Kirov (47 page)

“Yes,
but who is going to teach
you
a lesson, Mister Karpov? Did I waste my
breath with our last discussion?”

“I
promised you that enemy planes would not threaten us again, sir. I removed the
threat, and the carrier that launched it. Under similar circumstances I would
do so again.”

The
Admiral shrugged. “Every time I leave the bridge you begin firing off missiles!
What, do I have to bring my cot up to the citadel and sleep there as well? How
many missiles did you expend in these attacks?”

“They
were not attacks, sir. They were necessary defensive operations.”

“Don’t
quibble with me, Captain. Answer my question.”

“We
have used twelve Moskit-IIs and a few more S-300s.”

“Twelve?
Good God. That ship must have been an inferno. Did it occur to you that we do
not need to use saturation barrage tactics on these targets?”

“You
misunderstand me, admiral. I used the missiles very selectively. Only three
were targeted against the aircraft carrier. Three more engaged her screen, and
the remainder were expended earlier, shortly after you were taken ill. With
those I drove off the other British units closing on our position, including
the two carriers to our north. We have not seen an enemy aircraft since, or
ship, for that matter. They have learned to respect us, sir.”

“That
and more,” said Volsky. He paused, fixing the Captain with heavy eyes. “Do you
know what they are doing out there now, Karpov?” The Admiral pointed to a
distant location outside the ship. “The British have not run home for tea.
Their Prime Minister is at sea, and bound for these very waters. No, no… they
are most likely marshalling every ship of war within a thousand miles of our
last known heading, and the next time they appear on Rodenko’s radar screen we
will have more targets than you might think. As for the Americans, they are
thinking now how to turn the anger and shock of your thoughtless act into a
sure and steady momentum that will bring them into this war, not with a
declaration against Japan, but one against Germany. And they will be sending out
the whole of their Atlantic Fleet to find the ship and crew who sunk the
Wasp
…to
find
you
, Captain,” he pointed.

“And
unfortunately, all of the rest of us are aboard as well, so we will have to
live with the consequences of your short temper and eagerness for war. That is
what we have in front of us now, Mister Karpov. It will not be a few ships
here, a few ships there. They will come out to look for us in force, to hunt us
down with nothing but well justified vengeance in their minds and hearts. And
do you know what? I think there may even be a little contest between them to
see which one finds and sinks us first.” He paused to see if that might sink into
his Captain’s head, but Karpov seemed as stolid and unbending as ever.

Vengeance
was something he understood all too well, and he expressed his thought. “They
are not the only ones needing a little revenge, sir. Now they get a taste of it
from us for a change.”

Volsky
sighed. “You think these are the men responsible for our lot in life? You think
they have caused our economy to collapse, our cities to stagnate and rot? They
were all dead before the Iron Curtain fell and the nation that men like Stalin and
Khrushchev built came down in a pile of stink. What did you hope to accomplish
with this attack?”

“I
was only defending the ship, sir.”

“I
can see this is leading us nowhere. Defending the ship? All you have done is
increase the danger that lies ahead for us. It might have been possible to
reason with these men. I was steering this course to consider that possibility,
but after this, I’m afraid they will not care much for a friendly chat.”

“But
at least they will respect us,” said Karpov, and just a little too sharply. The
Doctor noticed his tone immediately, shifting uneasily in his chair.

The
Captain continued. “This brings us to a point I feel compelled to raise now,
sir.” He looked at Zolkin. “But perhaps the Doctor would excuse us?”

Zolkin
looked up at him, then leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “I
think you are wanting to talk about nuclear bombs, yes? No, Captain, I will not
wander off to my sick bay and rattle about with my stethoscope and
thermometers. I am a Captain of the Second Rank, and third in the chain of
command aboard this ship. In fact, it is mine to say whether either one of you,
or any man aboard, is deemed fit for duty. So I think I will stay. If you have
some idea about blowing up the world out there, I’d like to hear about it. It
may help me decide whether or not you are still sane.”

Part X

Cauldron of Fate

August 7-8, 1941

“
Whether
it's good or bad, it is sometimes very pleasant, too, to smash things…”

– Fyodor Dostoevsky

Chapter
28

August
7, 1941

The
Cruiser
Augusta
and her escorts was running at flank speed, doubling up from the sedate 15
knots she had been steaming. Behind her, falling slowly behind, was the old
battleship
Arkansas
. Two other cruisers and the fast destroyers of
Desron
7
went ahead with
Augusta
. The President was in a hurry, and
Arkansas
would have to catch up as best she could.

Messages
had come in from all quarters, the British Admiralty sharing intelligence,
their Home Fleet coordinating the arrival of the Prime Minister, the American
Task Force 16 withdrawing slowly back to St John’s Newfoundland bearing the
survivors of TF-1. Captain Jerauld Wright aboard
Mississippi
had to be
reined in to compel him to turn about. When he saw the wreckage of the
Wasp
and
Vincennes
he wanted to immediately steam north to deal with the
German raider, but cooler heads prevailed.

Admiral
King had directly ordered him to withdraw, and also radioed back to the Navy
base at Long Island, NY and ordered all the now orphaned strike squadrons of CV
Wasp
to fly out to the airfields near Ship Harbor on Newfoundland. The
place was rapidly becoming one of the most active military bases on the east
coast, its numerous inlets to soon become anchorages for over twenty U.S. warships,
with more still coming from home ports. The British had an equal force at sea. They
were all just a day away now, the battle fleets eager to deliver their high
ranking civilian and military officials to the secret conference, and then get
quickly out to sea to hunt down this new German threat. Planes were up from
Newfoundland’s Patrol Wing 7 flying PBY Catalinas and Mariners in Squadrons 71
and 72, keeping a wary eye to the north.

Admiral
Ernest King was the sixty-three year old Commander of the Atlantic Fleet. “The
King” or simply “Rey” to those closest to him, was an old battleship captain,
he had served through WWI and even saw action as an observer on a few Royal
Navy ships at that time. The experience made him somewhat suspicious and wary
of the British, who clearly considered themselves the rightful masters of the
Atlantic ocean, all other vessels sailing there by their leave. Yet, as the
United States emerged as a strong naval power, she was still not fully ready to
project real power into the Atlantic as Britain had done for decades the world
over. The new bases leased to the U.S. by England in exchange for 50 old US
destroyers had helped to give the Americans a means of better projecting that
power, and Argentia was one such base.

After
the first great war, King floundered with assignments administering the
submarine fleet, and posts involving Naval aviation, receiving his qualifying
wings in 1927. By June of 1930 he found himself assigned as Captain of “Lady
Lex,” the aircraft carrier
Lexington
. He remained an opinionated man,
somewhat surly and prone to anger, and his acerbic jousting with other hatbands
saw him disliked by many of his colleagues, and had almost landed him in a
graveyard post with the Navy’s General Board, a grey priesthood of aging officers
who would sit around discussing policy and ship programs. One of the few allies
he had in the service, Admiral Harold Stark, Chief of Naval Operations, thought
he could serve better as the Commander of the Atlantic Fleet, and he appointed,
some say “anointed,” King as such in late 1940.

Roosevelt
once described King as “a man who shaved every morning with a blow torch,” his
disposition and demeanor being so fiery and easily riled. Like the Army’s
General Patton, the Admiral was of the opinion that when trouble came around
“they send for the sons-of bitches,” as he put it indelicately. He was one of
them. His first reaction to the news that
Wasp
had been sunk was to send
Captain Wright on the
Mississippi
out to find the Germans and rip their
heads off. It was his old friend and still senior Admiral Starke who had
advised him to be cautious.

“The
British say this raider can steam up at thirty knots or more, Rey,” said
Starke. “
Mississippi
can push it at 23 knots if she’s lucky. This is
work for fast cruisers—and for that matter, we’ve got the President here aboard
one, and we need to get him safely off this ship.”

King
reluctantly agreed, gave the order to pull back Task Force 16, but the old
“son-of-a-bitch” wasn’t happy, and he let everyone around him know it. Earlier,
he had given his destroyer captains orders to be aggressive at sea if they
encountered German U-Boats, and he had also formulated numerous plans on how to
deal with German surface raiders. He had even considered the
Graf Zeppelin
in his schemes, and directed that this ship would be fair game for cruisers and
destroyers if ever encountered at sea.

Though
he was leery of British intelligence on the matter, when he learned that the
Royal Navy believed they were pursuing this German aircraft carrier he wanted
to get there first. So he sent the fast destroyers of
Desron 7
out ahead
telling them to fuel up as fast as they could and take up a screening position
off the cape of Newfoundland. And he told Captain Wright on the
Mississippi
to hover just behind that screen until other warships could augment his force
for the hunt he was now determined to pursue in earnest.

“The
only thing now,” he said “is whether we can get this bastard before the Brits
do! If they catch and sink this ship first, they’ll crow about how they saved
the U.S. Navy for the next hundred years. Well, I’m not going to stand for
that. They come over here, hat in hand, and I’d like to drop this little trophy
into their bag, courtesy of the United States Navy. Then we can get on with the
real business of this war—the damn Japanese. If Roosevelt manages to get
congress to declare war on Germany over this, then Tojo and his samurai brotherhood
will fall right in line beside Hitler. That’s where the Navy’s fight will be in
the end, not out here garrisoning Iceland and holding hands with Convoy Masters.”

~
~ ~

Aboard
Kirov
, another
“son-of-a-bitch” was angry as well. Karpov had a heated discussion with the
Admiral, leaving sick bay unsatisfied, and quite unhappy. Volsky had been
adamant that no nuclear warheads were to be mounted on any of the missiles
except on his expressed order. The Captain had argued about it with him,
implored him to see the logic of their situation, but he closed ranks with
Zolkin and refused to listen. He gave him orders not to engage in any further
combat, and even went so far as to threaten to remove him from the bridge watch
if he persisted with these ideas, an insult that enraged the Captain to no end,
particularly in front of the Doctor. All he had done was plead with the Admiral
to allow the ship to mount the weapons in the event they needed them ready for
quick action. But Volsky was adamant.

Karpov
went to his quarters, stewing over the matter for some time, frustrated that he
could not have simply collected the Admiral’s command key and passed it on to
Orlov as he had hoped. And the Doctor was no help either. Zolkin was clearly
running interference for the Admiral, supporting his arguments at every
opportunity, and even going so far as to suggest that the Captain was overly
stressed, a statement which Karpov vehemently refuted.

The
Captain sat in his bunk, a nervous frustration keeping him from sleep, which he
dearly needed now. Chastened by the Admiral, his old doubts and fears began to
re-emerge. It was clear to him that the brief window of command he had enjoyed
was closing, and that Volsky would soon be casting his considerable shadow on
the bridge again. The tension of these last hours had been hard on him, in
spite of his resolve to do what he believed he must in the situation. If he
could just get a few hours sleep while Orlov held the watch, he could clear his
head a bit.

Restless,
and discontented, he took a book from his cabin and lay down on the bunk to
read. It was an old favorite, Dostoevsky’s
Notes From The Underground
,
the same book he had quoted to Fedorov on the bridge earlier. He opened it,
flipping through the pages, and his eye fell on a segment he had bookmarked
many years ago when he last read the book in earnest.