Hoffmann lowered his field glasses letting them dangle from the leather cord about his neck as Schubert fired his fifth salvo. He slowly pulled off his leather gloves, stuffing them into his warm greatcoat. Then he reached into his breast pocket and found the cigar he had been saving, lighting it behind his big cupped hand with a smile. He took a long satisfied drag and then gave the order to cease fire.
“Steady on and ahead full,” he called as he headed for the conning tower entrance. Now we run east to join Lindemann, he thought. And if he has found the bigger British ships we will show up like Blucher at Waterloo—only this time it is Wellington’s flank we turn. He chuckled at that. Victory was sweet.
* * *
Aboard HMS Invincible Admiral Tovey was feeling anything but that. The Admiralty was hot for action, wanting news of a victory at sea to bolster the nation’s flagging morale, and the dispatches he was now receiving were not promising.
‘Hood under air attack at 19:40 hours, two hits both serious - B turret out of action and speed down to 20 knots. Repulse undamaged and now taking station ahead. Fires under control.’
No sooner had he read that when Lieutenant Commander Wells arrived with the news of the encounter on his left flank. He had been steering towards the sound of those distant guns, just over the gloaming of the horizon to the northwest. Now the news of two hard blows to Holland’s flagship had changed the whole complexion of his deployment. Sussex and Devonshire were retiring south, hoping to lead the Germans into his path, but spotters up in a Walrus reported that they were steady on 100 and heading on a course that might eventually intercept Hood. Under any other circumstances he might hope for such an engagement, but now his battlecruisers seemed all too vulnerable. Armor, he thought. Only Invincible had the hard steel to really stand in a fight like this. Even Hood could be a liability here as much as an asset.
“Mister Wells,” he said, the calm in his tone belying the turmoil within him, “Send to Sussex and Devonshire. They are to run south and then come about and find my wake. And on your way notify Captain Bennett to steer zero-five-zero. It's time we pulled the fleet together into one mailed fist.”
“Aye sir.” Wells started for the door at a run, but Tovey stopped him, frowning.
“Calmly, Mister Wells, a brisk gait will do. No need to run. And please ask how soon we can expect support from Vice Admiral Aircraft Carriers. Holland certainly isn’t covered properly, and where are my fighters?”
“Right away, sir.”
There had been too little time. The planes he had begged the Admiralty for were still en-route to Reykjavik. It now appeared evident to Admiral Tovey that the German main body was going to hit Holland hard, and right on the nose. In that instance, Invincible needed to be there, and if he turned now, his present position might also allow him to also cut the German battlecruisers off that were running east to join the main body.
Lookouts had reported that the German strike planes, those bloody damn Stukas, had turned north, which is just where he expected the German aircraft carrier to be waiting. What he really needed now was support from his own carriers, and he hoped the combined weight of their torpedo squadrons would be enough to get through the BF-109s, which were still circling like vultures over Holland’s task force.
Illustrious had received the new prototype Fulmar fighter, exactly three to go along with her Skuas, which gave him little hope that they could tip the balance in the air duel over the sea. The Messerschmitts were clearly masters of the sky, and the Skuas of 800 and 803 Squadrons off Ark Royal had again taken heavy losses. It was up to Illustrious to bring the weight of her air squadrons to the task, and soon. Between the two carriers they had at least thirty Swordfish they could get in the air and, in spite of their antiquated appearance, they had proven to be a fearsomely competent and able warrior when it came to their primary role. The question was, how many could get through those German fighters, and of those how many could get in close enough for a chance at getting a hit?
A strange calm came over the scene now, a dark red gloom seeming to hang over the ocean in rosy fog that was rolling off the ice shelf to the west. It was just after 21:00 hours when he gave the order to make that turn and, as he stared at the plotting board to note the position of the wooden markers on the table, he reluctantly placed a red damage marker on Hood. It would likely be another long hour before he could come up to Holland's aid, and it was going to be one of the longest hours of his life.
* * *
Kirov had run north at high speed, working up to thirty knots in spite of the strain on the bow. All the while Rodenko reported on the outcome of the cruiser engagement which did not surprise anyone on the bridge. At 21:30 hours Admiral Volsky brought the ship to battle stations.
“What is likely happening with those German dive bombers, Mister Fedorov?”
“By now they will broken off and returned to their carrier, sir. It will likely take them at least another hour to land, move below decks, and rearm if the Germans are planning a second strike. I would not expect them back in action for another ninety minutes.”
“Well if they do come, I am going to extend a SAM umbrella over the British fleet. Mister Samsonov will prepare a barrage of a few S-400s. Once we fire them I believe the shock value alone may be sufficient to break up the enemy strike wave.”
“It may, sir. While we were in the Caspian attempting to rescue Orlov the Germans threw several squadrons of Stuka dive bombers against the Russian positions on the coast. We had to engage them with all the handheld antiaircraft missiles at our disposal, and they found it most disconcerting.”
“Those were no more than needles and pinpricks compared to what we will be throwing at them with the S-400 system. I have little doubt that we can stop this next air attack.”
“I agree, sir.”
“Then we have the question of what to do about the surface engagement. There is a part of me that wants to let history run its own course here and see what Admiral Tovey can do.”
“I understand your feeling exactly, Admiral. Thus far this outcome could have been anticipated, but the real engagement with the action will come when the battleships sight one another.”
“One for the history books,” said Volsky, “and I wonder what they will write should we light up the skies with our missiles?”
Fedorov thought about that, realizing they were about to reach into the pages of that history and write their name. Kirov, battlecruiser of the Russian Federation. How strange it will be to realize no one in that Federation will have the slightest idea of who or what we are? What will be known about us soon if we continue this intervention? What can we reveal here without ripping the lid off of Pandora’s jar and bringing havoc and mayhem to the world?
They were walking a fine line again where the desire to do good and work to make for a better world at the end of this crazy chaos of a war might also unleash that one forbidden fruit that could bring it all crashing down again—knowledge. 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 on this strange land, interlopers from another time with power beyond the imagination of anyone alive this day?
That thought stopped him…No…not everyone alive was blind to this knowledge. There were at least two other men at large in the world who knew the dreadful secret, and they had both walked the back stairway of the inn at Ilanskiy.
Chapter 36
The last shadow of the German planes swept overhead and turned north. On the bridge of HMS Hood Admiral Holland was a stolid totem, a pillar of calm in the tense atmosphere of combat. The pom-poms had fallen silent, and a moment of reserve crossed his thoughts. Inadequate, he thought. Our anti-aircraft suite is simply inadequate. The QF 4-inchers could elevate to 80 degrees, but beyond that there was a cone of silence directly above the ship that could only be filled with the lighter caliber guns. Even the QF-2 pounders had difficulty sighting there. This was where the Stukas made t
heir attack runs and the two hits he had taken were the result. The smoke still curling up from B turret was ample evidence of the need, not to mention the armored roof of that turret…Inadequate.
Hood was a paper dragon. He knew that now. Over her long history she had passed through successive upgrades to add protection. It wasn’t the main waterline belt. The battlecruiser had a heavy gut that was twelve inches thick there, though it thinned considerably in the middle belt above the waterline to only seven inches and eventually five inches as it approached the deck. It was that deck that he always worried about, averaging only two inches thick in most places. By comparison HMS Invincible had six to eight inches of protection there. Hood was designed in an era when things like the German Stuka were scarcely imagined. And her armor was fitted to protect her at relatively short ranges. She was vulnerable to fire beyond 11,000 meters, when the rounds would plunge at steeper angles and penetrate her the thinner sections of her side armor and decks.
So I have to run into the steely embrace of my enemy to fight him, he thought. This ship was like a boxer that had to get inside, and once there if she could not out punch her foe the ship would be in real jeopardy. Here I am on one of the largest ships in the fleet, he thought, and now with B-turret gone I can’t hit any harder than old Repulse right behind me.
That was bad enough, but the worst of the damage had been the hit amidships that literally blew half the aft funnel away. The bomb had put several boiler rooms out of action, and the smoke there was intense, though the damage parties had the fires out. The result was a reduction of speed, first to 20 knots, which eventually improved to 24. Now we’d only beat Nelson and Rodney by a whisker in a race. We’ve a broken wrist and can no longer dance. Now he had real doubts about the battle looming on his forward horizon. Bismarck and Tirpitz were thought to be very formidable ships.
Sitting in the Captain’s chair on the compass platform, Holland had real misgivings. He had signaled Tovey, advising him of the ship’s condition and was ordered to turn on a heading of 330 to effect a rendezvous with Invincible. “Hold on,” came the reply. “We’re coming.” The only question now was whether the Germans would get to him first. What would they have? Would those Stukas be back for another round with ‘Sammy’ and ‘Aunty,’ the names given to his last two remaining octuple 2-inch pom-pom guns? He’s lost the port gun mount with that dreadful hit amidships.
The ready use ammo had popped off there, round by round, like a fist full of fireworks going off one after another. The screams of the wounded men echoed up through the voice pipes to the bridge, which sound off like the trumpets of the dead. They still clawed at his mind, for he knew more men were going to die here this hour. Where was the Fleet Air Arm now? That yawning sense of vulnerability rose in his chest in an anxious upwelling of adrenaline. Here we are, he thought. The mighty Hood, yet we have no business in this fight now, not wounded as we are and outgunned by the Germans.
Then he heard the words he had been dreading from the upper watch. “Alarm starboard green 30! Ship sighted, bearing 350 true…Two ships!”
“Hoist battle ensigns!” said Holland firmly. “Prepare for action. Signal Repulse to turn fifteen points to port and we will follow. But if she is seriously hit Captain Tennant is to fall off and take station off our port aft quarter. I want her well back and throwing everything she has at the enemy.” The armor on Repulse was even thinner, he knew, sizing up the engagement in front of him now.
“The pilot will make the signal report to fleet commander.” Captain Glennie was seeing to the necessary details as the ship prepared to enter battle. Tovey would be apprised of their position and situation.
Holland seemed small and quiet in his chair, huddling in his greatcoat, his eyes lost behind the cups of his field glasses. We’ve twelve 15-inch guns between us, he thought. Enough to beat the Twins, by God, but if that is something more out there…It was something more. The Twins had been confirmed to be well to the west, last reported in action against Sussex and Devonshire, but they had turned and were now heading his way. He knew what he had in front of him now. The dark silhouettes on the horizon had to be the two German battleships, Bismarck and Tirpitz. Not much was known of them, but they were soon about to make their acquaintance.
“A-turret ready!” came the call. “Range to targets, eighteen and six pence.”
Holland was in a quandary here. His instincts told him that he needed to close the range to at least 11,000, but to do this he would have only his A-turret available for the run in. If he turned now he could bring all six remaining guns to bear, but he would have to accept that damnable vulnerability to the enemy’s plunging fire. How good were the German guns? If he tried to get inside how much punishment would the ship take, only to reach a place where the blows might fall on his better armor if they struck?
Well, he thought. We haven’t the armor, so we had better damn well use what we do have, and that is the guns. “Port fifteen,” he said calmly. “All guns to bear on the leading ship.”
“Third ship sighted—looks to be a destroyer or light cruiser sir, well out ahead and thirty points off our starboard bow.”
“Engage with secondary battery,” said Holland. Then he swiveled to look at Captain Glennie, standing tensely behind him. “Captain, you may begin.”
Several observers were heading to the starboard side door, among them Lieutenant Ted Briggs. As he reached the door Commander Warrand was there, gracefully gesturing with an arm to allow him to pass. The simple act of civility was juxtaposed against the act of great violence that was now about to begin. In one telling of these events Briggs would be one of only three men to escape alive from the wreckage of HMS Hood, the memory of that simple gesture by Commander Warrand still bringing tears to his eyes sixty years later. But this was an altered reality, and the dice were now rolling again on Hood’s prospects. Yet as they saw Bismarck open fire, and the guns of Tirpitz flashing right behind her, the chances of survival seemed slimmer yet.
Captain Glennie wasted no time replying. “Open Fire!” which was quickly repeated by the Gunnery Director. The sound of the warning bell seemed shrill in the still air. Then the roar of Hood’s opening salvo shook the ship. The big guns had ridden proudly on the fore and aft decks for decades, a symbol of her power and prestige, and yet now they fired in anger at an enemy ship for the very first time.
“Hoist Flag Five,” said Holland to send the signal to Repulse to fire at will. Fifty seconds later the first whoosh of the German shells came in, and the tall geysers fell off Hood’s starboard bow, walking ever closer, two, then four, then six rounds fell into the crimson sea. Another set of six rounds fell just off Repulse, closer, finding the range but missing the ship itself. The observers off the compass platform saw Hood’s own fire also falling short of the enemy ships, and that of Repulse slightly over.
Holland was watching his brave forward A-turret, seeing the guns had lowered to be serviced and now they trained and elevated yet again. The angry discharge and concussion shook the ship as they fired, the smoke from the blast rolling out thick and dark. It seemed that two demons were heaving brimstone at one another on the lake of hell. Now the German ships were turning to their starboard quarter, their silhouettes lengthening as they maneuvered.
“Fourth ship sighted!” The watchman from above had spotted Prinz Eugen, last in line behind the two German behemoths. The ragged shadows of the battleships now rippled with fire, and Holland knew that the Germans had corrected from their spotting salvo and were now firing for effect.
“Quite the pair of dragons,” said Captain Glennie, stepping towards the starboard hatch himself for a better look. Then they heard the awful whine of the incoming shells again, as if the rounds were devouring the air as they plummeted down and down until the bright metal tips came careening in, and one struck Hood flush on the conning tower with a tremendous explosion.
Holland was flung from the Captain’s chair, the blast and concussion nearly deafening him. The glass screenin
g the compass platform was completely shattered and fell like broken shards of razor edged ice all about the deck. Smoke flooded through the shattered viewports and fire licked at the hard armored tower from below. Commanders Davis and Jessel were down. Mister Owens, the Admiral’s secretary, was dead. Young Bill Dundas, action midshipman of the watch, had been flung against the back bulkhead. The helmsman was unconscious on the deck, the binnacle still vibrating in its mounting and another a man screaming for help there. Yet the voices seemed distant and muted, and the Admiral instinctively reached for his ear as he pulled himself up to one knee with his other hand, feeling a trickle of blood there. Everyone on the outer deck was gone, the door to the starboard hatch blown completely off and now lying atop the limp body of Captain Glennie.
The Squadron Navigation Officer Warrand had gone back to the chart room to fetch a map and was spared. He emerged to see the chaos on the bridge, and quickly ran to Holland’s side.
“Take the wheel, Mister Warrand…” Holland’s voice was thin and weak, and Warrand saw a stain on blood at his side where he must have been hit with a splinter. It was only his heavy duffel coat that saved him from more grievous harm.
He was up in a flash, grabbing the long umbilical of a voice tube and calling down for medics. Take the wheel… The wheel was the ship, and Warrand knew he had to take command. He reached the station, barely able to see through the choking smoke. Tovey is west he thought. We’ve got to lead the fight that way, and he pulled heavily on the wheel, bringing the ship around thirty points. “Ahead full!” He shouted, but there was no answer.
Hood reeled like a drunken fighter, staggering across the ring after taking a right cross flush on the jaw. Warrand was alone. He looked to see that Yeoman Wright was also down near the flag bridge. No voices called from the gun director’s station or the watch above. He seemed the only living thing in this chamber of death. Then he felt the ship shake again with yet another hit, this time on her starboard side. The forward battery was silent for a long moment, but now he saw the turret shift and train to the right to compensate for the turn he had made. Then they fired.
Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series) Page 31