Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) (23 page)

“Aye, sir,” said Samsonov. “Gun ready!”

Karpov watched the forward turret quickly rotate to bear on the
steamer. Mounted right out on the bow of the ship, it had been moved there
during
Kirov’s
redesign to allow for the installation of the larger
152mm twin batteries behind the main missile deck silos. The bow gun was a
single cannon, a 100 mm/L60 DP gun from the original battlecruiser
Kirov
that was retained in the refit. As he watched the turret smartly turn Karpov
passed a fleeting moment thinking that this could be the first round of the war
that would change all future history from this point forward, his private war
on history itself, to redress the wrongdoing of so many nations who had opposed
Russian ambitions and curtailed his country’s rightful place here in the
Pacific and the world. That would all change from the moment he gave the order
to fire.

Then another memory suddenly returned to him like a haunting
ghost. He recalled that brief moment on the quay at Vladivostok when Admiral
Volsky had called to him from his car, just after they received word that the
Chinese and Japanese were fighting one another over the Diaoyutai islands.

“…Do what you must,”
the Admiral had told him.
“But we both know that there is
something much greater than the fate of the ship at stake now, something much
bigger than our own lives. We are the only ones who know what is coming,
Karpov, and fate will never forgive us if we fail her this time.”

He could still see the look in the Admiral’s eye as he slowly drew
out his missile key, handing it off to Karpov—the same key the two men had
struggled over in the North Atlantic. Volsky was handing him more than the
power and responsibility that key represented. He was also handing him his hope
for a future they might win together.

Another memory crowded in behind that image. It was the
conversation he had with Sergeant Troyak soon after he had formally returned to
the ship, mending fences with the indomitable Marine. He remember how he
apologized for his behavior in opposing Volsky.

“Sergeant, I have come to apologize to you for what I did in the
Atlantic; for the position I put you and your men in, trying to set you in
opposition to the Admiral. I was a stupid fool. I should have been severely
punished, and instead I was handed forgiveness. I am here to see if you might
spare me a little as well.”

Troyak nodded gravely, and the Captain continued.

“I was wrong to do what I did, and I have only the Admiral’s grace
to hold for the fact that I am standing here now and still wearing these
stripes. I should be in the Brig, or worse, but Volsky gave me this chance and
I am pledged to the service of this ship. I won’t let him down, or this crew
down, ever again. Understand?”

I won’t let him down…ever again… The words seemed a searing brand
on his face now, considering all that had happened since he left Vladivostok as
nominal commander of the fleet. What had he accomplished? He engaged the
Americans, first jousting verbally with Captain Tanner on the carrier
Washington
,
then engaging that battlegroup in a brief, violent battle in the waters just
south of the Kuriles. Who knows how it might have ended were it not for that
Demon of a volcano that sent us careening into the past?

Then he had the temerity and headstrong will to confront the
entire US Pacific fleet in 1945—eighteen carriers, six battleships, over twenty
cruisers and ninety destroyers with more than three thousand aircraft at their
disposal as well. What was he thinking? The hubris and arrogance he had
demonstrated quickly led to the loss of the
Admiral Golovko
, and all
hands aboard, and probably the loss of
Orlan
as well. What kind of
commander was he in the end? Every time things came down to a decisive moment,
he had reached for the overwhelming power of the nuclear warheads on the
gleaming tips of his missiles.

Now the words he spoke to Sergeant Troyak that day seemed to lash at
him. The Sergeant had given him his much needed absolution, and pledged his
support.

“You can rely on me, sir.”

“Yes…But I think that will be the easy part for us, Sergeant
Troyak. When it comes to a fight we will know what to do easily enough. Yet we
have both seen what was left of the world on one black day after another.
Something tells me we are steering a course that way even as we speak. I don’t
know how yet, or what we can do about it. I once thought that if I could just
get the ship home safely it would be enough, but there is something more in
front of us now. We may be called to war soon, but if we are ever to avoid that
other world we saw, we’ll have to become something more, you and I. We’ll have
to become men of peace as well.”

“I understand, sir….At least I think I do.”

“You are the business end of a platoon of highly trained men,
Sergeant. But not every blow is struck to do harm. This is the only way I can
think to understand it. Sometimes we fight to do some good, and we do what we
must when it comes to battle. But Fedorov once told me to think also of what we
should do, and this time I will keep his advice in my front shirt pocket, and
heed it well.”

What was he about to do now, take on the entire world here? Was
this blow meant to do harm, or good? Is this what he
should
do in this
situation? He was clearly not at risk here. The ship was truly invincible in
this era, and he did not expect to ever find himself in any situation they
could not easily handle, as long as he kept a wary eye on his munitions and
missile ordnance inventory, and used his power judiciously.

He could let these ships steam on their way… Sayonara. They
obviously wanted nothing to do with his threatening ship and were doing the
only thing a sane sea captain might consider by trying to slip away. Yet if he
was to assert himself here as planned, and set history to rights, then he had
to start somewhere. What was he doing here? Was he to be a man of peace, as he
had lectured Troyak, or was he just a man of war, a mindless shark with the
sharpest teeth in the ocean? Was he right to presume he could redress all the
wrongs of the centuries yet to come? What was it that upstart American pilot
had said to him before the Americans foolishly pressed that first attack on his
fleet?
Might makes right,
the words of Iron Mike.

All that said and thought in his mind, he still felt compelled to
do something that would get the attention of the current Japanese government. Yes,
might makes right. If he gave them a pin-prick here it might save more pain in
the end. He would at least give them the opportunity to comply before he
resorted to any further action. With that thought in mind he decided to offer
these steamers that one chance as well.

“Samsonov, fire a warning shot across the bow of that lead
steamer. Nikolin—signal that if they do not immediately assume a course of 090
degrees east they will be sunk. One round please.”

“Aye, sir, firing now.”

The bow gun recoiled with a sharp crack and the round plunged into
the sea ahead of the steamer, a relatively small splash in the water
considering the huge mass of the ship that had fired.
Kirov
was merely
clearing its throat.

Karpov was watching through his binoculars, hoping the Japanese
Captain would not force him to better his aim and hit the ship. He saw the steamer
make another ten point turn to starboard, but then it held steady on.

“Have they increased speed?”

Radar immediately reported. “Yes, sir. They have gone from eight
to twelve knots.”

“Any further message from them, Nikolin?”

“No sir. But they are sending a distress signal now to any coastal
station in range…. S.O.S…
Tatsu Maru
…Under attack.”

“They’re calling home for help. Well, that will do them no good,
and I suppose we might achieve something more here by making an example of this
ship. Very well, Mister Samsonov. Kiss that ship’s backside with the bow gun.
Aim well and put a single round into them.”

Samsonov was quick to fire, and the round was equally quick to the
target. Karpov saw it strike the aft quarter of the ship and bloom up in an
angry explosion. The second steamer had turned completely about and was running
as well.

A flash of anger bothered him as he waited, peering through his
field glasses. The lead steamer was still trying to get away. Foolish little
men, thought Karpov. Can’t they see what’s in front of them? He turned to
Samsonov with a final order. “Sink that lead vessel with the bow gun. We’ll
allow the other to pick up anyone who goes into the sea. After all, we aren’t monsters
here, and these are non-combatants. But we must establish that our word is
steel, we are men of steel, and that when we give an order it is to be obeyed.
After that all should be well.”

Men of steel, thought Nikolin. Another man had called himself that
too—Josef Stalin, the man of steel. So now we are a ship of little Stalins at
large in an unsuspecting world. He wondered just how far the Captain was going
to take things, but being a junior officer he knew it was not his place to
speak up in this situation. He found himself wishing that Rodenko was here on
the bridge. The
Starpom
was below decks on his relief shift, and the
Captain had nothing more than his own internal muse for council.

Now the sound of the forward deck gun punctuated the still airs
sharply—crack—crack—crack, and Samsonov methodically fired in tightly
controlled salvos of three rounds each. He had a solid radar lock on the
steamer, and within minutes
Tatsu Maru
was a flaming wreck. Nikolin
looked to see hapless crewmen leaping from the fiery deck into the sea. It
brought to mind the same image of men leaping from the devastated hulk of the
Admiral
Golovko
when the American battleship had scored that lucky hit with one of
its big main guns.

All it took was that single round, he thought. But the Captain
does not seem in any way concerned here. He believes we are invulnerable, and
perhaps we are. That said, the Japanese Navy here beat the entire Russian
Pacific Fleet, and those ships must be harbored somewhere close at hand. Something
told him he would soon be watching more men go into the angry sea, and he hoped
he would not be one of them.

Chapter 20

Rodenko
paid a visit to Doctor Zolkin on his relief shift. There he discussed
their situation, and the Doctor was still struggling with the amazing notion
that the ship had continued its regression in time.

“We seem to be on a long slide to oblivion,” he said. “1908? Why
this year, I wonder?”

“No one knows. With Dobrynin and Fedorov gone we seem to have no
real idea what is happening. The control rod was removed from the ship, but we
still move in time whenever we are close to some massive detonation. First it
was that damn volcano, and then that last warhead the Captain fired must have
been a little too close.”

“Perhaps the Captain might refrain from flinging nuclear weapons
about,” Zolkin dried his hands with a white towel as if washing the trouble
away. “That, clearly has something to do with it. What’s been going on in the
night sky? Has Karpov been testing more weapons?”

“The night sky? You mean the strange glow after dark. Yes, we have
all wondered about it. At first we thought it was an after effect of our latest
time displacement, but it should not last this long, and it appears to be
coming from well over the horizon to the northwest, up in Siberia. But it has
nothing to do with nuclear weapons, that I can assure you. Thankfully the
Captain has ordered the warheads put in magazine storage. He thinks our
conventional weapons are sufficient now.”

“Well, what does he intend to do, Rodenko? You aren’t here for a
headache or cut finger.”

Rodenko smiled. “You are very observant, Doctor, and of late I have
been closely observing the Captain as well. He has been under a great deal of
stress since we left Vladivostok to confront the Americans in 2021. At times he
appears to lapse into remorse and depression. Then he is suddenly energized
with his old, willful ambition. I’m afraid the farther back in time we slip the
more aggressive he may become. That little theater he staged at Vladivostok is
a perfect example. He actually announced himself as the new Viceroy of the East!”

Zolkin laughed. “My, my. That man’s ego knows no bounds. Viceroy
of the East? The Captain has been spoiling for a fight with someone he could
push around for a good long while now. His only difficulty has been the fact
that his enemies push back. We were a squadron of eight ships when we left
Vladivostok, and now here we are alone on the sea again. The navy can do
without commanders like this, in my opinion.”

“Well, doctor, now that we are here I believe the Captain intends
to do considerably more. He says he wants to make
Kirov
the new flagship
of Russia’s Pacific Fleet here.”

“What’s left of it. As I recall the history there wasn’t much left
but a few old armored cruisers in Vladivostok.”

“But he intends to use
Kirov
to try and redress that.”

“In what way?”

“I believe he thinks he can confront the Japanese and recover the
ground and prestige Russia lost to them in the war.”

Zolkin was very quiet now. “Looking for another war to fight, is
he? Hasn’t he seen enough? We’ve fought the British, Italians, Japanese, and
then the Americans in two different eras, and now he wants to take on the
Imperial Japanese Navy again? It has been said that there is nothing more
dangerous than an admiral with a compass and a map. Men like Karpov are at the
heart of that truism.”

Rodenko lowered his head, thinking before he asked his next
question, an edge of uncertainty in his voice now. “Doctor…What if the Captain
persists with this? He will be trying to reverse the course of history itself,
and restore Russia as a Pacific Power, yet with only this single ship.
Certainly we are powerful. We can impose our will at sea and outfight anything
we encounter here. But Japan has an army too, and they beat the Russian army of
this era convincingly. I think the Captain has again bitten off more than he
can chew.”

“Yes, and if he keeps doing that he will choke one day and that
will be the end of it.”

“But the men, Doctor. Can we keep asking the men to fight like
this? They hardly had a week ashore after we got home, and then we were out to
sea again to fight the Americans.”

“I agree, it’s been difficult for them all. That Russian Inspector
General didn’t help matters either. Yet I see quite a few in here for one thing
or another. The men still seem rather buoyant to me. Their morale has not
flagged.”

“That’s the problem,” said Rodenko. “They’ve seen Karpov fight,
and fight hard. Yes, he’s a good tactical officer, but he makes grave strategic
errors in my opinion. He puts the ship at risk in situations where it could easily
be avoided. We could have steamed due east into the Pacific long before we ran
into the Americans in 1945. I was in favor of our intervention to assist the
Soviet landing in the Kuriles, but Karpov didn’t have to pick a fight with
those old American destroyers and cruisers when we found them patrolling there.
It was as if he really
wanted
to provoke them, and anyone could see what
they would do in return. Firing on those first planes they sent to have a look
at us was an accident, or so I have heard. What came after was something more intentional.”

“You believe Karpov was deliberately trying to provoke the Americans?
That sounds very much like the man I know.”