“They are requesting name and country of origin.”
“Tell them to come and find out for themselves.” Kranke was in no mood for the niceties of international protocol. Admiral Scheer remained silent after his curt reply. The next message would be sent with their 11-inch guns. At 11:00 he fired a single warning shot, and then sent a message for his log books: Your intent appears hostile. Break off or be fired upon. This is your final warning. The Russian destroyers replied with their forward deck guns, though the rounds fell well short.
“Well gentlemen, let us begin.” Kranke nodded to his gunnery officer and Scheer’s turrets rotated into position, their triple barrels training on the target. “Fire!”
The roar of the guns shook the ship, and even as the rounds began to fall the barrels were elevating to fire again. Kranke saw his spotting salvo was close enough, and now the targets turned slightly and looked to be positioning themselves for a torpedo run. The guns fired again, and this time he saw the tall splashes dollop the waters just ahead of the lead destroyer. The enemy would prove to be a fast and elusive target, zigzagging its way forward, and yet maintaining a speed of 40 knots the whole run in.
“Such speed!” Kranke exclaimed. “Those ships are faster than anything we have in the fleet. Engage with secondary batteries.”
The smaller 15cm guns would fire faster and train better at a high speed target, and the Germans were going to need all the gunnery skill this ship and crew would become famous for if it survived this battle. A hit was finally registered on the lead ship, with smoke on the bow marking a small fire.
“They are firing torpedoes sir!” Heintz was calling from the weather bridge where he had been closely observing the fight. The Russian destroyers were equipped with a 21-inch torpedo, a design started in 1936 after the failure of an earlier model. This version was based on the Italian 533mm torpedo, bought from Fiume in 1932, and it became one of the main Russian torpedoes of World War II. It could range between 4000 meters at 44 knots out to 10,000 meters at 30 knots, but this first salvo had been fired with the jitters of a new ship in combat for the first time, and it was soon clear that the entire spread was going to be in Nurnberg’s wake and miss both German ships badly.
The destroyers were turning to adjust their course and get a better firing angle when Admiral Scheer’s 11-inch guns found Kalima. Two of the three rounds from Anton turret struck home, one forward where it smashed the second 130mm gun turret, and the second well aft where it exploded right between two torpedo mounts, destroying the torpedo firing director there and sending hot splinters and shrapnel in every direction. The aft mount had just been loaded and one of the torpedoes was struck right on the nose, causing the weapon to detonate, which set off the entire rack. The resulting explosion was catastrophic on the small ship. Kalima was finished.
Kranke looked at his Executive Officer, smiling. “Now they know who they are dealing with. We are not just another heavy cruiser! Look at that ship burn, Heintz!”
Kranke gave orders to shift main guns to the Russian cruiser farther west and leave the remaining destroyer to his secondary battery. Seeing the demise of their comrades, Kalinin was now opening fire with all nine 7.1-inch guns, and a running gun battle ensued, with both sides on a rough parallel course.
Destroyer Saku danced forward, making smoke to foil the gunners and put five torpedoes in the water. All but one would miss badly, and Kranke had to maneuver sharply to avoid the last, which was just astern, thrashing through his broiling wake. But it was Admiral Scheer’s bigger guns that would make the difference. The German gunnery crews were seasoned and their optical sighting second to none. They found the range, put a good hit on Kalinin amidships that blew away her seaplane mount, and another just off the bow that sent the cruiser rocking wildly through the sea spray and dented the hull. Kalinin failed to score a hit, and now Nurnberg began to find the range, scoring twice with smaller 15cm guns.
When the Russian cruiser was straddled yet again by another salvo from Admiral Scheer, it appeared their Captain had had enough. Kranke saw the Russian destroyer swerve west, dancing through geysers of 15cm rounds with expert skill, but it was running. Moments later the cruiser turned as well, breaking off the fight. The first engagement of the war at sea for Soviet Russia had ended in defeat.
Heintz came in, congratulating the Kapitan, though he had a strange look in his eye. The shooting war had started and he seemed to have a sense of foreboding about it.
“Well,” he said, “the madness has begun. What were those destroyers thinking? Any closer and we could have put rounds right through them.”
Kranke laughed. “We are all mad men here, Heintz. No sane man would have come to this forsaken place just to kill or be killed here. I’m mad, you’re mad, and the Russians are certainly mad as well. We call it war, but for now our purpose has been accomplished. Now we go home, thumbing our nose at them the whole long way.”
Part VII
“If there is a sacred moment in the ethical pursuit of game, it is the moment you release the arrow or touch off the fatal shot.”
Chapter 19
July 10, 1940
They saw it at a little after 19:00, high in the sky, gleaming with the light of the sun. At first the watchman thought it was a plane, but radar returns showed it to be moving far too slow for that. Kranke had a good laugh with Heintz and his senior gunnery officer, Helmut Schorner.
“Can you believe it?” he said as he took another sip of Merlot. “They have nothing that can bother us on the sea, so now they send that useless zeppelin!”
“Perhaps they have nothing else that can fly, Herr Kapitan,” said Schorner. He was a short man, very proper, meticulous in his work and a stickler for cleanliness. Even as the Kapitan spoke he was slowly cleaning his butter knife with the linen napkin at the officer’s dinner table.
Tonight they were celebrating the successful conclusion of Operation Wunderland. The Kapitan had ordered a nice roast beef with potatoes, peas and carrots. The Merlot was particularly good, vintage 1932, a bottle he had kept in his sea chest for some years waiting for a good night to celebrate.
Now his strange grey eyes were alight with jubilation, as if he were contemplating the medals he would win for this operation. “I told Hoffmann this was a good ship,” said Kranke. “I told him we would have nothing to worry about. All this nonsense about a rocket cruiser has him whining like a schoolboy. Well, there is nothing of the sort here.”
Kranke was a well respected officer in the Kriegsmarine, one who had fought with Admiral Hipper’s Battlecruiser Squadron in the epic battle of Jutland. A torpedo man at heart, he cut his teeth in the navy in the torpedo boat flotilla, then served as an instructor in the Torpedo School.
The meal concluded, it was time now for drinks and smoke, and the mention of Hoffmann reminded the Kapitan that he had three fine cigars in his pocket. He produced them at once, handing one to each of the other men with a smile.
“Hoffmann gave these to me when I went over to see him on Scharnhorst. He said I was to smoke one for finding his ghost ship, the second for getting a good photograph, and the third for getting safely home. Well, I think we have more than enough reason to smoke them now, so light up gentlemen. Enjoy yourselves.”