Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) (42 page)

“Not if we race for the straits now,” said Karpov. “What
else might they throw at us? Are there more ships at Gibraltar?”

“I cannot be certain,” said Fedorov. “The reference
material I have is not comprehensive, and things are already in a jumble.
Destroyers have been shuffled about from one task force to another and the
history is starting to look like well stirred cream in a cup of hot tea—hard to
see my tea leaves now. I think we are fortunate that they dispatched so many
ships east to support Operation Pedestal, but anything they do have in
Gibraltar will be deployed to block the straits. Given the situation with our
missile inventory, we must be very judicious in how we employ them.”

“Will there be large capital ships?”

“No, I think we can safely rule that out.”

“Then the deck guns should be sufficient. Our rate of fire
and accuracy is so superior that we can handle their destroyers and cruisers
easily enough, and our ammunition there is still solid, is it not Samsonov?”

“Sir, we have expended a total of 434 of 3000 rounds on the
152mm batteries.”

“Good. That leaves us well over 2500 rounds. I have a
suggestion, Fedorov. What about the KA-40? We could send it ahead to survey the
area and report back. With its jammers they will not be able to see it on
radar, and it can defend itself from anything that might happen to spot or
attack it. In fact, it can even drop a few sonobuoys to see if any more
submarines have been deployed in the straits. This way we will know what cards
the enemy is holding and can make better tactical decisions on how to best
employ our remaining weapon systems.”

Fedorov thought for a moment. “This is our last helo,” he
said. “Yet I suppose it does us no good to leave it sitting in the hanger as
though it were already gone. Alright, Karpov, we’ll risk it. We certainly have
plenty of aviation fuel left for it with the other two helicopters gone. You
can make the arrangements. I must go and inform Admiral Volsky of our situation
and see if he has any orders for us. The next stage is crucial and I want to
keep him in the soup.”

“Certainly, Fedorov. Certainly.” Karpov nodded, but
inwardly wished they could handle the matter themselves. Volsky was an
experienced and wise commander, but Karpov thought the Admiral was too
cautious, and believed himself to be the superior tactician. Thus far they had
come over a thousand miles through hostile seas and the ship had been fought
well. He was proud of himself, and confident they could complete the last leg
of their marathon and get safely out into the Atlantic.

Two messages were to change all that. The first was from
damage control Chief Byko, calling on the ship’s comm-system to report a matter
of some concern. He had been below decks in the aft of the ship where those two
near misses had fallen close off the stern. Now he reported that they were taking
seawater below decks near the vital machinery that would run the ship’s drive
shafts.

“It is a slow leak, sir. Nothing the pumps cannot handle
for the
moment, but it could get worse, particularly as we continue to
run the engines near full like this. If you could give me some time, a few
hours, I might get a better look at the damage. I can’t get men in there when
the ship is at thirty knots.”

This weighed heavily on Fedorov. They could not afford to
lose the great advantage of speed. Still wary of Force Z at his back, he told
Byko that they would have to maintain this speed for another two hours, but
when they had put more distance between the ship and their pursuers, he would
cut power to any speed he advised. As long as Rodenko could still see the enemy
behind them, they could take any action necessary before a threat closed the
range. This was the one great advantage
Kirov
still had at her disposal.
She could both see and fight her enemies at very long rage range, like an
aircraft carrier might do in WWII. Her only problem was that when she sent out
her missiles to attack, they never returned.

That matter settled, he was about to exit the bridge when
the second message came in, this time from Nikolin at communications. The young
Lieutenant was sitting at his station, weary, but dutiful nonetheless as he
waited for his shift to end. Then he heard something odd in his headset, and it
drew his attention, a steady beeping which he soon realized was old Morse code.
At first he thought to ignore it as simple signals traffic from the many ships
and bases in the region around them. But being curious, he decided to listen
in. The message seemed to be repeating itself, over and over. He began to
decode it, writing the letters down on a note pad he had been doodling on, but
it made no sense when he assumed the language was English. Perhaps it was being
sent by a Spanish operator, or even French. Then something in his innately
Russian head heard a
Russian
Morse code, with its unique melodies that
would be used to convey their special alphabet. He immediately began to make
sense of the signal, writing the letters down in large capital letters. The
signal faded slightly, but repeated.
Dash—dash—dash…dot—dash—dot—dot…
He
had written that last set of letters below the first, and then put them
together, staring at them, quite surprised:
НИКОЛИН
.
It repeated three times, and two short words followed.

“Captain…” he said tentatively. “I have just received an
odd message.” Both Fedorov and Karpov turned, waiting.

“Well don’t just sit there with that stupid look on your
face, Nikolin,” said Karpov. “What is it?”

“Well sir…It’s in Morse code and I’ve written down the
letters, but it’s Russian Morse, sir, and look what they spell!”

Karpov walked over to his station, somewhat annoyed, but
when he looked at what Nikolin had written he turned for Fedorov, clearly
bothered by what he had seen.

Half way out the aft hatch Fedorov waited. “Well, what is
it?”

“My
name
,” said Nikolin. It repeats three times and
then sends two more words: ‘you lose.’ It repeated three times, sir. Then I
lost the signal.”

“
Russian
Morse code? Your name?”

“My surname, sir—Nikolin. Everyone calls me that. No one
ever uses my given name. But sir…” he bit his lip, and then launched his
missile. “I was playing cards with Orlov below decks on my last leave after
dining yesterday. I thought I had a winning hand, sir, two pair, but then Orlov
drew one last card and…Well, that was all he said to me: Nikolin, Nikolin,
Nikolin—
you lose.
Then he laid down his cards and there were five
spades…”

An hour later
both Fedorov and Karpov were with
Volsky in the sick bay, their faces grim and worried.

“I thought I had a headache before,” said Volsky. “Then the
missiles and gunfire started again. Now this! Why didn’t you report this Orlov
business to me earlier?”

“I’m sorry, Admiral,” Doctor Zolkin spoke up. “That was my
doing. Fedorov gave me the news while you were sleeping. I thought it could
wait.”

“Then what does this mean? Orlov is alive? Nikolin believes
that
he
sent this Morse code?”

“He does, sir,” said Karpov. “And I tell you it would be
just like Orlov to do such a thing. He must have bailed out before we targeted
the KA-226, and now he’s goading us. We got the helicopter, so you have nothing
to worry about on that account.”

“Yes, we got the helicopter, now all I have to worry about
is Orlov! The man may not be a historian like Mister Fedorov here, but he knows
enough to cause real problems if he opens his mouth.”

“Who would believe anything he said? Besides that, he’s in
Spain, and speaks only Russian. No one could even understand him. Yes, he’ll
cause a little trouble. He’ll need food, and money, and he’ll have to find new
clothes. So he may hurt a few people until he gets what he wants, and then he’s
more than likely to just get himself drunk in a bar, and attract the attention
of the local authorities. They’ll arrest him and he’ll be detained for the
duration of the war. Perhaps it will do him some good.”

“We might hope so,” said Volsky, “but I have read the file
on this man when I took command of the ship. He was mixed up with some very
shady characters before he came to the navy. He is cagy, and ruthless. Look how
he planned his escape. We may have much more to fear in this situation than we
realize. It would not be surprised if he evaded capture, and then what might he
do? I can tell you one thing. He will not stay in Spain. He will try to make
his way to Russia if he can, and then we get real trouble.”

“He’s a long way from Russia, through a lot of enemy
occupied countries.”

“Even if he is captured and detained, what happens after
the war ends and they release him?”

Karpov frowned. “We just sent the last KA-40 out an hour
ago to scout the straits. It’s due back soon, and we could send a detachment of
Marines to look for Orlov. Send Troyak after him. He’ll get the job done.”

“That may not be as easy as it first sounds,” said Fedorov.
“Where would they look? Orlov could be anywhere along that coast east of
Cartagena now, or well inland if he made it to shore. The signal we received
was too brief to get a fix on his location. Finding him may be impossible. It
is not like we can simply send Troyak over to make discrete inquiries. None of
the Marines speak the language either, and for that matter that whole scenario
is simply not practical. I had a bad feeling about this the moment we fired
those S-300s. This may have implications we can scarcely imagine now.”

Admiral Volsky shook his head. “I have the same feeling.
The man will cause nothing but misery and trouble. Perhaps there is nothing we
can do about it beyond hoping that his bad temperament gets him jailed as
Karpov suggests, or even killed. I know that is a hard thing to say or wish on
one of our own, but there is little more we can do now.”

He looked at them, a weariness in his eyes. “Now for the
rest of your bad news. What does Byko say?”

“Flooding below the waterline near the propulsion shafts.”
Fedorov was blunt and to the point. “He wants us to reduce revolutions so he
can get men inside near the shafts, and put out divers to seal the leak on the
hull again. It must have been splinter and concussion damage from those near
misses. It aggravated the initial damage there when the helicopter was
jettisoned.”

“Can we make these repairs safely?”

“We have been running at thirty knots since midnight. In
that time we fought our battle and moved well west. We are now ninety nautical miles
from the Straits of Gibraltar. Force Z is sixty nautical miles southeast of our
present position, and making fifteen knots in a slow circle. They are gathering
all their remaining ships and covering the carriers. Even if they turned to try
and engage us again, that gives us at least three hours for Byko to get men in
the water and effect repairs before we would have to move again…Unless they
release their cruisers and destroyers to pursue us.”

“If they head in our direction we can discourage them at
long range if need be,” said Karpov. “Remember, our deck guns can range out to
50,000 meters if need be with radar guided round tracking. That long range
ammunition is very limited, but we have a couple hundred rounds in the
magazines.”

“Very well,” said Volsky. “Tell Byko to get started.”

“His men should be in the water in ten minutes, sir.”

“And what does our helicopter report? We must have received
telemetry by now.”

Karpov looked at Fedorov, clearly uneasy. Then the young Captain
spoke up, his manner somewhat discouraged, and almost apologetic. He had been
surprised by the Italian battleships earlier, but this was an even harder blow.

“I’m afraid we have more trouble ahead than we do behind
us. Our KA-40 had a good look west of Gibraltar and reports another large
British fleet at sea off Lagos, Portugal, and moving south at about twenty-five
knots.”

“I would like to think that is just another convoy heading
for Gibraltar,” said Volsky, “but not at that speed.”

“True, sir.” Fedorov was looking at his shoes, clearly
bothered.

“Then this is a battle fleet?”

“We spotted four capital ships in a long battle line, a
carrier, at least four cruisers and a handful of destroyers. It can only be Home
Fleet, sir. How they could have learned of us and moved south so quickly is
amazing.”

“But they did,” said Volsky, his eyes dark with concern. “So
now it is our turn to be astounded by the sudden appearance of an unexpected
enemy at sea. Lagos… How far away are they?”

“Some 200 miles, sir. If they keep to their present course
and speed they would arrive at the western approaches to the straits in another
eight hours, right around 16:00.”

“We are ninety miles from Gibraltar now. Yes? Then let me
do some mathematics. If we give Byko two hours, and can then run again at thirty
knots for three more, it will take us five hours to reach the eastern approaches
to these straits. That is a slim margin to slip through. I imagine we may have
minefields to contend with?”

“Very likely, sir.”

 “We used the UDAV-2 missile system to blast our way
through at Bonifacio,” Karpov put in quickly.

“Yes, and that was very clever, Captain, but how long did
it take you to transit the strait?”

“Two hours,” said Fedorov.

“Two, plus three, plus two makes seven. If this British
Fleet hurries they can probably trim another hour’s sailing time from their run
as well. Gentlemen, the numbers do not add up very favorably.” The admiral was
not happy.

“Our choices are clear,” said Karpov. “We must now decide
whether to forego these repairs Byko wishes to make, and run for the straits at
once, or to wait and risk another major battle if we are late.”

“You say four capital ships, Fedorov?”