Altered States k-9 Read online

  “Aye sir…Shall the ship come to action stations?” He had heard no general alarm, and for all he knew the ship’s crew were lolling about on routine duty and unaware of the grave danger they were in now.

  “Get on with it, Mister Wells, and kindly leave the ship’s condition to me, if you please, sir.”

  Wells felt the sting and knew he had best get moving at once. Yet even as he ran for the hatch he knew it was all wrong. The ship was still on its original course. The Captain should have turned away from the sighted contact at once. What was he doing? He paused, wanting to point this out, along with the lack of a watch on the mainmast, the lack of planes overhead, and all the rest, hesitating for a few brief seconds with all that had been said between himself and Lieutenant Woodfield still rankling in his mind. He knew he would be in the right if he spoke now, but he also knew the Captain would likely go into a rage and take his head off, so he mastered himself, knowing there would come a better time to speak his mind and focusing on the moment at hand. The sighting report was vital. Ark Royal was out there somewhere, as was the cruiser Devonshire. Surely they could lend a hand if they knew what was happening here.

  So he turned and ran aft for the Wireless Telegraphy room, one deck below, not knowing that those few seconds of hesitation, a brief moment of restraint, were going to make all the difference in the world-not just for him, but for the ship itself and the lives of every man aboard.

  When he reach the W/T signals room the operator there handed him a message right off the wire. “It’s Ardent, sir. They say the contact is presumed hostile and they are attacking.” It was acting Chief Barrow on the main W/T duty that afternoon.

  “Right, Mister Barrow, well send this sighting report straight away.” He gave the man the information he had been told to relay, then turned to get himself back to the bridge as soon as possible.

  “Send it Billy,” said the Chief.

  “On Home Wave or Fleet Wave, sir?”

  “On whatever we’re set for, man! Be quick about it!”

  Telegraphist William Barron began keying his message when Al Rose at the next station looked over at the Chief. “I thought we were still supposed to be on Narvik Wave at 7.3 MzH? Nobody was supposed to spin the dial until we cross 65 degrees north, sir.”

  “We tested on that last night. The power pack is dodgy and we couldn’t raise a soul, so we switched to Home Wave early. Who’s listening at Narvik anyway?”

  “Sort it all out, Chief,” said Wells. “Send on both waves.” Even as he started away he had the very odd feeling that he was late for something very important. He had to get back to the bridge!

  He was late. Just those few seconds late, though they would soon change everything, at least insofar as his own fate and that of the ship was concerned. It was one of those tides in the affairs of men that Shakespeare had written of, and he was about to take it at the flood.

  Chapter 8

  BC Scharnhorst ~ 16:46 Hours, June 8, 1940

  The lookout squinted into his field glasses, certain now of what he was seeing. It was no cloud, not on a day like this with visibility so good. Midshipman Goos leaned out to his mate, two tiers below him on the high mast and shouted out the contact.

  “Smoke on the horizon, Schulte, starboard side, bearing east at sixty degrees true!”

  The word soon rippled down to the bridge of the battlecruiser Scharnhorst, welcome news to the ears of her Kapitan Kurt ‘Caesar’ Hoffmann. Holder of the Iron Cross and Cross of Honor from the last war, his temperament was well suited to his position, cool, hard, calculating and with an iron will. His peers simply called him ‘the praetorian’ after his middle name ‘Caesar,’ a handle he accepted with a wry grin.

  After the war began in September of 1939, Hoffmann left the light cruiser Konigsberg to assume his post as Kapitan of Scharnhorst, and achieved immediate success in his first major sortie with Gneisenau by finding and sinking the auxiliary cruiser Rawalpindi. It was a great mismatch, with the two German ships badly outgunning the British ship, an old passenger ship that had been hastily converted to a cruiser with 6-inch guns of WWI vintage. Hoffmann gave the British commander every opportunity to surrender his ship, ordering him to abandon the ship three times. To his amazement, all he received in answer were salvos of fire.

  The niceties over, he promptly returned fire. In that action the ship and crew exhibited the remarkable skill in gunnery that would aid them throughout the many trials ahead. Within three minutes they had obtained the range and struck the hapless cruiser full on the bridge, killing the ship’s Captain and most senior officers there. Minutes later another salvo literally broke the recalcitrant cruiser in two.

  A few months later the Kapitan and his ship had been less fortunate and unable to engage when the twin battlecruisers were boldly attacked by HMS Renown. It was a battle Hoffmann thought the Germans should have won, with eighteen eleven inch guns between the two ships against only six 15-inch guns on Renown. The German ships also had twice the armor protection of Renown, with 350mm at the belt against only 150mm for the British battlecruiser.

  Yet, unable to range on the enemy effectively in the tempestuous seas, her radar malfunctioning, Hoffmann realized the best course would be to use their speed to break off and fight again another day. Leaving the scene in heavy seas and at high speed, the ship took on water, which swamped her bow and put the forward turret out of action. The water was literally flooding in through the range finder equipment and cartridge ejection scuttles! It was a problem that would plague both battlecruisers in heavy seas, as their “Atlantic” bow installed after completion still proved inadequate in keeping the sea at bay.

  He was still galled by the thought that the Kriegsmarine should have logged a victory that day. Yet the war was only just beginning. His ships were just the first to find and duel with the heavier British units, and they were still working out the defects that had been hampering operations at the outset of the war. Problems with metal fatigue, heating tubes in the boilers and performance in heavy seas were all to be addressed in lengthy refits as the Twins wintered in Wilhelmshaven. He knew that Germany had more might to darken these waters in the days ahead. Bismarck and Tirpitz had been working out together, ready for action any day now, and behind them were even more powerful ships.

  He had not had a look at her yet, the ship Germany now placed so much faith in, mighty Hindenburg. While the two Bismarck class battleships mounted eight 38cm 15-inch guns, Hindenburg would finally match the best naval arms of their adversary with eight 16-inch guns, and 380mm belt armor for protection. Behind her would come Oldenburg, but after that he doubted if any of the other ships planned for the war would ever be built. We are lucky to have so many battleships in the fleet now, he thought, enough to give the British a real fight this time. Doenitz was arguing that the steel needed for a single battleship could build ten U-boats, and he was correct. If that were true then it meant his ship would have to do far better than the likes of Rawalpindi.

  They needed a kill, and now “the Twins” were prowling the waters west of the Norwegian coast like two dark panthers looking for prey. The ships were hoping to interrupt the British supply effort for Norway, but word had just come over from Admiral Wilhelm Marschall aboard the division flag Gneisenau that the British were evacuating.

  It seems we will have little to do now, thought Hoffmann before a sudden call from the watch sent him to the view port to study the horizon. Where there was smoke, there was fire. Something was out there, and he might get a ship or two before the operation was called off after all.

  “Notify Admiral Marschall of the sighting,” Hoffmann said coolly as he studied the smoke through his field glasses. “Let’s see what we have.” He thought it might be transports, but if this were the edge of a distant convoy there would be escorts. It was not long before he spotted the faint wink of a light beneath the smoke, and the silhouette of a small ship that could only be a destroyer.

  A bridge messenger was quick to the Kapitan
’s side. “Sir,” he said, “signal return from Gneisenau. We are to work up speed and turn to engage.”

  “Ahead full,” said Hoffmann. “The ship will come to action stations.”

  The alarm sent men moving in all directions, but Hoffmann was the still point on the bridge, his eyes fixed on the distant contact. He noted his watch, seeing it was just after 17:00 hours. A lucky time, he thought. We hit Rawalpindi at 17:06. Maybe we’ll get lucky here as well.

  “Helm come hard to starboard and steady on zero-three-zero.”

  “Hard to starboard, sir!”

  Scharnhorst was in the lead, but her boilers had been giving her trouble again and Hoffmann doubted he would get full speed. He leaned out, looking for Gneisenau behind him, seeing the other ship following smartly in his long white wake.

  Fregatten Kapitan Lowisch, was an artillery officer up on the foretop firing control station. He soon called out again, with new sighting information.

  “Kapitan Hoffmann,” he said. “I’ve a better look now. Thick funnel and mainmast amidships, sir, and what looks to be a flight deck. I’ think we’ve found a carrier!”

  “A carrier? Out here all alone with nothing more than those two destroyers?” Hoffmann was watching one of the escorts making a brave charge. The other was aft of the main contact, running in the carrier’s wake.

  “Helm, come about to zero-seven-zero.”

  “Sir,” said Lowisch again. “It’s definitely a carrier. Perhaps Ark Royal. I can make out deck cranes, elevators, and that leading destroyer is getting nosey.”

  Ark Royal… One of the best they have, thought Hoffmann. They certainly know we’re here and will be reporting our position at this very moment. If they get planes up and after us it could be a rough ride home. Why haven’t they turned away if they’ve seen us?

  “Helm. Starboard again. Come round to one-five-zero.” The Germans were making their final approach turn, and now he saw that the destroyer near the main contact was beginning to make smoke. Very strange that a carrier would be here this way. Was there something over the horizon that they had not yet seen?

  The ship’s chief gunnery officer, Schubert was now at the Kapitan’s side. “Sir, that destroyer looks to be making a torpedo run on us.”

  “You may begin training on targets, Schubert. Use your secondary batteries on the destroyer. The main guns will target the carrier.”

  The action had finally begun, and they saw that Gneisenau was already firing at the intrepid British destroyer. He had to admire the British pluck and courage given the circumstances. That destroyer Captain clearly knows he’s got two large capital ships in front of him, at least heavy cruiser size or better, yet here he comes.

  There was an immediate explosion on the enemy destroyer, and Hoffmann raised his binoculars to have a closer look. That must have hit the boiler room, he knew when he saw the ship’s speed fall off dramatically. Yet it was also making heavy smoke now, and zig-zagging forward so it was difficult to assess the real damage.

  “Torpedoes ahead!” came the call from the upper watch. That was the real threat here. The destroyer was firing its deck gun, but they had no more than a 4.7 inch battery there, and it would not pose any real threat to Scharnhorst with her heavy armor. But a torpedo was another thing altogether, and nothing to be trifled with.

  “What is our speed?” Hoffmann knew he might soon have to maneuver if those fish were well aimed.

  “Sir, we are ahead full, and now making 29 knots.”

  And that was all we are likely to make, thought the Kapitan, noting that Gneisenau was gaining on their position, probably running full out at over 30 knots to do so now.

  “Torpedoes passing close ahead!”

  “Steady,” said Hoffmann. This first salvo was going to miss. “Target ranges?” He sized up his prospects now.

  “Sir, destroyer at 14,500 meters bearing one-two-zero. Main contact at 26,000 meters.”

  A long shot if ever there was one. The secondary batteries would deal with this destroyer easily enough, but no battleship he had ever heard of had managed to hit anything at 26,000 meters. They would begin ranging on the target, but most likely have to close considerably to do any real damage. Would he have the speed? The British carriers were very fast.

  “Let’s not have Gneisenau get all the dark meat on that turkey,” he said to Schubert. “Fire secondary batteries!”

  The twin 5.7-inch guns echoed his order in response, even as Witte, the bridge messenger rushed to the Kapitan’s side again with orders to direct main batteries on the carrier.

  Where else, thought Hoffmann with a half smile? Herr Marschall wanted a real feast today, not just the trimmings with these destroyers. He passed the order to Schubert, who was only too eager to comply. The big 11-inch batteries were already well trained on the target, and soon darkened the bow of the ship with their opening salvo. Hoffmann could immediately see that the 5.9-inch guns, also mounted forward above the two main turrets, were going to interfere with his main batteries. The bigger guns were firing much farther and they would have to elevate their barrels into the blast wave of the secondary guns, so he instructed his fire control officer to cease fire with the smaller guns. The British destroyer was running for its own smoke screen now, though he had little doubt it would continue to do everything possible to save its charge.

  “Salvo short,” called Schubert. “Adjusting range now.”

  Hoffmann could see the first shells splashing in the water near the carrier, good on bearing, but obviously short. He was still amazed that they had seen no planes launch and could not imagine why.

  “Sir, Admiral Marschall sends that we may deploy shipboard aircraft as needed.”

  Hoffmann nodded at that, though he did not believe the deployment would be necessary, and Schubert concurred. The smoke screens would hamper them in time, but they already had the range and they would soon close for the kill.

  The main guns boomed again, but minutes later he saw the rounds fall long, well over the carrier. “That’s the frame,” he said to Schubert. “Now paint me the picture.”

  His gunnery officer was quick to respond. He heard the deep throated order to fire, and the guns roared again. The sighting call was 24,175 meters, still very long, but they obviously had the range now. Then, to his amazement, he saw bright fire on the forward deck of the distant carrier, and a second hit right on the island!

  “Hit!” said Schubert, beaming with the news. “My god, what a shot!”

  The bridge crew gave a cheer, and Hoffmann smiled, well pleased. That is one for the record books, he thought, and right on that forward deck! Now let them try to launch anything. His real worry, that he might soon be facing a gaggle of British Swordfish torpedo bombers, was now far less of a shadow on his mind. Behind him he saw Gneisenau hastening up on his starboard side, her guns also trained on the enemy carrier and eager to carve the turkey as he had it in his mind. They were firing.

  “Alarm!” called the watch. “Torpedoes at 330 degrees!”

  That damn destroyer had fired a second salvo, and now he had to make a speedy maneuver, bringing the helm hard to port and then back again on 170 degrees to avoid the deadly attack. If that were not enough, the British destroyer was still impudently firing her deck gun, and he felt the chink of a small caliber hit. A third torpedo alert followed soon after.

  “That little demon is going to be trouble today,” he said aloud. The destroyer was dancing in and out of its own smoke screen and barking like a wild hunting dog at a bear. Well, this bear has already shown it has teeth, so beware. The British carrier had been foolishly holding to its course. Why didn’t it run?

  No sooner had he thought that when he saw the carrier’s silhouette narrow in the distance, and he knew it had turned. Someone has come to his senses, he thought. They should have turned on 120 or 130 long ago, and that looks to be exactly what they are doing now, right into that smoke with the wind at their backs. Now it will ride with them for some time.

 
“Pound that damn destroyer, Schubert! It might get lucky with one of those torpedoes.”

  “Aye sir, redirecting secondary batteries now.”

  Chapter 9

  Aboard HMS Glorious Lieutenant Commander Wells heard the first rounds strike the ship and felt their jarring impact. He was up the ladder to the deck above, and soon shocked to see nothing but smoke and fire. If he had spoken his mind earlier, voicing his concerns about the lack of air cover, and the shamefully absent watch on the mainmast, he had little doubt that he would be right there on the deck where he could now see the bodies of the Captain and almost every senior officer, struck dead by that fated salvo the German ship had fired at extreme long range.

  That hit was supposed to have struck only the forward deck in one recording of this history, yet this time it was more than the hesitation and restraint of Wells that was amiss. Something more had happened that no man then alive could see or know. It had served to guide that salvo unerringly to its target with even better accuracy. Instead of one 11-inch shell through the foredeck, two of the six rounds fired found their mark, and the second struck here, where Wells should have been himself, lying dead, but for his inner tussle that saw him delay his trip to the W/T signals room just long enough to matter.

  That and the confusion over what signal wavelength to use had kept him there, safe from harm, for just long enough. Now he was back, seeing the bridge crew dead or stunned senseless, and Executive Officer Lovell there among them, alive but wounded on the deck. He ran to his side, only to hear his rasping voice telling him to take command.

  “The ship is yours, Mister Wells. God save us…” He slumped unconscious, and Wells stood up, eyes wide, his face ashen white. There was no time for hesitation now. He had to act, and that quickly, or the ship would surely be lost. They were still steering 180, due south, and he knew their only chance in hell was to turn and put the wind at their backs, along with those pursuing German ships.