Three Kings (Kirov Series)

by John Schettler

  Admiral Volsky was there at the gunwale when the Captain came aboard with his executive officer Belanov, giving him a hearty handshake.

  “We are well met,” said Volsky. “The last time we gathered like this was to determined how we would plot the demise of this very ship, and our wayward Captain Karpov. Now we have other matters to decide.”

  “Well Gromyko,” said Fedorov. “I must say that your submarine is a most welcome sight. We have been listening for you all these many months.”

  That was hard for Gromyko to grasp, as it had only been a few days time from his perspective. The two vessels had decided to meet at sea off the southern coast of the Cape of Good Hope. Gromyko had surfaced and come aboard Kirov for this initial meeting, glad to see the Admiral again and feel the burden he had been carrying on his shoulders lighten a bit.

  “This is home now, Gromyko,” said Volsky. “We have sailed here before; fought here to try and prevent what you saw when you returned to our old world. It seems we have more to do.”

  “It does, sir.”

  “First I must commend you for coming back for us.”

  “That was an easy choice, Admiral. The radiation count was very bad. We had to get below 200 meters to feel comfortable.”

  Volsky nodded gravely.

  “Well this world has not yet suffered the blight of nuclear weapons. They are all busy enough using the conventional ones. This is World War Two, Gromyko, the Great Patriotic War, but things are considerably different now. Our homeland is fractured, and the only part of it that resembles anything I would fight for now belongs to Sergei Kirov, the man this ship is named after.”

  “Sergei Kirov?”

  “The living man,” Volsky smiled. “We have even met with him. He has agreed to give us a permanent base at Severomorsk, or at least the place where the base was built in our day. It isn’t much yet, but we are working on it. At least we have warm quarters there for shore leave, good food, a taste of home.”

  “All of my men will be looking forward to that,” said Gromyko.

  “Yes, but there is much we have to discuss. A great deal has happened since we last parted company. Mister Fedorov here can brief you in detail, but the short end of it is that we are stuck here, and so we have decided to stay put for a while and see what we can do to prevent the destruction you have just come from.”

  “That was our thought as well, sir, and the reason we tried that control rod again.”

  “I am glad you chose this course, Gromyko. I had hoped you would see this as your only option. That said, this is no paradise. As to this war, we have decided we cannot just sail about and try to avoid contact here. This war consumed the entire world, well named, so we have taken sides. I have kept the missiles in the silos of late, but that may soon change.”

  He told Gromyko of the meeting with Sergei Kirov, and what was decided there, and the newly formed alliance between Russia and England. The news that their homeland was fragmented and locked in civil war was jarring enough, but then Volsky lowered his voice, his tone dark and serious.

  “I must also tell you that we are not the only men from our time at large in this world.” The name Ivan Volkov was soon on his lips, and the Admiral had Fedorov explain the situation concerning Volkov, and how he must have made his way down the stairwell of Ilanskiy to 1908, even as Fedorov had, to find himself a witness to the dreadful Tunguska event. The Orenburg Federation was the result, and now Fedorov also revealed that the man they had stalked together, the former Captain of Kirov, was also at large.

  “Karpov? Here? He’s alive?”

  “Very much alive,” said Volsky. “And true to that man’s nature, he has wormed his way into a position of power in the Free Siberian State. Both of these men are dangerous, and even more so in the positions they now hold. Our only consolation at the moment is that they appear to be squabbling with one another.”

  “Amazing,” said Gromyko.

  “Indeed. But we are dangerous men as well,” Volsky held up a finger. “Together we can make a real difference here. Fedorov will brief you as to what has happened. The war, Gromyko. That is the issue now. This damn war will lead to the next as sure as winter follows autumn. We thought we could do something about it, and we have undertaken a few operations to prevent the German navy from mischief up north. I must also tell you that we have established a firm alliance with the Royal Navy of England. We fought against them the first time we found ourselves here, largely because they became our enemy after this war ended. Yet if the friendship and alliance between Russia and the west can be preserved, perhaps that is the key to saving that future we have come from. We have made contact with a good man here in the British Admiral Tovey, and we are coordinating with him to see what we can do. But the war, Gromyko. Things have taken a sudden turn for the worse. Fedorov?”

  “The British have lost Gibraltar,” said Fedorov. “The Germans launched an operation that had been planned in our history, but never executed. It succeeded. The place is now in German hands. They’ve moved in artillery, placed heavy guns to cover the straits, and they have just moved troops to Morocco. They will undoubtedly build airfields there. That threat, plus the presence of German U-Boats operating from Gibraltar has effectively closed the Western Mediterranean to British shipping.”

  “And what about Russia?”

  “Hitler did not invade us until later this year, and so far that history seems to be holding. There is an ongoing buildup on the Polish frontier, but after Gibraltar, the Germans launched operations into the Balkans. They have invaded Yugoslavia, and the Italians have attacked Greece. Under threat of German invasion, Bulgaria has joined the Axis, and there is fighting in Greece. This will open that entire southern front and the enemy will surely deploy there, ready to go into the Ukraine if so ordered later this year.”

  “What can we do about it?” Gromyko folded his arms, asking the obvious question.

  “That is the dilemma. Our power is redoubled now that you are here. On the sea, we are a force unmatched, but your question points out the other side of that coin. We cannot stop German armies when they move on land, not unless we opt for the final solution with our heavy warheads, and that we have not yet decided. The thought of trying to prevent an all out nuclear war by starting one here is somewhat unpalatable to me.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “That said, Hitler must be confronted, somewhere, and we must do what we can to stem the Nazi tide if possible. I have kept a watch on the Atlantic, discretely, as the Soviet Union and Germany are not yet at war and we are not eager to change that just yet. But we have been following the news of the German advance into the Balkans, and we know where it will inevitably lead.”

  “Istanbul,” said Fedorov. “The Bosporus. Ivan Volkov and the Orenburg Federation has all the oil and the resources Hitler needs, and once he is finished in the Balkans only Turkey will stand between him and what he most desires. Germany prevailed in their attack on Gibraltar, and it has had the effect of bottling up the British in the Middle East, with a supply line by sea that now must go all the way around the Cape of Good Hope here, over 12,000 miles long. The war is shifting that way now, at least for the foreseeable future.”

  “And so we will shift with it,” said Volsky. “The British are set on relieving our watch on the Atlantic. In fact, they have already done so. The Germans managed to slip a few heavy ships through—not on my watch—but what does that matter. They now have battleships based in the French Atlantic ports. Fedorov?”

  “Bismarck at Brest. Hindenburg at Saint Nazaire. They broke out some months ago and evaded the British pursuit, but they have sat there for some time now, and have not sortied again. The threat they pose is enough of a danger to the British convoy routes to the Middle East, but they also have help from the French Navy, which is still operating from Casablanca.” He told Gromyko how both France and Spain were now active members of the Axis.

  “I thought the Allies took Casablanca during the war,” said Gro
myko.

  “In 1942, and only with the support and assistance of the United States. As it stands, Great Britain has neither adequate assault shipping, or manpower available to mount an operation like the Torch offensive that knocked Vichy France out of the war.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s a tall order for Great Britain,” said Gromyko.

  “That it is,” said Admiral Volsky. “Particularly when the Germans hold Gibraltar. There could be no landings at Oran or Algiers, so the old Operation Torch as we knew it will probably never occur in this war.”

  “Perhaps the British may launch a limited offensive against French West Africa,” said Fedorov. “But that remains to be seen.”

  “We will learn their immediate plans for future war operations soon,” said Volsky. “In the meantime, we must make plans of our own. Germany must not be allowed to build up forces in North Africa that could pose a grave threat to Egypt, and by all means, they must not be allowed to secure the Bosporus. They may take Istanbul by land, but they must never cross that channel into Turkey, nor will any ships be allowed to carry Ivan Volkov’s oil to the German Reich.”

  “Who controls the Crimea?” Gromyko asked. The place had long been a bastion of Russian naval power, one of three kings in the hierarchy of the Russian Navy: Murmansk in the north, Sevastopol in the Crimea, and Vladivostok in the far east.”

  “Sergei Kirov and the Soviets still hold all of Ukraine and the Crimea. In fact, he has invaded the Caucasus, and there is fighting at Novorossiysk. Volkov has his hands full there, but the Germans have Bulgaria now, which brings them to the Turkish frontier. They must not be allowed to establish an overland link with Volkov through Turkey, and I am afraid that the Turkish Army may not be able to prevent that, which is where we come into the picture.”

  “How so, sir?”

  “You can take your boat into the Mediterranean Sea easily enough. Yes?”

  “From here? Through the Suez Canal?”

  “That would mean you would have to surface to make that transit, and we feel it essential to keep the knowledge of your presence here a secret at the moment.”

  “Agreed,” said Gromyko. “Well I can go by way of Gibraltar, no matter what the Germans have there.”

  “Good enough. We will have to part company again, but we will stay in coded communication with you.”

  “You will not take that route?”

  “We could fight our way through, but at great expense to our SAM inventory if the Germans decide to throw their Stukas at us. Thankfully that is not a problem you have with Kazan. I see no point in taking that course when we can just as easily sail north from here and go up through Suez. This, after all, is our objective, to protect the British position in Egypt. We will defend the Suez Canal.”

  “Alone?”

  “With the assistance and support of the British fleet,” said Fedorov. “At present, however, they have little in the way of anti-aircraft defenses, limited air power there, few searchlights, and only one radar. The Germans and Italians are about to finish up in Greece, much sooner than they did in our history. Once Greece falls, then the Germans will have good airfields from which they could strike at Crete, North Africa, Suez, Palestine and the coast of Turkey. With Kirov positioned near Suez, we could put our radar and SAM defenses to good use and make sure the canal is kept safe.”

  “And once you join us in the Eastern Med, you will hold the Bosporus closed,” said Volsky with a smile. “Two fat fingers in the dike, and let us hope we can stem the onrushing tide. Come, let us join Director Kamenski for a good meal. Then we toast and I have one more request to make of you before we part.”

  That request was for more missiles, which Kazan still had in abundance. Kirov had fired four of the of the P-900s Kazan had given them earlier, and Volsky was hoping he could have those replaced to bring them up to 27 SSMs.

  “We had a full complement of missiles,” said Gromyko. “I’ll send you another group of P-900s and bump you up to 32! That will still leave us the entire Onyx system, and all our torpedoes. Consider it done, Admiral.”

  “Good enough,” said Volsky. “Because we may have to use them sooner than we think.”

  Part V

  Rommel

  “Have a bias toward action - let's see something happen now. You can break that big plan into small steps and take the first step right away.”

  ― Indira Gandhi

  Chapter 13

  Rommel waited in the outer room, his mind set on the meeting he would soon have with the Führer at the Chancellery, his thoughts on what he might receive—his oak leaves cluster for the Iron Cross! It was long overdue, he thought. I should have had it months ago. What do I have to do, lobby the general staff to get about the appropriate delivery of well earned laurels, just as I did in the last war?

  He was a rare holder of the famous Pour le Merite, the blue cross on gold that came to be called the “Blue Max” in the last war. It was a coveted and rare honor, but one he had to ungraciously request of his superiors, believing it was his by entitlement. In spite of the blatant effrontery of his request, he got his medal, joining notable historical figures like Blucher and Moltke who received it for their past glory, and men the great ships of the navy were all now named after: Otto von Bismarck, Paul Hindenburg, Gneisenau, Scharnhorst, Tirpitz and Admiral Scheer. He also joined contemporaries like Hermann Goring, Richtofen, Von Bock, Mackensen and Schörner.

  Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel was a driven man, highly decorated from his exploits in the First World War, and flush with his recent mad dash across France, all the way to the Channel Coast. The enemy never knew what hit them. Rommel’s 7th Panzer Division moved like the lightning in the cloud of the German blitzkrieg, appearing with sudden violence on the enemy flank, smashing in to attack, and then vanishing in a column of smoke and dust only to appear somewhere else six hours later. The French came to call it the “Ghost Division,” an apparition of fire and steel that devoured one retreating column after another, leapt over every obstacle, crossing rivers as if magically transported to the other side, and always pressing forward with a steady, relentless attack.

  History seldom recorded the means by which he achieved that victory, by pushing his men and tanks to the uttermost extreme, and using every means necessary to sustain his advance, even stealing the bridging equipment of other adjacent divisions to get over the river obstacles first—and then complaining that his confederate divisions were too slow, and always falling behind. That also took a lot of gall and nerve, but it was not beneath a man so driven to achievement, and the recognition that came with it, that Erwin Rommel seemed to thrive on and crave. So today he would get his oak leaves, he thought, eager to take his meeting with the Führer.

  After the capitulation of France that he had so ably helped to engineer, he was delighted to be selected to help create a nice memorial film of those exploits, entitled “Victory in the West,” where he was to re-enact the battles he had fought so brilliantly for the propaganda cameras. After that he had put together a meticulously prepared memoir of his campaign, complete with maps to accompany the narrative, which he sent to Hitler for his review—and the obvious reminder that he was a commander that should not be overlooked.

  Well they’ve taken notice now, haven’t they? Rommel smiled, his sapphire eyes alight. My oak leaves are well in order, he thought, but he was soon to learn that he had not been summoned here to receive another medal, but to fight another battle. In spite of his disappointment in not getting his oak leaves that day, he would get something much more than he expected, his first independent command.

  “You may come in,” said the staff attendant as he opened the door, and Rommel raised his chin, adjusted the fit of his hat and officer’s coat, and stepped forward. He was a proud man, and every feature spoke to that pride, the high forehead, penetrating blue eyes, prominent nose. And yet, there were lines at the corners of his mouth that betrayed the long work of many smiles. Rommel’s temperament also knew the delight of life, the
fruits of love in his marriage to his dear Lucie, and his willful nature accomplished much to keep that smile there, and soften the hard features that reflected his commanding will so artfully.

  “Ah, General Rommel,” said the Führer as Rommel saluted. “Look here! Someone else is competing for the headlines and movie picture shows for a change.” Hitler was across the room standing at a thick wooden table, where he set down a magazine, sliding it ignominiously in Rommel’s direction as he came up. There the general saw the image of a white haired British officer, leather straps across his chest, riding crop in hand. Rommel had seen photos of this man before, and he knew he was looking at a cover of the commander of the Western Desert Force, General Richard O’Connor.

  “That man is raising hell with the Italians,” said Hitler darkly, “just as Volkov said he would. He will have to be dealt with. In the last weeks he has thrown them out of Egypt, taken Sidi Barani, Sollum, Bardia and now even Tobruk! This incompetent Italian General—what is his name again?”

  “Graziani, my Führer.” It was Keitel who spoke now, standing beside Hitler on the other side of the table, eyeing the magazines with a deplorable look on his face, and giving Rommel an occasional glance, as if sizing the man up.

  “Yes, well first they tell us they had no need of German troops in support of their invasion—can we call it that? Invasion? All they did was to cross the Egyptian frontier and set up defensive encampments. Now this man here, this General O’Connor, has raced in behind them and set them running for Tripoli. If he persists he will take Benghazi in short order, and after that, the way to Tripoli will be open, and the British would be fools not to take that prize.”