Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series)

by Schettler, John

  Kranke dismissed it as nonsense, thinking the transmission had to be coming from the Russian zeppelin that was still shadowing them, high above and just out of range of their guns. But the incident, a laughing matter to him now, was soon going to be more than he expected, and one that he would never forget.

  At 21:20 hours the Germans spotted a contact off their port bow, and they knew that the Russians had indeed sortied another warship to challenge them. Kranke had a long look through the telescope on the weather bridge, returning somewhat bemused.

  “One ship,” he said quietly. “And it looks to be something more than a cruiser.”

  “The Russians have nothing more than a heavy cruiser, sir,” said Heintz. “It must be the light and shadow at this distance. Shall we steer on an intercept course and have a closer look?”

  “No, I think we will just continue on this heading. Let them come to us if they can.”

  “Battle speed, sir?”

  “No need to rush, Heintz. Steady on at 24 knots.”

  “But they will catch us if this is a Russian cruiser.”

  “Then Schörner will deal with them.”

  Messages continued to stream in with the same demand: Stop and surrender Russian nationals or be engaged. Kranke ignored them, a wry grin on his face, though Heintz could see that the Kapitän seemed just a little more serious now, with an air of concern shadowing his bravado.

  Then it began, they heard a distant thump, and then some time later the telltale approach of a naval shell that landed smartly in the water about a hundred meters in front of the light cruiser Nürnberg where it was steaming in the van.

  “They say that was our final warning,” said the signalman.

  “Do they?” said Kranke. “What was that Schörner?”

  “5.7-inch round by my estimation, sir, and very strange that they could get it anywhere near us at this range. We are over 26,000 meters away!”

  Kranke began to slowly pull on his gloves. “The ship will come to battle stations. Hoist battle ensign and colors.” His voice was flat, all business, with just a bit of annoyance in it now.

  “The impudence,” he muttered.

  The sound of the alarm and the shouting and footfalls of the crew dominated the next few moments as Kranke stood calmly on the bridge, watching and listening. He saw the forward triple gun turret turn smartly and train on the Russian ship, the long barrels gleaming in the ruddy light. Soon the sounds diminished, and a hush seemed to fall over the Admiral Scheer, like the taking in of breath before some great exertion. The ship was ready, Kranke knew, and he turned to his gunnery officer.

  “Schörner, announce us, if you please.”

  “The range is too far to hit anything, sir. All we will do is bother the sea.”

  “Give them one round in answer to their warning shot. I will not have it read that I did not follow protocols. They fired first, and we will answer.”

  “Very good sir.”

  The middle gun on the turret elevated in an obscene gesture, and fired. Kranke did not fail to appreciate the moment, smiling. “There, he said. “We have given them our middle finger and told them to fuck off. Now let’s see if they want to do anything about it. Signal Nürnberg to come left fifteen, and we will follow.”

  * * *

  The warning shot fell 3000 meters short, though it was well aligned. Volsky watched the round splash into the sea, tit for tat.

  “They are turning on an intercept course,” said Fedorov noting his new predictive plot for the German contact on the Plexiglas screen.

  “Steer to maintain range,” said Volsky.

  “Aye sir. Helm, come left fifteen and ahead thirty.” He re-established a parallel course, holding the range as the Admiral wanted.

  “Mister Samsonov, how good is your eye these days?”

  “Laser sharp, Admiral.”

  “Can you put one round on the lead ship in that formation?”

  “Of course, sir. Do you want it forward, aft, or amidships?”

  “That good, are you? Very well kick the lead ship on the ass. Put it well aft.”

  Fedorov had been studying the silhouettes of the German ships and now he spoke up. “Admiral, I believe that lead ship is a Leipzig class cruiser. The ship following is the Admiral Scheer, and that will be the flagship.”

  “I will knock on their door soon, Mister Fedorov. First let’s see if Mister Samsonov can put on a little show. Their commander will have a very good view from his present location. You may open fire. One salvo please.”

  Samsonov keyed his target, integrating radar lock and his laser range finder into one position fix. The computers arrived at a decision in milliseconds, and the forward deck gun swiveled, trained on the target, the twin barrels elevating high before they cracked to life. Two shell casings clattered onto the deck and they waited. It seemed a long time, some 40 seconds before they saw the bright flash aft on the lead ship. Samsonov had scored a direct hit.

  “A hole in one, sir!” he said, smiling.

  “Your eye is good, Samsonov. Mister Nikolin, kindly ask the Germans if they would like us to continue.”

  Half way through Nikolin’s hail they saw the second ship light up, both fore and aft. The rounds came in short again, but the sight of the six geysers in the sea prompted Fedorov to caution the Admiral.

  “If I may, sir. Those are 11-inch guns, very accurate, and the same weapon that the battlecruiser Scharnhorst hit the British carrier with at 26,465 yards. We are just a few thousand meters outside that range.”

  “Which is exactly where we will stay, Mister Fedorov. Any answer, Nikolin?”

  “No sir. No return on my hail.”

  “Mister Samsonov, again please. This time hit the bow of ship number two if you can.”

  “No problem, sir. Integrating data streams… Ready… Firing now.” The crack of the deck gun sounded again, another long arcing fall of the shells, which resulted in a straddle this time, showering the bow of Admiral Scheer with seawater.

  The game continued, with the German ships turning in an attempt to close the range, and Fedorov using radar to precisely determine their movement and dance away, always holding the range just outside 26,000 meters. Samsonov was ordered to fire three salvos at the lead ship, and three more at Admiral Scheer, and they soon watched as small fires broke out on each ship, the thin smoke trailing like blood. It was as if Volsky was hunting a whale, putting small harpoons into it, dancing away, then pricking it again and again. In all there were three more hits registered on Nürnberg, and two more on Admiral Scheer.

  All the while the German guns barked furiously in return, but the range was just beyond their means. An hour passed, with Volsky scoring hits on the enemy ships every fifteen minutes, like clockwork. Then he had Nikolin send another message. I have hit you every quarter hour, and you bleed. Surrender our nationals, or I will now sink you. In response the Germans launched a seaplane from Scheer and it slowly gained elevation and began to approach.

  “They want to use the plane to try and improve their spotting, sir,” said Fedorov.

  “Do they? Mister Samsonov. Use the Klinok system and shoot that plane down. It’s time we give them something more to think about.”

  The missile soon hissed into the sky, tracked relentlessly, and bored in on the seaplane. Fedorov looked at Volsky, surprised to see him make a small sign of the cross quietly on his chest as he sat watching in the Captain’s chair. It was going to be a very unlucky day for the pilot.

  Chapter 21

  July 11, 1940 ~ 01:00 Hrs

  Kranke was furious. The rounds had come like the chiming of a clock. Two hits at the top of the hour, another at quarter past, a fourth at half past the hour, and on it went.

  “This is ridiculous, Schörner! How can they hit us like this at such range?”

  “Amazing gunnery, Kapitän. I have never heard of a small caliber weapon firing with such accuracy. They must have superb opticals.”

  “What about our guns. Surely we c
an get them at this range. Elevate higher!”

  “Sir, I am reading the target at 27,600 meters. If we hit them it will be one for the record books, and we do not seem to have the speed to close.”

  “Damn it, Schörner! They are hitting us! Signal Nürnberg to go to their top speed and close. They are four knots faster than we are. Get a seaplane up if you have to correct your sighting. I want hits!”

  Nürnberg turned, but thirty seconds later the distant shadow on the sea turned as well, and Kranke could barely see it now on the horizon. The seaplane fluttered up, launching from the catapult amidships and slowly gaining altitude. It banked and began to head for the Russian ship, and then he saw it… Something erupted from the shadow, a white streak in the sky, a fiery light and then the explosion. The seaplane was gone!

  Kranke slowly lowered his field glasses, a look of shock on his face. He kept staring at the sky, watching the fading contrail that connected the enemy ship to the place in the sky his seaplane had been flying. Heintz was quickly at his side.

  “A rocket!” He pointed at the smoke in the sky, then lowered his arm and looked at Kranke. “Herr Kapitän,” he said slowly. “I believe we smoked those cigars too soon.”

  * * *

  “That light cruiser is turning on an intercept course,” said Rodenko. The two ships are breaking formation.”

  “Yes, said Fedorov. If we maneuver to maintain our range then Admiral Scheer will slip over the horizon.”

  “I believe it is time for us to strengthen the brew,” said Volsky. “How many of those P-900s from Kazan remain?”

  “Six missiles, sir.”

  “Let us use one here on that light cruiser. That will get their attention, and I think we can use it in mode one with this ship, correct Fedorov?”

  “Mode one?” Fedorov passed a moment of embarrassment, not knowing what the Admiral was referring to. He had never been a combat officer, and still felt more comfortable at the navigation station, in spite of his position as the ship’s Captain now.”

  “On mode one this is a standard sea skimmer” said the Admiral. “It will not execute a last minute popup maneuver. Would you recommend this approach?” Volsky could see he had caught his young Captain at a disadvantage and he was wise enough to bolster him a bit by making it seem as though he was seeking his advice.

  “There were only two ships in this class, and I believe this one is the Nürnberg, sir. If that is so it received the newly developed Wotan Hart steel instead of standard cemented armor. That said, the ship has only 50mm side armor. The P-900 should easily penetrate that and do considerable damage.”

  “Then we will fire one P-900 on mode one, Mister Samsonov, You may target and proceed.”

  “Aye sir. Setting mode command. Missile reports ready. Firing now.”

  The warning claxon sounded and the missile was up and on its way with a loud roar, climbing and then immediately dipping towards the sea to cross the short distance right over the wave tops. Seconds later it struck Nürnberg amidships, just above the water line on her side armor, and Fedorov’s assessment was on the mark as well.

  The 200kg warhead easily penetrated the 2-inch armor there. Wotan Hart steel was much harder than cemented armor, but the ship would have needed at least six inches to have any chance of stopping the missile. The hull was badly breached, the explosive force ripping a hole from the weather deck to well below the water line. Fire broiled in the blackened gash, and heavy smoke engulfed the ship. Nürnberg rolled heavily as the sea rushed in, a benefit as well as a curse. The water helped to douse the terrible fire from all the excess missile fuel, but it was also dragging the ship into a bad list.

  The ship would not recover, but counter-flooding would buy enough time to get most of the crew off safely. Volsky watched on the Tin Man display, his face serious, eyes troubled. The lessons of war were hard, whether you were the teacher or the student, he thought. Let us hope the Captain on this other ship does not need further prodding.

  “That will be enough for the moment,” he said to Samsonov. “Let’s see if Mister Nikolin can get a response now.”

  * * *

  Aboard Admiral Scheer Kranke was aghast. He had clearly seen the missile fire from the thick of the shadow that had been taunting him with small caliber fire, infuriated to think that this new Russian weapon could outrange his 11-inch guns. The rocket that took down his seaplane was shocking enough. He knew the old British battlecruisers once mounted a rocket system, but it was designed to deploy a small parachute and trail long cables at the bottom to act as an obstacle against planes. This was something else entirely, a lightning fast javelin that skewered his Arado and dropped it into the sea in seconds. Then came the rocket that struck Nürnberg, and he soon surmised that they were going to lose that ship. The Russians had evened the score.

  So this was the ship Hoffmann warned me about, he thought darkly. Smoke one cigar if you find it, one if you can get close enough for a photograph, the third if you return alive. Now he knew just what Hoffmann meant, and it was a most uncomfortable feeling. One moment he was a jaunty, ebullient officer, fresh from victory, a good meal and a long sleep. Now he looked harried and anxious, struggling first to comprehend what he was seeing, weighing the implications of these new weapons. With each passing minute he realized the inadequacy of his ship now when pitted against this unknown foe.

  “The battlecruiser Kirov,” he said to Heintz. “Well now I can see why it gets the name. This ship is a little something more than we expected. They have saved the best for last.”

  “Schörner can’t hit the damn thing unless we can close the range, sir, and it is obvious that they are faster than we are. There are probably 500 men going into the sea out there now, and if we continue this engagement we could lose most of them.”

  “Kapitän,” the signalman called. “They say that if we do not cease firing and comply with the return of their nationals they will sink us too!”

  “Calm down!” Kranke said sharply, hands clasped behind his back. “Alright then… first get a coded message off to Group North. Notify Hoffmann that we have found this ship. Call it Fafnir, he will know what I mean.” He was referring to the legendary dragon in Norse Mythology.

  “This one certainly breathes fire,” said Heintz.

  “That it does. Signalman… Tell the Russians they can have their damn prisoners. We have over 500 men on Nürnberg out there that will need our help. Ask them to cease fire.” He shrugged, pulling his gloves off slowly, a defeated look on his face. Then the light of an idea kindled in his eyes.

  “Let them come in to retrieve their comrades,” he said to Heintz in a low whisper. “Then when they are nice and close, Schörner can blow them to hell.”

  Kranke would not be able to order his planned deception. The Russians were simply too cautious. The Germans were running past the long finger of Hopen Island off Svalbard, or Spitzbergen as it was then called. A signal came ordering them to set all the Soviet prisoners ashore there, saying their names and identities were known and stressing that they had best be unharmed and well treated. The Kapitän complied, then went about his rescue operation under the watchful eye of the Russian ship, always lurking on the horizon, a distant, threatening shadow.

  Three hours later the Germans had recovered the great bulk of the crew of Nürnberg, and set off scuttling charges to make certain the Russians would not get the ship. Then, his decks crowded with cold, bedraggled men, Kranke turn and sailed on, a chastened man.

  Fafnir, he thought. Yes, and now where is Sigurd? It will take something better than this old pocket battleship to get after that monster. Hoffmann fared no better, and he had both Scharnhorst and Gneisenau with him. And Lindemann had Bismarck and Tirpitz and he still broke off his engagement as well.

  “I’m afraid they have evened the score,” Heintz said dejectedly. “I wonder why they did not turn those rocket weapons on us? We’ve been in range for some hours, and they have every reason to avenge what we have done.”


  “This Russian Captain is a cagey and cautious man,” said Kranke. “Yes, he’s trumped us with these new weapons they’ve developed—for the moment. Lindemann turned for home on Raeder’s orders, but I heard the damage to Bismarck was not significant. Against a lightly armored cruiser like Nürnberg those rockets were very effective. I doubt if Bismarck would be bothered by them, and that ship has 15-inch guns.”

  “I hope you are correct, sir.”

  Kranke gave him a long look. “Yes, I hope I am correct as well. Otherwise we may have awakened a sleeping bear here, and I was the man who gave the orders.” He turned, walking slowly off the bridge, his gait slow and deliberate, shoulders slumped.

  * * *

  “Well,” said Volsky. “I have accomplished my purpose here, and that was more than the recovery of Zolotov and the others.”

  Volsky waited until the Germans had completed their rescue operation and sailed off. They followed slowly, shadowing the Germans for some time, and then turned towards Hopen Island to pick up the Russians that had been taken from Siberiakov and Port Dickson.

  “I know it appeared to you that all we did here is break another ship and crew,” said Volsky. “But we have built something here as well.”

  “What is that, Admiral?”

  “A reputation, Fedorov. It will precede us wherever we go now, like a long shadow. The next time a German Captain sees my ship on his horizon, they will remember us. Let us hope they respect the way this was handled.”

  “I would think they realized they were overmatched, sir,” said Fedorov.

  “Good. Fear is a useful weapon. Now when they see any Russian ship at sea they may not be so eager to engage. Perhaps they will think that all our ships might have the weapons we used. It could save some lives.”

  “Let us hope as much, Admiral, but in time they will see that is not the case. We will soon be deemed the exception, and not the rule, and that will deepen the mystery for them somewhat as well.”