“Ship sighted! Bearing 220 degrees true!”
Lindemann pivoted to search the smoky red horizon, barely seeing the growing shadow of another ship on the sea. It had been reported earlier by the air units, and now was making its prominent appearance on the horizon. At that very moment Admiral Tovey was sending up his battle ensign and remarking that it bore a lock of Nelson’s hair. Seconds later Lindemann knew that his battle was evolving to something more than he expected. He saw the bright flash of gunfire from the shadow on the horizon, heard the low booming peal soon after.
That will be HMS Invincible, he thought, perhaps the best ship the British have. He could see the high arc of the shells catching the sunlight, a small spotting salvo to test the range, but he knew this ship would soon follow with a full broadside if these shots were close.
Now his mind raced on. An attack on Graf Zeppelin from an impossible range… Could the British have another battlegroup to the north that he did not know about?
“Send to Bohmer,” he said quickly. “Ask if he has sighted any enemy ships to the north of our position. That rocket had to come from somewhere. If the British are behind us…” He said nothing further, but the concern was obvious in his voice.
The missiles leapt up from the forward deck of battlecruiser Kirov, the hatches snapping open and the sibilant hiss of the declining jets orienting them to the correct angle of fire. Then the roar of the main rocket engines ignited, and the deadly lances were on their way. One by one the S-400 Triumf missiles rose into the sky, accelerating rapidly and scoring the ruddy sky with their long white tails that seemed almost luminescent in the midnight sun.
They formed a great smoky rainbow in the sky, arcing up, their tails bright with fire, the noise of their haste a roaring howl that seemed to shake the air itself. They were a weapon that could not have even been conceived in the minds of any man of that day, capable of finding and hitting a supersonic target as much as 400 kilometers away, and doing so with near pinpoint accuracy. And they could reach the mind numbing speed of just over 4000 meters per second, which amounted to 14,400 KPH!
Aboard the battleship Bismarck, every man on the bridge was staring at the sky. There came a lull in the gunfire, and he knew that the British crews must be equally spellbound. There were three, then five missiles clawing through the sky like shooting stars, high up, and then descending like meteors, bright with fire to explode on the heedless formation of Stuka dive bombers that was fast approaching the scene of the battle. One by one they exploded, then they saw the flaming wreckage of aircraft falling from the sky… one by one…
Lindemann was astounded by what he saw, the inner voice of the skald chanting the demonic verse from the Eddas…
“The hot stars down from heaven are whirled;
Fierce grows the steam, and the life-feeding flame,
Till fire leaps high about heaven itself.”
Till fire leaps high… What in the name of heaven was happening? His eyes followed the long arcing trails through the sky, tracing back towards the smoky red horizon to their point of origin. There, he thought. Whatever blighted Gneisenau and struck at Graf Zeppelin was there. He could feel the sinister presence of something dark and unseen beyond that horizon, a fateful nemesis that lurked at the edge of history itself, looming, brooding, a hidden menace on the high seas that was wholly unaccountable.
This is not possible, he thought. Not possible!
Then something jarred him to action, the harried worry snapping at him from all directions like the snarling teeth of a wolf pack. It was as if he acted on pure reflex, sensing a danger so profound here that his only recourse, the only sane thing to do, was to step back, to turn, to get his ships as far from that unseen danger as he could until he could assess what was happening.
At that moment one of the fiery streaks in the sky swerved and dove, racing down at breakneck speed and plummeting to the sea. At the last moment, it pulled up and then came streaking in, aimed right at Bismarck, just a meter or two above the water!
“Left hard rudder! Come round to ten degrees north and signal all ships follow!” Lindemann’s voice was ragged as he shouted.
“Rudder left and coming hard about!”
The maneuver might have avoided a slow moving torpedo, or even frustrated the aim of an oncoming plane-but this was no plane. The rocket came hurtling in, right for the heart of the ship and then struck home with jarring fury and fire. It was as if Thor had hurled his hammer from the sky, the hammer of God striking his ship and igniting a horrid hot fire on his starboard side.
Bismarck wheeled off course, just as a narrow spread of two more heavy rounds from Hood hissed into the sea where the ship had been a moment before and exploded, magnifying the sense of imminent peril the Kapitan now felt. Then Lindemann saw the distant ripple of fire as the newly arriving British ship let loose with its first full broadside.
Hoffmann tried to warn me. I could see it in his eyes; hear it in the tone of his voice. There was fear there, and awe, and now I know what he had tried to convey. Now I know what killed Sigfrid. Yet Lindemann had not even seen the enemy ship that had fired the terrible weapon at him!
The range opened at once, and Lindemann looked to see that Tirpitz and Prince Eugen had both matched his maneuver. The destroyer Heimdall was also churning about and accelerating to its top speed of 36 knots as the German ships veered off angle and began to break away to the northeast, guns still firing with wrathful anger.
Now the situation had taken a sudden and dramatic turn. Oels called up to the bridge saying he had red lights across two full compartments on the starboard aft quarter, and a bad fire. Gneisenau had been hit like this, by this terror weapon with precision accuracy and amazing range and striking power. Altmark obliterated, Gneisenau hit, Tirpitz hit, his own ship damaged, Sigfrid sunk and Graf Zeppelin under attack! This was more than he bargained for when he strove to persuade Raeder to allow him to engage here. Suddenly the lure of fat convoys to the south no longer seemed promising. Now he could think of only one thing he must do.
I must get these ships to safe waters. We must disengage at once. Hoffmann was correct and I should have listened to him.
This changes everything.
Chapter 6
“That seems to have done the trick,” said Rodenko, his face registering satisfaction. “The German main battle group has turned on zero-one-zero. They look like they are breaking off, Admiral.
“And the planes?
“We got all seven in the lead group with that S-400 barrage. The rest are still near the carrier, but they now appear to be circling.”
“Let me know if they proceed south on a heading to make any further attack.”
The Admiral looked at his acting Capitan now. “Well, we could not avoid the fireworks as you had hoped, Mister Fedorov, but it appears we have made just a bit more of an impression than our deck guns did when the British had a look at them.”
“Agreed, sir, and we will have some explaining to do should we meet them again, but I suppose it could not be helped. All things considered, it was a fairly economical cost to affect the outcome of this battle. Those five SAMs and the two SSMs we expended may have saved thousands of lives.”
“On one side of the equation,” Volsky reminded him. “Remember that we may have also killed a good number of German sailors with this intervention. Rodenko now believes the destroyer that took our P-900 has now sunk.” He let that settle in for a moment, more for the sake of the younger officers within earshot than to lecture Fedorov. He knew his young Captain would have done even less if he could have found a way to impose an outcome here with minimal violence. Where Karpov was heedless of the human cost his actions levied, Fedorov seemed to count every soul lost on his fingertips.