Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) (33 page)

Syfret raised an eyebrow at that. W/T stood for ‘Wireless
Transmission,’ and apparently this would be the last authorized transmission
until further notice.

“I’ll put the word out, Admiral,” he said. “And we’ll fall
off to 10 knots while you come aboard. It will be Earl Grey at 15:00. One lump
or two?”

“Straight up for me, Admiral. I think we’ve already had
our sugar on this outing. But more on that later. That’s is all.”

Fedorov
was standing tensely on the bridge of
Kirov
,
his mind finally set. The surge of adrenalin thrummed in his chest, and he
pursed his lips tightly, jaw set. Karpov waited, holding his breath, and then
Fedorov turned to the helm and gave an order.

“Helm. Come round to two-three-zero degrees southwest and
ahead full,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice.

“Aye, sir, my rudder is left and coming around for steady
on two-three-zero. Speed thirty knots.”

He turned to Karpov, noting a jaunty glint in his eye.
“Captain, you have your race. We’ll hold this course until about 17:thirty hours,
then come left to 200 degrees and run past Cabo de la Nao and southwest to
Cartagena. From there its back on 225 for the run into the Alboran Sea. Force Z
has a good lead on us, and is probably near Algiers by now. By the time we make
our next turn they should be approaching Oran. We might be able to pick them up
on the long range radar, but if we can’t see them, I think we should send up
the scout helo to have a look south. I want to nail down their position, course
and speed so I can calculate our best course from that point. And I’m saving
those last two knots just to keep something in reserve if we need it.”
Kirov
could make all of 32 knots if pressed to full battle speed.

Karpov smiled. “You have made the right decision, Captain.”
He said it proudly now, his eyes alight as he clasped Fedorov on the shoulder. “Now
you know,” he continued. “Now you know what it’s like.”

“We’ll have some quiet for the next ten to twelve hours, I
think,” said Fedorov. “I’ve made my decision, but I think it best I inform the
Admiral. Understand that if he countermands my order…”

Karpov shrugged. Volsky… There was yet one more hurtle they
had to leap, as if the long race south to a near certain rendezvous with a
British battle fleet was not enough. His first thought was to accompany Fedorov
and put in his opinion on the matter, but then he realized that this was
Fedorov’s bone to chew. He had asked him to stand up and be Captain of the
ship, and he did so. He would leave the matter to him.

“I think the Admiral will listen to your reasoning,
Fedorov. He respects you, and that is worth a great deal. Give him your mind on
this matter, and Volsky will do what he thinks best. I’ve come to a new
understanding of the man. Yes, he may take the reins from your grasp again
soon, but as you walk down to sick bay, feel them in your hands, Fedorov. You
are riding the tiger’s back now. Yes? And you will never forget it.”

“Very well, Captain. Can you hold here for a few more
minutes? I’ll relieve you at zero-one-hundred hours.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Karpov raised two fingers in a brief salute. Then he turned
to the
mishman
and said in a clear voice: “Captain off the bridge!”

The men saluted as he went, and yes, he never would forget
how it felt—so very different this time. He
was
the Captain. Not just
one of three or four officers on the ship who held varying degrees of that
rank. He was the Captain of
Kirov
, flagship of the Northern Fleet, and
it felt good.

He was not long reaching the sick bay, and found Admiral
Volsky looking much better on the cot, his cheeks reddening up again, eyes
brighter, and that look of agonizing pain gone from his face.

“Mister Fedorov!” The Admiral greeted him, “You have just
missed another good meal.”

“Something tells me he has a nose for good borscht,” said
Zolkin. “They made it right this time, cooked it up yesterday so all the flavors
would blend correctly—carrots, parsnips, turnips, good cabbage and of course,
the roasted beets!”

“It smells wonderful,” said Fedorov. He removed his cap and
took a deep breath.

“Sir,” he began. “I have increased to thirty knots with the
aim of trying to reach our objective before the British fleet can return to
Gibraltar.” He stood stiffly, hat tucked under his arm, waiting.

Volsky was still cleaning his hands with a white linen
napkin. “I see,” he said. “Go on, Mister Fedorov.”

The young captain explained his reasoning, and Volsky
listened quietly, saying nothing. “It will be close,” he said. “Even at thirty
knots we may not get by them in time, but I won’t know that until I have an
exact fix on their position, course and speed.”

“And how close will we be to this Force Z? “ He looked at
Zolkin for a moment. “It sounds dangerous, eh Dmitri? Force Z.”

“That will depend on a number of things,” said Fedorov,
“whether they have sighted us and marked our heading; their position, their
orders, and perhaps even their curiosity may all figure in the mix. But I must
be honest and say that there is not much room in the Alboran Sea. We will be in
the bottle neck, but there is still much more room there than we will find at
Gibraltar in the straits.”

“Assuming we can get by them, we will of course outrun
these ships?”

“Their big ships, yes. The battleships would have no chance
to catch up with us if we take the lead in this race. They could pursue with
their lighter ships, but not far, and they are much less a threat to us than
those 16 inch guns. We have a number of factors in our favor sir. They have the
lead at the moment, but I checked the service records on the battleships. HMS
Rodney
is having trouble with her boilers and steering mechanism. It has been an
ongoing problem with the ship for the last several months and apparently was
aggravated with all the maneuvering required when the convoy came under air
attack. I would be surprised if she was capable of any more than fifteen knots,
and we have twice her speed now.
Nelson
could probably get up twenty
knots, but I think they would want to keep their battleships together.”

“Agreed,” said Volsky. “And what other cards do you see us
holding?”

“We may have an advantage of surprise. They may not have a
fix on us and our sudden appearance could hamper their response. Then we could
try our ruse as a French ship and perhaps buy a few crucial minutes, or even
hours. It is my intention to go in weapons tight unless we are immediately
threatened. I want to use our speed, sir. That is our primary weapon now.” He
paused a moment, then nodded as he spoke.

“Of course I understand you were considering negotiations,
Admiral. I must tell you that I have come round to the belief that they will be
fruitless. I cannot see the British taking any less than days to sort this out
with us, and one question will likely pile in on top of another. There will be
no expedient solution for us in my opinion. If, however, you wish to
countermand my decision, I will support you in any way I can during any
negotiation you may choose to initiate. For now, I have chosen to act first,
and talk later if we must. If I have made an error, sir we can reduce to twenty
knots at any time.”

Volsky looked at him, a smile brightening in his eyes. “No,
Mister Fedorov. You have made no error. You have made a command decision, and I
will support
you
. You have my approval to carry out your planned operation,
but please keep me informed.”

Fedorov stood just a little taller. “I will, sir. Thank
you, sir.” He smiled. “Then if you will excuse me, Admiral, I must check with
Dobrynin and make certain we can run at high speed without any difficulties,
and then I am scheduled to relieve Mister Karpov on the bridge.”

Chapter
24

Admiral Fraser
settled into his chair in the
officer’s wardroom aboard HMS
Nelson
, exhilarated by his recent transit
to the ship, his cheeks and brow still red, the tang of the sea in his nose,
and eyes alight. He took a moment to compose himself while the orderly brought
in the afternoon tea. It was just as Admiral Syfret had promised him—Earl Grey,
nice and hot.

Fraser was a fast rising star in the Royal Navy. He had
served with distinction in the First World War, an expert in naval gunnery, and
he supervised the internment of the German High Seas Fleet when that conflict
concluded. His broad experience included a stint on the carrier
Glorious
,
service as Chief of Staff for the Mediterranean Fleet, Third Sea Lord, and
Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath. History would record that he would
lead the British Battleship
Duke of York
and sink the German raider
Scharnhorst
in late 1943 before moving to a post in the Pacific Fleet, and he would one day
sign the instrument of Japan’s surrender on behalf of the British Empire aboard
the battleship
Missouri
in Tokyo Bay. History, however, had a way of
taking some very unexpected turns, though Fraser could not know that as he sat
down for tea that afternoon.

“Well, Neville, it seems we’ve got a bit of a mystery on
our hands. I know you were in the thickets back there, and had a mind to see it
through just a little longer, but I received the same orders as you undoubtedly
have, to turn about at once and make all speed for Gibraltar.”

“I certainly hope you’re going to tell me why, Sir Bruce,”
said Syfret. The two men had known each other for many years, and were
accustomed to drop the formalities of rank and protocol when they met. They had
shared many a toast and tea together, though seldom under circumstances such as
these. “What, has there been a problem with this Operation Jubilee? I thought
it was not to be mounted until this convoy was seen through to Malta and we
could get Force H reconstituted at Gibraltar and in position to lend a hand if
needed. You know we’ve been rather beaten up out there. They threw planes at us
by the bushel, and God bless those boys in the carrier fighter squadrons, they
were absolutely superb.”

“Quite so,” said Fraser, his sandy hair now white with his
years, but his ruddy features still giving him an animated life and energy. He
turned to the orderly, who was standing by the doorway in attendance. “That
will be all, young man.”

“Very good, sir.” The man saluted, and quietly left the two
men alone. When he had gone Fraser leaned forward and lowered his voice
nonetheless, an air of caution about him now.

 “No, it has nothing to do with Operation Jubilee—in fact
that whole party has been cancelled. Sixty squadrons set back on their rumps at
home, and the whole fleet up in a tither over something else.”

“Something else? Do go on, Sir Bruce.”

 “Neville, I must first apologize that you will have no
inkling of what I’m about to say here. Nobody knows everything, I suppose, and
for that matter I only learned about this business when I assumed my post as
Deputy Commander Home Fleet when Daddy Brind shipped over to the Admiralty as Assistant
Chief of the Naval Staff. I’m just getting my feet wet, you see, and I never
expected to hear very much more about the matter, but it concerns that incident
a year ago south of Iceland. I’m sure you’ve heard something about it.” He
smiled politely.

“I knew
Repulse
never came home,” Syfret said sullenly, “and we all saw the damage to
King
George V
and
Prince of Wales
. I must say I made inquiries about it
back then, but I’m old enough to know when a door’s being closed in my face,
and so I shut up and let the matter go.”

“You heard the rumors, of course.”

“The rocketry? Some new German raider raising hell out
there. It was hard not hear about it. Word has spread round through every bar
and brothel in the kingdom by now. But sailors say a lot of things, don’t they.
We were told to squeeze the necks of any man we caught spreading such rumors,
and I dare say I’ve squeezed quite a few.”

Fraser nodded, taking a long sip of his tea and setting
down the cup. “Well I’m to tell you that these rumors have more substance to
them than we were first led to believe,” he said. “In point of fact, most every
last one was the gospel truth. There was a ship, a German ship we believe, and
there was quite a row at sea when Home Fleet went hunting for it a year ago. As
you know, the Americans were in on it as well, and they were hurt even worse.
You’ve read the papers.”

“Yes, that torpedo attack on the
Mississippi
. A
stroke of good luck for us, if you want my mind on it. Brought the Yanks right
in on our side just as Sir Winston was hoping.”

“Yes…well there was no torpedo attack…”

Syfret raised an eyebrow, realizing that Fraser was now
getting round to the front door on the matter. “No torpedo attack?”

“It was something else,” said Fraser. “Bletchley Park says
it was one of Herr Hitler’s wonder weapons. You know he’s got these rockets on
the drawing boards, of all sorts. Well he’s also got one bloody hell of a
warhead to mount on them. Why do you think we’ve scattered command elements all
over the Kingdom in the last year? What do you make of those underground
bunkers they’ve been building in the Scottish Highlands?”

“I thought they were to be for munitions stores.”

“So did I, until they started trucking in desks and
telephone equipment, and all the other accouterments that clutter up the
Admiralty offices. They’ve been spreading the butter and jam thin, Neville,
because they don’t want everything together if another of these rockets comes
thundering in on Whitehall one day.”

“I see… But what has this to do with our present orders,
Sir Bruce? Why the rush home to Gibraltar?”