“Agreed, sir. I will handle it, and I think now is as good a time as any.” He reported what the Marines had found in the helo bay locker. Volsky nodded gravely, and agreed that the man should be given a decent commemoration.
“I will make a statement to the crew,” he said. “In the meantime, I suggest you steer for this deep water.”
Fedorov consulted a few navigation charts, then had the navigator plot an appropriate course adjustment, and told Nikolin to inform Admiral Tovey that they would need to steer a little to port for a time. So here we are, he thought, caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. He smiled, glad to have finally made a choice in this matter, and started aft again to go and retrieve the object.
Sometime later he had the small radiation safe box in his hand. It is probably not necessary, he thought. Orlov had the damn thing in his pocket for days on end, and with no ill effects. I wonder why he never heard anything—this sound the others are reporting. I hope I’m not wrong about this. What if I toss it overboard, and Tasarov and Dobrynin still report this sound? Then what?
Still, he could think of no good reason to keep the object on the ship, though if it was responsible for catalyzing the shift of Kinlan’s brigade, it was an object of considerable power. Yet it did not seem to act on its own, unless Lenkov’s fate is evidence of that. It needed a nuclear detonation in the future, and then served like some beacon or magnet, opening the breach here in this era. Very strange.
From what we already know, there will be no shortage of nuclear detonations in the future. Thus far we’ve been lucky not to sail through a place where one went off. Gibraltar would have been a most likely candidate for an early ICBM strike, yet we sailed on through the Pillars of Hercules with nothing else following in our wake. At least nothing we know of…
Thank god for that.
He removed the object from the box, staring at it as he felt the cool smoothness of the metal surface, and seeing his own distorted features reflected on its gleaming shape. He suddenly felt a strange sense of dread, and quickly slipped the object into his pocket and started on his way.
Doctor Zolkin had arranged the sea burial for Lenkov off the starboard side, and while the crew focused its attention there, Fedorov made his way to the opposite side of the ship. He consulted his watch, seeing the time was right now. For the next ten minutes they would be over the Peake Deep, and so as the sound of Admiral Volsky’s voice came over the intercom, speaking of Lenkov, and how he served the ship, shared their many days at sea, the good times, and the bad, Fedorov took a deep breath. He took the object out of the box, then hurled the Devil’s Teardrop as far as he could, watching it vanish into the choppy green sea. He did not know if he had chosen rightly, or if he had just secured the doom of the world, or even if this strange object had anything to do with that at all, but he had made his choice.
As he went to rub his hands together to warm them, he was startled to see that his right hand seem to be wrapped in a strange luminescent aura. Then, for the briefest moment, he was aghast to see his hand phase and vanish! Thankfully it reappeared immediately, and he blinked, his heart racing as he flexed his hand to see that it would still work. There was no pain, the light was gone, and all seemed well, but the incident weighed heavily on him, and he did not put that hand into his pocket all that day, in spite of the cold. He wanted to keep an eye on it at all times, afraid he would look and find it missing, and then discover it in a drawer somewhere… Like Lenkov’s legs.
At the same moment Fedorov threw the Teardrop overboard, Lenkov’s body, its two parts finally together again, slipped silently down the ramp and joined the object that had taken his life. Now they would both take the long journey down into the deep trough beneath the ship. Lenkov fell like a grim shadow, descending slowly with the weighted body bag dragging him inexorably down, down, down…
Not far away, the Devil’s Teardrop fell with him, still glittering with eerie light. Then something happened that no one saw, and that no one could ever imagine. Fedorov would never know about it, nor would any other man aboard the ship. The only witness was poor Lenkov, but the old maxim that ‘dead men tell no tales’ was very true, and he would never speak a word of what he had seen.
Chapter 24
Darkness had put an end to the fitful air attacks mounted by HMS Glorious, and the guns were finally silent on Hindenburg. Six enemy planes had been blown from the sky, one small reason for Lütjens to be confident. Yet he was not happy. The fact remained that his task force was now one ship light, with Kaiser Wilhelm forced to detach and return to a French port.
After lingering to see Kaiser Wilhelm off to France, Lütjens had turned northwest. The enemy carrier he had driven off was still in the game, however, and was running on a parallel course. Both sides had planes up sparring with one another, but neither was able to mount a serious threat. Goeben had only three Stukas, and the pilots aboard Glorious were licking their wounds until late on the 5th of May when they came again, just before sunset.
The action had been hot, the AA gunners doing an excellent job against the low flying Swordfish. Two enemy fighters fell to the Goeben air defense screen, and the flak gunners got four Swordfish before it was over. Three enemy torpedoes posed a threat, but all were easily evaded. Yet the incident had Lütjens thinking now, and he was feeling a rising sense of discontent. Goeben had only six fighters. Thus far they had been enough to fend off this single enemy carrier, but he knew the British had several more at sea, at least according to the latest reports out of Group West.
We thought that carriers might be good for little more than scouting operations, thought Lütjens, that and onshore support in the Norwegian operations. Now they have proven to be a principle offensive weapon here! We spend years designing and building these ships, and untold numbers of Deutschmarks. When finished they are the most marvelous warships in the world, yet all it took was a single old plane, obsolete before it was even put in service, and the fastest battlecruiser in the world was hobbled. The fighters off Goeben did a fine job, and the gunners here as well, but fill the sky with enough of those flying fruit crates, and something just may get through.
He shook his head, feeling a strange sense of presentiment, almost as if the fate of Kaiser Wilhelm was predictive, a prelude to what may come. It was May of 1941, a dangerous month for the Kriegsmarine as history might have it, though only the likes of Fedorov would know that.
By now I should be well to the west, joining up with Topp to plan the destruction of the entire British convoy system. This order to turn east again, and seek out this small British force makes no sense.
He had waited for some time for confirmation on that order, and when it finally came it was stark and to the point. REPEAT: ALL UNITS TO LOCATE AND SINK BATTLESHIP RODNEY. NO EXCEPTIONS – THIS ACTION IS OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE. PRESUMED POSITION AND HEADING TO FOLLOW.
Some U-boat Kapitan must have found that ship, thought Lütjens. But what was so important about a single old battleship? Why that ship and not the others that were now surely maneuvering to engage us? Is Raeder so sent on achieving some victory here that he wants us to gang tackle this ship to assure success? Thus far we have killed a couple destroyers and an enemy cruiser, but it cost us Kaiser Wilhelm in the bargain. That ship will live to fight another day, the damage can be easily repaired, but the fact remains that I am one ship light. Perhaps Adler was correct about this enemy aircraft carrier. Am I failing to see something here?
He paced slowly on the bridge, his eyes scanning the dreary horizon. In the Mediterranean, it was those damnable rockets that put the damage on us, and not shells from the enemy guns. And when we struck back, it was the land based planes the enemy feared most. Am I witnessing a sea change in naval tactics and strategy here? Look what the presence of Graf Zeppelin did for us in the Norwegian Sea last year. It was that ship that so bedeviled the British. Yes, our battleships were a real threat, but first blood went to those hot Stuka pilots off the Graf Zeppelin, and that will likely be the case here. Ev
en though Goeben has only nine planes, it has been very useful. Again, it was a Stuka that put that hit on the enemy carrier, not Kaiser Wilhelm. Things are changing. It is no longer the big ships like Hindenburg that will rule the sea, but the aircraft over those waters, and these long range rockets. How long before we have them ourselves?
Lütjens had turned north around midnight, stubbornly thinking he might still meet up with Topp on that course and then continue west. When this last signal came from Group West, firming up his orders to seek out this British battleship, he also learned that Topp had been given the same order. Tirpitz had turned southeast, and if he did not turn as well, he could not rendezvous with the northern task force.
And so, reluctantly, Lütjens turned east on a heading of 080 degrees. As the light faded on the 6th of May, the alarm was sounded again and the gunners ran to man their stations. This time, however, the planes in the sky were friendly. It was a flight of three fighters off Graff Zeppelin, and they were soon dancing in the sky with Marco Ritter above the task force. Topp was getting close.
“Admiral,” said Adler, coming in with the latest status report. “U-556 is still shadowing that British battleship. We have a good fix on its location, heading south. Even if we make only 24 knots they are only about ten hours east of us now. If they continue south, we could possibly intercept them mid-day on the 8th.”
“Where will Topp be if we keep to this heading until dawn?”
“Very close, sir. About sixty miles to our northeast tomorrow morning.”
“And the British?”
“Over a hundred and twenty miles behind us to the west—at least the two battleships that were trying to catch up with Topp.”
“What about that enemy carrier that has been bothering us?”
You mean the ship you failed to order Kaiser Wilhelm to sink, thought Adler, but he was wise enough not to speak his mind.
“Our turn to the east seems to have shaken them off. I don’t think we have anything more to worry about from them, particularly now that we are coming in range of our planes off Graf Zeppelin.”
“And the Invincible?”
“The last information we have is that they have detached a cruiser north, probably to lend additional support to the Rodney group. Two ships were seen by a Kondor out of Spain, and their last known heading was 330.”
Lütjens was plotting out that course on the map room in his mind. Still on an intercept course with us now. Could they know we have turned? Then again, we were steering that course earlier, and they could still be following our presumed track. In any case, it appears we may meet them soon, sometime tomorrow. The only question is whether we should effect a linkup with Topp first. I think this wise.
“Very well,” he said. “Yes, Adler, I have been thinking about that British aircraft carrier. Perhaps you were correct. If I had ordered Kaiser Wilhelm to go in for the kill, we might not be worrying about it now. Then again, we both saw what happened. Where is the Kaiser? Back in a French port, and with a good stomach ache. So my caution was not without merit either.”
“Of course, sir,” said Adler. “Yet now the situation has changed. Graf Zeppelin has a full complement of aircraft—twelve more fighters to go with the six we have on Goeben, and another thirty Stukas! Nothing can stop us now. Nothing.”
“Are you forgetting what happened in the Mediterranean?” Lütjens wagged a finger. “We had plenty of land based air cover, but they could do nothing against those naval rockets. This is why we must keep an eye out for this British flagship. You say those two heavy ships are still steering 330? We must confirm that. Send a message to Goeben and see if they can locate that ship. If we can strike it with those Stukas, and eliminate it early on, then we can take these rockets out of the equation here. After that, I will share your confidence and enthusiasm, Adler, but not before.”
“Agreed, sir. That would be best. But how many rockets can the British have on a single warship? Once we join with Topp, we will have ten ships, the most powerful task force to sail these waters in decades.”
“Suppose they have twenty missiles,” said Lütjens. “You saw what they can do, Kapitan. It took us hours to put out those fires, and months to repair the damage. It was uncanny how they seemed to leap at us, just before they struck the ship, and avoided our main belt armor.”
“This time things may be different, sir, if Koenig’s hydraulics actually work.”
The time in the docks at Toulon had been put to good use aboard Hindenburg. Chief Engineer Viktor Koenig had been shaking his head at the damage to the superstructure, and wondering how he could increase protection there. They were lucky that there had been fresh secondary batteries available, waiting on the trains for delivery to the Oldenburg, but diverted south to Toulon for Hindenburg instead. And he had also managed to pilfer a good deal of excess armor in storage for that ship, and had several tons left over when the repairs were complete. He came up with an ingenious idea that he could mount these armor plates on sections of the deck, raising them with hydraulics when needed to provide several inches of armor protection to the main superstructure that had been so severely damaged earlier. When not in use, Hindenburg would also have a much thicker hide against plunging shell hits in those sections.
The extra weight shaved off just a little speed, but with her great beam, Hindenburg still handled well, and rode easily, even in very heavy seas.
Armor, thought Lütjens, we certainly have that in abundance now. But it was not merely the structural damage that compelled me to break off that last engagement, it was those terrible fires. If we are hit like that again… And we never once set eyes on the ship that fired at us. That was the most frightening part of that battle. How do you kill something that is not even on your horizon? What good are these massive gun turrets if they have no targets? He looked up again, hearing the drone of the fighters swirling in the skies over his task force.
Graf Zeppelin… The carrier…. That ship was now the most important vessel in the entire navy, and it was humbling to realize this. With the carrier he had much greater situational awareness, and the same long range over the horizon striking power that his adversary had. The Stukas had proven to be most able threats, particularly against more lightly armored ships. We very nearly destroyed the entire British battlecruiser squadron in that engagement up north. Then again, if we had stayed in the fight in the Med, this ship might not even be here now… another humbling thought.
Things have changed. Hoffmann was correct. The entire character of naval warfare at sea has taken a pivot, and we failed to see it coming. Koenig is rigging out makeshift steel plates to try and compensate for our short sightedness. The carriers will mean everything now, and any surface warship without these naval rockets will be at a decided disadvantage. Everything has changed, yet in the meantime, we must fight with the ships we have…
He thought of that fluttering old Swordfish torpedo bomber again, obsolete before it was even introduced, and realized that may very well apply to his own ship now, the pride of the fleet. He looked at his Kapitan, a haunted look in his eyes as he spoke.
“So you will soon get your battle, Adler. This is all or nothing now. It is time to fight. I intend to find this British battleship, sink it, and then turn to do the same to anything following us. We will fight to the last shell here if need be. See that Eisenberg is ready on the guns!”
“That is what I have been waiting for you to say all along, Admiral. Have no fear! We will win through. I promise you this.”
Lütjens smiled as Adler saluted and rushed off to see to the ship. He was like a steed that had been given free rein, and now he wanted to gallop into battle as soon as possible. The smile faded on Lütjens’ face as he watched his Kapitan go, and his eyes darkened with that odd feeling that had plagued him all morning. He could feel the rising adrenaline in his chest, though all about him the sea was clear and calm, and nothing threatened his ships.
But he could feel something was very wrong here, a strange sensa
tion that was almost a tangible thing, something he might hear on the wind, or in the depths of the ocean, something moaning, lost, dangerous. What was it? He listened, but could hear nothing beyond the normal sounds of the ship, running smoothly at 24 knots now, the sturdy bow cutting the sea with little effort. He could hear nothing amiss, but he could feel it, sense it, a persistent sensation of rising danger.
I must be getting old, he thought. Am I getting butterflies in the belly now that the ship is heading into combat soon? I am Admiral of the Fleet!
That afternoon two seaplanes off his own ship set off to look for the British flagship. They searched down a heading of 120 southeast, and neither one would return. The radio man came running onto the bridge an hour later saying the planes had seen the one thing that was haunting Lütjens now.
“Rockets in the sky, Admiral! That was the last report we have from the Arados. Both our seaplanes are gone!”
So they were out there, he thought. 120 southeast. “How far out were those planes when they last reported?”
“About 280 miles, sir. They were just about to turn back.”
So there is your confirmation, thought Lütjens. They are still steering 330, coming at us as if they know exactly where we are. That was another odd thing about these engagements. The British seemed to have eyes everywhere. Well, if my seaplanes have spotted them at this range, then they could do the same. But there have been no reports of any further enemy planes, and we still have six fighters overhead. How are they seeing us? Could they have submarines out here too, or is this just good British seamanship? Probably the latter, he thought.
He looked at his watch. If they are coming fast, then Adler will be busy sooner than we think. He walked to the plotting table, looking at the lines drawn to indicate the converging courses. The task force was at 24 knots, and the enemy was easily making at least that speed. This meant the two sides might be converging at nearly 50 nautical miles per hour. Those 280 miles would diminish rapidly. In just under six hours he might have the enemy on his horizon, right near dawn. Then we will see what the sky holds for us, a good sunrise, or the tails of those cursed naval rockets. He did not have long to wait, and it would be a fitful night’s sleep before he got his answer.
Paradox Hour Page 21
