Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

it would be to have elevators put in to relieve his thick
but tired old legs of the burden of carrying his considerable weight. He was up
his second flight on the upper aft deck near the outer hatch when he perceived
what looked like an odd discoloration on the sea around them. He stopped,
sensing something very wrong, and feeling again the same thrumming vibration
that seemed to emanate from the bowels of the ship.
    His mind
raced over the last reports he had taken in before he left the bridge. Weather
outlook was good, with no fronts or impending squalls, and calm seas. Yet the
night seemed to thin out around him and he perceived a light glow all around the
ship that seemed oddly out of place. It should be pitch black at this hour.
    As he gazed
at the sea, the peculiar discoloration grew more intense, an odd milky green,
and he was stricken with the fear that something was again terribly wrong.
Rather than navigating his way through the labyrinthine inner passages of the
ship, he decided to climb the long vertical ladder on the main tower, and enter
through the first maintenance entrance, coming to the citadel through the upper
side hatch on the command deck. As he started to climb, another odd sound came
to him, breaking the long silence of calm sea and sky they had been sailing in.
He stopped, as if frozen in place, his senses keenly alert as he listened, eyes
instinctively searching the rapidly lightening skies beneath his heavy brows. What
was happening? The sound filled him with both excitement and dread, for he
immediately knew what he was listening to—the drone of a low flying aircraft!
    Who was out
there? By God, something survived this hell of a war after all! But who?
And what was bearing down on them now in the grey skies above. Grey skies?
Where has the night gone? He looked out to the horizon, astounded to see it
brightening with each passing second. It was just past one in the morning when
he rose from his bunk to clear his mind and take this walk on the aft deck.
Could he have idled here for four hours? It seemed like minutes to him. Then
all these questions suddenly coalesced into a dark shape in the sky, bearing
down on the ship from the aft quarter. He reached for the next rung on the
ladder, breath coming fast now, and his heart racing more with anxiety than
anything else. Every instinct in his body screamed danger, and the adrenaline
rushed through his system, giving him renewed strength to climb.
    What now, he
thought, his mind racing ahead of him to the bridge. Did Fedorov see it? Would
he know what to do? Thankfully, the sound of a warning claxon signaling battle
stations was a relief.
    The drone of
the engines was very loud now, so much so that Volsky stopped and craned his
next to look behind and above where the ominous winged shadow loomed in the
glowering sky. Then it suddenly seemed to come alive with white fire, and he
could clearly see the hot streak of tracer rounds coming towards the ship,
followed at once by the harsh rattle of what sounded like heavy caliber machine
guns. They were under attack!
     
    August 11, 1942 – Tyrrhenian Sea East
of Sardinia
     
    Flight
Officer George-Melville-Jackson
was up in his twin engine Bristol Beaufighter VIC for a reconnaissance run.
Assigned to the newly arrived 248 Squadron, he had landed on Malta the previous
day from Gibraltar where the squadron had been flying missions for Coastal
Command. Now the flight of six Beaufighters was to support the crucial effort
at hand as Britain struggled to push yet another convoy through the dangerous
waters of the Mediterranean to send much needed supplies of food, munitions and
most importantly, oil to the beleaguered island outpost.
    He had flown
northwest over the dangerous waters of the Sicilian Narrows, and then turned
north towards the Tyrrhenian Sea until he reached a position about 300 nautical
miles out where he made a graceful turn as he began to scour the sea for signs
of enemy shipping. With the convoy