Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

“As you were,” Fedorov said quickly, seeking out Karpov, who quickly filled him in on what had occurred.

“What now?” asked Fedorov. “I think we should use the KA-40.”

“Correct,” said Karpov. “This sub must be very close. I used the ASW rockets as a kind of covering suppressive fire to keep his head down. These subs cannot fire when deeply submerged, yes?”

“Not at this stage of the war. They will need to be on the surface or at periscope depth to fire with any hope of hitting anything.”

“Good,” Karpov rubbed his hands together, the excitement of the battle animating him. “Now that we have full speed we will not be targeted again easily. How fast is this devil, Fedorov?”

“Slow. Perhaps no more than five knots submerged on battery power like it must be now. This is a diesel- electric boat, Captain. Where do you reckon it to be?”

“Do you have a chart?”

Fedorov motioned to his old navigation system and they had Tovarich call up the digital file for the Balearic Islands. “This is Menorca,” Fedorov pointed. “And we are here, near this long inlet.”

“Could he be there?” Karpov asked.

“I doubt it,” said Fedorov. The entrance is narrow and the size of that bay is deceptive. The charts show enough depth for a boat to enter submerged, but half way into the bay it shoals quickly to a very shallow depth.”

“Then I suspect this submarine is probably here.” Karpov pointed off the coast to their east. “He would not run west for fear of being penned up against the headlands of that long cape. No, the bastard will run east, along this shoreline here, and try to get round that fat isthmus east of the bay. I will have Nikolin move the KA-40 off that coastline and we will soon find out. In the meantime, I have given him our backside and put on thirty knots. What is the range of his torpedoes?”

“5000 meters at best.”

“Can they home on our wake?”

“No, they were largely straight runners after firing, unless fitted with a pattern running device, which would probably not be used here.”

“Good. We will be outside his firing range in just a few minutes. Then we use the helicopter to make contact and prosecute. If their Captain survives another hour he will regret the day he set eyes on this ship, I assure you.”

Karpov sighed heavily now, removing his cap and wiping the sheen of perspiration from his brow. He hated submarines—detested them—but now that he had Kirov safely away from the threat, moving at high speed, the foe did not seem so dangerous. It was slow, with old weapons that could not seek him out or follow his wake. He had little doubt that he would get this sub easily enough.

“Five knots?” he said. “Yes, they are slow. Compared to our training to go against those fast American attack subs, this will be no problem.”

Minutes later the KA-40 had dropped three sonobuoys in a triangular pattern well east of the small inlet but perfectly positioned to cover the coastline. One would use active sonar to make the contact, the second to determine its bearing and the third would calculate the range. The helo could also use its dipping sonar, lowering a device into the water from above to refine the data and get a hard fix.

They waited while the KA-40 conducted its search and fed the telemetry directly to Tasarov’s ASW board. Time passed, and the minutes stretched out without any sign of the enemy submarine, and Karpov began to pace, his boots hard on the deck as he walked back and forth, watching out the forward viewport.

“May I maneuver the ship?” He asked Fedorov, who nodded in the affirmative. “Very well, helm, reduce to two thirds and come right thirty degrees rudder to course 065 northeast.”

“Thirty degrees rudder, aye sir. Coming around to course zero-six-five and steady at twenty knots.”

Karpov was turning east to run parallel to the course he had expected the submarine to take, but as time passed and the KA-40 had no contact, he began to suspect they were up against a very wily U-boat captain.

“Come on, come on. Where is he?” he muttered as he paced.

Fedorov was still at the navigation station, studying the charts with Tovarich and missing his old post. What they needed now, he realized, was just a little time to complete repairs on their main sonar systems. They could just sail off at high speed to outrun this submarine. There would be no way the U-boat, if it was a German boat, would ever catch them, so he went over to consult with Karpov again.

“Captain, we are well out of range, and we can outrun this boat at any time. I suggest we use this interval to slow and complete our repairs. Take the ship back west and move the KA-40 between us and the island. We’ll work round that long cape there and find some open sea to complete these repairs. The KA-40 can cover us all night if necessary.”

“We’ll lose the bastard,” Karpov pointed at the sea, clearly unhappy.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s just too slow submerged to pose any further threat. Restoring full functionality on our sonar is more important now.”

Karpov clenched his jaw, but relented. “Very well,” he agreed. “The devil is most likely sitting on the bottom somewhere along that coast. If there are rocks there he would be hard to find in that kind of clutter. But if he so much as moves a rudder, I’ll be on top of him with the helo in no time.”

Karpov was angry that they had been caught sleeping like that. If this ship were in the Atlantic, he thought, we would not have a scratch on us. Nothing would have come within fifty miles of us to pose a threat. But here in these restricted waters we have seen one engagement after another, with damage to radar systems, sonar, the missile accident, hull damage, the loss of a KA-40, men dead and injured—even the Admiral. It was inexcusable.

“We lost men on that diver tender,” said Fedorov. “I’m putting another boat in the water to recover anyone still alive out there. I’ll notify Byko of our decision and have him get more men into wet suits, but this could take time. We have the aviation fuel to burn in this situation, so we’ll have to use it.”

That decided, they turned the ship and Fedorov ordered another boat launched for search and recovery. After an hour they had found only one survivor adrift at sea and clutching a floating spar of broken wood. Two other divers, the boat’s pilot and the marine guard Siyanko were gone. All in all their casualties were not high, but now they had lost seven men to the sea, and Fedorov wondered how many more would die in the days ahead.

He spent some time next to Tovarich at the navigation station, accessing his database on German U-boat movements. What was this submarine doing up here, he mused? Was it Italian? It would definitely not be a British boat. Most of the Italian boats should be in the Sicilian Narrows opposing Operation Pedestal, and they would base out of Cagliari, Palermo, or other bases in Southern Italy. The Germans were operating out of La Spezia, and he ran a search for this day trying to figure out who it might be.

U-205 was out and deployed against the British to the south, but it would not come this way, and returned to Pola on the Adriatic coast instead of La Spezia. U-83 was way off to the east near Alexandria, and U-331 had just departed La Spezia and was north of Corsica on this day. Unless that boat also left port early, then this contact had to be U-73 under Rosenbaum, the very same boat that had sunk its teeth into the carrier Eagle two days ago. He checked its daily reported track, noting that it should still be south along the line of the British convoy advance, but could he rely on the information any longer? The early movement of the Italian 7th cruiser Division, and the surprising sortie by those two battleships had shaken his faith in the history. It was clear that Kirov’s unexpected presence in these waters was causing ripples of variation in all directions. Ships were moving out on missions they had never been assigned in the history he knew. Engagements were being fought that never should have happened.

What if this U-73 had been moved north, or had come north earlier than the history recorded? He noted that when it did return to La Spezia, it came very near this very island of Menorca along the way. Suddenly curious again, he took yet another look at his navigation charts, his eye suspiciously falling on that long inlet of Fornells Bay. If this U-boat was running on battery it would be very quiet, but three sonobuoys and active dipping sonar should have found it if it was hiding along the coastline where Karpov expected it. He wondered…

That night U-73 put out divers as well, a team of two skilled frogmen slipping away to scout the bay for prying eyes. He had learned the trick from another U-Boat captain who used it up on the Norwegian coast, slipping his boat into the many fiords there and then putting men ashore to give him eyes and