Kirov Saga: Armageddon (Kirov Series) (23 page)

Tasarov’s warning proved to be very timely, for he soon began to
detect several objects ahead, it was not long until the ship was engaging them
with short bursts of the Gatling guns, or from 50 caliber machine guns set up
on the weather deck by the Marines. They watched as several exploded, sending
tall geysers of seawater up that glittered in the afternoon sun.

“Well done, Mister Tasarov,” said Karpov. “I expect that will
likely be the last of them, but keep listening on active sonar for the next hour.”

They had reached the mid-point of the island, still about ten
kilometers off the coast of Tsushima. A little farther south the island broke
up into a series of smaller islets and deep bays and Rodenko noted that the
Japanese torpedo boat screen had withdrawn into the cover of the bays around
Kuroshima Island.

“It’s clear they mean to lie in wait there,” he said. “They will
most likely make a rush at us when we pass that island.”

Karpov nodded. “Well, if the example we gave them earlier was not
enough of a lesson, then we’ll give them more of the same. The instant one of
those boats sticks its nose out, I want to engage with the forward deck gun.
The 100mm gun should be sufficient.”

To the Japanese, the Russian ship seemed to have an almost
prescient ability to divine their intentions. Lieutenant Commander Odaki heard
and saw the mines exploding as they withdrew south, elated at first to think
they had struck a fatal blow and that his small flotilla would have accomplished
what the other cruisers and battleships before him could not do. Yet lookouts
soon reported that the Russian dreadnought was still steaming stalwartly south,
apparently uninjured. Now his small group of four boats, numbers 40 though 43,
would take up their pre-assigned position to the north of Kuroshima Island,
which sat like a small boot in the waters off Tsushima.

Odaki’s 10th Torpedo Division would deploy near the ankle of that
boot, and further south, Commander Kondo’s 15th Division had four newer boats
hidden beneath the long jutting toe. There, watching from a 100 meter hill on
the tip of the island, flagmen would signal the moment of the attack. Yet all
this was anticipated by the men aboard
Kirov
, so it was no surprise when
the Japanese boats suddenly emerged, charging boldly forward at high speed.
Odaki’s boats could make 23 knots, but Kondo had newer boats that were the
fastest in the fleet at 29 knots. It was soon to become a brave and desperate rush
to their doom.

“Con, radar reports eight contacts, four to either side of that
island off the starboard bow.”

“I expected this,” said Karpov. “Mister Samsonov, please add the
Forward 152mm deck gun to this engagement, and I also want the modified
Kashtan
system to deploy a missile salvo as a test.”

The crack of the guns began, their radar eyes quickly finding and
targeting the oncoming boats. At 150 tons the torpedo boats looked like tiny
destroyers on the high resolution Tin Man cameras, with two stacks puffing dark
smoke as they surged forward. On they came, through geysers of seawater with
the first near misses. Samsonov concentrated his fire on the northernmost
group, and Odaki’s boats paid heavily. The penetrating rounds of the modern
152mm guns did severe damage to the lightly armored boats, and within minutes
three of the four boats in that division had been hit and were on fire.

Kondo’s Division had been given just a little time to get into the
action. When he saw the fire and smoke of Odaki’s burning boats, he gritted his
teeth and stiffly extended his arm, pointing at the distant behemoth that
loomed ahead like a dark storm. As the enemy ship approached, it seemed to grow
to an enormous size, a huge silhouette that towered above the sea with tall battlements,
its long, sharp bow cutting effortlessly through the waves like a sword. In
fact,
Kirov
was 20 times the size of his boat and over 200 times his
displacement!

Sagi
was the first in his division to fall, struck amidships by two
152mm rounds that penetrated to the boat’s boilers and exploded with bright
fury that sent hot tongues of flame jutting from the ship.
Hashitake
fell next, bow hit by a 100mm round, geysers from near misses all around, and
then the starboard torpedo mount struck by a 152mm round. The resulting
explosion sent men and metal careening into the sky, yet Kondo charged bravely
on. He had to get very close to have any chance of hitting the enemy ship, but
the range and accuracy of the enemy guns was making his charge suicidal.

“Ready torpedoes!” he shouted boldly, intent on getting through
the iron curtain of enemy fire to deliver his sea lances home. Like so many
before him, he would never get the chance. There was no mercy at the edge of
this storm, just deadly lightning that struck with thunderclap speed and
surprise. The dark silhouette of the oncoming enemy ship suddenly erupted with
fire and white smoke, and then something came screaming in at his boat, fire
rockets that danced wildly up, then angled down to surge in at
Hibari
.
His boat was struck by both weapons, shrapnel ripping through the bridge crew,
and wounding Kondo himself in the shoulder. He clutched at the wound in pain,
then removed his hand, raising his good arm, still pointing out the direction
of his attack with a bloodied white glove. Then a 152mm round slammed into the
bridge, killing Kondo and every man there.

The navigation wheel was sheered away, and the
Hibari
veered off course, wallowing to port as two more rounds delivered hard body
blows. Her sides were ripped open to the sea and the boat capsized to one side,
the last of her crew screaming as they leapt into the restless water. Only
Uzura
was left, but it, too, died a quick and painful death, skewered by three hits
from the 100mm deck gun on
Kirov’s
forward bow. None of the eight
torpedo boats got within 4000 meters, still well outside the range of their 14
inch torpedoes. The tricks and surprises that Togo had planned and executed so
successfully against the Russian Fleets of 1905 would not avail him now.
Kirov’s
ability to see every move the enemy made, and to engage at superior range, was
decisive.

The big Russian battlecruiser had expended no more than 72 rounds
and a couple of
Kashtan
missiles Karpov wanted to test in their new role
as a small anti-ship weapon.

“There you have it,” said Karpov, a jaunty rock to his step as he
walked to the viewport, lifting his field glasses. “We have blown through their
little minefield as if it wasn’t even there. Now we put all eight of these
torpedo boats to rest. They had no chance to get anywhere within range. What
were they thinking?”

“I don’t think they knew that, sir,” said Rodenko. “But it was a
brave charge nonetheless.”

“Yes,” said Karpov, “and a foolish one as well. You would think
they would have broken off and scurried to the safety of those island shoals
after we blasted the first couple boats.”

“I don’t think they realized what we could do, sir. Our radar lock
with the deck guns made this a sure kill.”

“Well, let’s see how the news of this little engagement ripples
south. They know where we are, and have undoubtedly withdrawn their heavier
assets south to present a stronger threat. This attack was mere harassment.”

“That they have, sir,” said Rodenko. “I think we can assume we
will be facing at least 18 ships in the next engagement.” There was an edge of
warning in his voice now.

“Eighteen ships, or eighty ships, it doesn’t matter, Rodenko. The
result will be the same. We will fight that battle just as we have fought this
one. Mister Samsonov will engage at 15,000 meters with all our deck guns. I’ll
fling a few modified P-400s at them as well, just for color. The fragmentation
of those exploding warheads is lethal, and there are many open battery gun
mounts on those old ships. The SAMs will sweep their decks clean. I’ll identify
the flagships and make a determination as to whether or not we employ one or
two SSMs as well, but I want to preserve that inventory as long as possible.
Well,” he concluded, “now the real fun begins.”

“Vladimir Semenoff thought the same,” said Rodenko.

“Semenoff?” The Captain turned to look at him, not placing the
name.

“I read his account of the battle of Tsushima in one of Fedorov’s
books last night. He made that very remark when he witnessed the sudden turn
made by Admiral Togo’s ships at the outset of the battle.”

Karpov gave him a thin lipped smirk. “Well, Semenoff was not
aboard the battlecruiser
Kirov
, was he, Mister Rodenko?”

Part VII

Shadow
Dance

“A song
she heard
Of cold that gathers
Like winter's tongue
Among the shadows…”

―
Robery Fanney

“Poetry
is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.”

―
Carl Sanburg

Chapter 19

The
Seahawks
had been up for the last hour, well out in front
of Sato’s surface action group, scouring the waters south of Ulleung-do. Each
helicopter carried two Mark 46 torpedoes, and now they were dipping sonar into
the water listening for the enemy hidden beneath the sea.

After the
White Dragon,
Hakuryu,
had fired, and was
nearly destroyed by enemy counter fire, the Russian sub seemed to vanish behind
the intervening undersea massif that made up the island. A long hour passed
while Sato considered his options. The enemy could have turned on any new
heading after contact was lost, but he stared at the circle indicating their
farthest on and knew he was still in the hunt.

They might run due west between those two sea mounts, he thought,
fingering two small subsea features west of the main island. Yet they would
afford the enemy sub no cover. The water there was too deep, and the Russian
sub could not dive deep enough to reach the seamounts, which both had summits
at least 870 meters below sea level. The waters south were clear and deep,
almost 2200 meters, and that would be a good hunting ground for his
helicopters. The Russian sub’s best move would be to reverse course and turn
north again or even to move slightly east near the steep undersea flanks of the
volcanic island. There they could use the scattering effect of the sheer ridges
and cliffs to frustrate the searching pings of active sonar.

He had one sub out in front now, the
Kuroshio
. Just after
Hakuryu
engaged, the
Kuroshio
had altered course to 252 degrees southwest,
hoping to get a little out in front of the Russian sub if it continued south.
Sato’s three destroyers were now racing past the Dokdo Islets, also called the
Liancourt Rocks. Somewhere off his starboard bow he also knew a sleek new
American
Virginia
Class submarine was on the prowl, SGN
Mississippi
.
So the table was set for the next meal, and he had several sharp knives at
hand.

This Russian boat is very quiet, he thought. He was surprised that
White Dragon
had found it earlier, though that sub was shaken badly by
that near miss from a 650mm torpedo. This Russian Captain fired at very long
range, and with the only weapon that could do the job, nearly skewering his
quarry. Fifty meters made the difference between life and death for the Captain
and crew of
Hakuryu
, and that was all too typical of modern warfare,
where margins of meters and minutes, sometimes seconds, pronounced the judgment
of victor or vanquished.

Flash low frequency message traffic had gone out to all units in
the hunt.
Hakuryu
was north in the East Gap of Ulleung.
Mississippi
about twelve kilometers southeast, and
Kuroshio
about 20 kilometers due
south of the island. There had been no sign of the enemy on passive sonar from the
helos, and he was now ready to order them to undertake a more active sonar
search. Where are you? He whispered to himself as he studied the sea charts of
the area. Which way did you turn?

He would soon find out.

At 18:20 hours the triangulated sonar scans of his helicopters and
submarines thought they finally found something in the deep blue silence of the
sea, the barest whisper, a murmur of a shadow passing. It might have been a
blue finned whale, or even a large shark, so subtle was its signature on the
passive sonar. As per orders from Sato, the first sign of any contact was to be
immediately answered by active sonar from the helicopters.

The bright pings radiated out through the hushed undersea
oceanscape, rippling against the hull of something dark and solid there.
Kazan’s
hull design and skin served to scatter much of the sound, but enough got back
to reach the well trained ears of the sonar man aboard
Mississippi
. He
had been listening closely to something in the water, an odd repeating scratch
that seemed deeply muted, but it was there. Somewhere, he thought, there was a
machine out of whack. Some bearing or lever or rod was moving out of balance,
leaving a quiet dissonance in the muttering backwash of the sea. He could not
tell what it was, exactly, but he had a good idea
where
it was. Then the
pings came.