Three Kings (Kirov Series) (22 page)

Behind these four mobile units in
the vanguard of the enemy attack, there were at least six leg infantry
divisions, all Italian, but enough fodder to throw on any fire Rommel could get
started if he could find and grapple with his enemy. Knowing that he was
outnumbered this badly, O’Connor radioed the situation to Wavell at Alexandria,
and the information came in at a most opportune time, right in the middle of a
meeting that had been arranged to decide future operations in the Med. Wavell
ordered O’Connor to get on a plane and fly to Alexandria, and that simple order
was going to change a good many things.

* * *

They
watched as the ship
moved slowly through the canal, starkly silhouetted by the bare desert backdrop
and clear blue sky. A thousand eyes were on the tall battlements and strange
rounded domes, transfixed by the sleek, powerful lines, yet mystified, as so
many others have been, by the lack of any heavy armament to speak of.
Kirov
looked like the world’s largest and most threatening destroyer, but nothing
more, and many shook their heads wondering why in the world the Russians would
waste so much metal and effort to build a destroyer of that size, carrying only
three small twin gun turrets and an even smaller single barrel bow gun.

Then the crowds stirred again,
seeing the next ship coming through, just as big, just as threatening, yet
proudly flying the flag of Great Britain, HMS
Invincible
.

“Now there’s a battleship if I’ve
ever seen one,” said a Lieutenant from one of the Canal Zone garrisons. “Those
are guns! I reckon she’d make short work of that Russian ship, eh?”

“That she would,” said a nearby
Sergeant, “and short work of anything else that crosses her bow, sir. Just you
let the Italians get word the fleet flagship is here, and watch them get to
scurrying back to port.”

“The Russian ship has a fine
cut,” the Lieutenant conceded. “Sharp crew as well.”

Admiral Volsky had turned out the
ship’s personnel in dress whites, and they lined the decks in smart ranks, the
men standing tall and proud, unborn souls each and every one in this day and
year, phantoms from a distant time, refugees from a holocaust whose roots were
fixed in the soil tilled by the iron spades of war.

Volsky was on the bridge with
Fedorov, smiling as he heard the crowds cheer the arrival of the fleet
flagship. The distant strains of a military band struck out with “God Save the
King,” which was suddenly interrupted on the bridge with a furtive look towards
Rodenko by the young watchstander at the main radar station.

The
Starpom
eased over,
inclining his head to take a brief look at the screen, and immediately noting
what was happening. “Mister Chernov,” he admonished quietly. “I don’t care if
we are all sitting at a table dressed out in white linen and about to toast
Admiral Volsky on his birthday. When you see a contact on that screen, you damn
well sing out and report it.”

Chernov swallowed hard, then did exactly
that. “Con, Radar. Airborne contact at seventy kilometers, Bearing 280. Fifteen
aircraft, sir. Elevation low, at 8,000 feet.”

Volsky looked over, seeing the
half smile on Rodenko’s face. “Well,” he said. “Someone seems eager to greet us
here. Mister Nikolin, kindly inform Admiral Tovey that we are about to have
uninvited guests.”

“Aye sir.”

“Mister Samsonov,
Klinok
system please. What is our remaining inventory?”

“Ninety-seven missiles, sir.”

“Very well, salvo of three,
please. Track and be ready to fire on my command.”

“Here sir?” Fedorov gave the
Admiral a look.

“Wherever we find this ship under
threat, Mister Fedorov. We obviously cannot maneuver while we’re in this narrow
channel, and I will take no chances that one of those planes gets through the
British air defenses, in spite of the display a missile firing will make here.
Radar will call out the range interval at twenty kilometers.”

That mark was just minutes away,
for the contact was a squadron of Italian SM-79 bombers that had been based on the
island of
Leros
, a little over 500 miles away. The
Italians had indeed, gotten word the fleet flagship was arriving, and they
thought they would make it a nice fat target. With over 1500 miles range, the
planes were attempting to sneak in and make a raid on the canal, possibly
warned of this ship’s arrival by prying eyes still lingering in Somalia when
the formation entered the Red Sea. It was to be a well timed surprise attack
and, in spite of the early warning given by
Kirov
, the British were slow
to respond.

Eventually they heard the distant
drone of air raid sirens, and a restless murmur stirred the crowds lining the
shore, eyes now searching the skies above for any signs of enemy planes. Three
Hurricanes
scrambled from the nearby airfield at
Ismalia
, and
climbed into the clear blue skies, heading north. The officers on the bridge of
Kirov
noted their progress, and had Nikolin relay the exact coordinates
of the enemy bomber formation to Admiral Tovey, who in turn passed it in to the
R.A.F. Air Defense Officer for the Canal Zone. It was a most unusual message,
as the thought that one could even have information that precise was most
unusual, but the British radio officers sent it out to the fighters anyway.

There ensued a brief battle,
wherein two of the SM-79s were downed by the fighters, and four others damaged
enough to force them to turn back, but the remaining planes continued to press
on with uncharacteristic determination. These were the same plane type that
Kirov
had faced when it found itself cruising in the Tyrrhenian Sea, the
Sparrowhawk
,
an outstanding medium bomber used by Italy throughout the war.

Inside twenty kilometers Volsky
pursed his lips, waiting to see if the fighters could turn the enemy planes
back, but it appeared that at least nine were going to get through.

“Three fighters seems a fairly
thin fighter defense here,” he said to Fedorov. “Mister Samsonov, sound air
alert one. Target the enemy formation and fire at ten kilometers.”

“Aye sir, locked on targets.”

The warning claxon for air alert
sent the crews in their dress whites in motion, as the missiles would come from
the long forward deck where many had assembled. They cleared the area in little
time, many now donning bright orange life preservers and blue helmets. Fire
parties assembled in the unlikely event the ship might be hit, and a minute
later, Samsonov was ready.

The thronging crowds had already
begun to dissipate, but now the Lieutenant and Sergeant, and many others who
had been shaking their heads at the Russian ship, were stunned to see what
looked like an explosion on the forward deck, but it was only the launch and
ignition of the first missile. It roared up, a brilliant white streak in the
sky that arced up, adjusted heading, and then bored in relentlessly in on the
enemy bomber formation.

“What in God’s name?” The
Lieutenant looked at the Sergeant.

“A bloody rocket of sorts, sir.”

“Quite so…”

Then there came the bright flash
and sound of a distant explosion, and the second and third missiles fired. The
astonished reaction of the crowds brought a smile to Volsky’s face.

“I realize we have let the cat
out of the bag in this defensive fire, but it could not be helped. Stand ready
on close in defense systems in the event any of those planes persist.”

Only two did, for three had been
destroyed outright by the
Klinok
missiles, and three others damaged by
shrapnel, turning away in shock and dismay. Had it been an S-400 salvo the
damage would have been even more severe, but there were only 25 of those
missiles left in
Kirov’s
magazines, and Volsky did not want to use them
unless absolutely necessary.

Of the nine planes that got
through the
Hurricane
defense, only two were bold enough to press their
attack home. One dropped its bombs early in a badly aimed attack that served honor
but posed no threat to the ships. The plane then banked swiftly away as its
bombs missed the target and fell in the desert east of the canal. The pilot
wanted nothing more to do with this attack. The last was more determined, and
Admiral Volsky ordered the AR-602 system to swat it from the sky three
kilometers out with a flash of lethal 30mm fire.

This, too, slackened the jaw of
the Lieutenant as he clearly saw the single, brief burst of rattling fire, and
noted how the tracer rounds found the plane with a precision that was
astounding. One burst of fire—one plane down with a shattering explosion as the
central nose engine on the three engine craft was blown apart with over thirty
hits. Then it was over, and the light desert breeze slowly elongated the missile
trails, smudging them into the azure blue sky as if nothing had happened.

The crews of HMS
Invincible
had also rushed to battle stations, but the guns barely had time to be manned
and sighted before
Kirov
had settled the matter. The Lieutenant gave the
Sergeant a wide eyed look, but was speechless.

An hour later
Kirov
was
back in the Mediterranean, the Cauldron of Fire where they had fought the very
same navy that now welcomed and embraced them. That had been in 1942, at a time
when the British were desperately trying to sustain their embattled outpost in
the Central Mediterranean at Malta.
Kirov
had tried to skirt the edge of
Operation Pedestal, but was inevitably drawn into the battle as the ship tried
to race for the bottleneck of the Alboran Sea near Gibraltar.

It was here that Volsky had been
wounded just as the ship appeared in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and Fedorov had been
so suddenly thrust into the position of command, the only man Volsky could
trust at the time. It was here that Vladimir Karpov had tried to redeem himself
while serving as Tactical Officer and
Starpom
under Fedorov when they
were forced to fight their way out in a duel with the battleships
Rodney
and
Nelson
. And it was here that Admiral Volsky had made the surprising
move to seek a parley with Admiral Tovey, the meeting that had spawned those
haunting images that somehow found their way into this world, well before that
time ever came in the war, even as they seemed to leave a subtle impression on
Tovey himself—an unaccountable feeling of déjà vu, blooming in the strands of
his memory.

That was a mystery that had not
yet been explained, and Fedorov was still thinking about it, and what it might
mean. Now, however, they were soon thrust into the important meeting being
convened here with the Theater Commanders, General Wavell, and Admiral
Cunningham of the Easter Mediterranean Squadron.

They reached Alexandria, with
more cheers and fanfare as the ships entered the harbor, this time with a
gaggle of
Hurricanes
up on overwatch in the event the Italians had any
more surprises planned. Volsky could have told them to save their fuel, for his
radars would see any planes long before they could become a threat.

The meeting was to be held aboard
HMS
Invincible
, at Admiral Tovey’s request, and when Admiral Volsky,
Fedorov and Nikolin returned to that ship, they were escorted first to the
officer’s ward room. There they found Admiral Tovey waiting to have a private
chat before Wavell and Cunningham arrived.

“Well that certainly opened a few
eyes,” said Tovey.

“It could not be avoided,” said
Volsky. “Yet, the rumors of our weapons and capabilities may stand as a shield
here now. I think the Italians will be more cautious should they contemplate
another attack.”

“I understand,” said Tovey. “A
most convincing display. I should dearly like to have a few of those rockets at
hand myself.”

Volsky smiled. “Though we cannot
give you missiles and bombs, we do have one other weapon that we are willing to
freely share with you now, Admiral—information.”

Tovey nodded. “That would be most
welcome.”

“Mister Fedorov here has a
particular concern at the moment, as he believes that events are now coming to
a head in North Africa. Fedorov?”

“Yes sir. It concerns the planned
reinforcement of Greece. I must tell you that in our history this was seen as a
great blunder that almost cost you the loss of Egypt. The campaign in Greece is
a foregone conclusion. The Germans will apply overwhelming force there and
defeat any effort to save the country. Anything you send will be evacuating
within 30 days, and this also radically weakens your defense here to a point
where Rommel will drive all the way to El Alamein within weeks.”

Tovey raised an eyebrow. “I’m
told the Germans have already begun an offensive, but do not have any details.”

“We must find a way to convince
General Wavell that Egypt should now be your primary concern, because we fear
your enemies have already heard this same advice, and from another man who
knows the full outcome of this war as it was once fought—Ivan Volkov.”

“Don’t worry,” said Tovey. “I
hold some cards as well, and I have a lead that will likely convince Wavell to
follow suit. The Germans led right into it by playing those two trump cards in
Bismarck
and
Hindenburg
. They slipped them into French ports, but things have
changed, gentlemen, and I have a plan that I think will convince General Wavell
to stand fast in the Western Desert.”

Tovey smiled. “That said, it is a
rather dangerous plan, and I am grateful that you, and that fine fighting ship
of yours out there, are with us.”

Part VII

Sky Hunters