Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

How can we possibly explain its presence in the middle of such a hotly contested war zone?”

Turing had his right hand at his temple, elbow on the table, thinking he had been foolish to express his suspicions in this room, at this time, before the weight of evidence might mount on his side of any argument. Now he thought how he might smooth this ruffle over without dampening the urgency he needed to communicate to these men. He was about to speak when there came a soft knock at the door, granting him a welcome respite.

Tovey looked over his shoulder and gestured to the Marine guard there, who held two neatly folded papers, decoded cable intercepts fresh from the cypher station. He took them, opening the first quickly to see it marked ‘Most Urgent — ULTRA’ and read it quietly before looking up with raised brows and a look on his face that conveyed his obvious concern.

“Well gentlemen,” he said as he handed the intercept to Admiral Pound. “It appears that Regia Marina has found its backbone after all.” He waited politely while Pound read the intercept, and Turing watched with some interest, the irony of the moment galling him. Here was a cable decoded as a direct result of his work, and the Navy was quick to embrace it as truth, yet he knew he would have to argue his point at some length to overcome their stalwart opposition to his suspicions about this ship.

Pound handed the cable off to Whitworth and spoke up. “The Italians got up steam on their heavy surface units six hours ago and sortied from La Spezia a little after midnight. It seems that Admiral Syfret may have somewhat more to deal with than we first anticipated. Battleships Littorio and Veneto were both confirmed as part of the task force.”

“Battleships?” said Wake-Walker. “We thought they were laid up without adequate fuel for a major operation.”

“Apparently not,” said Pound. “Either they managed to obtain more fuel oil, or they’ve decided to make do with what they have. Either way it amounts to the same thing, and I must tell you gentlemen, that a move of this magnitude may mean they’ve decided to risk everything to stop this convoy to Malta.”

“It’s not surprising,” said Tovey. “We’ve thrown fifty warships at this operation.”

“Yes,” said Pound. “Well it looks like Rodney and Nelson may have some work to do beyond blasting away at the Luftwaffe. What’s this last bit in the cable?”

“Oh, excuse me, sir,” said Tovey. “It refers to further movements of the Italian 7th Cruiser Division with ships based at Messina and Naples. Apparently they’ve put to sea as well, though they seem to be concentrating on the Italian Naval base at La Maddalena, which is somewhat surprising. Odd thing is this—the heavy units out of La Spezia haven’t entered the Tyrrhenian Sea. They sailed west, on a course that might put them off the northwest coast of Corsica right about now.” He looked at his watch, noting the time.

“The Bonifacio Strait?” asked Whitworth.

“Indeed,” said Tovey.

“But why not just make a run down through the Tyrrhenian Sea and hit us north of the Skerki Bank? Their ships would be well covered by the airfields around Cagliari.”

Tovey slowly opened the second intercept as Whitworth reasoned the situation out. “They may be thinking to swing down the western coast of Sardinia and get to the convoy that way.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” said Wake-Walker. “They would be much better positioned just west of Cagliari as Whitworth has it. They must know we’ve timed it to try and get round Cape Bon late tonight. If they’re low on fuel they won’t be making top speed, that’s for sure. So even at twenty knots that’s another twelve hours before they’d be anywhere near the convoy route by sailing west of Sardinia, and by that time our ships will be north of Bizerte. They’ll find themselves well behind the action.”

“Unless they mean to have a go at our covering force,” Whitworth suggested.

“Engage Rodney and Nelson?” said Pound. “They’ll regret that, I assure you.”

“Well I can think of no other good reason for this La Spezia Squadron to be where it is,” said Tovey. “In fact I can put forward no sound reasoning for it to be at sea at all!” Now he read the second cable intercept. “Hello,” he said in a low voice. “Beaufighter Reconnaissance report out of Malta…It seems there was another engagement last night northeast of Cagliari. Malta reports no sorties, so none of our aircraft were involved, but the Italian 3rd Cruiser Division under Da Zara got shoved about rather rudely… All five ships are back at Cagliari this morning, and every single one appears to have sustained damage.”

That news fell hard on the table and quieted the entire discussion. Then Turing spoke, his high voice clear and steady. He had been listening with some interest, and finally decided to throw another spanner in the works

“If I may, sir,” he began, “and correct me if I am wrong, but I don’t think we have any ships in the Tyrrhenian Sea at the moment—not northeast of Cagliari, which would be right about where 248 Squadron engaged and photographed this vessel yesterday afternoon, and got a fistful of rocketry for their trouble. I say the Italians have tangled with this very same ship! Now it’s not ours, so it’s quite evident, gentlemen,” he said flatly, and then spoke the single word that had gathered them all round the table that morning. “Geronimo…”

Chapter 14

The dawn came in hues of scarlet and vermillion, brightening to pale rose as the skies lightened quickly. Kirov had raced northwest, a steel arrow aimed at the Strait of Bonifacio, and behind her a gaggle of Italian Cruisers and destroyers hurried in pursuit. Fedorov was back on the bridge after a brief two hours rest below when he gave over command to Rodenko coming off his leave at three in the morning. Now he studied the radar plots, satisfied that they were still well ahead in the race and would reach the Maddalena Archipelago in plenty of time to run the strait before these pursuing ships could interfere.

“I expect some more work for the deck guns,” he said to Samsonov, also back at his station in the CIC.

“Good!” said Samsonov. “Gromenko’s been boasting below decks and I’ve some catching up to do.”

Fedorov didn’t like the sound of that, but he let it pass. Then again, he thought, if they were going to have to fight again, why not do it without reservation? This is one thing Karpov had tried to impress upon him. He stared at the radar returns as daylight began to bathe the citadel in pale light. Another half hour, he thought, and by then we’ll see what they have to throw at us from La Maddalena. His timing was just a little off.

Tasarov sat up quickly and sounded off at sonar. “New Contact — Undersea boat — Bearing 325 degrees, range 10.3 kilometers, depth forty feet, speed 5 knots. Designate Alpha One.”

A diesel boat was creeping in on them from the northwest, very near the strait and obviously assuming a blocking position where it might get a shot at any passing ship. Fedorov went to Tasarov’s station, encouraged. “It appears our sonar is operating well enough in spite of the loss of the towed array. Then again, I’m told you have the best ears in the fleet, Tasarov. Can you track this boat easily now?”

“As long as it continues to move, sir. If it stops and hovers, we may have to go to active sonar, but for now, I have a good location plot.”

“Then you can kill this sub? Do you need one of the helicopters up?” Fedorov recalled the wild opening minutes when one of their first contacts had been a submarine. He remembered how the Admiral immediately sent up helicopters, and wondered if he should do the same. Tasarov’s answer reassured him greatly.

“Sir, I can put a weapon on this target at any time. Our Shkval ASW system is in range now and can close this distance in a matter of seconds.”

Again, the amazing technological leap that Kirov represented over its WWII naval adversaries was decisive. The creeping enemy sub was still far from the ideal range it needed to launch a torpedo at Kirov. For any chance of a hit it would want to be at no more than a 1000 to 2000 meters before firing. By contrast, Kirov’s super cavitating Shkval rocket propelled torpedoes could strike targets at many times that range, and they would accelerate to incredible underwater speeds exceeding 200 knots by generating a gas bubble around the weapon that literally displaced the ocean water as the torpedo surged forward. In effect, the seawater was never touching the weapon to create drag. If launched at this target it would eat up the ten kilometer run to the enemy sub in just a minute and fifteen seconds.