Sea of Fire

Chapter 43

“How many S-300s remain?” asked Karpov coolly.

“Sir,” said Samsonov, “I have three missiles in cell number eight. They will be the last for this ordnance.”

“What?” Karpov looked over at him, surprised. “Only three?”

“Sir, we have expended a total of 29 S-300s in all actions to date. Three remain, but we still have the S-400 cells completely full, with another 32 missiles.”

“S-400s?” Karpov looked at Fedorov now, lowering his voice. “What is this, Fedorov? The ship sailed with 64 S-300s. We only got the S-400s after we returned to Vladivostok.”

Fedorov had a concerned look on his face. “It seems something has changed,” he said sullenly.

“Changed? How very interesting. A nice little windfall, as the S-400 is a much better missile. In fact, we only took out the old S-300s the first time because the Navy was trying to get rid of that inventory. Our live fire exercises seemed a good way to use them. Well, I’ve certainly put them to better use here.”

He stopped, seeing that look on Fedorov’s face that he had come to know only too well. The two men were off by the Plexiglas situation board, where the positions of all the contacts were displayed in green and red symbols, updated in real time from information fed by the radar sets and processed by Kirov’s SA computer module. Situational Awareness was always the first order of business. You could not fight an enemy unless you first knew where he was, what he was, and by extension, what he was capable of.

The news that he now had 32 of the much more efficient S-400 missiles under deck was encouraging, but Fedorov had that look that spelled trouble. “What is wrong,” said Karpov. “You look like someone just told you your grandma died.”

“Something has changed,” said Fedorov, keeping his voice low. “You are correct sir, the first ship arrived here with 64 S-300s, but apparently not this time—not in the second coming. Neither of us ever stopped to check on something like that. Everything on the ship seems as it was. In fact, You and Samsonov even discussed the missile inventory earlier, the S-300s. You told him you were pleased when he reported inventory on hand after each missile expended.”

“Yes… I recall that now.” Karpov turned. “Mister Samsonov, do you recall our earlier conversation regarding the S-300 Missile inventory?”

“Yes sir.”

“Didn’t you report the inventory at 61 missiles after those first expenditures?”

“Sir? I was reporting on the S-Class missile system as a whole, which can hold many different missile types, the S-300 base model, S-300F, S-300 FM, S-300-PMU-3C—which was redesignated the S-400.”

“Of course,” said Karpov. “As you were. Mister Rodenko, any further threats?”

“None sir. Nothing on my screens, though I’m getting some long range clutter from the southwest now. It looks like formations of aircraft.”

“Range?”

“140 nautical miles.”

“Time for that in a moment,” said Karpov, thinking. He gave Fedorov another glance. “Still worried about something?”

“Well,” said Fedorov. “That should not be the case—those S-400s. Something has clearly changed with this second coming, and that means that we caused it to change.”

“We caused it?”

“Who else? It had to be a consequence of our actions prior to July 28th of 1941, and that is a very disturbing thought.”

“Mister Fedorov, Russia is fragmented into three states, the Germans took Moscow, Gibraltar, Malta, and they are landing on the Canary Islands. You are worried about a variation concerning these 32 missiles?”

“Yes, sir. Those other things are certainly much more significant, but they are here, now, in this timeframe. That is a wave of consequence that is still underway and moving forward very slowly—in real time, if you will. But for a change to have migrated all the way forward to 2021 when this ship departed Vladivostok—that is something I find very alarming.”

“But it is only a few missiles.”

“At the moment.” He gave Karpov those dark, warning eyes. “Drop a stone in a pool of water, and the ripples migrate out. In the beginning the frequency is very tight, but as they progress, the wavelengths increase, and the intensity grows less over time, like a tsunami that sees its energy dissipate over great distances. I suppose I always expected that these changes would have to migrate forward, but I thought that the real consequences could be held here—until these events have run their course.”

“You’re saying that these events are already changing the future—and you did not expect this to happen now?”

“Not yet. Sir… As we approached Paradox Hour—July 28th, last year, things began to happen on the ship—some very strange things, as I have told you. I’ve given that a good deal of thought, and I think those events may be linked to changes that migrated forward in time. Men started to go missing, and now I think it was because something in the long chain of causality was broken—their life line annulled, and time could no longer justify their continued existence. Understand sir? When we change this present, we will also change the future—all the days between this moment and this ship’s point of departure in 2021. Those men may have vanished because they never even existed—just like the names on that list Volkov squeezed out of Zolkin, the men we lost in combat on the first ship. When we returned to Vladivostok, it was as if they never existed.”

“And you are thinking that if something like our missile inventory has changed….”

Fedorov nodded. “Let me put it to you this way… Suppose we change something here that has a catastrophic effect on the line of causality, so much so that time cannot account for our presence here any longer. Don’t you understand sir? The very fact that this ship was even built rests on a big stack of plates—WWII, its outcome, the post war alignments, the cold war. Suppose they never build this ship. Yes, we could do something here that would lead to that, and apparently the consequences of our actions here are already starting to reach 2021, small ripples at first, small changes, but there could be a tsunami out there, moving inexorably forward in time, and every missile we fire increases that energy. Look what we’re doing here at this very moment—dueling with an Aegis class destroyer in 1942!”

Karpov blinked, thinking. Then Rodenko reported again, and the Admiral inclined his head, listening, though his eyes were still locked on Fedorov.

“Sir, missile launch detected by MR-800 Flag radar system at 188 degrees, 60 nautical miles. They’re firing at our KA-40. It’s an SM-2.”

Now Karpov turned. “Not very sporting of them. Signal that helo to drop elevation at once, get them right down on the deck. Do we still have a fix with our other helo?”

“It’s being jammed, but I still have good confidence on the contact location.”

“Then it’s time we settled this. Mister Samsonov, Moskit II system. Set attack profile to extreme low altitude with evasion on final approach. Eight missiles please. Target the contact and fire when ready. Rodenko. How’s our KA-40?”

“Descending… Descending… They’re using ECM now sir… I think they’ve spoofed that missile.”

“Good. If they survive, have them climb again and reacquire the contact to help our missiles along. Now let’s see how they like our Sunburns.”

“I’ve reacquired the KA-40,” said Otani. “They dropped elevation and hit our last missile with ECM.”

“Put one more on the damn thing,” said Harada. “Let’s keep them dancing.”

“Incoming!” said Otani. “J/OPS-28C has a missile at 20 nautical miles. SPY confirms, multiple contacts inbound.”

“Mister Honjo, weapons free. Knock them down.”

“Salvo of eight missiles this time—Sunburns.” Otani tagged the threat, and everyone on the bridge tensed up. They weren’t seeing these missiles until they broke the horizon at about 20 miles, which meant the Russians were also doing a number on their Sea King’s radar. Admiral Kurita had them in his binoculars at about the same time as they streaked past his position, one after another, a long train of potential destruction.

“That will make twelve in all,” said Fukada. “With what they threw at other targets earlier, this looks like they’re pushing all their chips out on one last number.”

He was wrong in that, for he was still assuming Kirov would have only 20 SSMs aboard, when in fact it left Severomorsk with three times that number. In they came, and only Otani could see it playing out in real time. It was coming down to seconds now, not minutes. Soon the watch called out they had tail fire on the Mark 1 Eyeball. Then Harada gave an order that no one expected.

“Signal the Kurita group. Tell them that unless they hear from us in five minutes, we strongly advise they withdraw.”

Then the deck erupted with fire and the SM-2s leapt up, heading for their targets. “Vampires at 10 nautical miles,” said Otani. “Splash Vampire 1!”

They were firing the SM-2s in pairs again, assigning a lead missile and a wingmate to every Vampire. The theory was that a ship would always carry more SAMs than the number of SSMs the enemy might be packing.

In they came, and the sky suddenly lit up with more explosions, and every single one saw the crew breathing just a little easier. They got five more missiles, one after another, with Otani calling out each kill. It was now down to the final two Vampires and there were still six SN-2s in the air out after them. Harada had been looking over Otani’s shoulder, not realizing that his right hand had tightened to a fist and his nails were biting into the flesh of his palm. He took a deep breath, opening his hand. It was looking good. Then they heard the laser firing at just inside the seven mile range.

“Laser hit! Splash Vampire 7.”

The pair of SM-2s double teamed the last missile, and they took it down at the six mile range marker, the brilliant red-orange explosion vibrating the ship with the shock wave. The last four SM-2s ran blind and slit their throats about twelve miles out.

“Missile eight is gone,” said Samsonov. “Nothing got through, sir. They threw sixteen SM-2s at them.”

Karpov was not happy. “So now we see just how good the American tech is. Twelve fucking Moskit IIs, and not one gets through.” He stroked his chin, thinking.

“SSM inventory,” he said with a growl.

“Sir, we have 24 missiles on the Moskit II system, 10 MOS-III, and 6 on the P-900 system—40 missiles in all.”

Karpov looked at Fedorov now. “Nice of Mother Time to leave the MOS-IIIs alone, eh Fedorov? At least nothing has changed on that count. They are quite a bit faster to the target. Let’s see if they can catch lightning. Mister Samsonov, one MOS-III—just one please.”

“Ready sir.”

Karpov looked over. “Mister Grilikov, why don’t you do the honors and fire this missile.”

Grilikov had been watching, somewhat dumbfounded at Samsonov’s side. Now he blinked, looking at his teacher, who quietly moved his thumb to point to the correct switch, then he winked.

Grilikov fired.

The MOS III was a descendant of the P-800 Onyx missile and the work that was done on the Brahmos/Yakhont system for foreign export. The Russians were looking to compress the response time for the defender even more, and in the balance of stealth vs speed, they usually opted for speed. What they wanted was a hypersonic missile, and the first SSM to fill that bill was the Zircon 3M-22, and the 3M stood for MOS-III. That original design was first introduced in 2017, and was capable of speeds up to Mach 5, but the missile Kirov was carrying was an upgrade, the 3M-33, still called MOS-III by the rank and file.

It could run at Mach 7, faster than the hypersonic rounds of a rail gun, and now Karpov wanted to see if this enemy ship could defeat it. Counting time for acceleration, it was going to eat up about 2.4 kilometers per second. One missile went out, and closed the 62 nautical miles between the two ships in just 47 seconds. It was also stealthy, a sea skimmer, and it was not seen by Takami until it had penetrated the 20 nautical mile threshold.

“Fast missile inbound!” shouted Otani. “My God, it’s running over Mach 7!”

That was fast, but there was one thing faster. The lightning reflexes of the modern day AEGIS system acquired the contact at 17.6 nautical miles. The fire order pulsed to the missile deck. And two SM-2s went out to challenge the intruder. Before they had even acquired their target, the MOS-III was just 10 miles out…. Six miles… The SM-2s had just tipped over and began accelerating towards the Vampire, but it was too fast, too damn fast… But one thing was faster.

It was Takami’s laser system pulsing out at the speed of light. Five miles out, the missile was struck. Its inertial guidance system was fried, a split second later it was blind, with further damage to its steering that sent it careening wildly off course, destroyed inside the four mile mark when it struck the sea, and then exploded. The two SM-2s streaked right over that spot in the sea, late to the party. They continued on for another 10 seconds, trying to decide what happened before they found no threats and self-destructed.

It was as close a shave as one could get, but Takami survived.

Karpov watched the whole engagement on radar, pointing to the missile tracks Rodenko had on the defensive fire. “Those are the two missiles they fired? No others?”

“Just two sir, SM-2s.”

“Any malfunction reported on our missile?”

“No sir, the telemetry was clean until it went down.”

“Well now… This is very interesting. They must have hit that MOS-III with something else, but not a Phalanx gun. Look, our telemetry is cut off here, a little outside the range of their gun system.”

“Sir, I got an unusual emission during our Moskit II salvo, and I picked it up again just now. I think they have a laser defense system.”

“Yes… That would make sense. It’s the one thing faster than our missile, the only thing faster.” Karpov’s eyes narrowed. The junior officers watched him, wondering what he would do next. Would it be another barrage of Moskit IIs, or perhaps a heavier salvo of the hypersonic missile they had just fired. Lasers were a one shot, one kill system, and then they needed recharge time before they could fire again. Had there been four MOS-IIIs in that salvo….

Karpov turned, looked at Fedorov, then, to the surprise of everyone there, he walked slowly over to Nikolin, who sat up quickly, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. In fact, he had been quietly sending his friend Tasarov a stream of Morse Code that he channeled through his headset on an internal network, and the two of them had been wagering on which missile would score the first hit.

“Mister Nikolin, open a channel—in the clear please. Hail that ship by both hull number and name. Tell them Vladimir Karpov wishes to speak with their Captain.”

There were more things under Karpov’s deck than missiles. His mind was equally dangerous, and now he wanted to take the measure of his adversary before he took this any further.

Chapter 44

“Sir,” said Ensign Shiota. “I’m picking up a voice radio message—in the clear.”

“From who? Kurita? Well I suppose EMCON has gone to hell, but they have a secure radio set. Tell them to use it.”

“No sir. It’s that Russian ship sir. They’ve hailed us directly, and they want to talk with you.”

Harada looked over at his Executive Officer, a bemused look on his face. “In Japanese, or Russian?” he said with a grin.

“English sir.”

“Good enough, common ground most places in our time. Why not here? This ought to be interesting. Give it to me on the bridge overhead speaker.”

“Aye sir.”

Harada picked up the handset and spoke into the embedded speaker. “This is Captain Takechi Harada, Japanese Self-Defense Force. To whom am I speaking? Over.”

It was Nikolin’s voice, but the mind and words of Karpov. “Captain, this is Admiral Vladimir Karpov, Prime Minister and head of the Free Siberian State, speaking to you through an interpreter. Now, I don’t have the slightest idea how you and your ship got here, but then again, you are probably asking yourself the same thing about us. Am I correct? Over.”

“That pretty much sums up the situation, Admiral. I see that promotions come easy in the Russian Navy these days. Over.”

Karpov ignored the remark, and got right down to business. “Consider your situation, Captain. I counted eight missiles off your deck, and lo and behold they were aimed at my ship, but none of them hit. So you’re sitting across the table from me with an empty pistol. As you have just seen, that is not the case on this side of the argument. Now what in God’s name are you doing here fighting with the IJN?”

“Defending Japan.” Harada kept it real simple.

“I see… Well you may be broadly unaware of the situation here, but if you were better versed, you would see that every action I have taken against Japan has been fully justified. Your country presently has troops on Siberian soil, and one of two things will happen—Japan will either withdraw those troops and return all occupied territories to Siberian sovereignty, or I will take them by force. We started with Kamchatka earlier this year, and now the order of the day is Sakhalin Island. You people have been calling it Karafuto, but that is about to change.”

“Perhaps so,” said Harada in return. “Then again perhaps not.”

“Captain, don’t play tough guy out here with me, believe me, you’ll regret it. Your presence here was quite a surprise, to say the least, but radar signatures don’t lie, and my reflexes are as good as they come. Now, I’m not stupid, and I know exactly what you just tried to pull here. It failed. You’ve expended your SSMs, and if you persist, you’ll be expending a good deal more of your SAMs as well.”

Fukada looked over at the Captain, his eyes wide, mouthing something which prompted Harada to pause. “Mister Fukada?”

“He’s bluffing! They just threw thirteen missiles at us and we knocked each and every one down. He’s empty too, or at most he may have but one or two missiles left.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Harada. “The first twelve were all Sunburns. But that last number was something new. Did you get a signature on it, Otani?”

“I thought it was an upgraded Onyx, but it was just too damn fast. Had to be something new—maybe a Zirkon variant—hypersonic, sir.”

“Well pinch me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think they load those missiles in sets of one. That has to be one egg from a full nest. I’m betting he’s not bragging here. He’s got more under his forward deck than we first thought.” But Harada had to play the game here, and see what this man really wanted.

“It seems to me that you’ve expended a good many SAMs as well—not to mention the thirteen flies we swatted down over here. Don’t get pushy, Admiral. As you have seen, we can defend ourselves.”

“Well that’s damn well what you’ll be doing then, because you’re done insofar as offense goes. You want to close the range and try that 127mm deck gun? We have one too, right on the bow—along with six more 152s on three twin turrets. Let me put it to you this way, Captain. You throw another missile at my helos and I’ll throw the kitchen sink at yours. As for that airborne contact just crossing over the eastern shore of Sakhalin about 60 nautical miles to our southwest, those planes are about to have a really bad day. Now you can either get on the radio and save some lives, or I’ll take them apart, plane by plane, the instant they break through my 40 mile range circle. After that, I’ll see if that surface action group 20 miles off your bow has any SM-2s. I don’t think so. And when I’m done with them, I’ll come south for you. It’s either that, or you turn tail and withdraw. Your call, Captain. Vladimir Karpov, over and out.”

Harada said nothing more, switching off the handset and returning it to its cradle. “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” he muttered. “Lieutenant Commander, what do you make of this?”

“He’s right on one count, sir. We’re sitting here with an empty pistol—except for one thing, the rail gun. We don’t have to close on him to use that. We’ve had the range for the last thirty minutes.”

“Yes, but something tells me that would be like poking a stick in a beehive. Mister Honjo, what’s our SM-2 count looking like?”

“Thinning out, sir. We’ve got 13 forward and 23 more aft. 36 total on that system, and then we have the 12 SM-3s.”

“Anyway you look at it,” said Fukada, “we’ll be an empty shell if he does have another batch of those hypersonic SSMs. Neither of the two SM-2s we fired were able to get a hard target lock before that last missile was in its terminal run. That’s just not good enough. We would have to use the SM-3s, and hope to god we see them coming earlier. We can’t let another of those hypersonic jobs get inside 20 klicks before we pick it up.” Fukada had a hard face, but there was a crack in his bravado that Harada clearly perceived.

“If we do use the rail gun, and get any kind of a hit, bet on him throwing anything he has left,” said Harada.

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Fukada. “He’s already put thirteen missiles on us, and with nothing to show for it. I’m willing to bet that’s more ordnance than he’s used in all other operations here, though that’s a guess. We really have no idea how long he’s been here. The point I’m making, sir, is that those missiles matter. That’s his might and muscle here, and once it’s gone, it’s gone for good, just like our missiles.”

“So you’re suggesting we thumb our nose at this bastard just to get him to burn through his missile inventory?”

“We do that, and we’ve mission killed him, sir. He’ll probably have his SAMs in good numbers, but there is no way he could really hurt the IJN after that. So what I’m betting on is that he knows that as well.”

“Explain.”

“He can’t expend all his ordnance trying to take us out, because if he does, he’s basically just a fast anti-aircraft cruiser after that. In that event, we tell Yamamoto that he needs to hold his carriers in reserve, and then he can go after that bastard with his battleships. I don’t think an S-300 SAM will put much of a dent in Yamato.”

“Well that’s real creative, Mister Fukada. You want me to provoke him into throwing a basket full of hypersonic missiles at us, just so we can spoil his party here. The only problem with that is we may not be here to give that friendly advice to Yamamoto.” Harada thought, and then decided to raise the stakes. He reached for the handset again, and nodded for Shiota to broadcast.

“Now hear this, battlecruiser Kirov. This is the IJN, DDG-180, Takami—come back.”

“BCG Kirov receiving,” came the reply. “Go ahead, Takami.”

“Captain Harada speaking, and you can tell your Admiral Karpov there that we’re not going anywhere. If you’ve got the SSMs, we’ve got the SAMs, so bring it on. Once we pull your teeth, you won’t be much more than a radar picket here, and that’s as good as a K.I.A. as far as I’m concerned. JS-Takami, over and out.”

“Looks like they’ve called our bet,” said Fedorov looking at the Admiral.

“Yes,” said Karpov, “that seems to be the case, but I don’t think it will take all 39 of our remaining SSMs to kill that ship.”

“True, but if they do have the SAMs then we may have to expend a fairly good number to overcome their defense. They know that, and in true Japanese fashion, they are going to stand there and bar the door, come what may.”

“You think they’ll sacrifice their ship just to pull our teeth?”

“That sounds like their plan, sir. How many missiles can we afford to commit here?”

“As many as it takes.” Karpov was angry now. “Those impudent little—”

“Con, radar, those airborne formations are coming up on our 40 mile range circle.”

Karpov pinched his nose, chasing the headache that this entire situation had become. Every time he maneuvered himself to a position where he could make a decisive intervention, something happened to interfere with his plans. In August of 1941, on their first arrival, it had been Troyak and his Marines, just when he was ready to smash the Allied fleet. Back home in 2021, it had been the Demon Volcano, just when he was ready to finish off Captain Tanner and his vaunted carrier battlegroup. 1908 would have been a cake walk with Admiral Togo’s antiquated fleet, but then along came Kazan, and Fedorov had everything to do with much of his frustration. Now, just as he was poised to break the Japanese Northern Fleet, here comes this challenger from his own day, unaccountably here, but as real as the missiles it was firing.

And when Karpov met with resistance, there was one sure response that he had demonstrated time and time again. He had tried to tell Fedorov he was a chastened and wiser man now, but some problems become nails that stubbornly refuse to be pulled from the beam. And when that happened, Karpov too often did the one thing that was both expedient and certain to resolve the situation in his favor.

He reached for a hammer.

“Damn annoying,” said Karpov, looking at the updated position of the air contacts. The predictive plot line was indicating they would be in position to attack the ship in just 12 minutes. “Samsonov—two missiles, Klinok system. Give them a taste of what they’ll get if they persist, and also let our uninvited guests to the south see that we mean what we say. Take down the lead incoming planes.” He looked at Fedorov. “You know, I have half a mind to plop a special warhead right here,” he pointed to the Plexiglass screen. “It would take out their surface action group, knock down all those planes and the EMP and shock wave would probably fry the electronics on that destroyer.”

Fedorov’s pulse quickened. There it was, Karpov’s old reflex to escalate the situation when he was under stress. “Sir, a nuclear weapon? I hardly think that is warranted here.”

“You heard that bastard. They’re going to sit there and force me to run missile after missile at them. Our SSMs are valuable. I already regret the thirteen we’ve thrown away here. And who knows how many more it will take to get through their SAM defense? A special warhead would be so much quicker. In fact, on a MOS-III it would get so close that it would probably take them out if we detonate before they try that laser again. It would end this here and now, leaving my SSM inventory strong enough to continue to apply pressure on the Japanese here in the north. Our first order of business will be to find the carriers these bothersome planes are coming from. That will teach them.”

Fedorov had to think quickly here, because knowing Karpov, he was just one order away from doing what he was suggesting. That would put the two of them head to head in a most uncomfortable way, as protocol held that the Starpom must repeat the Captain’s order, thereby giving his consent, in the deployment of any special warhead. Whether that mattered now with Karpov was debatable, but he needed to intervene here, and quickly.

“Sir… I understand your logic here, but it has one flaw.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, Mister Fedorov.”

“What you say is true. This action would preserve our SSM missile inventory, but for the expenditure of a special warhead? Would you trade that power for those 13 missiles we just fired? I certainly wouldn’t. Those warheads are decisive. Yes, they trump any enemy defense, in any situation we choose on a tactical level like this, but their real power lies in their application on the strategic level. Consider what the Americans did with theirs. They never once thought to develop this weapon for use on the tactical level. It was always a strategic blow they envisioned, and their target selection bears witness to that. Timed appropriately, in just the right situation, those warheads represent absolute power to change the course of events.”

Karpov pursed his lips. “Yes, I suppose that is true, but if I smash them here, take out these battleships and then find their carriers, I will have effectively broken the back of their Northern Fleet. It would then be impossible for them to interfere with our subsequent landings on Sakhalin.”

“Sir, I doubt they can do that as it stands. It won’t take much to mission kill that surface action group—just a handful of SSMs, or better yet, we could use the Vodopads. Torpedoes are a much better solution against those heavily armored battleships. Save the SSMs for the carriers, and it will only take one or two hits.”

“What about that destroyer? Do you think we can leave it to its devices here?”

“They have virtually no offensive capability now,” Fedorov said quickly. “And they’ve already expended a good number of SAMs here on defense. That’s all they are now, just what they think they can turn us into—a radar picket with good AA defense. In my view, their real military power here is very limited now. In fact, I wouldn’t even waste anything further on them. Yet, if you must, I would think four MOS-IIIs might do the job. Their laser defense may get one of them, but my bet is that one gets through. That said, I would not give that ship the time of day here. They are not a threat to our operations, not even worth those four MOS-IIIs.”

Karpov waited, thinking, then raised an eyebrow. “Of course,” he said quietly. “I was only thinking out loud, Fedorov, nothing more. Mister Samsonov… I think it’s time we do make good on one of our promises. Take down that incoming air strike.”

Chapter 45

“Sir,” said Otani. “I have missile fire again. This time its directed at the air strike off Kaga. SA-N-92 Gauntlet type missiles are outbound now.”

“Range?”

“79 nautical miles.”

“We’d never hit them with the SM-2,” said Fukada. “They’ll be on target before our missiles are even half way there.”

“A lot of good we’ve done here,” said Harada, somewhat dejected. “If we’re to defend the fleet, we’ll have to have all the eggs in our nest. With missiles as fast as these Russian SSMs, we can’t even protect Kurita—which reminds me. Have they turned?”

“No sir, they are still on a heading of 020 degrees north, and at 24 knots.”

“Well then we need to reinforce our suggestion and get them out of there. Otherwise this Karpov will do exactly what he bragged about a moment ago. Let’s face it, we need to withdraw. We’ve covered the landing of those troops, but this plan to take on that Russian battlecruiser had gone bust. It isn’t a question of us getting him now. It’s down to whether or not we can save ourselves.”

“What about the rail gun,” said Fukada, pointing to that weapons control station.

“What about it? Like I said earlier, all we would do is rile them up if we started taking pokes at them with that gun. I say we pull in our horns, make a graceful bow and get the hell out of here. If he continues south towards Hokkaido, then we’ll reconvene this discussion. But at least down south we’ve got more Japanese land based air power. It looks like they’ve called my bluff. We’re finished.”

“But we might at least get in a few licks, perhaps damage them.”

“Sour grapes,” said Harada. “No, mister Fukada, it’s weapons tight on the rail gun. That’s an order. And before you get your feathers ruffled about it, I want you to consider the fact that we’ve got just 36 SM-2s left. If we hang on in this scenario, we might have to use them all, and with a very uncertain outcome for this ship. Yet if we keep those arrows in our quiver, we’ve at least retained some tactical power as a military fighting ship. It’s going to be a very long war….”

Fukada thought about that, and his own arguments to Yamamoto. He realized that Harada was correct. They had mismanaged their attack. Communications were in place, but the pilots off those carriers had trouble adapting to the last minute change of plans. They were late, and now they die out there alone, with our only consolation being the fact that the Russians have to expend ordnance to kill them. The Captain summed it up pretty good. All we are now is a candle in the wind of this war. Yet he’s right about those 36 missiles. If we hold those, we might make a difference somewhere else, against the Americans. That’s what we should have done in the first place. Why wouldn’t Yamamoto listen to me?

He knew the answer to that the moment he asked himself the question. They appeared here in a daze, unbelieving, shocked by what had happened to them. Then they hatched this plan to get to Yamamoto. It did one good thing, he thought. It put us on the right side of this argument. We had to stand up for Japan, even if it meant we turned our backs on the allies that designed and built the technology we’re using now. This ship is basically just a knock off for a Burke Class Destroyer, with a few more bells and whistles.

But look at us now. Our SSMs are gone, and 40% of our SAMs, and all we did was cost the other fellow 13 missiles. We walked into Yamamoto and Ugaki like we were demigods, miracle workers, with the ship that would turn the tide here in the Pacific. I suppose that’s why Yamamoto set us loose up here. He knows that Russian ship, Siberian ship, is his real nemesis for the time being. It will take the Americans some time to get back on their feet after losing those two carriers in the Coral Sea.

So now we must make a shameful withdrawal here, and then explain all this to Yamamoto. That will be somewhat humbling, won’t it? But at the moment, I don’t see anything more we can do here. “Alright,” he said aloud to the Captain. “I agree with your assessment. In fact, I argued it from the very first. Let’s get out of here, before this Karpov tries our defense again.”

Harada nodded. “Helm, come about. Make your heading 180 degrees south. Ensign Shiota, advise Admiral Kurita that we are redeploying south—don’t use the word withdrawal or retreat. State that all air assets must return to the carriers immediately. Make it urgent. Send it to Kobayashi, and he’ll deliver it to Kurita.”

“I understand, sir.”

When Kurita got that message read to him by the liaison officer, he clenched his jaw. “Redeploy to the south? Why? The enemy is here—somewhere. We must be very close now.”

“Sir,” said the Lieutenant. “In order to properly defend the fleet against the missile weaponry you have witnessed in play here, it is imperative that we now form a unified battlegroup. We are too far north for Takami to adequately protect us.”

“Protect us? That is a cruiser! I am sitting on a battleship, and there is a second one off our port bow.”

“Sir, respectfully, that did not stop the rocket weapons that struck this ship earlier. And you witnessed many such weapons pass our position heading south. They were fired at Takami, and I am happy to report that each and every one of them was defeated by our own rockets. If, however, they had been directed at this task force….” He let a moment of silence underscore his message. Kobayashi was a bright young officer, and he had been selected because of his uncanny way with his seniors, who invariably came to admire him. He seemed to know every nuance of the culture and language, even with these men, ghosts from Japan’s distant past.

“Respectfully, sir, if we join with Takami as a single task force, then your ships can be shielded from harm, and your guns may then get their chance. Yet we must redeploy south, out of range of the enemy to consolidate. Captain Harada makes this urgent request, and begs you to come to a heading of 180 true south. As for the air strikes, he requests they should be recalled to Kaga and Tosa immediately, the planes were unable to time their arrival properly, and Takami remains too far south to defend them as they approach.”

Kurita stared at the man, the anger evident in his eyes. Yet he was no fool, and one thing was now perfectly clear to him, this ship—the Takami—was overmatched. Yes, the attack was not properly coordinated. This is what happens when I allow a Captain to dictate deployments here. I should have taken complete charge of this mission, as I was ordered by Admiral Yamamoto. Under these circumstances, however, it would be foolish to press on without support of all our remaining fleet assets, particularly the carriers. As reluctant as I am to do so, the best course would now be to regroup as this Captain suggests.

“Very well,” he said. “Signal Takami that we are redeploying south as requested, whereupon he will meet with me personally on this ship to explain the incompetence that has put us in this position. That is all. Dismissed!”

When Karpov got the news that the enemy battleships had turned south, he smiled. Yes, he thought, I called their bluff and they folded. Now I savor the satisfaction that comes only to those who truly have power. This unexpected intruder is largely irrelevant. There is no sense wasting more missiles on it, let alone a special warhead. I’ll knock down those planes if they persist, then hasten this other surface action group along, and that alone will show this Captain Harada just how futile his situation is. That ship was never a match for Kirov, but then again, they knew that. This is why they tried to coordinate their surprise attack with these air strikes, but it was badly done.

We were Achilles here today, they were Hector, but lucky that I spared them. Now all of Troy lies before me for the taking. I’ve beaten the one champion they had with any chance of putting a dent in my armor. There is nothing they can do to stop me now, at least on the sea. The rest will be up to our troops on Sakhalin Island. If they do the job, then we will prevail.

I tested Fedorov just now to see how he might react to my proposal to use special warheads. While I expected resistance, I must say his analysis was quite sound. Even though he has been a lot of trouble in the past, he can be quite an asset now. He was completely correct in pointing out that, while we are harboring tactical nukes in our magazines, their real power here lies in strategic application.

And there was one other thing that restrained me, even if he failed to mention it—the exotic effects of a nuclear detonation. I mustn’t forget that we still have Rod-25 aboard. From what I can gather in speaking with Fedorov, Time is rather warped and bruised here now. We must be very cautious about putting any more cracks in Fedorov’s mirror.

This other matter he brought up was also somewhat unsettling. He’s worried, as he always is, about the history, only this time there is something darker, more frightening in his manner than I ever perceived before. He is thinking our actions here are already starting to migrate forward, changing the history in the far future, in our time. He is worried that we will do something that will completely undermine the line of causality, and render our position here null and void. That would be very inconvenient.

I like my position here. In fact, I have no intention of ever trying to return to 2021. I saw quite enough of that world, that war. This one I can manage. Here I am a god on the sea, and a real player in these events. Back there, I am just another sea Captain, just another target when the ballistic missiles start to fly. ‘If I hold out here and I lay siege to Troy, my journey home is gone, but my glory never dies.

If I voyage back to the fatherland I love, my pride, my glory dies . . .’ Words spoken by Achilles, he thought, and so I share his dilemma. Yet Fedorov may be on to something in his fear of tomorrow’s unfolding, and I must heed his warning.

When the engagement had settled down, his enemy turned south, Karpov gave orders to come about. Even the enemy planes turned to withdraw, and they only had to use those two Klinok missiles to discourage them.

That was not very Japanese of them, he thought, but someone must have ordered them to break off. Perhaps I will meet this ship again another day, but for now, I must speak with my Starpom.

“Mister Fedorov, a most satisfactory engagement. Yes?”

“Any engagement where the ship comes through without harm is a good one,” said Fedorov. “That said, we’re light a baker’s dozen under the forward deck.”

“Perhaps so, but they are far worse off, and largely irrelevant now.”

“Don’t discount them,” Fedorov cautioned. “That SPY-1D radar set is enough of a weapon to make a real difference here. Were they worth another dozen SSMs? I think not, but they remain a factor here, and a dangerous one.”

“I’m more concerned with this worry you have for the future. What is it, another threat from Paradox?”

“One was enough,” said Fedorov with a shrug.

“Yes… I faced it in a very harrowing hour aboard Tunguska, but as you can see, I prevailed, not Mother Time. That may sound like hubris, but here I stand, and she is still trying to figure out what to do about me—yes, I have no doubt. Then you see no paradox on our present course?”

“No, it isn’t that. The period we are in now is a kind of safe zone for the ship. We were never here before on the first ship. Remember? It was late August of 1941 when you did resort to a tactical nuke—”

“And I blew the ship into oblivion.”

“Correct.”

“Where in hell were we? I was in the brig, and did not see all that much. Believe me, it’s the last time that will ever happen.”

“The warhead, sir?”

“The damn brig! That aside, Volsky said the world went to hell.”

“Hell is a good way to describe it. I think it was a future that arose from our actions here, and it was very grim. Be glad you didn’t get a better look at it, but you remember what we saw in the Med before we shifted, Rome burned and blackened, Naples gone. Yes, it was hell.”

“But this period is safe? Explain.”

“We vanished in August of 1941, sailed through that broken future to the Med, and then reappeared a full year later, in August of 1942, right in the middle of Operation Pedestal. With Malta gone, that history isn’t likely to repeat, let alone the fact that we are still here in the Pacific. We never vanished last August like the first ship.”

“Should we fear that date, August of 1942? Might there be another paradox there?”

“No… I don’t think so. We stayed put this time, and never shifted, though I was more than a little concerned when you suggested we might use a special warhead earlier. You are well aware of the unexpected after effects of a nuclear detonation by now.”

“No argument there,” said Karpov. “Then you feared we might shift again if I had used such a weapon here.”

“Quite possibly. I would not want to be anywhere near a detonation like that. If I were you, I would reserve those warheads for the longest range missile we have, so the ship would be as far from the impact site as possible.”

Karpov nodded. “So then, if there’s no paradox to worry about come this August, what has you so spooked?”

“Just what I discussed with you earlier. We could do something, cause a change here that would knock out a key supporting beam holding up the future that built this ship. I’ve been thinking about that, and trying to discover what it could be, where the key event is that we must not disturb, and I think I may be on to something.”

“Tell me.”

“Think about it yourself, Admiral. I was the man who whispered in Sergei Kirov’s ear. Yes? My careless advice, and I suppose his inherent curiosity, led him to try that stairway again at Ilanskiy, and he ended up assassinating Josef Stalin. Hence we have the world we are sailing in.”

“It wasn’t all your doing,” said Karpov. “I was largely responsible for the fact that we are now trying to throw the Japanese off Sakhalin Island. I’ll say again that, had it not been for your interference—”

“Yes, yes, we’ve been over that,” Fedorov interrupted.

“All I am saying is that there is plenty of blame to go around. I know what I did, and here I am, trying to set things right, take back the territories Russia lost as a result of that fiasco in 1908.”

“Fine, but that still won’t lift the burden from my shoulders. We still end up with the Orenburg Federation because of me.”

“Ah, now I know why you are so glum. But was it really you, Fedorov? What were you doing there at Ilanskiy? You certainly had no idea that stairway had this amazing property. It was pure happenstance. In fact—why were you there?”

“I was looking for Orlov. You know what we planned.”

“Of course I do. I was right there when you persuaded Volsky to let us take Rod-25 to the Primorskiy Engineering Center so you could shift back that way.”

“You see? It was all my doing.”

“I don’t think so.” Karpov was watching his reaction closely now. “No Fedorov, I don’t think it was you at all. You have to look further back on that chain of causality you speak of. Pull on it a while, and just a few links down the line you come to someone else who had a good deal to do with all of this—Orlov.”

Fedorov shook his head. “Kamenski said the same thing, but It wasn’t Orlov at Ilanskiy, it was my fault there.”

“Yes, but you were only there because Orlov jumped ship. Ever consider that? Our surly Chief of Operations didn’t like his lot after our failed coup attempt—alright, after my failed mutiny the first time out. I’ll admit the plan was mine, and I duped him into supporting me. So there he was, busted in rank, stuck with Troyak and the Marines, and so he just flat out deserted. Remember? You tried to stop him in the very first minutes you realized what he was doing. We put five S-300s in the air after him, but his life seems charmed. It was Orlov. Yes. He’s the one that led you on that wild goose chase to fetch him back, and that was how you came to Ilanskiy. When did he do that—jump ship like that?”

Fedorov thought hard…. “It was August of this year, 1942. We were still in the Med, running for Gibraltar, and we wanted a helo up to scout ahead.”

“Right, and Orlov wormed his way onto that helo, with the deliberate intention of abandoning ship. And here it is, 1942 again, and with August just a few months off. I think we might want to keep an eye on this version of Orlov as well, though he seems completely clueless as to anything that happened before.”

Fedorov’s eyes widened slightly, for he knew that was not the case. Orlov had just awakened. The bad dreams that had been plaguing his sleep had become real memories. Karpov didn’t know any of that yet, and something warned him not to speak of it here. And with that thought, he also ran the words of Director Kamenski through his recollection again:

“Nothing you did would have ever occurred if not for Karpov’s little rebellion, or Orlov’s strange letter. He is more than a little fish, I think, but Karpov is a free radical, a wildcard, an unaccountable force in all of this history we’ve been writing and re-writing. Everything that has happened, except perhaps that first explosion on the Orel, can be laid at Karpov’s feet…”

Interesting that Karpov failed to take his line of reasoning that one step further, thought Fedorov. Yes, everything can be laid at his feet, the first detonation that sent us to 1942 and Operation Pedestal was his doing. He led the ship through the hole in time caused by the Demon Volcano, and from there, it was again his doing that sent it to 1908. What he did there is still apparent here in this world. As for Orlov… He brought us Kinlan, and when I threw that thing he found overboard, who knows what else it may have done?