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“They want to use the plane to try and improve their spotting, sir,” said Fedorov.

“Do they? Mister Samsonov. Use the Klinok system and shoot that plane down. It’s time we give them something more to think about.”

The missile soon hissed into the sky, tracked relentlessly, and bored in on the seaplane. Fedorov looked at Volsky, surprised to see him make a small sign of the cross quietly on his chest as he sat watching in the Captain’s chair. It was going to be a very unlucky day for the pilot.

Chapter 21

July 11, 1940 ~ 01:00 Hrs

Kranke was furious. The rounds had come like the chiming of a clock. Two hits at the top of the hour, another at quarter past, a fourth at half past the hour, and on it went.

“This is ridiculous, Schorner! How can they hit us like this at such range?”

“Amazing gunnery, Kapitan. I have never heard of a small caliber weapon firing with such accuracy. They must have superb opticals.”

“What about our guns. Surely we can get them at this range. Elevate higher!”

“Sir, I am reading the target at 27,600 meters. If we hit them it will be one for the record books, and we do not seem to have the speed to close.”

“Damn it, Schorner! They are hitting us! Signal Nurnberg to go to their top speed and close. They are four knots faster than we are. Get a seaplane up if you have to correct your sighting. I want hits!”

Nurnberg turned, but thirty seconds later the distant shadow on the sea turned as well, and Kranke could barely see it now on the horizon. The seaplane fluttered up, launching from the catapult amidships and slowly gaining altitude. It banked and began to head for the Russian ship, and then he saw it… Something erupted from the shadow, a white streak in the sky, a fiery light and then the explosion. The seaplane was gone!

Kranke slowly lowered his field glasses, a look of shock on his face. He kept staring at the sky, watching the fading contrail that connected the enemy ship to the place in the sky his seaplane had been flying. Heintz was quickly at his side.

“A rocket!” He pointed at the smoke in the sky, then lowered his arm and looked at Kranke. “Herr Kapitan,” he said slowly. “I believe we smoked those cigars too soon.”

“That light cruiser is turning on an intercept course,” said Rodenko. The two ships are breaking formation.”

“Yes, said Fedorov. If we maneuver to maintain our range then Admiral Scheer will slip over the horizon.”

“I believe it is time for us to strengthen the brew,” said Volsky. “How many of those P-900s from Kazan remain?”

“Six missiles, sir.”

“Let us use one here on that light cruiser. That will get their attention, and I think we can use it in mode one with this ship, correct Fedorov?”

“Mode one?” Fedorov passed a moment of embarrassment, not knowing what the Admiral was referring to. He had never been a combat officer, and still felt more comfortable at the navigation station, in spite of his position as the ship’s Captain now.”

“On mode one this is a standard sea skimmer” said the Admiral. “It will not execute a last minute popup maneuver. Would you recommend this approach?” Volsky could see he had caught his young Captain at a disadvantage and he was wise enough to bolster him a bit by making it seem as though he was seeking his advice.

“There were only two ships in this class, and I believe this one is the Nurnberg, sir. If that is so it received the newly developed Wotan Hart steel instead of standard cemented armor. That said, the ship has only 50mm side armor. The P-900 should easily penetrate that and do considerable damage.”

“Then we will fire one P-900 on mode one, Mister Samsonov, You may target and proceed.”

“Aye sir. Setting mode command. Missile reports ready. Firing now.”

The warning claxon sounded and the missile was up and on its way with a loud roar, climbing and then immediately dipping towards the sea to cross the short distance right over the wave tops. Seconds later it struck Nurnberg amidships, just above the water line on her side armor, and Fedorov’s assessment was on the mark as well.

The 200kg warhead easily penetrated the 2-inch armor there. Wotan Hart steel was much harder than cemented armor, but the ship would have needed at least six inches to have any chance of stopping the missile. The hull was badly breached, the explosive force ripping a hole from the weather deck to well below the water line. Fire broiled in the blackened gash, and heavy smoke engulfed the ship. Nurnberg rolled heavily as the sea rushed in, a benefit as well as a curse. The water helped to douse the terrible fire from all the excess missile fuel, but it was also dragging the ship into a bad list.

The ship would not recover, but counter-flooding would buy enough time to get most of the crew off safely. Volsky watched on the Tin Man display, his face serious, eyes troubled. The lessons of war were hard, whether you were the teacher or the student, he thought. Let us hope the Captain on this other ship does not need further prodding.

“That will be enough for the moment,” he said to Samsonov. “Let’s see if Mister Nikolin can get a response now.”

Aboard Admiral Scheer Kranke was aghast. He had clearly seen the missile fire from the thick of the shadow that had been taunting him with small caliber fire, infuriated to think that this new Russian weapon could outrange his 11-inch guns. The rocket that took down his seaplane was shocking enough. He knew the old British battlecruisers once mounted a rocket system, but it was designed to deploy a small parachute and trail long cables at the bottom to act as an obstacle against planes. This was something else entirely, a lightning fast javelin that skewered his Arado and dropped it into the sea in seconds. Then came the rocket that struck Nurnberg, and he soon surmised that they were going to lose that ship. The Russians had evened the score.

So this was the ship Hoffmann warned me about, he thought darkly. Smoke one cigar if you find it, one if you can get close enough for a photograph, the third if you return alive. Now he knew just what Hoffmann meant, and it was a most uncomfortable feeling. One moment he was a jaunty, ebullient officer, fresh from victory, a good meal and a long sleep. Now he looked harried and anxious, struggling first to comprehend what he was seeing, weighing the implications of these new weapons. With each passing minute he realized the inadequacy of his ship now when pitted against this unknown foe.

“The battlecruiser Kirov,” he said to Heintz. “Well now I can see why it gets the name. This ship is a little something more than we expected. They have saved the best for last.”

“Schorner can’t hit the damn thing unless we can close the range, sir, and it is obvious that they are faster than we are. There are probably 500 men going into the sea out there now, and if we continue this engagement we could lose most of them.”

“Kapitan,” the signalman called. “They say that if we do not cease firing and comply with the return of their nationals they will sink us too!”

“Calm down!” Kranke said sharply, hands clasped behind his back. “Alright then… first get a coded message off to Group North. Notify Hoffmann that we have found this ship. Call it Fafnir, he will know what I mean.” He was referring to the legendary dragon in Norse Mythology.

“This one certainly breathes fire,” said Heintz.

“That it does. Signalman… Tell the Russians they can have their damn prisoners. We have over 500 men on Nurnberg out there that will need our help. Ask them to cease fire.” He shrugged, pulling his gloves off slowly, a defeated look on his face. Then the light of an idea kindled in his eyes.

“Let them come in to retrieve their comrades,” he said to Heintz in a low whisper. “Then when they are nice and close, Schorner can blow them to hell.”