Correct, thought Karpov, and the Admiral will have a key around his neck even as I have one around mine. “Thank you, Mister Samsonov,” he said calmly.
His problem now was that it would require both keys, inserted into Samsonov’s Combat Information Display, to activate and fire a nuclear warhead, at least if the default protocols were in place. If he wanted to get his hands on that other key, now was the time to do it, while the Admiral was indisposed. But how to present this in a way that would not cause undo trouble with the crew? He knew their love and respect for Admiral Volsky could become an insurmountable obstacle if it came to a confrontation over the issue.
He considered his situation deeply. Orlov was with him for the moment. Orlov loved a good bar fight, and he understood all too well the effect of direct and bold action when it came to dealing with a problem. The problem was not Orlov, he thought, it’s me! I’m the one still a little weak in the knee over what I have just done, still a little worried at what the Admiral might say and do when he learns of this.
He took comfort in the thought that Orlov seemed to back his decisions, but would the fiery Chief waffle and recede into the background should Volsky return to the bridge? What about the other officers? Rodenko would answer to whomever held the watch on the main bridge. He thought he might be able to rely on Samsonov, but clearly Fedorov was a weak sister, and Tasarov seemed lost, as always, beneath his headphones, his mind in the depths of the sea and concerned with little else. But what were they really thinking? A bit of the old doubt and fear that had always bothered him in times of trouble like this reasserted itself. But what was done, was done.
What was the Admiral’s status? How much time did he have before Volsky would be back on his feet? Could he reason with the Admiral; explain the situation to him properly? Could he force him to see the opportunity they now had before them? He could insist on the use of nuclear weapons all he wanted, but what if the Admiral refused?
Karpov was still frustrated and troubled. Yes, it felt good to sit in the Captain’s chair just now, without Volsky’s shadow over him, contradicting him, lashing him with one question after another. But all of this was risky. He felt the awkward glare of the overhead lights on him now, flinching. When in battle, the bridge was folded in shadows, with only the red gleam of the battle station lighting on, blood red lights that pulsed with warning, and yet seemed a comfort to him.
His mind wandered over the many possibilities ahead of him now. What if the Admiral were permanently disabled? As First Captain of the ship he would then be senior officer. There were two other Captains aboard, as both Doctor Zolkin and Orlov technically held the rank of Captain, though they were both of the second and third rating, and below him in the chain of command. Orlov was presently designated Chief of Operations. Karpov could declare an emergency and appoint Orlov as his Starpom, his number one, bypassing Zolkin easily enough. The other Lieutenants, of every rank and stripe, would have no choice but to fall in line. If necessary, he could call on Sergeant Troyak and his Marine detachment to impose his will. Yet if it came to a contest of authority with the Admiral, what would Troyak do? Volsky was not just any admiral, he was Admiral of the Fleet, one big star and four stripes above Karpov’s present rank as First Captain.
He decided he needed to get below decks for a while and take the measure of the ship and crew. Like a mouse stealing out into a dark, drafty house, he needed to skulk about a bit to size up his prospects. He knew where the cheese was. Could he get to it this time? He wanted to check on engineering first, then visit the Doctor to see about Volsky. On the way back he would have a brief chat with Troyak as well.
Chapter 27
August 6, 1941
The American Task Force 16 was steaming south with the four transports out in front this time, followed by the larger escorts which hoped to screen the cargo ships from any further attack. Behind them, Kirov crept slowly south in their wake, like a lone wolf tracking a herd of water buffalo. Along the way she sailed right over the seas where Wasp had burned and sank, along with Vincennes and Walke. Many of the crew were out on the main sea deck, leaning over the railings and peering out of hatches to look at the flotsam and dark slicks of burning oil there. Bodies still floated in the water, some having drifted out of the stricken ships below, a macabre scene that left the living in a sullen silence, tinged with a measure of guilt. For many it was their first real combat action, and their first personal glimpse of the consequences of war.
200 miles to the southeast, Admiral Tovey had been joined by the cruisers of Force P and Vian’s Force K. Wake-Walker was aboard Suffolk, with Devonshire at his side winking out his arrival on the ship’s lanterns. His two cruisers and five of his eight destroyers had refueled in Reykjavík and were ready for action. The two carriers had been sent home to Scapa Flow with an escort of three destroyers. Vian’s cruisers, Nigeria and Aurora had rendezvoused with an oiler just south of Iceland and topped off what they could before hurrying south to join the party. After these ships finally arrived, Tovey turned south, steaming out to pick up one more lost sheep, the Prince of Wales. When the watchmen saw her on radar, and the lookouts finally spotted her looming dead ahead, the Admiral sighed with relief.
“Well, it’s beginning to feel like I’ve a fleet to command here after all,” he said to Brind. Now he had two good battleships, along with Repulse, wounded but still battle worthy. The addition of four cruisers enabled him to screen these ships, and he then placed his five destroyers further out, as a picket line against U-boats and a means of sending him early warning if the German raider launched those infernal rockets again. They were now dead in the middle of the North Atlantic, half way between Ireland and Newfoundland.
Some 500 miles south of him, Admiral Somerville was out in Force H with another sizable battle group. Tovey planned to link up with him in two days time, just off the tip of Newfoundland. He would add the battleship Nelson, battlecruiser Renown, four more cruisers and the veteran carrier Ark Royal to the cards he could play. Together this would be the largest battle fleet England had assembled in any one place since Jutland in the First World War. Then, once he had the Prime Minister safely ashore, he would turn north and settle accounts with the Germans.
“Let them try to fling their fireworks at the whole of the Royal Navy,” he said, his spirits renewed and the light of battle in his eyes.
“The Americans will be there as well, sir,” said Brind. “Admiralty reports that their Admiral King has ordered the Atlantic Fleet to full battle readiness. They’ve even put out word to summon another aircraft carrier, the Yorktown, and the battleship Texas from their maneuvers in the Caribbean. It will give them damn near as many heavy ships and cruisers as we’ll have, sir.”
Tovey smiled. “Think of it, Brind. The Prime Minister is set to make his pitch to Roosevelt in the hopes of getting the Yanks in on our side. Then Jerry comes along with Graf Zeppelin and sticks his thumb in the pie! Can’t you see it now? Imagine both our fleets steaming shoulder to shoulder in the mightiest armada the world has ever seen. This business with Graf Zeppelin is the least of it, a mere nuisance. The main thing will be the photos of this grand Allied fleet scouring the seas, delivering just retribution on our enemies. It will give Herr Hitler fits, and let him know just exactly who he is trifling with now. We’re not alone any longer. This is going to change everything.”
“That it will, sir,” said Brind with a smile. “Yet considering that note of retribution. The Yanks will want to go all out to get this German ship.”
“We’ve got a score to settle as well,” said Tovey. “You don’t pull a sucker punch like that on the Royal Navy without hearing about it again.”
“That’s just it, sir,” said Brind. “This may seem a tad out of place given what’s happened. But we might give some thought to trying to capture this vessel intact. Then we could have a look at these ruddy rockets they’ve been using.”
“Not much chance of that, Daddy,” said Tovey. “First off, she’ll need
every damn rocket aboard when she gets a look at our battle fleet darkening her near horizon. I wouldn’t think we’d find very much left aboard even if we were to seize the ship. For that matter, Jerry is likely to scuttle the ship if we do manage to corner her, just as they did with Graf Spee.”
“You’re probably right, Admiral,” said Brind. “Then I guess the only question is this—who gets to sink the Graf Zeppelin first?”
“I know the Americans will want to weigh in right off, but if the Prime Minister has anything to say about it, that honor will be reserved for the Royal Navy…and me!” He smiled broadly.
“Signal Prince of Wales: My regards to the FNP.” He was referring to the Former Naval Person, Churchill himself.
~ ~ ~
Miles away the analysts at Bletchley Park were having a look at some very unusual photographs. They had come in from Iceland on the Royal Post, and Western Approaches Command had prints made from the film them sent right over to the intelligence experts at Hut 8, as well as to the Admiralty. That, plus a bit of other news from agents on the ground had set jaws wagging again. Graf Zeppelin had been positively identified near Stettin, where the Germans had towed her some months ago to keep her safe from Russian air attacks. It seems the raider at loose on the seas was something else.
“Well this is odd,” said Atkins. “You’d better have another look at your chess set, Alan. We thought it was the Admiral Sheer, but she’s in port at Kiel. Then the Admiralty discovered Graf Zeppelin was missing and we thought that settled the matter. Now it seems she’s been found again, and not out south of Iceland where all this hubbub is going on.”
Alan Turing looked up from his chess board. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the yellow manila envelope Atkins had opened.
“Courier delivery. Reconnaissance photos taken by an American PBY. It seems Jerry been cheating at the game, Alan. He’s carved a new chess piece!” He brought the photos over to Turing, who glanced at them, still fixated on his game. But a second look soon commanded his complete attention, and he put down the pawn he had been fiddling with and took the photos in hand.
“It’s very odd looking,” Atkins went on. “Certainly not an aircraft carrier, or even a hybrid. Looks more like a battlecruiser of sorts. And a rather dangerous looking one at that. Look at all those odd domes and antennae. The ship looks like it is bristling with electronic devices.”
Turing took a closer look, his attention suddenly captured by the strange looking ship. “My, my…what have we here,” he breathed. “Those have to be radio direction finding sets and radar equipment. And that’s odd…no smoke stacks amidships at all. Could they be hidden elsewhere?”
“Some of the Japanese carrier designs had side venting stacks, but I don’t see anything like that here.”
“Make a note of that—no stacks. Very odd, indeed.”
“And have a look at these guns…” Atkins pointed, handing Turing the magnifying glass.
“Odd shape for a gun turret, but nothing out of the ordinary there. They look to be 5.7 inchers or thereabouts. This monster can’t take much of a bite out of anything with those. But these hatches on the forward decks look interesting. They must be mounting those rockets the Admiralty has been in a dither about there, below decks. Ingenious!”
“Atkins gave him a bemused look. “Alan…How in the world could we have missed something like this? The keel would have been laid down years ago. There’s no way we could fail to detect the construction of a ship like this—particularly one of this size. Every report we have on this raider speaks to its size. Frightened that destroyer captain out of his wits when he bumped noses with the damn thing up near Jan Mayen.”
“Interesting…” Turing’s eye seemed grossly enlarged as he peered through the magnifying glass. “No flags or insignia,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself. Then he seemed to focus intently on the sharp forward bow of the ship, thinking he spied the vague outline of a single star there. He couldn’t be sure, given the resolution of the photo, yet his brow furrowed with obvious concern.
“Look there, Atkins… That’s a man standing on the foredeck. See his shadow there? Let’s use him for scale and work out the dimensions. Make sure the chaps in Hut 8 see that and send it all over to the naval intelligence unit. I’m here to sort out the cyphers, not bandy about with ships.” He had tried to appear glib about the matter but his expression revealed some discomfiture. It was clear that the lapse of intelligence on this had bothered him, and if he had come to any inner conclusion on what he thought he saw on the ship’s prow, he said nothing more about it.
“You know what this means,” said Atkins, a warning in his voice. “They’re going to want us to go over all the code for the last six months or more to see how we could have missed this little darling. It’s going to be quite busy around here the next few weeks.”
Turing sighed, resignation evident on his face. “Quite,” he said. Then he moved his white bishop and put the enemy queen in jeopardy. “Better get over here, Atkins. I’m about to ruffle your lady’s skirts!”
~ ~ ~
Admiral Volsky was sitting up in bed, quietly drinking tea. The doctor was lounging on a nearby chair, keeping an eye on the Admiral, and was pleased when he finally stirred from sleep. He took a moment to get his pulse and temperature, and then looked in his eyes, gratified to see they were focusing and tracking properly. Then he served up his favorite remedy, a cup of hot Earl Grey tea.
“That’s it, Leonid, drink up. I’ll have you back on your feet in no time. I’ll say one thing for the British, they make good tea.”
“They sell good tea,” Volsky corrected him. “The Chinese grow the stuff.”
“Ah, feeling your old self again?”
“Much better now. The room has settled down, and my stomach along with it. But what in the world went on while I was down for the count? I could hear the ship, feel it in battle.”
“I suppose you had better know sooner than later,” said the doctor. “Your Mister Karpov has been taking pot shots at anything that comes within a hundred and fifty kilometers of us.”
“The British?”
“Yes, but Mister Fedorov says he’s also engaged an American Task Force as well. It was supposed to be delivering planes to Iceland. He was quite upset about it. Karpov had him relieved and sent below.”
“Relieved?” The Admiral raised his heavy brows, his eyes troubled again. “Did we get hurt?”
“No, the ship is fine. But I’m afraid the Americans cannot say the same. Karpov sunk a few ships. They never saw what hit them.”
Volsky closed his eyes, exhaling as if he could purge the trouble in his mind with his breath, then he opened them again, afraid the room would be spinning. Thankfully it was not. “What ships?” he said calmly, waiting.
“Well, don’t ask me, Leonid. Send for Mister Fedorov.”
At that moment there was a knock on the outer door, and Zolkin looked over his reading glasses, seeing the Captain leaning in through the half open entrance.
Karpov had been making his rounds, and this was to be his second stop. Earlier he had vented his ire on Chief Engineer Dobrynin and told him that if his ship could not make at least twenty knots in an hour’s time he would be relieved. He received word soon after that the reactor cooling situation was now sorted out, and the ship was certified for any speed up to ‘all ahead full’ at thirty-two knots. The Captain called up on the intercom to set the ship’s course just shy of 180 true, and increased to two thirds, cruising at twenty knots. Then he made for the sick bay to check on the Admiral.
“Come in, Captain,” Zolkin called out to him. “We’re in here having tea. Don’t tell me you have a stomach ache as well.”
Karpov entered, surprised, and inwardly disappointed to see Volsky sitting up, awake, and obviously alert. “Good to see you have recovered, Admiral,” he lied. “How are you, sir?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose. It seems thirty years at sea have taken their toll on me. A
nd the ship?”
“We had a problem with our reactor coolant, but the engineers have fixed it. We’re back up at twenty knots and cruising south.”
“I see,” said Volsky. ”Did Dobrynin say anything about the sound of the reactors? Any unusual readings?”
“No, sir, it was just a cooling problem. It’s been fixed.”
The Admiral seemed relieved. “So tell me what you have been shooting at, Mister Karpov.” It was an obvious request, not a question.
“Sir, we engaged enemy surface and air units that threatened to penetrate our outer defense exclusion zone. The British have since broken off their pursuit. Their battlegroups to the north and east have turned away.”
“Exclusion zone? You are getting very testy with the British I see. And to the south? What about the Americans? There was a task group bound for Iceland as part of their occupation force. It was bringing supplies, aircraft. Don’t tell me you sunk those cargo ships.”
“No sir, I did not.”
“It was just an aircraft carrier,” said Zolkin quietly, folding his arms. Karpov looked at him, annoyed.
“An aircraft carrier?” Volsky stiffened and sat up higher, his heavy features registering obvious surprise.
“We were under attack by a large formation of aircraft. I took the steps necessary to defend the ship and crew.” The Captain immediately defended his actions.
“Those planes weren’t attacking,” said Volsky dismissively. “They were just being ferried out to Iceland. The carrier’s strike aircraft weren’t even aboard! Didn’t you consult with Fedorov?”
The remark annoyed the Captain even further. Fedorov was a junior lieutenant, and the thought that he needed his advice before taking appropriate action galled him.
“That may be the case, sir, at least insofar as Fedorov’s books tell you this. But on my radar scope a flight of thirty aircraft bearing on my position is a threat, and I dealt with it as such. The British could have informed the Americans about us,” he repeated his logic on the matter. “All the American ships had orders to attack. Fedorov will tell you as much. And for that matter, the history could have changed. These planes could have been rearmed for a strike mission. What? Was I supposed to let them fly right over us? We were directly in their flight path.”
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