Grand Alliance

Chapter 22

The British fleet steered south, away from the action and on a heading that would take it down to Benghazi as planned. Tovey worried that the Franco-German fleet would attempt an immediate engagement before they could slip away, but he was heartened to learn that his radar picket, Argos Fire, reported the enemy was heading east.

What could they be up to, thought Tovey, but he soon realized that Crete could be the target, and the enemy might be planning to strike there even as the Royal Navy steamed on Benghazi. Under any other circumstances I would be trying to engage that fleet, but not with so many ships licking wounds from that air strike. We were lucky to get off as well as we did. Without that rocket defense things would have been much worse. My God, they must have shot down sixty planes, a hard knock to the Germans and Italians, but yet they kept on coming.

And that is the sticky wicket, he thought. They will keep coming. All those planes can be replaced, but not the missiles that shot them down. There is really only so much Kirov and Argos Fire can do for us. It will come down to a steady hand and good fleet air defense from the FAA in the end, just as it always has. What we need here now are more aircraft carriers. Eagle and Hermes can barely do the job, and we simply haven’t the fighter strength in theater to challenge the enemy.

In that he was very correct. There were no more than 77 Hurricanes in the Mediterranean theater at that very moment, and the few FAA fighters that had been assigned to the two carriers. Everything they had sent to Malta was gone. The 12 Swordfish and the Wellington bombers had managed to evacuate, but none of the fighters survived. Most of the German fighter strength had then shifted to North African airfields, but most of the Stukas were still on Sicily, and as long as they remained there, they could dominate the waters of the Central Med unless we can challenge them with good fighters.

All that day the two fleets were on divergent courses, but the British progress south was limited to the 16 knots that Queen Elizabeth could make. Malaya was in no better shape with the torpedo she had taken, but the flooding had been controlled and the ship was in no immediate danger of sinking. The three cruisers that had also taken bomb hits, Calcutta, Coventry, and Orion, were all still seaworthy, though they would all need repairs when they returned to Alexandria.

Argos Fire continued to shadow the Franco-German fleet, steaming about 100 kilometers to the south on a parallel course. Captain MacRae continued to feed updated reports on the enemy location, and Tovey was amazed at the accuracy. There’s something to be said for these advanced radars, he thought. They provide a situational awareness that is unsurpassed.

With this knowledge, Tovey concluded that the enemy was definitely heading for Crete, and warning alerts were sent out to see if the RAF there could return the favor and hit the enemy fleet. But in communication with Cunningham, Tovey received a coded message updating him on current air strength for Crete. Twelve Hurricanes, and eight old Gladiators made up the fighter defense. For strike aircraft they had 27 Blenheims, and while the airfields had adequate fuel for operations, there were no spare parts for maintenance. RAF had made the difficult decision to eventually pull the remaining aircraft off to North Africa. Meanwhile, disturbing reports continued to show German air strength building up in Greece — over a thousand planes.

Crete will be next, thought Tovey. So it looks like my little visit here will be extended. After all, Hindenburg is here, and there is simply no way I can return HMS Invincible to Home Fleet at the moment, Cunningham will need me, and every ship I can give him. For starters, I think I’ll have to bring in another carrier as soon as possible. That thought immediately brought the face of his young protégé to mind, Christopher Wells on the carrier Glorious. He turned to an aide and asked for an update on ongoing operations with Force H, and he soon learned that Somerville had concluded the occupation of the Canary and Cape Verde Islands, and was now maintaining a guarded watch on Casablanca. There was a new carrier just about to join the fleet, HMS Victorious. That now made it possible to shift carrier strength here, so he cut orders to have Glorious steam for Alexandria at once.

Good enough, he thought. Now we’ll give the Italians a good pounding at Benghazi, and hope our boys don’t get too much of the same on Crete. Yet one day soon we’ll have to face that Franco-German fleet, and that will decide who controls the Eastern Mediterranean. At the moment, we risk losing the whole thing! I have Invincible, Warspite and our friends from another time. Who knows how long it will be before I get Queen Elizabeth and Malaya back in shape? I had better get them to Alexandria as soon as I possibly can.

He made the decision to detach those two old warriors, and send them home directly with an escort of five destroyers and the cruisers that had also taken bomb damage. The guns of Invincible and Warspite would be more than enough to pound Benghazi.

“Any deviation in that course track, Mister Healey?”

“No sir. I still have the main body heading 090, due east at 24 knots. But a couple of smaller contacts look like they are getting a bit curious about us. I have two ships bearing on our position.” He toggled his history track on those ships and saw they had broken off from the main body just five minutes earlier.

“These ships are fast, sir. I’m making them at 36 knots!”

“I knew we should have taken that spotter plane out an hour ago,” said MacRae. They had seen a single incoming aircraft coming in from the north, high and slow. MacRae had decided not to waste a missile on it, and now knew that he must have been spotted. Fair enough, he thought. Anybody gets too nosey and they’ll get more than a nasty surprise for their trouble.

“Keep an eye on them, Mister Haley. What is the range now?”

“Seventy five kilometers and closing, sir.”

“Notify me if they cross the 50 kilometer line. Mister Dean, please message the British and see if they have any sheep astray. I’ll be on the helo deck aft.”

About forty minutes later MacRae got that notification at the fifty kilometer mark, and he was back on the bridge, this time with Mac Morgan in tow.

“Two fast ships inbound,” said MacRae. “We could give them a nice poke on the chest, but at this range I really don’t know what I’d be shooting at. British fleet says they have nothing on that heading, and this contact was seen to break off from the main body we’ve been tracking at long range.”

“Easy enough to assume these are a couple destroyers sent to look us over.” Morgan stroked his thick beard. “Well don’t look at me to give you the name of the ships, Captain. I’m your intelligence master, but nothing has come in over the black line from sources since we arrived here, if you know what I mean.”

“Well enough, Mack. From here on out we rely on conventional methods for intelligence gathering. You’re probably correct, but I’d prefer to look a man in the eye before I punch him in the nose.”

Morgan nodded, leaning close so only MacRae might hear him now. “Look Gordon, are you going to let every ship we run into out here get within gun range to satisfy your proprieties?”

“I see what you mean,” said MacRae. “Very well, air contacts have been clean for a good long while. Let’s get an X-3 up to have a look. I was just on the helo deck and the birds are all oiled and ready for action.”

“Suit yourself. But they have got to be destroyers, and if I can get the first good punch off in a bar fight I always feel I got my money’s worth.” He smiled, and MacRae sent the order down to the helo deck. His caution turned out to be unwarranted. Twenty minutes later the X-3 helo reported in that they had long range cameras on the contacts, two fast destroyers, flying the tricolor of France, and they were beating to quarters.

This wasn’t the Georgian Coast Guard, thought MacRae. Mack Morgan is right. I’ve got to re-set my watch to war time. It’s no good thinking I can back down a potential combatant with a warning or the simple flash of our deck gun. These ships undoubtedly mean business, just like the Russian Black Sea Fleet did, and so that’s what we’ll have to get down to here.

“Mister Dean,” he said stiffly.

“Sir?”

“Stand up the Gealbhans, a single missile to begin. Target those close contacts. You may take your pick as to which ship you hit. I want them to know what we’re capable of.”

“Aye sir.” Dean spun on his heel, ready for action. “You heard the Captain. Light up the forward cell and sound deck claxon.”

The blaring warning came and the forward deck was cleared as the covering plates opened to expose the missile cells. Seconds later the missile was away, fast on its way to find a pair of troublesome birds in the two French destroyers.

Agile and Vautor were the uninvited guests that day, the Eagle and Vulture. They had been coming at their top speed, all four stacks darkening the sky with smoke, with crews at the ready on their five 138mm guns. Their mission was to find the ship reported by the German reconnaissance plane out of Greece, and to ascertain whether the British fleet was on a parallel course south of the main Franco-German force. MacRae did not know it at that moment, but he was about to tell the enemy exactly what they wanted to know.

The missile came in low and fast, a sleek sparrow out to challenge the bigger birds of prey. Vautor was the ugly duckling that day, its crews spying something bright and low on the horizon. The missile came so fast that the ships barely had time to swivel their AA guns on the heading before it pulsed in to find its target, a silver streak of death. At just a little over 3000 long tons, full load, and no armor to speak of, the Vautor was exactly the kind of ship the missile had been designed to kill. It penetrated the hull easily, and the resulting explosion set off the big 22 inch torpedo tubes, with catastrophic results.

Captain Degarmo aboard the Agile stared with disbelief at the chaos when he saw the other destroyer erupt in angry fire and smoke. A rocket, just as he had been warned. He did not believe the tales circulating about these new British naval weapons, until he saw the skies laced with the ragged remnants of the winding white contrails from the aerial missile defense. Yet he had not actually seen any of those rockets in action, and the thought that one could come at him like this, so fast and low over the sea to unerringly strike his squadron, was most unnerving. He found himself spinning this way and that on the weather bridge, field glasses pressed tight against his eyes in a vain attempt to spot the enemy who had fired upon him.

Nothing was to be seen.

Mon Dieu! Could they have hit us from beyond the horizon? Was this fired from an unseen aircraft that sped away after delivering its weapon? He immediately sent a signal to the main fleet, warning him that he was under attack by rocket weaponry, and the die that would decide the fate of many on the sea that day had just been cast.

Admiral Jean de Laborde received the message with some concern, turning to his aide, Lieutenant Giroux. “Rocket weapon? Then the British do have these things as reported. Notify the Germans. It seems the enemy is south of us, and on a parallel course as we suspected.”

This had implications for the planned German attack against the harbors and airfields of Crete. They would have to move north of Crete into the Aegean to strike the main harbors, which would allow the British to steam north and try to seal off the roughly 100 kilometer passage between Kithira and the main island. This would either force a battle there, or compel the Axis fleet to take the longer route around the eastern tip of Crete before moving west again. So a quick conference with Lütjens resulted in a most unexpected decision — they would turn south now and face the enemy full on.

IF AIR COVER POSSIBLE, WE ARE READY TO PROCEED, Laborde signaled to seal the deal. The plan had been to always operate under the protection of land based aircraft from Sicily, Italy and Greece, but Lütjens was not concerned. German intelligence had also counted the planes on Crete, and they were not deemed a major threat. So they would go hunting, and the fleet turned, riding high seas from the passing storm front, and surged south through the grey squall lines in search of their prey. What they would find, if they stayed on that heading unimpeded, was the flotilla of wounded warriors, Queen Elizabeth, Malaya and the damaged cruisers.

Aboard Argos Fire, MacRae watched the signal returns on the radar change their track and head south.

“They’ve come round to 170,” said Healey as he watched the radar screen. “Speed has increased to 28 knots.”

Morgan gave the Captain a look. “Well it seems we’ve invited more trouble than we needed,” he said.

“Aye, that we have. In for a penny, in for a pound. How many ships in that battlegroup?”

“I’m reading 22 separate contacts, with at least five or six large capital ships based on signal strength and density. They all just executed a well coordinated turn, and they move like silk. I don’t think we’ve seen all the speed they’re capable of yet sir.”

“The ship will come to full battle stations. Signal the British and advise them of the new heading and speed. Let me see the situation on a map, Mister Healey.”

“Aye sir, this is the position of the enemy fleet…” Haley pointed to the digital map screen to the left of his main station. “And this is the British fleet bound for Alexandria.”

“A pair of old battleships, three cruisers and five destroyers, and all of them at 16 knots. Be sure those ships are notified of the new threat.”

“It won’t do them much good,” said Morgan. “I do have good ears still, and I’ve been in on all the signals traffic between the British fleet units. Queen Elizabeth has a problem with her turbines, and she’s lost a boiler due to that bomb hit. Warning or not, that ship isn’t going to make any more speed than those sixteen knots, and I doubt any of the other ships will leave her behind.”

“I don’t like the looks of that,” said MacRae. “The enemy has more than enough speed to intercept the British if they get wind of them.”

And they did.

Chapter 23

There was trouble on the wind that day, swift before the spinning storm as the Franco-German fleet turned south. The long, grey bow of the Normandie was breaking the swells easily, the massive bulk of the ship taming the heavy seas as the squalls slowly dissipated. Admiral Jean Laborde was on the bridge with the ship’s Captain, Charles Martel, a man with a very famous name. He was a tough, disciplined officer, and ready for battle at any time, so it was no surprise that Captain Martel was also quickly given the nickname Le Marteau from his namesake, Charles “the Hammer’ Martel, the man who had stopped the invasion of the Moors into Europe at the Battle of Tours.

Now the hammer was eager to fall on his perceived enemies, the British fleet that had so boldly and ignominiously attacked the French off Mers el Kebir. They had moved south to find the two destroyers that had been detached, seeing that the Vautor was a total loss, with heavy casualties among her crew of 125 men. It was just one more slap in the face insofar as Martel was concerned.

“The British certainly gave the Italians a lesson they will not soon forget,” he said to the Admiral.

“And they will likely sit in La Spezia now for the rest of the war!” Laborde shook his head, his eyes following the rise and fall of the distant silhouette of the Dunkerque. “But I seem to recall that we gave the British a little lesson ourselves off Dakar. Yes?”

“We did indeed, sir.”

“Tell me, Captain. What do you make of all this talk of these new British rockets?”

“Hard to make any sense of it, Admiral. Agile reports it was a rocket, low on the water and very fast, and there is no mistaking its effectiveness. One hit and Vautor was a flaming wreck, or so I was told.”

“How many men were rescued?”

“Sixty-three, most all transferred to the Strausbourg now. She’ll be coming up to take her station on out port side in due course.”

“Naval rockets… Agile saw nothing else?”

“No sir. No sign of an enemy ship on any horizon.”

“Then it must have been a plane. I have heard the Germans are working on weapons like this — radio controlled bombs.”

“They saw no aircraft, sir.”

“Probably ducked into a squall line. How could any ship fire at a target it could not see? Captain Degarmo on the Agile is not blind.”

Laborde could not be faulted for the assumptions he was making. Over the horizon radar was not something that would have come readily to his mind as a possible solution. French investment in radar technology was sparse at best. By 1935 a single French ship had been equipped with a “collision avoidance device,” and on land the French had tinkered with the “barrage electronique.” They had purchased a few radar sets from the British, and one of these was installed on the Normandie, but amazingly, it was disregarded as a useful device, and switched off. Strausbourg had an air warning set installed and operational, but saw no threats.

“There is one thing I do not understand, Admiral.” Captain Martel was adjusting the fit of his gloves. “If the British have these weapons, why is it we saw nothing of them at Mers el Kebir or Dakar?”

“Possibly a new development. It may be limited in deployment, and only available on a few ships. The British flagship is here, or so say the Italians. It was HMS Invincible that caught the Italians as they withdrew, but it used the good old fashioned way of doing battle at sea, those nice big 16-inch guns.”

“Perhaps we’ll get a crack at that ship today, sir. I’ll match our twelve 15-inch guns against her nine any day and come off the better man.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Laborde. “Well with this weather clearing, let’s get spotter planes up and verify the position of this enemy fleet. Notify the Germans that we will launch at 15:00.”

“Very good sir.”

MacRae was pacing on the bridge, his deliberate, steady movement from one side to the other like the motion of a pendulum.

“Keep that up and you’ll wear a path in the carpeting,” said Morgan, but he turned his head to see that Elena Fairchild had come up to the bridge to see what was going on.

“Greetings, Mum,” he said politely.

“I heard the alarm,” she said. “What were we firing at this time?”

MacRae drifted over, speaking in a calm, quiet voice. “A pair of French destroyers were thinking to get cozy with us a while back. I sent them a message to discourage that thought, but it seems my strategy backfired.”

“In what way?”

“We’ve another 22 ships heading our way now, and here we are between the wolves and the sheep, just one little sheep dog on the watch.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The British are about 20 kilometers south of us, and we’ve taken up the radar and air defense picket for this detachment. They’re heading for Alexandria — the ships that took damage from that air strike.”

“That was unfortunate,” said Fairchild. “Why couldn’t we stop that attack?”

“Oh we might have — that is if you don’t mind my using damn near every SAM we have aboard. The Russians took a bite out of them as well, but it was clear they were trying to husband their missile inventory as well.”

“And what about the destroyers?”

“It looks as though we put one under, and that has the rest of the lot a wee bit bothered. They’ll be on our far horizon in fifteen minutes at the speed they’re making. So I sent down a message to let you know we may have to do some serious shooting, and very soon.”

“Well how are we fixed for missiles ourselves?”

“On the SSMs, we’ve seventeen Gealbhans remaining.”

“Seventeen?”

Twenty two enemy ships… Seventeen missiles. The mathematics did not give her any comfort.

“What about the deck guns?” She folded her arms, clearly unhappy.

“Oh, Aye, we’ve plenty of ammunition for those. But Mister Haley there says we’ve a good number of heavy ship sin that formation, and a 4.5-inch gun won’t make much of an impression on their battleships. We can use it to fend off a destroyer rush, should it come to close quarter action like that.”

“A destroyer rush?” She gave him a long look. “Walk with me, Captain, if you please.”

“My pleasure…” The two exited the aft bridge hatch, with several crewmen looking over their shoulders as they went, and Mack Morgan giving one a big grin until he heard Miss Fairchild’s voice calling for him as well.

They moved out to the officer’s wardroom behind the bridge, and Elena closed the door, folding her arms. “What in god’s name are we doing, Gordon?”

“We’re screening the British fleet. That’s what we agreed to do when we took up this post.”

“Where is the Russian ship?”

“Kirov? They’re doing the same for Admiral Tovey’s detachment, off to Benghazi. I can’t say as I like the idea of dividing the fleet like this, but the ships we’re screening all took hits in that air action, so it seems they want to get them safely to Alexandria. It’s really my fault, Elena. I took a pot shot at a pair of destroyers getting nosey, and put one under. Perhaps if I’d waited and used the deck guns I might have driven them off and avoided the situation we’re in now.”

“Perhaps,” said Morgan, “but they may have just come at you all the same. I put him up to it, Mum. I gave him a good nudge in the ribs about letting those destroyers get too close.”

“True enough,” MacRae agreed. “But the responsibility is still mine. I’m Captain of Argos Fire, and it was my decision.”

“Well what about the British?” said Elena. “They have battleships south of us in that detachment, correct? They can defend themselves?”

“Aye, they’ve Queen Elizabeth and Malaya south of us, with three cruisers, and all with damage. They’ll fight if it comes to it, but I think we owe them the benefit of anything we can do.”

“What do you propose?”

“A sheep dog isn’t worth the hair on his back if he’ll cut and run from the wolves, Elena. We started this, I started it, and there it is. I can’t see as though I’d do anything different, except perhaps ask the good Admiral if he’d mind assigning us a carrier. But it seems they deemed the air threat low on this heading. I suppose he was correct, until I stuck my thumb in it.”

“So now what? That doesn’t answer my question, Gordon.”

“So now we fight, Madame. It’s just that simple. A man in a bar got in my face and I gave him a good hard shove on the shoulder. Who knew he’d come at us with half of windy Wales?”

“How many missiles can we afford to use here?”

“I suppose that will depend on how much backbone they have out there. We might hit them, and back them off if we do it hard enough. Then again, they just might get their dander up and come at us with everything they have.”

“That’s what it looks like now,” said Morgan.

“Damn,” Elena swore. “Seventeen missiles? Alright, Gordon. You can use seven. Those missiles are all that stands between us and a re-commissioning of Argos Fire as a cruise liner.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be that bad, but I take your point.”

“What about the helicopters?”

“I was just going to get round to that. We can put Hellfires or Sea Skuas on the X-3s, These are smaller missiles that might hurt their lighter ships if we need them. And they’ve a mean chain gun.”

“Use them if necessary, but keep them safe. Those ships have flak guns, don’t they?”

“That they do, so the Hellfires may not be the best choice here, They range out only 5 kilometers.”

“What about my birthday present?” said Mack Morgan.

“Birthday present?”

“Elena purchased a pair of Hellfire AGM-114N Thermobaric missiles from the Americans. They call them MACs.” He smiled. “They’ll suck the bloody air right out of one of those destroyers.”

“Wonderful,” said MacRae. “Eight kilometer range. No, we’d better use the Sea Skuas. We’ve four for each helo, sixteen in all since we have missile stocks left over from the bird we lost in the Caspian Sea. They’ll range out to 25 kilometers, which will be well outside ship flak defense of this era.”

“Alright,” said Elena. “Two helicopters, with four missiles each. The rest stay in the hold.”

“And so then what’ll we do if the 15 odd missiles you’re giving me won’t turn that fleet around? This is war, Elena. When we fire people over there are going to die, and when they shoot back there’s a chance people will get hurt or killed on our side as well. You brought the ship here, What did you expect?”

“Have the British been warned?”

“Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Alright then…. Seven missiles. Eight on the helos. That’s all we can do for them here. Understand?”

MacRae looked at Mack Morgan, then slowly nodded. “As you wish. I know what’s in your mind. It was a bloody long war, but if we beat these fellows now, we won’t have to face them again later. It takes three or four years to build another battleship.”

“I understand, but we have to be cautious. Signal the British that we will engage, but we’re just one ship, a good ship no doubt, but we can’t win the whole thing for them. They’ll have to understand that.”

Back on the bridge the crew was silent as the three came in. They had seen Miss Fairchild in this mood before, and knew she wasn’t happy. Yet the Captain took his seat and immediately issued orders.

“Mister Dean, send down to the helo deck. I’ll want two X-3s up with Sea Skuas in ten minutes. Ready on the GB-7 system. Two missiles please. One minute delay between shots. Target the center of their formation so the whole lot gets a good look at the results.”

“Aye sir. Ready on GB-7.”

“You may fire.”

Dean looked at his CIC officer and seconded the order. The warning claxon sounded, the missile fired, and the battle was joined at 15:40, with the enemy fleet at 35 kilometers range, not far over the grey horizon.

“Sir! Mainmast reports a plane on the horizon. Very fast, sir, and dead ahead!”

“Sound General quarters,” said Laborde, looking at his Captain. “A spotter plane? Are ours in the air yet?”

“We’ve only just launched, sir.”

“Shoot the enemy plane down.”

Several destroyers posted well out in the van were already firing, but the effort was futile. They could simply not sight on a weapon moving at Mach 3, or have any chance of hitting it. Their only hope was to throw up such a wall of flak that the missile might run into something, but with only this one target, the threat did not seem to warrant such action. Thirty seconds later Admiral Laborde and Captain Martel saw the new British weapon.

As if the men off the Vautor were cursed, the missile locked on to the ship they had been transferred to after being fished out of the sea, the battlecruiser Strausbourg, cruising off the port side of the Normandie. The missile had been programmed for a popup and dive maneuver, or it might have blasted right into the forward face armor of the A turret. Instead it struck the base of the conning tower, but found a sturdy structure there, with 270mm armor, over 10.5 inches of steel that had been designed to stop a shell weighing many times the 200kg warhead on the missile. The resulting blast and fire were considerable, but the missile did not penetrate that armor. That said, the fire from the fuel and the shock of the kinetic impact were a severe blow to the ship, and on the bridge of Strausbourg, the crew were picking themselves up off the deck and seeing the thick pall of acrid smoke blinding their view forward.

The deadly duel of missile versus armor had begun.

Chapter 24

It was a battle that Kirov had learned to fight in the crucible of war, the ship’s missiles matched against some of the toughest and most powerful battleships ever built. The Russians had already dueled with ships like King George V, Rodney and Nelson, fought the best battleships of Italy and then slugged it out with the Japanese Behemoth Yamato—all in previous worlds that had now spun into the ether with this latest revision of the history when the ship appeared in 1940. And Karpov had also faced down the American Navy in two eras, with a massive battle in 2021 against CVBG Washington, before displacing to 1945 to confront Halsey, Ziggy Sprague and the most powerful fleet the world has ever seen. There he dueled with the intrepid battleship Iowa, taking the most extreme measures in the struggle to prevail.

In all of this combat, the officers and crew of Kirov had learned hard lessons on the application and limits of their power. They had retuned their ECM jammers to frustrate the enemy radar and communications of this era, and reprogrammed their missiles to rise and strike the superstructures of the ships they targeted, thus avoiding the thick, heavy belt armor of the battleships. For some they had altered the angle of the missile attack to hit from above, to plunge through the thinner deck armor and into the heart of the enemy ship.

All these measures and tactics had made Kirov invincible on the sea, the shock and power of those supersonic SSMs stunning the unsuspecting Admirals and Captains of the 1940s, the searing heat and fire of nuclear warheads becoming the ultimate hammer the ship could wield. In these many duels, Kirov found that the one weapon the enemy had in abundance, and one that posed the greatest threat to the ship’s survival, was air power. It was the dogged, if suicidal attack of Admiral Hara’s carrier pilots that scored the first telling blow against the Russian ship, when Lieutenant Hayashi came screaming down to fly his plane into the aft reserve citadel command bridge of the ship, braving a missile defense that had sent so many of his comrades to their deaths.

And it was the massed air power of Halsey’s fast carriers that rose to challenge Karpov, even with two other modern ships at his side. The sheer number of aircraft the American Pacific Fleet could put into the sky was like a great wave that threatened to swamp the ship, depleting its missile inventories and leaving it open to destruction from above, as so many other great ships had died.

Thus far, Kirov had avoided serious harm. Yet the ship was wounded, by the shrapnel of enemy shells, near miss torpedo explosions, and the raging attacks of enemy planes. It had survived all these battles through the skill of its officers, the sheer power of its weaponry, and at times pure luck. The U-boat Kapitan Rosenbaum had caught the ship by surprise where he lurked in Fornells Bay off Menorca, and the torpedo he fired came within inches of striking a devastating blow to Kirov’s hull. Even in 1908, the dogged attacks made by Admiral Togo’s fleet had managed to put damage on the ship, and the mine struck there had forever destroyed Kirov’s forward ‘Horsejaw’ sonar dome.

Now Argos Fire was in the same crucible of war that Kirov had faced, but they had not had time to learn any of these lessons. They had great strengths relative to the enemy they were facing. They could see them on radar over vast distances, and had the speed to use that advantage to keep their distance and strike with long range missiles. Yet they had not faced ships of heavy armor yet, and their missile inventory was nowhere near the size of the one Kirov had brought to this world. Argos Fire had only 24 Gealbhan Sparrow missiles under her forward deck, and of these many had been used in the Black Sea. They had only seventeen left now, and the first to strike the oncoming Franco-German fleet had found a worthy target in the battlecruiser Strausbourg, sending fire and wrath against her forward conning tower, but it was not a fatal blow like the missile that had easily gutted the lightly armored destroyer Vautor.

The thickness of the armor on the ships they were now facing would make all the difference, as long as the officers commanding them had steel wills and backbones for the fight that was now unfolding.

Admiral Laborde saw the second missile flashing on the horizon, and it looked to be heading directly for his ship. “Hard to starboard!” he roared, as if he were attempting to outmaneuver an enemy torpedo. The helmsman spun the wheel, turning the ship slowly as the missile flashed in, low on the sea. Seconds later it was the Normandie that felt the shuddering impact and fire, which might have hit the long bow if it had not been for that instinct to turn. Instead the missile struck low on the side armor of the battleship, just beneath the massive B turret, and there it made a glancing blow that looked far worse than the damage it actually inflicted.

Bright orange fire blazed against the side of the ship, but the armor held, and the fires caused by the residual fuel were the worst of the damage, scorching the hull black from just above the water level to the gunwales. Both hits had been shocking to all the men of the fleet. The leading destroyers were amazed to see how the missiles had even changed course to deftly avoid the screening ships and vector in on the heart of the formation. But that shock was the worst of it, and it did not break the steel in the men that day. They would fight.

Admiral Lütjens was steaming three kilometers off the port side of Normandie, his flotilla of four ships slightly separated from the French Fleet. It had been an uneasy alliance, as the French were reluctant allies here, and he knew there may be many men on those ships who still tasted the bitter bile of their defeat at the hands of the Germans. He lowered his field glasses and looked at Kapitan Adler, a wry smile on his face.

“So the British have rockets here as well,” he said, stating the obvious. “How are they spotting us?”

“Perhaps just as we surmised in the Atlantic,” said Adler. “They must have a submarine close by to send the general coordinates of our fleet.”

“But the accuracy of these attacks is uncanny,” said Lütjens. “Did you see how that second rocket avoided the destroyer screen? It was as if the damn thing had eyes!”

“Yes,” said Adler. “We would have taken a hit like that on the Graf Zeppelin if our destroyer had not been right alongside at that moment.”

“How do we beat a weapon like this?” Lütjens shook his head, clearly impressed, but Adler stood taller, his hands clasped behind his back.

“They must be firing from just over the horizon, Admiral. We have speed — let’s use it! Look, the French heavy ships are still in formation. They will control those fires and I am willing to bet they are not seriously harmed. What we do now is charge with the heavy cavalry, sir. How many of these rockets can the enemy have? We may take hits, but they cannot sink us all before we get them under our guns. Then we settle the matter the old fashioned way.”

Even as Adler finished they saw another thin contrail in the sky, this time a SAM fired to take down the seaplane spotter that had just launched from the Normandie minutes before. It exploded with the unerring hit, sending murmurs through the bridge crew that prompted Lütjens to turn and give a stiff rebuke to his men.

“We are not here to ooh and ahh at the British fireworks! We are here to find and crush them, and that is exactly what we will do!” Then to Adler he said: “Signal Admiral Laborde. If their ship can still make way, I advise we increase to full battle speed and sail right down that heading.” He pointed a gloved finger at the smoke trail low on the sea from that second rocket strike.

“Shall I signal the Goeben to launch Stukas?” Adler waited on the Admiral’s order.

“Not just yet, he said. The French are launching more seaplanes. Let’s see how they do before we give the British more targets for these rockets. Now… helmsman, all ahead full!”

Aboard Argos Fire MacRae was leaning over the radar map with Mister Healey. He had seen the firing tracks of his first two missiles, and they waited briefly, looking for any diminishment of speed in the two contacts that were hit. Five minutes later it was clear that the enemy was undeterred. Smaller, faster contacts were increasing speed. They saw two groups of five, which appeared to be destroyer squadrons increasing to nearly 36 knots. Many ships were also now launching seaplanes, as these were carried even down to the light cruiser class in the French Navy. They saw six more planes aloft and fanning out ahead of the fleet.

“Look at that,” said MacRae. “Do we want to commit another six Vipers against seaplanes?” He looked at Morgan now.

“Twenty minutes and they break our horizon in any case. If you want my advice, I’d begin retiring on the British Fleet now and try to stay ahead of those bastards. Save your missiles. It’s only a matter of time until they make contact with us.”

MacRae agreed, and ordered the ship to come about to a heading that would take him west of the British squadron. No sense leading those brigands any other place, he thought.

“Well, our opening salvo doesn’t seem to have made much of an impression.” Gordon looked Elena’s way, but she stood in icy silence, watching the operations but saying nothing. Executive Officer Dean was quick enough to realize what had happened. Miss Fairchild had ordered the Captain to conserve ammunition, which was understandable. He had looked at the results of the initial missile strikes and realized the difficulties.

“If I may, sir.” He said, drifting to MacRae’s side. “We might make better use of our SSMs if we target their lighter class ships. The core of their fleet is most likely well armored battleships. Some of these ships have belt armor exceeding ten inches thick. Our missiles weren’t built to penetrate that, but against their cruisers and destroyers we’ll likely get a mission kill with every hit. It’s either that or we’ll have to program every missile for popup maneuver and try to hit the superstructure, but even the conning towers of the heavier ships would be very well protected. We’ll shake them up and start a fire, but going after the escorts is our best bet. It might winnow down the odds a bit.”

“Aye,” said MacRae. “Let’s see what we can do. One more missile, Mister Dean. You make the target selection.”

Dean huddled with Healey to get his best advice and then they decided to fire at what looked to be an escort cruiser. It was moving out in front of two other ships, and making just over 30 knots. They did not know it at the time, but they were fingering the light cruiser La Galissonniere, lead ship in a class of three that formed the 3rd Cruiser Division of the High Seas Fleet at Toulon. The missile was away, and it would do considerably more harm when it struck. Yet even for a light cruiser, La Galissonniere was protected with side armor exceeding 100mm, and 95mm on the conning tower where the blow fell. The missile had sufficient kinetic impact to blast through, but just barely, and the resulting fire was very bad on this smaller ship of just over 9100 tons full load. The bridge was put out of action by the smoke and flames, but the message got passed aft and the engines reduced speed. One brave soul stayed with the helm and brought the ship around, turning about and seeking safety behind the fleet to try and fight the fire. Dean had been correct. The fires were bad enough to take the ship out of the fight, a mission kill if not an outright sinking.

“That’s a little better,” said MacRae when they saw th eship turn on radar. “I’ll want those X-3s in the air at once, Mister Dean. They are to look for light destroyer class vessels and put their Sea Skuas to good use. The British will have enough on their hands without having to worry about the enemy torpedo runs.”

As the first helo lifted off Morgan found MacRae and spoke quietly. “This isn’t looking good, Gordie. When those big fellows out there catch up to the Queen Elizabeth…”

“I understand,” said MacRae. “But we’ll do what we can.”

“Let’s move Tommy,” said Lieutenant Ryan as he strapped himself into his X-3 helicopter. His co-pilot, Tom Wicks was in and settled in his seat in no time, and the props were turning on the sleek new bird, a hybrid craft that would ascend like a helo and then use a pair of turbo props to achieve speeds well over 470KPH, nearly as fast as fighters of that day. It was swift, agile, and today it would have four Sea Skua missiles aboard, two on each outer pylon. It could also carry Hellfires, Hydra-70 rocket pods, and had a lethal chain gun in the nose. The Sea Skuas would take up all the room on the pylons, leaving only two points on the outer edge for a pair of ATAS Air-to-Air Stingers for defense against planes. But the chopper’s best move would be its speed, aerodynamic agility and stealth.

“Fast and low, Tommy,” said Ryan. “That’s the recipe here. I’ll want both helos to go in tandem. There’s something on the wind today, and we’re out to give them a good sting.”

That last attack order he had received in the Caspian had been sheer madness when they had flown into the teeth of the Russian 847th Coastal Air Defense battery, equipped with the Triumf S-400, the same deadly long range spear that Kirov used against enemy aircraft. His wing mate, Matt Wilson, had gotten the wrong end of one of those, and when Ryan saw his intended target, a nice big fat floating power plant, simply vanish from his radar screen, he figured the Russians had some slick new jammer to spoof his electronics. Either way, it added up to a quick abort. That decision, and a little luck, was the only reason he and Tom Wicks were still alive that day. But this time things would be different.

This time there would be no enemy radar to paint them red, and no deadly volley of S-400 SAMs to confront. They would need no ECM jamming, only a steady hand on the stick and a good eye on the radar for target data. That was Tom Hicks’ job, and once they were inbound he saw a formation of five contacts soon enough.

“Five ducks up ahead, Lieutenant, and I don’t think they see us. At least they’re not shooting at us yet!”

“See us or not, we’re on their horizon now. But remember, Tommy, these fellows don’t have any missiles. This is World War Two, me boyo, and we’ve got the thunder this time out. Let’s not fool around. Put two missiles on each ship.”

“My pleasure!” Wicks tapped out his targets and the missiles were away, not the lightning fast supersonic darts that the ships would fire, but a decent high subsonic speed missile that could range out 25 kilometers, well beyond any danger of enemy flak. They would approach low, rise as they neared the target to acquire it with radar, and then bore in with a semi-armor piercing warhead that was enough to penetrate the thin skin of a destroyer. Once through the hull, the small 28kg high explosive warhead was still enough to do some serious damage.

Tempete and Tornade were the two ships to feel the X-3’s bite. One missile blasted the superstructure, and the second pierced the hull of the 1300 ton destroyer Tornade. Blast, shrapnel, smoke and fire were soon enveloping the small ships, and the second X-3 scored four more hits on two others in the formation. In one hot minute the X-3s had bludgeoned the destroyer flotilla, Mistral and Orage faring little better than Ryan’s targets.

“Well that’s that!” said Ryan with a smile. “Talk about an unanswered punch. They don’t know what hit them! Let’s use those Stingers to take out a few spotter planes and be done with this.” He pulled to get altitude, the other X-3 following smartly, but once they climbed, the radar was alive with new contacts.

“Blessed Savior,” said Ryan, staring out the wind screen when they got close enough to see the enemy fleet. “I told you there was trouble on the wind, Tommy. No wonder they wanted us out here. There must be twenty ships, and not this lot that we’ve been poking at. Look at the size of that big fellow! Let’s get back to the Argos Fire.”

“Aye,” said Wicks as the X-3 banked for home. The words of Kipling were suddenly on his lips, and he gave Ryan a smile as they sped away. “While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind," But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind…”