Grand Alliance

Chapter 16

Aboard Argos Fire Captain MacRae noted the initial Russian attack with some interest. Their IFF coding, received from the Russian technicians, was enough to tell him what they had fired.

“Four of their P-900s,” he said to Dean, “The same damn missiles that put Princess Irene under the Black Sea.”

In spite of their newly forged pact with the Russians, he still harbored some resentment and bitterness over that attack. He knew his tankers were fair maritime targets, and that the war was firing up in all the world’s key energy centers. They knew the risks when they first pointed their bows north to the Bosphorus. The Black Sea had been a Russian lake for decades. He expected opposition, and was not surprised when it came on the missiles that struck Princess Irene, but that didn’t make things any easier.

Is that why you said nothing of your Aster-30 missiles, he asked himself. This Grand Alliance we’ve put together here will take some getting used to. The Russian Admiral seemed accommodating, a fair man, but the business end of his battlecruiser was just as deadly as ever. Dean soon informed him that the Russians had scored four hits.

“Batting 1000,” he said. “Well let’s see if we can do the same.” By agreement they had decided to each commit four missiles to the initial barrage, with the Russians beginning. “Now we’ll show them what our Gealbhans can do. Let the sparrows fly, ladies and gentlemen. Four missiles, just like our Russian friends.”

The GB-7 was a new design, produced by Fairchild’s company, and meant to be an upgrade to the British Sea Eagle missile. It was a hypersonic sea skimmer much like the deadly Russian Sunburn missile, and it put the fire into the ship’s name to be sure. The missiles deployed from vertical silos that emerged when the covering deck panels opened like two large trap doors. Then the missiles fired, one canister of four, leaving MacRae another 20 missiles under the forward deck. He would have had more, but expended a number of missiles during the fighting in the Black Sea.

The results would be much the same. All the missiles found targets, with a hit on each of the three leading battleships, and one on the heavy cruiser Pola, which had taken up a position forward of Conte Cavour. Argos Fire was also batting a thousand, in a numbers game that was to be particularly one sided. The Italians saw the missiles coming, but this time no one with eyes could believe they were planes. This was something else, and rumors spread through the Italian fleet as fast as the fire was spreading through Conte Cavour. The battleship lost several boilers when secondary explosions below decks stoked the burning coals. The third hit by a Mach 3 missile blasting into her superstructure had given the ship a hard shudder, and it was steering off the line, speed falling off and in no condition to serve in the vanguard of the fleet.

MacRae waited, as per previous arrangement. They wanted to see if the Italians would still have the stomach for a fight after taking eight hits from an enemy no man among them had even laid eyes on.

Aboard Littorio, Admiral Iachino watched with growing dismay. Those were not British planes. Every report he was now receiving was describing the attackers as a kind of lightning quick rocket weapon. His lead battleship division had taken a fearful pounding, but there was no sign of any enemy ship on his horizon. How could the British have such weapons, and how could they see his fleet to even use them?

Now he dimly recalled the odd rumors of the German engagement in the north above Iceland. He had heard something about naval rocketry, but had given it little mind. Could this be what he was facing here? What else? The Greeks were certainly not out there shooting these amazing new weapons at his battleships. The question now was what could he do about it?

Iachino signaled Bergamini aboard Cailo Duilio for a status report. The ship was fighting bad fires in several places, but the encouraging report was that none of the magazines had been threatened, at least not yet, and all her guns were unharmed. He learned the same from the Captain of the Andrea Doria, which had only taken one hit, on the starboard side aft of the two stacks, and very near the secondary mast. The gun directors there had taken some damage, but the main turret was unharmed.

So we still have all our guns, thought Iachino, making a fateful decision. He considered waiting. He could report this attack to the other Axis fleets and see what they advised, but Italy had been bailed out of one action after another in the war, and hounded by the British in damn near every engagement. They’ve chased us out of the Horn of Africa, and destroyed the Tenth Army in Egypt and Libya, but not here. There’s nothing wrong with our guns, if these rockets can find us, then the enemy must be very close. Perhaps they are using a submarine to spot for these new weapons. We shall see.

He gave the order to increase to battle speed, in spite of a protest from Bergamini, who claimed it would make it much more difficult to control his fires. But Iachino persisted, determined to get the enemy out there under his guns. As soon as we darken their horizon, I’ll show them what my 15-inch guns can do.

Or so he thought….

Admiral Volsky had to decide what to do. He still had 28 SSMs, but this was only his first major engagement here. How long might this war go on? He knew the answer to that even as he posed the question. Italy would fight until Sicily was invaded and occupied in mid-1943, more than two long years away. Those 28 missiles represented overwhelming power at this moment. If he had followed common Russian Naval doctrine, he would have sent in a barrage of at least twenty SSMs, putting serious damage on an equal number of ships.

That would break them, he thought, and then all I have to do is live with all those dead souls out there, and hope my last eight missiles will get me safely through this war. Kirov would still be a threat, but a fast burning one after a salvo of that magnitude. Then what would we be once those last teeth were pulled — a toothless shark on the high seas, with little more than a bad reputation to throw at the enemy.

Now he realized what must have gone through Karpov’s mind when he was faced with the convergence of both British and American fleets in that very first run he made through the Denmark Strait. Karpov knew he had one weapon to clear the seas of his enemies, and one that would still leave his primary missile inventory intact. It made ruthless sense now as Volsky looked at the hard numbers before him.

“Mister Rodenko? Have we obtained any battle damage assessment?”

“We don’t have the KA-40 for long range visuals, but from radar returns the lead ship we targeted has fallen off and reduced speed. I think we can assume a good amount of damage there. We hit two ships, the British hit three. One of those was a smaller class ship, probably a cruiser.”

“And we have 28 missiles remaining…” Volsky thought, and Rodenko was watching him very closely. He had seen what Karpov’s choice would have been — argued against it, and suggested they disengage from Admiral Togo’s fleet, but Karpov had been determined. It took the mutiny of the entire bridge crew, and Doctor Zolkin’s timely intervention, to stay the Captain’s hand. One thing in Rodenko’s mind was still unanswered.

“Sir,” he said. “We haven’t heard from Kazan of late. Do you have any idea where Gromyko is?”

Volsky looked at his watch. “He is most likely on the other side of Sicily. I told him to see about closing the Sicilian narrows, but he is running silent until 16:00. Then we will see what his situation is, so that leaves this battle to us.”

“We could step aside now sir. The British have four battleships out there.”

“Yes? Well the Italians still have six. We do not yet have good battle damage assessments. So I am inclined to proceed here, but I would prefer to conserve my missiles.”

“We could try one more salvo of four, sir.”

“Would four more P-900s do the job? I wonder. Let us try another approach, Mister Rodenko. Activate our Vodopad system. When will we have range with that?”

“The Vodopads?” Volsky was asking about their torpedoes. The name meant “Waterfall,” probably meant to describe the way the torpedoes would fall from the side of the ship, dipping into the sea before they ignited their rocket engines. For a time they would become a missile, streaking out to their assigned targets before entering the sea again to finish their approach as a wake homing torpedo.

“Yes,” said Volsky. “I’ve never been really happy with the performance of those torpedoes, but this is a target rich environment now. If we fire we are almost certain to find targets. Is that system cleared for action?”

“Yes sir, and we still have nine Vodopad torpedoes ready. I saw to the inventory myself after the maintenance evolution.”

“Good. Let’s use a few. We have the range now, if I am not mistaken. Samsonov?”

“That system is on Tasarov’s board, sir.”

Tasarov had been lost in the sea again, listening to the Italian fleet, memorizing the sounds as he filed them away in his mind. Then he dimly heard his name and sat up at attention.

“No undersea contacts, sir.”

Volsky smiled. “Good to hear that. Am I to understand you are the firing officer for the Vodopad torpedo system we are now discussing?”

“Sir? Yes sir. The Vodopad system. I have that on my board. My inventory reads nine torpedoes.”

“Good enough. Do we have range on this system yet, Mister Tasarov?”

“Yes sir. We can fire now with the Vodopads, or use the UGST type 53 at 50 kilometers.”

“Very well. Vodopad system. Target the heart of the enemy formation. Salvo of four torpedoes please.”

“Aye sir.” Tasarov finally had something to do.

When the torpedoes fired they appeared again as rockets in the sky. The Italians were on edge and began firing at the oncoming streaks as soon as they saw them, the battleships putting out a barrage of flak that was totally useless. They did not know that however, and when the torpedoes completed their rocket assisted phase and fell into the sea, there were cheers on the bridge of the Littorio and throughout the fleet.

“See there!” said Iachino. Our gunners have a keen eye today! These new British rocket weapons can be stopped after all.”

He had no idea what was happening, that four lethal torpedoes were now boring in on his formation at 50 miles per hour. The torpedoes made a wakeless approach, and homed in by seeking the frothing wakes of the ships they targeted. The cruiser Pola was the first to feel their bite, with a large explosion aft from the big 300kg warhead that nearly blew the entire stern off the ship. The cruiser was still fighting fires in the van from the missile hit it had taken, then it suddenly exploded.

Before the shock and surprise had set in, Caio Duilio took a hit. The torpedo had run up beneath the battleship’s hull, exploding to send a massive shock dome of water that was intended to break the ship’s back. These were not torpedoes that would aim to strike a ship on the side and simply blow holes in the torpedo bulwark. The old ship was severely shaken by the heavy explosion, her hull breached at the bottom of the ship and water flooding in.

A destroyer was unfortunate to be the third victim. There were fourteen hovering about, largely on the flanks of Iachino’s formation, and the Folgore was the fish that was speared, with an explosion that did break the ships back, sending the ship into the dark sea within minutes. Admiral Iachino’s battleship Littorio took the fourth hit, right on her rudders and screws, with catastrophic damage there. The Vodopads had acquitted themselves, but Iachino believed he had been hit by lurking submarines!

Outraged by the attack, he bawled orders to his destroyer captains, which immediately set the ships frothing about and pinging wildly with their sonar sets to look for the suspected British submarine. None would be found. The culprit was fifty kilometers away, and a grim smile slowly settled onto Admiral Volsky’s face when Rodenko reported four more hits, and two on primary contacts. Within ten minutes Rodenko was able to report that a second capital ship had dramatically slowed and appeared to be wallowing, then a third.

The Italians had suffered a severe blow, and all without ever seeing an enemy ship. Conte Cavour was still burning badly, her boilers involved, and unable to make more than 12 knots. She had fallen out of Iachino’s battle line and was now attended by four destroyers. Cruiser Pola was gone, Caio Duilio wallowing with a near broken back aft of her mid section. Now Littorio had lost all propulsion on three screws, and had severe rudder damage that sent her into a wide, slow circle.

Iachino was forced to transfer his flag to the nearest ship, battleship Veneto following right behind the Littorio. Admiral Bergamini had also decided to move to the battleship Andrea Doria, which had only taken one rocket hit and had managed to control the resulting fire. Now three battleships were decidedly out of the action, and it was a naval disaster of the highest order. Iachino knew he would be foolish to proceed under these circumstances, and set about issuing orders for heavy cruisers to take the stricken battleships in tow. He would form a new covering force with his remaining three battleships, Roma, Veneto and Andrea Doria, but this fight was over, all thoughts of seeking the enemy now banished from his mind. Instead it would be all he could do to try to get these wounded warriors safely back to a friendly port before he lost a battleship.

But that was not to be.

Pleased with his torpedo attack, Admiral Volsky informed Tovey that if he so desired, the battle was now his, and Tovey was quick into action.

Chapter 17

HMS Invincible was an awesome beast when it bared its fangs that morning. Tovey had rejoined Cunningham’s fleet, then decided to scout on out in front with Invincible and a couple fast heavy cruisers. He took York and Kent, leaving Berwick with Cunningham, though he also borrowed a fist full of destroyers. The remaining three British battleships increased speed, and the hunt was on.

Tovey signaled Captain Bridge aboard the Eagle and told him to prepare to launch everything he had. When he finally heard the high mast call out enemy ship sighted, he was eager for action. All thoughts of time travel and altered history were gone for the moment. He would make some new history here in the anger from the nine 16-inch guns of Invincible.

He had been late to the party when Admiral Holland got himself into trouble up north, and he had been unable to find and chase down the Hindenburg when it fled south after that dastardly attack on the Faeroes. He did manage to sight the German task force, but wisdom had advised him to wait for King George V and Prince of Wales, but they were too slow to catch up to the action.

This time things would be different. He looked over his shoulder, almost expecting to see the young officer he had taken under his wing there with eager excitement in his eyes, Christopher Wells. But the man was long gone, now serving as the Captain of the carrier Glorious with Somerville’s Force H.

Never mind. Now it was time to fight. He opened the action at long range, more to announce his coming than anything else when he finally found the Italian Fleet. Iachino immediately answered with the guns from Veneto and Roma, his two best ships. Tovey got lucky with the first hit, adding insult to the injury Iachino’s fleet had already sustained. A 16-inch round struck the Andrea Doria forward, very near the main turret there, the blast canting one of the three 12-inch guns upward with the violence of that explosion. The shell penetrated deep, setting off the forward magazine, and Iachino’s fate was sealed.

He stared, wide eyed at the massive explosion on Andrea Doria, cursing under his breath. Damn the British! Damn them to the deepest hell, because that is where they are sending my ships, and the only place I am ever likely to get my revenge!

He stayed in the fight. His honor demanded it, though all the while he fretted that the enemy would unleash another barrage of those rocket weapons upon him. None came. Roma acquitted herself well, framing the British battleship with good, accurate fire, but getting no hits. Thinking his battleships finally had the range, and knowing he still outgunned the British with Veneto and Roma, Iachino took heart, until his lookouts reported a large formation coming up from the southeast. Cunningham’s fleet had arrived, and the distant flash from the dark shadows on the horizon told Iachino the enemy was firing.

Then the last straw came when flights of British torpedo planes came buzzing in off the Eagle and Hermes. The skies were soon filled with hot fire and smoke, even as he felt his ship roll heavily from a near miss of a heavy round. He gave his destroyers the order to make smoke, and reluctantly turned. Only his speed could save him now. Andrea Doria was lost. The British gunners would make short work of her, but his two fast battleships might yet escape.

The next minutes were a wild gauntlet of attacking Swordfish torpedo bombers trying to cut off his retreat, vectoring from every side and forcing him to make hard turns to avoid the torpedoes. The adrenaline of the moment chased the bile of defeat from his throat, but he knew he was as badly beaten as any Admiral at sea. Only one British battleship had the speed to stay with his retreating covering force, and Iachino was in a hot gun duel with Invincible for the next twenty minutes. The British ships unique gun turret placement allowed all three to fire if Tovey simply made ten point turns. His central turret, forward of the two vertical stacks, could then easily engage any target he was pursuing. So as Invincible approached, the ship seemed to be tacking this way and that, like an old sailing ship. even though he was outnumbered two battleships to one, he was able to use nine main guns against only six from the rear turrets of the fleeing enemy. He would score two more hits, neither enough to slow Iachino down. Then his radar operator picked up the main Italian fleet, and this was reinforced by a message from Kirov, giving him the position and size of the formation he was now approaching.

Good enough, thought Tovey. We’ve given them one hell of a beating, haven’t we? His destroyers were out dueling with the Italian destroyer screen, and his cruisers were following in his wake, but now he could see they were up against a large number of Italian ships, too many to wisely engage with his much smaller task force. So he decided to break off, turn about, and rejoin Admiral Cunningham. When he returned to the scene, he could see that Queen Elizabeth had taken at least one good hit, with a small fire amidships, but the British had beaten the Andrea Doria to a pulp. Cunningham had already given the order to cease fire, humanely, and he had ordered several of his escorting destroyers to rescue the Italian crew gone into the sea.

For their part, the airmen off Eagle and Hermes were unable to get a hit on Iachino’s remaining fast battleships, but two flights found the main body, and bravely charged in to put another two torpedoes into Conte Cavour, and one more into the foundering Caio Duilio. The Italians would lose more than half of their battlefleet that day, with Caio Duilio, Conte Cavour and Andrea Doria all going down with the stricken heavy cruiser Pola. Two cruisers vainly tried to tow away the Littorio, but her rudders were so badly damaged by the Vodopad torpedo hit that the ship could not be steered. The British fleet was soon on the horizon again, and rather than suffer an ignominious pounding at the hands of the enemy. Iachino sullenly ordered the ship to be scuttled, saving as much of the crew as he could.

He made for the safety of the Strait of Messina, and half way there he was overflown by flights of dark winged German Stukas. The action was now drawing within the circle of their combat radius, but he shook his fist at them with anger.

“Where were you an hour ago!” he shouted at the planes. “Where was Regia Aeronautica?”

It was a catastrophic defeat for Italy, and a victory that gave the British Mediterranean fleet back everything they had lost in the aborted attack at Taranto. Only Roma and Veneto escaped, attended by a flock of cruisers and destroyers. Iachino himself was sacked upon his return to Naples, and he was so humiliated that he left the service of the navy, disappearing from the pages of this cruel alternate history, never to be heard from again.

Yet the battle for Tovey and Cunningham had only just begun. Another powerful fleet had been making its way south through the rising waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. The Russian Submarine Kazan had hoped to find it in the Sicilian Narrows, but instead the fleet went by way of Naples and Messina. Now the line of steel grey ships was emerging to greet Iachino’s battered flotilla as he reached that place.

The sleek hulled new battlecruisers Strasbourg and Dunkerque led the way, with an escort of the lightning fast French super destroyers. Behind them came the pride of the French Fleet, the battleship Normandie. And after they led the last of their escorting cruisers through the narrow channel, another shadow darkened the waters, the storm clouds licking the steel flanks of the ship as it emerged — the Bismarck. Behind that formidable ship came an ever greater shadow, the hulking mass if the mighty Hindenburg, the battlecruiser Kaiser in her wake with the light carrier Goeben.

There the decks were awash with the cold sea, but the Germans were still making ready to launch. Marco Ritter was waiting near his BF-109, and when he saw the Stuka formations overhead he shouted out to his young protégé, Hans Rudel.

“Come on Hans! Can’t you see the crows are on the wing!”

Ritter smiled, pointing to the dark formations overhead, riding the tops of the gathering storm clouds.

It was far from over.

Argos Fire saw the planes on radar, forming up over the southwestern cape of Sicily, dark and threatening, like the storm clouds behind them. In spite of the impending bad weather, the Germans decided to strike while they could, and the force they were sending was considerable.

Goering had been building up German air strength on Sicily for the Malta campaign for some time. By January of 1941, Fliegerkorps X had 80 Ju-88A4 bombers in LG1 and 12 Ju-88D5 reconnaissance planes at Catania. These were augmented by 80 Ju-87R1 Stuka dive-bombers of StG 1 and StG 2 at Trapani on Sicily. This model was a special long range naval strike variant that would prove a formidable foe, with two 300 liter drop tanks on the wings that more than doubled the fuel and improved the range to just over 960 kilometers. They had been pounding Malta for some days, but now would get their first crack at the Royal Navy. These planes were joined by another 27 He-111H6 torpedo bombers of KG 26 at Comiso, and 34 Bf-11 °C4 fighters of ZG 26 at Palermo, with another 24 Bf-109s from Gr 12.

60 of the Stukas were up that day, soon to be joined by the small contingent of Stukas from the Goeben. They would be joined by 40 JU-88s, 20 He-111s, and covered by all 24 Bf-109s, and a dozen Bf-110s. In all, this came to 125 strike planes protected by 36 fighters, more than twice the size of the Italian air strike. The preliminaries were over, and the main event was now about to begin.

“That’s one hell of an air strike coming our way,” said MacRae.

“The Russians are firing now, sir,” said Dean.

“Let’s hope they still have a few arrows in their quiver….” MacRae thought for a moment. He had 50 Aster-30 missiles that could join the long range air defense, but he had said nothing of these to the Russians, and had not sent them any IFF data on those missiles. Now, seeing the obvious threat coming at them, he felt foolish. The Russians were out there with the Naval Ensign flown by Nelson himself on their mainmast. They were fighting right alongside the Royal Navy, and the thought that he held on to the enmity between Britain and Russia in the 21st Century now seemed an embarrassment.

I’d best let that go, he thought. No sense dragging that war into this one. If the Russians are willing to square off against the Germans, then by god, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

“Mister Dean… Have Haley contact the Russians. Tell them we are prepared to cover intermediate air defense zones out to 100 kilometers. We can fire after they conclude their initial barrage.”

“The Aster-30s sir?”

“I’ve a feeling we’ll need them. All hands!” He raised his voice now. “Prepare to oppose incoming air strike. Ready on all systems. We begin with Viper-30.”

Volsky got the message just after he had fired his initial salvo of 12 missiles from the Klinok system. They had seen the incoming strike on the Fregat system as soon as it emerged from the storm infested cloud cover over Sicily. Apparently many of the formations had formed up over the mountainous terrain there, and they were now moving at good speed to make their strike.

“I was afraid of this,” he said to Rodenko. “They were probably forming behind the mountains, getting up just ahead of that storm front.”

“Agreed, sir. That’s why we didn’t see them earlier. The terrain on Sicily provides them with lots of dead zones in the radar coverage, but I have over 150 contacts now.”

“Then we had better get busy. As before, Mister Samsonov, but give me six S-400s, wide dispersal please. I want to give them something to think about. Perhaps they heard what happened to the Italians. You may fire at once.”

There was a tense expression on the Admiral’s face now. Air power… It was the one factor in this whole situation that could change everything. If the British fleet could not be protected, then everything they won against the Italians might soon be lost. The problem he faced was evident in the strength of the incoming attack, but more than that, he was worrying about their SAM inventory now. Then, shortly after the first missiles were up and on their way, he received a message from the Argos Fire.

“Ah,” he said to Rodenko. “It seems this Captain MacRae has decided to come clean and empty his pockets after all.” He smiled.

“Sir?”

“That ship is a refit of a British Type-45 destroyer, Mister Rodenko. That class carried both Aster-15 and Aster-30 missiles. The British made no mention of the latter, did they.”

“No sir, we only received IFF data for their Aster-15. You knew they had these missiles?”

“It was a very educated guess. So now it appears they’ve had a better look at the situation and suddenly remembered they have the number 30 missile under their forward deck as well. Good enough. We’ll be forgiving. Mister Nikolin, signal the Argos Fire that they may now cover for long range fires. We will resume inside 80 kilometers with our Klinok system. You may designate it the SA-N-92 in your communication.”

They watched as the first six missiles exploded in the midst of the enemy formation. The naval engagement with the Italians had opened at about 275 kilometers east of Sicily, but moved within the 240 kilometer range before it was concluded. Now the enemy air strike was coming from the vicinity of Syracuse and Catania, with planes spread out over an arc that was 50 kilometers wide. The six S-400s had found a segment of that arc infested with Ju-88s from Catania, about 220 kilometers out, and Rodenko soon reported nine kills and three other planes aborting. They had traded the six missiles for twelve German planes, but now there were only 14 more S-400s in the magazines. One of Germany’s most successful aircraft, they would build 16,000 JU-88s before this war ended…

“Looks like the Russians are getting stingy with those long range missiles,” said Dean. “They only fired six.”

“Aye,” said MacRae, “which tells me they must be running thin. Alright then, we fire at 100 klicks. Full cell salvos of 4 missiles each. Ready on cells one thru six. Target that formation coming in here.” He tapped the thick cloud of radar contacts approaching from Syracuse, and a minute later the missiles began to fire.

Aster-30 was a very capable system, the very same one that Kinlan’s air defense battery had used to get up after those incoming MIRVs from a Russian ICBM, though he had been using a special Block 2 version designed for that kind of defense. The missiles aboard Argos Fire were a derivative of the Aster PAAMS system, developed to seek and destroy incoming enemy missiles. As such they were very fast, agile weapons even when hurtling at their top speed of Mach 4.5. They could target virtually any kind of airborne threat with a high probability hit to kill ratio. During the “end game” when it would close for the kill, it had a lateral thrust pulse propulsion mode that allowed it to make incredible turns to get after an evasive target. It also used what was known as a directional blast warhead, where larger warhead fragments are directed towards the target on detonation. In short, it was going to get hits and kills, though the ratio was going to be closer to 1 to 1 than the Russian S-400, which had a very wide fragmentation radius when it exploded near a target.

The German Stukas of StG 1 were the unfortunate crows to be hunted down that day. They saw the incoming streaks in the sky, remembered the warning that had passed to them from the pilots off Graf Zeppelin, but no warning was good enough to protect them from what was coming at them. The reality of being hunted by these fast, lethal missiles was something no pilot would ever forget. The Vipers began to explode, sending the remaining Stukas wheeling in evasive maneuvers. The planes were chased by the hot fire of the missiles, and one by one they went down. Of the 30 Stukas in that formation, sixteen were killed with direct hits, and the missiles also got six Bf-109s that had vainly tried to swoop into the swirling engagement, their guns blazing on defense. Two more Ju-88D5 reconnaissance planes that had been assigned to fly point on this mission also went down. StG 1 had been all but destroyed, though it still had fourteen brave pilots in the sky, and they were slowly trying to reform after the attack, cursing and calling to one another on their headsets.

It was a hard lesson of war, but in the end the success or failure of this attack would come down to only one thing — how many missiles were Kirov and Argos Fire willing to use?

Chapter 18

The planes came on, pressing through the 80 kilometer mark after 24 Vipers had smashed the initial formation of Stukas. Now the Klinok system on Kirov would come into play, the missiles rising to the challenge to strike at targets throughout the incoming arc. Kirov had only 82 of these missiles left, and so Volsky determined to fire 20 in two salvoes of ten missiles each. One salvo would find the JU-88s again, with nine kills and one plane there taking two missiles. The second salvo would take a significant bite out of StG 2 Stuka Squadron, and get eight kills there. The remaining two missiles found escorting fighter planes.

Disorganized and shocked by these deadly attacks from lightning fast rocket systems, the Germans struggled to regroup as they passed the 50 kilometer mark. Now Admiral Volsky had a difficult decision to make.

“That lowers our medium range defense system to 62 missiles,” he said to Rodenko. What is the status of this incoming strike now?”

“Sir, the situation is confused, but we’re still reading about 116 air contacts inbound.”

“More than all our remaining medium and long range SAMs,” said Volsky. We cannot engage further. I will turn the defense over to the Argos Fire and see what they can do. Who knows what we will be facing after this?”

Now he wished Fedorov were here with facts and figures on the German and Italian air strength they might be facing in the days ahead. Yet Volsky knew they could only do so much. He could hurt the enemy further, but at what cost to his future operations capability? So they waited, switching over to their Kashtan system, reserved solely for close in defense. The only missiles they would fire now would be aimed at any aircraft that managed to penetrate the final British defense and target Kirov.

The Argos Fire had topped off its ready ammo bank on the Viper-15 class missiles. MacRae had 48 in the silos now, and began firing just inside the 30 kilometer mark. They would hit nine more JU-88s, twelve more Stukas and three fighters with the first two salvos of twelve each. But the strike was coming in at speeds of 450 to 500 KPH and would be over the fleet in no more than 5 minutes. Firing cells of four missiles each, Argos Fire was lighting up the sky with missile tracks. They got eight Heinkels and four more Ju-88s, and then Dean announced a new contact on his long range radars.

The Germans had launched their second wave.

Ground controllers had heard the frantic calls from the pilots, and they had already learned what had happened to the Italian SM-79s. General Fiebig was coordinating the attacks, and was considering calling off his second wave, until he was informed that the Italians were mounting yet another effort, eager to avenge the beating their fleet had taken.

“Well,” he said. “If the Italians can take losses like that and still be brave enough to fly, so will we. Get everything we have into the sky, before that weather front makes further operations impossible!”

Everything they had was another twenty Stukas with an equal number of JU-88s, thirty operational BF-110 fighter bombers and seven more Heinkel-111s. Fiebig would put a second wave of 77 planes in the sky, and the Italians had another mixed bomber formation of 48 planes. So just as the brave survivors of the first wave were finally over the British fleet, the long range radar sets were reporting another 125 planes inbound. By sheer attrition, the enemy would wear its way through the SAM defense.

80 planes were over the fleet now, and among them the five planes that had risen from the deck of the light carrier Goeben. They were a little late into the game, and on the extreme northern edge of the attack, and so had managed to avoid the worst of the missile shoot.

“Look at that!” Ritter called. “Amazing! We had better get our business done soon, boys. We’re losing a lot of good men out there today.”

The five planes would go in together, Ritter leading in his Bf-109 in case the British had any fighters up, and the other four planes were Stukas being flown by some of the best pilots available, Rudel, Heilich, Hafner, and Brendel. They found the main British fleet and dove relentlessly on the battleships and cruisers of Cunningham’s squadron. Heilich put his bomb right into the guts of the heavy cruiser Berwick, still seeing missiles in the sky aimed at other planes to his far left. Hafner’s bomb missed, but closely straddled the Malaya. Brendel was a little better, staying in his dive through blistering flak and feeling his plane shudder with a shrapnel hit. But he scored his hit on Malaya’s foredeck, very near A Turret. It was Hans Rudel that would again strike the most grievous blow, coming down right on top of Queen Elizabeth in a screaming dive and putting his 500 pound bomb right behind her large trunked funnels.

Captain Claud Barry had just ordered hard a port and ahead full, but it did not fool Rudel’s deadly aim. As the turbines of the big battleship spun up to maximum rotation, there was an audible clatter, as though someone had thrown a spanner in the works.

They had.

Queen Elizabeth had spent time at Fairfield’s Works, Glasgow, and there was a man there who was working for the other side. During that maintenance overhaul, he had dropped not a spanner, but a long metal file into the enclosure. It was a miracle the problem was not discovered for 18 months, and the British would only trace the sabotage to Fairfield’s Works when another report was filed by the cruiser Suffolk, with turbine damage on that ship as well. It also had maintenance there, and the Admiralty became suspicious. Once the turbines were closed and sealed off, they were almost never opened while in regular operations. The file had been there, but caused no noticeable problem beyond occasional odd noises, but that was because Queen Elizabeth had had a rather sedate start in her deployments, and she never really pressed her engines to top speed. Now, with the seas rising and her turbines running full out, the metal file raised havoc.

That problem and the bomb which penetrated to one of her boilers, saw the ship quickly slow to 16 knots and fall out of Cunningham’s formation. With the air duel still thick about them, the Admiral ordered Queen Elizabeth to turn about and make for the safety of open sea. He would detach a pair of destroyers with the ship, but now would have to face the wrath of the combined Franco-German fleet one battleship light.

The action remained hot and furious over the fleet for another ten minutes, with three more British ships taking bomb hits, and Malaya taking a torpedo from a daring attack by a low flying He-111. Only twelve of an initial twenty Heinkels had survived, but those that did accounted for two hits. Calcutta, Coventry, Orion all took bomb hits from the remaining Stukas. Invincible was spared serious harm, as was the light cruiser Ajax and both Kent and York sailing close by. Of the 12 destroyers, Echo was unlucky enough to run right into the path of a torpedo and the ship was a total loss.

When the action finally cleared, and the ragged formations of enemy planes turned for home, they took stock and realized they had come off better than might be expected. Being well behind the action with the carriers now, neither Kirov nor Argos Fire were found or attacked, and Eagle and Hermes were able to recover their own strike planes unmolested.

It was mid-day, and Tovey had just been informed by Admiral Volsky that another strike wave was inbound. He went into the plot room and leaned heavily over the table, noting the last known position of the Franco-German fleet. That was soon updated, and he could see that he would shortly have another major fleet action on his hands. They were just emerging from the maw of the Strait of Messina

The enemy’s second strike wave was now just thirty minutes away, but the weather was clouding over much faster than anyone expected. The collision of warm and cold air masses was causing thunderheads to mushroom up well ahead of the planes now, and Tovey saw in them a brief possibility of shaking the fleet loose from the hounding enemy aircraft. Admiral Volsky communicated one last message. ANTI-AIR MUNITIONS LOW, BUT WE ARE PREPARED TO CONTINUE DEFENSE. ADVISE YOUR CURRENT INTENT.

Munitions low… He knew there were limits to the power of the sea gods that had come to raise their swords and shields for the Royal Navy. This would not be the last time they might face the enemy like this, but now Tovey realized it could not be here, so close to Sicily and the airfields thick with German and Italian planes. He already had achieved the victory he had come here to fight — giving the Italian Navy a severe shock. Instinct now compelled him to end this engagement. If he persisted, and now attempted to engage the Franco-German fleet, he might throw away everything he had just won.

So he decided, collaring an aid and sending him off to the W/T Room. “Signal all fleet units. Come about and steer one hundred degrees southeast at best speed. The fleet will reform at point B as planned at 18:00.”

He was going to live to fight another day. Point B was also Plan B, which stood for Benghazi. It was a fallback operation they had chosen should it seem impractical to proceed to Malta for the fire support mission there. Instead they had chosen a coordinate off Benghazi to give the Italian garrison there a taste of some good naval gunfire. By moving south now, Tovey hoped to get out from under the immediate threat of enemy air strike, and possibly compel the Franco-German fleet to pursue him into waters where they would not enjoy the advantage they now possessed.

As it happened, the Italian planes followed a vector that took them much too far to the north, thinking the British had continued that way in pursuit of their own fleet. The second German strike of 77 planes reached the scene 35 minutes later, but by then the fleet had already dispersed as per prior orders, so as not to present a single target. Both Kirov and Argos Fire decided to commit another 12 medium range missiles each if necessary, but the worsening weather was enough to keep the enemy from doing any serious harm. The German pilots realized the British were on the run, and seeing the thunderheads rising all around them now, they turned back for their bases. So the missiles stayed in their silos this time around.

What Tovey did not realize, however, was that the enemy also had a plan. It had been partly foiled by the impatience and hubris of Admiral Iachino, who had decided he had the strength to engage the Royal Navy on its own. Lütjens had strongly argued that all three fleets should combine before facing their enemy, but that was foiled. Now the German Admiral was also looking at his map aboard Hindenburg, with Captain Karl Adler at his side.

“What do you make of this, Adler? All reports from Tenth Fliegerkorps indicate the enemy has dispersed and is now withdrawing.”

“They had more than enough from the Luftwaffe,” Adler said calmly.

“I’m not so sure. The British are very cagey, and they seldom do anything without good reason. They have been very aggressive here, and in past operations, always so eager to get into the hunt.”

“But now we are the hunters, Admiral. They may have taken significant damage in either the naval battle, or from this air strike. The pilots are claiming their hits in the squadron rooms by now, and we may soon know more.”

“Their last reported course was southeast. Do you believe they are retiring to Alexandria?” Lütjens tapped the map with his pencil, pointing the route they would be likely to take.

“Where else?” said Adler. “We showed them that we now control the Central Mediterranean. There’s only one place where they can sail with any confidence now, and they will head for the safe shores off Egypt.”

“And we will follow.”

Adler raised an eyebrow at that. “Into the Eastern Med?”

“Of course not, but I am not so sure that is where the British are heading just yet. Signal the fleet to steer for Crete as planned. That way we’ll be shadowing the British if they are heading for Alexandria, and Operation Donner may proceed as planned.”

“And shall I inform Fiebig?”

“Of course. We’ll want his squadrons redeploying to airfields on Greece as soon as this weather clears. For now it will provide us with welcome cover as we make this move east. We’ll steer southeast, then east to muster in the Messenian Gulf off Greece. That will give Fiebig time to move his air strength to Greece to cover us again. Then we visit Crete as planned to begin softening that place up for the planned air operations. We’ll hit the ports and airfields around Chania, Souda Bay and possibly even Heraklion if things go well.”

“Has the Führer approved?”

“I hear he was more than pleased with how the attack went in against Malta. So yes, we have authorization to carry out Donner as a preliminary operation. As to the invasion plans for Crete, that remains to be seen. In the meantime, we’ll show the British they are not the only ones able to utilize sea power in the Mediterranean now. This is a whole new kettle of fish here, Adler. Now we fight in fleet actions like the British, not as solo raiders trying to sneak past Iceland and joust with the convoys. We leave that to Doenitz and his U-Boats. So we will carry out Operation Donner as planned. Let’s see if the British have the stomach to come up and do anything about it.”

Finally, thought Adler. Lütjens has found his backbone after all. This is good. If we make a strong show of force here, we demonstrate that they are no longer masters of this sea while we remain a strong force in opposition. Yet he had one misgiving. They had thought to achieve complete sea dominance with this action, but the Italians were now a most questionable element in their equation.

“You realize we may not be able to count on the Italians,” he said with the obvious reservation in his voice.

“When have we ever been able to count on the Italians?” Lütjens smiled, but the point Adler raised was going to matter more than he realized, because the British fleet wasn’t sailing for Alexandria, and it would not be long before they would find that out.