“Then what do we do now, sir?” said Samsonov. The eyes of the entire bridge crew were on the Admiral now, for his words had seared them with the realization of what had happened, what they may have done, mindlessly, reflexively, and by simply following the orders of Karpov as was their duty at the time. Duty? What were they, wound up clocks, bound to strike midnight come what may, or men capable of stilling the hands and stopping that jangling sound of the alarm? Yet they had failed to listen. Yes, it was better if you listen…Did they change the history, or was this end as inevitable as the ticking of that clock? No man among them could answer that.
“What do we do?” Volsky clasped his hands behind his back. “We go and find that beach Doctor Zolkin was talking about. We go and find that island.”
The Admiral tapped Fedorov on the shoulder. “Mister Fedorov, the helm is yours. I think I had best walk the ship and talk with the men. They deserve to know what has happened, and for that matter, I think I will pay a visit to Karpov and Orlov as well.”
There was a moment of silence on the bridge until the Admiral gave a final command. “Helm, come about. Take us back up the channel and out to sea. Then ahead two thirds.”
“Aye sir, coming about and out to sea, sir.”
~ ~ ~
DD Plunkett finally righted herself, breaking through another great wave and out into a mottled sea of luminescent green. Kauffman had been holding on to a bulkhead beam for dear life, and he looked out, amazed to see that the seas had suddenly calmed and his ship was settling down, the bow still cutting through the diminished swells at high speed. He had taken a few hard blows from the enemy, but now he could see nothing on the horizon, the shadow of steel and fire they had been chasing was gone.
The Captain was out on the watch deck at once, field glasses in hand, scanning the seas in every direction. There was nothing left of his destroyer division. Benson, Mayo and Jones were gone, but off to the starboard side he caught sight of Division 14. They had been trailing behind his ships somewhat, and suffered less from the enemy guns. Hughes was leaving a wake of smoke, but Madison, Gleaves and Lansdale seemed alive and well.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he breathed. He kept scanning.
“Jimmy, signal Div-Fourteen and see if they have a sighting on that German ship.”
Word came back by lantern: clear ahead, and Kauffman had the other ships form up on Plunkett, a fistful of five destroyers, the proud remnant of Desron 7. They searched the area for some time, but there was no sign of the German raider, or of that awesome explosive geyser they had seen to their east. Kauffman decided to risk a radio call, and he put out a message, hoping to hear from TF-16 and the Mississippi. There was nothing but silence, and the odd green sea.
The Captain scratched his head. Thankfully the fires were out on his own ship, and Plunkett was still seaworthy. With three ships lost, and the enemy nowhere to be seen, he eventually decided to come about and head back to Argentia Bay. When he arrived there he would get the surprise of his life.
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Kirov k-1 Page 43
