Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series)

by Schettler, John

  Now his strange grey eyes were alight with jubilation, as if he were contemplating the medals he would win for this operation. “I told Hoffmann this was a good ship,” said Kranke. “I told him we would have nothing to worry about. All this nonsense about a rocket cruiser has him whining like a schoolboy. Well, there is nothing of the sort here.”

  Kranke was a well respected officer in the Kriegsmarine, one who had fought with Admiral Hipper’s Battlecruiser Squadron in the epic battle of Jutland. A torpedo man at heart, he cut his teeth in the navy in the torpedo boat flotilla, then served as an instructor in the Torpedo School.

  The meal concluded, it was time now for drinks and smoke, and the mention of Hoffmann reminded the Kapitän that he had three fine cigars in his pocket. He produced them at once, handing one to each of the other men with a smile.

  “Hoffmann gave these to me when I went over to see him on Scharnhorst. He said I was to smoke one for finding his ghost ship, the second for getting a good photograph, and the third for getting safely home. Well, I think we have more than enough reason to smoke them now, so light up gentlemen. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “Danke, Herr Kapitän,” said Schörner, eager for a good smoke.

  “Did you see how badly aimed those torpedoes were?” Kranke had another good laugh. “Ten fish in the water between the two destroyers and only one got close enough to ask us for a dance. It is clear the Russians have a lot to learn about warfare at sea. We will likely have free reign in these waters if this is all they have in the cupboard.”

  “Those looked like fine new destroyers,” said Heintz. “Amazing speed!”

  “But good for nothing unless you know how to properly fight the ship. They should have sprinted well ahead with their speed advantage and then fired right down our line of advance in a wide spread. But my god, Schörner, that was a tremendous hit you put on that lead destroyer.”

  “The guns are extremely accurate, sir. I believe I could have hit a fly on their mainmast if given just a little more time.”

  “Well,” said Kranke. “Now that we have Norway, the Russians come next. They’ve were nipping at Finland’s heels last winter, but the Führer will be sending troops there soon enough. In time we’ll take these northern ports and then they’ll be completely isolated, no navy to speak of and nothing but a few old zeppelins to bother us with.”

  Kranke had worked as Chief of Staff for North Sea Security in 1939 before taking his post on Admiral Scheer. When the pocket battleship went into the docks for a haircut and refit to officially become a heavy cruiser, Kranke was put to good use as Navy Representative on Special Staff “Weserübung” to help plan the naval portion of the invasion of Denmark and Norway. A man of 47 years, he was a tireless worker, always on the bridge, and taking little time for rest or leisure—except on a night like this.

  “Suppose we send up our seaplane to harass that zeppelin, Kapitän?” Heintz had a derisive smile on his face.

  “Good idea, Heintz,” said Kranke. “That’s a nice little slap in the face as we leave. They’ll be remembering us for some time up here. Raeder was set to double down on this bet with Operation Doppelschlag, but I hardly think it will be necessary. Admiral Carls flew in from Wilhelmshaven with Vice Admiral Schmundt to plan the whole thing. Wait until they get my report! Yes, we were worried that the Russians had a few new ships up here, but it seems they haven’t the faintest idea what to do with them.”

  Now he raised his glass in a toast. “Good shooting, Schörner. Congratulations! Now gentlemen, let us enjoy these fine cigars. Then we can go home and tell Herr Hoffmann that his rocket cruiser is nowhere to be found, and that from the looks of things, Murmansk will be even easier pickings than Norway!”

  * * *

  Even as Kranke raised his glass, a dark car rolled to a stop on a muddy road north of Murmansk. The front doors opened and the driver and a guard stepped out, the latter opening the rear door for the passenger, Vice Admiral Arseniy Golovko, his face grim and serious. The Admiral tramped across the road, folding his arms as he looked at the ship riding at anchor out in the bay.

  Massive, he thought. Look at all those antennae! But where are the guns? I was told this ship would be very powerful, and it certainly looks threatening, but with just those three twin turrets? I have destroyers that are better armed.

  He shrugged, sighing heavily. “That is the ship?”

  “Yes sir. It has been here for several days, and the commanding officer is waiting to receive you ashore.”

  “We have nothing else that looks anything like this ship. Where did it come from? I know nothing of a special project to build of ship of this size.”

  “It’s a bit of a mystery, sir,” said the adjutant.

  “Is it finished? They might have put some guns on the damn thing before they sent it to us.” Golovko shook his head, discouraged and somewhat disappointed. The ship was beautiful, awesome in many ways. He found his eye sweeping over its trim lines as a man might regard the lean shape of a woman’s leg. But nothing up front, he thought, noting the flat empty foredeck.

  “Very well. Let us visit this new Admiral again. Kirov seemed fairly well taken with the man. And I see they have named this ship after him. Let’s hope it has better luck for us than Kalinin had yesterday. That was a Kirov class cruiser too.” He lowered his head, watching the mud under his boots as he walked.

  They were in the small but rapidly growing settlement of Severomorsk. By order of the General Secretary a big buildup was now underway here. Trucks had been arriving day and night from the rail yard at Murmansk after a big shipment came all the way up from Leningrad. They were to construct new command centers, docks, berthing areas, a supply depot and barracks. Another base, thought Golovko, but nothing to anchor in it.

  “Well, beggars can’t be choosers. I come here with an empty teacup looking for help. Let us hope this ship will be of some use.”

  They made their way through the sodden ground to a newly built cabin, where the Admiral saw a detachment of security personnel waiting to receive him. He was ushered in to find Admiral Volsky and Fedorov waiting quietly in a simple room, with a table and chairs that doubled as a dining hall for staff officers.

  “Forgive the accommodations, Admiral,” said Volsky as he extended his hand. “We are just getting established here ashore, and the crews are busy with repairs on the ship.”

  “Quite a vessel,” said Golovko. “I am told it was a secret project?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Well I won’t bother you with questions about it. I’m afraid I have come with some grave news. We received emergency alarms from our base at Port Dikson on the Kara Sea. The Germans have sortied with a squadron of warships. We got wind of it through naval intelligence last week—an operation Wunderland, as they call it. There has been fighting.”

  “Fighting? Then they have violated your neutrality?”

  “If you want to call the sinking of three ships a violation, then you have it exactly.” Admiral Golovko related the news, and Volsky could perceive his frustration at the end when he told the story of how his own warships had fared in their first encounter with the Germans.

  “A destroyer sunk?”

  “Kalima. One of our newest ships.”

  “And the ice breaker?”

  “Siberiakov. We called her old Sasha, as that ship has made that high Arctic run east for years, but no longer. They tell me the Germans have taken prisoners, and one man in particular that raises some alarm. His name was Zolotov, and he was carrying the new code books for the weather outposts along that route. Now we will have to change the code yet again!”

  At the mention of that name Volsky seemed very surprised.

  “Zolotov… Georgie Zolotov?”

  “Yes, that is the man. You know him?”

  “I have heard of the man, though we have never met.” Volsky seemed very upset now. “Sasha… yes, I have heard his name before. This is a very serious matter, Golovko. What do you propose to do ab
out it?”

  “That is the dilemma, Admiral Volsky. I have already sent the best ships at my disposal to find this German flotilla. Kalinin took three hits, Kalima was sunk and only Saku survived unscathed. We sent out the Narva to see if we could find and shadow the Germans, and this she has done.”

  “Another cruiser? I have not heard of this ship.”

  “It is an airship, Admiral. C-10, commissioned in 1938. We still have a few in the fleet, but it won’t do us any good. There is nothing Narva can do to stop those German ships. Oh, it can catch them, but if it tries to fire on them they will blow it out of the sky with their secondary batteries. So here I sit, commander of the Red Banner Northern Fleet, and I have six older destroyers and another rusting cruiser moored at Murmansk. Kalinin will be in the repair dock for at least two weeks, not that it matters. I have nothing to throw at them but seaplanes and blimps!”

  Volsky nodded, remembering his own frustration as he contemplated sending out his Pacific fleet against the powerful American Navy. His eyes narrowed, and he gave Fedorov a glance before he spoke.

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said. “My ship can finish up repairs and be ready to leave within the hour.”

  Golovko raised his eyebrows, for this is what he had come to ask, and it had been offered. Yet his own misgivings about the lack of firepower on the ship he had seen still nagged at him.

  “I would hate to ask this of you, and put your ship and crew at risk. After all, Kalinin was a very capable ship—nine 180mm guns, good speed, torpedoes. I am told that your ship is very powerful, and forgive me now Admiral, but you do not seem very well equipped. Those guns you have cannot be more than 152mm.”

  Volsky smiled. “The British thought the same,” he said quietly. “But I assure you, Golovko, they were quite happy when we helped prevent three or four German battleships from breaking out into the Atlantic. We are more than capable, and yes, we will help you restore the honor of the Red Banner Fleet. Wait and see.”

  Volsky stood up, decisively. “Mister Fedorov, have the men prepare my launch. We are returning to Kirov at once and the ship will sortie in sixty minutes.”

  “Aye sir.” Fedorov said nothing more and went to see to those orders.

  Admiral Golovko gave Volsky a smile and a handshake in thanks. “Go with God,” he said, wishing the Admiral well.

  “I’m afraid God will have nothing to do with it,” said Volsky. “It appears the war has started. Yes? If so, then this is work for the devil.”

  An hour later, Kirov hoisted anchor and slowly slipped out of the long inlet, heading for the Barents Sea. Admiral Golovko watched it turn, again feeling something was very strange about this ship, ominous and threatening.

  Other eyes were watching the ship as well, from a small trawler that was moored to the quay, an inconspicuous commercial fishing boat. There, a man sat quietly in the darkened cabin, the barest light of an oil lamp illuminating his work as he tapped slowly on a telegraph key. It was a coded message that would be heard by a relay station well ashore in an old hunting lodge in the hills. There another man would tap his wireless telegraph key, and hand off the signal to another relay station. The message would hop east, over the White Sea and into the wilderness until it reached another logging cabin on the foothills of the Urals. There it would be handed off to the Airship Sarkand, hovering over the icy peaks of the mountains on a standing patrol for just this reason. Soon it would come to the attention of Ivan Volkov himself. The ship—Karpov’s ship—had finally been found!

  Yet Admiral Golovko knew nothing of this as he turned and got back into his waiting car, wondering how long it would be before he received news that yet another Russian ship had been sunk.

  Kirov must learn not to put his name on these ships until they can fight, he thought. But he did not know just how very wrong he was.

  Chapter 20

  On the bridge of his fighting ship, Admiral Volsky explained his urgency to Fedorov when they were underway. “Golovko says he will radio the position of the German flotilla,” he said.

  “We will most likely have them on long range radar as soon as we leave the Kola Bay,” said Fedorov. “What is your intention, sir?”

  Volsky gave him a long look. “Someone has just broken into our neighbor’s house, Fedorov. No. That was our brother’s house. It will not go unpunished. Beyond that, I was alarmed to hear the name of that man taken as prisoner—Zolotov.”

  “Who is he, Admiral?”

  “You saw my surprise, yes? Well my father knew the man. Yes. Old Sasha. He told me stories of that ship when I was a boy. I used to imagine it pushing its way through the ice on the cold sea voyage east, a real pioneer ship. I often imagined I was there on the bridge, watching the ice crack under the ship’s bow. Zolotov was a friend of my father, and so you see, it cuts a bit close to the bone to hear what happened to him. I can still remember the look in my father’s eyes when he told me the Germans got him.”

  “They captured him?”

  “You can probably look it up in your old history books, Fedorov.”

  “I did check on this operation, sir. It wasn’t supposed to happen until August of 1942! It is very odd that it should occur so soon in this new time line, or even reoccur at all.”

  “Tell me about it. What ships were involved?”

  “Just one, sir. The heavy cruiser Admiral Scheer. It did everything Admiral Golovko described—even the sinking of that icebreaker you mentioned. It’s very strange how the history seems to echo the events of the world we came from, yet things have shifted, slipped. This time there is a second German ship, and that is a new variation.”

  “Just a piece of your cracked mirror that has moved out of place, Fedorov. Well, you will forgive me for what I am now going to do, and it may seem petty, but suddenly this little war has become personal for me. I will not allow this insult to stand. Do you understand?”

  “Well sir,” Fedorov thought for a moment. “If the Germans think they can come to our home waters and attack Russian ships with impunity, they will likely come to believe that they can easily close these ports and isolate Soviet Russia from any outside assistance. This may have been a reason for this operation, to test Russian resolve and measure our capabilities.”

  “They are going to need a very long measuring tape,” said Volsky grimly.

  Sometime later Rodenko reported to the Admiral where he sat in his ready room off the main bridge. They had just cleared the bay and were now entering the Barents Sea.

  “Nikolin has received word on the German location, sir. They were hovering up near Franz-Joseph and Alexandria Islands. Now they are headed west towards Spitzbergen.”

  “That will put them some 400 kilometers northeast of us,” said Fedorov. “If we steer due north we should be on a good intercept course.”

  “Make it so, Mister Fedorov. When do you anticipate contact?”

  “We can be well within missile range in ten hours at 24 knots. Increase that a bit and I can put you on their horizon in that same timeframe.”

  “Do so, and inform me when we get within fifty kilometers. I think we will have a little chat with the German Captain and ask him to apologize for what he has done. Of course he will laugh that off. Then we will show him the error of his ways.”

  “It looks like they want to pass well north of Bear Island.”

  “Cold desolate waters there,” said Volsky. “But it is July, and so there should still be plenty of sea room.”

  It was a time when much of the sea ice was broken into drifts, with occasional larger ice bergs leaving trails of open water behind them as they forged a path through the smaller floes, like ghostly frozen ships.

  The senior officers rested, but were back on the bridge for planned operations at 18:00 on the 11th of July. By that time Kirov was well north, and had now turned west on an intercept course as the German flotilla approached Spitzbergen. Fedorov had increased speed to 30 knots to begin closing the range, and Kirov ran easily, the time at
Severomorsk being well spent by Chief Byko to get much needed repairs completed on the ship’s bow. Admiral Volsky was informed that the contact was being tracked on their Fregat radar, and he returned to the bridge, his manner serious.

  “Very well,” he said gruffly. “Mister Nikolin, you will begin hailing the Germans on an open channel. Tell them that they have violated Soviet territorial waters and neutrality, and that they are now holding our nationals as prisoners. They must stop. These men must be returned, or they will suffer the consequences.”

  “Do I send this in Russian, sir?”

  “Yes. Fedorov tells me there is a good chance they have a team aboard that will understand you. Continue your hail and report any response.”

  * * *

  When the message was heard on the Admiral Scheer it caused a moment of levity on the bridge. Kranke looked at the signalman with incredulity, then broke into a broad smile.

  “Who is sending the message, that zeppelin shadowing us?”

  “No sir, it is coming from a ship. They have identified themselves as the battlecruiser Kirov.”

  “The battlecruiser Kirov? My, my, the General Secretary of the Soviet Union is naming ships after himself. Well then, this must be the pride of the fleet, yes Heintz?”

  Heintz stepped over, curious about the message. “What is it, Kapitän?”

  “The Russians are not happy with our little foray into the Kara Sea. They want their prisoners back, or so they say.” The Kapitän turned to the signalman now. “Tell them these men are now in the custody of the Kriegsmarine and will be interrogated at our leisure. If they want to do anything about it they are invited to try.” He laughed, shaking his head. “The nerve of these Russians, eh Heintz? Perhaps they did not receive enough of a beating and we will have to take them to the woodshed yet again.”

  Time passed and the message returned. “Stop and surrender all Soviet nationals or you will be engaged as a hostile ship.”