Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series) (30 page)

* * *

After
some consideration and a collective decision by all the senior officers it was decided to investigate the lone contact off near Greenland to verify Fedorov’s hunch. The weather was still bad, and Admiral Volsky did not want to send the KA-40 for closer observation, but Nikolin had been able to intercept coded messages that named the ship and specified the rendezvous time. Fedorov looked it up, the tanker
Altmark
, and related the strange story of its history to the Admiral.

“This tanker wasn’t even supposed to be here. It should still be in repair for another few weeks, but obviously that history has changed. I know we all hesitate to do harm here but, if it is any consolation, this is a fated ship and crew. Only one man aboard will live two years to see 1943. All were fated to die except a man named Fritz Kürt.” He described the incident at Yokohama and the strange fate of
Doggerbank
as Volsky listened.

“So he may be out there right now, this man.”

“Possibly, sir.”

“Bad luck seems to have found this ship again.” Volsky sighed, but realized that this alternative was better than directly engaging the German battlecruisers, where much more force might have to be exerted to achieve the result they were hoping for.

“So we will strike this ship, a sacrificial lamb, and become a bit of a wolf here ourselves in the process. I suppose it can’t be helped. We will chose your one missile solution, Mister Fedorov, but are there any better attack options? A missile will certainly reveal our position.”

“We could use a torpedo, sir. Samsonov tells me we have both Vodopad and UGST Type 53s aboard.”

“The Vodopads are a missile torpedo, we could strike with one from this position, but again, we reveal our position with that weapon so I think the Type 53 is the better option here. Those weapons range to 50 kilometers. Get us to the target, Mister Fedorov.

“Aye sir.”

For the next hours
Kirov
closed the range, steering 250 on a southwesterly course that eventually brought it a little south of the
Altmark
. The ship’s luck was about to run out again. Admiral Volsky finally gave the order to fire on the German tanker, his heart heavy with the thought that he was going to put men in the sea, and most likely take many lives with this action, in spite of Fedorov’s consolation.

Chapter 26

The
ship rode out the bad weather well enough, and Fritz Kürt was on the aft deck seeing to some hose lines as the skies cleared and the ocean swells began to calm. The weather was breaking up just in time for the refueling operation. That was good. There was nothing more difficult than trying to keep station with a hungry warship in high seas and bad visibility, but now the skies were brightening and the light was fine. He looked east to see the last trailing edge of the passing squalls, off to Iceland now to make rain or snow there, and good riddance, but he knew that this break would not last long. The cool foggy days of June and July were legendary here, where there was cloud cover 90% of the time in those months.

It came out of the storm like a bolt of thunder. The UGST was Russia’s most modern standard 533mm torpedo, utilizing a water jet propulsor to travel up to 50 knots and achieve a range up to 50 kilometers. With a wakeless approach, it was very difficult to spot as it homed in on its target to deliver a 300kg warhead, which was 660 pounds of high explosives.

No man saw it, but every man aboard knew what had happened the instant after it exploded.
Altmark
shuddered amidships, where gun munitions had been stored to replenish the battlecruisers if needed. The magazine had been hit dead on and the explosion broke her back in one mighty blow, as though the fist of Poseidon had hammered the keel of the ship. Fritz was thrown from his feet, barely managing to get to his knees when the everything blew amidships. Then he was thrown completely off the ship, scuppered into the sea and flailing to get his hands on anything around him that was thrown into the water with him.

There were 365 men aboard that day, and most were going into the sea with him soon after that explosion…those that were still alive. There was not even time to get off one last plaintive S.O.S. on the wireless for aid before the ship began to sink. A residual of thick black oil was coating the water all about the stricken vessel, some of it already burning and filling the air about the scene with thick, acrid smoke. Fritz knew he had to get as far from it as he could if he wanted to survive.

Torpedo, he thought grimly. Someone noticed us out here and got suspicious. The British have U-boats too. Yes, it had to be a torpedo. Nothing else breaks the back of a ship like that with one hit. Will they surface and turn the machine guns on us? Thank God it’s June and the water is not so cold. And thank God the battlecruisers are close by, due in a another three hours. So hold on Fritz, you’ll make it through this one. They can sink
Altmark
but they’ll never sink Fritz Kürt.

He could still see crews scrambling on the sinking ship, trying to get to any lifeboat they could float, but Fritz was soon glad to be pulling his tired wet body onto a wide section of broken deck plank. The jinx that seemed to follow the ship had struck again, he thought. Well that is the last we’ll ever see of
Altmark
. Yes…It must have been a torpedo.

He drifted for some time, shivering with shock and cold, yet knowing all would be well. Some inner sense told him he would live through this, that he had been through much worse before this and survived. Then he saw what looked to be one of the battlecruisers, a dark ship on the horizon coming from the retreating edge of the storm. He smiled, weary and tired, but knowing that rescue was close at hand. But to his chagrin, the ship turned away and slowly slipped beneath the horizon.

What are they doing? He could not believe that their comrades would abandon them like this. Why? Was it fear of the submarine that had attacked them here? That was the grim logic of war. He could see the Kapitan of
Scharnhorst
making such a decision. His ship and crew were all that mattered to him. We are no more than a burden to him now. He passed a moment of quiet despair, then shook himself, bolstering his will to survive. Someone will find us, he knew. I will not die here. He was correct, because the ship he had seen was not one of the German raiders.

Two hours later when Hoffmann arrived on the scene with
Scharnhorst
and
Gneisenau
, he swore quietly under his breath. They had seen the smoke from some distance after they broke through the back edge of the weather front. He did not know what he was looking at then, but he had misgivings at once. The smoke soon became fire, and then they saw the dark stain of oil on the sea, the flotsam of wreckage, and men clinging to floating crates and shards of deck wood. There were three lifeboats afloat, crowded with weary wet survivors, and they were shouting and waving at his battlecruisers as they approached.

And there is my oil, he thought grimly, there it sits, burning on the sea. Now how can I continue south with my belly half empty and the nearest friendly port over 3500 kilometers away? If I make it we’ll be running on fumes when we get to the French coast, and there will be no fuel for hunting convoys. Now I must look for another tanker, and this will upset the timetable of the entire operation.

He looked for Huber, his face set, eyes resigned. “Make to Wilhelmshaven. Tell them
Altmark
has been sunk and we have been unable to refuel.” See what Raeder thinks of that one, he thought, but for the moment it was his problem, and now he had to decide what to do about it. He was sitting at the point of no return. Sail on and there was no guarantee that he would get his ships to a safe port, though he knew there were other German oilers in the Atlantic for this operation. He would wait two hours, three at the most, to hear from Wilhelmshaven.

The British know we are here, and if one of their submarines sunk
Altmark
, then they will know where we are as well. There will be more than a few cruisers about shortly. The Royal Navy may be gathering like a pack of crows further south.

“And Huber,” he said quietly. “Signal
Admiral Hipper
and tell them to come to this point at their best speed. As soon as we get any survivors aboard and get some rum into them we must get out and find some sea room. Post submarine watches on every quarter. Get boats out all along our starboard side and drop the anti-torpedo nets. That British U-boat may still be lurking here.”

* * *

Rodenko
watched the two German battlecruisers on radar as they reached the rendezvous point with the tanker.
Kirov
was hovering just over the horizon now, the ship Fritz Kürt had seen. He updated the tactical situation board on the electronic map, briefing Fedorov and the Admiral.

“We are here, sir, about 20 kilometers from their refueling point. As we moved to this location the German battlecruisers were on a parallel course to our north, just over the horizon. We’re still jamming their radar, so I don’t think they will find us unless we show ourselves. Even for a large ship, we are relatively quiet, and they may not even hear us on hydrophones. As for the British, we’ve lost our track on them for the moment. They would be well to the east, and still in the weather front based on their last position and our predictive plot.”

“We could re-acquire the British with the KA-40, Admiral.” Fedorov was looking at the map, considering the situation. “They turned in our direction just before we diverted west to make this intervention. If that predictive plot holds true I think it would put them about 200 kilometers east of us now.”

“The two cruisers?”

“No sir, I was referring to the stronger contacts we had earlier, most likely capital ships. I believe the cruisers are still well to the northeast.”

“And we also have this track here,” said Rodenko.

“That will be
Admiral Hipper
,” said Fedorov. “It appears to be steering to rejoin the battlecruisers.”

“And so what can we deduce from this? Will the Germans proceed into the Atlantic even without refueling here as they planned?”

“That remains to be seen, Admiral. It would be my guess that they are recovering survivors now and possibly awaiting further instructions.”

“And if they do proceed? What then, gentlemen? In that event we will have wasted a torpedo here and achieved nothing but the addition of a little more misery to this cup of war.”

“If they do proceed it will mean they have decided to attempt a refueling rendezvous in the Atlantic.”

“So then we either leave them to the British and head north as planned or we continue this intervention and stop them.”

“From their present position I believe they will evade the British and make a successful breakout, sir.” Fedorov was all business now, his sharp mind looking at every side of the question.

“If we are to engage,” said Rodenko, “we are in a fairly good position now. They will most likely come due south and right across our bow when we spot them.”

“Yes, and at first blush they will think they have sighted a British battleship.”

“They have shown a tendency to try and avoid such an encounter, sir. When they sunk the British auxiliary cruiser
Rawalpindi
between Iceland and the Faeroes they even ran from the cruiser
Newcastle
, and that was a ship in the same class as the two they just engaged here. In the Norway operation they ran into the battlecruiser
Renown
and choose to run again when engaged.”

“But they did not run this time,” said Volsky. “It has been my observation that it is that man that runs, not the ship. He is either cautious or aggressive at sea. Perhaps this German squadron has a new commander.”

“That is possible, sir.”

Hearing mention of
Renown
, Nikolin turned and spoke now. “Excuse me, Admiral, but that ship you are discussing, I intercepted a message half an hour ago.
Renown
was damaged in an engagement off the east coast of Iceland and is now returning to Scapa Flow.”

“A sea engagement?” Fedorov was surprised to hear this.

“No, the signal mentioned an air attack.”

“Air attack? That is fairly far from the Norwegian coast to have German planes make a successful attack. Very strange.”

“Thank you, Mister Nikolin,” said Volsky. “Keep listening with those sharp ears of yours, but we are still left with the question of what to do here at the moment. We must either engage or break off and head north as planned, but Fedorov believes the Germans might just have their cake and eat it too, despite our attack on that tanker.”

“We can still stop them,” said Rodenko, “but if we break off I agree with Fedorov. They will get down into the Atlantic if the British are where we believe them to be.”

“At the moment they are still at that rendezvous point,” said Fedorov, “probably recovering survivors and waiting on
Hipper
, or else orders from higher up the chain of command. We have jammed their radar. Could we not also jam their communications?”

“What are you thinking, Fedorov?”

“Suppose they are waiting for new orders, and suppose they never receive them?”

Volsky thought about that. “Then I think we will learn the character of man in command there, whether he is cautious or aggressive. Make it so, Mister Nikolin. Jam their communications bands if possible. I want to test the mettle of this German Captain.”

“I have another alternative,” said Fedorov. “We could contact the British right now and send them the position of the German ships. If they turn soon they may have a chance to cut them off. It all depends on when, or if, the Germans move.”

“Contact them?” Volsky smiled. “Well we have already tipped our hat to that plane once. I suppose we could do this. We could say we are that Russian cruiser as before. I like this idea Fedorov! Very well, I hope you’ve been polishing your English, Nikolin.”