Altered States k-9 Page 18

  “Possibly, though we don’t know what ships we have there yet. If it’s one of the battlecruisers, then it may be a little early for them to have anything active in the way of radar. HMS Hood fitted out with the Type 279M, installed during refits at Rosyth in early 1941. Same for the Type 284 sets. The former was primarily for detection of aircraft, the latter for gun direction. The rest of the battlecruiser squadron was fitted out in that same time period, if that history holds true.”

  “So there may be no reason to also jam the British radar.”

  “I don’t believe that is necessary, sir. I think we might just skirt west and slip away here, even if we can only make 26 knots now.”

  “We’ll have to address that condition and get some additional work done on the hull, and soon. I was looking at the map, Fedorov. Do you suppose we could sneak into a fiord near Iceland or Greenland and anchor for a day? It would give Byko some time to put divers down again to check on things.”

  “There’s still a lot of sea ice west, sir, but I’ll see if I can find us something.”

  “Admiral,” Rodenko came up. “I think the Germans may have sighted those British cruisers again.”

  “Sighted them? How can you know this, Rodenko?”

  “I’m tracking the arc and fall of gun shells.”

  * * *

  The Germans had found their quarry again. They had been steering 215 southwest and then adjusted ten points to starboard to follow a long range contact on the Seetakt radar. A short while after they made that turn their sets were all clouded over with interference, which they attributed to the oncoming storm front.

  Kapitan Hoffmann was leading the way in Scharnhorst, setting the pace at 30 knots for the last hour. The ship’s boilers had been acting up again, with the super heaters doing their work too well, but thus far they had been running at good speed. Their brief encounter with a pair of British cruisers had encouraged them when Scharnhorst scored a hit, clearly setting one of the ships afire amidships. Now their blood was up, and they thought they would pursue.

  Hoffmann knew his real mission was to evade these cruisers and get into the Atlantic to attack the convoys, but something about the sound of the guns and that beautiful long shot they had scored spurred him on. The British would likely slip away in the weather, he thought, but if I come upon them again, why not sink them?

  At 19:00 hours they had turned to run directly into the wind of the oncoming storm, and their speed was down to 28 knots now, but whether it was by chance or fortune, the low clouds ahead seemed to split to offer him a long narrow valley of open sea and sky. The last rays of the falling sun pierced the edge of the clouds and painted the way in liquid gold. He sailed on, the fading light gleaming off the wet steel, the bow awash with the rising sea. Then the lookouts saw something ahead, just a glimpse of what looked to be two ships through a gap in the clouds-two cruisers.

  Smiling, he gave orders to open fire with the forward turrets to stick a fork into this quail and see what they had in front of them. The sound and sight of his two triple turrets opening fire was bracing. Good to be in battle on the sea, he thought. Too bad we let that damn carrier slip away in the haze and smoke. Those god cursed super heaters! Something tells me we’ll need six months in dry dock to rip them all out and get the boilers right.

  Enough of that. Focus on the guns. He imagined the cold metal rammers feeding the next shells into the yawning gun breeches. Soon he saw the barrels elevate again, looking for the range. The blast of the second salvo shook the ship, first Anton, then Bruno, the two turrets firing one after another.

  “What do you make the range, Schubert?”

  The ship’s chief gunnery officer, was quickly at his side. “Another long shot,” he said. “17,800 meters,” but we are gaining on them. It will only be a matter of time unless these clouds roll in on us and they slip away.”

  “Good, we’ll have a pair of young pheasant for dinner this evening-”

  There came a hard thunk, and Hoffman knew enough to realize the ship had just been hit, right on the side armor, but with a small caliber round.

  “They are shooting back at this range?”

  “Impossible,” said the Gunnery Officer.

  “That wasn’t a gull blown in on the storm, Schubert. And he pointed forward out the weather ports where they could see the spray of two near misses”

  “Damage control, Kapitan.” A midshipman came in with the message. “A small hit below B turret on the side armor. It did not penetrate, sir. No significant damage.”

  “So they get their lucky shot as well.”

  “We’re in this open trough between those two cloud formations,” Schubert suggested. “They can obviously see us much better than we can see them.”

  When the next salvo came in spot on target, straddling the bow of the ship with two shells in quick succession, Hoffmann frowned. “They nearly hit us again, but look there, that other salvo of three fell at least three thousand meters short.”

  “Two ships, two gunnery officers,” Schubert said matter of factly.

  “Yes, well get to work, Schubert. Get to work!”

  Chapter 21

  The battle was joined again in spite of every effort by Captain Madden to evade the fast German ships. He had turned into the oncoming storm, seas higher now, wind up, visibility diminishing. There he thought he might work round to the west, then turn north and allow the Germans to sweep past him in the scudding grey clouds, but the raiders had the scent, or at least enough of it before Kirov’s first tentative intervention in jamming the enemy radar. They had surged up a rift in the front, chasing the falling sun and caught a glimpse of the British cruisers laboring on at just 20 knots.

  Manchester had four Admiralty 3-drum boilers, and her number two boiler room was completely down. The fire had finally been put out, fire parties working feverishly for the last hour and a half, but they had lost all steam there cutting speed by a quarter. That and the oncoming weather front with rougher seas had them down to a little over twenty knots when the Germans saw them. Madden was out on the weather bridge, the rain already beginning in short, lashing squalls when he saw the first flash of the enemy guns.

  That was a half salvo for bearing, he thought, but if they find the range as quickly as they did before, we can only hope the weather saves us now. Forty seconds later the first three rounds fell, slightly off bearing and well short. It was too far for any chance that his 6-inch guns might find their targets, though he could clearly see the leading German ship bathed in the pale light and last searching rays of the sun above the rising thunderheads. The dark wall of clouds seemed briefly crowned with gold, as if on fire.

  He gave the order to fire anyway, the two rear turrets on Birmingham barking out their warning as he watched through his field glasses. Then, well before those rounds should have fallen, he saw what looked like a telltale gout of water rising off the bow of the leading German ship, and a second round hit home. Surprised, he looked behind him, thinking Manchester had fired the rounds, for he soon saw his own salvo falling well short, as he expected.

  “Mister Ward, is Manchester firing?”

  “No sir, they were waiting on our order.” The Lieutenant was at his side now coming out from the armored conning tower into the weather, the collar of his overcoat blown up by the wind, reaching to keep his hat in place and pulling it low on his brow.

  “Well then who the devil scored that hit?” The Captain pointed to the thin trail of smoke from the side of the German battlecruiser out in front. Then they saw the guns there glow with fire again, heard the rolling peal of thunder that was echoed and answered soon after by the advancing storm. This time they heard the rounds whistling in and saw them make another close straddle of Manchester behind them.

  “Never mind for now. Make smoke!” said Madden. “Signal Manchester the same.” He looked for the thickest segment of the oncoming squall and decided to steer for it. “Port fifteen and into the rain, gentlemen. This is no place to be at the mom
ent.”

  “Another hit sir!” Ward was pointing now and the Captain’s heart leapt, thinking Manchester had taken another shell. When he turned, however, he could just barely see the small fire that had broken out amidships on the leading German raider. Yet he could see Manchester well enough, and her guns were completely silent, not even sighted on the pursuing enemy. Someone else is out there, he thought suddenly, but who? Could Holland have closed the range this soon? Hood is fast, but not that fast. His last reported position was over 100 kilometers to the south.

  This was no time for solving mysteries. He started for the open hatch, heading for the wheelhouse to get the ship to safety, thanking his lucky stars that there was an unseen angel at the edge of the storm coming to his aid. Yet in the back of his mind he knew this was not Hood. Those were small caliber rounds, and the Germans just shrugged them off. Hood would have opened with her main batteries. So someone else is close by, perhaps another cruiser or even a destroyer out of Reykjavik. Good for them.

  * * *

  They saw the battle forming up on radar, and Fedorov was convinced that it would mean a quick end to one or both British cruisers. At the time Kirov had been sailing well south of the action, just over forty kilometers. The jamming may have helped but it looked as though the Germans still had hold of the hind leg of the fleeing British cruisers, and so Admiral Volsky entertained options for further intervention.

  “We could easily hit them with a missile, sir,” Rodenko had suggested.

  “Yes, but that packs a lot of punch, perhaps more than I want to deliver at the moment. I would prefer the deck guns.”

  “Excuse me, Admiral.” Volsky recognized Samsonov’s deep voice and turned to regard him.

  “Here we have our Combat officer and I am consulting with navigators and radar men. Yes, Mister Samsonov, do you have a suggestion?”

  “Sir, we have 200 rounds of special ammunition-rocket assisted 152mm rounds that can range to 50 kilometers. Radar guided, Admiral.”

  “That sounds like a better solution. Feed Mister Samsonov the targeting data and let’s give these rounds a field test. They were scheduled on our initial live fire exercises, but we never got round to those. Time to catch up on old work.”

  Naval forces had been experimenting with longer range projectiles for many years. The Italian’s had a long range 127mm shell in 2021, called the Vulcano, but two American programs for an Extended Range Guided Munition had been cancelled by 2008, with missiles winning the tech battles and the emerging development of rail gun systems starting to soak up scarce budget dollars.

  The Russians had extended range rounds for both their 127mm and new 152mm naval guns, and they had proven to be accurate after some teething trouble in the early testing. One enterprising Captain had inadvertently fired a salvo south of Vladivostok, and a shell traveled much further than expected, smashing into the city where the impact broke windows and left a small crater in the pavement outside the nine-storey apartment building! By 2021 the bugs had been worked out of the system, however, and it was fairly reliable.

  They fired three salvos from the forward deck gun, six rounds in all, just as Birmingham shouted its plaintive protest with a single salvo from her rear 6-inch gun turrets. Two of Kirov’s six rounds found their target 42 kilometers away, and Volsky began to chuckle quietly, thinking the Germans might now be quite surprised.

  “Two hits, sir,” Samsonov reported.

  “Are the British firing?” Admiral Volsky leaned towards the radar station where Rodenko was supervising the readout.

  “It looks like they fired one salvo, sir, then ran for the edge of that storm.”

  “The range was too long for the guns on those cruisers,” said Fedorov.

  “Well, they will think they got lucky today and scored a hit.” Volsky smiled. “We’ve tapped him on the shoulder, but when he turns around he will see no one else on the dance floor, just the empty sea and those oncoming storm clouds. So he must conclude the British have some very good gunnery officers aboard. Let us hope those rounds are enough of a distraction to help those cruisers, but in the event the Germans persist, our next field test will be one of the P-900s we received from Kazan. I want to be sure they are configured properly.”

  * * *

  Hoffmann felt the second hit, well up in the superstructure and flush against the armored conning tower. A bigger round might have caused real trouble, but as it was the 350mm armor there, all of 14 inches thick, was easily enough to stop this one. Yet the jarring concussion was enough to force every man there to shirk and hunch their shoulders in surprise. The bridge crew took a bit of a knock, but no one was wounded, as there was no interior damage or splintering into the command spaces. Scharnhorst has just been hit with a stiff jab. The ship had a bruise on its cheek, but was unharmed and fully functional.

  “No significant damage, Kapitan.” Leutnant zur See Huber reported. “We took both hits in well protected areas.”

  The Kapitan shook his head, unwilling to believe the British cruisers could hit him at his range, but they clearly had. Gunnery Officer Schubert had set his mind on answering, and he straddled the trailing British cruiser before they saw both ships make smoke and vanish into the grey edge of the storm. That was a good idea.

  “Helm, come round to 320. We’ll turn for that squall line to starboard. I think the British will be trying to work round behind us.”

  A messenger came in from the wireless, handing him the note, and Hoffmann smiled with a nod as he read it. Kapitan Otto Fein aboard Gneisenau behind him was perplexed. He wanted to know what they were doing sparring with these cruisers when the route south was now clearly open.

  Perhaps he is correct, thought Hoffmann. I am indulging myself here, like a cat playing with a mouse, and I just got bit on the nose for my trouble. I could make this turn and run parallel to the course I think these cruisers have taken, or I could come left and south to the Atlantic. That was the plan, but not before we refuel.

  He pulled off his leather gloves, tucking them into his pocket and loosened the upper button of his overcoat as he considered the situation. I could detach Admiral Hipper here to chase these cruisers off. That would leave me free to head south unbothered by them again. That was the only reason you engaged here, was it not?

  “Helm,” he said calmly, resigned. “Belay that last order. Come about to two-two-zero. Make an easy turn, and ahead two thirds. Huber, see that Gneisenau is informed of both the course and speed change and ask her to follow. As for Admiral Hipper, signal that I want them on three-two-zero to look for those cruisers. They are to report in three hours, and if they do not find them they will meet us at the refueling point.”

  The German tanker Altmark was waiting out near the coast of Greenland, hovering off a misty ice-crusted fiord. Hoffmann was planning to rendezvous with Altmark just north of Cape Farewell to refuel his ships before breaking out, and he did not want any British cruisers about to interfere with the operation.

  We will hold this new course for three hours, he thought, then turn to meet up with Altmark. By then I should know whether Admiral Hipper had any luck finding the British. He noted the barometer, seeing rain on the wind shields of the viewports.

  An hour later he received a report from Admiral Hipper. The British were hiding in the storm. They had seen at least three contacts on radar, but the signals were lost in interference. On a hunch the Kapitan had fired down the bearing of one contact sighting. Hoping to flush his quarry, and he believed the cruisers were dispersing. But now the wireless was silent, and there had been no further reports.

  Three contacts…Hoffmann knew of the first two, the pair of hapless British cruisers he had engaged. What was contact three? They were still too far north for Hipper to have picked up the Altmark. It had to be something else, but what? Could we have a U-boat out here that I am not aware of? That might account for the sudden disappearance of the contact on radar, but it still did not make sense. It could be a tramp steamer, or even a ship involve
d in the recent British invasion of Iceland. If so that would be fair game here.

  “Any signals from Wilhelmshaven?” he asked Huber, thinking they might get some additional intelligence on what was happening on Iceland.

  “No sir. Nothing since we entered the strait.”

  “The British have taken a lease out on Iceland, Huber. That means they might soon have an airbase functional there.”

  “That may take them some time,” Huber suggested. “We should be well out into the Atlantic before we need to worry about planes from Iceland.”

  “What is the situation with the radar?”

  “Still fouled up with interference, sir. It must be the storm.”

  “Very well. I looked at fuel reports. We did not have time to fill up at Trondheim after chasing that British carrier. That was a mistake. Now we’ve gone nearly 3000 kilometers and used up half our fuel. ”

  “But Altmark is waiting for us here, Kapitan.”

  “Yes, and we are lucky for that. We should have had more time at Trondheim, but Raeder was adamant that we put to sea as soon as possible.”

  He squinted at the weather, feeling ill at ease. Two long shots for a cruiser that should have had no chance to hit his ship, but yet they did. Now a third contact on radar, and then every set down as though…as though they were being jammed.

  “The pressure is not too low,” he said quietly. “We will push through this front in two hours. In the meantime, make ready for the refueling operation. That is our number one priority now.”

  “Aye sir.”

  Hoffmann did not know it then, but his new course was taking him closer to the mysterious antagonist that had flicked those shells at Scharnhorst, even as it moved closer to the ship that had been dogged by the black hand of fate in an earlier incarnation, Altmark…and fate and mystery would soon become fire and steel.

  Part VIII

  Ride of the Valkyries