“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said quietly. “It may be nothing more than a little coincidence, but we’ve just got a signal ourselves, though it originates from the here and now. The Admiralty informs me that Force H has a battle on its hands, with the Germans—no further details.”
Chapter 35
Details… The devil lived there, or so it has been said. They were going to be most inconvenient for the men standing a watch with Force H that day.
The German task force had moved rapidly west, and it was only another strange coincidence that caused them a brief delay at Gibraltar. That port had proved to be a godsend for German U-boat Captains, and there were now six boats stationed there. Being much farther from England, it was relatively safe from RAF bombing raids, which would either have a long overseas journey, or a more dangerous flight path over hostile territory in France and Spain. So many U-boats that had formerly been berthed at Saint Nazaire or Brest moved to Gibraltar, where they prowled the straits, and also sortied out into both the Med and Atlantic.
Another ship was berthed there the night Lütjens arrived, the UJ-2210. It was an old French trawler, the Marcella, captured and converted into an undersea boat hunting ship, or U-Jaeger, and it was now in the proud possession of the man who would become Germany’s top hunter killer in that role, Captain Otto Pollmann. He had been out hunting that day, and had just completed refueling when the big flotilla came in. The sight of Germany’s largest and most powerful warship was a thrill, and he also took great interest in the sleek lines of the light carrier Goeben. Unfortunately his crew took equal interest, and when they had to move their trawler during the refueling operation for Bismarck, the hose became strained when the helmsman was gawking at the Hindenburg and failed to mind his station properly.
The trawler ran afoul of the hose, causing a fuel spillage and other damage to the fittings. It was going to cause a two hour delay in getting fuel into Bismarck, and those hours were used well by the British ships in Somerville’s Force H, as they now raced due north, intending to get into a good position to find Hindenburg if it sortied from Gibraltar. Those two hours were crucial, for if Lütjens had completed the refueling operation and left before dawn, as Adler promised, then the chances of intercepting the German fleet would have been very thin. As it stood now, things were quite different, but Force H was going to pay a price for its alacrity, as the German fleet was now a very dangerous enemy.
It was well after dawn before Lütjens was able to depart from Gibraltar, and at 14:00 he found himself off Cape Saint Vincent, Portugal, as planned, though they were well over the horizon to make certain curious eyes would not spot them. But not all curious eyes were landward that day. The Germans were soon to be visited by a pair of Fulmars off HMS Glorious, and Marco Ritter on the Goeben was to have a very busy morning.
It would be the second time that pilots off two opposing aircraft carriers had met in battle. Ritter was up in his ME-109T, and saw the two fulmars in a tight formation, some distance below. It was a perfect scenario for an ambush, and he quickly tipped over his wings and dove to attack. The resulting fight saw him down one Fulmar, which put up just enough of a fight to allow the second to escape. Ritter saw the other plane speeding away, and thought he might open his throttle to see if he could catch it. But he had been up too long that day, and low fuel compelled him to return to the Goeben. Yet he took careful note of the direction the enemy plane was flying, and reported it to the ship’s Captain as soon as he was aboard.
“Hans!” he said when he was again below decks to check on his plane. There was one small hole in the tail where the enemy had nicked him.
“Getting sloppy?” asked Hans Rudel.
“Oh that? It was nothing. Just a lucky shot. I was up and around on him in no time, and put him in the sea. The other fellow was smart enough to make a run for it. But now it’s your turn, Hans. Let’s get back up there and look for this enemy carrier!”
And they did.
Hafner, Brendel, and Rudel were in the only three Stukas aboard the Flugdeckkreuzer. Heilich, Ehrler and Ritter were flying escort in ME-109-T fighters. The remaining six planes were all ME-109s, and they would be retained for combat air patrol over Lütjens task force. Marco Ritter followed his nose, and it was not long before the six planes found what they were looking for. There was only one thing that gnawed at him when he finally spotted the enemy task force below—those damnable rockets. So far they had not seen their evil white tails in the sky, and now it was time to get those Stukas in for an attack run before they came.
“There they are, Hans! I’ll keep those fighters off your backside. Good hunting!”
* * *
Aboard HMS Glorious the alarm sounded at 15:20 hours, not long after Lieutenant Charles Stewart came in with a badly nicked Fulmar. His mate, Eddie Shackley, was not coming home that day, and the word was soon passed to the bridge where Captain Christopher Wells now commanded the only capital ship remaining in Force H. Admiral Somerville was ashore, still on the Canary Islands coordinating an operation being teed up by the Royal Marine Commandos. So instead of planting his flag on HMS Glorious, Somerville was content to command from his desk in the Grand Canary Harbor HQ facility.
“Mister Lovell,” said Wells to his XO after he got the report. “See that Admiral Somerville is informed of this incident, and make certain he knows that Stewart thinks these were 109-T Messerschmitts. He says he could clearly see the arrestor hooks.”
“That would mean that new German carrier is about.”
“Indeed, and we both know what that means. That ship was operating as a forward screen for Hindenburg and Bismarck.”
“That’s why we’re out here, sir,” said Lovell with his chin up. “Shall I get a word down to the flight deck as well and get 823 Squadron up?”
“That would be wise but, as it stands, we’ve no fix on the enemy location yet.”
“If that German plane that ambushed Stewart was up on top cover, it would be a good bet they’re very close, sir. We could send 823 to the northeast to have a look. They’ve good range and loiter time in those Swordfish.”
“Very well. See to it, Mister Lovell.”
“Aye sir.”
Lovell was off, but he would not get far before the alarm was sounded. The W/T room had a message from their own top cover—enemy planes inbound!
Wells was out on the weather deck in an instant, neck craned and eyes puckered to see what was coming in. He heard it before he saw it, swinging around to see three birds of prey dropping from the sky, pursued by one of their own Fulmars, which was in turn being tailed by another German fighter. His close escort, the AA cruiser HMS Coventry, was quick into action with her five 6-inch guns able to double as AA guns, augmented by two 3-inchers, and two 2 pounders. The new octuple 2-pounder pom-poms Glorious had received in her last refit were also chopping away, one on each side of the flying-off deck. The sky was soon pocked with exploding flak, but the swift descent and high vertical attack of the Stukas made them very difficult targets to hit. My god, thought Wells. Where are our bloody fighters?
That was a most appropriate description at that moment. For Marco Ritter was a highly skilled ace, along with his two wing mates. Even though they found themselves outnumbered six to three, the German pilots had the better plane, and more experience flying in the heat of combat than their British counterparts that day. Two of the six men up above Wells task force were already bloody, Purdy and Moore, and Ritter was on the tail of the one plane that had managed to get near the diving Stukas.
It was soon clear to Wells that his luck, born on that hot moment when Hoffmann’s Scharnhorst had caught the ship in the Norwegian sea nearly a year ago, was now about to run thin. He heard the whine of the Stukas as they came, the Jericho trumpets screeching, and the whistle of falling bombs. When they fell he was horrified to see the first two straddle his bow, and then, seconds later, a third bomb came thundering down on the forward deck.
He braced himself as the ship shudde
red with the hit. Glorious had once had seven inches of armor in that spot, where the barbettes of her big 15-inch guns had been mounted in a previous life as a battlecruiser. But those guns had been removed long ago, and now the deck armor was no more than an inch thick at best. The bomb fell just forward of the flying-off deck, where it dipped in a rounded downward curve. There it struck one of the QF 4.7 inch dual purpose guns, putting it out of action and starting a fire below decks. Hans Rudel had stayed in his dive those few extra seconds, and made certain his bomb would not miss.
* * *
Aboard the Hindenburg, Kapitan Adler was watching the horizon with his field glasses when he noted the curling black finger of smoke in the distance.
“We must be very close, sir,” he said to Admiral Lütjens.
“That could be thirty or forty miles off, Adler.”
“True, sir, but we can be there in an hour with our speed.”
“May I remind you that we steered this course to try and avoid the British fleet.”
“True sir, but what about Kaiser? They are well out in front of us. Why not send them in to have a taste. They can outrun anything the British have, even their cruisers and destroyers.”
Lütjens thought about that. He soon got word back from Marco Ritter as well—three enemy cruisers, five destroyers and one aircraft carrier—position, course and speed. One look at the plotting board told him that Adler was correct. He could send the Kaiser Wilhelm up to engage the enemy, and come right on their heels if he wished. If nothing else, that might drive off this enemy task force, and that smoke on the far horizon meant that their Stuka pilots off the Goeben had already drawn blood. He could see that Adler was like a shark smelling that blood now, his eyes alight, yearning for battle.
“No sign of those new enemy rockets, sir,” said Adler, waiting.
Finally the Admiral nodded his head. “Very well. Signal Kaiser Wilhelm. Tell them to approach and engage at long range. If the enemy attempts to close the range, he is to steer three-zero-zero at his best speed and break off.”
“Break off?” Adler quickly thought that the Admiral wanted to go in for the kill himself. “Shall we turn to intercept the enemy now?”
“No, Captain. We will hold steady on our present course, and come a further five points to starboard the minute Kaiser indicates they are breaking off as ordered.”
“But sir!” Adler thought for a second before he spoke, realizing they were on the bridge, in front of the other crewmen, and recalling the Admiral’s earlier warnings. That turn would take them away from the fight, and it galled to think the Hindenburg was running now, running from a fight it might easily win. He turned stiffly, arms folded behind his back.
“May I understand the Admiral’s intentions?” Adler waited, a restrained anger still noticeable when Lütjens regarded him.
“My intentions have been plainly stated, Kapitan. We are steering for the Atlantic convoy routes. I have no intention of dueling with British cruisers, which should be two hours to the south of us now. We were late leaving Gibraltar, and now we have other business to attend to. Kaiser will lead the British off on a course that will make it impossible for them to catch up with us if they follow that ship. As you so correctly point out, they will then have the speed to shake those cruisers off and rejoin us. As for our battleships, we steer northwest for the open sea.”
It was clear that Adler was not happy, but he said nothing more, silently steaming behind his raised field glasses again. Lütjens is too old for this, he thought. He is too cautious, especially after we took those hits in the Mediterranean. Alright then, at least we have Kaiser out looking for a fight. If the British do have these rockets, we will soon find out. But one day the Admiral will have to realize that Hindenburg was built to fight the enemy, not run from them.
“Those Stuka pilots on the Goeben have certainly done their job,” said Lütjens with a smile. “Hopefully that hit will prevent the British from mounting further air operations.”
“Thankfully someone is doing their job,” said Adler, with just enough ice in his voice to make his feelings known. “Because the British certainly have no reason to fear anything from the Hindenburg.”
“I can see you disagree with this course, Adler.”
“I do sir, and I think it is not inappropriate for me to say as much.”
“Not inappropriate,” Lütjens rejoined, “but also not wise. Yes, I know you want to get those guns out there into action, and the thought of feasting on a wounded British aircraft carrier is very enticing. If the situation changes I will consider your objection, but for the moment, my orders stand.”
* * *
The situation, as they so often did, was soon about to change. Kaiser Wilhelm was a very fast ship, capable of 36 knots, and it was soon a shadow looming on the horizon of Captain Christopher Wells.
When the sighting was first made by HMS Sheffield, steaming some 3000 meters off the starboard quarter of the carrier, Wells knew he had to act quickly.
“Mister Lovell,” he said imposing calm on himself. “The ship will come to our best possible speed. I know that won’t help the fire crews up front, but it can’t be helped.”
“Very good sir. Flight crews say they can get the first squadron of Swordfish spotted in five minutes, but we’ll have to come round into the wind.”
“That will put us at three-three-zero, but I’m afraid we haven’t the time just now.” Wells was squinting through his field glasses, trying to pick out details in the distant silhouette. The details, the details. That’s where the devil lived. He could see the tall central superstructure, but he did not think this was one of the German battleships. He walked briskly to the plotting table, where he fetched a printed card with silhouettes of all the known enemy ships. Somerville had informed him of the composition of the enemy task force, and he knew this was neither Bismarck nor Hindenburg.
So it has to be the Kaiser Wilhelm, he thought, quickly running his finger down the estimated specifications on that ship. A single note was printed where the speed would be indicated: Observed running in excess of 34 knots during trials.
“Mister Lovell,” he said again in a measured voice. “The ship will come hard about and steer two-one-two. Ahead full. Signal Coventry, Sheffield and Gloucester to follow. The destroyer screen will make smoke at once.”
Chapter 36
“I’ve sent instructions to the bridge,” said Tovey. “We’re all ready running at 28 knots, but we might kick that up a notch. I can have word sent to your ships to match speed, but there’s little else we can do for the moment. Let us conclude our meeting, and then we’ll slow to 10 knots for your departure. I think we’ve a good deal more to discuss.”
“Agreed,” said Fedorov, still struck by the realization of what he had learned. Signals from a future time! Someone else was trying to intervene in the course of these events! But who?
“These signals,” he said. “They were a warning of some kind?”
“Most certainly,” said Elena. “And now this gets to a part of the story that has been kept secret for decades. I suppose the easiest way would be to show you.”
She reached to her neck line, drawing out a simple gold chain with something dangling from one end. Fedorov could see that it was a key of some kind, looking very old.
“This key was necessary to activate the box we have been discussing. In fact, it was used to open the site where the device was found at Delphi. It was given to me, to be held secret until the day and hour I received instructions to use it. That was the day that sent my ship here.”
Fedorov looked from Fairchild to Tovey, but the Admiral merely shook his head. “Notwithstanding the fact that my name was in that box,” he said, “I can add nothing further. I know nothing whatsoever about that key.”
“But I do,” said Elena. “To begin with, this is one of several similar keys, and they all have a connection to a specific place, very special places, like that railway inn you described to me.”
�
�Ilanskiy?” said Fedorov. “Explain please.”
“That site appears to be a rift zone. That’s what we call these places—rifts in time. The signals we received were more than a warning. They contained… instructions, and something more, information concerning certain artifacts—each one embedded with one of these keys.”
“Artifacts?”
“Objects, some very old, and all prized in our day as works of art. Each one held a key, though I cannot name them all. Frankly, I was only told a part of this tale, the information I’m relating to you now. I knew there were other keys, but not their number, or where they might lead; what they might open.”
“Who told you this?”
“Our organization, the Watch. How they came to know about all this I can only speculate. My assumption is that those signals from the future revealed this information.”
“Then these keys came from there—from the future?”
“We believe as much.”
Of course, thought Fedorov. Rifts in time! Perhaps they were the result of that first event at Tunguska. The first cracks in the mirror, were not caused by the ship, not by Kirov or anyone aboard, but by that thing that slammed into the earth and exploded above Tunguska.
“Then there is a key that is somehow connected to the railway in I described?” asked Fedorov. “Is this so?”
“That was unknown to us,” said Elena. “At least it was unknown to me. I was aware of only two other keys. One was assigned—to a Keyholder—that’s what we are called. Anyone given a key to hold in trust is a Keyholder, and it is a very exclusive club. As for that railway inn, we knew nothing about it.”
“I have considered this,” said Fedorov. “When I realized what was happening at Ilanskiy, I attributed those effects to damage caused by that event at Tunguska, and thought there may be other similar places, other rifts in time. Then you know of two others?”
Crescendo Of Doom (Kirov Series Book 15) Page 30
