Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series) (10 page)

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.

“Helm! Come to one-two-zero and all ahead flank!”

No one answered and he ran to the wheel himself, seeing the helmsman down and bleeding on the deck. One-two-zero it is, he said to himself, wrenching the wheel over and hoping their speed would hold up now.

The turn would take him right into the thick smoke screen that had been laid by destroyer
Acasta
, still in dutiful attendance out in front of the carrier. Brave
Ardent
had charged in alone, guns and torpedoes firing, making smoke and doggedly doing everything possible to buy the carrier the time it needed to get up those last six boilers and make speed for a getaway run.

One look at the forward deck told Wells that there was no chance to launch any planes. Yet the crews had managed to bring up two of the
Swordfish
there, albeit with ASW bombs mounted on one instead of torpedoes. That was all they would be able to spot, for he could see by the smoke from the hole in the flight deck that there was obviously a fire below in the hanger.

Yet hole in the deck or not, Lt. Commander Charles Stevens was not about to wait. He had his co-pilot Basil Wise get up several men from the RAF ground crews and put them to man-handling a single
Swordfish
around the damaged section of the deck and pointed aft! He was going to try and take off using the long, undamaged section of the deck behind him, and with little more than hope and the plucky nature of the aircraft itself for any chance at getting aloft.

The engine sputtered to life as Wells watched, spellbound. He saw Stevens leap aboard the plane, quickly settling into his harness and giving a thumbs up. Then he set the engine roaring and the plane began to move, lumbering down the deck, the wheels scudding over debris as it went. Every man on deck cheered him on and, by god, he pulled back on the yoke and got the nose of the plane up just as he ran out of runway. It howled in protest, very near a stall, but managed to pull through and get aloft.