Armageddon

Chapter 29

Aboard Kirov Karpov raised his fist in jubilation. “You see, Rodenko? When the others see what we have done to their flagship I wonder how eager they will be to close with us?”

“Captain,” said Tasarov.

Karpov’s ebullient mood was suddenly iced over as he turned to his sonar man, but the report was of another surface contact and he calmed himself. Tasarov had been listening to the wallowing slosh of the old Japanese navy ships off to the west of their position, but now he heard a strong surface contact to the east, some 60 kilometers away. The Fregat system soon confirmed it as yet another line of enemy warships emerging from the Shimonoseki Strait and heading south at 18 knots.

“We should have scouted the Inland Sea,” said Rodenko. “I have another twenty-eight surface contacts on that heading now.”

“They could have twice that number there and it will not matter,” said Karpov. “They are just more grist for the mill.”

“It appears the Japanese fleet is larger than we expected, sir. We’ve just dealt with this group of eight ships but there are still two large formations closing on us like pincers, and sinking that old gunboat has not dampened their enthusiasm. Look sir, they are still coming. Then we also have this group of six ships here southwest of us. Those are flying the British flag.”

“Six, eight, twelve, a dozen-what does it matter? You saw what we just did to the first of this group. The rest will get the same.”

“Mister Samsonov,” said Rodenko. “How many rounds have we expended in this engagement?”

“Sir, we have fired 240 rounds from the 152mm guns, and another 36 from the 100mm bow gun. We still have 2432 rounds remaining on the 152mm guns, and 914 on the bow gun.”

“And missiles?”

“Nine each for the Moskit-II and Mos-III systems, sir.”

“I know what you are trying to prove, Rodenko,” said Karpov. “That is more than sufficient. I will use our remaining SSMs sparingly.”

“Well sir, this new group to the east is returning much stronger signals. Those are battleships. I read at least sixteen, and they will take far more punishment to sink than these cruisers and destroyers.”

“That’s not possible. I researched the Japanese order of battle and they do not have that many ships in that class.”

“The Fregat system does not lie, sir, and you know I can read it like a book. I am certain there are sixteen larger ships. The remainder will be smaller cruiser and destroyer class vessels.”

Rodenko was correct. Karpov ordered the KA-40 to swing over Iki Island and have a look east where they soon received HD video from their long range camera system. They were staring up at the screen to see a line of chalk white warships steaming at a good speed, the skies dark with the soot of their coal fired boilers. In their van were squadrons of smaller ships, but they flew Japanese naval ensigns.

“Look at those flags on the battleships, sir. Those are American ships!”

Karpov stared at the screen for some time. “What in the world? This can only be their Great White Fleet, but it was not supposed to be anywhere near here at this time. They should be sailing to the Philippines.”

“Well things have clearly changed, Captain. Are you prepared to engage the American Navy here as well?”

My God, thought Karpov. What a gift! Now I can destroy both the Imperial Japanese Navy and the American Navy in one great battle here! That will make Kirov, and Russia, the undisputed master of the Pacific for decades to come. After this I can sink any ship they build and send here to challenge me. This is perfect! But Rodenko’s warning about the munitions is now more important. I cannot waste my remaining deck gun ammunition on those battleships. They will have to be crushed swiftly, and I have only eighteen SSMs available. Then there is still the matter of Kazan. That is my main fear at the moment…

Rodenko was watching the Captain closely, seeing the mix of emotions cross his face as he studied the screen. He was hoping the Captain would see that the odds were stacking up here, and creating a situation that could prove very difficult to manage without resort to more force than their conventional arms could wield. That was his great fear. Karpov had a reflex to suddenly escalate in the face of such odds, and he was worried.

“Sir?” He pressed the Captain. “We now have both American and British ships in the mix here, and they seem to be intent on joining this battle. Engaging the Americans will set a powerful enemy on Russia’s trail in the history ahead. Are you certain you wish to do this?”

Karpov turned, his eyes smoldering. “We will have to face them one day or another, Rodenko. If not now, then they will grow beyond our means. I admit that I bit off more than I could chew by confronting Halsey and Nimitz in 1945. But these ships can be mastered easily enough.”

“Yet at great expense of our conventional munitions, sir. These are old pre-dreadnaught battleships. Their dreadnaughts are now in the shipyards being built in the shadow of the First World War. After that will come the pre-WWII battleships, and then their better designs. You saw what it took to sink the Iowa. So how many irreplaceable rounds of ammunition do we use here on these old ships?”

Karpov gave him an irritated look. “Leave that to me. I will show you what can be done. Navigation! How long before we reach that island?”

“A little over 20 minutes, Captain.”

They were now just 20 kilometers northwest of Iki Island, the place that Karpov had chosen as his shield against possible missile or torpedo attack from the north. He was worried that he had to opened the engagement too soon, for Kazan would surely have a good idea of his location after that initial gun duel. Now his intention was to swing around a cluster of small islets south of the main island and find the sheltering bay beyond. Once there he would be in a well protected area, the island a strong shield against any torpedo attacks, and he had the ranged firepower to pound anything that dared to approach him. I must find that submarine before I leave those waters, he thought. But what if they strike with their missile battery first? With all this noise from the surface contacts Tasarov will have a hell of a time trying to locate that submarine. Yes, they will certainly get the first salvo, but we can defend ourselves well with our SAMs, and then we strike back.

“Navigator,” he said. “I want to move the ship into this bay. How deep is the water there?”

“29 meters, sir, and a little deeper further south at 38 meters. We’ll have to avoid the channel to the north, it is much too shallow for us to transit.” Kirov’s draft was only 9 meters, but Karpov did not want to run aground on a hidden sand bar or shoal.

“Then take us south of those islands and approach from that direction. Alter speed if necessary. I will be too busy to instruct you, so I rely on your skill to pilot the ship while we finish this combat.”

“Aye, sir. Programming in the course now.”

Then Karpov eased over to Tasarov, his voice muted as he spoke.

“Anything, Tasarov?”

“Sir?”

“You know what I mean. Are you listening carefully?”

“Yes sir. But the sound field is very cluttered.”

“As we approach that island ahead, you will go to active sonar. These waters could be mined.”

“Very well, sir.”

“The KA-40 is over Iki Island now. Move it south to watch the channel east and south of the island.” The Captain was pointing at the location he had in mind on the map. He tapped the screen with a thin finger, and Tasarov nodded.

“Very well, sir.”

Schettler, John

Kirov Saga: Armageddon (Kirov Series)

“Don’t forget those submarines I warned you about, eh?”

Then the Captain drifted back to the tactical screen near Rodenko where the two men continued their discussion concerning the Americans.

“Sixteen battleships, Captain. Yes we could put a missile on each and every one, but then we would have only two left. It will be deck guns and modified SAMs for all the years ahead of us, long decades, sir. Think about it.”

“I tell you I have no intention of squandering my missiles as you suggest, Mister Rodenko. We have ample means to carry the fight to that enemy at a time of my choosing.”

“What means sir? Surely not another special warhead.”

“Those weapons are in inventory for a reason, yes? I have not hesitated to use the full power of this ship. Why are you so squeamish?”

Rodenko had finally realized that his opposition to Karpov had to be framed in ways the Captain would accept. He knew there were no moral considerations in Karpov’s mind now. That was evident in the way he so casually ordered the destruction of that last ship, watching it break and burn without the slightest twinge. It was just as he had ordered the annihilation of the American TF-16 in 1941, and again in 1945 with the Iowa. Where the Americans were concerned he would have no qualms, the verdict of future history claimed as ample reason for his murderous rage.

There was no way their remaining conventional munitions would suffice to destroy all these ships, and he was certain Karpov would soon opt for stronger measures. Yet if he could couch his objection in strategic terms, he might convince the Captain that using nuclear weapons here could jeopardize everything he was aiming for.

“Well, sir… A special warhead would certainly do the job, but look what happened the last time we did this. We were blown another thirty-seven years into the past! The ship’s position in time has never been stable. Consider what happened when that volcano went off. Rod-25 was long removed, and yet it appears that any major explosive event like that can still cause us to shift in time. What if that happens again? You’ll lose your entire strategic position here, and everything you have been planning.”

Karpov gave Rodenko a narrow eyed look. “So you are starting to think rationally now,” he said. “You are finally seeing the big picture. Well don’t worry, Rodenko. There are always other options. I am not concerned with this Great White Fleet for the moment. First we deal with the Japanese.”

“On this heading? Those look to be very restricted waters ahead, Sir. I’d feel more comfortable steering 240 if you must engage the Japanese.”

“I have good reason to hold this course. Watch and learn.”

Tasarov gave Nikolin a wide eyed look. Nikolin had been agonizing at his post, considering a number of ways he might get the news he held to Rodenko without provoking a major scene on the bridge with the Captain. One scenario he ran through his head was that he could feign illness, even pretend to collapse with dizziness so that he would be relieved and sent to sick bay. There he could tell everything he knew to Zolkin, and the Doctor would certainly know what to do. Could he get away with that? At least he would not be here when the shouting started.

Another option presented itself. I have recorded the entire message, he thought. All I would have to do it play it back over the ship’s intercom system! Then the entire crew would hear Admiral Volsky ordering the Captain to break off this engagement and return to Vladivostok. Yet there will be a firestorm if I do that. I would have to face the Captain’s wrath right here on the bridge, and I do not want to imagine what he might do.

What about Tasarov? If I go to the sick bay he’s still stuck in the borscht here. He knows about the Admiral too. Is he sitting there wondering what to do just as I am? He glanced at Tasarov’s sonar station, seeing him stooped over his headset, deep in concentration. Nikolin toggled the station to station link again and keyed a text message. WHAT SHOULD WE DO?

At last he could bear it no longer, and he was working himself up to call Rodenko to his station to certify his ship’s log entry. He thought he might then rasp out the truth he was holding when Rodenko was close, but he would not get the chance. Events took another course.

Tasarov heard it on sonar, a distinct sound that he had come to associate with an undersea missile launch. Yet it was oddly diffused in all the noise and he was not certain about it. Instinctively, he began to calculate bearing, making ready to report the contact, his heart beating fast as he did so. That single contact finally pushed the tentative house of cards on the bridge of Kirov to collapse.

“Con. Sonar. I believe I have-”

“Con Radar! Airborne contact inbound bearing five-zero degrees and sixty kilometers out.” A junior radar operator had seen it much more clearly on the Fregat system as the missile climbed over the peak of Oronshima Island roaring like a kami. “Captain, I believe it’s a missile!”

“Confirmed,” said Tasarov. “ I picked its launch up on sonar as well, same bearing.”

Rodenko was standing sullenly by the tactical display, an uncomfortable look on his face that soon became real surprise. His eyes expressed both alarm and suspicion.

“Missile fire?”

Karpov spun about, his features ashen, eyes seeming to bulge a bit in his sallow face, and he reacted on sheer instinct. “Ready on S-400 system! Prepare to fire on my command!”

“Captain,” Rodenko pressed. “A missile? How is this possible?”

“Mister Samsonov…”

“One moment, sir. I have a red light on the system board for the S-400s. The crews had to pull several missiles from the silos to reprogram as you ordered. They have equipment all over the deck!”

“Damn!”

Rodenko rushed to the radar station, unable to believe what he was hearing. Yet there it was, a clear signal lancing in at the ship at subsonic speed. He knew the signature well, and could even read the IFF data on his secondary screen It was very close.

“My God! It’s a P-900, and no more than 45 kilometers out!” He looked directly at Karpov now, who stood frozen near Samsonov.

“Switch to Klinok system!” said Karpov, ignoring his Starpom. “Key all 30mm Gatling guns and begin tracking.”

They had only seconds to decide what to do. Even at subsonic speed the missile was going to reach them in less than three minutes and then begin a high speed terminal run with dizzying evasive maneuvers.

“Switching to Klinok missile system and tracking on all starboard side 30mm guns.” Samsonov moved, robot like, his big arms engaging switch toggles and sounding air alert one. The claxon blared through the ship’s corridors and compartments, and they heard the scramble of unseen crewmen below.

“Captain!” Rodenko’s voice cut through the tension.

“Not now, Rodenko, we have a missile inbound!” Karpov held up an arm as if to ward his Starpom off. “Fire when ready Samsonov! It will begin its terminal run any second. We must get it in cruise mode!”

At that moment Nikolin saw the amber light on his HF radio panel. It was another command channel message, and he had no doubt as to its origin. His heart pounded, pulse racing as he flipped the switch, realizing that it was now or never.

“Captain,” he called, his voice unsteady. “I have another emergency HF command level message from Admiral Volsky!” There, he spoke the name, removing all doubt, and Rodenko heard it as clear as the message now playing on the overhead intercom speaker.

“…This is your final warning. I repeat. This is Admiral Volsky ordering you to immediately break off your engagement and turn north to Vladivostok. If you do not comply we will have no choice but to fire in earnest. This is your final warning. Respond at once!”

Everything seemed to be happening at once in a wild cacophony of sound and motion on the bridge. Karpov wheeled on Nikolin’s position, shouting his name in anger. Samsonov fired, and two medium range missiles snapped up into the air above the aft section of the ship and ignited one after another, streaking away to find the incoming threat. The roar of their ignition drowned out the Captain’s strident voice. Then Karpov stiffened to look outside for the incoming missile. They could already see the white contrail of the P-900 beginning its descent to sea level, and the two SAMs danced in the air to vector in on the target. Then something happened that no one expected. The P-900 exploded.