Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) (29 page)

Karpov
needed to move the ship now, but how bad was the damage? If he put on speed
would he cause even more flooding? He decided to risk ten knots, feeling exposed
and helpless at this slow speed. He could see the diving boat was gone, and
they could come back for any man left in the water once he had found and
destroyed this sinister enemy. But if they did not move soon they might all be
in the sea.

The
comm-link rang sharply and a watch stander answered. “It’s Byko, sir. He has
initial damage reports.”

Karpov took
the handset and heard what he had hoped. The torpedo had struck and destroyed the
diving boat, which was five meters off the port side of the ship. The explosive
concussion of the warhead was still enough to shake the ship and fling
fragments of the destroyed boat against the hull, but learning lessons from the
terrorist attack on the American Destroyer
Cole
in the port of Aden,
Kirov
had been reinforced amidships with a long 100mm anti explosive bulwark. It was
enough to protect the watertight integrity of the hull, and Byko’s men reported
some minor buckling, but no flooding or damage below the waterline. That was
exactly what Karpov had hoped to hear. Now they had their speed and
maneuverability back, and he immediately ordered all ahead full, with a hard
turn to starboard and the open sea just as Fedorov burst in through the hatch,
breathless from his long run up to the bridge.

“Captain on
the bridge!”

“As you
were,” Fedorov said quickly, seeking out Karpov, who quickly filled him in on
what had occurred.

“What now?”
asked Fedorov. “I think we should use the KA-40.”

“Correct,”
said Karpov. “This sub must be very close. I used the ASW rockets as a kind of
covering suppressive fire to keep his head down. These subs cannot fire when
deeply submerged, yes?”

“Not at this
stage of the war. They will need to be on the surface or at periscope depth to
fire with any hope of hitting anything.”

“Good,”
Karpov rubbed his hands together, the excitement of the battle animating him. “Now
that we have full speed we will not be targeted again easily. How fast is this
devil, Fedorov?”

“Slow.
Perhaps no more than five knots submerged on battery power like it must be now.
This is a diesel-electric boat, Captain. Where do you reckon it to be?”

“Do you have
a chart?”

Fedorov
motioned to his old navigation system and they had Tovarich call up the digital
file for the Balearic Islands. “This is Menorca,” Fedorov pointed. “And we are
here, near this long inlet.”

“Could he be
there?” Karpov asked.

“I doubt
it,” said Fedorov. The entrance is narrow and the size of that bay is deceptive.
The charts show enough depth for a boat to enter submerged, but half way into
the bay it shoals quickly to a very shallow depth.”

“Then I
suspect this submarine is probably here.” Karpov pointed off the coast to their
east. “He would not run west for fear of being penned up against the headlands
of that long cape. No, the bastard will run east, along this shoreline here,
and try to get round that fat isthmus east of the bay. I will have Nikolin move
the KA-40 off that coastline and we will soon find out. In the meantime, I have
given him our backside and put on thirty knots. What is the range of his
torpedoes?”

“5000 meters
at best.”

“Can they
home on our wake?”

“No, they
were largely straight runners after firing, unless fitted with a pattern
running device, which would probably not be used here.”

“Good. We
will be outside his firing range in just a few minutes. Then we use the
helicopter to make contact and prosecute. If their Captain survives another
hour he will regret the day he set eyes on
this
ship, I assure you.”

Karpov
sighed heavily now, removing his cap and wiping the sheen of perspiration from
his brow. He hated submarines—detested them—but now that he had
Kirov
safely away from the threat, moving at high speed, the foe did not seem so dangerous.
It was slow, with old weapons that could not seek him out or follow his wake.
He had little doubt that he would get this sub easily enough.

“Five
knots?” he said. “Yes, they are slow. Compared to our training to go against
those fast American attack subs, this will be no problem.”

Minutes
later the KA-40 had dropped three sonobuoys in a triangular pattern well east
of the small inlet but perfectly positioned to cover the coastline. One would
use active sonar to make the contact, the second to determine its bearing and
the third would calculate the range. The helo could also use its dipping sonar,
lowering a device into the water from above to refine the data and get a hard
fix.

They waited
while the KA-40 conducted its search and fed the telemetry directly to
Tasarov’s ASW board. Time passed, and the minutes stretched out without any
sign of the enemy submarine, and Karpov began to pace, his boots hard on the
deck as he walked back and forth, watching out the forward viewport.

“May I
maneuver the ship?” He asked Fedorov, who nodded in the affirmative. “Very
well, helm, reduce to two thirds and come right thirty degrees rudder to course
065 northeast.”

“Thirty
degrees rudder, aye sir. Coming around to course zero-six-five and steady at
twenty knots.”

Karpov was
turning east to run parallel to the course he had expected the submarine to
take, but as time passed and the KA-40 had no contact, he began to suspect they
were up against a very wily U-boat captain.

“Come on,
come on. Where
is
he?” he muttered as he paced.

Fedorov was
still at the navigation station, studying the charts with Tovarich and missing
his old post. What they needed now, he realized, was just a little time to
complete repairs on their main sonar systems. They could just sail off at high
speed to outrun this submarine. There would be no way the U-boat, if it was a
German boat, would ever catch them, so he went over to consult with Karpov
again.

“Captain, we
are well out of range, and we can outrun this boat at any time. I suggest we
use this interval to slow and complete our repairs. Take the ship back west and
move the KA-40 between us and the island. We’ll work round that long cape there
and find some open sea to complete these repairs. The KA-40 can cover us all
night if necessary.”

“We’ll lose
the bastard,” Karpov pointed at the sea, clearly unhappy.

“It doesn’t
matter. He’s just too slow submerged to pose any further threat. Restoring full
functionality on our sonar is more important now.”

Karpov
clenched his jaw, but relented. “Very well,” he agreed. “The devil is most
likely sitting on the bottom somewhere along that coast. If there are rocks
there he would be hard to find in that kind of clutter. But if he so much as
moves a rudder, I’ll be on top of him with the helo in no time.”

Karpov was
angry that they had been caught sleeping like that. If this ship were in the
Atlantic, he thought, we would not have a scratch on us. Nothing would have
come within fifty miles of us to pose a threat. But here in these restricted
waters we have seen one engagement after another, with damage to radar systems,
sonar, the missile accident, hull damage, the loss of a KA-40, men dead and
injured—even the Admiral. It was inexcusable.

“We lost men
on that diver tender,” said Fedorov. “I’m putting another boat in the water to
recover anyone still alive out there. I’ll notify Byko of our decision and have
him get more men into wet suits, but this could take time. We have the aviation
fuel to burn in this situation, so we’ll have to use it.”

That decided,
they turned the ship and Fedorov ordered another boat launched for search and
recovery. After an hour they had found only one survivor adrift at sea and
clutching a floating spar of broken wood. Two other divers, the boat’s pilot
and the marine guard Siyanko were gone. All in all their casualties were not
high, but now they had lost seven men to the sea, and Fedorov wondered how many
more would die in the days ahead.

He spent
some time next to Tovarich at the navigation station, accessing his database on
German U-boat movements. What was this submarine doing up here, he mused? Was
it Italian? It would definitely not be a British boat. Most of the Italian
boats should be in the Sicilian Narrows opposing Operation Pedestal, and they
would base out of Cagliari, Palermo, or other bases in Southern Italy. The
Germans were operating out of La Spezia, and he ran a search for this day
trying to figure out who it might be.

U-205 was
out and deployed against the British to the south, but it would not come this
way, and returned to Pola on the Adriatic coast instead of La Spezia. U-83 was
way off to the east near Alexandria, and U-331 had just departed La Spezia and
was north of Corsica on this day. Unless that boat also left port early, then
this contact had to be U-73 under Rosenbaum, the very same boat that had sunk
its teeth into the carrier
Eagle
two days ago. He checked its daily
reported track, noting that it should still be south along the line of the
British convoy advance, but could he rely on the information any longer? The
early movement of the Italian 7th cruiser Division, and the surprising sortie
by those two battleships had shaken his faith in the history. It was clear that
Kirov’s
unexpected presence in these waters was causing ripples of
variation in all directions. Ships were moving out on missions they had never
been assigned in the history he knew. Engagements were being fought that never
should have happened.

What if this
U-73 had been moved north, or had come north earlier than the history recorded?
He noted that when it did return to La Spezia, it came very near this very
island of Menorca along the way. Suddenly curious again, he took yet another
look at his navigation charts, his eye suspiciously falling on that long inlet
of Fornells Bay. If this U-boat was running on battery it would be very quiet,
but three sonobuoys and active dipping sonar should have found it if it was
hiding along the coastline where Karpov expected it. He wondered…

That
night
U-73 put out
divers as well, a team of two skilled frogmen slipping away to scout the bay
for prying eyes. He had learned the trick from another U-Boat captain who used
it up on the Norwegian coast, slipping his boat into the many fiords there and
then putting men ashore to give him eyes and ears on the situation, and watch
for enemy destroyers. When the proverbial coast was clear, they could sneak out
again.

Once ashore
on the eastern side of the bay they made their way up a prominent hill, some
hundred meters in elevation, and crouched atop its rocky ridge to search the
seas to the north. Able seaman Heinrich Waldmann peered through his binoculars
to the north , but saw nothing in the moonless night. Then he caught sight of
something winking in the distance, and an odd sound came to him.

He did not
know it then but he had glimpsed and heard the KA-40 helicopter where it now
orbited
Kirov’s
position, standing guard like a watchful sheep dog. Even
so, he reasoned that must be the location of the enemy ship, and he and his
mate slipped back down the craggy hill to get back to the U-boat and report.
Sometime later the news gave Rosenbaum a chill, for it meant that this
battlecruiser was still close at hand.

“Could you
see any sign of fire? Smoke?”

“No sir, just
an odd sound, almost like an aircraft, and a few running lights.”

He clearly
heard an explosion, and knew his torpedo had struck the target, but apparently
the damage was not as great as he hoped. At least we’ve wounded him, he
thought. He’s probably cruising off shore with men in the water to survey the
damage. It will be safe enough to surface here now for a quiet breath of fresh
air. Then we can slip out of the bay and creep up on him again. They probably
think I am long gone, and wishing to get as far away from this place as
possible. But they are wrong. I’m going to get this ship, for Klaus, for U-73,
and to beat my lucky number seven as well.

Chapter 21

Just
before
dawn on the
13th of August, 1942,
Kirov
was still hovering off the northern coast of
Menorca, her sonar repairs and further hull inspections well underway, though
it would be another six hours before they would finish. The KA-40 had good
endurance and was able to stay up a full six hours before refueling. Though
Fedorov regretted the loss of the aviation fuel, he kept the chopper aloft all
that night and it kept a watchful eye and ear out for the enemy submarine, but
saw nothing. Byko certified the aft Horse Tail towed array was now fully
functional again and promised all would be ready on the forward dome by noon.

On his way
back to the bridge he stopped briefly at sick bay, hoping to check up on
Admiral Volsky. Zolkin was there with him, and the two men were chatting like
the old friends they were, a bowl of good hot soup in the Admiral’s lap where
he sat up on the recovery cot.

“Mister
Fedorov,” Volsky smiled. “I was hoping to hear from you. What was it this time?
Did we strike a mine?”