Nemesis (8 page)

Karpov
smiled. “Then I find a way to eat that cake, Tyrenkov. In this I’ll have to use
all the guile and intelligence at my disposal, but I’ll want some good men to
come aboard with me. Is Grilikov with us?”

“Aye
sir, he’s with the Siberian Guard.”

“Excellent.
This Sergeant Troyak I mentioned earlier… Well if there is any man on this
earth who might match him, it would be Grilikov. I’ll want him with me, and at
least three other men. You pick them, but I want the very best we have—and I’ll
want you there as well, Tyrenkov—your brains, Grilikov’s brawn. Together, and
under my leadership, we must find a way to prevail. But one way or another, I’m
going to take command of that ship.”

“But
sir, you said earlier that those Marines aboard—the Black Death—could hold off
our entire guards company.”

“They
might… But once I get aboard I’ll have the element of surprise. That counts for
a great deal.”

“And
the ship’s crew? How many are they?”

“Over
700 men.”

“And
men who love this Admiral Volsky,” said Tyrenkov. “Suppose they don’t want to
go along with your plan, and these Marines back them? Yes, Grilikov is very
tough, but we’ll be too few to control that ship by force.”

“Don’t
worry about that,” said Karpov. “I’ve been thinking about this a good long
while, as you may have guessed. I have a plan, Tyrenkov. Trust me, I have a
plan.”

Tasarov
heard them long before Rodenko had them on his radar
screens. The sound of fast screws churning the sea was unmistakable, though
there was a strangeness about the signal. It was not like the things he was
accustomed to hearing, not the slow sedate progression of an oil tanker or
cargo ship. There was a frenetic energy in the sound, and he knew at once that
this was a small flotilla of ships, and not a single contact.

“Con,
Sonar. Multiple surface contacts bearing 060. High speed screw noise.
Processing range… I make it just over 100 kilometers, but I’ll need more time
for a better reading and target motion analysis.”

“High
speed?” Karpov was at his sonar man’s side at once. “Missile Patrol boats out
of Norway?”

“Possibly
sir, but this sounds like something a little bigger.”

“
Nansen
class frigates? What would they be doing so far north?”

After
lingering for three days near the last reported position of the cruiser
Slava
,
Kirov
had been ordered home, and was now off the northern cape of
Norway. It was only a day’s sailing from Jan Mayen at 20 knots, and the grey
dawn found the bridge crew bleary eyed, yet eager for home, wanting to put the confusion
of all that had happened well behind them.

Yet as
they approached the North Cape, Karpov felt a rising sense of anxiety, knowing
that there would be very many questions once they made port at Severomorsk, and
the investigation would likely put every senior officer on the ship under a
magnifying glass. He had been thinking over everything that had happened,
making notes, rehearsing his testimony in his mind, well prepared to defend
himself. He knew his own assessment of their situation would differ from that
of Admiral Volsky, and still believed he had acted appropriately in assessing
the threat. Yet going up against a fleet Admiral on his home turf was not a comfortable
prospect. He had to be cautious here, and consider just how far he could push
the blame for the loss of
Slava
and
Orel
onto Volsky’s side of
the line.

They
had maintained radio silence, and he had the ship come to a level three
permanent alert status, though nothing was seen or heard in the sea and skies,
until Tasarov’s sudden report.

“I
don’t think this is
Nansen
class,” said Tasarov. “I listened to those
ships many times, and this is very different. Whatever it is, sir, its coming
fast. And now there is another signal sir… Well north, but I’m getting distinct
screw noise—multiple ships.”

Two
surface action groups, one north, one south, and both suddenly darkening the
morning with their unexpected appearance, like a well laid trap being sprung. Karpov
was taking no chances. The fact that they had not received the normal naval air
cover for this return leg was bothersome enough. Uninvited guests for breakfast
was something else entirely.

“The
ship will come to level two alert,” said Karpov. “Mister Tasarov, get me
accurate bearing, speed, and range on these contacts, and feed your data
directly to Samsonov.”

*

There
were four ships out that day, the 6th DD Flotilla out of
Tromso comprised of the
Karl Galster, Hermann Schoemann, Friedrich Eckoldt,
and
Richard Beitzen.
They had moved to Tromso from Narvik a day earlier,
then set out in the grey twilight of the endless arctic day intent on finding
and harassing any enemy shipping they might encounter.

Z20,
the
Karl Galster,
was the flotilla leader that day, a new 1936 class
ship under Kapitan Theodor Bechtolsheim. The ship was fast at 36 knots, with
five gun turrets mounting a single 5-inch barrel, 60 mines, and a pair of 21
inch torpedoes. The other three ships were older 1934 class vessels, equally
fast and with identical armament. There had been intelligence that the British
were planning an attack on the airfields at Kirkenes and Petsamo, where flights
of
Stukas
and Messerschmitts were supporting the attack of the 2nd
Mountain Division against Soviet positions east of Murmansk. Two U-Boats, U-81
and U-652, were also operating off the Kola Coast, where the latter had
narrowly missed the Russian Patrol Ship
Musson
in an attack the previous
day.

Bechtolsheim
had heard the British also had cruisers to the north, near Bear Island, which
was presently about 550 miles north of
Kirov’s
present position. Tromso
was due south, an equal distance, and so the Kapitan was thinking to get up
towards Bear Island and see what he might find.

“The
British are out here,” he said to his first officer. “ I can smell them. When
will that Do-18 be up from Tromso?”

“Any
time now,” said Werner, a starchy young officer, eager and bright, yet very
proper, just as the aristocratic Bechtolsheim preferred.

Ten
minutes later, Werner was proved correct when they spotted the German naval
seaplane, coming in low in salutation. The unwieldy flying boats were serving
as good patrol scouts, trying to live down the ignominious fate of being the
very first plane that the British shot down on the 26th of September, 1939.
Riddled with machinegun fire by a pair of Blackburn
Skuas
off the Ark
Royal, the seaplane landed on the water, only to be ignominiously engaged by
the British destroyer
Somali
, and sunk. Thus the plane had the dubious
distinction of being shot down and sunk on the same day, and this one was to
suffer an equally grim fate as it wagged its wings and continued on north,
looking for the same British cruisers that Bechtolsheim was hunting that
morning, as bold and dangerous as that might be.

*

Rodenko
had the plane on his Fregat system, seeing the range
diminishing as it approached.

“Single
contact, low and slow. Elevation falling beneath 300 meters.”

“Trying
to get down on the deck,” said Karpov, seeing this development as part and
parcel with the scenario he was building in his mind. The prospect of an attack
was a looming threat in his thoughts, and now his anxiety over the imminent
investigation waiting for them at home redoubled. What if I have to take
action, he thought? Volsky is still in sick bay, and this is all on my watch
now. If I make a mistake here…

Clearly
Karpov was not yet the man he might soon become. His instinct for survival had
prickled up, but his mind was now on how he could act without exposing himself
to any rebuke or accusation of wrongdoing when the ship made port. Long years
of devious maneuvering in the corporate world of Gazprom had served him well.
When facing risk, always make certain you cover your actions, and be prepared
to set up another man for any failure—shift the blame, find a safe mouse hole,
and wait out the controversy while working behind the scenes to quietly
undermine any potential threat.

He had
already set Orlov loose on Fedorov, filling his head with the suspicion that
had been growing there. The Navigator was not scheduled for duty until the noon
bell today, and Petrov was in his place. He passed a quick moment, wondering
where Orlov was, as the Chief was below decks making his morning rounds. So
there was no one else on the bridge to consult now, and he was Captain of the
ship in Volsky’s absence. What should he do?

“Mister
Rodenko,” he said. “Karpov was heading for the main hatch. “I must inform the
Admiral of our present situation. If that aircraft comes within 50 kilometers,
put the ship on Air Alert One. I will be no more than ten minutes away. You
have the bridge.”

The
Siberian Karpov would have never left his post on the bridge of the world’s
premier surface action ship, not with unknown and potentially hostile contacts
on two sides, apparently converging, and an aircraft up on what looked to be an
intercept course. Yet Karpov was serving himself first that morning, and the
fate of his ship and the nation it served were waiting in a long line behind
the anxiety that now drove him to sick bay. There he would seek out higher
authority, recommend his desired course of action, and obtain the Admiral’s
approval before he took any combat action here. If anything happened, the blame
would not be his.

*

The
northern end of the threat Karpov perceived that morning
was Force K under Vice Admiral Philip Vian, lurking quietly north of Bear
Island after investigating Russian and Norwegian settlements on the much bigger
land mass of Svalbard further north.

Vian
had the cruisers
Aurora
and
Nigeria
, and destroyers
Punjabi
and
Tartar
, and they had set out on July 27 from Scapa Flow for this
long range reconnaissance mission to the icy north. They had reached
Spitzbergen on the 31st of July, and Vian intended to scout Bear Island before
heading south again to join up with Force-P under Wake-Walker. The planned
attack on Kirkenes had been tabled when the
Dervish
Convoy operation was
teed up, but now this sudden order for a recall to Scapa Flow on 1 August was
most unexpected.

“What
do you make of this sudden rush home sir?” His executive officer Arlen Holmes
was standing on the weather deck with him aboard the Crown Colony class light
cruiser
Nigeria
, where Vian had set his flag.

“Not
much to say about it. Home Fleet has other business for us, which is all I can
read in that order.”

“The
Dervish
Convoy?”

“Most
likely. Wake-Walker was ready to head north three days ago. In fact, he should
be up near Jan Mayen by now, unless the party has been called off for some
reason. We’ve heard nothing since that recall order, and we’re to light foot it
home as soon as possible. Orders are to avoid any engagement with the enemy,
which seems odd, wouldn’t you say?”

“Very
odd, sir.”

“Well,
get that shore party over to have a look for that Jerry weather team. We move
in three hours, or sooner if the Marines can get their business done. Force K
will be the last sheep home, I should think. Something must be in the wind,
Mister Holmes. Otherwise why would Home Fleet be herding cats into Scapa Flow
like this?”

“My money
is on another German operation, sir.”

“A
raider? Most of their fleet is down in French Ports. RAF is certainly happy
about that. Word is they dropped a nice 500 pounder on the
Hindenburg
.
Good icing on the cake after Tovey got the
Graf Zeppelin
.”

“Right
sir. A pity we lost
Rodney
like that.”

“Just
her time I suppose,” said Vian with an air of resignation. “But you may be
right, Mister Holmes. The Germans still have those pocket battleships up here,
and those new fast demons they’ve built,
Rhineland
and
Westfalen
.
One of those would give this ship a run for its money. It would be our twelve
six-inchers against their six 11 inch guns.”

“Dash
and jab for us,” said Holmes.

“Yes,
and haymakers for the other fellow. Well, if the Germans have something teeing up,
then this order makes perfect sense. I suppose we’ll soon find out what this
young lady beneath our feet can really do.”

Nigeria
was a new ship, laid down in 1938 just before the war, 10,400
tons full load, with twelve 6-inch guns on four triple turrets and another
eight 4 inchers on four twin mounts. Six 21 inch torpedoes finished off her
main armament, and she also had three quad 2-inch pom-pom AA guns for air
defense to compliment those four inch batteries. A second light cruiser, the
Aurora
,
was at her side, more lightly armed with only six main guns, and only half the
displacement of
Nigeria
, which was a ship that approached a true heavy
cruiser in size and weight.

The
previous month,
Nigeria
had been involved in a most auspicious mission,
intercepting the German weather ship
Lauenburg
along with destroyer
Tartar
.
The Germans decided to scuttle their ship, but a boarding party off the
Tartar
was able to recover precious ENIGMA code books before the ship went down. The
find had helped Alan Turing and his team at Bletchley Park immensely, as they
were working to read the German code.

They
were off Bear Island to investigate, and eliminate, a reported German weather
station, and a contingent of Marines was preparing to go ashore. He was also
assessing possible refueling locations for the Murmansk convoy routes, and the
island looked to be a good candidate. They would find their weather station
that morning, making short work of it, and then pulling off a few Norwegian
nationals wanting a ride to better climes. It was what they would encounter
soon after that would make this a day Philip Vian would long remember, and it
would start with that odd sighting in the southern sky, just after the noon
bell.