Kirov (46 page)

“That
it will, sir,” said Brind with a smile. “Yet considering that note of
retribution. The Yanks will want to go all out to get this German ship.”

“We’ve
got a score to settle as well,” said Tovey. “You don’t pull a sucker punch like
that on the Royal Navy without hearing about it again.”

“That’s
just it, sir,” said Brind. “This may seem a tad out of place given what’s
happened. But we might give some thought to trying to capture this vessel
intact. Then we could have a look at these ruddy rockets they’ve been using.”

“Not
much chance of that, Daddy,” said Tovey. “First off, she’ll need every damn
rocket aboard when she gets a look at our battle fleet darkening her near
horizon. I wouldn’t think we’d find very much left aboard even if we were to
seize the ship. For that matter, Jerry is likely to scuttle the ship if we do
manage to corner her, just as they did with
Graf Spee
.”

“You’re
probably right, Admiral,” said Brind. “Then I guess the only question is
this—who gets to sink the
Graf Zeppelin
first?”

“I
know the Americans will want to weigh in right off, but if the Prime Minister
has anything to say about it, that honor will be reserved for the Royal Navy…and
me!” He smiled broadly.

“Signal
Prince of Wales:
My regards to the FNP.” He was referring to the Former
Naval Person, Churchill himself.

~
~ ~

Miles
away
the analysts
at Bletchley Park were having a look at some very unusual photographs. They had
come in from Iceland on the Royal Post, and Western Approaches Command had prints
made from the film them sent right over to the intelligence experts at Hut 8,
as well as to the Admiralty. That, plus a bit of other news from agents on the
ground had set jaws wagging again.
Graf Zeppelin
had been positively
identified near Stettin, where the Germans had towed her some months ago to
keep her safe from Russian air attacks. It seems the raider at loose on the
seas was something else.

“Well
this is odd,” said Atkins. “You’d better have another look at your chess set,
Alan. We thought it was the
Admiral Sheer
, but she’s in port at Kiel.
Then the Admiralty discovered
Graf Zeppelin
was missing and we thought
that settled the matter. Now it seems she’s been found again, and not out south
of Iceland where all this hubbub is going on.”

Alan
Turing looked up from his chess board. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the
yellow manila envelope Atkins had opened.

“Courier
delivery. Reconnaissance photos taken by an American PBY. It seems Jerry been cheating
at the game, Alan. He’s carved a new chess piece!” He brought the photos over
to Turing, who glanced at them, still fixated on his game. But a second look
soon commanded his complete attention, and he put down the pawn he had been
fiddling with and took the photos in hand.

 “It’s
very odd looking,” Atkins went on. “Certainly not an aircraft carrier, or even
a hybrid. Looks more like a battlecruiser of sorts. And a rather dangerous
looking one at that. Look at all those odd domes and antennae. The ship looks
like it is bristling with electronic devices.”

Turing
took a closer look, his attention suddenly captured by the strange looking
ship. “My, my…what have we here,” he breathed. “Those have to be radio
direction finding sets and radar equipment. And that’s odd…no smoke stacks
amidships at all. Could they be hidden elsewhere?”

“Some
of the Japanese carrier designs had side venting stacks, but I don’t see
anything like that here.”

“Make
a note of that—no stacks. Very odd, indeed.”

“And
have a look at these guns…” Atkins pointed, handing Turing the magnifying
glass.

“Odd
shape for a gun turret, but nothing out of the ordinary there. They look to be
5.7 inchers or thereabouts. This monster can’t take much of a bite out of
anything with those. But these hatches on the forward decks look interesting.
They must be mounting those rockets the Admiralty has been in a dither about
there, below decks. Ingenious!”

“Atkins
gave him a bemused look. “Alan…How in the world could we have missed something
like this? The keel would have been laid down years ago. There’s no way we
could fail to detect the construction of a ship like this—particularly one of
this size. Every report we have on this raider speaks to its size. Frightened
that destroyer captain out of his wits when he bumped noses with the damn thing
up near Jan Mayen.”

“Interesting…”
Turing’s eye seemed grossly enlarged as he peered through the magnifying glass.
“No flags or insignia,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself. Then he seemed
to focus intently on the sharp forward bow of the ship, thinking he spied the
vague outline of a single star there. He couldn’t be sure, given the resolution
of the photo, yet his brow furrowed with obvious concern.

“Look there, Atkins… That’s a man standing on the
foredeck. See his shadow there? Let’s use him for scale and work out the
dimensions. Make sure the chaps in Hut 8 see that and send it all over to the
naval intelligence unit. I’m here to sort out the cyphers, not bandy about with
ships.” He had tried to appear glib about the matter but his expression
revealed some discomfiture. It was clear that the lapse of intelligence on this
had bothered him, and if he had come to any inner conclusion on what he thought
he saw on the ship’s prow, he said nothing more about it.

“You
know what this means,” said Atkins, a warning in his voice. “They’re going to
want us to go over all the code for the last six months or more to see how we
could have missed this little darling. It’s going to be quite busy around here
the next few weeks.”

Turing
sighed, resignation evident on his face. “Quite,” he said. Then he moved his
white bishop and put the enemy queen in jeopardy. “Better get over here,
Atkins. I’m about to ruffle your lady’s skirts!”

~
~ ~

Admiral
Volsky
was
sitting up in bed, quietly drinking tea. The doctor was lounging on a nearby
chair, keeping an eye on the Admiral, and was pleased when he finally stirred
from sleep. He took a moment to get his pulse and temperature, and then looked
in his eyes, gratified to see they were focusing and tracking properly. Then he
served up his favorite remedy, a cup of hot Earl Grey tea.

“That’s
it, Leonid, drink up. I’ll have you back on your feet in no time. I’ll say one
thing for the British, they make good tea.”

“They
sell
good tea,” Volsky corrected him. “The Chinese grow the stuff.”

“Ah,
feeling your old self again?”

“Much
better now. The room has settled down, and my stomach along with it. But what
in the world went on while I was down for the count? I could hear the ship,
feel it in battle.”

“I
suppose you had better know sooner than later,” said the doctor. “Your Mister
Karpov has been taking pot shots at anything that comes within a hundred and
fifty kilometers of us.”

“The
British?”

“Yes,
but Mister Fedorov says he’s also engaged an American Task Force as well. It
was supposed to be delivering planes to Iceland. He was quite upset about it.
Karpov had him relieved and sent below.”

“Relieved?”
The Admiral raised his heavy brows, his eyes troubled again. “Did we get hurt?”

“No,
the ship is fine. But I’m afraid the Americans cannot say the same. Karpov sunk
a few ships. They never saw what hit them.”

Volsky
closed his eyes, exhaling as if he could purge the trouble in his mind with his
breath, then he opened them again, afraid the room would be spinning. Thankfully
it was not. “What ships?” he said calmly, waiting.

“Well,
don’t ask me, Leonid. Send for Mister Fedorov.”

At
that moment there was a knock on the outer door, and Zolkin looked over his
reading glasses, seeing the Captain leaning in through the half open entrance.

Karpov
had been making his rounds, and this was to be his second stop. Earlier he had vented
his ire on Chief Engineer Dobrynin and told him that if his ship could not make
at least twenty knots in an hour’s time he would be relieved. He received word
soon after that the reactor cooling situation was now sorted out, and the ship
was certified for any speed up to ‘all ahead full’ at thirty-two knots. The
Captain called up on the intercom to set the ship’s course just shy of 180
true, and increased to two thirds, cruising at twenty knots. Then he made for
the sick bay to check on the Admiral.

“Come
in, Captain,” Zolkin called out to him. “We’re in here having tea. Don’t tell
me you have a stomach ache as well.”

Karpov
entered, surprised, and inwardly disappointed to see Volsky sitting up, awake,
and obviously alert. “Good to see you have recovered, Admiral,” he lied. “How
are you, sir?”

“As
well as can be expected, I suppose. It seems thirty years at sea have taken
their toll on me. And the ship?”

“We
had a problem with our reactor coolant, but the engineers have fixed it. We’re
back up at twenty knots and cruising south.”

“I
see,” said Volsky. ”Did Dobrynin say anything about the sound of the reactors?
Any unusual readings?”

“No,
sir, it was just a cooling problem. It’s been fixed.”

The
Admiral seemed relieved. “So tell me what you have been shooting at, Mister
Karpov.” It was an obvious request, not a question.

“Sir,
we engaged enemy surface and air units that threatened to penetrate our outer
defense exclusion zone. The British have since broken off their pursuit. Their
battlegroups to the north and east have turned away.”

“Exclusion
zone? You are getting very testy with the British I see. And to the south? What
about the Americans? There was a task group bound for Iceland as part of their
occupation force. It was bringing supplies, aircraft. Don’t tell me you sunk
those cargo ships.”

“No
sir, I did not.”

“It
was just an aircraft carrier,” said Zolkin quietly, folding his arms. Karpov
looked at him, annoyed.

“An
aircraft carrier?” Volsky stiffened and sat up higher, his heavy features
registering obvious surprise.

“We
were under attack by a large formation of aircraft. I took the steps necessary
to defend the ship and crew.” The Captain immediately defended his actions.

“Those
planes weren’t attacking,” said Volsky dismissively. “They were just being
ferried out to Iceland. The carrier’s strike aircraft weren’t even aboard!
Didn’t you consult with Fedorov?”

The
remark annoyed the Captain even further. Fedorov was a junior lieutenant, and
the thought that he needed his advice before taking appropriate action galled
him.

“That
may be the case, sir, at least insofar as Fedorov’s books tell you this. But on
my radar scope a flight of thirty aircraft bearing on my position is a threat,
and I dealt with it as such. The British could have informed the Americans
about us,” he repeated his logic on the matter. “All the American ships had
orders to attack. Fedorov will tell you as much. And for that matter, the
history could have changed. These planes could have been rearmed for a strike
mission. What? Was I supposed to let them fly right over us? We were directly
in their flight path.”

Volsky
rolled his eyes, this time with aggravation, not vertigo. “Yes, and why is
that, Captain? Do you recall our last conversation? I told you I wanted to
avoid contact with the enemy, and engage them only if we had no other option. I
told you to use our speed to evade their ships, and that I would decide what to
do about the carriers, yes? Did it occur to you that you could have steered
east into the Atlantic long before this? And the carrier? That would have been
the
Wasp
if I recall my notes from Fedorov’s book. You
sunk
this
ship?”

Karpov
was silent for a moment, then he raised his chin, folding his arms. “That I
did, sir. In my judgment—”

“Your
judgment? Do you have any idea of the likely consequences of this act? You
wanted to prevent the Americans from getting to the Rhine? Well, it’s very
likely you have just given them four months head start!” Volsky put his tea
down, clearly upset, and ran his hand through his well grayed hair. “I heard
the missiles in my sleep,” he said quietly, holding up a finger, which wagged
as he spoke. “I thought I was just having a nightmare. Now I wake up only to
find
this
is the nightmare. What day is it?” He had not even thought to
ask Zolkin earlier.

“August
6th, 1941,” said the doctor. “Or so we believe.”

“August
6th…” Volsky thought. “Then in just three days time the Americans and British will
meet at Argentia Bay. What is our present position, Captain?”

“We
are due east of Cape Farewell, Greenland, and I have just turned on a heading
of 180. The remainder of the American task force is withdrawing south as well.
They have been taught a lesson, sir. I do not think we will be bothered
further.”