Men of War (2013) (23 page)

“I
think you would be wise to do this,” said Kamenski. “I have my own suspicions
about that ship, but in the face of imminent war, what you say makes perfect
sense. It’s a pity we never finished the refit on
Admiral Lazarev
.”

There
was a quiet ding, and Kapustin excused himself, reaching into his pocket for a
cell phone. It was Volkov reporting on his investigation of the ship’s roster.
The Inspector listened carefully, his eyes darkening, and then said he would
follow up on the matter tomorrow.

“Excuse
me again, my friend, but that was my wolf chasing sheep again. That damage to
Kirov
caused casualties. Thirty-six men died.”

“That
is a shame,” said Kamenski.

“More
than that, it is now a real mystery. We got the casualty list, but when we
matched it to the ship’s roster, none of the names were there. So we called
Moscow. They don’t have any of the names on file either—not in the computers,
and now not even in the paper archives—no service records, no orders cut for
any men by those names. We checked every system and in ever dusty old file box
in the city. The ship’s physician, this Doctor Zolkin aboard
Kirov
,
handed Volkov a list of thirty-six men who were killed in action, and the navy
has no record that any one of them ever existed!”

“That’s
impossible. The list must have been fabricated then.”

“Yes,
but why, Pavel?
Why?
What are they doing over there? I’m the Inspector
General of the Russian Navy! Did they think they could hand me such a list and
I would not discover this? Is this some kind of a macabre joke? I am not
amused—not one bit.”

Again
the cell phone in Kapustin’s pocket wanted to have its say. He frowned, clearly
upset now. “What is it this time?...Yes? When?... Has it been confirmed? I see.
Very well, I be there as soon as I can.”

He
looked down at his soup bowl, then stared into his old friend’s face, a sadness
in his eyes this time, and a weariness.

“There’s
been a shooting incident at sea off the Diaoyutai Islands. The Chinese and the
Japanese are finally at it, Pavel. It’s started, and God only knows where or
when it will end.”

Chapter 17

Kapustin
and Kamenski were not the only men to have their dinners interrupted that evening.
Admiral Volsky received the very same call, and was soon hastening into a cab
for the run out to Naval Headquarters at Fokino. Karpov and Fedorov were
ordered to the ship immediately.

Volsky
rolled down the window, looking at his two officers and wondering if he would
ever see them again. “Karpov,” he said, waving the Captain over to the cab.
“Get the ship ready. Have Byko do whatever he can, particularly on that hull
patch.”

“Don’t
worry sir. Byko has had men in the water all week working on that problem. They
also completed the missile reloads this afternoon. Kapustin was recording every
last serial number.”

“Yes,
well we both know what is happening now. We may have plugged one hole in the
dike by sparing that American sub, but now the water seems to be coming up over
the top. Remember, you are acting Captain of the battlecruiser
Kirov
.
Don’t let Kapustin and Volkov push you around. And one more
thing…Fedorov…Listen to him, Captain. Listen to him. He is
Starpom
this
time around and you have the ship, but don’t forget those moments on the bridge
when that situation was reversed. Become the same mind and heart together that
saw us safely home. Do what you must, but we both know that there is something
much greater than the fate of the ship at stake now, something much bigger than
our own lives. We are the only ones who know what is coming, Karpov, and fate
will never forgive us if we fail her this time.”

“Fedorov
will stand right beside me, Admiral, and we will do everything in our power to
prevent that future we saw together. I promise you.”

“I’ll
have faith in you both,” said Volsky. “There’s one more thing…” The Admiral
drew out his missile key, removing it and slowly handing it to Karpov. Their
eyes met, a thousand words unspoken, and then Volsky nodded, raising his heavy
hand in a salute, which Karpov returned briskly with a farewell smile. Then the
Admiral watched his Captain turn and rush away to the nearby quay where the
dark threatening profile of the world’s most powerful surface action ship rode
quietly at anchor. He looked at her, still missing her Top Mast radar antenna,
though now a new Fregat system was installed on the aft mast and rotating
quietly in the night.

A
stirring of wind rustled the gray canvas tarp which still covered the blackened
wreck of her aft battle bridge. The lone KA-40 stood a silent watch on the aft
deck, and he briefly considered hitching a ride on the helo, then decided to
let it be. He needed time to think before he saw Abramov again. There was other
news in the back of his mind that he had not had time to digest with his
Chinese food, or even to discuss with Karpov and Fedorov.

Dobrynin
had called him just before sunset, strangely upset over a missing crewman,
Markov. Something about his report gave Volsky the shivers, but he did not know
enough about it to bring it up with the others. Instead he told Dobrynin to
send for two Marine Guards and post them outside his test bed unit, and admit
no one else until Rod-25 was again safely removed from the system and stored in
a radiation safe container.

Now
he tapped the front seat and ordered the driver on to Fokino. It would be a
fifty mile trip by car, but he would probably get there faster than he would by
trying to find a reasonably fast coastal lighter and crossing the wide Gulf of
Peter the Great. Along the way he telephoned the HQ and asked for Admiral
Abramov.

“Admiral
Volsky? Good evening, sir. We were just trying to reach you. I regret to inform
you that Admiral Abramov has suffered another heart attack, sir. He is being
rushed to the naval hospital as we speak.”

The
news shocked Volsky, even though it was not unexpected. Abramov had been in
declining health for the last year, and Volsky knew that with standing orders
to assume the man’s post, he would soon be charged with the weight of the
combined operations of the entire Pacific Fleet, a burden poor Abramov could no
longer carry.

It
was not long before the cab had wound its way around the northern nose of the
gulf, through the hamlet of
Shkotovo
and on through
Romanovka
, now heading south to Fokino. He soon saw the
tall mast of the Pacific Fleet Transceiver Station winking in the night, on a
high hill southeast of the town. He thought it a bit ironic that another of the
four original
Kirov
class battlecruisers, the
Admiral Lazarev
,
was still tied off in ‘conservation status’ down in the bay below Naval
Headquarters here. It had been scheduled to rejoin the fleet again, but the
money was never found to complete her refit, and in fact, several of her
interior components had been cannibalized to build the new
Kirov
. Yet
here was a good strong hull, now just the shell of a ship, slowly rusting away.

Twenty
minutes later he reached the Naval Headquarters building, sensed the rising
tension there in the urgent movements of staff and adjutants, knew the
thickening night above would be a long one. But will there ever be a dawn, he
wondered?

The
Chief of Staff greeted him warmly, Andre Talanov, a stout and competent dark
haired man in his late forties with a sharp eye and a good head on his
shoulders. “Good evening, sir. We have received a communication from Moscow in
light of both the current situation in the Pacific, and Admiral Abramov’s
condition.”

“How
is the Admiral?”

“We
do not yet know sir, he is still in intensive care.” He handed Volsky a plain
teletype message decrypt, and he knew what it was going to say as soon as he
glanced at it…
“Effective immediately, FLEET ADM VOLSKY, LEONID is herewith
to assume full operational command of Red Banner Pacific Fleet Operations…”

So
I am out of Kapustin’s little frying pan for the moment, he thought to himself
as he read the few closing details in the message. Yes, out of the frying pan
and into the fire. He folded the message and gave his new Chief of Staff a
solemn look. “I expect you have much more to tell me, Captain Talanov, and I
certainly hope you have a cupboard full of good tea in the building.”

“That
we do, sir.”

“Very
well. Let’s get started then. I suppose you’ll want to brief me on this
situation with the Chinese and Japanese.”

“Yes,
sir. There has been a live fire incident just northeast of the Diaoyutai Island
group. We don’t know how it started yet, but the Japanese have lost a small
destroyer escort, 2500 tons, the
Oyoko
,
sir
.
It was part of a three ship flotilla and the remaining assets returned
fire, sinking a Chinese Type 095 submarine. We have been in contact with
Beijing, and they confirm that they have lost communications with the
Li Zhu
.
The Japanese withdrew two remaining ships to the northeast temporarily. Japan
issued a quick condemnation, vowed reprisal, and then put another flotilla to
sea.”

“And
the Chinese?”

“Their
ships remain on station off the main island at Diaoyutai. They have put men
ashore there, sir, and now we get word that a small Japanese coast guard cutter
has also been fired on and boarded by Chinese Naval Marines off the principle
ship in their task force, the
Lanzhou
.”

“It
sounds like the long war of words over those islands has ended. Of course it
will be in all the papers tomorrow and the Japanese ambassador in Beijing will
be hopping mad.”

“I’m
afraid that won’t do him much good, sir. Beijing informs me that they have
occupied the Japanese Embassy there and arrested the ambassador.”

“They
did what? That’s unheard of!”

“I
think they mean business this time, sir. There’s a great deal going on in the
diplomatic back channels tonight, but rumors are flying that a formal
declaration of war is being considered. Beijing has been on the phone to Moscow
about it for the last hour.”

“War?
Over those useless hunks of rock in the Pacific?”

“It
won’t be the first time, sir,” said Talanov, and Volsky knew all too well the
truth of that statement.

“What
do we have at sea?”

“The
frigate
Golovko
and the destroyer
Orlan
are both in the Sea of
Japan with the cruiser
Varyag.”

“Good.
Make sure they stay there.”

“But
sir, they were ordered to the East China Sea to rendezvous with the Chinese.”

“They are going to be late. I am countermanding
that order immediately. The flotilla is to remain in the Sea of Japan and
circle in place. Someone has to act sensibly in this situation. I think it will
be me.”

“Very
good, sir, but won’t this cause some… political problems? The Chinese will be
expecting our support.”

“Political
problems are solved more easily than military ones, Mister Talanov. It would
have been nice of the Chinese to inform us they were going to start firing at
Japanese ships, eh? Do you think our fleet is ready for a major air sea
engagement in the East China Sea? I hardly think so. You may position one or
two submarines there for situational awareness, and I think it would be wise to
get two IL-38s and a Bear up on long range reconnaissance. But I don’t want
surface ships attempting to transit the Korea Strait under these circumstances.
If we do the Japanese will have planes over them in no time, and then we will
need to send fighters, and so on. No. If we deploy it will be
north
of
Hokkaido Island in the Sea of Okhotsk, and in close cooperation with our naval
air forces on Sakhalin Island. That way anything we have in Kamchatka can join
us in the Pacific. Look at your map, Captain. They do not call the waters south
of us the Sea of Japan without good reason. Now then…I would also like a secure
line to Moscow, and after that to the American Naval Headquarters in Hawaii.”

“The
Americans, sir?”

“Of
course. Get Admiral Richardson’s office on the line for me please, and ask them
if he can take my call within the hour. And I want a list of everything the
Americans have in the region or presently in transit on my desk in ten
minutes.”

Talanov
had not seen this kind of decisive command style for some time, and it seemed a
breath of fresh air to him after the slow and equivocating ways of Abramov. He
smiled, grateful for the tone in Volsky’s voice that knew how to give an order
and make it stick.

“Aye,
sir. Ten minutes. I’ll put you through to Moscow at once.” He saluted and
rushed off.

Volsky
went quickly to Abramov’s old office, his eye falling on the family photos on
his desk, a wife, daughter, grandchild. His mind strayed at once to his own
wife back in Moscow. He had spoken with her on the telephone, heard the relief
and joy in her voice to know that he was home safely again, and he apologized
to her for the sorrow his sudden absence must have caused.

“Elena,”
he remembered telling her long ago. “You know that a sailor’s life is fraught
with many dangers, and surprises. It may be that I go out one day and do not
come home as planned, but never lose hope. The navy compels hard choices at
times, and some things I do you will never know. Yes, there are still secrets
to be kept under my hat, and an Admiral of the fleet gets more than his fair
share of them. So you just wait for me. I will come home soon enough. Busy
yourself with plans for the new house in Vladivostok.”

She
did that, good wife that she was, but when news of the accident with
Orel
came over the television, her faithful heart was rent through. Yet she waited,
a long month, not having the slightest inkling of what her husband of forty years
had been doing, but never losing hope. Then one day he called her, and her
heart leapt with joy.