Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

boat first. He felt a massive explosion well aft, the terrible sound of metal wrenching apart, then the rush of seawater raging in. The tail of the sub had been blown clean away.

In one last moment of life he looked at his dazed Executive Officer, eyes wide and said: “My God, Johnny. I think they’ve buggered us!”

They were the last words spoken by any man on the boat.

~ ~ ~

An interval of uneasy calm ensued, and the men aboard Kirov eased back in their posts, breathing a little more calmly after the Shkval had killed the sub. Tasarov again signaled all clear and Karpov visibly relaxed, his shoulders slumping, face drawn with fatigue. They had been running the gauntlet for the last three hours, evading the heavy blows of the enemy with everything their skill and the amazing technological advantages of their ship could deliver.

Fedorov looked at the position of the enemy surface action groups on radar and he knew they had broken through. He consulted his navigation board and settled on a course of 250 degrees southwest. They were still 240 miles east of Gibraltar, and when Byko called and asked him to slow the ship down so he could check on some possible damage aft, he reduced to twenty knots for a time and changed his heading slightly west to an area where he thought the thermals would not provide any acoustic cover for another lurking submarine.

At the time he knew nothing of the codeword that had been flashed from Fraser to Tovey indicating that he had escaped the grasp of Force Z and was headed west. He knew nothing of Home Fleet as it made its steady approach, now well past Lisbon and churning its way south. His only thought was that they were now out in front of Force Z, out of range of those terrible 16 inch guns, and not likely to be caught again. He intended to get back up near thirty knots at his earliest opportunity, and to make Gibraltar by nine or ten in the morning for the slog through the straits.

But the best laid plans of mice and men, have oft gone awry.

Part XI THE ELEVENTH HOUR

“It takes something more than intelligence to act intelligently.”

~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

Chapter 31

There was one more attack just before dawn out of Gibraltar. A well coordinated strike from both land based aircraft and the remaining strike aircraft from Force Z’s Carriers. As before, the planes and pilots were gallant, but they were seen from the every moment they took off and assumed their formations to begin their approach, and they were targeted by Kirov’s deadly SAM systems long before they could pose any threat. Yet it cost them another eighteen Klinok missiles before Rodenko reported the remaining flights were breaking off and turning away. They had already expended twenty-four Klinoks earlier that morning to repel the first carrier strike.

“What is our magazine still holding?” Fedorov asked, concerned.

Samsonov took note, a look on his face like a poker player who was slowly watching his chips diminishing as he pushed one stack after another out onto the table, winning hand after hand, but getting nothing in return. “Sir,” he began, “this last action has reduced our Klinok SAM inventory to thirty-seven missiles, and we still have thirty- five S-300s remaining—seventy-two total SAMs.”

“What about our primaries?”

“Nine missiles each on the Moskit-II system and MOS-III Starfires. Eight P-900 cruise missiles remaining.”

That was now a matter of some concern. He looked at Karpov, his eyes clearly carrying the message he was trying to convey. “Twenty six missiles,” he said slowly. “That’s all we have left in the way of anything that can seriously damage a ship. When they are gone this invincible battlecruiser becomes a big, fast anti-aircraft cruiser, and little more. When the SAMs are expended, then we have only the Gatling Guns remaining against air strikes, and when they run out of ammunition, we will be more vulnerable to enemy air attacks than a tramp steamer. I note from Rodenko’s screen that we did not sink either of the two British battleships, though we undoubtedly hurt them badly. Force Z will still be behind us now, though I would think they would be more than cautious about engaging us again, even if they could. That said, they will soon be reinforced by Admiral Burrough’s detachment, Force X. He was escorting the surviving merchant ships on their final leg to Malta, and his force took some significant damage, but he will have destroyers to reinforce Force Z  and a couple of damaged cruisers, Nigeria and Kenya. My guess is that they will reform as one new task force to block the route east again if the Straits of Gibraltar prove a major obstacle for us. They will put out the fires on those battleships and still be a dangerous force coming up on us from behind.”

“Not if we race for the straits now,” said Karpov. “What else might they throw at us? Are there more ships at Gibraltar?”

“I cannot be certain,” said Fedorov. “The reference material I have is not comprehensive, and things are already in a jumble. Destroyers have been shuffled about from one task force to another and the history is starting to look like well stirred cream in a cup of hot tea—hard to see my tea leaves now. I think we are fortunate that they dispatched so many ships east to support Operation Pedestal, but anything they do have in Gibraltar will be deployed to block the straits. Given the situation with our missile inventory, we must be very judicious in how we employ them.”

“Will there be large capital ships?”

“No, I think we can safely rule that out.”

“Then the deck guns should be sufficient. Our rate of fire and accuracy is so superior that we can handle their destroyers and cruisers easily enough, and our ammunition there is still solid, is it not Samsonov?”

“Sir, we have expended a total of 434 of 3000 rounds on the 152mm batteries.”

“Good. That leaves us well over 2500 rounds. I have a suggestion, Fedorov. What about the KA-40? We could send it ahead to survey the area and report back. With its jammers they will not be able to see it on radar, and it can defend itself from anything that might happen to spot or attack it. In fact, it can even drop a few sonobuoys to see if any more submarines have been deployed in the straits. This way we will know what cards the enemy is holding and can make better tactical decisions on how to best employ our remaining weapon systems.”

Fedorov thought for a moment. “This is our last helo,” he said. “Yet I suppose it does us no good to leave it sitting in the hanger as though it were already gone. Alright, Karpov, we’ll risk it. We certainly have plenty of aviation fuel left for it with the other two helicopters gone. You can make the arrangements. I must go and inform Admiral Volsky of our situation and see if he has any orders for us. The next stage is crucial and I want to keep him in the soup.”

“Certainly, Fedorov. Certainly.” Karpov nodded, but inwardly wished they could handle the matter themselves. Volsky was an experienced and wise commander, but Karpov thought the Admiral was too cautious, and believed himself to be the superior tactician. Thus far they had come over a thousand miles through hostile seas and the ship had been fought well. He was proud of himself, and confident they could complete the last leg of their marathon and get safely out into the Atlantic.

Two messages were to change all that. The first was from damage control Chief Byko, calling on the ship’s comm-system to report a matter of some concern. He had been below decks in the aft of the ship where those two near misses had fallen close off the stern. Now he reported that they were taking seawater below decks near the vital machinery that would run the ship’s drive shafts.