Kirov Saga Men of War

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.

“Leonid, you forgot to take your new leather gloves,” she said, remembering that last fitful worry she had clung to when he left her.

“You packed them for the move?”

“Of course, but you know how cold your hands always get on those ships. You’ll forget your head one day.”

“But I’ll not forget you…”

The silence between them on the line was enough, a long distended fiber of the love they had shared together for decades. The Admiral smiled inwardly at the memory, grateful that the two ends of time that had been rejoined had left them together as man and wife, unlike the sad fate of Voloshin. Some things, he realized, were simply meant to be, in this world or in any other.

Volsky settled in to Abramov’s desk, putting his personal things aside in a drawer and trying to clear his mind for the difficult days that would surely lay ahead. Talanov was back in ten minutes as promised, a look of concern in his eyes.

“There’s been a development,” he said flatly. “The Japanese have escalated the situation. They’ve sent a couple of their new DDH class helicopter destroyers and put men on the main island.”

“The landing was opposed?” Volsky asked the obvious next question.

“It was, sir and hostilities have renewed. The Chinese fired on the helicopters as they made their approach and the Japanese took out that ship, one of the new Chinese Type 054 class frigates, the Weifang.”

“They sunk it? What has suddenly possessed the Japanese? For decades they were content to sit in their islands and build the world’s best cars and electronics. Now this!”

“It’s that new Prime Minister, sir. You know the old Chinese proverb.”

“What is that?” the Admiral asked.

“A newly appointed official burns three fires. They tend to overdo things, and Mr. Amori has taken a very hard line concerning matters related to Japanese territorial claims.”

“Yes,” said Volsky. “Particularly when they sit atop a lot of potential oil and gas contracts. And what are the Chinese doing?”

“There was an air duel between fighters off Okinawa and mainland China, and then the icing on the cake.”

“Something tells me I do not wish to hear what followed.”

“A ballistic missile strike, sir. DongFeng 15s and 21s. The Chinese hit one of the Japanese DDH class ships. It went down about two hours ago in the East China Sea. Missiles also struck Naha airfield on Okinawa. Conventional warheads, but a rather daring escalation. Those islands are still disputed territory, but there is no question about Okinawa. That is the home soil of the Japanese nation.”

“Yes,” Volsky had a worried look now, his thoughts bouncing from shadowed memories of blackened cities to the rapid pulse of these current events.

“I don’t think they were quite prepared for this level of conflict, sir. They sent only one flotilla of three ships, and the Japanese overmatched them. One of their helo carriers has deployed the new American Joint Strike Fighter.”

“My Mister Fedorov would be able to tell me all about them. Well, the Japanese have a bad habit of catching their adversaries unprepared and paying a high price for it. Look what they did at Pearl Harbor.”

“Pearl Harbor, sir?”

The Admiral suddenly realized he had stumbled, and made a recovery in the easiest way possible. For he, too, was a newly appointed official, and so he just decided to start burning a few fires of his own.

“Never mind the Japanese for the moment, Talanov. When will you have Moscow on the line?”

“Zhakarov is holding now, sir. We are waiting for Suchkov.”

“Yes, we’ve been waiting for him to retire for years,” said Volsky, and it brought a knowing smile to Talanov’s eyes.

“It should just be a few minutes more, Admiral.”

How true, thought Volsky. It is coming down to minutes and seconds on that alarm clock bomb again, and God help us this time, because after that comes the abyss.