“That makes good sense on one level, sir. If it was a battlecruiser out of Toulon it might certainly explain these last two engagements with the Italians. But the rocketry, sir. That was your point, and the odd man out in all this.”
Tovey nodded. “Well, I didn’t want to press the matter, particularly with Admiral Pound, but I have the feeling you haven’t quite fired a full broadside at us yet, professor Turing. Is there something else you haven’t told us? Something you’re holding back?”
Turing looked at him, appreciating the man’s candor and glad to be spoken to with a measure of respect. He knew his arguments would likely do little to dispel the rumors circulating about him in higher circles, that he was a bit of a maverick himself, a madman at times, with wild theories and undisciplined habits. He did not wish to encourage that line further, fearing where it might eventually lead if the authorities got too curious about him, but Tovey’s face was serious, receptive and wholly sincere. Was this his chance to truly speak his mind?
“I can’t say as I’ve got my hand on the neck of this one entirely, sir,” he compromised, “but I’ll say this much, Admiral. You and I both know that it takes years to build a ship of that size—massive resources. The Germans have very few shipyards capable of building something that big. It simply isn’t something that Germany, or any nation, could hide. Yes, we know the Japanese have been keeping a lid on a couple of monster ships of their own, but Rodgers and Bemis knew about those designs as early as 1938.”
Captain Fred F. Rogers was a U.S. naval attaché in Tokyo, who had reported that ‘Japan had designs for warships of 45,000 to 55,000 tons.’ His successor, Harold M. Bemis, confirmed the report, the first clues that would eventually lead the American intelligence to the existence of the super battleships Yamato and Musashi. Turing continued.
“You see, sir. You just can’t hide something like this. The Japanese have tried mightily, but we still know about their covert battleship program. If this was a German ship, we should have known about it. As for these rockets used against our ships and planes… They’re graspable in our minds because we ourselves have similar projects in development, and we know the Germans have the same, but certainly not the French. I’ve been aware of Polish intelligence regarding development of a “flying torpedo” by the Germans, and there are other similar technologies they are working on. The Italians have been using air dropped torpedoes against this latest Malta convoy as well. But everything we have seen of these developments, everything, is far less advanced than the weapons used against us by this ship. Furthermore, we haven’t seen a single peep from these weapons in a year. Why not? If the Germans could mount them on a ship, then they could also easily deploy them on land or even aircraft. Yet we’ve seen nothing.”
“Yes,” Tovey agreed. “I’ve thought this as well.”
“I have come to the conclusion that the Germans simply do not have the capability, or the technology this ship has demonstrated. It saw your ships well before you ever knew it was there—so it must have very advanced radar, far beyond anything we have today. It targeted your vessels with amazing precision, and with weapons so lethal that I frankly believe they are beyond the means of any nation on this earth to produce…” he paused, a glint in his eye. “At least at this point in time.” He knew he was running on now, and towards a very dangerous precipice, but here was a man willing to stand and listen to him. Perhaps he could lead him to the same conclusions he had drawn himself.
“I may have said too much here, admiral, so you can forgive me if I seem a young and foolish man, but I assure you, I am not.”
Tovey looked at him, his eyes creased with a warm smile. “No, professor, the last thing I would take you for is a fool, nor I do consider this line of thought to be in any way preposterous, as Admiral Pound might put it. You forget that I have seen these weapons first hand—seen them thunder in against my very own ship. You say such technology is beyond our means at this time, but how long before we might have weapons like this ourselves if we put our minds to it? Have you considered that?”
Turing’s mood seemed to darken with that, and there was a hint of hesitation, even fear in his eyes when he answered. “If you want my very best estimation, Admiral, it would take years of rigorous testing and development to reach this level of sophistication. You see it’s not that the technology is beyond our thinking. We know the road, and where it might lead us, it’s just that it will take us time to get there, perhaps decades. Where there’s a will there’s a way, right? It’s all a matter of time, sir.”
“I see,” said Tovey, thinking deeply, his eyes betraying both uncertainty and concern, though he said nothing more on the matter, extending his hand. “Good work, Turing. Carry on, will you?”
“Thank you, sir. I shall.”
Tovey walked off to find a fast plane to Holyhead and Turing ambled slowly down the long corridor, still thinking about what he had said, and wondering if the government would end up putting the thumbscrews to him for his rash ideas. I wonder if he got what I was really aiming at, he thought to himself. No, you can’t come out with it plainly. That much is obvious given the reaction of men like Pound. No doubt there will be others very much like Pound and they would make your life a living hell if you push on this door too hard. But you’ve squeaked it open with Admiral Tovey, haven’t you? He listened to what you had to say, and perhaps he’ll come round to it on his own.
He looked at his wrist watch, realizing he had a plane to catch if he wanted to get back to Bletchley Park. Time, he said inwardly. Yes, that’s the heart of the matter now. It is only a matter of time…
Chapter 17
By the time they passed Punta Caprara, the northernmost cape of the island of Asinara, it was well after 10:00 in the morning. They had fought their way past shore batteries, through minefields, torpedo boats, a submarine, an air strike, and a brief, violent surface engagement with two battleships. Fedorov counted his good fortune that the ship had come through it all with little more than splinter damage on the hull, but that was a testament to the amazing technological edge Kirov had over its adversaries. Yet one thing bothered him as they finished the damage control assessment. Tasarov was restless at his station, claiming that his systems were erratic, and he was losing signal processing integrity of the forward Horse Jaw sonar dome. With the towed array already damaged and still under repair, this was a matter of some concern.
Fedorov was troubled, but was hoping that the history would hold true for a time, as it indicated that most all available axis submarines were far to the south opposing Operation Pedestal. They watched the Italian 7th cruiser Squadron race towards the eastern approaches of the Bonifacio Strait, then slow to assume a defensive patrol there, guarding the waterway in the event this bold British raider might think to return.
“As I expected, they have no interest in trying to follow us, particularly after they must've learned what happened to their battleships.”
For the moment he deemed their main threat to be further air strikes launched at them from bases in Sardinia, but again, he knew that the Axis air power would now be focused against Operation Pedestal, some 300 miles to the south. The situation presented them with an opportunity to get safely away from Sardinia and Corsica, and well out to sea. He set a course due west at twenty knots, wanting to put at least 150 miles between the ship and any potential land based enemy aircraft. Later he would slow to ten knots or less and put divers over the side to inspect the hull for splinter damage. He suspected something may have happened to the forward sonar dome as well, or the sensors along the outer rim of the hull. They would take whatever time was needed to effect repairs, perhaps near Menorca in the Balearic islands.
Rodenko reported that he could still see the Italian battleships on radar heading north, then northeast as they withdrew towards La Spezia. It had been an ill-fated sortie for them, perhaps the last gallant charge by the Italian Navy in the war.
The next item on his list was an assessment of their current w
eapons inventories. He took Karpov aside and the two of them hovered over Samsonov’s CIC boards to see what was left in the cupboard. Two critical systems were beginning to run thin on ammunition. Their long range S–300 SAM system was now at sixty-four percent, with only forty-one missiles remaining. In like manner, the Klinok Gauntlet medium range SAM system was down to only seventy-nine missiles left in inventory. More serious than this, their primary anti-ship missile, the deadly Moskit-II Sunburns that had proved so effective against enemy shipping, was now at forty percent with only fourteen missiles left in the silos. They were lucky to have even these. A normal load-out would be twenty missiles, but they had taken on a complete set of twenty additional missiles before the live fire exercises that had first sent them on this strange saga, but all these were expended in the North Atlantic.
Beyond this they still had nine of the swift MOS–III Starfire missiles, which were extremely fast at mach 6 acceleration, but carried only a 300 kilogram warhead compared to the heavier 450 kg warhead on the sunburns. They still had a little more punch left with ten P-900 Sizzler cruise missiles, each with a 400kg warhead. All in all, the three systems left them with thirty-three anti ship missiles out of the sixty they began the voyage with.
As for their deck guns, the 152 millimeter batteries were presently at eighty-nine percent on the magazine, and they still had almost a full load for their smaller 100 millimeter forward deck gun. They had expended six percent of their close in defense rounds on the thirty millimeter Gatling guns, and two of the deadly Shkval anti-submarine torpedo rockets, with eight more remaining. Beside that they still had most of their UGST torpedoes, fifteen in stock, and there were additional load-outs available for their last remaining KA-40 helicopter. All in all, the ship still had a formidable array of firepower at its disposal, but the numerous engagements they had fought in the last day were beginning to slowly drain their weapons inventories.
“Now, more than ever, we are going to have to be judicious in the way we deploy our weapons,” said Fedorov.
“What can we expect ahead on this course?” asked Karpov.
“For the time being we should have a little peace and quiet, enough to effect repairs and give the men some much needed rest. I intend to sail west to Menorca and into the Balearic Sea. That channel is between 160 to 200 kilometers wide for a good long while, and when we exit to the South will have at least a eighty kilometers of sea room between Spain and Santa Eulana Island. Then we enter the final bottleneck, the Alboran Sea. It's nearly 250 kilometers wide at the outset, but narrows to about150 kilometers as we approach Gibraltar. That's the last gate, about fifteen kilometers wide at its narrowest point. If we can get through that safely then we've got the whole Atlantic out there, and our speed can be a great advantage in that situation.”
“And Gibraltar?” said Karpov. “What will the British have waiting for us there?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Fedorov. “We will be all day getting out to sea, and I'll put divers over the side near dusk near Menorca. So we should be well into the Balearic sea by dawn tomorrow. I'm hoping our damage control situation can be easily resolved, but I would like to discuss this matter with Admiral Volsky, and come to some agreement on how we might handle the Strait of Gibraltar. Would you feel comfortable joining that conference Captain?”
“Of course,” said Karpov. “We will need to know what we are facing, and let us hope the history settles down for a bit. Those two Italian battleships were a bit of a surprise, I know, but our Moskit-IIs seemed more than a match for them.”
“We used six missiles,” Fedorov cautioned. “Yes, we drove them off, but my guess is that they will live to fight another day. Counting all three of our SSM systems, we now have only thirty-three anti-ship missiles remaining in inventory.”
“No problem,” said Karpov. “Six more to send this Rodney and Nelson packing, and plenty left over for any cruisers and destroyers they would care to throw at us.”
“I wouldn't be so self-assured, Captain. The Royal Navy is a tough professional force. They'll learn from any mistakes they make, and they've had a lot of lessons in recent years. As for the Nelson Class battleships, yes they are old and slow, but with 16 inch guns and good protection. That aside, it's 1942 now, and once we get out into the Atlantic we’ll find the British have added two more fast battleships to their home fleet with Duke of York and Anson. A third in this same class is scheduled to be commissioned in just a few weeks, HMS Howe. In short, their home fleet is twice as strong as it was when we first faced it, at least insofar as the big battleships are concerned.”
“I think Volsky will want to head south, well away from the Royal Navy.”
“True. Yet we’ll first have to transit the Strait of Gibraltar much like we just fought our way through this last one. Very likely we will find ourselves in range of those heavy guns on Nelson and Rodney if they get there first. And Captain,” he paused for emphasis. “We won't be deploying any nuclear weapons against the British this time out, at least not while I command the ship.”
Karpov's eyes narrowed at that last statement, but he said nothing for a moment, then shifted to another topic. “If the landforms inhibit Rodenko’s radar we can still deploy helicopters to enhance our over the horizon awareness. That may take the surprise factor out of the situation.”
“That is a good plan, Captain.” Fedorov concluded. “Very well, I’ll go below and see how the Admiral is doing. You have the bridge for the moment. We’ll send for you if Admiral Volsky is well enough to conference.”
Fedorov started for the sick bay, a thousand things running through his mind. He had had very little sleep since this new saga unfolded. The ship had been pressed by unexpected adversaries, and sustained real damage for the first time. The constricted waters of the Mediterranean served to neutralize one of Kirov’s greatest technological edges—the ability to see the enemy at long range before they were even aware of the Russian battlecruiser. And what you could see, you could also target and kill. The landlocked sea here meant that they were surrounded by airfields on every side, and recon planes were almost certain to find them and report their position, speed and heading. To prevent that they would have to detect and shoot down virtually every airborne contact they encountered, and that was not going to be practical given their slowly dwindling SAM magazines.
This was going to give their adversaries much more situational awareness than they ever had before. They will know approximately where we are, he thought, and that was compounded by the fact that the ship had only three options if it wanted to exit these waters. Suez was not really a viable choice, and the Bosporus route, though appealing in one sense, would only leave them masters of the Black Sea, with the same long, grueling task of sailing to Gibraltar through an active war zone if they ever wanted to leave that place. This reason, and the circumstances that found them running straight for the chaos of Operation Pedestal, had prompted Fedorov to take this northern route. Now that the Bonifacio Strait was behind them they might at least have some time to think, rest and plan what they should or could do next.
Other thoughts plagued him, more ominous in his mind, and filled him with a nagging doubt. The ship’s presence was like an irritating grain of salt in a clam shell here. What pearl would it produce in the history? Already both the British and Italians had used resources, men, ships and planes, that they might have otherwise deployed against each other. This was introducing more and more subtle changes in the history, and his great extra advantage of knowing the course of future events was no longer something he could rely on. He did not think his engagement with Da Zara’s 3rd Cruiser Division, or the pursuit of the 7th Cruiser Division mattered much, as these forces had both been ordered to stand down. The 3rd Division sustained damage from Kirov that should not have occurred, but the 7th Division had been ordered to return to Messina historically, where it ran afoul of the British Submarine Unbroken and saw both heavy cruiser Bolzano and light cruiser Muzio Attendolo torpedoed. Now these
ships were safely at the eastern approaches to the Bonifacio Strait. He thought the balance here was a wash.
The presence of the two Italian Battleships had been a dangerous surprise to him, shaking his confidence in the future course of events. They should not have been at La Spezia, or in any position to intervene here. He thought that the heavy Italian ships were all still at Taranto, which was another reason he had discarded the journey to the Black Sea.
Now, as he looked at the route ahead, he mused darkly over what the British may have learned about their battle in the Bonifacio Strait. They knew that none of their own ships were deployed in that region. Who would they think the Italians were engaging? This thought filled him with misgiving as he reached the sick bay and knocked lightly on the hatch.
“Mister Fedorov,” Zolkin greeted him as he entered and removed his hat, smiling at the amiable doctor. The young navigator was also relieved to see Admiral Volsky awake and looking much more alert than the day before.
“I was hoping someone would come down here and tell me what all this shooting has been about. How is an old man to get any sleep?” The Admiral forced a smile, then asked the most important question on his mind. “Is the ship safe, Fedorov? What has happened? Zolkin has had me strapped to this cot and refused to let me go.”
“Doctors give orders too, Leonid,” said Zolkin, his brows lowering with admonition.
“Don’t worry, Admiral, the worst is over and we should have safe waters for at least the next twenty-four hours or more.” He gave Volsky a briefing on all they had been through, finishing up with an account of that surprise engagement with Veneto and Littorio.
Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) Page 18
