Kirov (58 page)

Doctor
Zolkin spoke up. “I believe he thought he could alter the course of events,
Admiral. He may have had a mind to visit this conference as well, but not as an
ally of Britain and the United States, nor even as an equal neutral party
purporting to represent the Soviet Union. He may argue that his combat actions
were forced upon him by the enemy, but we shall see.”

“I
warned him not to fire on the Americans, sir,” said Fedorov. “I told him those
planes were unarmed, and the carrier no threat, but he had me relieved and sent
below. He would not listen to reason, sir.”

“The
question now is what do we do?” said Zolkin. “Are you going to continue this
war, Admiral?”

“Good
question,” said Volsky. “Perhaps it will be foolish for us to proceed. What’s
done is done, and we have likely already had a profound impact on the course of
events. If the Americans and British still believe we are a German ship, then
Karpov’s attack will likely fill them with dread, yet with equal rage. They may
assume that Germany has also been working on a nuclear weapons program, and has
managed to deploy a workable weapon. In fact, they may see this as the test
run, perhaps assume that the Germans intend to strike America itself with
nuclear weapons. The situation is spinning wildly out of control here. The
Germans will deny it, of course, and claim they never even had a ship at sea.
But I think the Allies will believe the evidence of their own astonished eyes,
and the watery graveyard of five thousand American sailors will ignite a fire
worse than the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor did.”

“I
agree, sir,” said Fedorov. “They will be intimidated, but they will not yield,
at least not now. It would take the destruction of both London and New York, before
they would ever contemplate surrender to Germany, and even that may not be
enough.”

“You
are correct, Mister Fedorov. And with this in mind it may be best if we turn
east into the Atlantic and disappear. It would be foolish of me to think that I
could reason with either Churchill or Roosevelt after this. We can make 32
knots, faster than any of their battleships, correct?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Then
I think we could cruise safely enough through to the South Atlantic, avoiding
further engagement as far as possible. Our presence here is an offense to
history. I cannot begin to think what the consequences will be. There will be
many lives we cut short before their time, and yet, if these events prompt
America to declare war on Germany at this time, there will be many lives we may
have spared at Pearl Harbor.”

“It’s
likely the Americans will come into the war with a vengeance, sir,” said
Fedorov. “I don’t think we can count on Soviet troops getting to the Rhine
first after this. As for the Japanese, they may think twice about their daring
plan to sail six aircraft carriers across the Pacific to attack Pearl Harbor.
The Americans will be on a full wartime footing there within days. They won’t
leave their Pacific Fleet sitting there like fat ducks in a line.”

“Who
can know these things?” said Zolkin.

“I
am beginning to long for that tropical island, Dmitri,” said the Admiral.

At
that moment they heard Kalinichev’s voice over the ship’s intercom.
“Con,
Radar to Admiral Volsky. We are reading a large group of air contacts, forty
planes, range 100 kilometers and inbound on our position.”

“That
has to be off the
Ark Royal
, sir,” said Fedorov.

Volsky
shook his head. “Hurry on, gentlemen. We must get to the main bridge.”

They
arrived to find Karpov yammering at Rodenko, waving his arms at Samsonov,
berating Troyak in a loud, annoyed voice. The Admiral stepped through the
hatch, and the Doctor had the pleasure of announcing him.

“Admiral
on the bridge!” He shouted over the Captain’s strained voice, looking pointedly
at Karpov.

Troyak
saluted crisply. Karpov turned, his eyes glowing red in the darkness, and said:
“What in God's name are you
doing?
We are in battle! You have disabled
the bridge at a critical time and put us all at risk!”

“Shut
up, Captain Karpov!” Volsky's voice was as blunt as he could make it. The
Admiral strode quickly into the combat information center, drew out his key,
and inserted it into the command module. He turned the key, entered his code,
and restored command level operations to the main bridge. Seconds later the
main lights fluttered on, equipment rebooting quickly with the hum of many computer
screens and consoles. Gromenko’s brief stint as battle bridge commander was
over.

The
Admiral looked at Karpov, a disgusted expression on his face, and anger in his
eyes. “Mister Karpov, you are relieved.”

“What
are you going to do, Admiral? You have no justification to remove me from
command! I was carrying out my lawful responsibility. I was defending the ship
as I saw best. Mister Orlov concurred with my decisions. Ask him!”

“Mister
Orlov is relieved as well,” said Volsky. “Lawful responsibility? Just what law
were you abiding by, Captain, the law of the jungle? You are both under arrest.
Sergeant Troyak—you will escort the Captain and Chief Operations Officer to
their quarters and place two armed guards outside their door. They are to
remain there until further notice. If any man here wishes to join them, let
them stand now and be relieved of his duty as well.”

There
was complete silence on the bridge. Karpov’s face was a mix of anguish and
restrained rage. “You old
fool,”
he said. “What do you know? Can't you
see that we are under attack? You will get this ship destroyed with your
blubbering equivocation. Don’t you see the opportunity we have here now?”

“Sergeant
Troyak!”

The
Sergeant moved quickly, waving at his men, and they took a firm hold on both
Orlov and Karpov, pushing them toward the hatch. Orlov sneered, but otherwise
offered no resistance. A marine found his weapon and removed it with a smirk,
pleased to finally put one over on the bullying Chief. Karpov looked back at
the Admiral and fired off one last missile. “This is not over Admiral. You will
regret this decision, I promise you!” It was a useless boast, and Karpov knew
it.

When
the Captain had been removed Volsky took a moment to look at every man that
remained on the bridge, coming to a quiet inner assessment. They looked at him,
with mute admiration, and a touch of shame on their faces, and no one spoke. He
could see that they had done nothing more than obey the orders of his lunatic
Captain. There was no hint of conspiracy here. All this had been Karpov's
doing, and Orlov was the devil’s only apprentice. He thought he could rely on
the rest of his bridge crew, and so he left them at their posts.

“I
am going to assume that you are all innocent of complicity in this mutiny
unless subsequent investigation proves otherwise,” he said quietly, almost like
a pained father would speak to his wayward, but much loved children when they
misbehaved. Then it occurred to him that the ship needed a second in command. He
needed a new
Starpom
, an Executive Officer to replace Karpov. Without
hesitation he turned to Fedorov at his navigation post.

“Mister
Fedorov,” he said quietly. “You are hereby promoted two grades to the rank of
Captain Lieutenant, and I now designate you as
Starpom
, my First Officer.
You may leave navigation in the able hands of Mister Tovarich for now.”

Fedorov’s
eyes widened with surprise. It might have taken him another year to make Senior
Lieutenant, and then another year or two at that post before he made Captain
Lieutenant. He smiled, his eyes clearly expressing his thanks. “Thank you, sir.
I am honored to serve.”

For
the first time he cast his gaze out through the forward view screen, suddenly
shocked to see the conditions outside. The ocean water all around them had that
same strange hue and glow they had seen before, just after the accident aboard
Orel
.
The wave sets seemed oddly disturbed, rippling away from the ship in all
directions, as if
Kirov
was exerting some strange magnetic effect on the
sea itself. What was happening?

The
Admiral reached for his intercom microphone. “Flag bridge to engineering,” he
said. “Anything unusual Dobrynin?”

There
was a brief delay before the Chief responded.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got those flux
readings again—the same as before. Can we slow down?”

“I’ll
do what I can, Chief.”

At
that moment he heard a strange sound, and turned, surprised to see the Doctor's
cat Gretchko, who had come all the way through the ship looking for his
caretaker, and now stood near the open hatch to the main bridge mewing loudly.

Volsky
smiled, looking at the Doctor. “Well, I see the crew is now fully assembled.
Helmsman, steady on a heading of fifteen degrees north, and ahead two thirds. I
think it best we get out of these waters as soon as possible.”

But
the green soup they were in only seemed to deepen, the odd glow of the sea more
redolent, until all the systems on the bridge were struck again by a wave of
static and interference that crackled through the wires and over the screens of
every station. Volsky felt it again, that prickling sensation of needles all
through his body, and his hair seemed to stand on end. His first thought was
that they were experiencing some odd effects radiating from the detonation, but
it soon passed and the ship seemed to settle down, though the water around them
still glowed with an ominous hue of green that rippled and shimmered all around
them, radiating outward from the ship in all directions.

The
Admiral settled into his command chair, and Gretchko the cat ran over and leapt
up into his lap, purring contentedly.

“You
have a message for the Admiral, Gretchko?” said the Doctor, reaching over to
pet the cat on his head.

“Radar,”
said Volsky. “Give me an update on those airborne contacts.” Volsky was already
thinking he might yet have one more battle on his hands, more blood as well.

Rodenko
was quiet for a moment, adjusting his consul, and looking at screens to the
right and left of him as if he was trying to confirm something. “Sir,” he
began. “I
have
no airborne contacts. There is nothing on my screen at
all now. I’ve switched from rotating pulse Doppler on the main mast to
Phased-Array, and still no contacts, sir.”

“Nothing?
You have no reading on the surface action groups we were tracking?”

“No
sir. Those destroyers that were chasing us are gone as well. I can read the
coast of Newfoundland, so my system is processing signal returns, but I see no
surface or airborne contacts of any kind. In fact, I can no longer read the
detonation site. There should be a clearly visible column of steam and water vapor
there, but there is no signal return. We just experienced another odd electronic
flux, so the systems may have been compromised as before. It’s easy to process
a signal return on a distant landform, but ships at sea, at this range, and in
a post nuclear environment, may be difficult.”

“For
both Doppler and Phased-Array systems? You are suggesting they are still out
there but we cannot see them? Perhaps you are correct, Rodenko, but much more
than the radar was compromised the last time we saw the ocean in this
condition.”

Volsky
looked at the ceiling mounted flat panel screen for his rear facing HD video
system where a third ‘Tin Man’ stood a watch. The ship was pointed away from
the detonation site, and he had to rely on his cameras to see if the mushroom
from the 15 Kiloton warhead was still visible, particularly on infrared. The
signal was unsteady, breaking up in the characteristic mottled digital squares.
He sighed. “I miss analog,” he said. “With analog at least you got a picture,
even if it was cloudy or full of fuzz. But this digital nonsense? It’s either
pristine, or not there at all.” Then he decided on the obvious.

“Mister
Fedorov,” he said calmly. “You are fond of rushing out on to the watch deck to
look for planes, yes? Please take the Captain’s field glasses and do so now to
see if you find anything out there that belongs in a museum. And while you are
at it, let me know if you can still spot the detonation mushroom from the
warhead the Captain fired. It should still be visible to the southeast.” When
in doubt, there was always the comforting reassurance of the human eye to weigh
in on the question.

Fedorov
had the field glasses and was out on the watch deck for some time before he
poked his head back through the hatch. “Nothing, Admiral,” he said with a
smile. “No sign of the detonation at all. The horizon is clear and calm. I
don’t think Rodenko is experiencing a system failure, sir. The ship appears to
be in order, and the helm is responding, just as before.”

“Yes”,
said Volsky, “But where are we steering her now, Mister Fedorov? The last time
we slipped seventy years!” Volsky shrugged. There was nothing more to be done.
The sudden disappearance of the opposing ships and planes had a vacant, hollow
warning in it, and the vanishing mushroom cloud was worse than the rapid change
in the weather the last time they had experienced these strange events.
Something was clearly wrong, and he did not think it was the ship’s radar
system.