Armageddon

Chapter 24

Karpov was standing with Rodenko at the tactical station, reviewing the data that had been fed to the ship on the last long range search by the KA-40. It was clear that the Japanese were now attempting to lead him south. He had brushed aside the screen of light torpedo boats that had challenged him, and now the main event was nigh at hand-Armageddon.

“So there they sit,” said Karpov with a smug look on his face. “Four or five old battleships, and perhaps ten to twelve armored cruisers like those we smashed earlier in the Oki Island group. The rest are destroyers and torpedo boats. This will be much easier than you may realize, Rodenko. We will close to about 20,000 meters and begin using the deck guns. That will shock them. We’ll just make selected pot shots and shake them up as before. Then I will show them a few of our modified S-400s and shred their decks and superstructures with shrapnel. If a massed flotilla presents itself, the Vodopad torpedoes would be an easy reprise. One torpedo should be fairly lethal, and being rocket assisted, they will get to their targets like missiles. As soon as Togo has the temerity to present himself on his flagship, I will put a Moskit-II into his belly and see how he likes the fire. Even if we have to use five missiles here, that should wreak havoc on those old ships and still leave us a considerable inventory for post-operations maneuvers.”

Rodenko raised an eyebrow at that. “What is it you have in mind, Captain?”

“Once I smash the enemy fleet here, we will push on through the strait and into the Yellow Sea. I’ll sink anything that bears a Japanese flag, and then we stand off Port Arthur and impose our quarantine.”

“Captain, sir.” It was Nikolin in communication with the KA-40. “The helicopter is on return approach and they say they have one final data block to upload to the CIC here.”

“Ah, so our tactical board is not complete. Have them send it now, Nikolin. We need all the information here before I open the action.”

“It’s a video feed associated with their last radar sweep.”

“Put it on the overhead HD panel.”

The two men stepped from behind the glowing Plexiglas Tactical Board and stood waiting for the feed to display. Then Karpov squinted, his head inclined to stare at the image on the screen. It was clearly a line of warships, laboring through the rising seas.

“Well, well, well,” said Karpov, hand on his chin. “Freeze that shot Nikolin… Good. Now zoom in please… There. What do you make of that, Rodenko? Note the standard that lead ship is flying.”

“British, sir.”

“Indeed. It seems we may have missed something in our research. What would British ships be doing out here?”

“I believe they had ships at Hong Kong, Captain.”

“No,” said Karpov, holding up a finger. “These can’t be from Hong Kong. Now I remember! They had to come from the China Station at Weihaiwei on the Yellow Sea. Well this is getting very interesting-six more ships joining the party.”

“The radar returns are showing up on my tactical board now,” said Rodenko. “Course and speed indicate they are moving towards the battle zone. This will bring the total force deployed to 35 ships, sir, assuming the British side with the Japanese.”

The Captain folded his arms, somewhat annoyed. “This complicates things,” he said. “If the British get involved that forces my hand into a conflict with the Royal Navy. That doesn’t matter militarily. I’ll deal with those ships as easily as I handle the Japanese, but it does bode ill for Russia’s prospects in the future if we go to war with Britain.”

It was the first surprise Karpov would have that day, but it would not be the last. Nikolin was sitting at his station, quietly monitoring telegraph traffic. The Japanese had been very silent and the signals he was listening to were in plain Morse. It appeared to be routine commercial traffic. Ships were checking weather information, sea conditions, requesting berthing, and traffic was very light. Then his HF secure coded military band suddenly indicated an incoming transmission, and he nearly jumped out of his seat. He stared at the light, quickly adjusting his headphones as he reached for the switch to activate that channel.

“…Vladivostok. Over. Repeat. This is Captain Anton Fedorov on station K-11 Vladivostok. Calling Kirov, come in. Over.”

Fedorov! What was he doing on this channel? Nikolin quickly checked the signal vector on his automatic Radio Magnetic Indicator and noted the bearing as almost true north. A quick look at a chart told him the signal was right on axis for Vladivostok. How did he get there? Just days ago he was in the Caspian on shortwave. His heart leapt and he looked to see where Karpov was, standing near the Plexiglas situation map with Rodenko. The glow of the illuminated digital map traced lines over the features of the two men, drawing the map of the region on their uniforms and faces. Then some inner instinct whispered a warning to him. Whatever this message was, it was coming at a critical time. It was important, and so he reached over and toggled a switch to record the transmission, and also placed a backup on a memory key.

“Captain,” he said. “I have HF traffic on the coded military signal band!”

He saw Karpov’s head turn, his eyes narrowing, a cloud of suspicion on his face. “A coded signal? On our standard HF channel?”

“Yes, sir. It’s Mister Fedorov calling again. He’s in Vladivostok!”

“What?” Karpov was moving now, stepping quickly from behind the Plexiglas screen. “Vladivostok?”

“Shall I put it on speaker, Captain?”

“No, Mister Nikolin. I’ll take this call personally. Busy yourself with the weather data for the moment. This is command level business.” Karpov waved him from his chair, and Nikolin retreated to the weather monitor, looking furtively over his shoulder as the Captain settled in and quickly put the headphones on. His hand was unsteady as he reached for the handset, thumbing the send button.

“Fedorov! What are you doing on this channel?” Karpov’s voice was low, a raspy whisper as he spoke, his eyes looking up to chase any curious glance from bridge crew members away with an angry stare.

“Captain Karpov! Fedorov here. I report that we were able to return successfully to our home year, and I have flown to Vladivostok with the control rods. Over.”

“But what are you doing here, Fedorov. How did you get back to 1908 again?”

“Just as I left before, Captain. We used the reactor test bed at the Primorskiy Engineering Center, and Dobrynin was able to calibrate it to reach this year. I am now in an old cottage in Vladivostok, with a military radio set. There is someone with me who wishes to speak to you. Please hold…”

Karpov waited, a thousand thoughts swirling in the hiss of the background noise. Then a familiar, low voice came through his headset, and he knew exactly who it was.

“Captain Karpov. This is Admiral Leonid Volsky. I have accompanied Mister Fedorov on a most remarkable journey here, and I hope I do not have to tell you why. Your decision to intervene here is most unwise, and as Admiral of the Fleet I am now giving you a direct order to cease and desist. The consequences of anything you may do here are simply too severe. Bring the ship here, Mister Karpov, to Vladivostok. We have control rods with us that can get you safely home. This is a direct order from me to you. Beyond that, Moscow has also been informed and this order comes directly from the entire naval board. Over.”

Karpov’s pulse pounded at his temples, his eyes casting about in sharp, nervous movements. He had to think quickly. What could he say to buy more time? “That is not possible,” he said in a low whisper. “We are at the edge of a major engagement!”

“Then use your speed and break off that engagement, Captain. This is an order! What in God’s name are you doing here, Karpov? I have heard of mission creep but this is outrageous! We know what you did in 1945. You and your ship must return home at once! You were gifted with command of the fleet flagship, with my trust in you, and the fate of that ship and crew is now in your hands. In exchange for that honor you gave me something I thought you considered of great value at that time-your word and promise. And do not tell me the men have decided this course. You as Captain are responsible. You must return Kirov and the men home safely. This is imperative!”

Karpov hesitated, a tormented look on his face. “That is my intention, sir,” he lied. “But to do that I must assure there is a safe home to return to. We could not do that before-not in 2021 or in the 1940s. But here I can accomplish everything we hoped to achieve. I am within an hour of changing the entire course of history in the Pacific! Japan will never rise as an imperial power. The Second World War will never be fought here. Don’t you understand?”

“Com. Radar.” Came the report from Kochenko. “Range is now18,000 meters and closing.”

“Karpov. Listen to me. We have seen the history. The change will be more than you realize. It will be catastrophic! You must desist at once and obey this order. We can explain everything to you at Vladivostok.” Volsky could here Karpov trying to argue with him and so he lied as well, hoping to convince him his attempt to re-write history would end in failure.

The Captain squeezed the handset, hunching over Nikolin’s desk to mask his voice. “We are in battle!” he rasped. “I do not have time for this, Admiral. The ship is in jeopardy! I will contact you after we conclude this action and the ship is safe.”

“No, Karpov! Break off now! Do not engage! I repeat. You are ordered to disengage and withdraw at once. This is critical! If you fail to obey, this order falls on your Starpom, and should he fail to heed this command, then it falls to the next senior watch officer on the bridge, Mister Samsonov, through Tasarov, and then to Nikolin. If no man among them stands up and obeys, then I hereby appoint Dr. Zolkin as the ship’s commander, whether he knows a thing about operations or not. At least his judgment will be sound. Do you hear me, Karpov? It is vital that you comply at once!”

Then, just as the Admiral was finishing his urgent order, Karpov heard something quite unexpected in the background, another voice, another name, and his face registered alarm, even as his heart pounded out a warning and the rapid pulse of imminent danger.

Aboard Kazan the Admiral had been huddling with Fedorov, both men with headsets on at the communications station, their faces drawn and serious. Captain Gromyko was standing by, hands on his hips as he listened to the transmission being played over the comm speaker. Even as Volsky repeated his urgent order, a Mishman stepped through a nearby open hatch with a clipboard.

“Captain Gromyko, sir. I have the maintenance log for-”

Gromyko whirled about, his eyes wide, arm extended as if to stop the man. Fedorov twisted in his seat holding a finger to his lips to indicate silence as the Admiral finished. There was a brief interval of quiet. Then they heard Karpov’s voice come back, quick and urgent. “Very well, Admiral…Karpov out…”

“Captain Karpov?” The Admiral thumbed his send button. “Are you there, Karpov? Respond. Over.” There was nothing on the channel but the dry hiss of background static.

Aboard Kirov the Captain set the handset heavily on the comm panel, his other hand reaching up to slowly remove the headset. He stood up, and the torment in his eyes fled like storm clouds before the wind. Now they were dark and empty, a cold, lifeless expression on his face, cheeks drawn beneath his sallow gaze as he stared out the forward viewport. He seemed to be standing in the midst of a great void, an emptiness of the soul, his shoulders hunched and stooped. Then he straightened, taking a long, deep breath as if to draw in energy from the tension of the moment.

“Mister Nikolin. There will be no further signals traffic over the HF Military band until this action is concluded. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Nikolin looked like a schoolboy being dressed down, and returned to his post.

The Captain walked deliberately to the flag briefing room, quietly closing the door behind him. The eyes of the bridge crew followed him, particularly Rodenko where he still stood by the digital situation map, the lines of distant ships now glowing softly red on the screen.

Inside the briefing room alone, the Captain now moved with urgent swiftness. He activated a system monitor and quickly typed in a password to log on to the fleet manifest. His hands were unsteady as he typed, backspacing to correct two errors. The words on the screen finally scrolled up, GROMYKO, IVAN, CAPTAIN of the 1st RANK, Karpov’s finger ran across to the column indicating current fleet assignment. There it was… SSGN KAZAN…

Karpov tapped the name of the ship with a taut finger, and the display quickly called up the profile:

Yasen Class, Boat No. 2 — SSGN Kazan.

Commission Date. June 15, 2015. (Modified Severodvinsk)

Displacement: 12,800 Submerged, Length: 120m, Beam: 15m, Draught: 8.4m

Propulsion: One modified KPM Pressurized Water Reactor

Speed: 20 Knots Surface; Submerged: 35+ Knots. Test Depth: 600m

Compliment: 32 Officers, 58 Enlisted

Current Loadout:

16 x 3M-54E Klub P-900(VLS)

16x Onyx P-800 (VLS)

8x650mm Torpedo Tubes (83R): Load of 24

2x533mm Torpedo Tubes (82R): Load of 16

2 x Veter Rocket Assisted Torpedoes (RU-100 Nuclear Capable)

6x Veter Conventional Long Range Rocket Assisted Torpedoes

Additional Munitions: VA-111 Shkval (6)

Special Warheads: Classified

The longer Karpov looked at the data the more the blood seemed to drain from his face. They were lying…They were not in Vladivostok as Fedorov claimed. They did not use the test bed reactors at the Primorskiy Engineering Center. They were here, now, aboard one of the most lethal attack submarines in the navy. Now the full measure of what was happening here suddenly rose in his awareness like red heat.

They were out there in the silent darkness of the sea, hidden like a venomous adder that had crept quietly into his bunk, and there might be nothing more than the faint, sibilant hiss of the torpedoes as they fired to warn him of imminent destruction. They are trying to kill me, he thought, his mind at the edge of a barely restrained panic. They are trying to kill us all!

He leaned heavily on the counter, and then he remembered it, the service revolver he had secreted away there a week ago after they had first displaced to this time period. It was as if he anticipated trouble here, possibly a restive crew or opposition from one or more officers. Certainly Zolkin would oppose what he planned to do, though he felt he could handle that challenge. Rodenko, however, was another matter. He was Starpom, and in that position had a great deal of authority, and he had been somewhat squeamish of late, raising objections and questioning decisions at almost every turn.

So Karpov quietly placed a service revolver behind the chart box in the plot room, and now he stooped to retrieve it, slipping the belt around his waist and concealing the weapon beneath his service coat. He sighed, feeling better, but noticed a discernible nervous jitter in his hand.

A goddamned submarine!

Schettler, John

Kirov Saga: Armageddon (Kirov Series)