Armageddon

Chapter 32

Kazan crept forward after its breakneck high speed run to the south, converging on the heading being taken by a noisome line of contacts arriving on the scene from the northeast. They did not know it at the time, but these were the venerable battleships of Teddy Roosevelt’s fleet, sent hurriedly west in a massive show of force. Their commanders had been monitoring the telegraph wireless traffic and they knew there was a battle ahead. So as the Great White Fleet hastened forward, the crews were rigging out the guns and prepping for action, thinking there might be a major battle underway between the Russians and Japanese.

Kazan was moving like a grey shadow in the sea, silent and swift at a depth of just under 50 meters in these shallow waters. Gromyko was counting on the noise coming from that surface fleet to drown out any whisper of sound his stealthy boat might be making at this high speed, but soon he outpaced the ships above and was well out in front. He had surged south at over 40 knots, a speed Kazan was capable of, yet one never published on any spec sheet. In thirty minutes he had closed rapidly on the southern tip of Iki Island.

Now the depth was very shallow, and he had to slow to 10 knots and alter depth to navigate around shoals in the Kanasiro Channel. There were numerous rocky outcrops and shallows but the channel soon deepened out to 50 meters again once he had slipped through, elated to think he had made the run south undetected.

Yet that was not the case. While the situation on the bridge of Kirov and the sudden collision with that horned mine had made it all but impossible for Tasarov to hear the sub, the KA-40 was still up on the ASW watch where he had posted it, and Karpov had instinctively fingered the exact spot where Kazan was approaching, tasking the helo to watch that channel when he had last visited Tasarov’s station. Just after they reduced speed to a gliding 10 knots, sonar man Chernov thought he heard some odd transients in the sound field.

The rumbling approach of the surface fleet was behind them now, and he had been able to filter out much of that noise, concentrating on the forward arc and the subtle sounds he was hearing there.

“Con. Sonar,” he reported. “I think I’m hearing sonobuoy drops off our port bow, and something more in the water.”

“Torpedo?” Gromyko fingered the worst possible option.

“No sir, it sounds like…mines! I think there’s a minefield ahead.” He could hear the heavy sea kettles sloshing about on the surface, lightly moored to the shallower waters ahead by thin tethers tied to anchors. They jostled in the rising swell, their reins rattling against the underside of the sphere of the mine.

“All stop,” said Gromyko.

“All stop, sir aye.”

“Make your depth forty meters.” Gromyko was leaning heavily over the horizontal navigation screen, noting the depth indicators for the waters ahead. He did not have much sea room here for depth or maneuvering.

Admiral Volsky gave him a worried look. “What now, Gromyko?”

“Your Mister Karpov is more clever than I thought,” said Gromyko. “It seems he’s deployed a defensive minefield ahead of us, and we’ve come upon it like a spider’s web. If these are moored mines we could easily snag a cable. Kirov is out their waiting for us and those helicopters you mentioned are going to beat the sea with sonar pings any moment and flush us out.”

“Do you think they have located us yet?”

“Perhaps not, but this was a perfect place to post a KA-40. I was afraid this might happen.”

“I doubt that Karpov deployed those mines,” said Fedorov. “They are probably Japanese mines, meant to restrict this channel south of Iki Island and protect the bay.” He was pointing to the digital map on the screen now. That’s what Karpov is really up to. He wants to get the ship into that little bay where he’ll be covered on three sides by land. He’ll sit there like a Moray Eel in his rock cave and devour anything that approaches him. Meanwhile he’ll use the helicopters to find us.”

“How deep is it in there?”

“29 meters average depth.”

“That a fairly shallow tub. We’ll barely have water over the sail if we try to enter. Our sensor masts will start to break water at 18 meters.”

“It’s deeper here,” Fedorov pointed to the navigation chart. “There is 49 to 51 meter depth off this cape on our approach vector. It could possibly put us within the shift radius as he makes his approach here.”

“And what if they get up into that bay?” Gromyko scratched his head. “You can time this shift perfectly?”

“They’ll have to come from this direction,” said Fedorov. “They’ll swing around those islets and then approach from the south. If we can get here and hover, they’ll come right to us. Dobrynin is already working on the reactors. The procedure is already underway.”

“Yes? Well this is a very big risk we’re taking here. We could be discovered at any time, and your shift may not happen in a timely manner. If we suddenly vanish into the ether what then? On top of that, now we have mines to worry about.” He folded his arms, clearly unhappy.

“The mines will be riding the surface. Unless we snag a tether we should be fine.”

“This is a big boat, Mister Fedorov. We could snag two or three if they are closely spaced, and we cannot detect their positions accurately without going to active sonar. One ping, however, and Kirov will know exactly where we are and spear us with a Shkval.”

They heard a distant roll of thunder, clearly large explosions, and Gromyko raised his eyes to the ceiling. “That’s some battle underway up there.”

“Sir,” said Chernov, “Those were RBU-1000 rockets! I recognize that sound anywhere. It has a very distinctive signature on my screen.”

“So he’s after us already? He may have a possible read on us.”

“No,” said Fedorov. “They must have detected the mines! Karpov used that same tactic to clear minefields when we were in narrow channels in the Med. If they heard us they would have fired much closer to our present position.”

Gromyko nodded, realizing that was probably true. “Then perhaps he will be doing us a favor…unless he turns those 300mm rockets on us any time soon. Admiral…” Gromyko looked over his shoulder for Volsky. “I can put four torpedoes in the water in a heartbeat. At this range we would be certain to sink that ship. They would have no chance. We could then ease off and send in a Veter torpedo with a 20 kiloton warhead to finish the job.” He waited, the seconds drawn out as Volsky considered all that had been said between the two men.

Gromyko was correct. Their situation was precarious here, and unless the shift was timed before Kirov slipped into that bay they would disappear and lose any chance of further intervention here. It was a desperate plan, a crazy plan, but he realized his alternatives were even worse. He would have to fire now, sink the ship, and put every man aboard in the water. Then he would have to slink away and send in a nuclear tipped missile before the ships and men of this era got too close, and what a sight that would be for all of them as they watched an atomic explosion erupt from the sea before them. It was insane. It was all utter madness.

He leaned in, his face grave. “Yes, we could sink Kirov here and now, but it won’t go far, will it? Twenty nine meters? The Fregat radar would still be poking out of the water! We would have to drop a nice fat nuclear warhead here as you say to obliterate the wreckage, and there is probably quite an audience out there. I think we have no option but to hope we can pull Fedorov’s plan off.”

“Very well, Admiral. We’re gliding now, about as quiet as a passing fish. I’m going to hover in about five minutes and let them come to us. I think we will end up somewhere here…” He pointed at the map to a position just south of the bay, the very same waters Karpov hoped to occupy to hide from the submarine. Kazan had beaten the battlecruiser to the scene, but was still in grave peril. “We’re already inside Shkval range,” he added quietly, “and just seconds away from destruction if they detect us.”

“Look there, Vasily! A Submarine!” Airman Lev Leonov pointed out the forward pane of the KA-40.

They saw it as the water depth faded to only 30 meters and Kazan was forced to move very near the surface on her run south. The speed and shallow depth made the submarine very visible from the air, and what human ears could not hear in all the noisome sea, human eyes from above could easily see.

“That looks like one of ours!” The pilot, Vasily Kovalenko had seen every class of Russian sub from above, and he knew the sleek lines of a Yasen Class boat. My God! That has to be Kazan! What are they doing here?”

“Maybe they have come to join us! Now there is no force on earth that could bother us.”

“Yes, but weren’t we ordered to look for submarines? We have a full ASW loadout for good reason, Lev. Get busy.”

“What? You want me to drop sonobuoys here?”

“What else?”

“And report on our own submarine? That’s ridiculous. Just call the ship and tell them we’ve spotted Kazan approaching from the northeast. That will certainly bolster morale.”

“Alright, but drop your buoy just the same. We’re supposed to be on ASW exercise. You want to get in trouble with the Captain after we land?”

“Very well, Vasily. You report, I’ll deploy.”

The pilot nodded and touched his helmet microphone to call the ship but when the signal came winking in on Nikolin’s station he had already been chased below by Karpov, and there was no one there to see it! Chekov had not yet arrived and the light winked on and off plaintively, with no response. Kovalenko droned on with his call litany, waiting, but soon realized that no one was listening. Frustrated, he looked over his shoulder and saw Kirov approaching Iki Island from the west after navigating around the cluster of small islands. He, too, saw the ring of explosions around the ship, and realized they had fired the RBU-1000 system.

“Lev! They have fired the 300mm rockets! Things are getting serious down there.” The rockets primary use was as ASW defense against close in submarine contacts, torpedoes or mines.

“Still exercising in the middle of a surface engagement? Look at all these old ships approaching from every heading! Why is the Captain making us run this stupid drill?”

“ Kazan will deal with anything on this side of the island, and Kirov can handle the rest. But we may be ordered to fire a torpedo at one of those ships as well. Stay sharp.”

It had never occurred to them that the submarine they had found was Karpov’s mortal enemy and the real target of their mission.

Zolkin fell back against the bulkhead near the aft hatch, clutching his shoulder where the bullet had struck him. Whether it was Karpov’s unsteady hand, or some inner instinct that saw the Captain aim his shot to a non-vital area, the Doctor was not mortally wounded. The shock of the gunfire was stunning, however, and Karpov moved like a dark shadow, bounding toward the open hatch and violently slamming it shut just as the first of three Marines had reached the landing above the ladder.

He sealed and locked the hatch, immediately toggling the intercom there, one eye on Rodenko. “You men! Return to the helo deck. The situation here is under control. This is the Captain.”

Now he wheeled towards Rodenko, seeing he was kneeling over Zolkin where the Doctor had slumped to the deck, bleeding from the gunshot wound.

“Well it seems you’ll be staying here after all, Rodenko,” said Karpov, breathing heavily. “I can’t risk opening this hatch until I’ve dealt with those enemy ships out there.”

“Samsonov!” He looked for his CIC chief, the fire of battle smoldering in his eyes. “No more fooling around with the deck guns. Now the gloves come off. Key up the Moskit-IIs, two full silos. Prepare to target on my command.”

Samsonov turned his thick neck and saw Zolkin and Rodenko, the wild light in Karpov’s eyes, the revolver in his hand, and then the Doctor’s words burned in his mind.

“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.”

He looked at Zolkin now where he clutched his wounded arm. Then Samsonov stood up, man enough, his jaw set, towering like a chiseled statue over his post, his face resolute and grim. He had been just that for one engagement after another, a man of steel and stone, a mindless automaton, a fighting machine, as if he had been part of the ship itself, a mere dial or switch the Captain might throw to vent his rage on the unsuspecting foe. His work had been precise, clock-like, emotionless, like any other machine on the ship. Yet now he stood there looking at Rodenko where he knelt by the Doctor, seeing the blood staining Zolkin’s shoulder and arm, and he found the mind and soul within him and spoke.

“No Captain. I will not comply. You heard the Doctor. The Admiral’s order has fallen on me now.”

Karpov gave him a look of complete shock. “Samsonov! What are you doing? Those ships will have us in range within minutes!”

“I’m sorry, sir…” He stood there, a look of anguish on his face, the fate of the world on his broad shoulders, though he did not know that, could not know it. But what he did know was that the fate of at least one man he loved was at stake. Zolkin could bleed to death right there on the deck of the citadel. He also knew if he fired those missiles the last would bear a nuclear warhead, and thousands more would die here today. The Captain knew but one way forward in the heat of battle, a certain escalation that could only lead to fire and doom.

Who would judge him this day? Perhaps it would be a bullet from the Captain’s pistol and he would fall as Zolkin did. Yet now he finally stood before the unforgiving court of his own conscience, even as he stood adamantly before Karpov on the bridge. Now he stood as a man and not a machine, and he could do no more. Karpov once stayed my hand as I made ready to kill that American sub. Now it will be my hand that stays his, thought Samsonov. He found inside himself this single budding moment of morality, the bane of all warriors who kill by trade, yet it was enough. It was enough.

“Tasarov!” The Captain turned, his face frantic now. “Ready on the Vodopad system. Target those oncoming ships!”

Now Tasarov was still standing, eyes wet, and now he walked to Samsonov’s side and stood at attention, unable to speak. Then, one by one, the Junior Officers at every station set down their headsets and light pens and came to their feet, standing like terracotta warriors, in serried rows at their stations, motionless, their eyes on the Captain as a black hole of silence seemed to open beneath their feet. Their silence and stillness was an awful reproach, and the look in their eyes was the final unspoken verdict.

Karpov looked at them as though they were ghosts, the spirits of the damned, the fallen angels he had led to perdition now arrayed against their lord and master in an act of supreme defiance. He saw the fear there, the doubt, and behind it all the awful spike of recrimination, a dagger to his soul.

“Get back to your posts! What are you doing? You’ll get us all killed!” The Captain’s words lashed at the men, but they would not be moved. He craned his neck to see outside, but cinder black smoke obscured the seascape. Then he ran to the weather bridge side hatch, opening it with a vicious wrench of the handle and stepping outside to see what was happening. A battle line of oncoming enemy cruisers was knifing through the waters in the distance, the ensign of the Royal Navy snapping stiffly in the breeze above the main mast of the leading ship.