“Remember what?” Zolkin was giving Fedorov a studied glance, as if he were still assessing his overall condition and state of mind.
“Chief Dobrynin. You remember him from engineering?”
“Of course,” said Zolkin. “Who else can keep the ship running, and all while listening to Tchaikovsky.”
“That’s a relief,” said Fedorov, though something in the way the Doctor said that seemed slightly off tune. “You speak of him in the present tense,” he said. “I suppose it is still hard… considering what happened to him and the others, particularly Lenkov. I’m not sure which was the crueler fate.”
Zolkin cocked his head to one side. “Now you are speaking in riddles, Fedorov. What do you suppose has happened to Dobrynin? I would certainly be one of the first to know if he reported sick, and I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“Didn’t you hear the news about him, and the others… Orlov, Tasarov, Kamenski? Haven’t you been briefed yet?”
“Briefed? Nobody bothers with that these days, but believe it or not, I hear far more about what is happening on this ship than you may realize. Every rumor and whisper eventually finds its way here to sick bay, much of it hogwash. But I get a good feel for what is going on in spite of that. Yet concerning Orlov and the others, I’ve heard nothing unusual. That last fellow you mention does not ring a bell. What was the name?”
“Kamenski,” said Fedorov, giving Zolkin the same appraising look that he was getting from the Doctor. “Director Kamenski, our guest up in the spare officer’s cabin.”
Zolkin merely shrugged. “If he isn’t ever sick, I probably don’t know the man.”
“But you examined him yourself,” said Fedorov, “right here when we were discussing the discovery of Karpov in Siberia with the Admiral.” He gave Zolkin an expectant look, hoping that would be enough to jog his memory, and fearing that he was also suffering the effects of the shift, forgetting things, faces, men, lives.
“It’s enough just to put names to all the faces I see here each day,” said Zolkin, “and I know a good many—probably know this crew better than any man on the ship, except the Chief. I do have a better bedside manner than Orlov, or so I’ve been told.”
Fedorov smiled. At least he remembered Orlov. “It was hard to lose him,” he said.
“Lose who?” Zolkin folded his arms now.
“Orlov,” said Fedorov sullenly. “I’ve been trying to sort it all through, and I was thinking it may have had something to do with the time he spent with that object he found in Siberia. Dobrynin was with it for some time as well, and I had something strange happen to my hand, though I never came here about it.”
“Your hand looks fine to me, Fedorov. But what is this talk about an object from Siberia?”
Fedorov took a deep breath. “I mentioned that the last time I was down here, before the shift. Remember? Well, I suppose there’s been too much going on around here, but at least you still recall Dobrynin and Orlov, which is encouraging. Hopefully everyone else made it through safely this time, and we have no more business for you with the engineers. Lenkov was more than enough.”
“Lenkov… That’s twice you mention him now. Well he hasn’t been in either. Last I heard of him he was down in the galley complaining again. That man rattles his pots and pans like a woman. Do you know, the crew tells me he has a little scheme going on down there—something about trading cigarettes for extra portions in the mess hall. I’ll have to speak with him. Someone should tell him cigarettes are bad for his health. Then again, some of the men say his soup is bad for your health too, so perhaps he’s making an even trade.” Zolkin smiled, pleased with his quip, but the look on Fedorov’s face now gave him pause.
“Something wrong again, Mister Fedorov? Has the dizziness and nausea returned?”
“No… I’m quite fine, but Doctor… I realize that affair with Lenkov was very difficult, but you and I both know Lenkov isn’t smoking cigarettes any longer.”
“Oh? Then perhaps he has wised up. Or maybe Orlov knocked some sense into him, which is more than likely.”
“Doctor Zolkin…” Fedorov was caught off guard, suddenly thinking Zolkin’s memory must have been affected after all.
Now Zolkin’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling that you are sitting there examining me, Mister Fedorov? I’m the Doctor here, and you’re starting to sound just a little confused. Are you certain there is no further dizziness?”
Fedorov blinked, a strange unsettling feeling sweeping over him that was not nausea or dizziness. Something was wrong here. He could feel it. Zolkin seems to have forgotten all about Lenkov! I can see how he might wish to get that out of his mind, but still… He clearly remembers Dobrynin and Orlov. And yet… The way he’s been speaking of them… It was as if he thought they were still aboard—Lenkov too. Could that be so.?Was it just a phasing issue?
“Lenkov,” he said. “Don’t you remember him? And Orlov… When was the last time you saw him?”
“He checks in every morning to see the shift assignments are in order, Fedorov. You know the Chief’s work as well as I do. His nose is everywhere.”
“Are you saying he checked in here this morning?”
“As usual. What of it?”
“Did he say anything? Did he report any odd effects?”
“No, he seemed his old surly self. That man always seems to have a headache that no medicine can cure, and of course he takes it out on everyone else.”
So Orlov was here before he went to the bridge. Now Fedorov remembered the compass that Orlov had given him, and he reached into his pocket to find it had finally settled down, its fitful spinning stilled, which gave him heart. The ship may have settled with it, and the crew as well. Perhaps the shift they initiated had helped them to sync properly this time, but where were they now?
Looking at that compass, he realized they should have done something to acknowledge the loss of the man, as they did with Lenkov. Yes, there was no body they could wrap in a flag and commit to the sea, but perhaps a ceremony of some kind would be appropriate.
“We might want to do something for Orlov and Dobrynin,” he said glumly. As difficult as Orlov was, he had a great deal to do with the running of this ship. The men may not ever have warmed to him, but they respected him. I think another ceremony might be in order.”
“Ceremony? What, Fedorov? Don’t tell me it’s Orlov’s birthday. What are you talking about?”
Fedorov gave the doctor a long look, his hopes sinking for a moment. What was going on here? Zolkin clearly seems to be suffering the memory lapse. He remembers some things, forgets others. My god, he thought. This could be happening all over the ship! It could be affecting every man aboard, myself included. I have no way of really knowing if I’ve forgotten anyone else. It took Nikolin to help me even remember Tasarov, a man I served with on the bridge every day. So yes, the Doctor would not be immune to any of these effects either. I had better find out if anyone else is suffering memory loss. It could be getting progressively worse. If you can get to someone early on after the shift, and jog their memory, things might be saved. But as time passes, the memories might fade away into that grey fog that was all around us.
The irony of that was not lost on him, and he strained to look out the Doctor’s port hole window, wondering what the sea conditions were.
Zolkin sighed. “I can see that you will not sit still, Fedorov. Are you so eager to get back to your post? Look here, settle down now and let that medication kick in. Then you may satisfy yourself and go back to the bridge. But for now, you stay right where you are—Doctor’s orders.”
Part III
Gladiators
“Anyone can train to be a gladiator. What marks you out is having the mindset of a champion.”
― Manu Bennett
Chapter 7
As gladiators went when it came to battle on the sea, HMS Invincible was one of the best and most powerful ships in the world. Designed after the First World War, the ship was init
ially conceived more as an answer to naval building programs in the United States and Japan, than to oppose anything the Germans were doing. At that time, Raeder’s Plan Z ships were still dreams on the drafting tables, but Invincible would soon take shape and form in hard steel.
At nearly 54,000 long tons displacement, it was Britain’s heavyweight, outweighing the King George V class by a full 12,000 tons, the weight of another decent sized cruiser. Oddly, the ship was conceived as a battlecruiser, meant to be paired with another metal behemoth, the 18-inch gun N3 battleship that had never seen a keel laid down. As such, her nine 16-inch guns were still bigger than anything in the fleet, save Rodney and Nelson. In some minds, Invincible was an upgrade to the former pride of the fleet, HMS Hood, correcting all the deficiencies that had been uncovered in that design. It was fast at 32 knots, up-gunned over Hood’s eight 15-inchers, and much better armored, a fast battleship in every respect.
Invincible was the seventh ship in the Royal Navy to bear that name, taking it after the earlier battlecruiser that had been built in 1907 and destroyed at Jutland. Now she would face down the Germans again, in the long running naval duel that was collectively the biggest engagement since Admiral Beatty had clashed with the German High Seas Fleet in the last war.
The ship was one of a kind, unmistakable on the sea with her unorthodox silhouette. Two of her three triple-gun turrets were mounted forward of the conning tower, and the third directly behind it, amidships. This meant her engineering sections and twin funnels were pushed aft to the latter third of the ship.
Here I am again, thought Tovey, coming late to the scene, and with old Rodney up to her knees in seawater. Better late than never. Blucher did well by Wellington at Waterloo, and now it’s my time.
The situation looked grim. Renown and Repulse had been the first to Rodney’s aid, two fast battlecruisers that had engaged and compelled the German fleet to turn in order to bring all their guns to bear in the fight. Fortunately for Rodney, that turn had taken the fight west, away from the foundering battleship, and over the horizon. The Germans might have detached one of their ships to put Rodney down, thought Tovey, but they wisely stayed together. Now they’ll outgun Tennant’s battlecruisers 17 to 12, and they have much better armor for that fight.
Yet here I come, running full out, guns ready and right in the thick of things. It looks like Lütjens was just about to pile it on and give Tennant much more than he could handle. Now let’s see him take on someone his own size.
“Second ship sighted!” came the call from the mainmast watch.
“That will be Hindenburg and Bismarck,” said Tovey to Captain Bennett.
“Aye sir,” said the Captain, “and they’ll have us outgunned here as well.”
“Then we must see that we open the engagement well,” said Tovey. “Cool heads but quick action, gentlemen. Give me ten points to starboard and we can get all three turrets into the action. You may indulge yourself. Target the lead ship.”
“Aye sir. Mister Connors!”
The warning bell sounded, and the ship shook with the fires of their opening salvo. Two guns on each of the forward triple gun turrets to test the range. The next salvo would be a three plus two, with the last guns on A and B turret joining with all three guns on X turret behind the conning tower. This unique gun arrangement gave the ship tremendous firepower at angles to either side of the bow, where all nine guns could get into action. By comparison, the twin two-gun turrets on the forward segment of the German battleships saw those ships with their firepower cut in half if they turned to close on the enemy, and Tovey was going to make sure the action started with both sides coming nose to nose, for this very reason.
Tovey knew his ship well, and was maneuvering to use every advantage her unique design could give him. He remembered that very first engagement he fought aboard King Alfred in the Pacific. That ship had her two biggest guns in a forward turret, and so he had espoused a quick dash in like this as the preferred approach in battle.
Now that moment when the ship’s Captain Baker had come up behind him in the officer’s mess aboard the old armored cruiser King Alfred was clear in his mind again. A few of the men had been discussing tactics, and the general consensus was that a good broadside at range was the best possible play in a sudden one-on-one engagement. Armored cruisers were often used in scouting roles, and would often find themselves in small groups, or even alone when they might happen on an enemy ship.
“What? A broadside with six inch guns?” Tovey put in. “Well we’d have to be damn close to hit anything,” he had asserted. “Those casement guns can theoretically range out over 15,000 yards with a heavy charge, but good luck hitting anything that far out. No gentlemen, I’m an advocate of speed at the outset. I’d show the enemy my bow and put on a full head of steam to squeeze every knot out of those boilers I possibly could. Harass them with all our forward facing guns as we come in, then swing round and give them the old broadside well inside 10,000 yards. 8,000 yards would even be better—ideal I should think.” It was a strategy he would put to use in the future, though the ranges involved would change as gun size increased. Tovey would one day end up leading more than one good fight at sea.
“Concentration of firepower is always best, at any range,” came a voice behind him. Tovey had his arms folded and did not know who made the remark, but he batted it aside with the sharp intelligence he would become known for at sea.
“At any range? On my watch I would use my cannon at the best range suited to them. If that means a little reliance on speed and armor to achieve a better firing solution, so be it.” The complete silence after his remark prompted him to turn his head, and there was Captain Baker, lips pursed with disapproval. He had come into the mess hall in the heat of the discussion and threw out the remark to test his young officers.
Later that evening he had summoned Tovey to the bridge and took him aside in the plotting room for a private chat. “See here, Mister Tovey. Concerning your remarks in the officer’s mess this evening… If you chance to contradict another officer ever again, you had bloody well better turn your head first and look the man in the eye so you will know who you’re speaking to.”
“Yes sir. Of course, sir. I’m terribly sorry. I meant no offense.”
“No offense taken, Tovey. This is simply a matter of decorum.”
“Yes sir.”
“Very good then. That will be all.”
“Sir!” Tovey saluted and went to leave, but the Captain scratched his ear, adding one last word.
“You were correct in one thing,” he said quietly.
“Sir?”
“That bit about reliance on speed and armor. I gave it some thought and find it sound advice, depending on the circumstances of course. But just remember that King Alfred is the flagship of this squadron, young man. In that role she will be at the head of her formation and expected to lead the battle line in. So in nine cases out of ten we will not be talking about a single ship broadside, but that of the entire squadron. This is concentration of firepower, Mister Tovey. Don’t forget that.”
Invincible is the fleet flagship now, thought Tovey, and I should be leading in the full power of the Royal Navy, and using that concentration of firepower. Circumstances simply prevent that at the moment.
In that first wild engagement, Tovey had Kent, Bedford, Monmouth, and then the light cruisers Astraea and Flora with him to form that battle line, a long tail of iron on the sea. Now the Admiral of the Fleet was rushing in alone, but he would stick to the tactics he had so ably argued all those years ago, because his ship had all the power of a broadside no matter which way it was facing. Yes, Captain Baker was correct. Concentration of firepower is always best, at any range, and Invincible can give me that every time we fire.
We’ll actually have them nine guns to eight at the outset, he realized. With any luck we can get in our licks before they turn, but no matter what happens, I’m coming at them straight as an arrow. When they do turn their silhouettes will
present much bigger targets for Mister Connors.
The ship’s second salvo fired, the noise even louder now as the three guns behind the conning tower boomed out their challenge. Listen to them now, Mister Baker, he thought with a smile. But dear god, give us the hits.
The almighty, and perhaps even Captain Baker, were listening, and smiling back at him that day. The forward watch soon shouted out the news.
“Straddle! Range is good.”
“Black Five!” said Tovey firmly, ordering a flag sent up that was supposed to act as a signal to other ships in this squadron to fire for effect. The flagman looked at him, as there were no other ships in the squadron, and Captain Bennett gave the man a wink and waved him off, knowing his gunnery officer Connors would know what to do. Soon the ship had all nine guns ready, and Tovey knew what was coming, quietly raising two fingers to his ears. Even through that muffled silence imposed by his fingertips, the roar of nine 16-inch guns came thundering through.
* * *
So now the gloves are coming off at last, thought Lütjens, slowly lowering his field glasses. That was very close. His decks were still awash with sea spray from a row of heavy shells that had raked across his bow. Thankfully, none hit the ship directly, but the rattle of shrapnel clattered on the armor there, and he knew his enemy had found the range.
“Ahead two thirds!” he shouted, and Captain Adler looked at him, hesitating briefly, but wise enough to first relay the order to the helmsman before he questioned it.
“You’re slowing to 20 knots?”
“You saw what just happened, Captain. They’ll be trimming a little range off their last sighting, and if we slow the ship down, and turn slightly, their next salvo should be well short. Use your head!”
Adler took the sting, nodding grimly, and quickly ordering the ship to turn ten points. He finally had his battle, but he realized the Admiral had been correct. He had been so set on getting Axel Faust into action on the main gun turrets, that he was forgetting to maneuver the ship properly. He resolved not to disappoint the Admiral again.
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