin with the British again.
He remembered his thought, moments ago… They will see every shot we fire, and my god, what would ever happen if it became known that we were not born to this time and place, that we are strangers in this strange land, interlopers from another time with power beyond the imagination of anyone alive this day?
“How many cards do we want to show here, Admiral? Our missiles will be a shocking addition to this battle should we engage now. It will raise more than a few eyebrows, and not just with the British should we meet with them again.”
“Well the Germans have already seen what one of our missiles can do.”
“That was expedient and necessary given the circumstances we found ourselves in. Yes, that will have consequences too. They will think we were a British ship, and perhaps conclude that this is a new weapon system being deployed by the Royal Navy. It could have effects we cannot foresee just yet. Remember, the Germans already have interest and activity in rocket development. Even in the history we know they fielded radio controlled glide bombs, the V-1 cruise missile, the V-2 ballistic missile and jet aircraft before 1945. That effort could now be accelerated.”
“Yes, the cat is out of the bag, but we cannot control what they do now that they have seen our MOS-III.”
“Yet if we keep our missiles close, the lesson will not be repeated, sir. Perhaps they might see it as a fluke, a lucky shot, and the effects could be mitigated.”
“Perhaps, Fedorov, but we will never know. What was done was done. The Germans have see our fire, even though the British did not seem overly impressed with our ship.”
“That will change if we fire SSMs to intervene in this battle now sir, but it isn’t just the British I’m worried about.”
“No? What is on your mind, Fedorov?”
“Ilanskiy, Admiral. That strange time shift effect on the back stairway of the inn at Ilanskiy. I went down those steps and found myself in 1908! A journey up that stair took me right back to where I was, 1942 again, but Sergei Kirov also came up that stairway after me, and from what Deputy Director Kamenski told us I now suspect that Naval Intelligence officer may have taken that stairway as well—Volkov. If that is true, who knows how far back in time that would have taken him? What if he reached the year 1908 as I did, but never deduced that the stairway was the means by which he did so? He would have been trapped in 1908, which could explain how he would have seized the reins of power with the knowledge he had. If this is the same man who now seems to control the Orenburg Federation, then news of a ship firing advanced rocketry and SAMs may also have an unpredictable effect.”
“You suggest that Volkov might discover we are here?”
“That is inevitable if we continue with this intervention. He will know that no ship could possibly have such weapons in 1940, and if he ever does conclude that we have also come here from the future, then he will also know that we have other weapons on this ship as well.”
“How would he discover that?”
“Did you see the cameras the Royal Navy had on us when we made that rendezvous? Of course I understand why we did so, but now there are photos of us, of this ship, and if one ever comes to Volkov he will immediately recognize our silhouette. Remember, he is Russian Naval intelligence. If he does hear about a strange new British ship he will do everything possible to discover what it is.”
“This is all very disturbing, and I have not yet had time to consider it since Kamenski voiced his suspicions. How very odd… Volkov seemed to be a man in his later twenties or early thirties.”
“He was 32 years old, sir,” Fedorov put in. “I looked up his service records.”
“Then he would be twice that age now if he went all the way back to 1908 as you say you did on those stairs. To think that he has been here, shaping the history all that time, is very alarming. Of course, we have had no time to stop and take a remedial course in history. It seems we have been moving from one crisis to another, all with the aim of preventing damage to the time line, but each one wreaking more and more havoc.”
“We could still veer off and try to shift forward again,” Fedorov suggested.
“Yes, but that control rod is not reliable, Fedorov. You yourself said that we could end up marooned on dry land if the same thing happens and we move in space again as well as in time. That and the strain to our reactors leaves me very reluctant to wave our magic wand again.”
“What about the third control rod, sir? It has never been used, and it might work as Rod-25 did.”
“Possibly, but can we take that risk? I know if we accept that, then we must also accept we are already marooned here. It would mean we live out the rest of our lives in this time.”
“There may be other ways we can move in time, sir.”
“Other ways? What do you mean, Fedorov?”
“Kamenski has told us that intense explosive events can also rupture the time continuum. That is how we now believe Kirov was shifted back to 1908. Remember, they had no control rod at all when Karpov sortied from Vladivostok. It was the eruption of that Demon Volcano that sent the ship to 1945, and then Karpov’s use of atomic weapons that sent Kirov further back to 1908.”
“And where does t
his lead us?”
“I’m not sure… but Kirov was blown decades into the past by the Demon eruption of 2021. That might mean we could move in the same way, and we also know there is one other way to create an explosive event capable of moving us in time.” Fedorov stopped there, his point obvious.
“I know what you are suggesting now, but that is a dangerous alternative. And these events always moved us further into the past, yes? That would do us little good, and would be fraught with uncertainty. All I know is that we are here now, and at the edge of a moment where we may soon have to act. Something tells me that if the British lose this engagement, and are badly hurt, then their position becomes even more precarious.”
“I agree, sir.” Fedorov had an idea, but he kept things to himself for the moment. The Admiral made a telling point. They already had their foot in the door here, and trying to slip away now seemed a bit craven in some sense.
“We decided to intervene here,” Volsky continued. “The time is now at hand. What do we do? That is the question. I could put missiles on the German ships and end this fight in one decisive blow, just as Karpov would argue if he were here. But what you have said about all this gives me pause.”
“If need be, we can engage with deck guns to assist Admiral Tovey. The German Stukas are another matter. You said you would extend our SAM umbrella over Tovey’s fleet, but that may soon lead to some rather spectacular fireworks in the sky, Admiral. If the Germans manage to turn over and launch another strike from Graf Zeppelin, that could decide the battle in their favor. The British have just played out their air attack, and it will be some time before their carriers can recover any survivors and regroup for another strike. The surface action may be concluded before that happens, but the German air strike broke off and returned north over an hour ago. Those planes could have already landed on Graf Zeppelin, and they could be airborne again in twenty minutes.”
“You see the carrier as the real threat now?”
“The German Stukas hurt the British once before, and it is clear that they have already engaged and damaged ships in Admiral Holland’s task group.”
“Apparently so, but what about those German battleships?”
At the moment, sir, it looks to be Bismarck and Tirpitz against HMS Invincible, Hood and Repulse. That is even money. Perhaps your thought of allowing that battle to proceed without our intervention there is wise now.”
“What about those ships to the northwest, Fedorov?”
“Scharnhorst and Gneisenau? We can stop them, sir. We did that once already. As for the carrier, here is what I suggest.”
Part II
Fire in Heaven
“The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea,
The hot stars down from heaven are whirled;
Fierce grows the steam and the life-feeding flame,
Till fire leaps high about heaven itself.”
—Valuspo ~ Nordic Poetic Edda
Chapter 4
Commander John Warrand held firm at the wheel of HMS Hood, the smoke and shock of the hit the ship had sustained finally abating. Like another young navigator aboard Kirov who was thrust unexpectedly into the Captain’s chair, Warrand suddenly found himself the only senior officer on the bridge, with the battle thickening about him and the sea erupting in wild geysers of blood red water.
He had served as a navigator aboard the carrier Furious, and cruiser Neptune in the 1930s, and more recently as Navigating Officer aboard Devonshire, and finally the venerable battleship Rodney. He had just settled in, arriving aboard Hood months ago in March of 1940 to assume his post as Navigation Officer, Battle Cruiser Squadron.
Even as he struggled with the wheel, he was haunted by the face of Ted Briggs, the last man he had spoken to before the shell struck the conning tower and killed so many men on the compass platform. The men were crowding in there to get a look at the action, and he thought to have a look himself when he met Briggs at the door, gracefully stepping aside with a gesture and a brief word: “After you, old chap.”
Then he remembered Captain Glennie had asked him to get a map from the chart room, and so he went there instead. It saved his life. The compass platform was a long way up from the Admiral’s Bridge, which was tiered up over the forward gun director behind B turret. He doubted if any man there had survived the spray of shrapnel that must have exploded upwards after that shell struck home and hit the compass platform like a shotgun blast.
“Coming left twenty,” he shouted, maneuvering to instinctively avoid the fall of heavy shells ahead of the ship, but also with the thought that he would be opening his rear turret firing arcs to enable them to get into action. “Hoist Blue Two!” Now Hood would at least bring all her functioning guns into the fight, and along with Repulse that would give them twelve 15-inch guns.
He gave an order to slow the ship down, hoping to briefly throw off the enemy’s calculations and also stabilize the ship. Hood ran very low in the water, and when running at high speeds the spray from her own bow wash could often mist and veil the lower gun directors mounted on the forward turrets.
There came a loud roar and Warrand knew the finger of the Gunnery Officer had just squeezed the trigger on his firing pistol again, blasting with every gun trained and ready in one mighty salvo. Headless, bloodied and bruised, Hood was still fighting. No, he thought, not headless. Use your own noggin, Johnny. You’re the man at the helm now. This fight is yours.
Smoke still trailed from the damaged B turret, and the anti-air rocket system there was completely destroyed, not that it was any great loss. The weapon basically deployed long trailing cables from a parachute in the hopes of snagging a passing airplane, and it had never been effective. The real damage was the loss of those two big guns in the heat of the battle.
Warrand had no idea what was happening on the boat deck amidships where the Stukas had planted a bomb that seriously damaged the aft funnel. Now, at least, he had someone on the Flag Bridge to hoist ensigns and he soon learned that there were still men alive on the compass platform above when someone shouted through a voice pipe that they had sighted another contact.
Then the ship shook again, and Warrand was nearly thrown from his feet. At the same time he could see what looked to be an explosion on Repulse ahead. The Germans had quickly found the range again, but the voice of 1st Gunnery Officer Lieutenant Commander Colin MacMullen was reassuring him that they were still in the fight.
“Down 200 and steady on bearing. Four guns ready. Fire!” MacMullen had been adjusting his fire using down-ladder corrections in 200 yard increments, and this time he was spot on. Hood’s mainmast soon called out a hit amidships on the lead German ship, presumed to be Bismarck, and Warrand took heart. A yeoman came running with more bad news, however, and he knew that a clock was ticking on the ship’s prospects for survival.
“Sir! That last hit amidships has slipped our armor and we have damage in the number four boiler room!”
Two guns down, speed off a third, fires amidships, a hull breach that will mean we’ll be taking water, all the senior officers wounded or killed but me, and now Repulse takes a hit for good measure. The question in Warrand’s mind now was whether he could risk further damage to the ship by holding to this course and trying to stay in the battle, or whether he should attempt to break off and live to fight another day.
We’re wounded and down on one knee, but we can still hold a sword, he thought. Then came the news he had longed to hear. It was shouted from the mainmast top watch, clear and high through the voice pipe and relayed to him by a Yeoman.
“Sir! Ships sighted on the horizon off the port bow!”
Anything on his port side was likely to be British, he thought. Dear God, let it be Tovey. Let it be HMS Invincible and then let’s get on with it!
* * *
John Warrand’s prayer would be answered that day. It was, indeed, Admiral John Tovey on Invincible, and with him, running like hounds to either side of the big battlecruiser, were the destroyers Fortune and F
iredrake.
“Signal destroyers to swing round to zero-two-zero and make a run at the enemy,” Tovey said coolly. “Gunnery officer, what do you make the range to that big fellow second in line?”
Lt. Cdr. Edward Connors answered, clear and confident. “I make it 23,400, sir. Right in our wheelhouse after that hit on the Twins, with all guns training on target now.”
“Very well…” Tovey clasped his hands behind his back, even as his signalman runner Wells returned, breathless from his running climb back up to the Admiral’s Bridge. “Hoist battle ensign. Good of you to rejoin us, Mister Wells. Please take up a post at the signal room voice pipe and let’s give you a chance to catch your breath. Kindly call down and advise the W/T room to signal Hood and ascertain the condition of Admiral Holland’s squadron.”
Wells was quick to reply, his high voice echoing the Admiral’s mannerly order, which prompted Tovey to smile again.
“You may reserve that octave for the order to abandon ship, should it ever come, Mister Wells. Otherwise a clear and calm order is best served to your purpose.”
“Yes sir, of course.” Wells had the heat and excitement of going unto his first combat at sea aboard a real battleship, but he took a deep breath after his climb, calming himself, yet alert and ready to execute any order that came his way. Somehow Tovey’s cool was infectious, and he noted that every man on the Admiral’s Bridge seemed to be standing his post with a steady, calm professionalism. He raised his chin, proud to be there, and waited.
“Gentlemen, it may interest you to know that a locket of hair from Lord Nelson himself has been sewn into the battle ensign we raise this hour,” said Tovey, “and we’re all the better for it.” He gave Wells a reassuring nod, which did much to bring a measure of confidence to the younger officer.
Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) Page 3