Armageddon

Chapter 4

“I must tell you, Mister Kamenski, even with over forty years in the Russian Navy I have never been all that comfortable sailing in a ship that has to sink first before it can do anything.”

“Yes, this is just a little claustrophobic,” said Kamenski, “and the thought of having a lot of water over my head soon is just a bit disconcerting, Admiral.”

They were aboard the AS-28 submersible, an old boat that was first commissioned in 1986. At 55 tons displacement, it was no more than 45 feet long and just twelve and a half feet wide, with room for twenty passengers. Their party filled half the available seats, the Admiral, Kamenski, Fedorov, Orlov, Troyak, Zykov, Dobrynin and three engineers. Their cargo had been quietly transferred a few hours ago, and now they were making way on the surface, but still towed by the much faster Sayany salvage ship. The submersible could do little more than three knots on its own.

“This segment of the mission is all part of the show,” said Volsky. “If the Americans do see anything from space, they will know we are at least two kilometers from the Admiral Kuznetsov, but now that we are here we will submerge and creep back beneath the carrier to rendezvous with Kazan.”

“Won’t they see us on infrared?”

“Not at the depth we’ll be descending to. Kuznetsov is sitting atop a deep segment of the strait, close by an area we have used for old explosives dumping. Kazan is hiding down there, over 450 meters deep. The only other thing that will notice us there would be the fish, or another submarine.”

“Seems secure enough.”

“Not to my liking.” The Admiral folded his arms. “This vessel had to be rescued itself when it ran afoul of a hydrophone antennae off Kamchatka some years ago. It’s not very comforting when you have to rescue the rescue ship!”

Fedorov was seated with them, and he leaned in now, a determined look on his face. “Once we get to Kazan things will be more comfortable,” he said. “I spent some time on that boat last year. It’s one of our very best, highly automated, and with a crew of only ninety, though it can easily accommodate our party here.”

It was not long before they had reached their designated diving zone, and the AS-28 was cut loose and began to descend. Volsky and Kamenski watched the water rise above the portholes with some misgivings, but settled in for the thirty minute journey back to Kazan.

“It’s quiet down here,” said Fedorov.

“Too quiet,” Volsky tossed out the old cliche knowing that his young ex-navigator wouldn’t feel the rising sense of caution that was already turning in his own gut. The man had the bravery to shift back to 1942 from the Primorskiy Engineering Center, not knowing where he might turn up. That took real courage, he thought.

“Mission profile calls for a full scan of the boat’s exterior before we latch on,” Fedorov noted the information for Kamenski’s benefit. They soon heard the submersible pilot, a man named Jakov, speaking quietly with his co-pilot as they made their approach to Kazan.

“I’m rolling ten degrees,” he said. “We’ll look the aft hatch section over first.”

“Confirmed.” The co-pilot pulled down a view scope and adjusted the rangefinder for close imaging. The green light on the unit drew a thin line over the smooth, bald surface of his head. As he peered through the scope and examined the long sleek lines of the hidden submarine. He adjusted the focus and switched on the record function to log the data.

“Looks clean,” he said. “No sign of damage to the propulsion systems or rudder. Hull integrity appears nominal. Some temperature variance on infrared.” He was working quickly, and Fedorov, very curious as he watched, could almost see the mental check marks ticking off in his head as he completed one task after another.

They waited until the submersible finished a full exterior scan, but there wasn’t much to see. Kazan looked to be in good shape, with nothing more than normal discoloration on its missile hatches from the combat salvos the boat had fired in the battle against the Americans. It was a long cylinder with a sleek sail forward that looked like a truncated shark fin. They hovered a few meters off the aft quarter of the ship.

“Light them up,” said the pilot, and his partner activated the exterior spotlights. Fingers of light reached out and probed at the cylindrical hull of the other boat, playing over the darkened oval of the access hatch, but revealing nothing unusual.

“I’m taking us over to the emergency hatch on section four,” said Jakov, hands on his maneuvering yoke.

“Confirmed for section four.”

The submersible danced in response to his commands on the control yoke. In a few moments they were poised over the circular rim marking the location of the emergency access shaft. It was nothing more than a thin lip of metal on the otherwise smooth surface of the submarine. Jakov rolled the submersible on its side, for the only way to dock would be through a six foot access cylinder that deployed from that location. The co-pilot was already checking the docking cylinder controls as he thrust the view scope back into its overhead compartment.

“Ready to dock.” Jakov had the ship in a perfect position for the rendezvous.

“Mooring cables clamping on.” The co-pilot toggled the switch to enable the computer controlled cables to reach out and fasten themselves to the submarine, a new feature on the boat when it was upgraded in 2018. A small cylinder emerged from the borders of the submersible and extended out to contact the submarine’s hatch. “Cylinder operative… Deployed. Permission to pressurize cylinder?”

The kiss would make the marriage, Fedorov thought. After that the two ships would be securely linked.

“Pressurize,” said Jakov, and the cylinder hummed to life and rotated a thin rim along the outer lip of the interface until it located a small aperture. The mouth of the cylinder was soon locked in place and the containment within was going to a normal one atmosphere pressure, pumping out the seawater as it did so.

“Engaging processors.”

In a few moments a pressurized atmosphere would fill the interior of the cylinder.

“Shall I let them know we are ready, Admiral?”

“Please do,” said Volsky, and the word soon came back from Kazan.

“Captain Gromyko sends his regards, Admiral.”

“May I sir?” Fedorov was eager to be the first one through the cylinder, and Volsky nodded, smiling at the young man’s energy.

“He would swim over if he had to,” he said quietly to Kamenski.

Fedorov rotated the handle of the interior hatch and a dry hiss greeted him as the air from the docking cylinder mixed with the submersible cabin. The distinctive tang of seawater was in the air. He wasted no time and crawled down into the tube, his service jacket dappled with the drippings of residual seawater. In a few seconds he was poised on the last ladder rung above the submarine deck hatch.

“Open the outer hatch on my hack… Three… Two… One… Engage.”

The securing pins rotated and Fedorov heard the muted whir of a small motor as the hatch to the submarine slowly elevated. A faint red light appeared beneath his feet-red emergency lighting from the interior of the boat below him. The oval of the portal beneath him fattened into a circle as the hatch cap opened. Then he slowly climbed down through the opening into the dim airlock of the submarine below.

He waited to assist Admiral Volsky and Kamenski as they climbed down the narrow cylinder. As soon as Volsky’s foot touched the deck of Kazan, a Mishman piped him aboard.

“Admiral on the boat!”

“You can tell that I am an Admiral, even in my Lieutenant’s uniform?”

“Sir, I recognized you at once. We all know you.”

The three of them exited the airlock hatch first as the other passengers descended into the sub. They found that the main compartment outside the airlock was a diving station where men were standing by in wet suits with reserve oxygen, just in case anything had gone wrong. It was not common for a submarine to receive a visit from the Admiral of the Fleet, particularly under these circumstances, or in this manner. An officer soon appeared, Captain Gromyko himself come to greet them.

“Welcome aboard, Admiral.” He offered a firm handshake as the Admiral began to introduce his party.

“This is a special advisor, Pavel Kamenski,” he began, agreeing not to dwell on the man’s older KGB affiliations. “And here is our former navigation officer and now Captain of the Second Rank, Anton Fedorov.”

Volsky looked to see Orlov enter the compartment, eyes averted and quickly stepping aside as the Marines and engineers came in behind him. But the Admiral raised a hand, calling him from the group. “Here we have Captain of the Second Rank, Gennadi Orlov. This man was Chief of Operations aboard Kirov, a most capable officer.”

Orlov forced a smile, inwardly pleased that the Admiral had singled him out, though he thought the praise was undeserved. He had not expected that to happen, and was not aware that Volsky had confirmed the restoration of his rank. Up until that moment, the two men had not spoken, and the breaking of the long silence between them was a relief.

Gromyko was a clean cut officer, thirtyish with close cropped hair that was close to a buzz cut. He was in a dress white shirt with Captain’s insignia on shoulder boards. “Well gentlemen, we have a light meal prepared in the officer’s mess, and then I suppose we can hear your briefing.”

“Excellent,” said Volsky, and the Captain led the way forward.

Twenty minutes later the AS-28 had disengaged and was wallowing slowly back towards the Sayany to continue the theater. A small diesel sub taken from fleet reserve was waiting to surface shortly after it reappeared topside. To any watching eyes above, the Russians would seem to have just completed a minor rescue operation for a wounded diesel boat. But there were some very good eyes watching from space, and an eager young analyst thought he saw something that did not seem quite kosher that night as he processed the latest image feeds.

“Have a look at this, sir.”

“What is it this time, Mister Keats?” Watch Lieutenant Dickson looked up from his desk, eying the young Ensign in front of him with some impatience.”

“It’s that sub tender operation up north in the Tartar Strait.”

“Sub tender?”

“With the Admiral Kuznetsov, sir.”

“What in god’s name would an aircraft carrier need a sub tender for, Ensign?”

“Well it’s really not a tender, sir. This is a Pioner Moskvy class submersible salvage and support ship. I was able to see the hull number and I just looked it up-the Sayany. We had it in Vladivostok a week ago, but they must have moved it out in the last few days.”

“That’s not surprising. They pulled most of their diesel boats in tight, and it’s probably out on a replenishment run.”

“Well they would use a tender for an operation like that, sir. This ship carries a deep sea submersible, you can even see it in the image here. These boats are used for undersea salvage and rescue operations.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. We took down both their Oscars after that engagement with the Washington. They got their stuff off and scored hits, but that was like sending Seawolf their location via GPS. They were gone three hours later.”

“Has that Yasen class boat been found yet, sir?”

“You mean Kazan? Not yet, but we’ll find it. Intel thinks the boat is up in the Sea of Okhotsk to replenish.”

“They’d have to put it in the tube to do that, sir.” Keats was referring to the deep underground submarine pens built by the Russians for just this purpose. They allowed a stealthy submarine to slip into a secure location and never be seen coming or going.

“That they would…Probably in and back out by now, which is why PACCOM is so hot to find the damn thing.”

Keats thought about that. “What would they use a boat like that for LT? Isn’t Kazan suppose to be one of their sub killers?”

“Carrier killer too. It was a multi-purpose design, built to replace both their Oscar SSM missile boats and the Akula attack subs. Sucker has a raft of missiles aft of the sail in VLS tubes and also packs ten torpedo tubes that can put a lot of mean fish in the sea.”

“Yeah, if they can find anything to shoot at.”

“That’s always the great game, Keats. Whoever hears the other fellow first gets that first shot. Then it really doesn’t matter how much heat these new Russian subs are packing if you put the damn thing on the bottom of the sea before they can fire anything.”

“We didn’t do that with those two Oscars, sir. They hurt Washington pretty bad before Seawolf got to them.”

“Tanner got whacked because he was stupid…but you didn’t hear me say that, Ensign. He had no business launching his strike without coordinating with Nimitz. The Russians threw everything they had at him- Backfires, all their missile subs, and anything that surface action group had that could make the range. With Nimitz in support they would have to divide those strike assets between our two carrier groups, and our counterpunch would have been much heavier too. As it was they lost most everything they had out there when that volcano blew its top. Now they’ve just got the Kuznetsov.”

“So that’s where I’d put Kazan, sir.”

“Say again, Keats?” The Lieutenant was fixated on creaming his coffee, and lecturing more than listening to the younger officer.

“ Kazan, sir. If all they have left is that single carrier, I’d pull everything in there to protect it.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

“Well from this image I think they had to mount a rescue operation, sir. Look here, a diesel boat came up about two hours after they sent that salvage vessel out. So it was no replenishment operation, sir. That’s B-345, the Mogocha.”

“How can you know that from that image, Keats? The damn photo was taken from outer space, for god’s sake.”

“It hit a tug two years ago and they never did repair that ding there on the right side of her nose.”

“Ahh…Good eye, Ensign.”

“Thank you, sir. But this boat shouldn’t be out here now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, is was scheduled for refit and they were going to pull all her teeth. Intel says they wanted to make a modification test on this boat to see if they could fit some of the newer torpedoes and maybe extend the life of the remaining Kilos a few more years. At least that’s what the group concluded when we saw them off-loading the ordnance last month. There’s no way they could have it combat ready.”

“Is that so…” The Lieutenant was stirring his coffee slower now, his attention finally focused on what the Ensign was telling him.”

“Yes sir. That baby should be fast asleep in the old Pavlovskoye underground shelter. They must be scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“Let me see that photo, Keats.”

The Lieutenant was very interested now.