Kirov (10 page)

While
the Chief had not expressed his innermost thoughts directly before this, he
sided with Karpov earlier, and now seemed to be strongly reinforcing the Captain’s
opinion that the ship should be operating on a wartime footing.

Volsky
pressed his lips tightly together, deciding. “Very well, gentlemen, I will
indulge you both. Begin active antisubmarine operations at once. We have
recovered the KA-226. Now launch both KA-40s and have them each search a 180°
arc around the ship.”

Captain
Karpov seemed very encouraged by this, and immediately turned to Tasarov at the
ASW station to inform him of the new orders. It was not merely that he had been
vindicated, his fears justified, his opinions respected. He had also
successfully colored the incident with his own view that this was, indeed, an
attack, and no mere accident. In doing so he had discredited the Admiral’s own
appraisal of the situation, and laid further groundwork to bolster the fact
that he had been correct all along.

Yet
on another level he was equally relieved because the ship was now taking every
possible precaution against another attack, particularly against a submarine, and
his inner fears were held in check by the direct actions they were now taking. They
were no longer cruising sedately along through that confounding fog, a big fat
target in his mind. They were no longer the victims, the target of an unseen
foe. Now they were hunters. Now they were seeking well deserved revenge.
Someone was going to be held accountable for the loss of
Slava
and
Orel
.
It was not going to be
Kirov
, and by extension, it was not going to be
him. If they found this enemy submarine lurking in the depths he had every
intention of recommending they immediately kill it, punch it in the face, just
as Orlov had put it. So he was hopeful they would have a contact soon, and he
was not disappointed.

The
whirling roar of the helicopters could soon be heard as they took off, one
heading northeast, the other southwest. The KA-40s would position themselves
just over the horizon on either side of the ship, and drop their RGB-16-1 radar
hydro-acoustic buoys, extending the a ASW awareness of the ship by a
considerable distance. If nothing was found they would move further,
repositioning from point-to-point, dropping buoys and sending telemetry
directly to Tasarov's onboard systems. Twenty minutes later the helicopters had
found something lurking in the depths of the Norwegian Sea.

The
slower speed and better ocean conditions had also improved
Kirov's
passive
sonar reception considerably, and Tasarov was listening intently at his
station, watching the data streams coming in from the distant KA-40s. Suddenly
there was something different in the backwash of his signal, and he sat up
stiffly more alert, noting his screen where he saw the telltale trace of the
signal. The tonals were very unusual. He made some adjustments to try and tune
his systems in on the contact, yet it was very faint. Possibly quite distant,
he thought at first, until data from the KA-40 gave him a solid fix.

“Con,
sonar contact bearing 140, range twenty-two kilometers. Possible
submarine—confidence high!” Tasarov immediately reported his contact and Karpov
was soon at his side, leaning in to look at his screens as the sonar man
pointed out the information. He was rubbing his cold hands together now.

“It's
a very weak signal,” said Tasarov. “And it doesn't conform to anything we have
in the ESM database.” The electronic surveillance measure database stored
signatures of various ship types based on their radar and signal emissions,
return characteristics and electronic profiles. The contact was a clear
unknown. “We barely have a hold on it,” he said, “but it's there. Moving very
slowly now, perhaps no more than ten or twelve knots.”

“They
know we are listening,” said Karpov turning to the Admiral. The contact was
further evidence that the scenario he had put forward was entirely correct. “Thank
god I had the presence of mind to take the necessary action.” In crediting
himself he stuck a bur in the Admiral, but Volsky overlooked the remark as the
Captain rattled on.

 “Even
if we do have signatures on the American
Virginia
class, these boats are
still very slippery, sir. That data is not yet reliable. But at least they know
we are on to them now.” He turned to the Admiral, arms folded on his chest,
eyes bright. “I recommend we engage the target, sir.” They had found their
devious enemy, now it was time for reprisal.

The
Admiral considered this, but quickly decided against an attack. “No, do not
engage for the moment,” said Volsky. “If we are not at war, then we certainly
don't want to begin one, do we? But instruct the nearest helicopter to vector
over that position and hold station just below 600 meters. I want to be sure
they can hear our rotors if they are listening. We will show them we know
exactly where they are and see if that changes the situation.”

“They
will take evasive maneuvers, sir,” Karpov complained. He knew that once you had
exposed a potential enemy it was essential to make a quick kill. Never let a
rival regain his balance once you had him by the collar—that was a lesson his
years at Gazprom had taught him very well. The longer you waited, the more
chance your foe had to cover his tracks, or finagle some way of escaping your
well set trap. He pushed this same thought forward in military terms. “American
submarines can dive very deep, Admiral, particularly this class. We may lose
them. Why not strike now while we have the contact and can plot a certain firing
solution? We may not get a second chance with a submarine like this.”

The
Captain had a good point, and Volsky knew it. In the grueling, silent game of
ship versus sub, it was the undersea boat that always had the advantage.
Victory would go to the side who heard the enemy first and established a good
firing solution. A weapon active in the water, ready to acquire its target, was
not even a sure defense against a stealthy attack submarine. Sixty percent of
the time, a sub would hear and find the surface ship first, and also shoot
first. And the ship that got off the first shot then had a strong possibility
of surviving intact. Was the explosion they had experienced a first shot by
this submarine, a warning intending to frighten and intimidate, as Karpov
suggested? Clearly this was not a friendly submarine—or was it? The Admiral
considered the possibility that this might even be the
Orel
, damaged but
still alive. The damage could be masking the boat’s IFF signals and clouding
Tasarov’s ESM readings. His heavy heart wanted to believe as much, so he
decided to be very cautious here.

The
Captain was just a little too quick to see ‘wood goblins’ in the taiga, or so
the Admiral believed. If they fired on this contact and destroyed it, they
would never know whether it was
Orel
. He decided to wait, unwilling to
escalate the situation just yet, or to fully accept Karpov’s assertion that
this was a NATO attack.

“Move
the helicopter, Captain. We will observe the contact’s reaction and consider
the matter further. And for good measure,” he turned to his navigator now, “Mister
Fedorov, plot an intercept course and put us on that heading at once. Increase
speed to 20 knots.” If this were
Orel
, and they could hear his
helicopter above them, then perhaps the boat would surface, Volsky hoped.

“It’s
very odd, sir…” Fedorov spoke up.

“What
is very odd?”

“My
GPS navigation systems are all still down, sir. The equipment appears to be
operating correctly. I’ve tried three diagnostic tests, and even reset the
entire array, but I cannot acquire any satellites. I’ll have to plot by other
means.”

“We
are probably still experiencing the aftereffects of this undersea explosion.
Carry on.”

Karpov
glanced at his Chief of Operations, and the two men met eyes, but Orlov said
nothing. Reluctantly, the Captain ordered Nikolin to move the helicopter as the
Admiral wished. But it was clear that he was uncomfortable with the situation,
and wanted to take more aggressive action at once. He was fretting nervously,
his hands still rubbing away the cold with frenetic movement.

Rodenko’s
deep voice sounded yet another warning. He had been monitoring telemetry from
the helicopters as well. “Con—Active radar reports new surface contact, sir.
Now bearing two-zero-five degrees, 80 kilometers out.” Information was now
winking onto his screens, as if the ship was awakening from the stupor that had
enfolded it with the thick ice fog, and was slowly coming to its senses.

The
Admiral raised his thick charcoal eyebrows, surprised with this new
information, though he considered it in silence for the moment.

Karpov
was not so contemplative. In his mind the new surface contact was an immediate vindication
of his assessment that enemy forces were indeed operating against them now.
Rodenko read the signal carefully and reported.

“This
is a large signal, sir. Multiple ships, but very slow, speed no more than 15
knots.”

Who
was this creeping up on them from the south, thought Volsky? A large signal? He
rubbed his eyes, weary, his head still aching. “How many ships?”

Rodenko
was not certain. “I make it ten, possibly twelve discrete contacts, sir. It
appears to be a fairly large task force.”

“Air
activity?” The Admiral wanted to know if an American carrier was coming to make
their acquaintance.

“No
air contacts reported, sir. This appears to be a surface action group, and they
are running emissions tight. I get just the whisper of a faint radar signal.
Perhaps they have found a way to drastically reduce their electronic signature,
sir.”

A
submarine on one side, and a large surface contact on the other, both apparently
moving toward his ship like two predators stealthily stalking their prey. The
Admiral considered the situation. He could feel Karpov's uneasiness, feel the
Captain’s eyes upon him, waiting, impatient, and eager to take further action.
He knew what his Captain would advise, but there was something about the scenario
that just did not make sense. The enemy was creeping up on him, inching along
at slow speed. If he were mounting such an attack, he would be surging in from
both sides and, at this range, missiles would already be in the air, inbound on
his ship with bad intent. The struggle for the first salvo was the first lesson
of naval combat in the modern era. Both contacts were well within range of his
ship, yet neither one had fired. Were they waiting for him to take the next
move? Given these circumstances, he decided to be very wary here.

“Very
well… Designate the undersea contact as Red Wolf One. It will be tracked by
KA-40 Alpha. Designate the surface action group as Red Wolf Two. Move KA-40
Bravo toward Red Wolf Two at once,” he said. “Rodenko, do you have any ESM
signatures that can assist in identifying these vessels?”

“No
sir. At least not in the combat database.”

“Radio
emissions?”

“No,
sir,” said Nikolin. “The contact is observing complete radio silence. I read
nothing on typical communications bands.”

“Move
KA-40 Bravo, and tell them to use their long range HD cameras to give me a
visual on this surface contact. Let’s see where the dog is buried here.” The
Admiral wanted to get to the heart of the matter. “We will show them we know
they are here, and find out just who they are at the same time. They are well
within range and would've fired on us by now if they had any aggressive
intentions. The same can be said for this submarine to our north, but given
this development, I think we had best turn to face this surface action group.
Mr. Fedorov, hold on that submarine intercept. Helmsman, Port fifteen. Put us
into a gentle turn. We will keep station here until the helo report firms up this
new contact.” He voiced his reasoning, looking directly at Karpov. “So let us
have a closer look, gentlemen. I want to know what I am shooting at before I
commit this ship to an act of war. But keep a wary eye on that undersea
contact. Karpov may yet be correct.” He threw a bone to his Captain willing to
consider any possible contingency until it was proven one way or another.

The
tension on the bridge increased perceptively. Karpov was fluttering back and
forth between Tasarov and Rodenko, looking at the signals traffic on their
monitors though he did not understand what the readings meant. Nonetheless, he
would point at the screens asking questions, what is that, what is this, and it
was clear that Rodenko was becoming irritated over having to explain each and
every item on his scope to the Captain.

On
the other side of the Combat Information Center, Orlov was hovering near the heavy
set Victor Samsonov where he was completing diagnostics on his primary weapons
systems. Samsonov was one of the few men the Chief never bothered much. His
girth and strength were the equal of Orlov, and Samsonov was a thick-necked
warrior, the hard fist of the ship when it came to battle. So Orlov had
naturally befriended the man, often chatting with him on the bridge and
standing close by when the smell of imminent violence was in the air.

The
previous year, just after
Kirov
was commissioned and out for her very
first sea trials, the ship had caught a Somali pirate skiff in the Gulf of Aden
on Orlov’s watch. The Chief did not hesitate to take direct and immediate
action. He told Nikolin to order the boat to stand by and be boarded, and when
the pirates failed to comply he increased speed, closed on the skiff, and
ordered one of the close in defense Gatling guns to tear it to pieces, laughing
under his breath when he saw the effect of the gun on the small boat.