Kirov Saga: Armageddon (Kirov Series) (35 page)

“Sir,” said the weapon’s officer, “the number sixteen missile is
mounted with a special warhead. Do I include it in this order?” Protocol
required that he point this out.

“Confirmed. Missiles one through sixteen,” Gromyko repeated flatly,
and Belanov seconded his order immediately.

“P-900 system. Missiles one thru sixteen, aye, sir.”

“
Veter
system,” said Gromyko. “Load tubes one and two.
RU-100 torpedoes,
with
special warheads.” He reached for the missile key
that dangled from his neck, making his way to the console with Belanov quickly
at his side.

“Sir, load RU-100s on tubes one and two; special warheads enabled,
aye, aye.”

There was a long moment of tension in the control room, then
Gromyko nodded to the communications station. “The floor is yours, Admiral.”

* * *

Kirov
ran southeast, well ahead
of Togo’s converging column. Samsonov had been given the order to open fire
with the forward deck guns. As the Captain had not been specific, he was using
the 100mm bow gun to range in on the leading ships of Kataoka’s division in the
long line of contacts that now presented themselves on his tactical display.
The gun fired in three round salvos, with a brief pause between each one while
Samsonov refined his radar lock and fed the data to the bigger 152mm deck guns
fore and aft. Soon they were making short work of the enemy ships, punishing
them severely with their precision radar controlled fire. Kataoka’s leading
battleship and flag,
Chinyen
, was hit three times and already fighting
fires, and
Kirov
was so fast that the enemy could not close the range to
answer.

“What is the range?” The Captain was pleased with his results so
far as he watched Samsonov target the unwieldy Japanese battleship in the
vanguard of the enemy formation.

“About 15,000 meters, sir.”

“Good. Give them a good pounding, Samsonov. Light that one up and
let the rest see what’s in store for them. Helm, ten degrees to port. Come to
one-four-zero and reduce to twenty knots.”

“Sir, coming around to one-four-zero, aye.”

Chinyen
was among the oldest ships in the Japanese fleet, built by
Germany in 1882 and sold to China where it deployed as a “turret ship” in the
Sino-Japanese war of 1894-1895. Called
Zhenyuan
at the time, she was
damaged at the battle of the Yalu River and transferred to Weihaiwei after
repairs where she struck an unseen rock, forcing her Captain to beach the ship
to avoid sinking. There she was taken as a prize of war by the Japanese at the
battle of Weihaiwei, and after refurbishing, she became the only battleship in
the Japanese fleet for a brief time.

Like so many other ships, once the pride of the fleet, she was
soon relegated to the status of an obsolete troop escort ship. Togo had
reservations about letting her sail at all, but Kataoka had insisted that her
four Krupp 12 inch guns would provide much needed firepower for his division.
Yet those guns could only elevate thirteen degrees, restricting their range to
an anemic 7,200 meters, so
Chinyen
remained silent as she labored
forward at 15 knots, her best speed in the rising swell. The only thing she
would end up providing Kataoka would be a harried trip to the salt of the sea.

“Give me a single
Moskit-II,”
said Karpov. “Blast that lead
ship out of the water. That will be the flagship of this squadron.”

Samsonov wasted no time, keying the target and assigning his
weapon. The roar of the missile launch followed soon after, devouring the short
15 kilometer range in just 25 seconds from launch to impact. To Kataoka, it
seemed like a demon from the deepest hell, howling in at his flagship and
smashing the vessel amidships with a terrible explosion and raging fire. As
with
Tango
and
Mishima
, the missile had barely touched its fuel
reserve, yet was hurtling at near Mach 2 speed when it thundered home. Chinyen
had a thick shell of 14 inch armor, but at only 7,600 tons she rode very low in
the water and the missile struck well above her armor, ravaging the
superstructure and burning completely through the ship.

Kataoka was well forward of the impact on the weather deck of the
bridge, but the concussion was so severe that he was hurtled off the deck and
right into the sea along with several junior officers. When he finally managed
to break the surface, clinging to a shattered spit of the ship’s forward mast,
he gaped in horror as
Chinyen
buckled and broke in half, the ship
completely gutted by the terrible fire dragon that had devoured it. He would be
a long time in the water before being rescued by the destroyer
Oboro
. In
that time his division plowed forward gallantly, the five remaining armored
cruisers sailing past the ravaged ship, their crews gasping at the carnage
inflicted on their flagship, yet determined to seek vengeance.

Chapter 29

Aboard
Kirov
Karpov raised his fist in jubilation. “You see,
Rodenko? When the others see what we have done to their flagship I wonder how
eager they will be to close with us?”

“Captain,” said Tasarov.

Karpov’s ebullient mood was suddenly iced over as he turned to his
sonar man, but the report was of another surface contact and he calmed himself.
Tasarov had been listening to the wallowing slosh of the old Japanese navy
ships off to the west of their position, but now he heard a strong surface
contact to the east, some 60 kilometers away. The Fregat system soon confirmed
it as yet another line of enemy warships emerging from the Shimonoseki Strait
and heading south at 18 knots.

“We should have scouted the Inland Sea,” said Rodenko. “I have
another twenty-eight surface contacts on that heading now.”

“They could have twice that number there and it will not matter,”
said Karpov. “They are just more grist for the mill.”

“It appears the Japanese fleet is larger than we expected, sir. We’ve
just dealt with this group of eight ships but there are still two large
formations closing on us like pincers, and sinking that old gunboat has not
dampened their enthusiasm. Look sir, they are still coming. Then we also have this
group of six ships here southwest of us. Those are flying the British flag.”

“Six, eight, twelve, a dozen—what does it matter? You saw what we
just did to the first of this group. The rest will get the same.”

“Mister Samsonov,” said Rodenko. “How many rounds have we expended
in this engagement?”

“Sir, we have fired 240 rounds from the 152mm guns, and another 36
from the 100mm bow gun. We still have 2432 rounds remaining on the 152mm guns,
and 914 on the bow gun.”

“And missiles?”

“Nine each for the
Moskit-II
and
Mos-III
systems,
sir.”

“I know what you are trying to prove, Rodenko,” said Karpov. “That
is more than sufficient. I will use our remaining SSMs sparingly.”

“Well sir, this new group to the east is returning much stronger
signals. Those are battleships. I read at least sixteen, and they will take far
more punishment to sink than these cruisers and destroyers.”

“That’s not possible. I researched the Japanese order of battle
and they do not have that many ships in that class.”

“The Fregat system does not lie, sir, and you know I can read it
like a book. I am certain there are sixteen larger ships. The remainder will be
smaller cruiser and destroyer class vessels.”

Rodenko was correct. Karpov ordered the KA-40 to swing over Iki
Island and have a look east where they soon received HD video from their long
range camera system. They were staring up at the screen to see a line of chalk
white warships steaming at a good speed, the skies dark with the soot of their
coal fired boilers. In their van were squadrons of smaller ships, but they flew
Japanese naval ensigns.

“Look at those flags on the battleships, sir. Those are American
ships!”

Karpov stared at the screen for some time. “What in the world?
This can only be their Great White Fleet, but it was not supposed to be
anywhere near here at this time. They should be sailing to the Philippines.”

“Well things have clearly changed, Captain. Are you prepared to
engage the American Navy here as well?”

My God, thought Karpov. What a gift! Now I can destroy both the
Imperial Japanese Navy and the American Navy in one great battle here! That
will make
Kirov
, and Russia, the undisputed master of the Pacific for
decades to come. After this I can sink any ship they build and send here to
challenge me. This is perfect! But Rodenko’s warning about the munitions is now
more important. I cannot waste my remaining deck gun ammunition on those
battleships. They will have to be crushed swiftly, and I have only eighteen
SSMs available. Then there is still the matter of
Kazan.
That is my main
fear at the moment.…

Rodenko was watching the Captain closely, seeing the mix of
emotions cross his face as he studied the screen. He was hoping the Captain
would see that the odds were stacking up here, and creating a situation that
could prove very difficult to manage without resort to more force than their
conventional arms could wield. That was
his
great fear. Karpov had a
reflex to suddenly escalate in the face of such odds, and he was worried.

“Sir?” He pressed the Captain. “We now have both American and
British ships in the mix here, and they seem to be intent on joining this
battle. Engaging the Americans will set a powerful enemy on Russia’s trail in
the history ahead. Are you certain you wish to do this?”

Karpov turned, his eyes smoldering. “We will have to face them one
day or another, Rodenko. If not now, then they will grow beyond our means. I
admit that I bit off more than I could chew by confronting Halsey and Nimitz in
1945. But these ships can be mastered easily enough.”

“Yet at great expense of our conventional munitions, sir. These
are old pre-dreadnaught battleships. Their dreadnaughts are now in the
shipyards being built in the shadow of the First World War. After that will
come the pre-WWII battleships, and then their better designs. You saw what it
took to sink the
Iowa
. So how many irreplaceable rounds of ammunition do
we use here on these old ships?”

Karpov gave him an irritated look. “Leave that to me. I will show
you what can be done. Navigation! How long before we reach that island?”

“A little over 20 minutes, Captain.”

They were now just 20 kilometers northwest of Iki Island, the
place that Karpov had chosen as his shield against possible missile or torpedo
attack from the north. He was worried that he had to opened the engagement too
soon, for
Kazan
would surely have a good idea of his location after that
initial gun duel. Now his intention was to swing around a cluster of small
islets south of the main island and find the sheltering bay beyond. Once there
he would be in a well protected area, the island a strong shield against any
torpedo attacks, and he had the ranged firepower to pound anything that dared
to approach him. I must find that submarine before I leave those waters, he
thought. But what if they strike with their missile battery first? With all
this noise from the surface contacts Tasarov will have a hell of a time trying
to locate that submarine. Yes, they will certainly get the first salvo, but we
can defend ourselves well with our SAMs, and then we strike back.

“Navigator,” he said. “I want to move the ship into this bay. How
deep is the water there?”

“29 meters, sir, and a little deeper further south at 38 meters.
We’ll have to avoid the channel to the north, it is much too shallow for us to
transit.” Kirov’s draft was only 9 meters, but Karpov did not want to run
aground on a hidden sand bar or shoal.

“Then take us south of those islands and approach from that
direction. Alter speed if necessary. I will be too busy to instruct you, so I
rely on your skill to pilot the ship while we finish this combat.”

“Aye, sir. Programming in the course now.”

Then Karpov eased over to Tasarov, his voice muted as he spoke.

“Anything, Tasarov?”

“Sir?”

“You know what I mean. Are you listening carefully?”

“Yes sir. But the sound field is very cluttered.”

“As we approach that island ahead, you will go to active sonar. These
waters could be mined.”

“Very well, sir.”

“The KA-40 is over Iki Island now. Move it south to watch the
channel east and south of the island.” The Captain was pointing at the location
he had in mind on the map. He tapped the screen with a thin finger, and Tasarov
nodded.

“Very well, sir.”

“Don’t forget those submarines I warned you about, eh?”

Then the Captain drifted back to the tactical screen near Rodenko
where the two men continued their discussion concerning the Americans.

“Sixteen battleships, Captain. Yes we could put a missile on each
and every one, but then we would have only two left. It will be deck guns and
modified SAMs for all the years ahead of us, long decades, sir. Think about
it.”

“I tell you I have no intention of squandering my missiles as you
suggest, Mister Rodenko. We have ample means to carry the fight to that enemy
at a time of my choosing.”

“What means sir? Surely not another special warhead.”

“Those weapons are in inventory for a reason, yes? I have not
hesitated to use the full power of this ship. Why are you so squeamish?”

Rodenko had finally realized that his opposition to Karpov had to
be framed in ways the Captain would accept. He knew there were no moral
considerations in Karpov’s mind now. That was evident in the way he so casually
ordered the destruction of that last ship, watching it break and burn without
the slightest twinge. It was just as he had ordered the annihilation of the
American TF-16 in 1941, and again in 1945 with the
Iowa
. Where the
Americans were concerned he would have no qualms, the verdict of future history
claimed as ample reason for his murderous rage.

There was no way their remaining conventional munitions would
suffice to destroy all these ships, and he was certain Karpov would soon opt
for stronger measures. Yet if he could couch his objection in strategic terms,
he might convince the Captain that using nuclear weapons here could jeopardize
everything he was aiming for.

“Well, sir… A special warhead would certainly do the job, but look
what happened the last time we did this. We were blown another thirty-seven
years into the past! The ship’s position in time has never been stable. Consider
what happened when that volcano went off. Rod-25 was long removed, and yet it
appears that any major explosive event like that can still cause us to shift in
time. What if that happens again? You’ll lose your entire strategic position
here, and everything you have been planning.”

Karpov gave Rodenko a narrow eyed look. “So you are starting to
think rationally now,” he said. “You are finally seeing the big picture. Well
don’t worry, Rodenko. There are always other options. I am not concerned with
this Great White Fleet for the moment. First we deal with the Japanese.”

“On this heading? Those look to be very restricted waters ahead, Sir.
I’d feel more comfortable steering 240 if you must engage the Japanese.”

“I have good reason to hold this course. Watch and learn.”

Tasarov gave Nikolin a wide eyed look. Nikolin had been agonizing
at his post, considering a number of ways he might get the news he held to
Rodenko without provoking a major scene on the bridge with the Captain. One
scenario he ran through his head was that he could feign illness, even pretend
to collapse with dizziness so that he would be relieved and sent to sick bay.
There he could tell everything he knew to Zolkin, and the Doctor would
certainly know what to do. Could he get away with that? At least he would not
be here when the shouting started.

Another option presented itself. I have recorded the entire
message, he thought. All I would have to do it play it back over the ship’s
intercom system! Then the entire crew would hear Admiral Volsky ordering the
Captain to break off this engagement and return to Vladivostok. Yet there will
be a firestorm if I do that. I would have to face the Captain’s wrath right here
on the bridge, and I do not want to imagine what he might do.

What about Tasarov? If I go to the sick bay he’s still stuck in
the borscht here. He knows about the Admiral too. Is he sitting there wondering
what to do just as I am? He glanced at Tasarov’s sonar station, seeing him
stooped over his headset, deep in concentration. Nikolin toggled the station to
station link again and keyed a text message. WHAT SHOULD WE DO?

At last he could bear it no longer, and he was working himself up
to call Rodenko to his station to certify his ship’s log entry. He thought he
might then rasp out the truth he was holding when Rodenko was close, but he
would not get the chance. Events took another course.

Tasarov heard it on sonar, a distinct sound that he had come to
associate with an undersea missile launch. Yet it was oddly diffused in all the
noise and he was not certain about it. Instinctively, he began to calculate
bearing, making ready to report the contact, his heart beating fast as he did
so. That single contact finally pushed the tentative house of cards on the
bridge of
Kirov
to collapse.

“Con. Sonar. I believe I have—”

“Con Radar! Airborne contact inbound bearing five-zero degrees and
sixty kilometers out.” A junior radar operator had seen it much more clearly on
the Fregat system as the missile climbed over the peak of Oronshima Island
roaring like a kami. “Captain, I believe it’s a missile!”

“Confirmed,” said Tasarov. “ I picked its launch up on sonar as
well, same bearing.”

Rodenko was standing sullenly by the tactical display, an
uncomfortable look on his face that soon became real surprise. His eyes
expressed both alarm and suspicion.

“Missile fire?”

Karpov spun about, his features ashen, eyes seeming to bulge a bit
in his sallow face, and he reacted on sheer instinct. “Ready on S-400 system!
Prepare to fire on my command!”

“Captain,” Rodenko pressed. “A missile? How is this possible?”

“Mister Samsonov…”

“One moment, sir. I have a red light on the system board for the
S-400s. The crews had to pull several missiles from the silos to reprogram as
you ordered. They have equipment all over the deck!”

“Damn!”

Rodenko rushed to the radar station, unable to believe what he was
hearing. Yet there it was, a clear signal lancing in at the ship at subsonic
speed. He knew the signature well, and could even read the IFF data on his
secondary screen It was very close.

“My God! It’s a P-900, and no more than 45 kilometers out!” He
looked directly at Karpov now, who stood frozen near Samsonov.

“Switch to
Klinok
system!” said Karpov, ignoring his
Starpom
.
“Key all 30mm Gatling guns and begin tracking.”

They had only seconds to decide what to do. Even at subsonic speed
the missile was going to reach them in less than three minutes and then begin a
high speed terminal run with dizzying evasive maneuvers.

“Switching to
Klinok
missile system and tracking on all
starboard side 30mm guns.” Samsonov moved, robot like, his big arms engaging
switch toggles and sounding air alert one. The claxon blared through the ship’s
corridors and compartments, and they heard the scramble of unseen crewmen
below.

“Captain!” Rodenko’s voice cut through the tension.

“Not now, Rodenko, we have a missile inbound!” Karpov held up an
arm as if to ward his
Starpom
off. “Fire when ready Samsonov! It will
begin its terminal run any second. We must get it in cruise mode!”

At that moment Nikolin saw the amber light on his HF radio panel.
It was another command channel message, and he had no doubt as to its origin. His
heart pounded, pulse racing as he flipped the switch, realizing that it was now
or never.

“Captain,” he called, his voice unsteady. “I have another emergency
HF command level message from Admiral Volsky!” There, he spoke the name,
removing all doubt, and Rodenko heard it as clear as the message now playing on
the overhead intercom speaker.

“…This is your final warning. I repeat. This is Admiral Volsky
ordering you to immediately break off your engagement and turn north to
Vladivostok. If you do not comply we will have no choice but to fire in
earnest. This is your final warning. Respond at once!”

Everything seemed to be happening at once in a wild cacophony of
sound and motion on the bridge. Karpov wheeled on Nikolin’s position, shouting
his name in anger. Samsonov fired, and two medium range missiles snapped up
into the air above the aft section of the ship and ignited one after another,
streaking away to find the incoming threat. The roar of their ignition drowned
out the Captain’s strident voice. Then Karpov stiffened to look outside for the
incoming missile. They could already see the white contrail of the P-900 beginning
its descent to sea level, and the two SAMs danced in the air to vector in on
the target. Then something happened that no one expected. The P-900 exploded.

Chapter 30

“Turn
that damn thing off, Nikolin!” Karpov was enraged. “At Once! Who
gave you an order to relay command channel traffic to the intercom? Get off the
bridge, you stupid fool. Move!”

Shocked by the twisted expression on the Captain’s face, Nikolin quickly
dropped his headset and slid out of his chair, a look of real fear on his face
as he headed for the aft hatch of the citadel.

“Send up Chekov,” Karpov said sharply after him. “And be quick
about it. You are confined to quarters until further notice.”

Nikolin shrugged and slipped through the hatch, his cheeks red and
a downcast expression on his face. Yet he had done what he hoped. Everyone on
the bridge now knew that Admiral Volsky was out there somewhere and heard his
order for the ship to turn for Vladivostok. Rodenko knew, and was soon standing
stiffly at the radar station, his eyes darkly on Karpov as he spoke.

“Captain, that was a warning shot. What is happening?”

“That man is insane,” said Karpov. “What is he trying to do here?
Thank God I got that missile with the Klinok’s.”

“Those SAMs had nothing to do with it, sir. Look, they are still
in the air! The missile was detonated deliberately. We must open a command
channel to the Admiral at once.”

Rodenko wasn’t stupid. His initial confusion and surprise
evaporated quickly. He had been musing over the incongruities on the bridge the
last hour and feeling something was very wrong here. He knew that Fedorov was
back, supposedly at Vladivostok, but now the P-900 set that assumption to rest.
They had to be on a ship if they fired that missile, and a ship with nuclear
propulsion. He knew the fleet as well as any man, and could see no surface
contacts on the radar screen at the point of origin for this missile. They were
on a submarine, and the list of possible boats was a short one. Why hadn’t he
seen this earlier? It was right before his nose, the ASW loadout on the KA-40,
the order to re-configure those S-400s…

“Captain, it is now obvious they have managed to return aboard a
submarine. It’s not an
Akula
; they have no SSMs, and it’s certainly not
an
Oscar
. They have to be aboard
Kazan
. That is the only boat in
the Pacific armed with the P-900.”

“Very clever, Rodenko. I deduced this long ago. What of it?”

“Sir, why didn’t you inform me? Now we have orders from the
Admiral and I would like clarification.”

“Since when do you have anything to do with orders from the
Admiral? You take orders from only one man on this ship—the Captain.”

“But we all heard what the Admiral said, sir. We
must
comply.”

“We will do nothing of the sort.”

“Captain, I must insist.”

“You insist? Don’t get bigger than your britches, Rodenko. You
insist nothing here, is that understood?”

The tension on the bridge was razor sharp. The two men were
standing some ten feet apart, Rodenko by the radar, Karpov next to Nikolin’s
communications station, still eying the switches and controls there with
offended suspicion. Tasarov was listening beneath his headset, eyes closed
tight as if he were trying to shut the scene out and lose himself in the depths
of the sea. Samsonov was waiting at his CIC post, but there was a light of
uncertainty in his eyes as they moved from the Captain to Rodenko. All the
other junior officers and watch standers seemed frozen in shock.

Rodenko stood taller, hands on his hips, squaring off as he faced
the Captain now. “Sir, with all due respect. I am
Starpom
of this ship.
It is within my right to question any order you issue, and to demand
clarification should any order be unclear, particularly if a senior officer is
at hand. Now the Admiral is out there somewhere, and I have heard his direct
order—”

“I am countermanding that order as Captain of this ship!” Karpov’s
anger was barely controlled now, like a team of stallions straining at the
reins. “Volsky knows
nothing
of the immediate tactical situation, and
therefore cannot understand what needs to be done here.”

“Which is why we need to contact him, sir. If nothing more you can
explain our present situation and prevent an incident that we may all soon
regret. You saw that P-900. That was a warning shot!
Kazan
has
considerably more to throw our way and our primary SAM system is not ready for
action. We must open communications at once.”

Rodenko was playing it by the book. He knew his rights and
obligations as
Starpom
, and if he had heard the whole of Admiral
Volsky’s first message he would have taken a much stronger line here. As it
stood, only Nikolin and Tasarov knew that Volsky had ordered Karpov relieved
upon non-compliance, but the Captain knew that as well, and he was not about to
allow any further ‘clarification’ of that little matter.