9 Days Falling, Volume I k-5

by John A. Schettler

  “Who would have seen it? This man Mironov?”

  “Yes, of course. Mironov was Sergei Mironovich Kostrikov, but you and I know him by yet another alias that he took upon himself some years later. In fact, we serve on the very ship that was given his name—Kirov.”

  Fedorov had a satisfied smile on his face now, for at least one part of this incredible incident made sense to him—the part he could fetch from his history books. “Don’t you see, Troyak?” he said, his voice low, barely a whisper. “That was Kirov! The Okhrana found the hidden printing press in April of 1909 and began looking for him again, so he fled south to the Caucasus and changed his name. Some say the prefix Kir comes from the Persian word for King, and he just Russianized the word and called himself Kirov. Sergei Kirov, one of the great men of the Russian Revolution! There was a statue of the man overlooking the harbor in Baku for many years until it was removed a few years ago in our day. You’ve seen the statue in St. Petersburg as well. We’ve named towns, cities and ships for the man ever since.”

  “Amazing,” said Troyak. “You are a very well educated man, Fedorov, but are you certain of this?”

  “I knew the moment I named him, Sergeant. I could see the recognition in his eyes. It was Kirov. He died a kind of martyr when he was assassinated in Leningrad on the first day of December, 1934—shot in the back of the head as he was leaving his office that evening. He was very close to Stalin, you know, and Stalin reacted to his death with what we now call the Great Purge. A million died, but many historians suspect that Stalin himself was connected to Kirov’s assassination in some way. Nikita Khrushchev stated that Stalin personally gave the order to have his old friend, and chief rival, killed. He tried to control Kirov, who was taking a very lenient attitude against opponents of the party at that time, but he failed. Kirov was very popular, much more so than Stalin. After his death Stalin eliminated all his potential opponents and fully consolidated power…And that was him, Troyak! That was Sergei Kirov as a young man in 1908! He must have come up that back stairway and walked right into our little nightmare here in 1942. That’s why I was so adamant that he go back down those stairs. Understand?”

  Troyak looked bewildered, but Fedorov’s energy and enthusiasm had carried him along this rail line from Vladivostok of 2021 to Omsk of 1942. He could believe anything now.

  “Well I’ll be a horse’s ass,” he said. “Kirov!”

  Part X

  The Lost Sheep

  “A sheep, once it has strayed away, is a creature remarkably stupid and heedless; it goes wandering on without any power or inclination to return back, though each moment it is in danger of becoming a sacrifice to every beast of prey that it meets.”

  ~ Rev. Thomas Stackhouse

  Chapter 28

  Admiral Volsky was sitting at the command desk receiving scattered reports from assets throughout the North Pacific region, and the picture they were painting was very mixed. Two A-50U AEW planes had been deployed in the initial standoff with the Americans. Of these, one plane designated ‘Black Bear’ had been destroyed in the early minutes of the US attack. Yet Karpov’s plan was executed perfectly, and the moment the Russians confirmed the Americans were going weapons hot they stole a march on them with their long range air and sub launched cruise missiles. The initial damage reports were very encouraging, but tensions rose in the staff briefing room at Fokino when the US strike squadrons engaged.

  “We took a few hits, Admiral,” said Talanov, Volsky’s new Chief Of Staff. “Minor damage on the Varyag, but it looks like we’ll lose one of the Udaloy class destroyers. All things considered we were not hurt that badly.”

  “Yes, but that is one less destroyer on the watch, and we’re still waiting on the second American strike group,” said Volsky. “It was coming in from the east and was engaged by Kuznetsov’s fighters.”

  “That was quite a duel, sir. We lost eight Mig-29s but have nine confirmed kills. Kuznetsov appears to have shielded our flank as planned.”

  “We’re trading them plane for plane,” said Volsky, “and we both know we cannot do that for very long. The Americans still have two more carrier battlegroups in theater at the moment, not to mention their Third Fleet mustering in the Eastern Pacific.”

  Talanov was handed a signals decrypt, and read it quickly. “Karpov apparently executed phase two of his long range attack as well. We just received the code Longarm, sir, but we are not sure if it was executed.”

  “If so, that will mean he has no further long range assets, unless we can get another squadron of bombers to him quickly. What is the status of our—”

  There came a noticeable shudder, and Talanov looked up at the overhead lighting. It was followed soon after by a strong blast wave and three windows in the outer room shattered. The Admiral was very surprised. “Are we under attack?”

  “We had nothing on radar, sir. No alert warnings of any kind!”

  “Don’t forget their damn B-2s, Talanov,” Volsky admonished, and then they heard it, a deep roar that sounded as if the earth itself had growled in anger. The Demon on the Iturup / Urup island gap had finally blown its top. A much stronger shock wave was felt, and Admiral Volsky was nearly thrown from his chair. He turned, awestruck, as he saw the angry red glow on the horizon and what looked like a massive mushroom cloud out east where the fleet had deployed. His first thought was that the Americans had struck with nuclear weapons.

  “My God,” he breathed. “It’s begun.”

  Talanov shouted at the NBC watch station. “What’s our reading on Gamma?”

  “Nothing to report, sir. No noticeable increase in background radiation.”

  Then the meteorological desk quickly intervened. “It’s not nuclear, Captain. But we have high seismic readings. SVERT is reporting from Sakhalin Island. It’s an eruption from the volcano we’ve been monitoring, and a big one, sir.”

  Volsky was up and across the room, leaning over the meteorological desk to look at the readings and then looking over his shoulder at the massive cloud darkening their eastern horizon. “It’s enormous,” he said. “The hand of God this time, and not the petty quarrels of man and machine. Our fleet must be very close to ground zero, yes?”

  “They were about thirty kilometers south of the Kuriles, sir. They would have had a much stronger shock wave, and perhaps heavy seas. This looks like a very significant event. There could be major pyroclastic flows in an eruption of this scale.”

  “Signal fleet flag and request immediate status update.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The wait was agonizing, twenty minutes in oblivion where the fate of the Red Banner Fleet remained unknown, with no signal returns and interference all across the electromagnetic spectrum. The towering ash cloud was so massive it was creating its own weather, ripped by lightning and thunderous brimstone. Volsky was pacing, and ten minutes later he gave orders to move the A-100 AEW plane out of the danger zone. Talanov was quick to agree.

  “The smoke and ash cloud from that volcano will complicate air operations in the region for days, Admiral. If these initial readings are accurate, the event could be a seven on the eruptive scale index, and ash fall could extend nearly a thousand kilometers. We’ve already lost communications links with most every facility in the southern Kuriles. Korsakov is preparing to terminate all operations on Sakhalin Island, as well as all other facilities at Aniva Bay there. We’ll have to consider a possible sealift evacuation if the ash fall prevents air operations. The whole of Hokkaido Island could be hit with a very large tsunami and be well under that ash cloud within the hour. This will also affect the American base at Misawa. The eruption is going to stop this engagement cold. There’s no way that American air strike can get through that ash now, but that said it will be all we can do to get the fleet to safe water.”

  “Why don’t they answer? Have we sent out low frequency communications to the fleet undersea escort?”

  “We have, sir, but they do not respond. The surface fleet would have been right in t
he path of that pyroclastic flow, assuming they survived the shock wave after that second eruption.”

  They waited out the next ten minutes until the news finally came in. The Akula class escort sub Gepard was on close fleet escort and moved to periscope depth to attempt to confirm the location of the fleet.

  “Sir! Gepard reports visual contact on Udaloy class destroyers Marshal Shaposhnikov, Admiral Tributs and Admiral Panteleyev.”

  “They would have been in the outer ASW screen, farther away from the main fleet, but they are still afloat. We know Admiral Vinogradov was hit there, and most likely sunk. Give it some time, sir. The remaining units were in tight with the fleet flagship. Gepard is moving to make contact as we speak.”

  Volsky waited, but no further news was received. Admiral Kuznetsov eventually called home over a very garbled communications band to request permission to withdraw west away from the ever widening ash fall zone. Gepard searched for the next three hours, including very risky active sonar pings aimed at locating the remainder of the fleet. They even deployed infrared detectors on the seafloor beneath the flagship’s last reported position and this led to some very disheartening news.

  “We found wreckage, sir. Gepard is getting emergency transponder beacon signal traffic from the sea bottom at these coordinates.”

  “What ship?”

  “We can’t determine that yet. It was just a generic signal, with no IFF carrier wave data.” Talanov had a grim expression on his face.

  “And Kirov? Any news from Karpov?”

  Talanov could see the Admiral had a strong emotional connection to that ship. He never knew what had happened to Kirov in these last months, only that Volsky had conducted some top secret deployment to eventually relocate the ship from the North Atlantic to Vladivostok. Men and ships become one thing in a navy man’s mind, he knew, and he could see the obvious look of concern on the Admiral’s face, glassy eyed, as if he was waiting for news in a hospital waiting room.

  “Sir…Request permission to move fleet undersea recovery units to the scene to investigate further.” Talanov waited respectfully, and Volsky slowly turned.

  “Please do so, Mister Talanov. If they can get there safely. From the looks of that ash cloud that may prove impossible. What could be alive under that?” His face had an ashen look now, as though he himself were under that cloud. “I will be in my office. Keep me informed the moment you hear anything.”

  There was nothing more to report. By mid afternoon it was beginning to look like the Red Banner Pacific Fleet had taken a fatal blow. There was no report from Kirov and they had lost contact with every other ship in the core fleet formation. Cruiser Varyag, destroyer Orlan and the new frigate Admiral Golovko were all still missing in action. Volsky waited, an inner intuition thrumming in his mind with dark presentiment and warning. It was physical, that old tooth that always acted up in the cold of the north Atlantic. He touched it with the tip of his tongue, felt a twinge of pain, and knew something was very, very wrong.

  ~ ~ ~

  Aboard CVN Washington Captain Tanner was desperately coordinating damage control operations on his stricken carrier while receiving scattered reports from the strike groups he had out after the enemy. Just after 10:40 hours the screen had detected another barrage of missiles inbound from the north. McCampbell had engaged, joined soon after by McCain and Fitzgerald. The cruiser Shiloh had recovered power and was able to get some of her medium range missiles into the action as well, but tanner’s harried flotilla was about to be hit by the wrath of the Vulkans.

  They got more than half of the big missiles, and all but one of the P-700 shipwrecks, but it was another unexpected attack in the heat of a difficult situation, and ships were hit. The P-700 had picked on Lassen again, slamming her amidships and putting an end to her useful service. Five of the Vulkans penetrated the badly disorganized screen and bored in on the inner formation. Shiloh got three of them; the other two got Tanner’s big CV in their cross hairs and drove home. The carrier fired a frantic barrage from her RIM-116 Rolling Airframe Missile system and knocked one of these down, but the last slammed a 1000 kilogram warhead into her side, gravely injuring the carrier and making further flight operations impossible.

  That last hit was an effective “mission kill” on CVN Washington, though her flotation was not compromised and she still had power. The fires on the hanger deck were very involved, and Tanner gave orders that all aircraft aloft would have to divert to Japan. He was busy on the line with his Air Boss giving orders to coordinate air refueling for his thirsty strike assets with anything they could get in the air from other land bases.

  “See what they can get up from Misawa before that ash fall closes the place down, and anything available at Yokota—and do it now, Boss Man. That last missile just put you and me out of a job. It will be all we can do now to get this big baby to safe waters.”

  At that moment they heard a tremendous explosion, and Tanner literally ran to the view ports to look down his long flight deck, thinking they had been hit yet again. It wasn’t long before his Cloud Man reported on the eruption, the wrath of the Vulkans had only just begun.

  They pulled in any information they could in the midst of the chaos of the next several minutes. It wasn’t long before the massive column of ash, steam and pumice was seen rising on their northern horizon.

  “Holy God,” breathed Tanner to his XO, Skip Patterson. “Will you look at that mess?”

  “Nothing we have in the air now is going to get anywhere close to engaging the Russians on that right flank, sir.”

  “Hell, we won’t have to lift another damn finger. SITREP had the core of the Russian fleet right in the shadow of that monster. They were no more than thirty klicks south of that island.”

  “Looks like this Karpov is going to get a mouth full of smoke and ash,” said Patterson.

  “Serves him right. Cagey bastard was thinking to use that initial eruption this morning to screen his task force from my planes.”

  “That he did, sir. It split our strike package in two.”

  “Well, look at him now. The Russkies are in a world of shit up there. He must have got off that last salvo just before that thing blew its top.”

  The distraction actually imposed a strange calm on the bridge, and they stood there for some time watching the skies darkening to the north. Then Ensign Pyle produced a message from Anderson AFB on Guam with more details on the eruption.

  “Big seismic signature,” said Tanner. “Anderson says they got a look at it from space. They heard the damn thing go up all the way out on Guam, and the eruption is already over forty kilometers high! It’s pierced the stratosphere all the way to the edge of space. We’ve been ordered to withdraw all fleet assets and make for Guam for repairs. They’ll probably scoot our ass back to Pearl when they see the holes those missiles poked in our side. The ash fall will saturate most of Hokkaido and even reach as far south as the main island, so they don’t want us back at Yokosuka. This thing is big, Skip. Just when we thought to raise a little hell out here old Mother Nature knocks our heads together with something like this.”

  “I think we got the worst of this little brawl, sir.”

  “That we did. This Karpov beat us to the punch, but we’ve learned a valuable lesson here. I acted on that flash traffic but I was a stupid son-of-a-bitch to do so. We should have coordinated this strike with Nimitz. What we’ve learned today is just how good those damn long range missiles the Russians have actually are.”

  “We put up a pretty good score on defense, sir.”

  “Not good enough, Skip. We can’t trade a fleet carrier for four or five missiles, can we? Thank God they build these things like a rock. The Russians will take note of this little engagement as well. They threw everything they had at us and still couldn’t put us on the bottom of the sea. But before they have too much time to think about that, let’s move everyone in tight with us and get this old girl pointed south.”

  “McCampbell says they have everyone the
y could pull off Lassen, sir. She’s still afloat but pretty well gutted above the waterline.”

  “USPACFLT wants us to send Davey Jones a present. We’ve got orders to sink Lassen, and that means we gave up two Arleigh Burkes for a couple old Udaloys. We got the short end of that deal too.”

  “Aye, sir. But maybe our boys put the hurts on the Russians up north after all.”

  “We may never know with that mess out there. Satellites can’t see a thing. We’ll have to see if we can get a sub in there to have a look.”

  Before noon that day Tanner was going to find his beleaguered task force in an early midnight. The ash fall was much thicker and more pronounced than anyone expected, and prevailing winds were driving it right in his direction. The skies began to deepen to amber and then sallow gray as the hours progressed. Soon the skies were blackening and virtually no sunlight was getting through the intense clouds of silt and ash. The aerosols would rise into the upper atmosphere and interact with other gases there to form sulfuric acid, which reflected almost 90% of the sunlight away from the earth. It was going to be a very cold winter throughout the entire northern hemisphere, and the year following the last eruption on this same scale was called “the year without summer.” Crops would fail, acid rains and fogs would become commonplace, and the evening skies would be blood red for months on end.

  It was as if the world itself had groaned with a roiling song of doom. To a world beset with war and strife, the Demon was a harbinger of the terrible days ahead. It had exploded with a power a thousand times greater than a nuclear weapon, but in spite of that it was the missiles in their silos that were threatening to make an end to the human experiment on the planet, and the clock was still ticking.