Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) (4 page)

“You suggest that Volkov might discover we are here?”

“That is inevitable if we continue with this intervention. He will
know that no ship could possibly have such weapons in 1940, and if he ever does
conclude that we have also come here from the future, then he will also know
that we have other weapons on this ship as well.”

“How would he discover that?”

“Did you see the cameras the Royal Navy had on us when we made
that rendezvous? Of course I understand why we did so, but now there are photos
of us, of this ship, and if one ever comes to Volkov he will immediately
recognize our silhouette. Remember, he is Russian Naval intelligence. If he
does hear about a strange new British ship he will do everything possible to
discover what it is.”

“This is all very disturbing, and I have not yet had time to
consider it since Kamenski voiced his suspicions. How very odd… Volkov seemed
to be a man in his later twenties or early thirties.”

“He was 32 years old, sir,” Fedorov put in. “I looked up his
service records.”

“Then he would be twice that age now if he went all the way back
to 1908 as you say you did on those stairs. To think that he has been here,
shaping the history all that time, is very alarming. Of course, we have had no
time to stop and take a remedial course in history. It seems we have been
moving from one crisis to another, all with the aim of preventing damage to the
time line, but each one wreaking more and more havoc.”

“We could still veer off and try to shift forward again,” Fedorov
suggested.

“Yes, but that control rod is not reliable, Fedorov. You yourself
said that we could end up marooned on dry land if the same thing happens and we
move in space again as well as in time. That and the strain to our reactors
leaves me very reluctant to wave our magic wand again.”

“What about the third control rod, sir? It has never been used,
and it might work as Rod-25 did.”

“Possibly, but can we take that risk? I know if we accept that,
then we must also accept we are already marooned here. It would mean we live
out the rest of our lives in this time.”

“There may be other ways we can move in time, sir.”

“Other ways? What do you mean, Fedorov?”

“Kamenski has told us that intense explosive events can also
rupture the time continuum. That is how we now believe
Kirov
was shifted
back to 1908. Remember, they had no control rod at all when Karpov sortied from
Vladivostok. It was the eruption of that Demon Volcano that sent the ship to
1945, and then Karpov’s use of atomic weapons that sent
Kirov
further
back to 1908.”

“And where does this lead us?”

“I’m not sure… but
Kirov
was blown decades into the past by
the Demon eruption of 2021. That might mean we could move in the same way, and we
also know there is one other way to create an explosive event capable of moving
us in time.” Fedorov stopped there, his point obvious.

 “I know what you are suggesting now, but that is a dangerous
alternative. And these events always moved us further into the past, yes? That
would do us little good, and would be fraught with uncertainty. All I know is
that we are here now, and at the edge of a moment where we may soon have to
act. Something tells me that if the British lose this engagement, and are badly
hurt, then their position becomes even more precarious.”

“I agree, sir.” Fedorov had an idea, but he kept things to himself
for the moment. The Admiral made a telling point. They already had their foot
in the door here, and trying to slip away now seemed a bit craven in some
sense.

“We decided to intervene here,” Volsky continued. “The time is now
at hand. What do we do? That is the question. I could put missiles on the
German ships and end this fight in one decisive blow, just as Karpov would
argue if he were here. But what you have said about all this gives me pause.”

“If need be, we can engage with
deck guns to assist Admiral Tovey. The German
Stukas
are another matter.
You said you would extend our SAM umbrella over Tovey’s fleet, but that may
soon lead to some rather spectacular fireworks in the sky, Admiral. If the
Germans manage to turn over and launch another strike from
Graf Zeppelin
,
that could decide the battle in their favor. The British have just played out
their air attack, and it will be some time before their carriers can recover
any survivors and regroup for another strike. The surface action may be
concluded before that happens, but the German air strike broke off and returned
north over an hour ago. Those planes could have already landed on
Graf
Zeppelin
, and they could be airborne again in twenty minutes.”

“You see the carrier as the real
threat now?”

“The German
Stukas
hurt
the British once before, and it is clear that they have already engaged and
damaged ships in Admiral Holland’s task group.”

“Apparently so, but what about
those German battleships?”

At the moment, sir, it looks to
be
Bismarck
and
Tirpitz
against HMS
Invincible, Hood
and
Repulse
.
That is even money. Perhaps your thought of allowing that battle to proceed
without our intervention there is wise now.”

“What about those ships to the
northwest, Fedorov?”

“
Scharnhorst
and
Gneisenau?
We can stop them, sir. We did that once already. As for the carrier, here is
what I suggest.”

Part II

Fire in Heaven

“The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea,
The hot stars down from heaven are whirled;
Fierce grows the steam and the life-feeding flame,
Till fire leaps high about heaven itself.”

—Valuspo ~ Nordic Poetic Edda

Chapter 4

Commander
John Warrand
held firm at the wheel of HMS
Hood
, the smoke and shock of the hit the
ship had sustained finally abating. Like another young navigator aboard
Kirov
who was thrust unexpectedly into the Captain’s chair, Warrand suddenly found
himself the only senior officer on the bridge, with the battle thickening about
him and the sea erupting in wild geysers of blood red water.

He had served as a navigator
aboard the carrier
Furious
, and cruiser
Neptune
in the 1930s, and
more recently as Navigating Officer aboard
Devonshire,
and finally the
venerable battleship
Rodney
. He had just settled in, arriving aboard
Hood
months ago in March of 1940 to assume his post as Navigation Officer, Battle
Cruiser Squadron.

Even as he struggled with the
wheel, he was haunted by the face of Ted Briggs, the last man he had spoken to
before the shell struck the conning tower and killed so many men on the compass
platform. The men were crowding in there to get a look at the action, and he
thought to have a look himself when he met Briggs at the door, gracefully
stepping aside with a gesture and a brief word: “After you, old chap.”

Then he remembered Captain
Glennie had asked him to get a map from the chart room, and so he went there
instead. It saved his life. The compass platform was a long way up from the
Admiral’s Bridge, which was tiered up over the forward gun director behind B turret.
He doubted if any man there had survived the spray of shrapnel that must have
exploded upwards after that shell struck home and hit the compass platform like
a shotgun blast.

“Coming left twenty,” he shouted,
maneuvering to instinctively avoid the fall of heavy shells ahead of the ship,
but also with the thought that he would be opening his rear turret firing arcs
to enable them to get into action. “Hoist Blue Two!” Now
Hood
would at
least bring all her functioning guns into the fight, and along with
Repulse
that would give them twelve 15-inch guns.

 He gave an order to slow the
ship down, hoping to briefly throw off the enemy’s calculations and also
stabilize the ship.
Hood
ran very low in the water, and when running at
high speeds the spray from her own bow wash could often mist and veil the lower
gun directors mounted on the forward turrets.

There came a loud roar and
Warrand knew the finger of the Gunnery Officer had just squeezed the trigger on
his firing pistol again, blasting with every gun trained and ready in one
mighty salvo. Headless, bloodied and bruised,
Hood
was still fighting.
No, he thought, not headless. Use your own noggin, Johnny. You’re the man at
the helm now. This fight is yours.

Smoke still trailed from the
damaged B turret, and the anti-air rocket system there was completely
destroyed, not that it was any great loss. The weapon basically deployed long
trailing cables from a parachute in the hopes of snagging a passing airplane,
and it had never been effective. The real damage was the loss of those two big
guns in the heat of the battle.

Warrand had no idea what was
happening on the boat deck amidships where the
Stukas
had planted a bomb
that seriously damaged the aft funnel. Now, at least, he had someone on the
Flag Bridge to hoist ensigns and he soon learned that there were still men
alive on the compass platform above when someone shouted through a voice pipe
that they had sighted another contact.

Then the ship shook again, and
Warrand was nearly thrown from his feet. At the same time he could see what
looked to be an explosion on
Repulse
ahead. The Germans had quickly
found the range again, but the voice of 1st Gunnery Officer Lieutenant
Commander Colin MacMullen was reassuring him that they were still in the fight.

“Down 200 and steady on bearing.
Four guns ready. Fire!” MacMullen had been adjusting his fire using down-ladder
corrections in 200 yard increments, and this time he was spot on.
Hood’s
mainmast soon called out a hit amidships on the lead German ship, presumed to
be
Bismarck
, and Warrand took heart. A yeoman came running with more bad
news, however, and he knew that a clock was ticking on the ship’s prospects for
survival.

“Sir! That last hit amidships has
slipped our armor and we have damage in the number four boiler room!”

Two guns down, speed off a third,
fires amidships, a hull breach that will mean we’ll be taking water, all the
senior officers wounded or killed but me, and now
Repulse
takes a hit
for good measure. The question in Warrand’s mind now was whether he could risk
further damage to the ship by holding to this course and trying to stay in the battle,
or whether he should attempt to break off and live to fight another day.

We’re wounded and down on one
knee, but we can still hold a sword, he thought. Then came the news he had
longed to hear. It was shouted from the mainmast top watch, clear and high
through the voice pipe and relayed to him by a Yeoman.

“Sir! Ships sighted on the
horizon off the port bow!”

Anything on his port side was
likely to be British, he thought. Dear God, let it be Tovey. Let it be HMS
Invincible
and then let’s get on with it!

* * *

John
Warrand’s prayer
would be answered that day. It was, indeed, Admiral John Tovey on
Invincible
,
and with him, running like hounds to either side of the big battlecruiser, were
the destroyers
Fortune
and
Firedrake
.

“Signal destroyers to swing round
to zero-two-zero and make a run at the enemy,” Tovey said coolly. “Gunnery
officer, what do you make the range to that big fellow second in line?”

Lt. Cdr. Edward Connors answered,
clear and confident. “I make it 23,400, sir. Right in our wheelhouse after that
hit on the Twins, with all guns training on target now.”

“Very well…” Tovey clasped his
hands behind his back, even as his signalman runner Wells returned, breathless
from his running climb back up to the Admiral’s Bridge. “Hoist battle ensign. Good
of you to rejoin us, Mister Wells. Please take up a post at the signal room
voice pipe and let’s give you a chance to catch your breath. Kindly call down
and advise the W/T room to signal
Hood
and ascertain the condition of
Admiral Holland’s squadron.”

Wells was quick to reply, his
high voice echoing the Admiral’s mannerly order, which prompted Tovey to smile
again.

“You may reserve that octave for
the order to abandon ship, should it ever come, Mister Wells. Otherwise a clear
and calm order is best served to your purpose.”

“Yes sir, of course.” Wells had
the heat and excitement of going unto his first combat at sea aboard a real
battleship, but he took a deep breath after his climb, calming himself, yet
alert and ready to execute any order that came his way. Somehow Tovey’s cool
was infectious, and he noted that every man on the Admiral’s Bridge seemed to
be standing his post with a steady, calm professionalism. He raised his chin,
proud to be there, and waited.

“Gentlemen, it may interest you
to know that a locket of hair from Lord Nelson himself has been sewn into the
battle ensign we raise this hour,” said Tovey, “and we’re all the better for
it.” He gave Wells a reassuring nod, which did much to bring a measure of
confidence to the younger officer.

“All guns trained and ready sir,”
came the call.

“Then let them know we are here. We’ll
see how they like our sixteen inch guns. Hoist Blue Five. You may begin, Mister
Connors.”