Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series)

by John Schettler

  Instead Ark Royal hastened south through the Faeroes Gap to join up with HMS Invincible and provide air cover for operations aimed at interdicting the Denmark Strait. So this day it was an area recon mission out in front of the fleet flagship’s advance, and dull, easy work compared to the gallant charge he might have made that day, yet the encounter he would soon have was laden with the heavy weight of fate.

  The sea was interminable, a wide grey slate with occasional whitecaps from wind-stirred waves. It was to be a simple out and back, more for security of the fleet than any real attempt to cover the Strait of Denmark. That work would begin the following day, as the Ark Royal was still too far east. It was then that he saw something on his radar set, and let his radio telegraphist, Lt. Robert Bostock, in on the news.

  “Something winked at me just now,” he said. “See anything at two-twenty?”

  Bostock looked left and scanned the sea ahead, but could see nothing of any note. Partridge noted his radar signal now seemed erratic. He thought he had a clear reading, but now it was suddenly lost in a backwash of interference. Another man might have written it all off to a dodgy antenna or faulty equipment, but there just seemed to be something else out of whack in the moment, some unaccountable magnetism was pulling at him, and without thinking or knowing why, he simply turned on 220 to investigate. Call it a hunch, a reflex, a suspicion, but he was going to have a look.

  “Mister Bostok,” he said. “Notify Fleet Air Arm that I am investigating a possible contact bearing 220 from our present position.”

  “Got an itch, Captain?”

  “We’ll have a scratch and see.”

  * * *

  On the bridge of Kirov Rodenko was disheartened to see the contact turn on an intercept heading. “Someone is getting curious, Captain,” he said. “They must have had a reading on us before we jammed. In another eight minutes that plane will have us in visual range. Recommend air alert one, sir.”

  Fedorov scratched his temple, frowning. “Not just yet,” he said, thinking hard. The last thing they needed now was open hostilities, another plane chased by a missile or riddled with 30mm shells; another dead aircrew missing from the rolls of history. It always starts this way, he thought, with notions of humanity and the consequences of taking down a single plane. Then it ends with the holocaust of a nuclear warhead…well, not on my watch.

  “Sir,” said Rodenko. “Five minutes.”

  Fedorov found himself staring out the forward view panes, watching the wounded bow of Kirov still slicing cleanly through the sea at 20 knots. He walked slowly to the ship’s intercom, and punched up the code for the mainmast watch. A pair of human eyes with field glasses perched beneath the spinning rotation of the dual panel Fregat Radar system seemed a redundancy, but he had something on his mind that needed human hands at the moment.

  “Mainmast watch,” he said quietly. “Raise the naval ensign.”

  “Raise the ensign, sir?”

  “That is correct. Do it now, please, and be quick about it.”

  “Aye sir. Raise the ensign.”

  “Captain Fedorov,” said Rodenko. “I thought the Admiral wanted all recognition marks stowed, sir.”

  Fedorov said nothing, his eyes set, still scanning the distant horizon. “The ship will come to air alert one,” he said quietly. “Mister Samsonov, Kashtan system please. Lock on the target but do not engage. Understood?”

  At three minutes out Fedorov knew the incoming plane already had the ship in visual range, and he also knew that it was likely to make as close a pass as the pilot deemed advisable under the circumstances. The two sides had stumbled upon one another in the muddled uncertainty of war, and as the Russian naval ensign was raised high on the top mast above the spinning radar set, Fedorov had extended one arm with an open hand, even though he still held a knife quietly behind his back if his gambit failed.

  This was a reconnaissance flight, he reasoned. They will not be carrying heavy ordnance. The ship could endure a strafing run if this plane attacked, but he would not fire first—not this time. The raising of that flag was a handshake in thought, and whether it was by chance or design, it was seen by the one man who needed to see it that day, and recognize in it the gesture he himself had made to those three German airmen when they came stumbling in out of the cold.

  * * *

  “Mister Bostock,” said Captain Partridge. “What do you make of that?” He gestured to the left, banking the plane slightly so both men could have a better look at the sea. There was a ship, large and formidable in shape and design, a dark threatening wedge of steel scoring the gunmetal sea.

  “It’s big!” Bostock was duly impressed. “Signaling ship sighted,” he said breathlessly.

  “What’s that up top, Bobby? Look, it’s flying a blue cross on white!”

  “Norwegian or Danish?” said Bostock.

  “Don’t be daft, man. That’s a Russian naval ensign.”

  “Russian? Down here?”

  “Get a good look with your field glasses, will you, and verify what I’m seeing. I’ll hold the range and circle.”

  He banked into a turn, knowing better than to bore straight in with this unknown sighting. The ship was enormous! He was a veteran of many operations in these waters, some flying air cover over the fleet with ships like the mighty Hood and Invincible in attendance, two of the largest warships afloat in 1940. This ship was easily the length and breadth of Hood, though now that he looked closely he could not make out any large caliber gun turrets, only secondary batteries mounted fore and aft. What was that spinning about on the mainmast beneath the ensign?

  “Get that signal off to Ark Royal,” he said with just a little more urgency. “Large warship, heavy cruiser or battlecruiser in size and flying Russian colors. They look to be steering zero-five-zero. Estimate speed twenty from that wake and bow wave.”

  Partridge was very good at his job.

  * * *

  Fedorov watched the plane bank and angle off to one side, the wings dipped so he could clearly see the insignia of the Fleet Air Arm on the wings. The plane had turned and that was a very good sign. They were looking them over now, and they would certainly be keying off an urgent signal. He glanced at Nikolin, who gestured that he was picking up the signal and decoding the Morse. At that moment Admiral Volsky stepped through the main hatch to the citadel, huffing from the climb up the last ladder and stair.

  “Admiral on the bridge,” said Rodenko, coming to attention.

  “As you were, gentlemen,” said Volsky. “I heard the alarm, and now I see we have company. He walked slowly to Fedorov’s side, hands clasped together under leather gloves.

  “Reconnaissance flight, sir,” Fedorov reported.

  “You elected to hold your missiles in hand, Mister Fedorov. I hope no one is shooting at us for a change.”

  “I thought I would try something else, sir. I have raised the naval ensign. I know I have rescinded the order you gave to strike the colors, but that was in the Pacific before we shifted here, and I felt this situation was different. From what we have been able to determine, Soviet Russia is still neutral, and in our own history it was eventually an ally of Great Britain in this war. I believed showing the flag and holding fire was the wiser course. An open hand might be the better way to start here, Admiral.”

  Volsky gave him a long look, then smiled. “Agreed,” he said calmly. “What are we looking at?” He pointed at the plane, knowing he was likely to get more information here than he needed.

  “Blackburn Skua fighter, sir, an early carrier based aircraft in service for the British before they began to introduce the Fulmars—that was the plane type that spotted us the first time we were discovered in the Norwegian Sea.”

  “Yes, the plane you said you saw in a museum—the plane that should have been in a museum when we first laid eyes on it.” The Admiral remembered how he had also held fire and allowed the plane to overfly the ship in spite of Karpov’s urging him to shoot it down. This time he had another cool
head on the bridge, and he was glad of that, though he knew that if they could not find a way to displace again in time he might miss Karpov one day. This was the Second World War, and they had seen entirely too much of it in recent months, with the ship and crew still bearing the scars of that trauma.

  “I think I will one up your open hand, Mister Fedorov.” The Admiral turned to Nikolin now at the communications station. “Mister Nikolin, you are undoubtedly monitoring that plane’s sighting signal. Can you send on that same channel?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Good. Then send our call sign and ship’s name please. It’s time we introduced ourselves with our voice instead of a missile or a shell from the forward deck guns. Send it in English, if you please: BCG Kirov bound for Severomorsk, and leave it at that.”

  Volsky turned to Fedorov and smiled. “And what will they think of that, Mister Fedorov?”

  “I’d have to think about that, Admiral. BCG will give them a puzzle, but there was a ship by that name in the Russian Navy during this war, Project 26 cruiser, the first of its class. The ship had three turrets with 180mm guns, even as we have three gun mounts close to that caliber. They just might buy it, sir, though that Kirov served in the Baltic Fleet and was trapped there when Germany finally attacked the Soviet Union. But things may have changed.”

  Volsky laughed. “You really do love this history! Well then, my little salutation is likely to raise a few eyebrows in the British Admiralty…perhaps it will raise the brows on a certain Admiral as well. We shall see. For now, however, that flag and the name Kirov may buy us more time and security than silence or gunfire. This situation is about to get very interesting.”

  Part VI

  Deja Vu

  “There's an opposite to déjà vu. They call it ‘jamais vu.’ It's when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger. Nothing is ever familiar.”

  ― Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

  Chapter 16

  “Good day, Captain. Good of you to get wet and come over in the launch.” Admiral Tovey returned the man’s crisp salute and gestured to the chair by his desk in the Admiral’s office aboard HMS Invincible.

  “No bother, sir.”

  “Yes, well I’ve received your sighting report, but thought I’d get it right from the horse’s mouth, if you will.” Tovey held up the message transcript, glancing at it briefly before he folded his hands on the desk and fixed Captain Partridge with a steady gaze. “Ship sighted. Well we heard their signal as plain as you did, I suppose. BCG Kirov bound for Severomorsk. Very odd, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It was somewhat surprising, sir.”

  “I’m not sure of that leading designation, but Kirov is a registered ship in the Soviet navy. That’s well known enough. The mystery, however, is what the ship was doing out here. All the information we have leads us to think it was still assigned to the Soviet Baltic Sea Fleet.”

  “Indeed, sir. I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “You had a good look at this ship, Captain?”

  “I did, sir. Picked up the contact initially on radar and then lost it in interference. But I got curious and took a look down that bearing just in case. This one’s a big fellow, sir.”

  “You say it was a cruiser or battlecruiser?”

  “Yes sir, and unless my eyes deceived me I thought it to be just about the size of Hood.”

  Tovey took note of that. “Certainly not a simple cruiser at that size, Captain.” Hood at 47,000 tons was more than four times the displacement of a typical County Class Heavy Cruiser, and well over 200 feet longer.

  “No sir. And I’ve been up over the fleet on air cover for some good time now. This ship was big, Admiral, clearly a warship in every angle and line of her, yet lightly armed, or so I thought. I made out no more than three secondary batteries, and no main gun turrets on the foredeck. In fact the deck seemed relatively swept clean, sir. But she had good battlements, and some odd equipment up top side.”

  Tovey’s eyes had narrowed as he listened, and he felt a haunting recollection rising in the back of his mind, of that strange encounter from his days at the China Station as a young Lieutenant. “Do go on, Captain.”

  “Well sir, it was like a pair of window screens, spinning round and round, lights were winking up at me…I saw just a very few gun mounts that looked to be Ack-Ack batteries in the range of twenty or thirty millimeters. Yet no other visible weapons. It was quite extraordinary, Admiral.”

  Yes quite extraordinary, thought Tovey, and heading our way from that last sighting report. He had a mind to send over a request for another air sortie to keep the ship under observation, and decided this would be the wisest course at the moment.

  “Captain, you are welcome to a spot of tea before you hit the launch again. I think we’d better have another look at this ship. Your description does arouse some interest, and I’d like to keep an eye on this one.”

  “I’d be happy to go up again, sir.”

  “We’ll leave that to the Vice Admiral.”

  At that moment there was a quiet knock on the door and Tovey looked up to see the young Lieutenant Commander Wells there.

  “Excuse me, Admiral. Flag Lieutenant Villers has sent over this message, sir.” He saluted, handing off the message and starting to withdraw.

  “Oh Mister Wells. See the Captain here to a good spot of tea, will you? He has a long wet ride back over to Ark Royal ahead of him.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Thank you, Captain Partridge. You’ve given me just what I was needing, a good sharp eye. Please give my regards to the Vice Admiral.”

  Both men knew enough to make a quiet exit and Tovey was left with the message in hand and some very troubled thoughts. He had heard of this Captain Partridge, and knew him to be a very steady hand, well experienced, and a combat veteran. His description of this supposed Russian ship was nonetheless quite odd, and equally disturbing.

  Might he have misjudged the size of the ship? Yet he seemed to rivet that point more than once, and put in for his own credibility with that line about flying air cover over the fleet. I suppose it was no boast. Yet there isn’t anything the Russians could float to in any way measure up to HMS Hood. That remark about the equipment spinning up on the mainmast suddenly triggered a memory of those last moments with Captain Baker on King Alfred, and the whole scene flooded in, as fresh as a morning biscuit out of the oven.

  “Have a look at that, Mister Tovey,” he said to his First Lieutenant of the watch. “Do you see any main armament forward?”

  “Can’t see a thing, sir. Nothing more than those secondary batteries winking at the Japanese, but they can’t be anything more than six inchers, sir.”

  “Indeed… Well then what is all the brouhaha concerning this ship? It looks to be no more than three twin turrets from the fire I’ve observed… What in blazes is that whirling about on her mainmast?”

  What indeed? The description offered by Captain Partridge was chilling now in the cold light of Tovey’s recollection. He found himself immediately heading for the bridge to see Captain Bennett but diverted to the Flag Plotting Room to look at the map first. There he found his Flag Lieutenant still reviewing a chart of the Cape Farewell area.

  “Mister Villers,” he said quickly. “Do you recall a sighting reported by HX-49 in recent days?”

  “It must be in the message stack, Admiral.”

  “Find it, please.” He was immediately at the latest map plot, seeing Ark Royal’s position as it was arriving, and Hood and Repulse farther south. Given the last reported heading of the contact seen by Captain Partridge, his ships were perfectly arrayed in a wide dispersal to net this fish.

  “You have the sighting report from the air search as well. Kindly plot those two points, connect them, and then give me an intercept course for Invincible and Renown. I want to have a look at this Russian cruiser.”

  Villers looked at the map. “If I recall, sir, Ark Royal ma
de the sighting about here.” He moved a green neutral marker onto the map. “I’ll send all the information over to the navigator, but I should think if we stay right on 300 for the time being we can work into a reasonable intercept easily enough.”

  “Good then.”

  “What do you make of that last message, sir?”

  “Message? Oh yes.” Tovey realized Wells had handed him the latest note from the Admiralty just before he led Captain Partridge out. He had been so completely absorbed with his muse on this Russian cruiser that he had almost completely forgotten about it. He looked down at the message in his hand, reading quickly.

  “More fish in the kettle,” he breathed. “The Twins sighted that far east of Trondheim? And the Hipper has gone missing as well. This is getting very interesting.”

  “Do you think they mean to make a run for the Atlantic, sir?”

  “That is why we are here, Mister Villers. But this says nothing about Bismarck and Tirpitz.”

  “No news on them yet, sir. Still socked in from Bremen to Kristiansand.”

  “Which makes for just the perfect weather to move those ships. Let me know the moment anything comes in.” He looked at the clock, seeing it had just slipped past midnight and was now the 16th of June. “It looks like another 24 hours will make for a very interesting day.”

  * * *

  With the knowledge that a British aircraft carrier was close at hand, Rodenko and Chief Byko had been working feverishly to get new equipment installed to improve the ship’s situational awareness. The replacement Fregat system that had been installed at Vladivostok had good coverage against an airborne target out to 230 kilometers and missiles out to 50 kilometers, but being a line of site radar system, it was limited to between 26 to 30 kilometers on surface contacts. They had been relying on the KA-40 helos with Oko long range radar panels, but now they had only one aboard, and if it were to be lost or damaged the ship would lose valuable long range radar.