Altered States

Chapter 28

Kapitan Hoffman had just settled into a chair in his ready room for much needed coffee when the lookouts spotted the plane returning. They called the air warning, sending the ship to battle stations and quickly ending his anticipated rest. He was up on his feet again at once, and out onto the weather bridge.

“What is it?”

“There, Kapitan.” Huber pointed low on the horizon where a plane was bearing down on them. “Someone is curious.”

Hoffmann took a pair of field glasses from the rack and raised them to his tired eyes. A minute later he smiled. “Secure from battle stations,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong with your eyes today, Huber? That’s our Arado.”

He handed Huber the glasses, and the other man looked again. “So it is, sir. I thought it was a Swordfish. What are they doing back here already? They just took off fifteen minutes ago.”

“Most likely engine trouble,” said Hoffmann. “I’ll be in my ready room off the bridge, and my coffee better not be cold, Leutnant.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

The Kapitan’s coffee was still warm, but he soon learned there was nothing wrong with the seaplane’s engines. The plane circled, fluttered off the starboard side and landed on the sea, the long green pontoons scudding through the waves as it thrummed its way toward the ship. Scharnhorst slowed as the plane came along side and they signaled Gneisenau by lamp to take the van. It was not long before Huber was in the Kapitan’s ready room again.

“Schulmann has come back to report a sighting, Kapitan, south east over the horizon. Very close!”

“What’s wrong with his damn radio? We have to slow to five knots to recover his plane and that submarine could still be out there.”

“The interference, sir. He says he sent the message but received no confirmation, so he came back himself, and lucky for us. He reports a large warship-heavy cruiser or battleship!”

“Battleship?” That got Hoffmann’s attention, and all he could think of was that odd story Rolf Zanger had told him in the boiler room. There was another ship close by. Like an itch that had just been scratched he nodded with a self-satisfied half smile on his face.

“Tell Schulmann to get back in his plane and take off again. Come to thirty knots and turn on the reported heading. Signal Gneisenau and see that they are informed.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Any news yet on the whereabouts of Hipper?”

“Nothing yet, sir. But the wireless-”

“Yes, the damn wireless is still all fouled up.”

Another ship, thought Hoffmann. This could be the ship that has been jamming us. There may have been a third cruiser out here working with the others, or perhaps a battleship.

“What was the contact’s course and speed?”

“Two-three-zero and cruising at about fifteen knots.”

“In no hurry…” But that heading would put it off his port bow in little time. “The ship will come to battle stations. Raise flags for Gneisenau.”

“We are going to fight here, Kapitan?”

“I want to have a look at this ship. If it is a cruiser, then it was probably shadowing us for some time and with the radar jammed we could not see it. In that event we will see how they like our guns. If it is a battleship, then we will show them our wake. If they pursue and manage to keep station that will say much as to what this ship is. Only a fast battlecruiser like Hood could keep up with us.”

“And if it is Hood, sir?”

Hoffmann gave him a long look. “Why then things get very interesting, don’t they, Huber. Go! Get to the bridge with those orders. I’ll be there in a moment.”

* * *

“We’ve been seen, but the plane has turned away, Admiral.” Rodenko saw that it had already slipped back over the horizon. “It appears to be returning to the German battlecruisers.”

“The tattletale runs home,” said Volsky. “I don’t suppose it would have done us any good to shoot that plane down. The missile fire and explosion would have been seen by those ships. We are too close, and now we are sitting here like a big fat goose in a pond. How long before the reactors can give us normal power again?”

During the sighting they had another call from Chief Dobrynin. The flux levels were too high. They were very near a critical state on the number one reactor that would soon require a complete shutdown if not mitigated. He wanted permission to begin scaling down that reaction to see what was happening, but it meant that the ship had to reduce power for a time. Kirov slowed to just ten knots, and there was a noticeable rise in the tension on the bridge.

Rodenko kept a wary eye on the radar with Kalinichev, soon seeing what he feared most. “They are turning, Admiral. And their speed is up near thirty knots now. They should break the horizon in a few minutes off our aft port quarter.”

“And what will they think of us here,” Volsky thought aloud.

“We won’t give away much from that perspective,” said Fedorov. “But if we come around and give them our full silhouette, we might put the fear of the lord into them when they see our size.”

“You are suggesting they may break off if they see us as a threat?”

“It’s a possibility, sir. Their real intent is to get into the Atlantic and attack the convoys. All we are is an obstacle. If they think we are a cruiser trying to shadow them, we could be in jeopardy here. But if they think we are something more…”

“There they are, sir!” A forward lookout had seen something on the horizon.

“Activate the Tin Man. Let us have a closer look.”

All eyes were fixed on the overhead screen as the high powered cameras in the Tin Man focused and resolved on the contact. First one, then a second ship appeared, their battlements tall and dark against the horizon. Admiral Volsky glanced at Fedorov.

“That will be Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, sir. No doubt about it now. The British called them the Twins.”

“Beautiful ships.”

“Beautiful but deadly, Admiral. They will be carrying nine 11-inch guns each and will have the range in five minutes.”

Volsky raised an eyebrow at that. “Helm come left to three-thirty. Let’s show them our full silhouette as Mister Fedorov suggests.” It was as if a pair of gunfighters were slowly squaring off a fifty paces, and Kirov was reaching to move aside its overcoat, and reveal the gun on her hip. They wanted to look every bit as threatening as the distant ships closing on them.

“The ship will come to full battle stations,” Volsky said quietly, his eyes fixed on the Tin Man display, watching the other gunfighter’s hands very closely for the slightest twitch or indication that he was ready to draw.

“Mister Samsonov, what is our present SSM missile inventory?”

“Sir, nine missiles on each of the three primary systems.”

“Then ready on the MOS-III system. Target the lead ship.”

The Admiral looked at Fedorov. “In for a penny, in for a pound, Fedorov. If those ships fire I’m going to show them who they are dealing with, and in no uncertain terms…before they demonstrate that famous German marksmanship and end our little journey in a most uncomfortable way.”

Fedorov said nothing.

* * *

Hoffmann was on the weather bridge, eyes glued to his field glasses and standing like another tin man, his posture stiff and straight. He saw the dark shade stain the horizon and had an eerie feeling, as if he were looking at the shadow of death itself. It slowly fattened and extend and he knew the ship was turning. The squadron was at battle stations, running fast, their bows white with sea spray. He saw the big turrets turn, barrels elevating, and looked again.

“What do we have here?” he said aloud to himself. “That is no cruiser…” No. It was much too big, its bow high and the long foredeck strangely clean and empty. Then the superstructure rose, tier after tier to a high mast where something gleamed in the grey light, a blur of motion there. But he could see no guns, nothing more than a few secondary batteries. He thought this might be a large liner, another British auxiliary cruiser impressed into the ranks and forced to wear war paint, but it did not look like any passenger ship he had ever set eyes on.

This is a battleship…Look at it. It has an evil aspect, imposing, menacing. Look at its size! The bow is high and proud, and the bridge and main mast is well back. The ship looks fast, but they can’t be making any more than ten or fifteen knots, as if they had all the time in the world, heedless…or fearless…but where are the guns? There’s nothing on that long forward deck at all.

It was not Nelson or Rodney. This ship was much longer than either of those ships, by at least a third. It was easily as big as Hood, though it looked nothing like that ship. Could it be the British G# battlecruiser? But no, that ship had two prominent stacks. There were no stacks here. This ship is not making smoke at all, just sitting there, turning like some grey behemoth that has slowly taken notice of intruders, with bad intent.

There was a high standard on a mast amidships, but he could not make it out at this distance. It fluttered like a black ghost above the ship, indiscernible. They can clearly see us, but yet they do not fire, he thought. Perhaps this is some strange commercial ship, a big toothless tanker rigged out to look like more than it is.

The Germans had played tricks of their own like that. Their commerce raiders like Orion, Thor and Komet would carry false stacks, wooden and canvass facades to mimic new funnels, gun turrets, and change the ship’s superstructure and silhouette. Deception was as much a part of war as anything else, but this was the most mysterious looking ship Hoffmann had ever seen. It was time to break the impasse and send greetings and salutations. If the radio was jammed then he would do it the old fashioned way. If this ship was his dark and nefarious shadow, the source of the jamming that had confounded his radar and communications, then he would soon find out. There was nothing else in the sea around them that would be deemed a friendly vessel, except the Hipper, and he could recognize that ship’s silhouette easily.

He passed a brief moment of hesitation. What if this is a neutral ship, an American warship of some kind? So he decided to begin with a warning shot, the proverbial shot across the bow.

“Huber! Signal Gneisenau to hold fire for the moment. We will say hello with Anton and see what comes back.”

Anton was, of course, the forward “A” turret on the ship. He looked over his shoulder, craning his neck as the battle flags rose to communicate his message. Gneisenau winked her aft lamps to indicate they had received and understood the order. Satisfied, Hoffmann settled his cap firmly on his head and slowly raised his field glasses. ‘The praetorian’ was going to announce himself.

“Warning shot off the bow. Lead them, but make it close.”

The triple turret slowly rotated, three barrels elevating, wet with sea spray. Then they fired, the bright flash followed by a deafening roar, and heavy black smoke rolled out to port. It had begun.

Hoffmann watched the long fall of the shells, waiting for the geysers to mark the shot. He saw them plunge into the sea thirty seconds later, tall and white.

“Range?” He called in to Schubert, his gunnery officer.

“19,500 and closing. Those warning shots were short, but we’ll have the range soon enough.”

The Kapitan waited, observing the distant ship closely. They had not returned fire, but yet they were not running, still cruising sedately along as if they had no care in the world. Then he saw what looked like an explosion on the forward deck, and for the barest instant he thought one of the rounds had been under charged and was coming in late, hitting the ship square on the foredeck.

He could even see what looked to be a fragment of the deck thrown up into the air, then it exploded again, or so he believed until he saw something come hurtling toward them, soaring up and then diving for the sea.

The MOS-III was the fastest missile in the Russian inventory, Zvezdnyy ogon', the Starfire. It had a range of 160 kilometers, and could cross that distance at 1.7 kilometers per second after a ten second acceleration burn, five times the speed of sound. To Hoffmann as he watched it seemed as though the thin white stream stretching out behind the object was a javelin shaft of lightning.

The bright fire of its engine cast an evil glow on the sea as it raced in, right for Gneisenau, low over the wave tops. Then at the last it leapt like a flying fish in a programmed popup maneuver and smashed into the heart of the ship, right above the gunwales. There was a violent explosion as the missile delivered its 300 kilogram warhead, the same size as the UGST torpedo that had broken the back of Altmark earlier. The roar of the missile’s engines still followed, finally catching up just after it thundered against the ship.

Hoffmann gaped at the scene, seeing Gneisenau roll with the heavy punch, the broiling smoke and fire amidships burning fiercely hot from the excess fuel left in the missile. A secondary anti-aircraft battery was completely immolated. The missile had struck very near the funnel, just above the number four boiler room. The lifeboat there was completely devoured, and the blow had penetrated deeply into the ship, gutting mess halls, quarters, repair shops, storage areas and very nearly blasting its way out the starboard side of the superstructure. Everything in its fiery path was destroyed. The smoke towered up, heavy and black, three times the height of the ship.

“Mein Gott!” Hoffmann was stunned by the sudden lethal violence returned by the distant intruder. This was a battleship, most certainly, but what in the world had it fired at them? Rockets! He knew that Germany was hard at work on them even now, but apparently the British were too! One shot, one hit, and look at the fire on Gneisenau!

“Huber! Give them both turrets and then hard to starboard and ahead full. We have the devil to pay!”

It was his transgression, he thought, but Gneisenau paid the price so far. Scharnhorst fired, guns belching retribution, and then the ship wheeled hard right, churning up the sea with the violence of the turn.

Curiosity killed the cat. The Kapitan was heading for the armored citadel, his face drawn and set. The smoke from the fire on Gneisenau was lying heavy on the sea, the black smoky blood of a stricken steel ship. They had managed to see his turn, and now turned with him, but not before they let off a salvo from their aft turret.

The two ships were now racing away from the enemy, and quickly opening the range. Gneisenau’s speed was slightly off, which meant the fires amidships may have gotten to one of the boiler rooms. Hoffmann wanted no part of this mysterious British battleship. His only consolation was that the enemy seemed to have no speed. It could not follow and slowly receded, disappearing over the horizon.

If we hadn’t slowed to recover that Arado we would have been in the van and it would be my ship burning now, he thought grimly, my men charred in that fire. One thought seared his mind now, the dark smoke clouding his soul: this was something altogether unexpected. What was it? Why did we hear nothing of British naval rocket weapons? How many ships carried them? Were they all so accurate, so terribly fast?

“Come about and swing north as soon as we get over the horizon and out of sight. There is more here than we can chew right on now. With Gneisenau burning it’s no good heading south into the Atlantic to look for another tanker. The British will see us twenty miles away. We will have to find Nordmark instead. So as long as we have speed we must use it now to get north to find fuel. Notify Lindemann.”

Now he knew what had devoured Altmark in one swift blow as the survivors had told the story.

This will change everything…