Men of War (2013) (25 page)

“Yes,”
Karpov pressed on. “How does a ship like this get half way around the world
without NATO knowing about it?
Yes
. Where is that missing special
warhead? And by God what happened to the thirty-six men on the list Doctor
Zolkin gave you? Well get a hold of your boots and pull them on, Inspector. To
put it quite plainly, it’s none of your damn business! But it is
my
business, and the business of this ship and crew. Forgive me if no one bothered
to inform you before we left Severomorsk, but I think you were probably busy
keeping track of serial numbers on some other ship then, yes?”

Kapustin
gave Karpov a long look, thinking. He was Inspector General of the Russian
Navy, and in that position he knew a great deal. He could tell you what was in
the magazines and holds of nearly every ship in the fleet, and who was serving
on them, and where they were berthed, and how many cans of paint they had on
order and which ones were efficient and which ones were sloppy. Yes, he knew a
lot about the navy, but he also knew that it was folded in on itself like a
maze at times, and the pathways of power flowed through the heads of an
alarming number of gray haired old men.

Karpov’s
bravado had shaken him, for the Captain had been correct—
nobody knows
everything.
There were still dark corners into which he had never been able
to peer. Men like Volkov behind him were often sent into those corners to bark
and sniff and drag things out of the shadows. But there were times they went in
and never came back out. There were places in the convoluted, old power
structure of the Russian military where it was still very dangerous to tread.

Now
the situation developing in the Pacific came to mind and Karpov’s words began
to make sense. The ship had clearly been on a very dangerous mission. He had
not sorted it all through, but his careful inspection had uncovered enough to
know that this ship had been in combat. It was no accident that she had a hole
in her hull. That was torpedo damage. And the injury to her main mast and aft
citadel was no accident either. A little scrape of a pen knife here…A sample or
two in a plain plastic bag for the labs…Yes, he soon had his suspicions
confirmed. The smoke and fire and residue of battle was on the ship, and the
scars of combat at sea. He could see it also in the eyes and demeanor of the
crew. This was a fighting ship, a man-o-war in every respect. This was a
fighting crew, men of war indeed. And Karpov, he knew, was a fighting Captain,
as good as any man in the fleet by the scores notched in his fleet exercise
records. Now something told him clearly that
Kirov
had been involved in
some very special mission this last month, and it was no exercise.

Kapustin
leaned back, eyes narrowed as his surprise faded and these thoughts ran through
his mind. Then he simply gathered the three manila folders into a neat pile on
Doctor Zolkin’s desk and stood up.

“Thank
you, Captain. I think that settles the matter for the moment.” He had been
struck amidships and had fires to put out. The smoke of uncertainty was now
thick, and his gunners could not range on the target. He had to fall off and
come about, just as Admiral Da Zara had in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and just like
Admiral Iachino had at the Bonifacio Strait. Something told him, an inner
instinct that had served him well for many long years, that this was not the
place and time to fight his battle over this matter. If he pursued it, he might
sail into hidden shoals and reefs that lay unseen in the murky waters surrounding
this incident. Sanji Iwabuchi might have told him to beware of impetuosity in
this regard, though he knew nothing of that man’s sad fate.

“What
are you saying?” said Volkov pointing at Karpov, an incredulous look on his
face. “You mean to say you’re going to let them get away with this
insubordination? What about
Orel?
I’ll tell you where the missing
warhead went! What about
Orel?”

Karpov
gave him a murderous stare, and Kapustin quickly intervened, like someone
pulling on a heavy leash. “Mister Volkov,” he said sharply. “Insubordination?
Either you were not listening to what Captain Karpov just said, or you were not
smart enough to hear what I just heard in his words. I am going to flatter you
and assume you are not stupid. So I will say it again—this matter is closed for
the moment. I believe I have enough information to complete my report, but I
may be some weeks writing it.” He looked askance at Karpov and Fedorov now,
then fixed his attention fully on Volkov again. “In the meantime, our work here
is done, and I believe these officers have other matters to attend to.”

“But—”

Volkov
fought his own quick inner battle between his eagerness to make the kill and
his instinct for caution. It was fight or flight, and he had always been the
attack dog when it came to situations like this. But he could feel the hard
chain on his neck now, and saw how the leash was firmly in Kapustin’s hand, and
so he stifled his protest, deciding he could deal with this some other way
through Naval Intelligence.

“Very
well,” he growled. “I will make arrangements for our departure at once.” It was
clear that Volkov was not happy, and he strode out, giving Karpov an evil eye
as he went.

Kapustin
composed himself, then looked from Zolkin, to Fedorov where he sat silently on
the chair by the wall, and then to Karpov. The Captain stood, stiff backed,
arms folded, eyes narrowed.

“Do
you know I had a very good dog once,” said the inspector. “A Belgian
Tervuren
I called
Chang
. He was a magnificent
animal. You know they have the thickest ruff of any breed I have ever seen.
They can handle a German Shepherd with no trouble, because the other dog just
can’t get its teeth through that ruff.” He clenched his fingers to illustrate
the frustrated bite. “You are correct, Captain. Nobody knows everything, do
they? Not even the Inspector General of the Russian Navy, though I may know
quite a bit more than you realize, and enough to know I am not going to get my
teeth through your ruff this time either. Perhaps we will talk again another
day, but I think you are correct about one more thing, and that is why I leave
you here to attend to it. The world is going to hell faster than we know, and
I, for one, do not look forward to the trip. We’re going to need your sort at
the helm of ships like this, and so I leave you to more important matters.”

Kapustin
smiled, picked up his black felt fedora, and walked slowly out of the room.
They listened to the echo of his footsteps fade to silence before anyone said
another word.

Part VII

Devil
in the Details

“A
mountain is composed of tiny grains of earth. The ocean is made up of tiny
drops of water. Even so, life is but an endless series of little details,
actions, speeches, and thoughts. And the consequences, whether good or bad, of
even the least of them are far-reaching.”

—
Sivananda

Chapter 19

The
fishing boat slipped away from the rocky shore, off the northeast of
Gibraltar, soon joining fifteen others just like it where brown skinned fishermen
with gnarled hands tended to their nets and lines, hoping to bring in enough to
feed themselves and their family, and still have some left over to sell in the
local markets.

Orlov
was tired, and settled into a small room below deck to get some sleep. Hours
later he found that the small boat had hove to next to a weathered old steamer
and soon the three men and their very important charge were scrambling up rope
nets and onto the decks of the
Sarkoy
, and
heading east across the Mediterranean Sea.

Neutral
Turkey enjoyed a rare privilege in the Med, as both the Axis and Allied forces
were interested in bringing her into their respective alliances to gain
possession of the vital Turkish Straits. The Vichy French even tried to
occasionally dress out their own merchantmen as Turkish ships so they could
slip past the watchful eyes of the British at Gibraltar, and a few did exactly
that while others were unmasked and caught by wary Royal Navy sea captains.
Thankfully,
Sarkoy
made it all the way through
to Istanbul with only one close call when two Italian planes made a low
overflight in the Sicilian narrows. One shadowed the ship for some time until
it was well past Malta, then vanished in the overhead mist, leaving the hapless
steamer to its own fate.

Orlov
was content to stay where he was for the moment, though he had already
considered how he would kill the three men who kept a watchful eye on him now.
He noted their habits, shift rotations, and thought it would be quite easy to
slip away whenever he had a mind. In time he actually came to like the tall
Russian, Sergei Kamkov, and the two spent long nights talking, smoking
cigarettes, and drinking vodka that Kamkov had produced from haversack. Orlov
could not help but do a little boasting in those conversations, even though he
suspected that Kamkov was working for the Soviet intelligence.

“The
British almost had you,” Kamkov had teased. They were going to fly you off to
London on plane and go over you with a fine toothed comb. Tell me, Orlov, why
are they so interested in you?”

“Why?
I suppose because I know so much.” He took another swig of his vodka.

“Oh,
what is it you know? Loban is usually very careful. He has never once risked
blowing his cover to pass a man over as he did with you. He must have thought
you were a really big fish, yes?’

“Big
as they come,” said Orlov. “I can tell you things that will amaze you, my
friend.”

“Tell
me this, then. What’s in the pouch?”

“What
pouch?”

“The
diplomatic pouch Loban gave me. What’s so special, eh? We were told not to open
it or we’d have our fingers snapped off one by one, and with Loban, you believe
what he says.”

“Well
Loban said nothing to me about it. Let me see it and I’ll have a look inside.”

“I
don’t think so,” said Kamkov. “We’ll leave it safe in the haversack for now. So
you don’t know much after all, it seems.”

“Bullshit,”
said Orlov. “He’s probably got my wireless in there.”

“Wireless?
You were wearing a wireless device? A radio set? Where? How could you?”

“We’ve
learned how to make things very small where I come from. I had some ear plugs
with a microphone and a little speaker. That’s most likely what he stuck in
that pouch.”

“Ear
plugs? Impossible. That small? Who made this for you.”

“Never
mind who made it, Kamkov. Just play your hand.”

 If
anything, this lot was a far better circumstance than being locked away in a
cave beneath that accursed Rock, thought Orlov. The Bosporus would be an easy
place to jump ship, when they got there and he wondered where he might go next.

 Orlov
wanted nothing to do with the war on the east front. He knew that no matter
where he went there he would likely be picked up and pressed into service in
the nearest Russian company, battalion or regiment at hand. The Germans already
controlled the Crimea, and Sevastopol, and were fighting for Novorossiysk by
the time Orlov found himself approaching Istanbul.

There,
to his great surprise, the
Sarkoy
was met by a
small trawler on foggy night in the Bosporus. Three more men came aboard,
wearing black leather jackets, and dark Ushanka caps with insignia, and Orlov
realized, much to his chagrin, that he was now being turned over to the Soviet
authorities in the Black Sea. So much for his plan to jump ship, he thought with
some regret. Kamkov transferred over to the trawler with these newcomers. As he
stepped down the ladder Orlov looked around, thinking he might make a jump into
the water, but quickly discarding the notion. So far the Russians had handled
him a lot better than the Spanish or British might have. As he jumped the last
few feet down to the old wooden deck of the trawler he noted the number T-492
on its rusting hull.

 The
other two men stayed behind on the Turkish ship, and he noted that Kamkov had
carefully taken the haversack with the diplomatic pouch. This was a coastal
lighter, and Orlov watched his stars to make out their heading, soon realizing
that they were gradually working their way along the northern coast of Turkey
and over towards Georgia. Of course, he thought. A boat like this would be too
small to risk crossing the heart of the Black Sea, particularly with the German
Luftwaffe hovering about like black crows. No. They’ll work their way all along
this coast to Poti and beyond.

That
would be his last chance, he thought. If I let these fur hats get me any
farther up that coast they’ll likely drop me at Sochi or Tuapse, right in the
middle of the damn war again. If these men are NKVD they’ll soon want to know
who I am, and why they have no record on my name in their recruitment books.
Yet this has been an easy cruise so far. If the food is good on this trawler I
just may stick around a while longer. At least we don’t have to worry about the
God cursed German U-Boats out here. And this boat looks like a minesweeper, so
there’s little to fear from that as well.

He
was very wrong.

* * *

Oberleutnant
Klaus Peterson was the second frustrated U-Boat commander that was to become
the hand of fate in this strange tale, just like Kapitan, Werner Czygan of
U-118
.
Peterson’s boat was
U-24
, a sub that had inherited a very proud number,
for this was the second boat to bear that designation. The first had been
commissioned in 1913, and fought during the Great War with much success and
many laurels. On Oct 26, 1914 she had the dubious distinction of being the
first German U-Boat to ever attack an unarmed merchant ship without warning,
the
SS Admiral
Ganteaume
.
Her very next kill
was something a little more spectacular, and gained her real distinction when
she hit and sunk the 15,000 ton dreadnaught
Formidable.
Before that war
ended,
U-24
had hit a remarkable 39 ships, sinking 34 of them, badly
damaging three others and taking one more as a prize. In all she inflicted pain
and death on 137,560 tons of enemy shipping.