Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) (19 page)

He did
his best to forewarn Kranke, hoping he had conveyed the same sense of peril and
urgency that he felt.
Scharnhorst
was ordered to accompany the newcomers
as far north as Narvik, where Hoffmann would wait on 4 hour notice should
Kranke’s detachment run into difficulty. But what good can I do, he thought?
Lindemann was not willing to stand and fight the British with ships like
Bismarck
and
Tirpitz!

“Don’t
worry about us,” said Kranke confidently. “
Admiral Scheer
is a good
ship. I will take your advice—and one of those cigars you keep in your pocket
if you can spare one.”

Hoffman
gave him three. “Smoke the first if you can find this ship,” he said. “Smoke
the second if you can get close enough to verify its identity and get a good
photo or two.”

“And
the third?”

“Smoke
that one if you get back here alive.”

* * *

The
last big German ship to come this far north into Arctic
seas had been an airship, Zeppelin LZ-127, which carried an international
research team in 1931 on an amazing 13,000 mile route from Berlin to the far
cape Zhelaniya and back, with stops in Leningrad, Archangel, White Sea ports
and Franz Joseph Land. They had promised the Russians they would share any
photographs and research data they obtained after getting permission for the
trip, but never delivered on that pledge.

The
cruiser
Köenigsberg
had come up into the Barents Sea briefly in 1936,
and
Köln
followed with a brief sortie in 1937 before the war. The
Germans had established a small supply base and weather station west of
Murmansk at Kirkenes in Norway, but they also had plans to rapidly push a
column from there to Litsa on the Molotov Gulf to provide them sea access east
of the imposing Volokovaya cape landmass. From there they could watch cape area
traffic and relay wind and weather front data. Code named “Base Nord,”
Admiral
Scheer
was tasked with secretly putting ashore a detachment of ski troops
to make an initial survey of the location. Then they would scout the route west
to Kirkenes again in preparation for the push east.

With
war looming in the far east, Germany also thought about the prospect of
exploring the Arctic passage to the Bering Sea. There were several German
merchant ships and steamers that might find a quick and safe way home by that
route. Raeder contemplated sending the armed merchant raider
Komet
north
for this mission, but decided to send a ship that would not have to ask
permission to sail where it wished. It was risky. An incident could spark
hostilities, so he made sure to brief Kranke well.

“Just
slip in the back door and see what’s in the kitchen, Kranke. And be careful, don’t
break the china while you are there! The last thing we need is a war on two
fronts.”

The
operation was happening two full years earlier than it might have in the
history Fedorov knew. In his books the
Admiral Scheer
had sailed alone,
under a different commander, and caused much trouble in the north. The history
now, in the shattered world these ships all sailed in, would be an eerie echo
of that operation—including the trouble it stirred up. Kranke’s detachment was
tasked with listening to Russian radio traffic, putting shore teams in at
isolated Soviet outposts to look for anything of value, particularly maps, code
cipher keys and related equipment. They would also scout sea conditions, ice
floe patterns and ice density, and note prevailing weather.

The
detachment sailed from Narvik on the grey morning of July 4th, 1940, and
quietly made its way north around the northern cape of Norway. Kranke would
sail east of Bear Island, past the ragged Spitzbergen Islands to the forsaken
icy rocks of Franz Joseph Land. His first goal was to slip into the Kara Sea
and collect as much information as possible. To facilitate that effort he took
aboard a Kriegsmarine Funkaufklärung team. Experts in radio signals
intelligence, these men also spoke fluent Russian to listen in on the radio
traffic.

Their
work would be aided by Oberleutnant zur See Peter Grau aboard U-46, which had
left Narvik several days earlier to take up a station near Cape Zhelanlya for
relaying radio intercepts. There the German U-Boat surfaced to catch a small
Russian outpost by surprise. Then something happened that soon set events off
on an unpredictable course. Two Russian guards fired at U-46, raking its
exposed hull with machine gun fire. Grau replied by shelling the radio tower
and two seaplanes, and then putting a team ashore to search the station.
Declared or not, Oberleutnant Grau’s first shot at the icy northern outpost on
the 5th of July, 1940, was the opening round of the war in the east between Germany
and Kirov’s Soviet Russia, though no one knew that yet.

There
had been no time for a distress signal before the radio tower was destroyed,
and so the Soviets remained unaware of the incident, and oblivious to the
steady northern incursion of
Admiral Scheer
and
Nürnberg,
which
rendezvoused with the U-boat later that same day. There they received Grau’s
report, and Kranke ordered the U-Boat to scout down the long ragged western
edge of Novaya Zemlya Island to look for similar outposts. Then the German
flotilla turned north east into the cheerless waters of the Kara Sea.

“What
are we doing here, Heintz?” Kranke was on the bridge with his Executive
Officer, thinking about those cigars and wishing he was in the Atlantic.
“There’s nothing up here but these isolated weather stations and a few old
Russian merchant ships. No glory here, just these tedious ice floes and cold
hands and feet.”

What
Kranke did not know at that moment was that Soviet Intelligence had become
suspicious of trouble when the weather station Grau had shelled did not report
that day. They had a coast guard ship, SKR-18, the former armed icebreaker
Fedor
Litke
in the Kara Sea, and decided to send it down to have a look.

“Lean
pickings, I agree Kapitän, but we are not even supposed to be at war here.
Remember, this is nothing more than a reconnaissance operation.”

“Don’t
fool yourself, Heintz. I was only joking earlier. We have business here, as you
will soon see.”

Heintz
did not quite know what that was about, but said nothing. A day later, July 6,
1940, the top mast reported a small ship sighted due east of their position.
Kranke stepped out onto the cold weather deck to have a look through the better
telescope there. Sure enough, he could make out the red flag, though the ship
did not look all that threatening. Back on the bridge he waited until the
distant ship began to hail them on radio, and when the call was not answered he
saw they had begun flashing their search lights.

“They
are ordering us to stop and heave to for boarding,” said Heintz.”

“Tell
them to go to hell,” said Kranke. “Once they get a look at those eleven inch
guns out there they will see that I have more than ample means to send them
there myself!”

“They
will report our position, Kapitän.”

“Let
them. What can the Russians do about it?”

The Captain
of SKR-18 was very insistent, and he did indeed report the contact in a message
to the Archangel Party Commiserate that was soon followed by another message.
SKR-18 was under attack! Kranke was in a bad mood that day, and when the coast
guard ship fired a warning shot across his bow, under international protocols,
the Kapitän answered with his forward gun turret. It might have been no more
than a simple reflexive impulse of war, just as Grau had done, but Heintz soon
learned that Kranke seemed to be deliberately courting conflict here. Five
minutes later SKR-18 was a flaming wreck, sinking fast, but the last plaintive
message had been sent:
Sighted German warships. Under attack!

 When
the message was received at Murmansk, Admiral Golovko could not believe his
ears. Would the Germans risk provoking a war with a minor incident like this?
Should he take stronger action? He cabled Moscow for instructions and the word
came back in no uncertain terms:
Protect Soviet interests, and all ships and
personnel.
The means was left up to him, so he dispatched the heavy cruiser
Kalinin
and two destroyers, and they rushed east over the White Sea and
north towards Port Dikson.

Kranke had
immediately reversed his course after the incident, then looped southeast to
creep up on the shoreline thinking to observe Russian convoy traffic north of
that same port. He lingered in the area all the next day, eventually finding
another old Russian icebreaker, the
Siberiakov
, a veteran of the
northern Arctic route with many years service.

 Lovingly
nicknamed “Sasha” by the hard men of the north, the ship had two teeth, a pair
of 76mm guns, along with two 45mm mounts and a couple Oerlikon 20mm flak guns.
The lead ship in the “Icebreaker-6” naval team, she was bound for Port Dikson to
the south when
Admiral Scheer
found her.

 “Signal
that ship to stand down, and tell them that this time
we
will be sending
a boarding party over.” The Kapitän thought he might pinch some signal
equipment or code boxes, and it was a good idea.
Sasha
had played a dual
role when not shouldering through the ice floes. The ship had secret listening
equipment to monitor Japanese radio traffic when it was at the easternmost
terminus of its long Arctic run.

Kranke
gave the order to come 15 points to starboard. “We’ll show them our bow,” he
explained. “That will keep them in a dark for a little while longer. Fire one warning
shot this time. That is permitted under the rules of engagement.”

He
watched through his field glasses, seeing the dark uniformed crew scrambling to
pull the tarps from their gun mounts and ready for action. As before, he waited
until the Russians had sighted and aimed, a patient man as he sat in his
armored conning tower.

* * *

Sasha’s
Captain, Anatoly Kacharava, was enjoying a small nip of
Vodka as he pecked away at his typewriter in the ready room, writing the report
he needed to submit when the ship made port. He had heard the signal sent by
SKR-18 the previous day, and so he was taking no chances when the sighting was
shouted out by senior signalman Alexeyev. He immediately ordered the radio room
to send the contact information and stood his crew to battle stations. Then he
told his radioman to request name and country of origin of the distant ship.

Captain
Kacharava was in a real quandary. His ship was laden with supplies for the
weather stations, including several hundred barrels of gasoline for the generators
that powered their operations. With a top speed of only 13 knots,
Sasha
was
a nice fat target, and very flammable. He had a crew of 104, including his 32
trained naval gunners. Fire crews had taken their stations, ready with hoses as
they eyed the gasoline barrels on deck with some trepidation.

“They
are ordering us to stop and be searched,” said radioman Sharshavin, talking
through the dark brown briar pipe that dangled from his mouth. The Captain
wanted to see what he was up against here, and when he raised his field glasses
to have a look his mood darkened considerably.

“A
large capital ship,” he said. “Send an emergency message to Port Dikson: large
cruiser sighted… possibly a battleship from the size of those gun mounts.
Country of origin unknown. Send it in the clear! And then request their name
and origin again.”

* * *

Far
to the south the nervous radioman at Port Dikson heard
what followed next.
“Ship closing range,”
he received.
“Shooting has
begun… we will fight!”
Some minutes later.
“Siberiakov to any station.
We are fighting!”
Then again:
“German naval ensign spotted! We are
damaged, on fire, still fighting…”

 Then
he heard the powerful wash of a radio jammer clouding over the transmission.
“My God,” he said to his senior officer. Has the war started sir?”

“Something
has started, Ludkov. Signal all ships in the Kara Sea to adopt radio silence.
If the Germans have a warship up there they will be looking for targets. Then
get a message off to Archangel and Murmansk—this time in proper code. Tell them
there is Russian blood on the Kara Sea. Tell them
Sasha
is burning!”

Chapter 18

Yes,
Sasha
was burning, and Port Dikson was burning soon
after.
Siberiakov
fired her two 76mm guns, but to no avail. Kranke was
still well beyond range, and when he realized he would not make a harvest of
any signals equipment here, he opened fire. Spouts of water were soon
straddling the ship, and she was hit.

Captain
Kacharava had attempted to lay a smoke screen, running for shore as fast as he
could, but to no avail. Shell splinters sheared off the mast and radio antenna
on the icebreaker, and cut down men on the decks.
Sasha’s
chief stoker Vavilov
was feeding coal to the boilers as fast as he could, and the sound of the
ship’s engines was deafening as they labored.