Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) (23 page)

“The
impudence,” he muttered.

The
sound of the alarm and the shouting and footfalls of the crew dominated the
next few moments as Kranke stood calmly on the bridge, watching and listening.
He saw the forward triple gun turret turn smartly and train on the Russian
ship, the long barrels gleaming in the ruddy light. Soon the sounds diminished,
and a hush seemed to fall over the
Admiral Scheer
, like the taking in of
breath before some great exertion. The ship was ready, Kranke knew, and he
turned to his gunnery officer.

“Schörner,
announce us, if you please.”

“The
range is too far to hit anything, sir. All we will do is bother the sea.”

“Give
them one round in answer to their warning shot. I will not have it read that I
did not follow protocols. They fired first, and we will answer.”

“Very
good sir.”

The
middle gun on the turret elevated in an obscene gesture, and fired. Kranke did
not fail to appreciate the moment, smiling. “There, he said. “We have given
them our middle finger and told them to fuck off. Now let’s see if they want to
do anything about it. Signal
Nürnberg
to come left fifteen, and we will
follow.”

* * *

The
warning shot fell 3000 meters short, though it was well
aligned. Volsky watched the round splash into the sea, tit for tat.

“They
are turning on an intercept course,” said Fedorov noting his new predictive
plot for the German contact on the Plexiglas screen.

“Steer
to maintain range,” said Volsky.

“Aye
sir. Helm, come left fifteen and ahead thirty.” He re-established a parallel
course, holding the range as the Admiral wanted.

“Mister
Samsonov, how good is your eye these days?”

“Laser
sharp, Admiral.”

“Can
you put one round on the lead ship in that formation?”

“Of
course, sir. Do you want it forward, aft, or amidships?”

“That
good, are you? Very well kick the lead ship on the ass. Put it well aft.”

Fedorov
had been studying the silhouettes of the German ships and now he spoke up.
“Admiral, I believe that lead ship is a
Leipzig
class cruiser. The ship
following is the
Admiral Scheer
, and that will be the flagship.”

“I will
knock on their door soon, Mister Fedorov. First let’s see if Mister Samsonov
can put on a little show. Their commander will have a very good view from his
present location. You may open fire. One salvo please.”

Samsonov
keyed his target, integrating radar lock and his laser range finder into one
position fix. The computers arrived at a decision in milliseconds, and the
forward deck gun swiveled, trained on the target, the twin barrels elevating
high before they cracked to life. Two shell casings clattered onto the deck and
they waited. It seemed a long time, some 40 seconds before they saw the bright
flash aft on the lead ship. Samsonov had scored a direct hit.

“A hole
in one, sir!” he said, smiling.

“Your
eye is good, Samsonov. Mister Nikolin, kindly ask the Germans if they would
like us to continue.”

Half
way through Nikolin’s hail they saw the second ship light up, both fore and
aft. The rounds came in short again, but the sight of the six geysers in the
sea prompted Fedorov to caution the Admiral.

“If I
may, sir. Those are 11-inch guns, very accurate, and the same weapon that the
battlecruiser
Scharnhorst
hit the British carrier with at 26,465 yards.
We are just a few thousand meters outside that range.”

“Which
is exactly where we will stay, Mister Fedorov. Any answer, Nikolin?”

“No
sir. No return on my hail.”

“Mister
Samsonov, again please. This time hit the bow of ship number two if you can.”

“No
problem, sir. Integrating data streams… Ready… Firing now.” The crack of the
deck gun sounded again, another long arcing fall of the shells, which resulted
in a straddle this time, showering the bow of
Admiral Scheer
with
seawater.

The
game continued, with the German ships turning in an attempt to close the range,
and Fedorov using radar to precisely determine their movement and dance away,
always holding the range just outside 26,000 meters. Samsonov was ordered to
fire three salvos at the lead ship, and three more at
Admiral Scheer,
and they soon watched as small fires broke out on each ship, the thin smoke
trailing like blood. It was as if Volsky was hunting a whale, putting small
harpoons into it, dancing away, then pricking it again and again. In all there
were three more hits registered on
Nürnberg
, and two more on
Admiral
Scheer
.

All the
while the German guns barked furiously in return, but the range was just beyond
their means. An hour passed, with Volsky scoring hits on the enemy ships every
fifteen minutes, like clockwork. Then he had Nikolin send another message.
I
have hit you every quarter hour, and you bleed. Surrender our nationals, or I
will now sink you.
In response
the Germans launched a seaplane from
Scheer
and it slowly gained elevation and began to approach.

“They
want to use the plane to try and improve their spotting, sir,” said Fedorov.

“Do
they? Mister Samsonov. Use the Klinok system and shoot that plane down. It’s
time we give them something more to think about.”

The
missile soon hissed into the sky, tracked relentlessly, and bored in on the
seaplane. Fedorov looked at Volsky, surprised to see him make a small sign of
the cross quietly on his chest as he sat watching in the Captain’s chair. It
was going to be a very unlucky day for the pilot.

Chapter 21

July 11, 1940 ~ 01:00 Hrs

Kranke
was furious. The rounds had come like the chiming of a
clock. Two hits at the top of the hour, another at quarter past, a fourth at
half past the hour, and on it went.

“This
is ridiculous, Schörner! How can they hit us like this at such range?”

“Amazing
gunnery, Kapitän. I have never heard of a small caliber weapon firing with such
accuracy. They must have superb opticals.”

“What
about
our
guns. Surely we can get them at this range. Elevate higher!”

“Sir, I
am reading the target at 27,600 meters. If we hit them it will be one for the
record books, and we do not seem to have the speed to close.”

“Damn
it, Schörner! They are hitting us! Signal
Nürnberg
to go to their top
speed and close. They are four knots faster than we are. Get a seaplane up if
you have to correct your sighting. I want hits!”

Nürnberg
turned, but thirty seconds later the distant shadow on the
sea turned as well, and Kranke could barely see it now on the horizon. The
seaplane fluttered up, launching from the catapult amidships and slowly gaining
altitude. It banked and began to head for the Russian ship, and then he saw it…
Something erupted from the shadow, a white streak in the sky, a fiery light and
then the explosion. The seaplane was gone!

Kranke
slowly lowered his field glasses, a look of shock on his face. He kept staring
at the sky, watching the fading contrail that connected the enemy ship to the
place in the sky his seaplane had been flying. Heintz was quickly at his side.

“A
rocket!” He pointed at the smoke in the sky, then lowered his arm and looked at
Kranke. “Herr Kapitän,” he said slowly. “I believe we smoked those cigars too
soon.”

* * *

“That
light cruiser is turning on an intercept course,” said Rodenko.
The two ships are breaking formation.”

“Yes,
said Fedorov. If we maneuver to maintain our range then
Admiral Scheer
will slip over the horizon.”

“I
believe it is time for us to strengthen the brew,” said Volsky. “How many of
those P-900s from
Kazan
remain?”

“Six
missiles, sir.”

“Let us
use one here on that light cruiser. That will get their attention, and I think
we can use it in mode one with this ship, correct Fedorov?”

“Mode
one?” Fedorov passed a moment of embarrassment, not knowing what the Admiral
was referring to. He had never been a combat officer, and still felt more
comfortable at the navigation station, in spite of his position as the ship’s
Captain now.”

“On
mode one this is a standard sea skimmer” said the Admiral. “It will not execute
a last minute popup maneuver. Would you recommend this approach?” Volsky could
see he had caught his young Captain at a disadvantage and he was wise enough to
bolster him a bit by making it seem as though he was seeking his advice.

“There
were only two ships in this class, and I believe this one is the
Nürnberg
,
sir. If that is so it received the newly developed
Wotan Hart
steel
instead of standard cemented armor. That said, the ship has only 50mm side
armor. The P-900 should easily penetrate that and do considerable damage.”

“Then
we will fire one P-900 on mode one, Mister Samsonov, You may target and
proceed.”

“Aye
sir. Setting mode command. Missile reports ready. Firing now.”

The
warning claxon sounded and the missile was up and on its way with a loud roar,
climbing and then immediately dipping towards the sea to cross the short
distance right over the wave tops. Seconds later it struck
Nürnberg
amidships, just above the water line on her side armor, and Fedorov’s assessment
was on the mark as well.

The
200kg warhead easily penetrated the 2-inch armor there.
Wotan Hart
steel
was much harder than cemented armor, but the ship would have needed at least
six inches to have any chance of stopping the missile. The hull was badly
breached, the explosive force ripping a hole from the weather deck to well
below the water line. Fire broiled in the blackened gash, and heavy smoke
engulfed the ship.
Nürnberg
rolled heavily as the sea rushed in, a
benefit as well as a curse. The water helped to douse the terrible fire from
all the excess missile fuel, but it was also dragging the ship into a bad list.

The
ship would not recover, but counter-flooding would buy enough time to get most
of the crew off safely. Volsky watched on the Tin Man display, his face
serious, eyes troubled. The lessons of war were hard, whether you were the
teacher or the student, he thought. Let us hope the Captain on this other ship
does not need further prodding.

“That
will be enough for the moment,” he said to Samsonov. “Let’s see if Mister
Nikolin can get a response now.”

* * *

Aboard
Admiral Scheer
Kranke was aghast. He had clearly
seen the missile fire from the thick of the shadow that had been taunting him with
small caliber fire, infuriated to think that this new Russian weapon could
outrange his 11-inch guns. The rocket that took down his seaplane was shocking
enough. He knew the old British battlecruisers once mounted a rocket system,
but it was designed to deploy a small parachute and trail long cables at the
bottom to act as an obstacle against planes. This was something else entirely,
a lightning fast javelin that skewered his
Arado
and dropped it into the
sea in seconds. Then came the rocket that struck
Nürnberg
, and he soon
surmised that they were going to lose that ship. The Russians had evened the
score.

So
this
was the ship Hoffmann warned me about, he thought darkly. Smoke one cigar if
you find it, one if you can get close enough for a photograph, the third if you
return alive. Now he knew just what Hoffmann meant, and it was a most
uncomfortable feeling. One moment he was a jaunty, ebullient officer, fresh
from victory, a good meal and a long sleep. Now he looked harried and anxious,
struggling first to comprehend what he was seeing, weighing the implications of
these new weapons. With each passing minute he realized the inadequacy of his
ship now when pitted against this unknown foe.

“The
battlecruiser
Kirov
,” he said to Heintz. “Well now I can see why it gets
the name. This ship is a little something more than we expected. They have
saved the best for last.”

“Schörner
can’t hit the damn thing unless we can close the range, sir, and it is obvious
that they are faster than we are. There are probably 500 men going into the sea
out there now, and if we continue this engagement we could lose most of them.”

“Kapitän,”
the signalman called. “They say that if we do not cease firing and comply with
the return of their nationals they will sink us too!”

“Calm down!”
Kranke said sharply, hands clasped behind his back. “Alright then… first get a
coded message off to Group North. Notify Hoffmann that we have found this ship.
Call it
Fafnir
, he will know what I mean.” He was referring to the
legendary dragon in Norse Mythology.

“This
one certainly breathes fire,” said Heintz.

“That
it does. Signalman… Tell the Russians they can have their damn prisoners. We
have over 500 men on
Nürnberg
out there that will need our help. Ask
them to cease fire.” He shrugged, pulling his gloves off slowly, a defeated
look on his face. Then the light of an idea kindled in his eyes.

“Let
them come in to retrieve their comrades,” he said to Heintz in a low whisper. “Then
when they are nice and close, Schörner can blow them to hell.”

Kranke would
not be able to order his planned deception. The Russians were simply too
cautious. The Germans were running past the long finger of Hopen Island off
Svalbard, or Spitzbergen as it was then called. A signal came ordering them to
set all the Soviet prisoners ashore there, saying their names and identities
were known and stressing that they had best be unharmed and well treated. The Kapitän
complied, then went about his rescue operation under the watchful eye of the
Russian ship, always lurking on the horizon, a distant, threatening shadow.

Three
hours later the Germans had recovered the great bulk of the crew of
Nürnberg
,
and set off scuttling charges to make certain the Russians would not get the
ship. Then, his decks crowded with cold, bedraggled men, Kranke turn and sailed
on, a chastened man.

Fafnir
, he thought. Yes, and now where is Sigurd? It will take
something better than this old pocket battleship to get after that monster.
Hoffmann fared no better, and he had both
Scharnhorst
and
Gneisenau
with him. And Lindemann had
Bismarck
and
Tirpitz
and he still
broke off his engagement as well.