Men of War (2013) (46 page)

Karpov
smiled. Yes, the men were calling him that now, King of the Northern Pacific,
just as they had also crowned Admiral Volsky with that title when he ruled from
Severomorsk. The Admiral was now chained to his desk at Fokino, managing the
coordination of all the various fleet components along with logistics, fleet
air arm deployments, and the inevitable political problems all this would cause.
At the same time he was setting up the daring operation to rescue Fedorov and
the others in the  Caspian, with the bulk of the ship’s Marine contingent
and Chief Dobrynin.

Fedorov’s
plan to use the
Anatoly Alexandrov
was brilliant, he thought. Knowing
the fleet may have to fight very soon, was a heavy burden, and there would have
been no way to safely extricate
Kirov
from battle to revisit the past.
Yet now he felt the odd absence of Rod-25 as he sailed, like a man that had
forgotten his wallet or keys, like a man trying to smile with a missing front
tooth.
Kirov
was no longer a ship with a magic wand. The possibilities
and power Rod-25 had bestowed upon them were now gone, and he felt like a god
that had suddenly fallen from grace, just a common mortal man again. Yes, he
realized, now it comes down to flesh, blood and steel, just as Volsky said. We
no longer have time in the palm of our hand—at least I do not. Perhaps that is
for the better. It removes the great temptation, and I can no longer answer the
Siren Song as before. I am lashed to the  main mast of the here and now.
But what in the world will happen to Fedorov, Orlov and the others? The notion
that his fate, and that of the world, still danced on the razor’s edge of time,
was still deeply unsettling.

 
He shook this from his mind, trying to focus on the ship and his mission.
Kuznetsov
already had helos up with
oko
AEW radar panels
to extend their over-the-horizon radar coverage, and the ring announcer was
introducing his likely opponent.

Carrier
Strike Group Five had deployed from Yokosuka at the entrance to Tokyo Bay with
a powerful squadron of the US 7th Pacific Fleet. It was comprised of CVN
Washington,
escorted by two
Ticonderoca
Class guided missile Cruisers,
Antietam
and
Shiloh
. If that were
not enough, the bulk of Desron 15 followed with five of the formidable American
Arleigh
Burke
Class Destroyers:
Wilbur,
McCain, Fitzgerald, Lassen,
McCampbell
. Two more
cruised in escort for the Command Ship
Blue Ridge
well south of the main
carrier battlegroup. Karpov knew that there would also be logistics and
replenishment ships at sea, and dangerous submarines were surely beneath it as
this powerful flotilla approached.

The
damn American Navy again, he thought, and not the one I blew to pieces eighty
years ago. Yes, I sunk the
Wasp
and that old battleship, but now the
odds are even. Two other American carriers were also moving into the region. CV
Eisenhower
was already at Singapore, and the
Nimitz
was hastening
west from Pearl Harbor. The Chinese would have to deal with the
Eisenhower
,
but these other two… He had thought CVBG
Washington
would deploy south
to support the Japanese in the East China Sea. Instead it was heading east into
the Pacific, ready to assume a blocking position if I take the fleet south.

Probably
waiting for the
Nimitz
, he thought. That was the ship where they filmed
that old science fiction classic
The Final Countdown.
How Ironic. If the
American actor Kirk Douglas only knew what I know now. He smiled, then realized
the grave threat that the
Nimitz
group would also represent. Against one
of these battlegroups, his forces were well matched…But against both?

He
had good reason to be cautious now,
Nimitz
would not be alone. It was
the heart of Carrier Strike Group Eight, and intelligence indicated that it was
escorted by the guided missile cruiser
Princeton
and Desron 23. This was
another fistful of
Arleigh
Burke
class
destroyers:
John Paul Jones, Howard, Sampson, Lawrence, Spruance
, and
two decent ASW frigates in
Thatch
and
Vandegrift
.
So even as he led the entire Russian Pacific Fleet out that morning, the
Americans were doubling down. How would he fight this battle if it came to it?
He had forty-two strike planes on the
Admiral Kuznetsov
and additional
land based air power if he stayed close to home, but the Americans were
bringing nearly 200 aircraft to the fight!

He
also knew he had a stealthy and dangerous submarine out ahead of him in
Kazan
,
one of our best, he thought. It was skulking through the deep waters south of
the submerged Emperor Seamounts. Yet the Americans will have subs too, and not
the old diesel boats I was killing one after another. He already knew that at
least one
Los Angeles
Class boat was operating out of Guam, the
Key
West
, and his threat briefing file also indicated he could expect at least
one more LA class boat there. If we meet again, he mused, I will not have
cigars for the Captain this time. He was the best Russia could put at the helm
now, with the best ships they had. Would it be enough? Would it even be close?
All he could do is have faith in his ship and crew, and in himself.

Yes,
it was coming down to this now, flesh, blood, steel and something more—mind and
will power. He would need all his skill in the craft of war to survive and
prevail. How would the Americans measure up? They have never faced us in real
battle; we have never really faced them. So now we see just how good our
Moskit-IIs are against well defended targets. This fight will be much
different. There will not be the slow, measured use of weapons with his SSMs
fired in ones and twos against lumbering enemy battleships. No. This time it
was going to be fast, brutal and merciless combat. The struggle for the first
salvo was now uppermost in his mind. Should he take the initiative and strike first
to saturate at least one of these formidable battlegroups with a missile
barrage so intense that he would surely devastate it? The consequences of such
an act would be severe. And then what would he have left to face the second
carrier?

“Mister
Rodenko,” he said calmly. “The moment you have surface returns from the helos
on the
Washington
or
Nimitz
battlegroup I want the ship on full
alert. Remember, you are acting
Starpom
. Watch them like a hawk. If you detect
anything remotely resembling the launch of strike squadron, go to immediate air
alert one on the new S-400 system. And Mister Samsonov, the moment we have a
confirmed air strike package inbound on us I want to be ready with a full salvo
of Moskit IIs.”

His
officer’s nodded, intrinsically understanding that the game had changed now.
This was war as they had never seen it, though they had trained for it for many
years. It was a war of seconds and minutes, and not one stretching over long
decades to the past where they faced an unknowing opponent with ships that had
little chance of ever finding or really harming
Kirov
.

“The
Pacific Ocean,” said Karpov. “Well it won’t be that way for long. “Welcome to
hell, gentlemen. Welcome to hell on earth.”

As
if to underscore his words there was a distant rumble from the slumbering Demon
volcano on Urup Island, and Karpov saw a new column of smoke and ash rising
from its high conical peak. He suddenly had a very interesting idea.

* * *

Captain
James Tanner, USN sat in the driver’s seat aboard CV
Washington
with a
hundred things running through his mind. He had expected to be heading south
now to backstop the Japanese at Okinawa and form a northern pincer to meet with
CVBG
Eisenhower
coming up from the south, but instead his orders were
suddenly revised. He was to assume a position off the coast of Japan and deter
the advance of the Russian Pacific Fleet until the arrival of CVBG
Nimitz
.
Then, pending appraisal of the situation, he would either turn this duty over to
Nimitz
to head southwest as originally planned, or team up with that
battlegroup to back the Russians off. Either way it looked to be some very
tense days ahead.

“Ensign
Pyle, where is that SITREP? I don’t have all day, Mister.”

“Sorry,
sir.” Pyle was at his side with a tablet and the latest briefing on what the
Russians were sending out.

“Well?”
Tanner gave him an impatient look.

“Yes,
sir. The main body centered on that new battlecruiser is just south of Urup Island
in the Kuriles. It is presently composed of battlecruiser
Kirov
, cruiser
Varyag
, four old
Udaloys
, one of their
new frigates, and a new destroyer, sir, the
Orlan
. They look to be on a
heading to rendezvous with this small carrier group here, the
Admiral
Kuznetsov
, and three old
Krivak
class
frigates.”

“
Krivak
class?”

“Yes,
sir. Hot dog pack, smokestack, guns in back —
Krivak
.”

Tanner
gave him a disparaging look, but he remembered the old rap line on the
Krivak
just the same. The hot dog pack was the forward
missile battery, the stacks were amidships and then the aft deck mounted a pair
of twin 76mm deck gun turrets. “Haven’t seen one of those for years,” he said.
“They must be scraping the bottom of the barrel up there.”

“It
looks that way, sir. Those
Udaloys
aren’t much
to worry about either—
Vlad
, Dad,
Winograd
and Pantywaist. Pyle had his own name for the
Admiral Vladimir
Tributs
. He just called it
Vlad
.
Shaposhnikov
was the old Russian Marshal he
called “Dad.”
Winograd
was short for the
Admiral
Vinogradov
and the Pantywaist was
Admiral
Pantelyev
.

“But
I wouldn’t short sell this
Kirov
class battlecruiser, sir. It’s a pretty
mean looking hombre.”

“No
argument there, Pyle. We used to bump noses with its older brother up north in
the Norwegian Sea before this new refit appeared.”

“I
hear this new ship is even tougher, sir.”

“Maybe
so, Pyle. Maybe So.” Tanner rubbed his chin.

“What’s
it doing out here, sir? Last time I looked
Kirov
was flagship of their
Northern Fleet.”

“Been
doing some reading lately, Ensign? It doesn’t matter where the damn ship was
last time you looked. It’s right here and about to get in our face. Alright,
you can leave that pad with me and get the hell out of here. I’ve got some
thinking to do and I damn well won’t need you around for that.”

“Yes,
sir. Aye, sir.” Pyle scrambled off to some other duty and the Captain grinned
as he went.
Krivak
class frigates. He looked
at his Weapon Systems Officer, Lieutenant
Deaken
,
sometimes called “the “
Wizzo
” by the bridge crew, a
handle they had stolen from the air force brats. “Say,
Deke
.
What kind of AA umbrella are these old
Krivaks
going to be packing? It’s been a few years.”

Deaken
checked his status board, calling up the ship class
and checking the data readout. “Looks to be a box of SA-N-4 Geckos, sir. Range
under ten miles and a ceiling under Angels forty. Good warhead, 16kgs with a
five meter frag radius. But they won’t be bothering our air wing with those,
sir. That’s just missile bait.”

“Pretty
damn thin cover for the
Russkie’s
only CV. No wonder
they sortied with that surface action group.”

“Aye,
sir.”

“What
should we be worried about here,
Deke
?”

“Those
damn S-300s on
Kirov
, sir. 150 kilometer range and fast as greased
lightning.”

“Damn
annoying,” said Tanner. “Our Harpoons can range out that far over the horizon,
but S-300s can be on them in no time.”

Neither
Deke
nor Tanner knew anything about the missile
upgrade
Kirov
had received before sailing from the Golden Horn Harbor.
Her forward silos now harbored the more advanced S-400F
Triumf
system, extending that engagement range even farther to 400 kilometers.

“They
can, indeed, sir. And don’t even think about the Tomahawks. Too damn slow. They
pulled TASM from ship inventories long ago, and good riddance. Thing is, the
Russians make some pretty mean SSMs. This new
Sunburn
-
II
is a
real threat, and their
Starfires
are even faster.”

Tanner
turned to his radar man. “
Bougie
, how far out is that
SAG centered on
Kirov?”

“Feed
from Misawa has ‘em at about 800 nautical miles now sir. Hawkeye confirms….Hello?….What’s
up here?” Ensign Bogue was poking at his SATCOMM link panel. “Sir, I just lost
data link on our GPS Satellite. Checking it now, but I’m completely red on that
link, sir. I don’t think it’s a local system failure.”

Tanner
didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. “Someone taking pot shots at our
satellites?”

“I’ll
check SIGINT traffic. Nothing on my board, sir…Wait a second. Coming in now,
sir. Confirmed ASAT strike at zero nine forty. Red Arrows.”

Tanner
set his jaw, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to take some rather
direct action now, and very soon. “That makes this thing hot for us as well as
the Japanese,” he said. “Well that’s all I was waiting on, gentlemen. We’re not
sitting on 104,000 long tons of steel out here to get a suntan. Get the Air
Boss on the line and have him spot the Royal Maces ASAP. Diamondbacks on deck
with the
Dambusters
in the number three hole. Eagles
batting cleanup.”