Nemesis (13 page)

Part
V

Coming
Home

“The stranger who comes home
does not make himself at home but makes home itself strange.”

―
Rainer Maria Rilke

A
pair of German U-Boats were out hunting that morning,
U-451 under Lt. Cdr Hoffmann, and U-566 under Kapitan Dietrich Borchert. They
had left the German occupied harbor at Kirkenes the previous day, cruising up
past Vardo on the icy cape, and well out into the Barents Sea. Their intention
was to turn southeast the following day, working their way down along the Kola
Coast north of Murmansk, towards the entrance to the White Sea, where supplies
for that important Arctic Bastion would often come in by boat from Arkhangelsk.
Yet that morning, Kapitan Borchert received a most unexpected message in the hand
of his Executive Officer Hans Karpf.

“Change
of plans,” said Karpf with a smile. “It looks like we may have bigger fish to
fry out west.”

“West?”

“Yes
sir. One of our seaplanes out of Tromso was out looking for those British
cruisers snooping around up north. It appears they found something more.”

“Well
don’t be coy, Number One, what was it?”

“That
isn’t clear, at least not from this message.” He handed the signal to the
Kapitan, waiting while he read it. The number two Watch Officer, Otto
Westphalen was suddenly curious, fetching a map to see where they might be
headed. Of the three men, he would end up being the most successful, eventually
logging six kills and one additional hit when he moved on to U-968, for 32,415
tons, most of these very late in the war. Kapitan Borchert would have to wait
another six months before he would get his first kill with this boat, and then
four more months before he would get his last, along with an Iron Cross, 1st
Class. But none of this would matter now, as that history had faded to grey
with the coming of the very ship these men were now about to encounter.

“Trouble,”
said the Kapitan. “The plane went down and now they want us to take position north
of Tanafjord to wait for something.”

“What
kind of trouble?”

“Who
knows, but if we lost a seaplane, then it might be a carrier. Or possibly those
cruisers we were warned about. Very well, come about to 300 and let’s get up
there. U-451 has been ordered to accompany us.”

“A carrier,
Herr Kapitan?” said Otto Westphalen. “That would make a nice trophy, and Iron Crosses
for all of us if we get lucky.”

If
wishes were horses, thought Borchert. A British carrier would not steam alone,
and they often cruised in pairs, with plenty of destroyers along, and fast
cruisers. They would have to get very lucky, he thought, but then more news
came in a second signal later that day.
‘6th DD Flotilla reports one large
enemy warship, now estimated 30 kilometers north of Mehman and approaching your
intended position.’

“A
large enemy warship,” said Borchert, “and apparently alone from the sound of
this. Very strange.”

“It
could be one of those cruisers we were looking for, sir. Most likely out on an
offensive sweep before heading home. ”

“Most
likely…” He looked at his watch, thinking. “We’ll dive in ten minutes. Signal
Hoffmann on U-451 to do the same. Let’s be ready and load the bow tubes now.”

This
Type VII-C boat had four tubes forward, and one more aft, with fourteen
torpedoes in all, along with 26 mines and a nice 88mm deck gun. Yet even as
they stooped over the map, noting the position beneath the wan overhead light,
another man was listening to them quietly marking their slow progress across the
bow of a most unwelcome guest in these frigid northern seas.

*

Admiral
Volsky had a lot to think about that morning, and soon the
least of his worries would be the mental state of his Senior Navigator. When he
got to the bridge, announced by Rodenko, the Captain was huddling with
Samsonov.

“Admiral,”
he said, looking somewhat surprised. “We did not expect you.”

“Missile
fire has a way of motivating even me, Captain. What did we just kill?” There
was no question in his mind that the missile found its target. The only
question was how bad the damage was, and whether or not it had escalated the
delicate situation they now found themselves in.

“The aircraft
was approached by the KA-226 and we obtained long range video,” said Karpov. “Have
a look, Admiral. It was clearly a military aircraft, a seaplane of some type,
but it was not a simple reconnaissance plane. When the KA-226 made a closer
approach, it received machinegun fire.”

“From
that?” Volsky was squinting at the video on the overhead display. “What is that
tail marking?”

“We
believe it was a German plane.”

“German?
And you killed it?”

“Sir,
it fired on our helicopter, and when I got that report I initiated hostilities.
The aircraft was downed, and I have moved the KA-226 south to have a look at
that surface contact. We should have a report in minutes.”

“I
understand what you have done Captain, but that could have been a warning shot.
Was our helicopter hit?”

“No
sir, I was not about to let that happen.”

“Yes? Well
let us hope we did not just start a major international incident here.”

“If
that is the case, we did not start it, Admiral. They did, and I finished it.
There is a complete record of events on log. I took the liberty of protecting
myself, and the ship and crew, by recording this event. If you review the file,
you will see that I acted appropriately, and in accord with all international
protocols. I had Nikolin warn that plane off, and when they refused to alter
course, I locked on targeting radars, and issued a further warning. There was
no response, other than machine gun fire directed at our helicopter, and so sixty
seconds later I gave the order to fire the Klinok system. The target was successfully
engaged and the threat removed.”

Volsky
listened with a heavy heart. It all sounded so sanitary and proper. A leads on
to B, and B leads on to C, a reflexive action that might now spark a major incident,
just one more thing they would have to account for when they reached
Severomorsk. He shook his head. “Did it occur to you that this could be
interpreted as a reprisal for what happened to
Slava
and
Orel?”

“If
that is so, then let them be warned,” said Karpov flatly. “The Russian Navy
will not tolerate this nonsense any longer. We still get nothing but that
garbage on all radio stations. They must have a ship out here somewhere, or
possibly a submarine, flooding every channel with those signals.”

“Well,”
said Volsky, “It is clear your tolerance and patience in our present situation
has worn thin, and perhaps understandably so. But do not assume your wishes
define the present policy of the Russian Navy, Mister Karpov.”

As if
in answer to Karpov’s assertion, Tasarov shifted in his chair and put one hand
to his headset. “Con… contact, bearing 110 southwest… confidence high.”

“A
submarine?” Karpov was quickly at his side.

“Surface
contact, sir. Make that two contacts, very similar. Slow and quiet. I think
they were on the other side of the cape and have only now emerged. Rodenko
should have them on radar soon.”

“Nothing
yet,” said Rodenko, his eyes heavy on the screens of the Fregat system. Tasarov
kept listening, then nodded his head.

“I read
this as an undersea contact now, he said. Two submarines. I think these are
diesel boats, sir, but they are quite noisy.”

“They
must have just submerged when they saw us on radar after rounding the cape.”

“They
can’t have anything better than our Fregat system,” said Rodenko. “Any reading
on range, Tasarov?”

“Processing…
Processing… Reading now… I make it roughly 35 kilometers, sir. I don’t think
they could have picked us up.”

“Norwegian
submarines, Tasarov?” asked Volsky. “Do we have signatures on these contacts?”

“No
sir. I get enough to classify them as diesel boats, but no signature match.”

“Admiral,”
said Karpov, “there must be a combined NATO operation underway here. What would
a German marked aircraft be doing this far north? That plane had to be part of
some unified force.”

“Yet we
received no notifications prior to our departure, or any time since,” said
Volsky.

“Sir,” said
Nikolin. “The KA-226 is now in long visual range of those surface contacts to
our south.”

Volsky
took a deep breath. “Yes, and we just shot down a NATO recon plane, or so the
Captain now believes. Did it occur to you that if those ships are part of this
combined force you mention, that our helicopter is now in grave jeopardy.
Surely they will learn we just fired a missile.”

“Then
let them take the lesson well,” said Karpov, and the Admiral gave him a sour
look, striding to the Captain’s chair and sitting down.

“Mister
Nikolin, contact our helo and tell them to maintain range. I repeat, do not
close on that surface contact. If they can obtain long range video footage, get
it on that overhead display for me as soon as possible. Mister Karpov, let us
now see if these are indeed
Nansen
class Frigates, as you suggested
earlier. In the meantime, please order a KA-40 to rig for undersea combat, and
report when ready.”

“Aye
sir,” said Karpov, eager to see the Admiral getting into fighting trim. With
Fedorov gone, there was no further nonsense on the bridge, and they could
prosecute these contacts properly, as they should have long ago. Yet the
thought that two enemy submarines had just submerged ahead of them was somewhat
unnerving for him, and he had his eye on Tasarov now, as he continued to track
the contact. He went quickly to the intercom to relay the order to the helo
bay, then returned to Tasarov.

“Anything
more?”

“Processing
speed now sir,” said Tasarov. “Very slow. I make it no more than 7 knots.”

“They
are creeping along like a pair of old brown bears on the tundra,” said Karpov.
“Designate that contact group Brown Bear 1, and let me know the instant you
hear anything more.”

“Aye
sir.”

“Video
feed arriving from KA-226,” said Nikolin, and all eyes were now on the overhead
display.

“Four
ships,” said Karpov. “There’s your high speed screw noise, Admiral. Four
corvettes, from the look of this.”

“But
they are clearly not
Nansen
class,” said Volsky. “Do I see two single
deck guns forward there? And two stacks? This is a very old ship from the look
of it. Look at the hull design.”

The
Nansen
class Norwegian frigate was a sleek, modern ship, with a unitary hull shaped
for stealth, and a distinctive octagonal conning tower well forward for its
sensor suite. The ship had one single gun turret forward, but otherwise
presented clean lines, with decks virtually empty of anything that might catch
and return a radar signal.

“Are
they emitting?” Volsky looked at Rodenko now.

“Nothing,
sir. They continue to run dark and silent at 28 knots.”

“Well
they clearly don’t belong to Norway. That plane was German, do we have a match
there?”

“There
is no German ship I know of with two turrets forward like that sir,” said
Rodenko. “If Fedorov were here, I’d bet he could ID those ships.”

“Yes,”
said Karpov with obvious disdain. “from his fantasy land history books. Well,
whatever they are, Admiral, we must consider them a threat.”

“What
is our present speed?” asked Volsky.

“Ahead
two thirds,” Karpov’s reply was crisp.

“Increase
to 28 knots, and come right ten degrees to port.”

“Helm
answering. Ten degrees to port an twenty-eight knots, Aye sir.”

“Why
are we turning?” asked Karpov.

“I want
to see if those contacts react,” said Volsky. “By increasing to 28 knots, we
hold the range on the surface group to our south. And since it is not a good
idea to rush in on a pair of brown bears, I divert off axis to see what those
submarines might do.” The Admiral looked up again at the video feed, thinking.

“Mister
Nikolin… Kindly make a P.A. announcement and summon Mister Fedorov to the
bridge.”

Karpov
was not happy to hear that, and he gave Volsky a dark look. “Fedorov again,
sir?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “May I ask just what exactly he
had to say down there?”

“Later,
Captain. I’m calling Mister Rodenko’s bet here to see if our resident historian
can help us identify those surface contacts. As for our discussion, I expect
you to treat Fedorov like a bridge officer, and put aside your misgivings for
the moment. Yes, Doctor Zolkin believes he is having some difficulty, but no
need to aggravate his condition with unproven accusations, and by all means,
leave the man alone. I understand Orlov has recently paid him a visit. None of
that, Captain. Not with the officers, particularly a Senior Lieutenant. He will
be here on ship’s business, and I expect you to treat him in a professional
manner.”

“And if
he starts spouting more nonsense, sir? What good will such input do us now?
This is a serious situation. We have two submarines off our bow, and four
surface contacts behind us.”