Kirov k-1

by John Schettler

  “But before it comes to such a weighty decision, we will have much to think about. Much to plan and consider. The Captain made an interesting point earlier when he suggested that a prudent and measured application of force at just the right place and time may be all that is necessary to make the world our country lives in just a little better in our day if we should choose to do so. That said, it is the British we must nudge, and perhaps the Americans. Most of the German army is deep inside Russia now. Only our ten cruise missiles could range that far, and then only if we were firing from the Baltic Sea. I do not think we will go there. What impact would we have? It would be like throwing stones at ants. We will not easily change the situation on the eastern front. And yes, we don't fight for Stalin in any case. Who would fight for that man knowing what we now know about him? But there will be a Russia after he is gone, and there will be one seventy years from now, even if none of us may ever live to see her again…”

  They stood in silence for some time, their eyes downcast, each man lost in his own inner thoughts, thinking of home, thinking of girlfriends, wives, mothers, children that they would never see again. How long could they last? How much pain would they inflict before that awful moment when the final decision came to end it? How many of them would live out this year, or the next? All of these thoughts ran through their minds, a haunting chorus of unanswered questions and riddles with no end.

  They all seemed to share that cup of toska together now, yet it was something only Karpov would not drink. There was no one back home to miss him now. All he left behind was his own closeted life, and the creaking system that had grown up in Russia during the arduous second “great depression” of the early 21st century. In some ways he felt adrift now, like a ship that had been moored at harbor, rusting away, suddenly swept out to sea in a raging storm. All the mooring lines were cut, their anchor lost, as they were lost now on a sea that seemed all too familiar, although it was a world of complete unknowns.

  While the others felt the yearning nostalgic sadness of toska, Karpov’s reaction was more one of anxiety. He had been creeping and climbing through that old system back home for some time, and had come to know its every nook and cranny. Like a mouse in a mansion, he knew where to find the bread crumbs on the old kitchen floor, and where to find the cheese. All of that was gone now, and it left him strangely afraid as his mind felt its way through the sea of shadows that hid their immediate future from them. But there were possibilities in those shadows, he knew, and opportunities.

  To calm that thrum of fear in his chest, the Captain was soon thinking of something else, his mind occupied with the immediacy of their situation. The British had a good look at them just now, and as much as he hated to admit it, Fedorov had been correct. They will soon be marshalling their resources to hunt for them. Karpov was already thinking what they might do about that when the Admiral led them forward again with the same thought.

  “On the other hand,” said Volsky. “We are a naval fighting ship, and in this we have the power to considerably affect the conduct of the war at sea in the Atlantic if we choose to do so. But we must take things slowly, as the good doctor says. Should we fight here? For either side? If we do, then what do we propose to accomplish? We must give ourselves a little breathing room first, and time to think on these things. We could stay up here, in the cold Arctic sea. It is not much traveled, and we're fast enough to keep well ahead of anything that tries to run us down.”

  “But there is not much room to maneuver here,” said Karpov, his mind sizing up their predicament from a tactical perspective. “The temptation to return home to Severomorsk will be very great, particularly when the winter comes in just a few months. This will be a very cruel place to live and fight.”

  “Then we are faced with the prospect of breaking out into the Atlantic,” said the Admiral. “If we do so, we must move south. Word is only now just reaching the British Admiralty, as you suggest, Mister Fedorov. We are in a good position to transit the Denmark Strait. I think it best that we run on through and out into the Atlantic. With our knowledge of the history we can keep ahead of the enemy for some time. I do not think we will suffer the fate of Bismarck, hunted down and killed in just a few days time. Eventually we might work our way down into the South Atlantic and around the Cape of Good Hope into the Indian Ocean. Those waters are less traveled as well, and therefore less dangerous. Perhaps we could look for one of those little islands Doctor Zolkin was talking about. We have unlimited fuel in our nuclear reactors, but we must also keep our bellies full, yes? There is food aboard for thirty days or more, but eventually we will have to seek a landfall somewhere to replenish our stocks, and I do not think we can sail into any port nearby, yes? But for now, one thing at a time, let us get to the Denmark Strait and out into the North Atlantic. I'm tired of this cold gray place.”

  “You propose we turn this ship into a simple convoy raider? Or worse, that we just slink off to the Indian Ocean?” Karpov tapped his fingernail on the table as he spoke, a habit he had when ready to argue a point.

  “I would not underestimate the impact of a convoy raider,” said Fedorov, “assuming we did decide to oppose the British. The Germans had a few very successful sorties. Not every ship suffered Bismarck’s fate. The Admiral Scheer sunk well over 100,000 tons before making it safely back to a friendly port. Scharnhorst and Gneisenau fought well together, and there were others like the raider Atlantis and the armed commercial ship Penguin that made remarkable sorties.”

  “Yes, and none of them mattered in the long run,” said Karpov. “We could cruise out into the middle of the Atlantic and become little more than a rock in the stream. They would simply divert convoys to the north and south of our position. And even if we pursued them, we could sink sixty merchant ships before our missile inventory would be expended, or even a hundred ships considering our deck guns, and it would all have little real impact on the war. We do not have a friendly port to go home to and replenish our ammunition. Every U-boat the Germans put to sea had no effect in the end, and they sank considerably more than a hundred ships, yes?”

  “In that you are correct, sir. The U-boats sank nearly 2800 ships, accounting for about 70 % of all allied ship losses in the war.”

  “And look what good it did them. No. If we want to have any real impact on events then we must work to bring about a situation where the power we have will be feared and respected by our enemies to a point where they may be willing to negotiate.”

  “Negotiate? What do you mean, Captain?” asked the Admiral. “Do you expect Great Britain and the United States to surrender to this ship?”

  Karpov hesitated, as if unwilling to reveal the full dimension of his thinking, but he continued. He glanced briefly at Orlov, but the Chief seemed lost in some inner muse, listening, but eyes averted as he fiddled with a folded pocket knife.

  “This ship is not merely a tactical threat to the allied sea lanes. Our sea power does not rely solely on our limited ship-to-ship missile inventory, or our speed, or the fact that we can out think and out maneuver our enemies. We also pose a strategic threat, and this is irrefutable. You spoke earlier about certain weapons we possess, Admiral, weapons that we must not use, and weapons that we must allow no other to use as well. But understand this, the Americans, Germans, and Russians are even now in the early stages of their programs that will eventually lead to the development of the atomic bomb. The first detonation is only a few years away. If we use just a single warhead, and demonstrate the power that we have, our words may then speak as loud as our guns and missiles. And we do not have to destroy London or New York to make a demonstration of this power. A deserted rock like Bear Island will do just fine or, if you prefer a warmer clime, perhaps a deserted Caribbean island. The British and Americans will be our most formidable foe if we move into the Atlantic, and they are the ones we must persuade, to put it lightly.”

  “I agree with the Captain,” said Orlov, stirring from his reverie. “With all due respect, Admiral, a demo
nstration such as he proposes would put fear into the hearts of our enemies, and give them pause before they set loose their navy or even think of hunting us down. For the moment we are an unknown, a ghost ship, and we have not done much harm aside from frightening off an old destroyer. But if we cruise out into the Atlantic, we will have a knife to the jugular of Britain's lifeline.” He flicked open his pocket knife, illustrating his point. “We have just given them a little shove on the shoulder, that is all, but if they push back? Fedorov is correct, the British will defend those convoy routes, the Royal Navy will fight, unless we convince them that to do so would be suicidal. But how to accomplish this?”

  The Admiral thought deeply. “I believe I just might have a solution, gentlemen. That book you lent me was very enlightening, Mister Fedorov. I did some reading myself, and it seems to me there is an event of considerable significance looming on the near horizon, assuming this is 1941. And I think we are finally coming to an agreement on that. A small notation caught my eye beginning August 9, 1941. On that day President Roosevelt and Churchill meet on board the British battleship Prince of Wales and the heavy US cruiser Augusta in Argentia Bay, Newfoundland for the proclamation of the Atlantic Charter. If I am not mistaken, this agreement forms the basis of what became known as the United Nations in our day. Some believe it also underlies the foundation of NATO, the two demons that continue to haunt us in our day, yes? This being the case, we may find ourselves in the interesting position of being able to kill two birds with one stone, and influence both the past as well as the present we have come from.”

  “Roosevelt and Churchill?” said Karpov, his eyes brightening. “Do you realize what we could do?”

  “I realize all too well what we could do, what this ship is capable of doing if we chose to operate her aggressively,” said the Admiral. “But as you yourself argued so ably, Captain, we must be judicious, careful, and plan it well. And yes, words may speak as loud as our weapons in time. I will be relying on each and every one of you in the days ahead. But now hear this, gentlemen. My order concerning the use of nuclear weapons is this: There will be no deployment or use except on my expressed order. Yet I will consider what we have discussed here, and who knows,” he smiled. “Perhaps Mister Roosevelt and Churchill would like a front row seat to the theater. We must consider this situation carefully.”

  Chapter 14

  July 31, 1941

  That evening the Admiralty was abuzz with the electrifying news of the sighting of another large German raider out near Jan Mayen. What could it be? Latest intelligence indicated Tirpitz was laid up at Kiel for repairs, but the Fleet Air Arm was immediately ordered to send two Beaufort fighter bombers to have another look. In the meantime, First Sea Lord, Admiral Dudley Pound was taking no chances. He was on the phone to Scapa Flow, using the long red line that had stretched from London over the Scottish Highlands for decades, hopping buoys as it finally left the land and reached out to the command Flagship of Fleet Admiral Sir John Tovey aboard King George V.

  Admiral John “Jack” Tovey looked at the list of all his available ships that morning. A professional man, well schooled in the operational arts and dedicated to the Navy from an early time in his life, Tovey was an amiable, quick to smile, but just as likely to redden up with a temper when things did not suit him. Strong-willed and highly disciplined, he could be relentless when focused on a mission or a particular naval objective. Yet in the heat of battle his one great virtue was that he would remain cool under fire in spite of the temper that he was all too willing to show if things did not go as he expected.

  A natural leader, Tovey was a student of tactics and ship handling, as capable a captain as the Royal Navy possessed until he was promoted to acting Admiral of the Home Fleet. He was a sea going admiral, seeing the duty aboard ship as essential to morale. What was good enough for his sailors was good enough for him, and his men had both great admiration and respect for him. The man at sea, he believed, had the best information at hand to make a decision in any engagement. As such he sometimes resented the overweening interference by desk laden officers in the Admiralty, including the First Sea Lord, Admiral Pound, who had a predilection for sticking his thumb in the pie whenever possible.

  This evening he was looking at the long list of ships still operational under his command, still the most extensive and well armed navy in all of Europe, and by a considerable margin. He had all of fifteen battleships, with one sunk and one consigned to the far east, leaving thirteen of the big ships in theater. Admittedly, it was an aging fleet, but still imposing on paper. Only three on the list would be considered modern battleships by 1941, his own flagship King George V, and her sister ships Prince of Wales and Duke Of York, the latter still running through trials. He wouldn’t even have that third ship were it not for Churchill’s earlier urging that the Germans were up to something in their shipyards and the Royal Navy had better be ready to answer. Two more ships in that class would come on the line later in the war, Anson and Howe, but these three were the only true fast battleships he had in hand, and that said, they could make only 28 knots on a good day. For modern ships they had very little range but compensated with decent firepower and very good protection.

  The heart of his fleet, however, were the ships laid down before or during the Great War, all aging, yet proven and capable designs, even if they looked somewhat antiquated with their reverse inclined bows and stodgy smokestacks. He had three Revenge class battleships and five in the Queen Elizabeth class. They could plod along at 18 to 21 knots under normal circumstances, but had good firepower with their 15 inch guns. The two Nelson Class battleships were the only ships in the fleet carrying larger 16 inch guns. With an ungainly design they were well armored yet also slow at a maximum speed of 23 knots. For all practical purposes, these ten ships would be excellent convoy escorts, enough to deter lighter and faster German raiders, and also capable of standing with anything bigger.

  Tovey also had a small squadron of fast battlecruisers, once led by the pride of the fleet, the mighty HMS Hood. A little over 60 days ago, Bismarck had run this stalwart knight thru with a fatal lance from her fearsome 15 inch guns, and put Hood, along with Admiral Sir Lancelot Holland, at the bottom of the Denmark Strait. The Renown and Repulse were the last of the British battlecruisers, with a little less firepower, carrying only six 15 inch guns for the extra speed that gave them. Yet, their speed alone made these ships suitable for hunting and interception roles, and he could pair these lighter ships with his three King George V class battleships to form fast search and intercept groups capable of confronting and dealing with any known German raider. The campaign against Bismarck proved that, even though both Hood and Prince of Wales had a rough time of it in that first, awful engagement.

  This role would be ably supported by divisions of strong and capable cruisers, both heavy and light, and these ships could serve as escorts to any convoy or capital ship squadron he put to sea. They were also excellent as picket line scouts along the main breakout corridors used by the Germans. At any given time a string of cruisers stretched from Iceland to Scapa Flow, plying the seas with forward searching radars and the eyes of many able seamen.

  Tovey also made good use of his fleet of aircraft carriers, though these were lighter ships carrying anywhere from sixteen to fifty planes, mostly old bi-planes: Swordfish torpedo bombers or other search aircraft, and a few Fairey Fulmar dive bombers. They had only a fraction of the striking power of the bigger modern carriers in the Japanese or American navies, but they served him well as escorts, hunters at sea, and could manage a sting or two if their torpedo squadrons could close with an inviting target.

  In all it was a capable fleet given the primary role it had in securing the vital Atlantic shipping lanes. If anything, it lacked speed in its heavy ship elements, and range. Yet the Royal Navy made up for its deficiencies by sheer weight and quantity, and the considerable experience it had at sea. It tripled the size of the German Fleet, even though it mostly sailed with older de
signs. Yet Tovey still had to assign ships to Cunningham in the Eastern Med, and Somerville at Gibraltar, and this thinned out the ranks of capital ships available for home waters and Atlantic operations. God forbid that he should ever lose Gibraltar. The Rock was the gateway to the Med, and an excellent dual purpose base. Ships there in Force H under Somerville could sortie to aid Cunningham in the Eastern Med, or venture out into the Atlantic, particularly to cover the French ports or receive southbound convoy traffic.

  His Chief of Staff, Patrick “Daddy” Brind would be in shortly with the latest reports, and together they would plan the fate of Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, the next two German raiders on his list for quick elimination. At present they were both holed up in the French port of Brest on the Atlantic coast, and that is precisely where he wanted to keep them. Yet when Brind arrived he was all in a fluster, a fistful of cable intercepts in his hand and a look approaching shock on his face.

  “I'm afraid there's some bad news this evening, sir,” said Brind. “It seems we have more than Scharnhorst and Gneisenau to worry about. A new German raider was spotted southwest of Jan Mayen earlier today. The signal suggests it might be Tirpitz, or possibly a Hipper class cruiser again. We got a Beaufort reconnaissance flight off to have another look at Kiel, but it will be some time before we hear on that. Something is up, sir, and we're going to have to be on our toes up are going to catch up with it.”

  Brind laid out a map on the table, leaning heavily on one hand as he gestured. “The Norwegian weather team on Jan Mayen also reported the landing of an odd aircraft with a squad of marines. The men said nothing, searched the place and then left. Very strange, sir. Wake-Walker is up there with Force P, and he forwarded the report yesterday. Perhaps it was a search plane off this new raider, wanting to make sure they had not been spotted passing the island. A Fulmar off Victorious overflew the contact yesterday and gave a confused report. The pilot thought it looked like a heavy cruiser, except for the guns.”