Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) (9 page)

“Where are
we now?” asked Volsky.

“Sir, I
changed our heading to 210 right after the attack, and we held that course for two
hours at twenty knots. But we are about to exit the Tyrrhenian Sea, and I believe
that course will be very dangerous for us now. I have just come about to head
northeast again on a heading of 45 degrees. We are making our way back into the
Tyrrhenian Sea, which could provide us a little maneuvering room away from the
major action getting underway now while we catch our breath.”

“And you
tell me you believe the current date and time is August 11, 1942 at sixteen
hundred hours—give or take a few minutes I suppose.” Volsky managed a wan
smile, though it was clear to them all that he was still in considerable pain.
“Not August 20th?”

“Yes, sir. I
can only go by radio intercepts we’ve made, but events reported would seem to
indicate that HMS
Eagle
was sunk today at mid-day, at 13:10 hours.
Nikolin says he is still getting residual radio traffic on that event regarding
the movement of survivors to Gibraltar. We would not be hearing that traffic a
week later if it was August 20th.”

“So what
happened to those days we were sailing across the Atlantic?”

“I cannot
say, sir. I can only make my best estimate of our current time.”

“Of
course…Well done, Mister Fedorov, as always. Your prompt action may have saved
the ship from blundering into the middle of something we would come to greatly
regret. It is imperative that we steer well away from this operation. The only
question now is what course to set in our present circumstances? But before we
begin, I would like to ask that one more officer be included in this briefing.”
The Admiral looked at his good friend Dr. Zolkin. “Would you kindly summon
Mister Karpov, Doctor?”

“Karpov?”
Zolkin was quick to express the reaction they all had, his face clearly
registering displeasure.

“Yes, yes, I
know how we all still feel about the man given what happened. But he is a
highly trained officer, one of the best combat officers in the fleet. I would
like him to hear this briefing so that we might have the benefit of his opinion
from a military perspective.”

The Doctor
folded his arms, frowning.“Well if you want my opinion, there was nothing
admirable in the tactics he displayed in the North Atlantic. He sailed directly
into the teeth of strong enemy forces and engaged them with no regard to life,
principle or anything else beyond his own personal ambition. God only knows
what he was planning to do at Argentia Bay, set another nuclear missile loose
on Churchill and Roosevelt?”

“I
understand, Dmitri,” said Volsky, addressing his friend in a more personal
manner. “But you are the psychologist here. What will we do with this man? Do
we leave him rotting in the brig for the duration of this business? Who knows
how long we will be at sea, perhaps indefinitely, yes? I agree that Karpov made
serious mistakes. His judgment was clouded by his own desire to make some
decisive intervention, and perhaps by something darker. He will be the first to
know this. Yet he is a serving officer in the Northern Fleet, or at least he
once was. Perhaps we see what he did as the work of a madman, or worse, an
animal. But if he is ever to have the chance to redeem himself and become a man
again, in his eyes and in ours, then we must find a way to give that
opportunity to him. Don’t you agree?”

Zolkin
started to say something, then checked himself, thinking for a moment. He
rubbed his dark beard and nodded. “Perhaps you are right, Admiral. We may not
like the man—even despise what he did—but yes, he is a man nonetheless, and one
of our own. Would I be pleased to see him become something more than we all may
think of him now? Yes, of course. But I must tell you that I have real
misgivings at this stage.”

“As do I,”
Volsky agreed. “But we must begin somewhere—
he
must begin. Send for
him…Unless I hear further objection from these young officers?” He looked first
at Fedorov, then Rodenko and Tasarov. They all took the situation with the
seriousness it deserved, but none voiced an objection, and the Admiral sent a guard
to fetch Karpov while they discussed the recent air attack and damage sustained
by the ship. Rodenko reported that he had good response from the main search
arrays, though he was somewhat concerned over the condition of the medium range
tracking radars for the ship’s missile defenses. Tasarov said he had no
problems with subsea sensory capabilities, and also noted that he was very
pleased with young Velichko’s improving abilities on sonar.

Zolkin threw
one more comment in while they waited. “What about Orlov? He’s down in the brig
as well—in a separate cell I hope. The last thing we need is for the two of
them to be commiserating together.”

“I have
given him some serious thought as well,” said Volsky. “Orlov did not come up
through the naval schools like Karpov. He was a
mishman
and advanced to
his position the old fashioned way, by waiting it out and working his way up
the ranks. I accepted him as Chief of Operations, as that is where I found him
when I came aboard for these maneuvers, if we can use such a word for this
ordeal. Yet I have never been fond of the way he handled the men. Beyond that,
Orlov has no combat naval training to speak of, and I doubt he has the brains
for it in any case. No—he was clearly subverted by Karpov in the events that
transpired days ago. Karpov needed his authority, and I think his muscle in
many respects, before he would dare what he attempted. I do not hold Orlov
blameless—not by any means. But I do not think he had anything to do with
initiating this mutiny.”

“I’m glad
you have called it that,” said Zolkin. “Because that is exactly what it was.”

Volsky
nodded, but continued with one last thought. “Perhaps one day we will hold a
proper hearing and court martial for them both. But for now we do not have the
time to bother with that. As to Orlov, I assigned him to Troyak’s team
yesterday. He’s a bull out of his pen for the moment, and too accustomed to
bullying anyone who opposes him. But Troyak—” Volsky smiled. “Troyak is the one
man on this ship that can back Orlov down if he has to, from a physical
standpoint and also considering the temperament of the man.”

“Yes, thank
God for Troyak,” Zolkin was quick to agree.

“He knew his
duty when he saw it. Such men are natural leaders. So sending Orlov to join the
ship’s commandos where Troyak can smooth out a few of the rough edges seemed
like a good idea. That is exactly the sort of situation that will benefit a man
like Orlov, do you agree?”

“A good
plan,” said Zolkin, and the other men nodded.

“Very well,”
said Volsky, turning his head when a knock came on the outer hatch. “I believe
that will be Mister Karpov under escort from the brig. Let him in, gentlemen.
And then let us see if we can sort out this mess and decide what best to do.”

Chapter 6

Karpov
entered the room, eying the others
with a guarded expression, but saying nothing. He had expected this, a kangaroo
court where the others would flay him and decide his punishment, and he had
already resigned himself to the fact that he would likely be busted down to
Able Seaman, and rot in the ranks aboard this doomed ship for years. It came as
some surprise then when Admiral Volsky indicated this was to be a tactical
briefing, gesturing that they should all have a seat around Zolkin’s desk. He
endured the edgy glances and looks from the others, but seated himself next to
Tasarov in sullen silence, waiting.

“Very well,”
Volsky began from his recovery cot. “I will give the floor to my First Officer,
Mister Fedorov.”

Karpov
suppressed a wince at that, realizing again what he had risked, and done, and
lost. He fixed his gaze on the desktop, not meeting the eyes of the others,
ashamed on one level, and angry on another at his own stupidity. Here was a
young
Starshina
, still wet behind the ears and three ranks beneath him
now elevated to First Officer of the ship. But when Fedorov began to speak he
was again shocked at what he heard.

“To bring
you abreast of our earlier, discussion, Captain,” Fedorov began by addressing
Karpov, who did not fail to notice he was referred to by his proper rank, which
he appreciated. One thing about Fedorov—he was always respectful, even if
Karpov no longer believed he deserved that respect. “…the attack three hours
ago was made by a twin engine fighter aircraft, possible a British plane out of
Malta, or even a German long range fighter off Sicily or Sardinia. I did not
get a good look at it, but I’m inclined to believe the former. Its sudden
appearance led me to research that has since indicated we have slipped backward
in time again and remain involved in the Second World War. I don’t know how it
has happened, but Dobrynin reported that same odd reactor flux just before the
event, and …well…here we are, strafed by a twin prop fighter aircraft. To be as
specific as I can at this point, I believe the present day and time to be
August 11, 1942, at 16:20 hours.” He glanced at the wall clock, which Zolkin
had reset earlier to account for the time shift they experienced.”

Karpov’s
eyes widened as he heard the unbelievable yet once more, but there was no way
he could argue otherwise, and he had come to accept the impossible as a matter
of daily occurrence on this ship by now, so he waited to hear more.

“We are now
in considerable danger, bottled up in the Mediterranean Sea, and very close to
a major air-naval campaign that was fought as the British attempted to relieve
Malta by sending a convoy of much needed supplies and oil. The next three days
will see major combat operations to the southwest of our current position,
which is presently here.” He stood up and indicated a position on the wall map
in the infirmary. “Our present course is 45 degrees and we are making twenty
knots. We have minor damage, but most critical systems are functional, and
Chief Engineer Dobrynin tells me that the reactors are now stable and in good
operating order.”

“Operation
Pedestal, Karpov,” said Volsky looking at his ex-Captain. “You recall it from
the academy?” Karpov thought for a moment, and then nodded in the affirmative
and Fedorov continued his briefing.

“The action
has begun,” he said. “The convoy reached the first Axis submarine picket line north
of Algiers at mid-day and, true to the recorded history, the British light
carrier HMS
Eagle
was sunk by torpedoes. They are continuing east and
will not be engaged again until 20:00 hours, near dusk this evening—a probing
attack by some 36 planes off of Sardinia. There will be two more attacks until
the convoy reaches the Skerki Bank northeast of Bizerte. At that point, if the
history repeats itself, the heavy escorts will turn back while a force of
lighter cruisers and destroyers attempts to ram the convoy home, around Cape
Bon, down through the Sicilian Narrows, and then to Malta. They will endure
heavy attacks by fast torpedo boats from units based at Pantelleria near Cape
Bon, and as they approach Malta by renewed air attacks from Comiso and other
airfields on Sicily. This convoy was the most heavily escorted of the war to
date, with some 50 British warships, including two heavy battleships and
five…now four aircraft carriers, all trying to secure the safety of just
fourteen merchant ships. That said, only five supply ships got through to
Malta, and one, the tanker
Ohio
, was barely afloat and had to be
sandwiched by two destroyers under tow to get her there. Beyond that, the
British are going to lose several valuable cruisers and a few destroyers as
well.”

“To make it
simple,” said Volsky, “it is a hornet’s nest of fire, right astride our most
logical route of escape. If we head for the Atlantic as planned now, we will
most certainly become embroiled in this operation, and I do not think the
British will welcome us at the Suez Canal, or facilitate our transit there, so
we have quite a problem on our hands here. Now I want the best opinions from
each of you—particularly from you, Captain Karpov, as you are one of the finest
tactical officers in the fleet.”

Karpov heard
the admiral’s praise and it seemed to bolster his flagging spirits,
particularly in front of the other men, making the mantle of his shame a little
easier to bear. He glanced at Volsky appreciatively, and sat just a little
straighter in his chair, no longer slouching with averted eyes, but now
stealing sidelong glances at the others to gauge their response to his
presence.

“Our present
course will lead us into the Tyrrhenian Sea again,” said Fedorov. “That area
was not much involved in the action, as both sides were focusing their efforts
more on the triangle formed by the Cape of Tunisia, Sardinia and Palermo on
Sicily. That said, the Italians had several cruiser divisions planning to
rendezvous off Palermo for a possible run at the convoy when it attempts to
transit the Sicilian Narrows. Our radars are clearing up, and we may soon have
a fix on their positions. But we have been spotted, and I have little doubt
that whoever fired on us will be looking to confirm the sighting, and may have
planes in the air at this very moment searching for us. If British, they will
most likely assume we are one of these Italian cruisers, but they also arranged
regular reconnaissance runs over Italian ports in the vicinity, and in time
they will make an accounting of all ships in the Italian inventory. Then the
real game begins for them, and they will wonder who and what we are, just as
before.”