Read Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) Online
Authors: John Schettler
Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) (2 page)
“Let me be
plain about this, Mister Prime Minister. We will in no way be intimidated by
the Germans, not for one single minute. We have a big country. If need be we
can move our factories to the heartland, or the Rocky Mountains, and no rocket
could fire that distance to harm them in any way. We will build an arsenal the
like of which the world has never seen. We’ll start with planes and ships, just
as you suggest. I intend to get at Germany’s throat in due course, but before
we do I’ll have her bombed from every airfield within range, rockets or no
rockets. We’ll build three bombers for every rocket they turn out if we have
to, and we’ll get the job done, so help me God.”
“Here,
here,” Churchill concurred, slapping the conference table with his open palm.
“As for the Navy,
I don’t think Germany can bother us on our Pacific coast, but we’ll more than
likely have the Japanese to deal with there. Do you think Hitler would share
this technology with Japan?”
“Never,”
Churchill said confidently.
“That being
the case, then I think we’ll handle the Japanese if they decide to get into it,
and with little more than a third of our war effort. Germany first. We can hold
Japan at bay for a time if they think we are alert and ready in our Pacific
bases. I must tell you that Admiral Kimmel has put the Pacific Fleet on full
alert, and MacArthur is putting his forces in the Philippines on a wartime
footing as well. If the Japanese want to tangle with us, we’ll make them sorry for
it.”
“Your
determination and confidence are encouraging, sir. Let me be frank and tell you
that we believe the Japanese
are
up to no good at this very minute. They
have a definite plan to attack your pacific fleet at Pearl Harbor, though these
events may forestall the operation, and perhaps the loss of your ships here in
the Atlantic may have saved a great deal of trouble in the Pacific. That being
the case, Japan’s intention is most certainly war, sir. And you must know it in
no uncertain terms.”
“Yes…” said
Roosevelt, reaching for the long cigarette holder he was fond of. “Well, you
just leave the Japanese to us, Winston.” He tapped his cigarette holder on the
table.
“Let us know
if there is anything the Royal Navy might do for you,” said Churchill. “On this
end, I can assure you that Great Britain will do everything in her power to
drive a stake into Herr Hitler’s heart and end this misguided and obscene dream
of his Third Reich. You may consider the whole of our island to be an unsinkable
aircraft carrier. I suggest we also develop bases in Iceland as a logistical
support for your planes as they transit the Atlantic. We’re likely to take the
brunt of whatever the Germans have left in the cupboard to throw at us. It will
certainly be another ordeal, and God help us if they unleash one of these
rocket bombs on London. I have sent a formal warning to the Germans telling
them that we also have these weapons in development, and that I will destroy
Berlin, Hamburg or any other city, tit for tat, should they revisit us with
their new wonder weapon. Let us see if they believe it, but I should be
grateful to have something more than my squadrons of Wellingtons in the event
they call my bluff.”
“You’ll have
them, Winston. We’re going to put everything we have into air and sea power at
the outset. And my admirals tell me a large, effective submarine fleet could be
useful as well. With these weapons we believe we can keep the Germans at arm’s
length while we build up strength and supercharge the development of this new
atomic weaponry. I can’t tell you how long all this will take, as my generals
and admirals cannot yet tell me. But it will happen, Winston. I give you my
pledge. And by God, we’ll stand with England to the bitter end. There will be no
separate peace, if you agree, and we’ll prosecute this war until Germany is a
cinder heap.”
“That is
exactly what I have longed to hear from you, sir. I have little doubt that we
will prevail. Yet we must also give some thought to the Russians. The Germans
are likely to go for Moscow this summer. Russia is a big country as well.
Perhaps they can hold out, but considering these developments, we cannot count
on that. What if they capitulate? In that event we could see the Germans taking
a second look at invading our islands next year as well.”
“Winston,
don’t you worry about that for one minute. I can put fifty divisions on English
soil if you invite me to do so.”
Churchill
smiled, raising an eyebrow. “But Franklin, the boys at Bletchley Park say you
haven’t got nearly that many in hand.”
“At the
moment,” said Roosevelt. “We do things quickly when we have made up our minds.
The main thing is this: the United States will never accept the occupation or
capitulation of England. We will fight to secure your freedom with everything
we have.”
Churchill
smiled broadly. “Mister President,” he said. “I think I should like to try one
of those Cuban cigars, if you don’t mind. And perhaps you and I could drink to
all this over a brandy.”
“We’ll shake
on it first,” said Roosevelt, and he took Churchill’s hand in a firm handshake.
“I suppose
we should draw up some mutual declaration concerning these matters,” said
Churchill.
“Why not
call it the Atlantic Charter. We have long been one people separated by that
ocean, and a common language,” Roosevelt smiled. “Let the ocean be a bridge
between us now, and by God, I don’t care how many of these new raiding ships
the Germans have. I’ll fill that ocean with fire and steel in due course. It’s
ours, Winston, all ours. We’ll stomp on these U-Boats and bottle up the German
fleet in the Baltic. I think our first order of business will be to secure the
Azores and Canary islands and build up long range bomber bases there, then on
to North Africa to do the same. I want a ring of flying steel around Germans by
the end of next year. We’ll bomb them day and night. They’ll need a thousand of
those new weapons to stop us, and I don’t think they have more than a handful
now, if even that many. This may have been their only existing warhead.”
Churchill
took a deep breath, nodding his head. “The Atlantic Charter. It has I nice ring
to it. And I agree with everything you have said. We’ll win through, I have no
doubt. It is just a matter of time.”
Part I
First Blood
“So long the path; so hard the
journey,
When I will return, I cannot say for
sure,
Until then the nights will be longer.
Sleep will be full of dark dreams and
sorrow,
But do not weep for me…”
- Russian Naval Hymn
20 August, Year Unknown
Admiral
Leonid Volsky slowly climbed last
stairway leading to the main deck, emerging on the aft quarter of the ship on a
clear, starry night. The warm breeze of the Mediterranean was welcome compared
to the harsh winds he was used to in the north, and he breathed deeply, taking
in the sweetness of the night air, and the all embracing calm of the quiet sea.
They had
been sailing east now for all of ten days, crossing the Atlantic for European
waters, intent on learning more about the strange circumstances of their
voyage. As his mind wandered through the memories of these last few weeks he
could scarcely believe the images that came to him—of the accident that sent
the ship into the icy fog of infinity and the amazing and confounding dilemma
that followed. A chance encounter with an old fighter plane had led them into
the cauldron of the Second World War, as astounding as it still seemed. Within
days his ship and crew were locked in a life and death struggle against the
rapidly mustered strength of the Royal Navy and then her American allies as
well. His illness, the stubborn headache and that odd spell of vertigo that had
sent him into the infirmary with Dr. Zolkin, had allowed his truculent
subordinate, Captain Karpov, to embroil the ship in heated combat. By the time
he had awakened from his fit,
Kirov
was at war and, sadly, thousands
would die when her arsenal of lethal modern weaponry was set loose in the fray.
Karpov….
The Admiral
still shook his head to think on the man, hoping that he had finally managed to
reach him when he visited him, just days ago, a thousand questions in his mind
and heart. He remembered it now as he walked the deck, ambling slowly toward
the aft helo bay.
“Why,
Karpov?” he had said right out, his eyes lined with pain and the awful sense of
betrayal he felt.
The brooding
Captain remained silent, eyes averted, arms folded over his service jacket, an
expression of restrained anger still apparent on his face.
Volsky
leaned forward, waiting, like a wounded father scolding a wayward son. “None of
the others were involved in this,” he said evenly. “Tasarov, Samsonov,
Rodenko—they were all blameless. Orlov I can understand,” he said slowly.
“Orlov is a dullard when it comes right down to it. How he rose to Chief of the
Boat still befuddles me. I certainly had nothing to do with his promotions, but
here he was, ready to follow any man’s lead that seemed sensible to him in the
heat of action, and given more to muscle than mind when any obstacle presented
itself. Yes, he’s a hard man, Orlov, but not one with guile. He would never
have dreamed or dared what you did. No, Karpov. It was all
your
doing,
yes? Orlov was nothing more than an witless collaborator, and I am willing to
bet that you had to pressure him to complicity in this mutiny.” He ended with a
hard fat finger on the table between them.
They were in
the Captain’s personal day-cabin where Volsky had summoned his wayward officer
from the brig, marched under guard here for this meeting as
Kirov
sailed
east, away from the black horror of Halifax.
Karpov gave
the Admiral a sharp glance, averting his eyes again, still sullen and
unresponsive, folded in on himself and beset with a mix of emotions—anger, frustration,
outrage and beneath them all the bile of shame that seemed to choke him now,
stilling his voice and darkening his mind as never before.
“That’s what
I must call it—mutiny,” said Volsky, “for there is no other word for it. And
for a flag officer of the fleet with such a bright future before you, it is
almost beyond belief.”
“Future?”
Karpov’s voice was low and barely restrained. “What future are you talking
about, old man?”
Volsky
brought his fist down hard on the thin wood of the table, and the sullen
Captain started with the unexpected blow. “Address me by name and rank,
Captain! You are talking to the Admiral of the Northern Fleet!”
“Admiral of
the fleet? What fleet is this you presume to command now, comrade? We are one
ship, lost at sea, and lost in eternity. God only knows where we are now, but I
can assure you, the fleet is long gone, and there is no one back home in
Severomorsk waiting for us to return either. It’s all
gone
, Volsky. Gone!
Understand that and you have your fat fist around the heart of it. If you want
to understand what I did you need only open your hand and look at it. All we
had left was this ship, Admiral, and no one else seemed to have backbone enough
to defend her. If I had not taken command it is very likely that we would all
be at the bottom of the sea now—have you considered that? So do what you will.
Choke me. Shoot me! Lock me away in the brig!”
He gestured
painfully at the door where a guard stood stiffly at attention, pretending to
see and hear nothing, a steel mannequin that nonetheless represented the
business end of the Admiral’s authority here—for that is what it had all come
down to in the end, a contest of authority between these two men, the aging
Fleet Admiral longing for the peace and quiet of retirement, and the hungry and
assertive scheming of his Captain, pushing always to reach that next rung on
the ladder of advancement.
Karpov had
wrestled for control of the ship, and he had nearly succeed. Had it not been
for the timely arrival of Fedorov, coming as he did to the sick bay to find it
secured by padlock from the outside, the Captain’s plan may well have caused
even more havoc. In the brief interval while the Admiral had struggled to
regain his freedom and restore his authority on the ship, the Captain had
unleashed hell on the Allied navies that were closing in on them from every
side. And now they were living in some distant quarter of that hell, a region
of silence and eerie calm, where every shore they had come upon seemed blackened
with the cinders of war.
The Admiral
looked away, still pained, his eyes unsatisfied. He stood up and stepped over
to the guard, speaking to him softly.
“Right away,
sir,” the man said smartly, and then quickly let himself out of the door to
leave the two officers alone.
Volsky
looked at Karpov where he sulked, head lowered, his elbows leaning heavily on
the table. Slowly, deliberately he pulled the chair back and stat down again.
He regarded his Captain with that same pained expression, waiting, but Karpov
seemed apathetic and indifferent to the whole situation now, resigned within
himself to any fate that awaited him. He had mustered all the courage at his
disposal in that heady moment when he first slipped the padlock on the outer
hatch of the infirmary, locking both Zolkin and the Admiral inside. Now he was
spent, empty, and there was nothing more than a dull ache in his head and an
awful sense of emptiness in his gut. A much younger man, the ordeal seemed to
have aged him, and his eyes were dark and deeply lined, so tired and listless
now as he stared at the empty table.