B00DSDUWIQ EBOK (25 page)

While
this air operation was underway, the carriers must be well screened by light cruisers
and destroyers. Heavy cruisers and fast battleships were to break formation and
deploy at intervals of five to ten kilometers presenting a wall of steel to the
enemy. This would put the big ships within supporting range of one another, but
not grouped to a point where more than one could be sunk by an atomic weapon.
Upon contact with the enemy, they were then to close at high speed on widely
spaced headings, get into gun range, and fight on a ship by ship basis,
individually. Any destroyers that could be spared from carrier screening duty
could serve as hounds to make torpedo runs at the enemy if possible. Every
submarine available should be vectored in to attack.

The
overwhelming force now available could not be used as a sledgehammer as it had been
against the Japanese. Instead it must come at the enemy like a vast wave of
steel, a tsunami of warships deployed on a widely dispersed front in a high speed
charge. This way, even if the enemy used one of their terror weapons, they
could only affect a part of the wave, blow one small gap in the line. If a ship
went down, a reserve of fast cruisers would be held to fill the gap in the line,
and the attack would roll on.

Nimitz
listened, head cocked to one side, thinking these were some fairly outlandish naval
tactics. He had two heavy fists with Halsey and Sprague, and two more behind
them. Everything he had learned about war fighting relied on speed, concentration
and firepower.

“Yes,”
said Fraser. “That’s all well and good, but concentrate at your own peril. We learned
that in the North Atlantic. Remember the
Mississippi
and the cruisers
that went down with her. And as for your carriers, remember the
Wasp
—both
of them. We also learned that your Captains are going to have to be prepared to
take their lumps if you close with this monster, but close you must. If we can get
three to five decent capital ships in gun range of this Russian flotilla, we
should be able to hurt them badly. But getting there’s the rub.”

“We’ll
get there, Admiral Fraser,” said Nimitz. “We’ll get there if I have to order ever
man jack afloat out there to paddle in on a life raft with rifles. We’ve got
good men at the tillers now, hard, experienced naval war fighters who won’t flinch.
They’ll get the job done.”

“If
they don’t concentrate.” Admiral Fraser put a
hard finger on the table between them to emphasize his point. “Remember, Admiral,
attack in force, but the entire formation must be widely dispersed. Do that and
we can sink these ships, I’m sure of it. Yet if it comes down to the bomb, you
might at least tell them it’s coming at them first. Perhaps that would stay
their hand and put some sense into this mess.”

“Telegraph
our punch? I suppose I could do that, but let me assure you that we’ll use that
as a final measure, and I won’t take the decision lightly.”

“I’m
sure of that, but I must tell you one thing more that neither one of us really cares
to hear at this point in the war. Men are going to die here, and perhaps very
many will not be going home on your Operation Magic Carpet. I’m sorry for that—sorry
for the whole damn bloody business we’ve been about these last years.”

‘The
Japanese are sorry too,” said Nimitz coolly. “The Russians will be sorry right along
with them—” He looked at his watch. “I make it another three hours before the
operation begins. The Russians have been circling in place and I’ve held Halsey
and Sprague on a tight leash. It’s time to release the hounds.”

“God
be with us,” Fraser sighed. “Yet if we can get this ship, history will thank us
for it. More could be riding on this battle than either you or I can see right now.”

Day
6

“ I
saw more than a thousand of those angels, that fell from Heaven like rain, above
the gates, who cried angrily: ‘Who is this, that, without death goes through
the kingdom of the dead?’ And my wise Master made a sign to them, of wishing to
speak in private. Then they furled their great disdain, and said: ‘Come on,
alone, and let him go, who enters this kingdom with such audacity. Let him
return, alone, on his foolish road: see if he can: and you, remain, who have
escorted him, through so dark a land.’”

Dante
Alighieri, The Inferno - Canto VIII

Part IX

The
Black Hole

“Black
holes are the seductive dragons of the universe, outwardly quiescent yet violent
at the heart, uncanny, hostile, primeval, emitting a negative radiance that
draws all toward them, gobbling up all who come too close. Once having entered
the tumultuous orbit of a black hole, nothing can break away from its passionate
but fatal embrace. Though cons of teasing play may be granted the doomed,
ultimately play turns to prey and all are sucked haplessly
―
brilliantly aglow, true, but oh so briefly so
―
into the fire-breathing maw of oblivion.”

—Robert Coover

Chapter 25

“Any
response, Nikolin?” Karpov was hovering over
the communications station, an anxious uncertainty in his eyes.

“No,
sir. There has been no reply to our last message.”

“Send
it one more time. Tell them this is the last warning they will receive. They either
grant my request for negotiation and make those arrangements to my satisfaction,
or we will settle the matter in battle at sea.”

“Very
well, sir. Sending now.”

Karpov
paced as he waited, his footfalls seeming loud in the silence of the bridge. The
tension was evident there, though the bridge crews were alert and confident at
their posts. They had seen Karpov in combat before, and came to respect and admire
his ability. Yet there was no way to bury the obvious emotion they felt as the
prospect of another big fight loomed ahead of them. The Captain had just made a
tremendous show of force. Ten minutes after his conversation with the American
Admiral he had fired a MOS-III, programming it to make a run to a point some
twenty kilometers northwest of the Halsey task force. The weapon it carried was
only a 15 kiloton warhead, but that was nearly the size of the bomb the
Americans dropped at Hiroshima, at least in one iteration of this history, the
world still chronicled in Fedorov’s old books. It would detonate over a hundred
kilometers to the south at a designated point, well over their horizon.

Minutes
later, however, they could see the evil mushroom cloud, rising ever higher in the
distance from beyond the deceptively placid curve of the earth, and it put well
deserved fear into the gut of every man who looked at it. Would the Captain use
another if the Americans did not back down? Nikolin’s voice had just the hint
of a plea in it as he broadcast in English. There was only silence in return.

“They
don’t answer, sir,” he said dejectedly. “I’ve sent the message three times now.”

Karpov
seemed angry. “What is wrong with them? Don’t they see what we’re capable of?”

“Perhaps
the detonation affected their communications.” Rodenko was at the Captain’s side
now, arms folded, considering the situation.

“Mister
Nikolin?”

“Possible,
but not likely, sir. They don’t have advanced electronics, and in many ways their
systems would be much less vulnerable to EMP effects.”

“I
agree,” said Rodenko. “That was a very low altitude airburst. There was no
significant EMP burst in any case.”

“Then
they are deliberately maintaining radio silence,” Karpov concluded. “Which means
they could be planning something—some surprise attack.”

“They
won’t be able to surprise us, sir. We have helicopters up and we’ll see any launch
operation from their carriers.”

“How
soon will they be reporting in?”

“Any
minute now, Captain.”

Tasarov
shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his brow furrowed, and obvious concentration
on his face. Karpov caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, a wary
look on his face. He had seen that look before, and knew that Tasarov was
processing something, a hidden signal return picked up on the ship’s sonar. He
waited, watching his sonar man intently until Tasarov looked in his direction.

“Con,
sonar. Undersea contact, possible submarine, confidence high. I think this is a
diesel electric boat, sir. Bearing 240 degrees, range approximate at 18,000 meters;
speed six knots and closing on our position.”

“Someone
is creeping up on us,” said Karpov looking at Rodenko. “That doesn’t sound very
friendly. Do we have another KA-40 ready for launch?”

“Yes
sir, the second helo is on ready alert.”

“Launch
immediately. Overfly the contact and refine its position with sonobuoys. They may
think they can sneak up on us like this, but we’ll soon show them otherwise.”

* * *

USS
Archer-Fish
was the unhappy recipient of Karpov’s attention that day. The
boat had been out on its seventh and final war time patrol, assigned to provide
life guard services for B-29 crews should any be lost in the last days over
Japan. For Commander Joseph, Francis Enright, it was lackluster duty compared
to the old glory days earlier in the year when he had stuck one of the largest
feathers any submarine commander could ever earn in his cap discovering a
formation of five ships, a carrier with four escorts.

After
a heady race to get ahead of the Japanese flotilla and achieve firing position,
Archer-Fish
dealt a spread of six torpedoes from her forward tubes and, quite
amazingly, scored six hits on the target. He would soon get credit for the
sinking of
Shinano
, the world’s largest aircraft carrier at the time.
Originally laid down as the third
Yamato
Class hull, work was stopped on
the battleship and she was wisely converted to an aircraft carrier. Now Enright
was slated to receive a Presidential Citation for his effort, and the kill
filled the crew with pride and enthusiasm for battle.

Their
next patrol had not been so glorious. Enright found himself in a small three boat
wolfpack dubbed “Joes Jugheads” in the South China Sea. In one brief engagement
the boat believed they hit and sank a Japanese submarine, though the kill would
later be stricken as unconfirmed. Finally, on her last patrol, the war ended as
the boat was cruising just off the southernmost tip of Hokkaido, Cape Erimo
Saki. The jubilation on the announcement was well earned, but short-lived as
well.
Archer-Fish
was heading for Tokyo Bay to join the planned
surrender ceremony when she received orders to make an abrupt about face and
head north.

There
was a gaggle of loose subs around Hokkaido at the time. Two others were nearby to
join the unusual operation, the
Atule
under Commander John Maurer and the
old
Gato
, first boat in her class, under Lt. Commander Richard Farell.
Together they had accounted for a few Japanese coastal corvettes and a sub
chaser in the waters off Hokkaido as the war ended, but now they were to join
Enright and the esteemed
Archer-Fish
in a new wolfpack heading north to
look for Russians! It was a most unusual order, which had a good number of jaws
wagging in the crew compartments as the boat turned north.

Enright
wasn’t happy about the duty. He had been all set to lay eyes on Tokyo Bay, and now
here he was, still sweltering in the boat with his fluky air conditioning. So
much for the grease monkeys. They were supposed to fix the damn thing but whatever
they did only made things worse. He had made a point of delicately mentioning
that in his log:
“The air conditioning alteration decreased rather than
increased the habitability of the ship.”
It wouldn’t matter much if they
could make a steady surface approach, but for some reason the orders had
emphasized that they were to proceed submerged, surfacing only to make
scheduled radar checks, and to look for three Russian ships.

He
swiped his brow with a handkerchief, looking over at Lt. Commander L.G. Bernard
near the periscope. The protocol was to make periscope depth and check radar returns
at thirty minute intervals. Then they would submerge deeper, alter heading, and
proceed toward any contacts. They had been creeping up the east coast of
Hokkaido and were now about 20 miles northeast of Shikotan Island. The long
gray profiles of the southern Kuriles were evident in the distance when they
surfaced.

“Still
reading that interference on the APR?” Enright checked with Bernard on some unusual
readings they had during the last radar sweep.

“It’s
not on the same band width and pulse as any Jap radar,” said Bernard. “Suddenly
stopped about five minutes ago. Now we’re getting pings. Sounds like something is
up there nosing around.”

“Sonar
has no screw noise close in, just that dull rumble at long range we took to be our
target contact.”

“There
was also that Typhoon warning. We bumped into something a couple hours ago, but
there was no apparent damage. That said, the storm might be stirring things up enough
to move a lot of debris our way.”

“I
wouldn’t worry about the storm way up here. I heard it might delay the ceremony
in Tokyo bay, which is fine by me. I wanted to be there for that—then we got this
duty.”

“Well
if the Japs have surrendered why are they still jamming?”

“Get
a clue, Lieutenant Commander. We aren’t up here looking for Japs anymore. It’s the
Russians this time out.”

“Yeah?
Well that doesn’t make much sense either. That said, sonar has hold of something,
sir. They just can’t read it through this interference. Suppose we get up and
look for
Gato
. They were due for surface radar sweep about now.”

 Enright
looked at his watch, nodding. “Alright,” he said with a shrug. “Fire two smoke bombs
and surface. Maybe the Radar will help sort this mess out.”

The
boat was up in a few minutes and the radar man had three pips on his scope soon
after. One was identified as the
Gato
on the IFF, the other two were
both unknown—one airborne and coming in from the north, a second surface
contact that was lost soon after it was first reported.

Enright
climbed up the ladder to have a look with binoculars, but what he saw was unlike
any aircraft he had ever laid eyes on. It moved slow, almost seemed to hover
stationary at times, then moved again in the distance. What in god’s name was
that?

Enright
wasn’t sticking around in his rapidly dissipating smoke screen to find out anything
more. He had a contact bearing and ordered a quick dive to set a new course
with
Gato
to the northeast. A brief VHF call had confirmed that
Atule
was also in the vicinity, due west of
Gato’s
position.

“Something
is up there alright,” he said to Bernard. “Strangest thing I ever saw. Well…now
we have three bad boys out here in a good position to sweep north. So that’s just
what we’ll do.” It was a mistake he would live to regret, but orders were orders,
and he ordered a five point turn and ahead full.

Torpedo
man Don Sweeney was on the
Atule
stowing some personal effects in his duffel
bag when the alarm sounded. He had been looking over his certificates, and
thinking of home back in Illinois. One was his “Sacred Order Of The Golden Dragon,”
which he picked up last month on the 8th of July when the boat crossed the
180th Meridian in to Japanese home waters. Everybody got one, but to the folks
back home it might seem a pretty big deal. He could display it with the Asiatic-Pacific
WWII Victory Medal that he would get as soon as they made port again. He’d
frame those two with the boat’s insignia patch of the torpedo toting fish, and
it would make a real nice keepsake—or so he had been telling virtually everyone
on the boat the last three days.

“Look
Sweeney,” said his mate Paul Dunn. “Stow that crap and let’s get forward. Can’t
you hear that alarm?”

The
two men rushed to their post, surprised to find the duty crews already loading the
forward tubes as though combat was imminent.

“Hey,
what’s going on?” asked Sweeney. “We run into something?”

“Who
knows, Sweeney. Just lend a hand and help run that 21 incher up to the kill tube.
They got something on radar and we’ve got a job to do, Kapish?”

“Well,
hell,” Sweeney protested. “Isn’t the war over? You’d think the Japs would know they
were beat by now.”

“These
ain’t Japs. Didn’t you hear? It’s Russian ships we’re after now, or maybe they’re
after us. It’s the same both ways. Run that fish up!”

* * *

“Con
contact confirmed by KA-40 with visual
sighting and hard location on sonobuoy. Three submarines. Designating Alpha
One, Two and Three.” The ship was at action stations and Tasarov was coordinating
the effort with
Admiral Golovko
and the helos via live data link.

Karpov
seemed edgy, pacing, his attention still torn between Nikolin where he was broadcasting
his message to the Americans and the ongoing developments at the sonar station.
Now it was not just a single contact, but three. The silence from the Americans
was damning, at least in his mind. If this was their only response, to attempt
a stealthy submarine attack after the massive demonstration of his firepower,
then the Americans were more foolish than he could imagine. He would let them
know he was well aware of their little ploy, and in no uncertain terms.

“Tasarov…Select
one of the enemy contacts and order the KA-40 to put a torpedo on it. This has gone
on long enough. If they will not listen to reason, then we’ll speak to them in
another language.”

The
language was the APR-hydrojet acoustic homing torpedo dropped by the KA-40. It fell
swiftly into the water, listened to locate its contacts and then responded to
Tasarov’s random selection of one target—the
Atule
. It was soon moving
at 80 kilometers per hour, with a kill probability of over 90% that did not
disappoint.

Weeks
later a young Japanese boy named Kanji Akiro would be wading in the surf on the
northern coast of Hokkaido Island when he saw something bright orange floating in
the water. The tide brought it nearer, and he reached to grasp it before the sea
could claim it again, peering at the curious image of a yellow dragon on an orange
background surrounded by what appeared to be braided rope. The markings were
strange and unfamiliar to him, and barely readable on the sodden paper.