Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series)

by John Schettler

  * * *

  Rodenko watched the two German battlecruisers on radar as they reached the rendezvous point with the tanker. Kirov was hovering just over the horizon now, the ship Fritz Kürt had seen. He updated the tactical situation board on the electronic map, briefing Fedorov and the Admiral.

  “We are here, sir, about 20 kilometers from their refueling point. As we moved to this location the German battlecruisers were on a parallel course to our north, just over the horizon. We’re still jamming their radar, so I don’t think they will find us unless we show ourselves. Even for a large ship, we are relatively quiet, and they may not even hear us on hydrophones. As for the British, we’ve lost our track on them for the moment. They would be well to the east, and still in the weather front based on their last position and our predictive plot.”

  “We could re-acquire the British with the KA-40, Admiral.” Fedorov was looking at the map, considering the situation. “They turned in our direction just before we diverted west to make this intervention. If that predictive plot holds true I think it would put them about 200 kilometers east of us now.”

  “The two cruisers?”

  “No sir, I was referring to the stronger contacts we had earlier, most likely capital ships. I believe the cruisers are still well to the northeast.”

  “And we also have this track here,” said Rodenko.

  “That will be Admiral Hipper,” said Fedorov. “It appears to be steering to rejoin the battlecruisers.”

  “And so what can we deduce from this? Will the Germans proceed into the Atlantic even without refueling here as they planned?”

  “That remains to be seen, Admiral. It would be my guess that they are recovering survivors now and possibly awaiting further instructions.”

  “And if they do proceed? What then, gentlemen? In that event we will have wasted a torpedo here and achieved nothing but the addition of a little more misery to this cup of war.”

  “If they do proceed it will mean they have decided to attempt a refueling rendezvous in the Atlantic.”

  “So then we either leave them to the British and head north as planned or we continue this intervention and stop them.”

  “From their present position I believe they will evade the British and make a successful breakout, sir.” Fedorov was all business now, his sharp mind looking at every side of the question.

  “If we are to engage,” said Rodenko, “we are in a fairly good position now. They will most likely come due south and right across our bow when we spot them.”

  “Yes, and at first blush they will think they have sighted a British battleship.”

  “They have shown a tendency to try and avoid such an encounter, sir. When they sunk the British auxiliary cruiser Rawalpindi between Iceland and the Faeroes they even ran from the cruiser Newcastle, and that was a ship in the same class as the two they just engaged here. In the Norway operation they ran into the battlecruiser Renown and choose to run again when engaged.”

  “But they did not run this time,” said Volsky. “It has been my observation that it is that man that runs, not the ship. He is either cautious or aggressive at sea. Perhaps this German squadron has a new commander.”

  “That is possible, sir.”

  Hearing mention of Renown, Nikolin turned and spoke now. “Excuse me, Admiral, but that ship you are discussing, I intercepted a message half an hour ago. Renown was damaged in an engagement off the east coast of Iceland and is now returning to Scapa Flow.”

  “A sea engagement?” Fedorov was surprised to hear this.

  “No, the signal mentioned an air attack.”

  “Air attack? That is fairly far from the Norwegian coast to have German planes make a successful attack. Very strange.”

  “Thank you, Mister Nikolin,” said Volsky. “Keep listening with those sharp ears of yours, but we are still left with the question of what to do here at the moment. We must either engage or break off and head north as planned, but Fedorov believes the Germans might just have their cake and eat it too, despite our attack on that tanker.”

  “We can still stop them,” said Rodenko, “but if we break off I agree with Fedorov. They will get down into the Atlantic if the British are where we believe them to be.”

  “At the moment they are still at that rendezvous point,” said Fedorov, “probably recovering survivors and waiting on Hipper, or else orders from higher up the chain of command. We have jammed their radar. Could we not also jam their communications?”

  “What are you thinking, Fedorov?”

  “Suppose they are waiting for new orders, and suppose they never receive them?”

  Volsky thought about that. “Then I think we will learn the character of man in command there, whether he is cautious or aggressive. Make it so, Mister Nikolin. Jam their communications bands if possible. I want to test the mettle of this German Captain.”

  “I have another alternative,” said Fedorov. “We could contact the British right now and send them the position of the German ships. If they turn soon they may have a chance to cut them off. It all depends on when, or if, the Germans move.”

  “Contact them?” Volsky smiled. “Well we have already tipped our hat to that plane once. I suppose we could do this. We could say we are that Russian cruiser as before. I like this idea Fedorov! Very well, I hope you’ve been polishing your English, Nikolin.”

  * * *

  Able Seaman Hubert Witte was standing by in the wireless room aboard Scharnhorst, ready to run the next message to the bridge as per his assignment there. But he had a very long wait. The Radio Chief was surly, fussing with his equipment, selecting this band and that, listening, tapping at his headset, and getting more and more unhappy as the time went by.

  “This is not the storm,” he said finally. “We are being jammed. I have tried three separate communications bands now, and I get the same interference on all three. Get to the Kapitan and inform him, Witte. Tell him if he is waiting for orders from Wilhelmshaven they just might never come. Yes. We’re being jammed.”

  The message was not well received by Kapitan Hoffmann. “Jammed? That would have to mean another ship was very close. Anything on radar, Huber?”

  “No sir. They can’t shake this interference either. Perhaps that storm has the atmosphere all charged up.”

  “This is not from the storm, Huber. The front is well past us. Now we can’t even receive a goddamned radio message.” He wondered if that British submarine was still out there somewhere, surfaced, unseen on some quarter and operating new British jamming equipment. Suddenly the cool air after the storm seemed hot at his neck, and he frowned, deciding.

  “Anything on the hydrophones?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Well, we are sitting ducks here. Have the last of the survivors been taken aboard?”

  “They have, sir.”

  “Then we’re heading south as planned.”

  “But Kapitan, what about the fuel situation?”

  “What about it? You think this was the only tanker assigned to this operation? We’ll find something in the Atlantic if I can get off a message to inform Wilhelmshaven of this development. The British got to Altmark before we did. Now that submarine is out there radioing our coordinates and jamming us, by God! We leave now. Helm, come to one-eight-zero south and ahead two thirds. Signal Gneisenau to follow. Hipper will have to either find us or fend for itself.”

  They snookered us good on this one, he thought. Two damn cruisers and a good submarine Captain. Well, at least I put a heavy round into that cruiser. But the scales have not yet been balanced. If they thought sinking Altmark was going to cancel this operation then they will now get the bad news.

  He went to his Flag Bridge, sitting down at a small desk there and removing a plain brown leather folio from the drawer. There were his original orders, to be destroyed should the ship ever be placed in a compromising position.

  By now Kapitan Lindemann will have pushed his nose towards the Iceland-Faeroes Gap to see what t
he British have waiting for him there. He is either running the gap as I sit here, or perhaps shifting further west to take the Denmark Strait on our heels.

  He flipped ahead to his support schedule. There it was: Altmark - 0:600 hours, June 18. Too bad we were just a little late. Running his finger down the page he looked for his alternate refueling point. Nordmark, DHRX – Discretionary – Currently holding: diesel, lubricants, armament stores, victuals. On station through 21-6-40 before moving to grid location 3C.

  He noted the planned operations zone of the ship, somewhat discouraged. It would require him to backtrack to the north if he wanted fuel now. Otherwise it could be three or four days before he could find another tanker in the Atlantic. He would keep Nordmark in his back pocket. It was a long way back to Trondheim. Even if Bismarck and Tirpitz do get through, they will be hungry as well when they get into the Atlantic. That was the one thing Hitler and Raeder should have thought a little more about when they built the fleet—the goddamned fuel! Where do we get the fuel to keep all these ships at sea? The Russians are sitting on top of half the oil, and the British in Persia have the other half. Yes, Orenburg has declared itself and joined Germany this week, but getting any oil from them will be no easy matter.

  The ship was already turning, moving, the powerful engines building up speed. He did not like the feeling settling in his gut now. Something was not right here. That engagement with the British cruisers still galled him, and he had the lingering suspicion that there had been a third ship nearby when that action was fought. No cruiser he had ever heard of could score two direct hits like that at over 18,000 meters in bad visibility. Something else hit them, hidden, unseen in the concealing mist and fog. Then there was the strange interference affecting the radars and now even his ship to shore transmissions. And was that attack on Altmark just a chance occurrence, the fortunes of war, or was there something more sinister behind it?

  Settle down, he told himself. You are tired, cold, hungry now. A man never thinks right when he’s hungry. What you need now is a good cup of coffee and a little food. That will set your mind right. …But why do I have the strange feeling that someone is watching me, reading me like a book, gauging my every move?

  Chapter 27

  When the message came in Admiral Holland did not know quite what to make of it. Now he was conferring with Captain Glennie when a midshipman handed off a note. The W/T room had received a message: ‘SIGHTED TWO LARGE WARSHIPS, BELIEVED GERMAN BATTLECRUISERS, POSITION 67.14,-31.27 – COURSE 180 – SPEED 20 – SS KRV’

  “SS KRV? What ship is that?”

  “I’m told that is the call sign for the Russian cruiser Kirov, sir. Convoy HX–49, sighted it some days ago heading northeast for the Denmark Strait.”

  “Nothing more from Birmingham?

  “Not since we were last notified of Manchester's departure for Reykjavík. We may run into her soon if we stay on this course. It seems they had a run in with the Twins, and thought the better of trading with them.”

  Holland took a look at the map, laying out his rulers to cross index those coordinates. “That would put this sighting about 120 nautical miles west of us, and now heading south at 20 knots. If this is so the Germans have certainly shaken off our cruisers.”

  “Yet Birmingham signaled they were engaged again, and believe the ship was firing 8-inch rounds.”

  “That would be the Hipper,” Holland concluded. “Most likely detached to keep our boys busy while the Twins made a run for it. But what are they doing so far west off Greenland?”

  “They could be meeting a tanker, sir. It’s a long way from Trondheim, and it also puts them in a very good position to get by us, and out into the Atlantic. We would have to turn immediately to have any chance of staying with them. Look here…” He laid out a pair of rulers, one to mark the contact’s course south at 20 knots, and the other to plot an intercept. Hood would have to travel the long edge of the triangle.

  “They’ll travel a 100 nautical miles in the next five hours if they are moving as this sighting report suggests. To catch them now we’ll have to cover 160 miles, and run up at 30 knots the whole way.”

  “Yes, but on the word of a Russian cruiser? Wasn't this ship being regarded with some suspicion by the Admiralty? Cruiser Kirov? All the information we have placed this ship in the Baltic. What do you make of this, Captain Glennie?”

  “We know Scharnhorst and Gneisenau are out there, sir. The hole they put in Manchester is ample evidence of that. This position sighting would correspond to their last known heading after that engagement.”

  “Damn, what's happening with Birmingham? Why haven't we heard anything further?”

  “Last word we had she was still under fire. There's been nothing since.”

  “I can't say as I like the sound of that.” Holland leaned heavily on the map table considering what to do. He was noting position of convoy traffic out of Halifax, his eyes dark and concerned.

  “TC-5 left on 11 June with a full brigade on troop ships.”

  “They should be well east and out of the threat zone by now, sir.”

  “Yes, but have a look at HX-50. Forty-eight ships, and a good number carrying fuel oil, petrol, gasoline, crude, even benzene. They’ll be four days out now and the Commodore’s report on sailing was that there were eleven neutrals in the sailing order, very slow, most unable to make even nine knots in fair weather and calm seas At that speed they would be about 100 miles south of Cape Farewell by now, and a fairly ripe tree for the picking. Captain Glennie, I think we must turn southeast and see about this sighting, yet I want this contact verified before we go running off into the blue. We have orders to link up with Admiral Tovey, but if this report holds water, then the Twins will sink their teeth into HX-50 and raise havoc. The only escort presently with the convoy is the armed merchant cruiser Voltaire—just a former passenger ship with a few 6-inch deck guns.”

  “Nothing that will bother the Twins, sir.”

  “Indeed. Contact Repulse. As soon as this weather breaks I want them to get a Fairey III up and search out ahead of us to look for the Germans.”

  The Fairey III was a three-seat spotter-reconnaissance biplane adopted by the Fleet Air Arm for use on large ships and carriers. It was small enough to be launched by catapult from a ship like Repulse, which was carrying two planes at the moment. Hood had her catapult, crane, and turret-mounted flying off platforms removed some time ago when they were deemed too wet for suitable use.

  “If we do spot them,” said Holland “then we’ll go full out and attempt to engage. For now we turn on 230 and increase to 28 knots. At the very least we may be able to get close enough to protect this convoy.”

  Captain Glennie nodded. “Shall I look into this business concerning the Russian cruiser, sir?”

  “See what more Admiralty has on it. Events are stacking up like dirty dishes here, Captain. Tovey ran into a hornet’s nest east of Iceland. Jerry put a couple of 500 pounders into Renown—Stukas! Now Home Fleet is heading back our way. It looks like Bismarck and Tirpitz are swinging up north of Iceland, and they obviously have Graf Zeppelin with them.”

  “That’s a rough go for Tovey now, sir. Without Renown he’s badly outgunned.”

  “Which is why he’s consolidating with us. We had better pass this sighting on to him as well, and I can tell you now he won’t like it. Tell him we’re investigating the contact but will remain in a good position to effect a link-up with Home Fleet at his discretion. If we don’t act on this information now the Germans could slip right out into the Atlantic and raise hell. HX-51 was supposed to have left Halifax today. That’s another thirty-five ships on our watch. If nothing turns up in the air search we can always swing back east if need be, but we can’t leave these convoys exposed like this.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  * * *

  Kapitan Hoffmann was below decks, checking on the condition of the super-heaters in the boiler rooms. Scharnhorst had difficulty with them for some time, most recent
ly in her encounter with the British carrier that managed to slip away, in part because the ship’s speed fell off at a crucial time and she could not pursue effectively. The Kapitan did not want anything of the sort to plague him out here. To conserve fuel and keep the pressure on the heating tubes reasonable, he had kept speed to 20 knots. They would need nothing more unless the ship had to go into action.

  He spoke with Rolf Zanger in the number one boiler room, and all seemed well.

  “How are our new recruits faring, Kapitan,” asked Zangler.

  “You mean the men off Altmark? Still drying out with a belly full of rum. Half of them will be scrubbing the oil off their backs for days.”

  “We had one man in here an hour ago looking for work. He told quite a tale, sir. Said he thought he spotted us to the east, and that we were going to leave them in the water. Says we sailed right off, sir.”

  “That’s nonsense. We were north of Altmark when we came on the scene. The man was obviously disoriented.”

  “Could be, sir, but he seemed fit and ready for work, an old salt. That sort knows a compass heading well enough.”

  “Who was this man?”

  “Called himself Fritz, sir. I told him to rest and come back tomorrow.”

  “Alright, Rolf. Keep my boilers in line. I may need speed in the hours ahead.”

  “You can count on us, Kapitan.”

  Hoffmann headed forward, thinking about what Zanger had told him. It dangled in his mind with all the other odd threads that had been bothering him ever since they first engaged those two British cruisers. The man says he saw another ship out east…It was probably nothing, but with the radar still down we’re blind as a bat out here. It’s time we got an Arado up and had a look around. I’ve learned more than once to follow a hunch when it won’t leave me alone.