Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

“We are on course 225 now and the sea is calm. The ship is running smoothly at thirty knots and we’ve found your Force Z. You were correct. We spotted them about 150 nautical miles out. They are still well ahead of us on a heading of 255 degrees, but we’ve cut their lead and they just reduced speed to fifteen. If we increase to full battle speed that will give us another five knot edge to see if we can make up that distance.”

“It won’t be enough,” said Fedorov, walking to his navigation board. His well trained eye took in the position, course and speed of the British task force relative to Kirov’s and he knew at once that they had lost their race. “It’s what I was afraid of,” he explained. “If we had more sea room to the starboard side I could turn another fifteen or twenty degrees and then perhaps we could outrun them. Unfortunately, that course would send us right across Cabo de Gata—Cat’s Cape here.” He pointed to the prominent land mass southeast from Almiera. We can’t sail on land and if they come any further to their starboard side, even a few points, then our situation is even worse. They just had too long a head start on us, but I can’t see why. They seem to be several hours ahead of where I expected them.”

Again, something was wrong. Something had changed. Unless Rodney’s boiler problem was miraculously cured, they must have turned Force Z earlier. They were supposed to turn back at 18:55, but there is no way Force Z could be where it is now unless… He ran a hasty calculation.

“Damn,” he breathed. “It’s slipped again. They must have turned west as early as 16:00 hours! This means Indomitable wasn’t exposed to that attack that put three bombs on her flight deck at 18:thirty hours, and they’ll likely have her intact.”

Karpov shrugged. “Three carriers now?”

“It seems so.”

“And I could have taken out at least two of them if I had just had a free hand weeks ago. The cat you don’t feed today will scratch your leg twice as hard tomorrow. Now we fight them again.”

Fedorov seemed unsure of himself now. Their plan had failed. They would not be able to slip past Force Z tonight, and the prospect for a battle was looming on the far horizon, drawing ever closer with each turn of Kirov’s powerful screws. He looked at the navigation plots, thinking.

“An hour before midnight, at 23:00 hours, they will be here if they stay on their present course. I doubt if they’ll have planes up tonight, except perhaps to provide local air cover over the task force. We might be visited by some long range recon planes out of Gibraltar, but otherwise, I don’t think they’ve seen us yet.”

“And where will we be at that hour?”

“Here—about forty nautical miles off their starboard aft quarter.” Then he saw it—one slim chance, but they would have to plan it very well, and it would be very risky. Karpov could see the new light in his eyes, and he probed him.

“What? Do you see another option?”

“Look… At 23:00 hours we’ll also be about forty nautical miles due east of Cabo de Gata. Suppose we turn due west at that time and run directly for the cape. If they don’t see us then we just might slip past them. If they do see us then they would have to turn fifteen degrees to starboard—but I think we could still out run them. The only thing is this: they won’t catch us in this event, but they will spot us, and those guns range out to 36,000 meters, with an effective range of 32,000 meters for battle.”

“We’ll be inside that?”

“Unfortunately yes.” He looked ahead in his mind, wondering. “We’ll have no room to maneuver to starboard. We’ll be right on the damn coast, so we’ll just have to run the gauntlet.”

“Let’s try, Fedorov. When our first salvo of missiles hits home we’ll give them a real surprise, just like the Italians. It will be a night action. We can jam any radar they may deploy. We have twice their speed, and plenty of firepower.”

“Yes, but they have three carriers, and they’ll launch everything they have at us. Gibraltar will get in the game soon after with their air squadrons.”

“We still have thirty-five of our S-300s and seventy-nine more on the Klinok system, and we’re going to hit anything we fire at.”

“There may be submarines.”

“Our sonar is now fully operational and we can use the Shkval rocket torpedoes to snuff them out like a match.”

“And minefields in the straits…”

“You saw what we did at Bonifacio. We can get through, Fedorov! Don’t lose your nerve now. Our only other choice is to drop anchor here and get Nikolin on the radio to Gibraltar.” He pointed to the unseen base, somewhere to the west. “Do that and I guarantee you that this Force Z will come steaming up in any case, and then we’ll have our battle right here. It will happen, sooner or later, Fedorov. But if we try to get by them we’ll at least have a chance to win through.”

Fedorov looked at it, and looked at it, and he knew that Karpov was right. “Very well,” he said. “I suggest you get a few hours rest while you can, Captain, and a good meal. I’ll want you back on the bridge with me at 23:00 hours, and we’ll make our turn for Cabo de Gata, come what may. We’ll call the whole plan Operation Gauntlet.”

“Aye, sir. A good name for it.”

Karpov had his battle.

~ ~ ~

At that very moment Admiral Tovey was also looking at his plotting board on King George V, in the chart room with his Chief of Staff, Michael Denny and the ship’s Captain Patterson. They were passing Vigo, Spain and racing south for Lisbon, though they had many hours of sailing time ahead of them.

“As things stand,” said Tovey, “we won’t get into the western approaches to Gibraltar until 14:00 hours tomorrow.”

“I’m astounded we moved this quickly,” said Denny. “You would think the entire war effort was riding on this sortie.”

A younger man at forty-six, he did not sport the gray mantle that many of the senior officers had. After service on the cruiser Kenya and carrier Victorious, he had been groomed to replace Daddy Brind as Tovey’s Chief of Staff, and he brought all the sharpness and energy of his relative youth to the job. Still, Tovey was missing Brind at this moment, his grizzled wisdom and rock hard common sense was ever a touchstone for him.

“That may not be too far off the mark, gentlemen,” said Tovey. “I hope I don’t have to remind you what happened to the American fleet last year. I’ve sent word to Fraser and told him to offer Admiral Syfret a seat at the Round Table, so he’s been briefed on this Geronimo business at long last. He’s still of the mind that this is a French ship—Strasbourg. If that’s the case then we’ll all breathe easier and all we’ve lost in this little trip is the fuel oil.”

“Rodney and Nelson will make quick work of Strasbourg,” said Captain Patterson. “But if it isn’t a French ship?” He had seen what Geronimo could do, felt the hard impact of those rockets on his ship’s heavy armor.

“Then it comes down to guns and steel, gentlemen. Nothing more; nothing less.” Tovey had a grim expression on his face. “What have we got at Gibraltar?”

Denny spoke up, referring to a clip board where he had the latest tally from the Rock. “Hudson bombers will be up from 233 squadron at first light. Campbell’s 808 Squadron will give us strike capability with his Fulmar IIs. Hutchinson with have his Sea Harriers up with 813 Squadron, and then we’ll have a few more Beaufighters from Coastal Command and a handful of fighters in 804 Squadron on the Argus. That’s all of 48 planes. We darn near emptied the cupboard for Operation Pedestal, but Syfret still has three carriers with Force Z and they’ve got thirty-six Fighters, and another forty-two Albacore strike aircraft between them. We’re bringing in 825 Squadron with sixteen Swordfish and 802 Squadron with twelve more Sea Harriers on the Avenger. That make s a total of 154 aircraft fit for duty.”

“That’s sounding much better,” said Tovey. “Submarines?”

“We’ve got Talisman in Gibraltar and we’re lucky to have even that boat in position now. She was mistakenly depth charged by a Sunderland in the Bay of Biscay and is docked at Gibraltar for repairs. Traveler is heading home as well, but has no torpedoes until she replenishes. Everything