Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) (34 page)

“Neville, this new General Montgomery is stiffening up the
line at Al Alamein, and we think we can keep Rommel out of Alexandria for the
time being. So that means Suez is safe—at least for the moment. Now, you’ve
done your damndest to secure Malta, and in spite of the losses I think we got
enough through to keep them running a few more months there. It’s a pity it
cost us so much, what with
Manchester
,
Nigeria, Cairo
and others
all gutted, and losing
Eagle
was a hard blow. But Burrough will be
turning west in about three hours with the remainder of his Force X, and
Admiralty has indicated to me that Operation Pedestal is now of secondary
importance.” He tapped his finger on his tea cup as he spoke, his mind running
on.

“Operation Jubilee is cancelled, and now all the plans for
Operation Torch are up in the air as well. It’s come down to this, Neville. The
threat now is to Gibraltar…” he left that on the table for a moment, sipping
his tea and noting Syfret’s reaction.

“A threat to Gibraltar? Have the Spanish thrown in with
Hitler after all?”

“No, Franco wants none of that. It’s something else, a
matter for the Royal Navy, which brings us round to our orders again. It seems
there’s another ship at large—right here in the Med. 248 Squadron got a look at
it a few days ago. Park sent film through Gibraltar and it ran all the way into
Bletchley Park. I’m not quite sure how just yet, but it apparently has
something to do with this incident we had a year ago off Iceland. They’ve
slapped a code word on it and we’re to be ready to oppose any and all
unauthorized sea traffic approaching Gibraltar. You’re to go to full battle
readiness at the first sign of any contact at sea, and they want your planes to
begin searching north and northwest of our present position at once.”

“I see,” said Syfret, setting down his tea. “Forgive me if
I seem a bit thick, sir, but what are we looking for?”

“A ship—a battlecruiser of sorts—the very same ship our 248
squadron took a nip at two days ago. We lost four of six Beaufighters, you
know.”

“I heard the report, but had more on my plate to worry
about and dismissed it.”

“Yes… well it was the
way
we lost these planes that
got the Admiralty all rankled. They were shot down by rocketry, Neville.
There’s another ship out there, and it’s apparently heading our way. That first
sighting was in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and apparently this ship ran up north and
on through the Bonifacio Strait.”

“An Italian ship?”

“That’s what we thought at first, but there was an
engagement off the western approaches to Bonifacio that set Admiralty on its
head. Apparently this ship tangled with a couple of Italian battleships, and
came off the better for it. I was only informed this morning.”

“Then it must be a French ship,” said Syfret. “They’ve been
goading the Vichy Fleet to Join Admiral Darlan for some time.”

“That was my opinion as well, but Admiralty isn’t sure. A
few things add up. If it was a Vichy French ship it might be likely to take a
shot at anything that came in range. That much makes sense. Then again, it
might be a renegade ship and crew making a run out of Toulon. Nobody knows for
sure, but we do know one thing, this ship is heading our way, and we’re to see
that it gets nowhere near Gibraltar.”

“Well if it drove off a pair of Italian battleships it
would have to be the
Dunkerque
,
Strausbourg
, or perhaps even
both. Then again,
Dunkerque
took quite a pounding at Mers-el Kebir.
Ark
Royal
put a torpedo into her a few days later for good measure. It would
have to be
Strasbourg
. She got clean away in that incident, and was
still seaworthy. Probably the only ship the French still have that might have a
chance against the Italians like that.”

“This is what I suggested, but Admiralty isn’t sure.”

“What do you mean they aren’t sure? What else could it be?”

“They haven’t been able to get a long range reconnaissance
flight over Toulon to see if all the eggs are still in the nest, and until they
do, well, you know the routine.”

“Too well, I’m afraid.”

“Right then. They’ve given this ship, or ships, a
codename—calling it
Geronimo
. That is to be kept close to your vest and
not shared with anyone without this nice thick stripe on his cuff.” He pointed
to his own cuff insignia, the thick gold base braid that indicated Admiral. “This
ship appears to be heading our way, and they want us to find it and say hello. We’ll
have company soon. Admiral Tovey is at sea this very moment with Home Fleet.”

“I see…” That last bit surprised Syfret. “Do you think that
is really necessary? I certainly hope we won’t have another incident with the
French, Sir Bruce. Wasn’t Mers-el-Kebir enough of a thumb in their eye?”

“If it comes down to it, your orders are to stop this ship,
by whatever means. It may be running for Dakar, but it is not to approach
Gibraltar. Supposing it is a renegade French ship, we have yet to know who’s
side it might end up on.
Strausbourg
has eight big guns, all forward,
and it seems to fit the general profile of this
Geronimo
—one main tower
amidships, and a smaller one behind. I’d hate to see those 13 inch guns lobbing
shells at Gibraltar. If we do have a disaffected captain out there, he may be
looking to stick us one for Mers-el-Kebir.”

Fraser was referring to the regrettable but necessary
decision by Admiral Somerville to order the British Fleet, Force H out of
Gibraltar in fact, to fire on the French fleet at Mers-el-Kebir on Aboukir Bay
when they refused to surrender.

“Some feel that the French may have even gotten wind of
this Operation Torch, and that this might be some sort of preemptive action
against Gibraltar, or even an attempt to reinforce their forces in North Africa.”

“I see, “ said Syfret, thinking for a moment. “
Strausbourg
can run up near thirty knots, Sir Bruce. You’re aware of the situation with
Rodney
.
We’ve been lucky to make eighteen knots today.”

“And it’s likely we’ll have to trim that to fifteen knots.
Those boilers are insufferable, but we’ll have to keep pushing on as best we
can. It’s imperative that we get the cork in the bottle before this ship breaks
through to Gibraltar.”

Fraser had put the best possible explanation to the
mystery, and if he knew any more than he said, he wasn’t prepared to share it
at the moment. Yet he reinforced the one message he had come to deliver here,
leaning in to emphasize his point. “We’re to sink this ship if she won’t heave
to, Admiral.” The added formality made it plain that this was an order.

“Very good, sir. If we get in front of them I think
Nelson
and
Rodney
can handle the matter.”

“Right you are.” Fraser’s tea was cold and he stared
listlessly at the half empty cup. He knew that Tovey was heading south as well
with a lot more firepower to throw in, though he couldn’t imagine why if this
was, indeed, the
Strausbourg
as he suspected. It seemed entirely too
much bother for a lone French battleship, but there it was. The Admiralty
obviously knew, or at least believed, that this
Geronimo
was more of a
threat than it seemed in his own mind. The fact that they cancelled Operation
Jubilee was one surprise. Now he reasoned that the potential threat to the
Operation Torch landing may be behind it all. If this French renegade were to add
steel to the Vichy bastions on the North African coast it could become quite a
problem. Still, this business about the rocketry was dangling like a badly tied
shoe at inspection. He sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair.

“The world is going to hell, Neville. The whole bloody
world is mixed up in this war now.”

“Sadly so, sir Bruce,” said Syfret, reaching for the tea
pot to warm his friend’s cup. “But at least we’ve got our tea.”

Part IX

Desertion

“
Desperation is the raw material
of drastic change.

Only those who can
leave behind everything they have

 ever believed in
can hope to escape.”

~
William S.
Burroughs

Chapter 25

At 18:00 hours
Orlov got the word he had been
waiting for. They wanted the KA-226 scout helo rigged for takeoff and mounted
with the new
Oko 901-M
early warning radar panel. The
Oko
, or
‘Eye,’ was first deployed on the older KA-31 around the turn of the century,
and the 901 model was a more compact panel that was mounted on the underside of
the fuselage and could be deployed by the pilot to a assume a vertical position
in flight. It would rotate slowly, and provided a 360° azimuthal coverage. The
surveillance range against a fighter aircraft target was up to 150 kilometers,
and for ships this range could extend to 200 kilometers.

Apparently someone on the bridge wanted to have a look
around, he thought. When he heard the work order come down, he rushed to his
quarters under the pretense that he was going to get the proper tools to rig
the device, inwardly rubbing his hands together, and sure that this was his one
last chance to do what he had planned.

Back in the helicopter bay below the flight deck he
supervised the installation of the
Oko
panel, as he had many times in
the past, occasionally taking a tool in hand and making adjustments. The two
able seamen also assigned to his engineering detail pretty much wanted to stay
out of his way, and no one said anything when he blustered about their sloppy
work and claimed he was going to have to board the helo for the mission to make
sure the damn thing deployed properly. He pointed a spanner at Ludvich, always
finding a scapegoat first unless something really went wrong. Then he donned a
flight jacket and helmet, muttering to himself as he boarded the helo. The
pilot looked over his shoulder, surprised to see Orlov in the rear compartment.

“What are you doing, Lieutenant? There’s supposed to be a
Marine guard aboard.”

“Don’t call me Lieutenant, Pratkin, you stupid oaf. Haven’t
you heard? I’m in the Marines now, so get moving. Our baby faced Captain wanted
this helo up ten minutes ago. If you want to make sure your damn radar panel
deploys, be glad I’m here with my tools. Those idiots used the wrong control
cables and I will have to work on it in flight. See?” He held up a fistful of
tightly wound cabling, grinning balefully at the pilot, who just shook his head
and radioed the aft helo con tower for permission to take off. Minutes later
the KA-226 was aloft and heading south with orders to get some seventy to a
hundred kilometers out and sweep the area for signs of a large enemy task
force.

Fedorov was still on the bridge when Karpov arrived to begin
his next shift. He was consulting with Kalinichev at radar and waved his first
officer over.

“We turned on our planned heading of 200 degrees about thirty
minutes ago, he said. The ship’s radar might pick up Force Z soon, but I need
information now. I’ve sent the KA-226 up with an
Oko
panel and we’ll
have a good look to the south. My best guess is that Force Z is some 225
kilometers southwest of our position now, and most likely approaching Oran. We
should be getting some good signal returns from the helo in about twenty to
thirty minutes.”

“What about the enemy carriers,” said Karpov. “Won’t they
have fighters up?”

“Probably, but they won’t get a whiff of our KA-226.
Remember, it’s also got good jamming equipment, and I had it re-tuned to
include British aerial radar bandwidths six hours ago. The game is on now,
Mister Karpov. We want to find and mark their position as soon as possible, and
keep them in the dark about our whereabouts at the same time. If they do happen
to spot a British fighter, they can easily avoid it, and that failing, they
will have to shoot it down.”

The helo could mount interchangeable mission pods in the
space that would normally be the rear cabin. This load out would include a thirty
mm cannon and also air-to-air and light surface attack missiles. The
Oko
panel was mounted beneath this cabin and controlled by connecting utility cables.
They waited while Nikolin monitored the routine signal feed from the helo, and
routed it to the ship’s main radar systems. Kalinichev was also watching the
progress of the helo on his air search radar.

“Tell them it looks like they are a little too far west,”
he said over his shoulder, and Nikolin passed the message on a secure,
encrypted radio channel. His voice was digitized, then encrypted for the transmission
and decoded on the helo to play on the pilot’s speakers. Anyone who might
manage to intercept the signal would just hear garbage.

“Command one to KA-226. You are too far west. Resume
heading of one-eight-zero and deploy your panel for radar sweep—over.”

The helo was too far west for a good reason, or a bad one
depending on whose perspective you took in the matter. Orlov had been sitting
in the back compartment, and drinking from a flask as they moved south. He
waited patiently, until the helo was about a hundred kilometers out, then took
a long swig on his flask and pulled out his pistol.

“Are you ready back there, Lieutenant? It’s time to deploy
the radar panel.”

“I told you
not
to call me Lieutenant,” Orlov
growled. “Am I ready?” Orlov grinned. “Oh yes, I’m ready. Are
you
ready,
Pratkin?” And without a second thought he pulled the trigger and put a bullet
right through Pratkin’s head. The pilot slumped forward, and for a moment the
helo danced wildly in the sky, but Orlov quickly scrambled into the co-pilot
seat up front and seized the controls. He had taken some rudimentary flight
training on the KA-226 years ago, as he often was tasked as a mission leader
when the Marines would deploy on the chopper. Now he struggled to remember what
he had to do to stabilize the helo and get it moving where he wanted it to go.