Kirov Saga: Armageddon (Kirov Series) (6 page)

“You have my word on that,” said Lane, satisfied.

The meeting rambled on for another ten minutes before Leyman
adjourned the session and went to brief the President. As he rose from his
chair, Lieutenant
Commander Reed handed Admiral Stone the latest
satellite photos he had been reviewing.

“Have you seen these, Admiral?”

Stone took a brief look, immediately recognizing what he was
seeing. “So that’s what’s left of the fleet. Still holed up off Sakhalin
Island?”

“They’ve moved.”

“Where?”

“Through the Gulf of Sakhalin and into the Tartar Strait, but they
don’t seem to be in any hurry.”

“Lane would love to take a shot at them, if only just to prove his
bombers can get the job done. But the feeling is we ought not provoke the
Russians any more than necessary here.”

“I agree. They took down
Thunder Horse
in the Gulf, and
have already lost three subs and the heart of their entire Pacific Fleet.”

“Well it will be cat and mouse out there for a while.”

“How do you mean?

“The surface combatants have withdrawn and consolidated in to new
battlegroups. They pulled their ships up north and we pulled ours south to
Guam. That damn volcano is blanketing the sea as much as anything else. It’s no
place for surface ships in the waters south of the Kuriles. It’s down to
submarines for them now. So if we move
Eisenhower
and
Nimitz
into
strike range off Taiwan, that means we have to worry about their submarines
too, both the Chinese and Russian boats.”

“That’s what all this fuss is with the sub tender? You think they
are planning to move their subs out again?”

Stone gave him a long look. “What sub tender?”

“Right there in those satellite images I just handed you.”

Stone took a closer look. “That’s not a sub tender… looks to be
one of their old
Pioner Moskvy
class submersible salvage and support
ships. I suppose you could call it a sub tender, but a ship like that usually
shows up when there’s a rescue operation planned.”

“It joined the main fleet group last night, though we have no confirmed
report of a sub operating with that task force.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stone smiled. “That’s the
Admiral
Kuznetsov
there, Mister Reed. It’s the last surface ship in the Red Banner
Pacific Fleet that could pose any threat if it broke out into the Pacific or
the Sea of Japan. You can bet your bottom dollar that they have a sub nearby—probably
two or three. If I was the Russian Fleet commander I’d have my very best boat right
there, on undersea watch for that ship.”

Reed raised an eyebrow, then nodded his agreement as Stone handed
him back the file. Yes, he thought, that makes good sense…Their very best boat…He
looked at the satellite image again, a suspicious light in his eyes.

Part II

Discovery

“No great
discovery was ever made without a bold guess.”

 
―
Isaac Newton

Chapter 4

“I must
tell you, Mister Kamenski, even with over forty years in the
Russian Navy I have never been all that comfortable sailing in a ship that has
to sink first before it can do anything.”

“Yes, this is just a little claustrophobic,” said Kamenski, “and
the thought of having a lot of water over my head soon is just a bit
disconcerting, Admiral.”

They were aboard the AS-28 submersible, an old boat that was first
commissioned in 1986. At 55 tons displacement, it was no more than 45 feet long
and just twelve and a half feet wide, with room for twenty passengers. Their
party filled half the available seats, the Admiral, Kamenski, Fedorov, Orlov,
Troyak, Zykov, Dobrynin and three engineers. Their cargo had been quietly
transferred a few hours ago, and now they were making way on the surface, but
still towed by the much faster
Sayany
salvage ship. The submersible
could do little more than three knots on its own.

“This segment of the mission is all part of the show,” said
Volsky. “If the Americans do see anything from space, they will know we are at
least two kilometers from the
Admiral Kuznetsov
, but now that we are
here we will submerge and creep back beneath the carrier to rendezvous with
Kazan.”

“Won’t they see us on infrared?”

“Not at the depth we’ll be descending to.
Kuznetsov
is
sitting atop a deep segment of the strait, close by an area we have used for
old explosives dumping.
Kazan
is hiding down there, over 450 meters
deep. The only other thing that will notice us there would be the fish, or
another submarine.”

“Seems secure enough.”

“Not to my liking.” The Admiral folded his arms. “This vessel had
to be rescued itself when it ran afoul of a hydrophone antennae off Kamchatka
some years ago. It’s not very comforting when you have to rescue the rescue
ship!”

 Fedorov was seated with them, and he leaned in now, a determined
look on his face. “Once we get to
Kazan
things will be more
comfortable,” he said. “I spent some time on that boat last year. It’s one of
our very best, highly automated, and with a crew of only ninety, though it can
easily accommodate our party here.”

It was not long before they had reached their designated diving
zone, and the AS-28 was cut loose and began to descend. Volsky and Kamenski
watched the water rise above the portholes with some misgivings, but settled in
for the thirty minute journey back to
Kazan
.

“It’s quiet down here,” said Fedorov.

“Too quiet,” Volsky tossed out the old cliché knowing that his
young ex-navigator wouldn’t feel the rising sense of caution that was already
turning in his own gut. The man had the bravery to shift back to 1942 from the
Primorskiy Engineering Center, not knowing where he might turn up. That took
real courage, he thought.

“Mission profile calls for a full scan of the boat’s exterior before
we latch on,” Fedorov noted the information for Kamenski’s benefit. They soon
heard the submersible pilot, a man named Jakov, speaking quietly with his
co-pilot as they made their approach to
Kazan
.

 “I’m rolling ten degrees,” he said. “We’ll look the aft hatch section
over first.”

“Confirmed.” The co-pilot pulled down a view scope and adjusted
the rangefinder for close imaging. The green light on the unit drew a thin line
over the smooth, bald surface of his head. As he peered through the scope and
examined the long sleek lines of the hidden submarine. He adjusted the focus
and switched on the record function to log the data.

“Looks clean,” he said. “No sign of damage to the propulsion
systems or rudder. Hull integrity appears nominal. Some temperature variance on
infrared.” He was working quickly, and Fedorov, very curious as he watched, could
almost see the mental check marks ticking off in his head as he completed one
task after another.

They waited until the submersible finished a full exterior scan,
but there wasn’t much to see.
Kazan
looked to be in good shape, with
nothing more than normal discoloration on its missile hatches from the combat
salvos the boat had fired in the battle against the Americans. It was a long
cylinder with a sleek sail forward that looked like a truncated shark fin. They
hovered a few meters off the aft quarter of the ship.

“Light them up,” said the pilot, and his partner activated the
exterior spotlights. Fingers of light reached out and probed at the cylindrical
hull of the other boat, playing over the darkened oval of the access hatch, but
revealing nothing unusual.

“I’m taking us over to the emergency hatch on section four,” said Jakov,
hands on his maneuvering yoke.

“Confirmed for section four.”

The submersible danced in response to his commands on the control
yoke. In a few moments they were poised over the circular rim marking the
location of the emergency access shaft. It was nothing more than a thin lip of
metal on the otherwise smooth surface of the submarine. Jakov rolled the submersible
on its side, for the only way to dock would be through a six foot access
cylinder that deployed from that location. The co-pilot was already checking
the docking cylinder controls as he thrust the view scope back into its
overhead compartment.

“Ready to dock.” Jakov had the ship in a perfect position for the
rendezvous.

“Mooring cables clamping on.” The co-pilot toggled the switch to
enable the computer controlled cables to reach out and fasten themselves to the
submarine, a new feature on the boat when it was upgraded in 2018. A small
cylinder emerged from the borders of the submersible and extended out to
contact the submarine’s hatch. “Cylinder operative... Deployed. Permission to pressurize
cylinder?”

The kiss would make the marriage, Fedorov thought. After that the
two ships would be securely linked.

“Pressurize,” said Jakov, and the cylinder hummed to life and
rotated a thin rim along the outer lip of the interface until it located a
small aperture. The mouth of the cylinder was soon locked in place and the
containment within was going to a normal one atmosphere pressure, pumping out
the seawater as it did so.

 “Engaging processors.”

In a few moments a pressurized atmosphere would fill the interior
of the cylinder.

“Shall I let them know we are ready, Admiral?”

“Please do,” said Volsky, and the word soon came back from
Kazan
.

“Captain Gromyko sends his regards, Admiral.”

“May I sir?” Fedorov was eager to be the first one through the cylinder,
and Volsky nodded, smiling at the young man’s energy.

“He would swim over if he had to,” he said quietly to Kamenski.

Fedorov rotated the handle of the interior hatch and a dry hiss
greeted him as the air from the docking cylinder mixed with the submersible
cabin. The distinctive tang of seawater was in the air. He wasted no time and
crawled down into the tube, his service jacket dappled with the drippings of
residual seawater. In a few seconds he was poised on the last ladder rung above
the submarine deck hatch.

“Open the outer hatch on my hack... Three... Two... One...
Engage.”

The securing pins rotated and Fedorov heard the muted whir of a
small motor as the hatch to the submarine slowly elevated. A faint red light
appeared beneath his feet—red emergency lighting from the interior of the boat
below him. The oval of the portal beneath him fattened into a circle as the
hatch cap opened. Then he slowly climbed down through the opening into the dim
airlock of the submarine below.

He waited to assist Admiral Volsky and Kamenski as they climbed
down the narrow cylinder. As soon as Volsky’s foot touched the deck of
Kazan,
a
Mishman
piped him aboard.

“Admiral on the boat!”

“You can tell that I am an Admiral, even in my Lieutenant’s
uniform?”

“Sir, I recognized you at once. We all know you.”

The three of them exited the airlock hatch first as the other
passengers descended into the sub. They found that the main compartment outside
the airlock was a diving station where men were standing by in wet suits with
reserve oxygen, just in case anything had gone wrong. It was not common for a
submarine to receive a visit from the Admiral of the Fleet, particularly under
these circumstances, or in this manner. An officer soon appeared, Captain
Gromyko himself come to greet them.

“Welcome aboard, Admiral.” He offered a firm handshake as the
Admiral began to introduce his party.

“This is a special advisor, Pavel Kamenski,” he began, agreeing
not to dwell on the man’s older KGB affiliations. “And here is our former
navigation officer and now Captain of the Second Rank, Anton Fedorov.”

Volsky looked to see Orlov enter the compartment, eyes averted and
quickly stepping aside as the Marines and engineers came in behind him. But the
Admiral raised a hand, calling him from the group. “Here we have Captain of the
Second Rank, Gennadi Orlov. This man was Chief of Operations aboard
Kirov
,
a most capable officer.”

Orlov forced a smile, inwardly pleased that the Admiral had
singled him out, though he thought the praise was undeserved. He had not
expected that to happen, and was not aware that Volsky had confirmed the
restoration of his rank. Up until that moment, the two men had not spoken, and
the breaking of the long silence between them was a relief.

Gromyko was a clean cut officer, thirtyish with close cropped hair
that was close to a buzz cut. He was in a dress white shirt with Captain’s
insignia on shoulder boards. “Well gentlemen, we have a light meal prepared in
the officer’s mess, and then I suppose we can hear your briefing.”