Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

Nine other cruisers and some thirty destroyers, including forces from the Eastern Med as well, would combine in one of the largest sea operations ever attempted. All these warships had been gathered to the defense of just fourteen precious merchant ships, including the vital fast oil tanker Ohio that Churchill had wrangled from the Americans after much exertion of his unique powers of persuasion.

The five carriers bore exalted names born of empire: Indomitable, Victorious, Eagle. Two others would join as well, the Argus and Furious, the latter with a special assignment in ferrying thirty-eight Spitfires to Malta’s hard pressed air squadrons. The cruisers were named for provinces and outposts of that empire: Nigeria, Kenya, Manchester, Cairo, and others bore names of the same ancient Greek Gods who had presided over the fate of men on these waters in ages past: Charybdis, Sirius, and Phoebe.

This massive force had sailed from home waters down to the Bay of Biscay where the carriers had drilled their planned operations, scrambling fighters and staging fly bys over the convoy for plane recognition drills. For their own part, the fourteen ships practiced high speed emergency turns, and movement from the open sea four column formation to a tighter two column sailing order that they would use in more constricted waters. They sailed through the Pillars of Hercules, passing the mighty Rock of Gibraltar on a grey, moonless night enshrouded in fog, August 10, 1942. The very next day the five carriers went into action, their new Sea Hurricanes replacing the older Fulmar fighter squadrons to provide air cover over the convoy. HMS Furious was living her third life, rebuilt from near scrap metal after her harrowing encounter with a strange German raider a year ago in the North Atlantic and pressed again into service on her ferry mission, flying off her Spitfires that same day.

All seemed to be going according to plan in those first hours, until disaster struck the convoy an hour after mid day on the 11th of August when a stealthy and experience German U-Boat commander, Kapitan Rosenbaum, slipped past the fitful escort of destroyers and sent a fan of four torpedoes into HMS Eagle. All the torpedoes hit home in four shuddering explosions, one after another. The ship was ripped open and water surged into her gutted bowels sending the carrier into an immediate and unrecoverable list. In the next few minutes men rushed about for their lives, leaping in to the sea to grasp anything around them that seemed to float. One man flailed over to a comrade, recognizing his ashen face, only to find that the man had been ripped in two, his lower torso and legs sheared off in the initial explosions.

After twelve successful missions in those same waters, and a long, distinguished career, HMS Eagle keeled over and sank in a matter of minutes. Thankfully the bulk of her crew was saved and plucked from the sea by nearby destroyers. It was the fifth carrier lost in the war to date by the Royal Navy, and twelve Sea Hurricanes went into the sea with her, the bulk of 801 Squadron and all four planes comprising 813 Squadron were lost. Only four planes in her 801 Squadron survived, as they were already in the air and were able to land on the carrier Indomitable.

The plan, like all plans before it, was beginning to fray right at the outset. It was hoped that the heavy escorts would guarantee a safe passage at least as far as Bizerte, but HMS Eagle was sunk hundreds of miles to the west, due north of Algiers. The suddenness and shock of the attack was an awful harbinger of what was yet to come on this adventure—“Operation Pedestal” as it came to be called. It told the Admirals and Captains that their enemies were well aware of their plans and had assembled a considerable force in opposition. Kesselring boasted that, after recent reinforcements from other theaters, he could fling upwards of 700 planes at the British fleet. Beyond this there were U-Boats and Italian Subs in the Med, and near the islets of Pantelleria and Lampedusa, the Italians also had a hornet’s nest of fast attack torpedo boats to strike at any ships that made it past Cape Bon at the northernmost tip of Tunisia to begin the last desperate run for Malta. In those narrow, mine infested waters, a place where the more powerful British battleships could not go, the small, fast craft were the ideal defenders.

Yet there was one other element the Admiralty had not planned for—could never have planned for, in spite of their harrowing encounter with the same dreadful raider a year ago—Kirov.

Chapter 5

Melville-Jackson strode through the outer entrance to the flight officer’s room at Takali airfield on Malta, ready for debriefing, and with quite a story to relate. Wing Commander David Cartridge was there along with another pilot out that morning for reconnaissance, George Stanton, and for this occasion Air Vice Marshall Keith Park, chief of the Malta Air Defense effort was also waiting when he entered. Jackson saluted crisply and took his chair.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” said Park with an amiable smile. “How’s the new radar kit?”

“Well enough, sir,” said Stanton, “A bit limited in range but more than suitable for low level sea search.”

“I must say we had rather a different experience on our flight,” said Melville-Jackson. “I made a visual sighting of my target before we ever got a peep on the radar. Thought my mate was sleeping at first, but he swears his scope was clear until we were right on top of the damn thing.”

“Ah, yes,” said Park. “This big Italian cruiser you reported… Latitude 39.00, Longitude 11.16 from your report. Some two hundred miles east of the Cagliari, on a heading of 225 south by southwest.”

“Yes sir. Came up on it all of a sudden. Odd disturbance in the sea as well. Thought it was a submarine blowing tanks until I saw the disturbance was much too big, and the contact as well. It was definitely a warship, sir, though I must say we haven’t had much of a look at the Italian Navy just yet, so I can’t be more specific other than to say this was at least a cruiser—most likely a heavy cruiser at that.”

Park was a crisp and thorough officer, with a penchant for details and a good understanding of all the new technology that was impacting the war effort, particularly the new radar sets. “Well Jackson, you’ve only arrived yesterday from Coastal Command, and yes I dare say the Italians are not too fond of sailing that far west, but do have a look at ship silhouettes before you fly out again this afternoon. The waters in these regions get fairly busy, and you’ll want to know exactly what you are shooting at next time around.”

For his part, Park knew well what he was talking about when it came to air operations. A New Zealander and First World War flying ace, he soon rose through the ranks to become a commander in the RAF. He was also well versed in naval matters, having gone to sea at the early age of nineteen on a steamship where he earned the nickname “skipper.” He later fought at Gallipoli, and the battle of the Somme where he learned firsthand how valuable good aerial reconnaissance could be to the outcome of any military conflict. In fact, he had flown old Bristol fighter recon planes in the First World War, biplanes then, and had many kills against German fighters for his effort. When the second war came Park was an air vice Marshal taking part in the defense of London with Number 11 Group, RAF. He had fought in the skies over the city, and taken part in the planning and briefing in the Battle of Britain bunker at RAF Uxbridge. After a stint in Egypt, Malta seemed the perfect place to post a man like Park, for it was enduring its own daily struggle with the Luftwaffe and his experience fit hand in glove.

“You say you took gun camera footage of this ship?”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson replied. “Gave them a taste of my cannon as well. Caught them flat footed, it seems. They never fired a shot before I was over them and gone. Yet I thought the better of trying to come round for a second pass after waking them up. A cruiser that size is a job for the full squadron.”

“Indeed,” said Park. “Well, we’ll have a good deal to do over in the Ditch these next few days.” He was referring to the underground cave sites beneath the city of Valletta where the island’s fighter defense was coordinated. “I was going to send you out to hit Comiso on Sicily this afternoon. We need to pound their airfields there as well before things get so hot with this convoy that we’re thrown completely on the defense. But seeing that you’ve jumped on something here, we’ll give that mission to 235 Squadron with the Mark I Beaus. You’ve a couple newer planes in 248 Squadron, and two with these new radar sets. So it looks like your job will be to hunt north for this contact and ascertain her position and intentions. Admiralty indicated that the Italians have their 3rd and 7th Cruiser Divisions operating in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and they will definitely be up to no good insofar as this convoy is concerned.”

“Right enough, sir.” Jackson was game for any sortie they would put his name to, and the four men spent the next several minutes going over the briefing for the Comiso air strike mission for 235 Squadron before the