“Admiral to the CIC,” Captain Jameson said. Jameson had been promoted in the wake of the confusion that had followed the Transition. Somerville nodded and left the cabin; the door hissed shut behind him. That was yet another uncomfortable thing in the old/new ship.
“Attention on deck,” the duty officer said, as Somerville walked into the Combat Information Centre, yet another new innovation, although one he vastly approved of. The screens and radio beacons allowed his small fleet near-perfect command and control, allowing him to move his ships like pieces on a chessboard.
“As you were,” he said, and his eyes gleamed as he looked down at the screen. The fleet was moving due east from Malta, heading towards Crete. The Germans had landed paratroopers on the island in the final action of their invasion of Greece, defeating and capturing the final remnants of the Greek Government. Since then, the island had been slowly converted into a German airbase… that was now going to be wrecked.
And taken, if we can do it, Somerville thought, and he smiled. Two of his ships were fast troop transports from 2015; modified small passenger ships that had been rigged up with basic weapons and packed with Contemporary troops. The PJHQ hadn’t been confident at all about the possible success – knowing how close Crete was to German air cover – but they’d finally agreed to give him discretion.
“Heads up,” a radar operator said suddenly. One of the RAF’s ultra-precious AWACS, as yet irreplaceable – was orbiting over the sea, close to Egypt, and escorted by a flight of Harriers. Its radars could see right over Crete and Greece, and it was transmitting the information to Warspite.
“We have bogies, probably German Stuka-II,” the radar operator said. The Stuka, the feared German dive-bomber, had been modified extensively by the Germans. It still possessed the limited range that had limited its deployment, but armed with torpedoes, or warheads for an SS suicide squad, they were still capable – and deadly. Tension rose in the CIC, even as the Germans turned away.
Somerville blinked. “Did they see us?”
“Uncertain,” the radar operator – who Somerville now remembered was called Tom – said. “I don’t think that they came close enough to see us, and there’s no sign of a swarming process being formed up.”
Somerville shook his head. “Keep the radars and sonar active,” he said. “They might be coordinating submarines.” He thought for a long moment; the supersonic Jaguars based in Egypt could intercept the aircraft over Greece, but even for those aircraft it would take too long. “Keep watching for surprises.”
General Kurt Student read the report, flashed to him through a line laid on the bottom of the sea, and smiled. He hadn’t been happy about his part of the grand strategy, but he had to admit that the high command had called it right; the British were trying to re-take Crete, even though they had only held it in the other timeline.
Student was glad of that; the casualty figures from the other timeline were appalling. Almost all of his elite paratroopers had been, or would have been, wiped out. Instead, he’d taken the island against almost no opposition, and then secured it against attack. The new weapons had to be tested… and where better than on an expandable island?
“Herr General, radar is picking up signs of enemy ships,” the technician said. Student frowned; he disliked the use of British terminology, even with the modified technology. “At least five large ships.”
“Good,” he said. “Any sign of a carrier?”
“No, Herr General,” the technician said. Student sensed the suicidal desire to reprimand the general; intelligence placed all of the British carriers in the Far East. Student, who knew better than to count on intelligence always getting it right, smiled; the technician had a lot to learn.
“Excellent,” he said, instead of biting the poor man’s head off. “Order the ready flights to launch and attack.”
“Jawohl,” the technician said. Crete was now covered with landlines, ones carefully hidden from the air. The Reich had been forced to learn hard lessons about computer-decryption after reading some of the history files. No radio transmission was safe; and landlines could be cut if the enemy tried hard enough.
Student struck what he liked to think of as his contemplative pose; arms held behind his back, face calm and composed. Inside, he was bubbling with excitement; an opportunity to deliver a blow to the enemy had come at last.
There weren’t any surprises until the ship reached Crete. The Germans finally deigned to notice their presence, launching a swarm of fighters and torpedo bombers. Somerville watched dispassionately as the electronic icons swooped low, coming in low just above the water, and trying to avoid the machine guns. One by one, they fell; swatted out of the sky by the anti-aircraft weapons. The only damage was taken by the destroyer Darter, which was hit by a torpedo and damaged badly by the explosion. Somerville ordered it to return to Egypt, something that would have been suicide in the pre-Transition days, and watched as the German planes retreated finally.
“Curious,” Somerville mused. It didn’t make sense at all; German patterns now were to press the attack as hard as they could. “Order the battleships to target the airfields on Crete.”
“Aye, sir,” Tom said. One advantage of attacking an island was that there was nowhere on the island that could not be hit by the battleship’s main guns – and with some of the new rounds, precision gunnery would be easy.
“I still think that these things are cheating,” Somerville muttered, as Warspite opened fire. Seconds later, there was an answering blast of fire – far too early.
“Incoming fire,” Tom said, as Somerville realised what it had to be. The Germans hadn’t focused on duplicating the gigantic waste of effort in fortifying the Channel Islands, but they had placed some guns to cover their airbases. Somerville wished that Warspite carried one of the Metalstorm units, but they were only being fitted onto the thin-skinned modern ships.
“Admiral…” Tom began, and broke off. A new flight of planes had appeared from Crete, homing in on the warships. Homing was the operative word; they were zooming in at a massive speed. The artillery rounds were slamming into the warships; their targeting was precise.
“How the hell are they doing that?” Somerville snapped, as one of the strange planes slammed into a destroyer. It must have been packed with explosive; the destroyer was blown right out of the water. The strange kamikaze planes were homing in on the ships, even as the machine guns started to chatter again. Resolution’s icon started to flash red as one of the strange planes slammed right into its superstructure. The noise of the explosion could even be heard in CIC.
“I think that they’re homing in on our radars, or theirs,” Tom said grimly. Bright sweeps of red and green light washed across the screen, zeroing in on the location of the enemy radars. “Recommend that we…”
“Kill them,” Somerville snapped. Warspite’s main guns began to fire again. The red sweeps vanished moments later, but the shells and aircraft were still coming in. “How the hell are they still doing that?”
“I don’t know,” Tom admitted. “I honestly don’t know.”
“I like this kind of war,” Student said, as another of the V1s slammed into a British ship. They were running out of the missiles, and the shells were not doing the kind of damage he’d hoped for, but the new system was working wonders. One battleship was already limping out of the line of battle; another was hit and burning.