Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

contacts and the sudden movement of the nearest group had to be related to their presence here. To make matters worse, Kalinichev spoke up again, in a loud clear voice.

“Sir, I now have airborne contacts in a large group at 255 degrees southwest, range 92 kilometers. They just emerged from the landform clutter of Sardinia. I’m reading twenty discrete contacts.”

Fedorov immediately knew those had to be Italian planes out of airfields around Cagliari. The situation was now spinning out of control and it was obvious to him that the ship was under coordinated attack. Karpov had been waiting impatiently, an exasperated look on his face. He was about to speak again when Fedorov cut in quickly with the words he hoped he would not have to speak this early in the campaign. “Battle stations! Sound general quarters!” The alarm was sounded, much to Karpov’s relief, and he nodded his head in agreement.

“Mister Karpov,” Fedorov turned to his Starpom, activate our 152 millimeter deck gun systems and prepare to engage the near contact on my order to fire.”

“At once, sir!” And Karpov was quick to pass the order to Gromenko, who was now filling in for Samsonov in the Command Information Center. “Feed your targets to the CIC, Kalinichev!”

“Aye, sir. The data is active and we have radar lock.”

Fedorov bit his lip, very disheartened now but committed. “Prepare to repel incoming aircraft,” he said quickly. “Expect 20 planes for a low level torpedo attack.”

~ ~ ~

Da Zara was also impatient tonight. The Italian Admiral squinted through his field glasses at the shadow on their horizon, wondering what he was getting himself into now. One of Italy’s most capable fighting admirals, he set his flag on the light cruiser Eugenio di Savoia, and was out from the division base at Cagliari to rendezvous with numerous other ships in preparation for an attack on the British convoy near Pantelleria the following day. In fact, he had pulled off this very same maneuver against the last British attempt to relieve Malta, leading the charge in a fast air and sea action that sent the British destroyer Bedouin to the bottom and heaped misery on the decimated convoy just as it was within smelling distance of its objective. He planned to do the same this time, until a priority message from Regia Marina changed everything.

He was ordered to hold his course and search out a suspected British cruiser that had been sighted near dusk by the Italian submarine Bronzo returning to port with mechanical problems, unable to take up its post on the inner picket line. The report was very odd. For a British ship to boldly entered the Tyrrhenian Sea was one thing that immediately jarred naval authorities. When the sub sighted it there appeared to be a fire aft. Was it damaged somehow? Thinking that Naval Aeronatuica already had its teeth into the intruder, the sub captain simply wired in the sighting and continued on his way.

“One ship?” Da Zara had said in disbelief when he received the message. There must be an error, he thought. It could not have come from their main convoy escorts, or our submarines would have surely detected it long before now. What has Mussolini been drinking tonight? Could it have sortied from the east as a diversionary operation? If so, it would be a sly devil to get this far in without being sighted. But yes, a fast cruiser could do this, particularly since all our planes, have been piling up out west on Sardinia for the initial round of air strikes on this British convoy. Who would think to look right here in our own back yard?

He was soon encouraged to learn that two squadrons of SM-79 Sparviero “Sparrowhawks” were already in the air to coordinate with his attack, and that orders had been given to send out ships from Naples to join him, along with 7th Cruiser Division at Messina, which would also be leaving early for the planned rendezvous near Ustica Island. But first, he thought, we deal with this thief in the night, eh?

“Gobbo Maledetto!” he said to his gunnery officer. Where are those damned hunchbacks? We’re too close! They’ll see us any moment if they haven’t already.”

The ‘damned hunchbacks’ were the nickname many gave to the SM-79s, with their odd three engine design and high dorsal hump, it seemed a much more suitable name than ‘Sparrowhawk.’ An old plane that had first been conceived as a small passenger aircraft, it was converted to a bomber as the war loomed and had served alarmingly well in that capacity. It was fast for its age, durable in spite of its wood and metal amalgam frame, and lethal enough if it could get in close for a torpedo run.

Da Zara stepped out onto his weather deck, his heavy sea coat hood thrown back, his gold braided admiral’s cap fitted smartly, gloved hands holding his field glasses. A handsome man, in his day he had been known to make more than a few prominent conquests, though now he set his mind on little more than his beloved light cruisers.

“Avanti!” He called over his shoulder. “Sparare!”

His command was answered immediately with the bright orange fire and sharp concussion of his forward deck guns. Eugenio de Savoia carried four turrets with two 152mm guns each, and his initial salvo streaked through the darkness toward the formless shadow on the horizon. His second cruiser Raimondo Montecuccoli followed suit and opened fire as well, and the three destroyers in the van began to fan out to make their torpedo run, accelerating to high speed and leaving white frothy wakes behind them as they charged ahead.

At that moment Da Zara heard the low drone of aircraft overhead, looking back to see flights of the ungainly Sparrowhawks roaring to join the fight in a well coordinated attack. The smell of the sea and gunfire excited the Admiral, who had boasted he was the only fighting commander in the Italian Navy who had bested the Royal Navy at its own game. Now he was eager to make good his claim, and send this bold intruder to the bottom of the sea.

~ ~ ~

Fedorov saw the distant flashes on the horizon, too close to give him any comfort. His plan to slip past the unknowing Italians had been foiled. They must have been spotted, by one means or another, while Byko’s engineers were putting out the fire and seeing to the damage below the waterline. The instant he saw the distant muzzle flashes he knew the ship was in real peril. Kirov was never built for close in action with well gunned adversaries. Even though these were only light cruisers, those six inch shells would cause serious harm anywhere they struck the ship. Only the command citadels had sufficient armor protection from them. No—the ship’s power was in standing off and pummeling her enemies from long range, using the speed and lethality of her anti-ship missiles to decide the conflict before the enemy had even knew they were there. He had counted on the night, the darkness, and a witless opponent, and now found himself regretting the decision to wait so long. They had been spotted and were now under fire, a circumstance that never should have happened for a fighting ship like Kirov.

The first enemy salvos were short, and laterally wide off the mark, which did not surprise him. The Italian ships had no radar to speak of, relying on good night optics to site their guns. And this particular naval gun had a history of different problems. The lateral dispersion on salvos resulted from imprecise size and weight in both the main rounds and their propellant charges. Beyond that, the guns were prone to misfire, as much as 10 percent of the time, and mechanical faults or delays in loading, insecure breech closure, and problems with the shell hoists seriously reduced their rate of fire. The gun’s designers had claimed three rounds per minute, but tonight Da Zara’s ships would do no better than two.

Fedorov looked at Karpov, resigned to the fact that Kirov had to fight. “Mister Karpov,” he said quietly. “Deal with those ships.”

Karpov smiled. “My pleasure, sir.” Then he turned to Gromenko and gave the order to fire. Now it was Kirov’s turn with her three twin 152mm gun turrets, the same size in real weight as the enemy but with far more accurate fire control systems with precision round tracking, water cooled barrels, lightning fast loaders, and ammunition that was state-of-the-art. The guns fired with a sharp crack, both barrels recoiling to fire again and again. Gromenko had the interval set at three seconds, and in the long minute while Da Zara’s force was struggling to load, sight and aim the four forward twin gun turrets on the two cruisers, Kirov unleashed all of twenty salvos, 120 rounds to the 16 shells the Italians finally managed to throw their way. And every round the big battlecruiser fired was radar guided, streaking across the sea in a violent storm of steel.

Chapter 11