Grand Alliance (Kirov Series)

by John Schettler

  “There was something in the tea for all of us, or so it seems,” said Tovey by way of comforting her. “Admiral Cunningham got the bitter dregs , no sugar and double lemon.”

  “Yes sir, and he also became a member of the Watch in the history I knew, as did the other man you mentioned, Admiral Fraser. And you haven’t mentioned him, but I know about Alan Turing. All Watchstanders are given the whole history when they are inducted.”

  “A fascinating fellow,” said Tovey. “Yes, Turing and I have been thick as thieves.”

  “Well now…. There is something else I must tell you about this device I mention.” She reached into her pocket now, and produced what looked like a typewritten page, handing it slowly to the Admiral. “I found this note in a compartment within the device itself.”

  Tovey took the note and scanned the page quietly: “Should you read this your mission will have concluded as planned. Keep this device within a secure room aboard Argos Fire at all times and it will serve to hold you in a safe nexus. As of this moment, you are now Watchstander G1. Godspeed.” His eye lingered on the typewritten signature, his own name plain to see.

  “Curious,” said Tovey. “I have no recollection of ever writing this note, but seeing these words now gives me an odd feeling that I did write this, odd as that may sound.”

  “Admiral, there’s more to all this than I was able to share in our full meeting. This device I was led to. I believe it did not originate in our own time. In fact, I believe it was brought here from the future.”

  “The future? By whom?”

  “I haven’t determined that, but your name was on the list, as you can see by the presence of that note there in the device itself.”

  “Well,” said Tovey. “I might also share something odd with you, Miss Fairchild. It concerns our Mister Turing. It seems this isn’t the only piece of paper my name has been put to. He told me he had come across something most unusual in the archive at Bletchley Park.”

  Most unusual indeed, he thought. And he told her about the box of files, reports and photographs, intelligence gathered in years he had not yet even lived—in 1941 and 1942, and yet his name, his signature, was right there on them all, and to his great amazement.

  “Turing and I had a good long talk about those files. They had to come from somewhere, and when I presented the matter to the Russians they believed the files might have been brought here, just as you say that box was brought here, from the future. Only I assumed that was from the time the Russians lived in. It never occurred to me that this whole affair may go both directions—deep into the future even as it has come here, into your past—our present.”

  “Yes,” said Elena. “Those fissures in time that Director Kamenski mentioned. What makes us think they only move in one direction?” She folded her arms. “There it is—that note was brought here by someone, right along with that device, and now I need a good stiff drink! Care to join me?”

  Chapter 11

  The Italians had not been idle during the conference off Crete. By the time Invincible rejoined the main battlegroup, fleet reconnaissance off the carrier Eagle had spotted a large enemy force at sea southeast of Messina. At least six large capital ships were reported, and though the British did not know the exact ships involved, they were able to take a good guess. In fact, the battleships Roma, Venetto and Littoro had just transited the Strait of Messina, sailing to join Andrea Doria, Duilio and Conte Cavour from Taranto, with four heavy cruisers, several light cruisers and fourteen destroyers.

  Far to the northwest, the Vichy French would contribute another powerful fleet led by the pride of their navy, the battleship Normandie, battlecruisers Strasbourg and Dunkerque, with two heavy and four light cruisers, and ten destroyers. Admiral Jean de Laborde was in command, a man who placed little faith in Darlan, liking him even less. Yet he also loathed the British, and the actions off Mers el Kebir and Dakar had made him a determined foe.

  Strong enough on its own this second fleet was even more potent with the addition of the Germans task force arriving from Gibraltar. Admiral Lütjens still sailed independently, but he was within close supporting distance to the French fleet with Bismarck and Hindenburg, escorted by their light carrier Goeben and the new fast battlecruiser Kaiser. This combined force was still in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and heading south.

  Tovey and Cunningham were quick to appreciate the advantage this situation now presented them. They determined that it was now or never if they were to have any chance in this engagement, and the British fleet mustered some 300 kilometers southeast of Syracuse. As they expected, the enemy was not without eyes in the sky as well, and the threat of preemptive air strikes was the first attack they encountered.

  The Italians had put up three SM-79 Squadrons for their initial attack, about 60 planes in all with escorting fighters, and they would soon be supported by the thickening presence of German aircraft. The boast made by Volsky and Captain MacRae concerning fleet air defense would soon be put to the test. Kirov received word of the initial incoming strike wave at 08:00 hours on the morning of January 31, 1941. Admiral Volsky was on the bridge when Rodenko reported the data feed had been sent by Argos Fire.

  “So it seems the British Sampson is as good as they claim,” said Volsky. “We have not picked up those planes with our own Fregat system yet.”

  “We will in five minutes,” said Rodenko.

  “Yes, but five minutes is an eternity in modern combat. Thankfully we will not be fighting the British today. What is our situation?”

  “It looks to be a fairly large formation, sir. At least sixty planes.”

  “Sixty? Mister Samsonov? What is our SAM inventory?”

  “Sir… We have 25 S-400 Triumf missiles ready in silos, 94 missiles on the Klinok system, and 50 Kashtan missiles still available with the close in defense systems.”

  “Very well, we will open the defense at long range as promised. Salvo of five S-400s please. This is something the British cannot do, eh Rodenko? No matter how good their radar is, it hardly matters if their Sea Vipers can only provide a defense out to 30 kilometers. Our S-400s can fire now, and even our Klinok system more than doubles the range of the British missiles. The ship will come to Air Alert One. You will fire on my command, Mister Samsonov.”

  There seemed a weariness in the Admiral’s tone, which Rodenko perceived at once when Volsky settled into his chair, his heavy features clouded over with inner thought. It’s not his tooth this time, thought Rodenko, it’s this endless war. We’ve already fought our way through 1941 and 1942, not to mention that little sortie to 1908! Then we back stepped to 1940, and here we are back in 1941 all over again. The Admiral is tired, and not just of standing his watch here on the bridge. It’s the killing that bothers him most, which is something that never preyed on Karpov’s mind. That said, I’d rather have Volsky here in command. Karpov knew no limits, and for all his tactical prowess, his hubris continually put the ship at grave risk. I wonder what would have happened in that final battle against Togo if Kazan hadn’t pulled us out of the borscht?

  Rodenko looked at his bridge crew, as he was now acting Captain in Fedorov’s absence. The men were still fresh and ready for anything. Tasarov was listening under his ASW headset, in spite of the liability with the loss of their bow dome sonar. The towed array was still an order of magnitude better than anything of this era, and he had every confidence that the submarine threat could be answered. And Samsonov was his old self, stalwart, broad shouldered strength with lightning quick reactions, like a good heavyweight at the CIC. He had circulated among the crew, and found them to be remarkably buoyant with Volsky back at the helm. The shadow that Karpov had cast had lifted, and the men seemed eager for the coming fight. But what of the ship itself?

  Kirov was holding up as well as might be expected. Their reactors and propulsion systems had been running smoothly, in spite of a brief glitch just before Fedorov departed on the KA-40. The hull repairs were holding up, but would need attention soon. As the British
fleet could make no more than 20 to 24 knots, speed was not an issue now, and so the stress on the hull was lessened. The crew had just completed a full inspection and maintenance evolution on all weapons, and Kirov was ready for action. There was only one concern Rodenko still had in mind, their missile inventory. It still seemed ample now, but he noted that Volsky was committing only five of the S-400s here, and knew they would switch to the Klinok system soon after this salvo.

  His new radar man on the watch caught his eye, and he knew they now have solid contacts with the Fregat system. So Rodenko notified Admiral Volsky, and soon they were watching the first missiles fire from the long, forward deck. Off they went, the five fingers of doom, a fist of supersonic fire and steel that would soon catch the Italian bomber formations well before they could ever expect to be targeted. The enemy learned this lesson from us once, thought Rodenko. The British adapted fairly well, and the Japanese too. Let’s see how the Italians learn. That air defense fire was at fairly close range over the Suez canal when we arrived in theater. This time we’re hitting them nearly 300 kilometers out. They are probably still forming up after takeoff from their bases. The shock is going to be very telling here.

  It was. They watched the digital track of the five missiles as they traveled unerringly to the target zone. Rodenko was counting down the range, until he saw Volsky raise a finger. So he waited, allowing an interval of silence until the missiles were on target. Then he leaned over the radar display, waiting for the system to refresh. He could already see that the S-400 attack had the effect of poking a bee hive with a sturdy stick. The once regular contact formations had disintegrated into a confused scatter. He waited for the digital readout, then reported.

  “Admiral, Fregat system now reports 42 contacts still airborne. The strike had taken down an astounding eighteen planes. Perhaps not all of those were kills, Rodenko knew. The S-400 had a very wide blast radius for its fragmentation rods. It likely damaged enough wings, rudders and canopies to thin the herd, though he knew they had probably killed half the planes that were now unaccounted for in the contact count. Some would be limping back to base now, and outside our coverage zone. I wonder what they will have to say to their wing leaders when they hit the ground?

  “Contact reorganizing and continuing on a projected intercept course,” said Rodenko. “Range now 220 kilometers at about 4500 meters altitude. Speed increasing to 400kph.”

  The Savoia-Marchetti SM-79 Sparviero, or “Sparrowhawk” was a fast and durable three engine airframe, often called the “Hunchback” by the men who flew it, because of its distinctive dorsal hump on the forward superstructure near the canopy. Though it looked awkward, it had set pre-war speed records, and was really a fast and reasonably agile plane in combat. But its duralumin and plywood skin was easily penetrated by the fragmentation warheads of a good SAM, and not one missile fired would fail to find a target. It would simply come down to how many missiles could be used here, and Volsky had decided he would only spare five of the precious S-400s.

  “Ready on Klinok system,” said Volsky. “Twelve missiles please, three salvos of four each, and you may launch at your best maximum range.”

  They would wait until the enemy formation was inside 80 kilometers before Samsonov caught Rodenko’s eye, his hand hovering over the firing toggle.

  “Effective range now,” said Rodenko. “You may fire.”

  The claxon rang, the deck erupted with white smoke, and the missiles streaked away to find the unseen enemy. A more selective weapon, each missile would vector in on a single plane, with a much tighter fragmentation burst. Kirov would quickly trade those twelve missiles for fifteen SM-79 bombers, and Rodenko reported the updated situation report as before.

  “Fifteen enemy planes confirmed down, but our radar count now reports only 25 aircraft still inbound. I show two other planes aborting, most likely with secondary damage.”

  “Very well,” said Volsky heavily. “Contact the British destroyer. Tell them we have thinned the herd as promised and will now turn the engagement over to them. Let us see how their Sea Viper does. We have already given the fleet a nice little spectacle.”

  They would have to wait another five minutes for the Sparrowhawks to come into what Kirov would call a close defense range. To the British, it was the outer limit of their Aster-15 missile at 30 kilometers. The Aster-30 could do better at 120 kilometers, but MacRae had waited to use his shorter range system. In truth, he could have fired much sooner with his Aster-30 missiles, but had decided not to speak of those in the briefing. The last time he had used that particular missile, he had been firing at Russian SU-24s! Now here he was all chummy with the Russian battlecruiser.

  “No doubt they enjoyed lording it over us on the range of those missiles,” he said to his Executive Officer Dean.

  “That first salvo was most likely their S-300 system,” said Dean.

  “Or the S-400s. Damn impressive. What was their secondary battery?”

  “Most likely the SA-N-92 Gauntlet system, sir. About 80 Kilometer range.”

  “Good enough, but our Aster-30 will beat that, eh?”

  “It will indeed, sir. Any reason why we aren’t using them?”

  MacRae gave him a wry smile. “I told the Russians we would cover at 30 klicks, and said nothing of the Aster-30. We’ve only 50 of those left. Our missile count on the Aster-15 is much higher. It’s always wise to keep something under your kilts, Mister Dean. The CIC will activate forward deck Sea Viper system, number fifteen please, and standby.”

  “Aye, sir, Sea Viper-15 activating and standing by. The ship is now at Air One.”

  “Prosecute your contacts.”

  “Sir, aye sir!”

  “Mister Boyle. You will switch to control guidance and feed target data to the Vipers from the Sampson system.” Normally the Aster was an autonomous system that would use its own RF seeker to find and prosecute its target. But Dean realized that planes of this era would not be “emitting” on any of the typical spectrums the missiles would sniff. He was turning the whole engagement over to Sampson. So where Kirov placed the man by that name at the CIC, the British high domed radar set would be coordinating their strike, in close cooperation with the CIC computers.

  The missiles began to fire, lance quick into the sky. They were extremely fast and agile, and there was no way any plane was ever going to spoof them or out maneuver them, no matter how good the pilot was. Twelve were fired, and they all found planes. The last baker’s dozen left alive in the SM-79 strike had seen enough and finally lost their stomach for the fight. They turned around and dove low for home.

  “Enemy contacts breaking off and now outbound.” Dean updated the sitrep and waited.

  “Secure Viper system,” MacRae ordered. “But the ship will remain at action stations. That may not be all they throw our way. Signal the Russian ship and give them our kind regards. How many more of those long range SAMs you figure they have, Mister Dean?”

  “Full loadout would be 64 missiles, sir, but we’ve no way of knowing how many they’ve used up until now.”

  No we don’t, do we, thought MacRae, and that’s what bothers me. But he said nothing of this, turning the bridge over to Dean to go below. He wanted to check on the situation below the forward deck, and see how the crew was settling in to this full wartime status. Yet the question still nagged at him like an itch he could not reach, so he caught hold of Mack Morgan in a corridor and voiced it again.

  “We know this ship tangled with the Americans in the Pacific, right? Well at the briefing we heard they mixed it up pretty well here before they came to their senses and sided with us. Why would we not know about those engagements? Wouldn’t they be history to us from where we were back in 2021?”

  Morgan did not quite know what to say. He had never considered the question and had no immediate answer for MacRae.

  “Good point there, Gordie, if you don’t mind my using the handle.”

  “Not here, between the two of us, but in front of the
crew you’ll stick to Captain.”

  “Aye, sir,” Morgan gave him his toothy white smile. “Well what about that Nexus talk Miss Fairchild laid on us.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well the lady said we were in some kind of Nexus point as I recall it. And to be honest, who had their nose in the history books with all that was going on these last few weeks.”

  “True,” said MacRae, “but you haven’t forgotten who led the assault at D-Day, did you?”

  “Good old Monty.”

  “Yes, but the Yanks will say it was Eisenhower.”

  “Let them. Monty was the de facto commander on the ground.”

  “That’s the point I’m making, Mack. If this damn Russian ship raised hell with the Royal Navy in 1941, then why don’t I remember ever hearing about it in school?”

  “You’d best ask her ladyship,” said Morgan.

  “I’ve missiles to look after for the moment.”

  But MacRae made it a point to ask when he could, and was never quite happy with the answer he got from Elena.

  Chapter 12

  Tovey was on the bridge of HMS Invincible, watching the missiles score the blue sky with their white tails. The spectacle seemed to stir a memory within him, and not of the missiles he had seen in the recent North Atlantic engagement, or above Suez. No. It was something deeper, that odd feeling again, just as he felt it welling up when he heard the word Geronimo. Miss Fairchild’s mention of the Watch also had the same effect on him, and he was thinking deeply about that note she had handed him.

  The woman seemed convinced that this device, as she called it, had come from the future—not her own future, but years even more lost and distant beyond her time. The conclusion they had come to, that the fractures in time might extend in both directions, was most disturbing. Yet that was not what bothered him, it was his name affixed to that note.