Kirov (37 page)

“This
is a dangerous situation, sir,” Fedorov began. “With the President and Prime
Minister at sea, the Americans and British will be very wary until they are
both safely at their destinations. They already know about us—or at least they
think that the Germans have another raider running the Denmark Strait, and that
means they will be doubly on guard now. They know we are not the
Tirpitz
if they’ve bothered to check their intelligence and overfly Kiel. In that
instance they know we are not
Admiral Sheer
as well. But they are
coming, sir, with everything they can make seaworthy. This is the worst
possible time for a German raider to appear. If we turned east soon we might
not seem so threatening, particularly if we vanish. They can’t spot us on radar
now, not with Rodenko jamming them. They’ve managed to keep a hold on us
because we’ve kept to this heading. They can calculate our farthest on based on
our estimated speed, so they assume we must still be in this narrow channel.
But I would turn east, and soon, to throw them off the scent and get well out
into the Atlantic.”

“And
if we persist on this heading?”

“Then
we may have more trouble than we need, sir. The Americans are out there too,
and in force. They have three battleships, at least seven cruisers, twice that
in destroyers, and an aircraft carrier in their Atlantic Fleet at the moment,
and all these ships are presently at sea, gathering for this conference, and
for the second relief convoy bound for Iceland—that’s the one delivering those
planes you mentioned, sir.”

Karpov
considered all this, remembering what he had read in Fedorov’s book. The navigator
had one thing correct, the situation ahead of them was, indeed, very dangerous.
Ships were gathering from all compass headings, and all bound for this one
place.

“These
American ships, would they attack us?”

“I
believe so, sir. The King doctrine is now in effect. The American Navy has
authorization to engage any perceived threat, U-boat or surface raider, within
a hundred miles of their ships.”

“I
see… and where is this meeting to be held, Fedorov?”

“Argentia,
Bay, sir, on the south cape of Newfoundland. We should get well away from this
area, unless we want to end up fighting the whole Atlantic Fleet along with the
British. The situation is very dangerous,” he repeated.

“This
is a war, Fedorov, or haven’t you noticed. The British nearly put a torpedo
into us not too long ago. That won’t happen again, but the point is, they have
already decided the matter, haven’t they? Unless we run out into the Atlantic
and hide, as you suggest, we’re going to run into these ships on this heading.”

“It’s
not just that, sir,” said Fedorov, his eyes troubled now, and somewhat anxious.
When he spoke of the Royal Navy, quoting the names of ships, talking about
their speed and guns, he was completely in his element, a master of the
information he was relating. But now he seemed to be feeling his way forward,
unsure of what he was saying.

“We
could change things…” he hesitated, then tried to finish his thought. “It’s
like the Doctor said earlier, sir. Every plane we shoot down has a pilot and
every ship we engage has a crew. These are not great men, I suppose. They are
just like us, enlisted men and officers out to do their duty as best they can.
But those that survive this war may have children, and that goes on into the
future, all the way to our day and beyond. I can’t tell you that any of them
might matter in our world, but some might. Everything we do here is having some
effect on that history, and we cannot know what the outcome might be. As for
Churchill and Roosevelt—these
are
great men; this we know. And should
anything happen to them….” He did not quite know how to finish.

Karpov
was somewhat surprised. Fedorov had been thinking about this from more than one
angle, he realized. He was considering possible consequences of their actions
here, worried about the future he knew, the history of all the days from this
day forward to the year 2021, and then all the unknown days that might lay
ahead. This was what he was most worried about, his precious history.
Kirov
could render all his books invalid in one mighty blow. Didn’t the Lieutenant see
that? Yes, he did see that, but instead of seeing opportunity here, he wallowed
in fear. Fedorov was afraid, that was all. Every man had something to anchor
him in this world of uncertainty. For Fedorov it was his history books. He
found his comfort in the stolid, unchanging facts there, and now things were
changing, spinning wildly off in a new direction, becoming something altogether
new, and Fedorov was afraid of it.

“You
worry too much, Fedorov. Did it ever occur to you that
we
could become
great men too?” Karpov looked at his navigator with the question. “Did it ever
occur to you that this ship is here for a reason? You don’t want your history
bothered, yes, I understand this. But to quote Dostoevsky: ‘Do you expect me to
‘accept fate obediently as it is, once and for all, and stifle everything in
myself?’ A man must be ready to
act
, not just sit meekly and accept his
fate like so many do back home. After all… Men are men, and not piano keys. Yes,
I have read some books too, Mister Fedorov. I too, studied at the university. Don’t
look so surprised.”

A
silence intervened, and then Fedorov said: “Yes sir, you are correct. I
am
worried about the history—very much so. It was a long dark road we walked after
this war, through Stalin, Khrushchev, and Brezhnev. They were men too, some say
great men, yet I do not think you will find very many back home too eager to
see such men back in power again. There were times when our nation strayed very
close to annihilation under their leadership. And if what you say is true, and
we are here for some reason, I can only hope it may be achieved without walking
in the their shadow.”

“How
long do we blame Stalin, Khrushchev and Brezhnev for our woes, Fedorov? One day
we must come to blame ourselves for what we have become. It has been a long
time since the old Soviet system collapsed. What we’ve made of the country
since then has been none of Brezhnev’s doing. But the Americans and British?
Yes, they’ve made our lives a living hell, have they not? So I choose to blame
them
for the moment.”

 “I
do not say this is entirely Russia’s fault, sir. Your points at the briefing
were heard by all of us. Yes, we are here, and we must do something. That is
agreed. I was only suggesting that you should consult with the Admiral, sir,
and—”

 “That
is none of your concern, Fedorov. And this discussion is pointless. Attend to
your charts now.” Karpov had learned all he needed to know from the Navigator. He
gave him a stern look. “You have become just a bit too brash, Fedorov. Watch
your mouth, eh? Just because we both have one stripe and one star on our cuff
does not mean that you have license here.” He pointed to the floor of the
bridge.

The
cuff insignia for a junior Lieutenant and a Captain of the First Rank did
indeed look very similar, only the thickness of the stripe differentiated them,
Karpov’s being twice the width. “If you ever do want to thicken up that stripe
on your cuff, Lieutenant, then you had better thicken up your skin first. Now busy
yourself and plot me a heading to this anchorage at Newfoundland, and let me
worry about the British and Americans.”

“To
Argentia Bay, sir?”

“Correct.”

Fedorov
knew exactly what was on the Captain’s mind now, and he wisely said nothing
more, his eyes worried as he bent to his navigation to plug in some numbers on
the long range weather radar screen.

The
Captain settled into his chair, flashing a grin at his Chief of the boat. “Listen,
Orlov,” he said quietly. “We have business here, and a chance to make some
rather interesting decisions. The Americans and British want to have this
secret little meeting, but they don’t invite their newfound friends in Russia.
They will plot how best to lay down the law after this war, and leave us out of
it. All we are supposed to do is bleed away the lives of ten million or more and
defeat Germany for them while they pay us off with a few trucks, spam, and
powdered eggs in their Lend-Lease program. Does that sound fair to you?”

Orlov
smiled. “Not at all, Captain.”

“Then
perhaps we can get a better deal for Russia if we pay a little visit to this
secret hideaway in Newfoundland. Before we do so, however, we will need to
watch our backs. I cannot have these British battleships creeping up on us, nor
will I tolerate the continued harassment of these carriers. I want to put unholy
fear into the British before we sit at the negotiating table.” He planted his
finger firmly on the arm of his chair. “Then we deal from a position of
strength,” he said emphatically.

Orlov
nodded, casting a glance at the other crewmen on the bridge. “Yet we should be a
little careful, sir,” he advised. “Fedorov has a point. Perhaps you should
discuss this with Volsky.”

“Careful?
Volsky is sedated; asleep. Who knows how long he will be under? So the matter
is for us to decide, you and I. We are the senior officers in command now. Yes,
we must by cautious, yet firm,” Karpov agreed. “But I’ll be damned if we’ll
turn tail and run out into the Atlantic as our young Navigator suggests.”

 He
lowered his voice further so that only Orlov could hear him. “Listen to me,
Orlov… We’re never going to see the future we shape with our actions here. How
do we get back there? So we will never know what the consequences of our
actions will be, nor will anyone else alive today. We can guess, conjecture,
have long discussions with Mister Fedorov about it, but in the end, this is our
reality now and we had better get used to the fact that
this
is the
world we’re living in, as impossible as it seems. At this moment, that world is
tearing itself apart with this war. There will be winners, and there will be
losers. That is the case in every game, yes? I intend to be one of the winners,
and with this ship we can make sure that happens, and make certain that we do
not become one of the scraps the Allies fight over when they finally do defeat
Germany and Japan.”

Orlov
nodded, but remembered something the Captain himself had argued at the first
briefing. “You see a couple of heads of cabbage on the cutting board and you want
to chop it while you can.” Orlov was thinking in terms of profit or loss here. There
was no mistaking who’s heads were on the cutting board. He knew the Captain was
talking about Churchill and Roosevelt now.

“Look,
you said it yourself, Karpov. The British and Americans
win
this war.
Russia too! So what are you going to do, attack them? Then who’s side are we
on? And why should they deal with us further?”

In
the tough world of the Russian criminal underground Orlov had come from, one
had to pick his friends and enemies very carefully. “Everybody serves a boss,”
he continued. “Which side will we be on in a few years if we sink half the
British and American navies? You don’t hit somebody in the face unless he
disagrees with you. The same goes here. Talk first, and if no one listens, then
take stronger measures.”

“Look,
we didn’t throw the first punch, Orlov.” The Captain handed him back his own
image. “You saw what those planes were up to. What? Was I suppose to sit here
negotiating on the radio while those torpedo planes came in on us?”

“Of
course not, but this business…this secret meeting. I think this is something
different. If you sail down there we’re bound to run into all these ships
Fedorov is talking about. Then what?”

“We
don’t have to get too close,” Karpov whispered. “What is the range of our cruise
missiles? Well over 300 kilometers.” He answered his own question. “We’ve got
the weapons, and I intend to use them to best effect.”

“Every
weapon, Captain?” Orlov had a serious look on his face, realizing what Karpov
was saying now.

“When
necessary,” said Karpov. “But for now, let us settle the matter at hand and
deal with the Royal Navy. If we stay on this course we’ll need to discourage
further pursuit. Remember, this is the course the Admiral has set for the ship.
It’s his responsibility. All I am doing is making sure we get there in one
piece. Are you with me?”

Orlov
hesitated, ever so slightly. He noticed how Karpov talked about great men out
of one side of his mouth, and then how he foisted off responsibility for his
actions on the Admiral out of the other side. It was not that he didn’t agree
with Karpov. If it were up to him he’d stick a fat fist in anyone’s face he
disagreed with. Yet there were limits, he thought. How far was the Captain
willing to go?

“Very
well,” he said at last. “But just remember, Captain. You must
eat
the
porridge you cook. And not just you. There are over seven hundred men on this
ship.”

Part VIII

Man Of War

“A man like the major must always
have somebody to oppress, something to take away from somebody, somebody to
deprive of his rights, in short, an opportunity to wreak havoc…”

—Fyodor
Dostoevsky

Memoirs
From the House of the Dead