that if the Captain had his way, this plane would be destroyed in a heartbeat. But he also knew that if he were to destroy the target, the enemy task force may be compelled to reply in kind, and he would soon find himself engaging ten to twelve NATO ships. If Karpov was correct, and this was a deception, then those ships were not old British carriers and cruisers, either. They would be lethal, modern ships like his own.
At that moment Nikolin noticed something on his radio band monitor and listened briefly. He had hold of the signal from London they had been waiting for, the BBC News broadcast at the top of the hour, regular as rain in these cold Arctic waters. Yet what he heard made no sense.
“BBC news broadcast, sir, but it's very odd.”
The Admiral was eager for any more information he could get. “Let me hear it,” he said.
“Admiral,” Karpov protested. “We have no more than seven or eight minutes now!”
Volsky raised his hand, quieting the man as he listened. The signal seemed faint and weak, and it was like nothing he had heard in recent years.
“…Vice Admiral Somerville successfully reinforced the embattled Island of Malta, when a powerful force steamed from Gibraltar to deliver much-needed supplies. President Roosevelt announced this week that all Japanese assets in the United States would be frozen, and he has suspended formal relations with Japan. On the East front, German panzers under the General Guderian have reached Smolensk, further increasing the threat to Moscow, and the Red Army announced it has begun a counterattack near Leningrad. This is the BBC, 28 July, 1941. Details of these and other events will be presented later in the broadcast…”
Four sonorous notes of Beethoven's fifth Symphony sounded, and Fedorov's eyes widened as he listened, recognizing the famous allied V for victory call sign that was used in tandem with that musical motif throughout WWII.
“You mean to say this documentary business continues?” said the Admiral. “This is not the regularly scheduled live news broadcast?”
Fedorov spoke up, realizing that what he was about to say sounded incredulous, but needing to voice the opinion in any case. “Sir, we have clear video of the approaching task force. They are World War II era ships! And we are hearing a news broadcast from 1941… In fact that's all that has been on the radio band for the last three hours.” He made no further conclusion, thinking it more than enough to simply link these two pieces of the puzzle together.
Karpov gave him an angry glance, waving at him dismissively. “Ridiculous!” he said sharply. “That air contact will be over us in five minutes now.”
“So we will wait for it, Mister Karpov,” said Volsky. Given the circumstances, he had decided there was simply nothing else he could do. When the plane arrived they would identify its markings and type by clear visual contact, putting an end to the mystery once and for all. In the Admiral’s mind, an answer to his many questions was just five minutes away.
Part III
“There has been a misunderstanding, and the misunderstanding is quite evident…”
Chapter 7
Force P, Norwegian Sea, 122 Miles south of Jan Mayen Island
28 July, 1941
Rear Admiral Sir Frederick Wake-Walker stood on the bridge of HMS Victorious, watching the slowly rising seas. Just off his port bow, a second light carrier, HMS Furious cruised by his side. The two carriers were the heart of Force P, escorted by two heavy cruisers, Suffolk and Devonshire, along with light cruiser Adventure, and seven destroyers. His force was slowly creeping up to the Norwegian Sea, intent upon striking two bases supporting German mountain troops in the far north. The flight crews of his two light carriers would strike Petsamo and Kirkenes in 48 hours, and the pilots were already receiving their briefings below decks.
Wake-Walker was a stolid, competent, and cautious man, well experienced at sea and thought highly of by the commander-in-chief of the home fleet, Admiral John Tovey. At 53, his thinning hair was well receded, and combed tightly back lending him the impression of a proper British schoolmaster. Like most men who had reached his rank, he had a long and distinguished naval career dating back to the First World War. Just sixty days ago, he had taken part in the harrowing chase of the battleship Bismarck. Wake-Walker had been steaming aboard the cruiser Norfolk, finding and shadowing the great battleship, and then assuming command of Holland’s shattered task force after the tragic sinking of the Hood.
Well after the encounter, the intrusive First Sea Lord, Sir Dudley Pound, had thought to bring Wake-Walker up on charges for failing to reengage Bismarck with his two cruisers and the wounded battleship Prince of Wales. Yet John Tovey would hear none of it. He vigorously supported Wake-Walker, threatening resignation should any such charges be brought. The Admiral was vindicated, and his decision to shadow and maintain contact with Bismarck, rather than re-engaging at that time, was upheld.
Now that the enormous threat the German raider represented had been dealt with, the Royal Navy was in the early stages of organizing lend-lease relief convoys to Murmansk. The first such convoy, codenamed Dervish, was scheduled to depart from Reykjavik in a little over three weeks time. Force P was now conducting a mission to pave the way. They hoped to strike and neutralize German airfields and ports at Petsamo and Kirkenes in northern Norway, and thus remove them as potential threats to the newly planned convoy route to the far north.
Yet that evening something had emerged from the distant weather front to the northeast, a great disturbance reported by a weather ship several hundred miles from their position. The message had been garbled when received, and then cut off altogether, and they heard nothing further from the trawler. Now, from the look of the far horizon, he sensed a rising storm bearing down on his planned route to the North Cape area.
The Admiral was about to detach HMS Furious to accompany the cruiser Adventure on ‘Operation EF’ to deliver a shipment of mines to the Russian port of Archangel. Furious would then rejoin his main task force for the planned airstrike. Force P was skulking up slowly, hoping to surprise the Germans, yet the long hours of daylight at this latitude would make their mission quite hazardous. He stared out the starboard screen on the bridge, watching HMS Furious riding in the distance.
A curious ship, Furious was laid down in 1915 as a battlecruiser, but was later converted to a light carrier with the addition of a flight deck and removal of her main bridge superstructures. She carried three squadrons, nine old Swordfish torpedo bombers, nine newer Albacore torpedo bombers, and nine Fulmar II fighters. The torpedo bombers were older biplanes, slow and cumbersome, yet effective enough once they closed with the target. The Fulmars had proven themselves as capable air defense fighters, and the carrier also had a flight of four more modern Sea Hurricane fighters as well. The Admiral’s flagship, HMS Victorious, had another 33 planes aboard, giving him a total of 64 planes to make the strike.
Yet what to do about this odd report from the weather ship? What little they could decipher of the message indicated turbulent seas, and chaotic atmospheric conditions. While the slate gray horizon seemed to threaten, there were no signs of such violent weather as yet. But the Arctic waters were fickle and could change on a moment’s notice, he knew. Best to get Furious and Adventure on their way as soon as possible. He was checking the squadron manifest, noting pilots assigned to the operation, when the signalman reported an odd contact to the north.
