Armageddon

Chapter 31

On the bridge of HMS King Alfred Captain Baker was studying the silhouette of the distant ship through his glass, astounded by what he saw. It was a monster, easily twice the size of his own ship, even bigger than the fleet’s newest battleships. How could the Russians have built a ship like this?

“My God,” he whispered. “What would old Jackie Fisher say if he could get a look at this.” He was referring to 1st Baron John “Jackie” Fisher, the First Sea Lord and Admiral of the Fleet, the man who single-mindedly spearheaded the effort to design and create the first new battleship with all big guns as its primary battery, HMS Dreadnaught. That ship had spawned a new arms race at sea when it launched in December of 1906 with 11 inch belt armor and ten 12 inch Mark X naval guns in five turrets. It had more than twice the firepower of most any other ship then afloat, rendering entire navies, even proud battle lines like the American Great White Fleet, obsolete overnight.

Yet as he studied the Russian ship his amazement gave way to a confused expression. “Have a look at that, Mister Tovey,” he said to his First Lieutenant of the watch. “Do you see any main armament forward?”

Young John Tovey raised the Captain’s glass to his eye and squinted at the dark ship ahead for some time. “Can’t see a thing, sir. Nothing more than those secondary batteries winking at the Japanese, but they can’t be anything more than six inchers, sir.”

“Indeed… Well then what is all the brouhaha concerning this ship? It looks to be no more than three twin turrets from the fire I’ve observed. We have sixteen Mark VIIs at hand and a pair of 9.2 inchers to throw in with them. Size is one thing, but firepower quite another. I don’t see that this ship has much to fight with, unless it’s hiding a row of casemate guns beneath its gunwales.”

“Look, sir. That old battleship in the lead is already burning very badly.” He was pointing at Vice Admiral Kataoka’s Chinyen, now wallowing as a burning wreck in the sea while the armored cruisers behind her maneuvered to her port side, charging bravely on toward the Russian ship. They had not seen the missile that struck her down, and attributed the damage to the Russian naval gunnery.

“They may be few in number, sir, but those Russian guns appear to be deadly accurate. Now that lead cruiser has just taken two hits amidships!”

They watched as the armored cruiser Matsushima was hit and set afire, soon to be masked by thick black smoke licked by tongues of orange and yellow flame. Kirov’s deck guns were firing on automatic, selecting targets at will within the engagement range Karpov had ordered as he tussled with Rodenko on the bridge. Before the Starpom intervened, Samsonov has carried out that order, and the result was a methodical, computer controlled gun duel that saw Kirov selecting targets and riddling them with 152mm rounds in precise radar guided salvos. The Japanese cruisers were still too far off to reply, and the lead ship, Hashidate pressed forward into the van, still waiting for a chance to fire their main gun on the foredeck.

“Those small islands will force them to slow down, sir,” said Tovey, handing the glass back to the Captain.

“That will give us a little time to get our ships up.” Baker studied the situation. “Yes…If we keep on this heading we’ll cross their bow when they get past that island. At maximum elevation we might announce ourselves shortly.” The two Mark X 9.2 inch guns on the cruiser could elevate 15 degrees and achieve a range of just over 15,000 yards with a full charge.

“We would do little more than that, sir,” said Tovey, hoping he was not out of line with the remark. Captain Baker gave him a brief glance, his attention riveted on the enemy ship. “What in blazes is that whirling about on her main mast?” He had spotted Kirov’s spinning Fregat radar panels, seeing them catch the light of the fading sun as they turned.

Then they saw a wink of light from the shadow of the Russian ship and Baker was experienced enough to know that his ships had been fired upon. The first rounds fell just ahead of the cruiser, their white geysers splashing up from the sea and soon awash in the ship’s bow wave as the water was plowed up ahead of King Alfred.

“That was close. Damn good shooting for an opening salvo. Go to the helmsman, Mister Tovey, and have him come five points to port. I want to have a look at this ship for another moment and I’ll be there shortly.”

“Aye, sir. Port five.” Tovey ran off into the armored conning tower leaving the Captain and his XO there on the weather bridge, the two men pointing at the Russian ship and discussing it further.

Then King Alfred shuddered and they heard an explosion well behind them. Captain Baker turned to have a look aft, seeing that his number two funnel had been all but decapitated by a direct hit, jutting like a broken tooth in the row of four stacks, and bleeding heavy black smoke. His executive officer was pointing a stiff arm at the scene. The next round changed the whole character of the engagement and plunged Lieutenant Tovey into the crucible of war in a way he never imagined.

There was a bright flash and a deafening explosion. King Alfred had been struck again and the entire bridge trembled with the vibration of the shock. Tovey was knocked from his feet, but unhurt. Yet, as he reached for a guide rail and pulled himself up, he saw that most of the outer weather bridge had been blown clean away, and with it both the Captain and his Executive Officer!

In an instant Tovey realized he was now First Officer of the watch and in de-facto command of the ship! He saw men crawling on the deck, the signalman struggling to his feet, a flagman hanging on a rail to the starboard side. Then he ran to the nearest voice pipe and did what should have been done long ago.

“Action stations!” he shouted. “Helm, port twenty!”

“Port twenty, sir.” The ensign’s hands were white on the wheel as the ship turned.

“Signal all ships to follow!” Tovey had turned to point his bow at the enemy ship, waiting until he saw the bow of King Alfred line up on the shadow ahead. “Midships,” he shouted, “Steady as she goes and ahead full!”

“Steady on and ahead full!”

The bridge crew had recovered and leapt to their jobs with remarkable pluck and efficiency. Some were not even aware that Captain Baker was gone, but Tovey’s strident voice was enough to lash them into action. They heard an order and they carried it out.

“Forward turret make ready to fire!” Tovey shouted that order down the voice pipe now, even as he saw two more shells hiss into the sea and bring the forward deck awash with their spray as the cruiser was straddled yet again. Now he knew why Kataoka’s ships were burning off his port side. It wasn’t the volume of fire that was doing the damage, but the infernal accuracy of the guns. He knew his rangefinders were desperately peering through their eye pieces, and could hear their voices calling out the numbers.

“Sixty cables!” called the Warrant Officer. That was just under 12,500 yards, a long shot for the single Mark X gun up front, but within its range.

“Elevation twelve degrees!” came a voice. “Ready sir!”

“Fire!” Tovey wasted no time. King Alfred would announce herself, as Captain Baker had put it. He looked for a pair of field glasses, finding one scudding across the swaying deck and scooping it up to sight on the enemy ship. There he saw the tall white spray of an explosion in the sea right on the Russian ship’s bow as it emerged from the lee of a small island and near the sheltered bay just south of the main island. It looked as though the ship had drastically reduced speed, and it now seemed a massive, ponderous target in the restricted waters.

We’ll rush in at high speed and get inside 10,000 yards, he thought. Then I’ll remember what Captain Baker told me and we’ll turn hard to port, presenting the concentrated firepower of the whole formation. But first this mad dash, and hell in the teeth of those enemy guns. He could see that the Russians had rippled their fire down his line, putting rounds on three more ships behind him. Kent and Bedford seemed bothered but were faring well, but Monmouth had a severe fire on her forward deck, obviously taking direct hits there that put her main gun out of action.

Just a little longer, thought Tovey. Soon we turn and hit them with everything we have. Then, to his amazement, he saw the sea erupt with explosions near the Russian ship, the booming report of the detonations rolling like thunder, and huge white gouts of sea spray in the waters on every side. It was as if an entire division had put fire down on the ship, but he could not see where the fire had come from. Yet every round missed! They were all arrayed in a neat arc about the ship! Amazed, he steadied himself and counted off the seconds, ready to give the order. It was now or never.

By the time Tasarov heard it there was nothing they could do. They had slowed to ten knots to navigate the narrow channel between the main Iki Island and a group of three small islets. The hidden bay Karpov was seeking as a sanctuary from Kazan’s wrath had once been the hiding place and operations base of the famous Wokou pirates. It was said that a great demon had set foot on the island once, using it as a stepping stone at a place now called the Devil’s Footprint. Yet now the demon that cast its darkness over the island was in the shape and form of a man on the bridge of Kirov, and the great ship that loomed as his shadow.

There was something in the waters ahead, as Kirov rounded a small iselet and entered the sheltered bay beyond. It was adrift on the rising seas, a hulking, unseen devil of another kind, an oval of metal packed with an explosive charge. Five “Hertz Horns” jutted from the upper portion of the sphere. Each contained a canister of acid, and when crushed by the hull of an oncoming ship the container of acid would shatter and cause a battery to energize and detonate the mine.

Inside the metal sphere of the mine was a densely packed charge of nitrocellulose, called “guncotton” at the time. Mixing nitric acid with cotton was discovered by chance by a Swiss chemist, who spilled the acid and then hastily swabbed it up with a cotton apron, only to find the apron spontaneously exploded after it had dried! Its explosive power would later serve as a solid fuel for the famous Russian Katyusha rocket. This time it was in a Japanese mine, and the bulbous end of Kirov’s Polinom “Horse Jaw” sonar beneath the bow of the ship struck it just as Tasarov detected the mine field and realized what was happening.

The devil’s horn was broken, the acid burned, and the guncotton exploded, all 56 kilograms, or a little over 120 pounds. It was a small mine compared to modern standards where some might pack 3000 pounds of explosives, but it was enough to wreck the sonar there, and cause a minor hull breach that soon saw Kirov shipping water at the bow. The mightiest ship in the world had just been struck on the jaw by a lowly sea mine.

Yet a far more significant result was the shock to Tasarov’s sensitive ears when the mine detonated. The noise cancelling suppressor on his headphones kicked in to stop serious damage, but he had been given a severe jolt, and his ears were ringing when he threw his headset on the console table. The explosion was felt on the bridge, where Karpov and Rodenko were still locked in their intense standoff, and it forced the Captain to take immediate action.

“Mine!” Tasarov had the presence of mind to call out the warning, putting a name to the noise and vibration they experienced. His voice seemed weak and lost between the sharp crack of Kirov’s deck guns, still engaging targets with computer controlled fire. Now he stood with his hands cupped over his ears, as if to hear no evil in the sharp interaction that was transpiring just a few feet from his station.

“All stop!” Karpov barked out an order. “Watchmen to the weather decks with anti-mine details!” He was shouting the orders on instinct, but no one repeated them or sent them down to the decks below. The helmsman responded by stopping engines, but otherwise, the bridge crew seemed paralyzed with the conflict unresolved between the Captain and his Starpom.

“Hold on those torpedoes, Samsonov. We need the RBU systems now, full array on minimum range, forward and to both port and starboard quarters, fire now!”

It was Kirov’s modern version of the old ‘Hedgehog’ system developed by the British, a kind of seaborne mortar that could fire a pattern of twenty-four explosives out in front of an advancing ship. Russia’s modern day equivalent could range out to three kilometers with salvos of rockets bearing 300mm warheads. In this the big CIC officer quickly complied, and soon the sea ahead erupted with explosions and geysers of white frothing seawater as the first salvos landed, the detonation of the cure sometimes more jolting than the explosive power of the mines it was seeking to destroy.

It was this massed fire that Tovey had seen around the ship, and a typical reaction from the Captain, particularly when he was heavily stressed. He applied maximum force, thought Rodenko, the precise weapon required to do the job, an instinct to bludgeon the face of any unseen enemy. He knew what was coming next.

“Captain you must comply with the Admiral’s order or I am forced to take command!”

Rodenko took three steps forward as he spoke and then stopped short, amazed at what he now saw. Karpov was holding a service revolver!

“ You stupid bastard!” said Karpov. “You? Relieve me? Don’t be a fool. You would not last ten minutes at the helm in this situation.”

“Captain!” Rodenko persisted in spite of the obvious threat. “Listen to reason! You cannot do this!”

“I can and I will. Now get below or I will put a bullet into you for insubordination. Radar! Feed bearing and range on that missile fire to the CIC at once.” Karpov’s eyes were fixed on Rodenko’s, watching every move he made. “Samsonov! Ready on the Vodopad system and prepare to fire.”

Now I am the enemy, thought Rodenko, and Karpov has a pistol pointed right at my gut. Would he hesitate to use it if I press him further? He had his answer in short order.

“Get off the bridge, Rodenko! I can’t think with you standing there staring at me like the stupid fool that you are. Get below or I swear I will kill you where you stand.” The Captain extended the pistol with an unsteady hand and Rodenko held up his palm, warding off the weapon.

“As you wish, sir. Stand easy.” He started for the citadel hatch.

“And don’t get any stupid ideas about returning with Marines! I’m going to lock this bridge down tight as a fortress until this is over, and then I will come see about you and anyone else involved in this goddamned mutinous behavior. You are relieved!”

Rodenko thought how ironic that remark was, for it was in this very place that Karpov tried to seize control of the ship after locking the Admiral away in the Sick Bay. There were a hundred things he could have said at that moment, but he did not get the chance. Another voice spoke from the shadow of the open citadel hatch.

“No Captain, you are relieved.”

Every head turned, including Rodenko, for they all knew the voice that had spoken those words. It was Doctor Zolkin.

“Not now, Doctor. The last thing I need is your nonsense or another lecture. The ship is in danger! We have just struck a mine and there may be more out there.”

“Yes, it certainly is in danger, and from a Captain who has lost every vestige of self-control and all power of reason! I saw that missile coming at us off the port bow and knew it could only have been fired by one of our own ships. Then Mister Nikolin was kind enough to inform me as to what was happening up here.”

“Nikolin? That little shit was confined to quarters!”

“Yes? Well he came to see me first, and with a recording of everything Admiral Volsky said to you when he contacted the ship earlier.” The Doctor held up Nikolin’s memory key, and Karpov’s pallor reddened with anger.

“You have been given a direct order to break off this engagement and return to Vladivostok,” Zolkin said quickly. “That order cascades from you to Rodenko, to Samsonov, to Tasarov, and then to Nikolin himself if not obeyed. Yes, don’t look so surprised, Mister Samsonov, and don’t sit there like a wind-up toy or a puppet dangling from the Captain’s strings. You are next in line if the Captain sends Rodenko off in Nikolin’s footsteps. The Admiral’s order falls on you.”

Karpov gave him an evil grin. “Don’t listen to a word of this, Samsonov. He’s making it all up! Mind your station. We have a battle to fight here.”

“Of course, don’t listen,” said Zolkin. “Don’t think, just react, and the next thing you know the Captain here will be ordering up another nuclear tipped missile to get himself out of the stew. Well, don’t worry gentlemen. If Samsonov is not man enough to stand up here then I think I will spare the rest of you the trouble. The Admiral clearly stated that command of the ship would fall to me should his order be disobeyed. I have observed you for some time, Captain, and here you are holding a service pistol on Mister Rodenko, obviously quite disturbed. I hereby deem you unfit for duty and relieve you of command on medical grounds and for your obstinate failure to comply with the Admiral’s direct order. Now, put that weapon down and stand aside. I did not come alone. Those Marines you were worried about are right behind me.”

Karpov’s eyes widened when he heard the echo of heavy footfalls on the ladder leading up to the landing in the hatchway behind Rodenko. He did not think. There was no plan, no carefully thought out strategy. It was nothing more than the mindless reflex of fight or flight, a broken horn, burning acid, and a spark of hideous ignition. There was just one more enemy before him, and he had a weapon to deal with him in hand. In a moment of sheer rage he cursed at the Doctor and fired.