“So you think we may disappear again in another nine days?”
“It’s a possibility. Who can say? The Admiral made a good point in our discussion about this earlier. A rock skips only so far on the water. It must settle somewhere. Did you notice how subtle these last two shifts were? We vanished at St. Helena like a whisper in fog, then appeared here before we really perceived it. There were no odd effects like the earlier displacements, and none of that strange static or color in the sea.”
“What does this mean, Fedorov?”
“I cannot say. Only it seems to me that the energy of our movement in time is dissipating, weakening.”
“And what if there isn’t enough left to take us somewhere else in nine days. What then?”
Fedorov just looked at him. “Well, Captain, then we’ll stay right where we are, won’t we. And in that case I can assure you that this will definitely not be the last time we have to call the crew to battle stations.”
They saw another bright flash in the image on the HD display, and heard the rumble of thunder again, as if a bad storm were riding their wake. This time the rounds fell a little closer, a spread of two closely spaced water plumes falling about 2000 meters behind them.
“I may have to do something about this soon,” said Karpov.
“That was only one turret firing,” said Fedorov. “I think they are just clearing their throats, Captain. But it may be wise to prevent them from getting any closer.” He turned to the helmsman.
“Ahead thirty and five points to starboard.”
“Aye, sir. Starboard five and speed thirty.”
He looked at his navigation map on the Plexiglas. “We should reach the Torres Strait in three hours or so. That’s about 600 kilometers west of Port Moresby. They’ll have planes there, but I would not expect a strike until we are through the strait and well into the Coral Sea. We’ll have to sail well east of Daru, here,” he pointed to the belly of New Guinea, just above the tip of the Cape York Peninsula where it jutted at that great island. “Then we turn south into the Coral Sea. At that point we’ll be in range of anything they have operating out of Port Moresby.”
Nikolin seemed to perk up, fiddling with his radio set and adjusting the gain and reception. Fedorov caught his sudden energy out of the corner of his eye and turned his head.
“Something on the radio, Mister Nikolin?”
“A lot of traffic all the sudden, sir. I’m getting ship to ship, air to ground, and a lot of Morse code in the middle of it all. It sounds like something big is going on.”
Fedorov frowned, looking at Karpov. “Most likely the other half of the operation we’ve stumbled upon here,” he said glumly.
“This one isn’t in any of your history books?”
“I’m afraid not, Captain. But I can make some fairly good guesses about what is going on. This operation against Darwin is nothing more than a side show. The main event is further east, and if the Japanese are trying to isolate Australia, as I think they are, then they are aiming for one or two places of strategic importance: the lower Solomons, Espiritu Santo on Vanuatu, or New Caledonia. To attack any of those locations they will need a lot of aircraft carriers in the Coral Sea, probably two divisions, at least four fleet carriers if they have them, and I’m inclined to believe that they do if they were able to assign two fleet carriers and a light escort carrier to the Darwin operation. They know we are here, but it’s a very big ocean out there. It would be my guess that Yamamoto is leading the main attack, and that his Kido Butai is already in the Eastern Coral Sea, perhaps about here.” He fingered a location on the map roughly equidistant from the northern tip of New Caledonia and Vanatu Island.
“Frankly, I would take Espiritu Santo first, and build an airstrip that can work in tandem with the field on Guadalcanal. From there the Japanese could strike at either Noumea on New Caledonia or Fiji by using land based aircraft.”
“And the Americans?”
“That’s the real unknown for the moment. We don’t really know whether they got hit at Pearl Harbor, and we don’t know how things have gone since. It’s obvious they lost the Battle of the Coral Sea, as the Japanese have Port Moresby. You killed Wasp in the Atlantic, so that will leave them Enterprise, Lexington, Yorktown, Saratoga, and Hornet. They may have lost one or more of these by this point in the war, but we do not know. Their intelligence was fairly good. They had broken the Japanese naval code before Midway was supposed to have been fought in May of this year. It could be that they are well aware of the Japanese plan and preparing to make a counter thrust of their own.”
“So what may lie east if we keep sailing this direction?”
“Perhaps one of the largest air/sea battles in history,” said Fedorov, his eyes alight. “There will be at least four fleet carriers on the Japanese side, and three or four on the American side, each with over seventy planes, and we would be presumed hostile by either side if we get mixed up in it. If the Midway battle wasn’t fought earlier, then it will be fought here, now, in the Coral Sea, and the outcome will decide the war in the Pacific theater for years to come.”
“I see,” said Karpov, a gleam in his eye as well. “Our missile inventory is wearing thin, but I must remind you that we still have weapons aboard this ship that can also prove decisive. We have the power to decide the outcome of this campaign as well, Fedorov. Don’t forget that.”
Fedorov said nothing more.
Chapter 15
“Admiral on the bridge!”
The first watch called out the return of Admiral Volsky, and the men saw him make a perfunctory salute as he strode quietly towards the aft briefing room. “Mister Karpov,” he said curtly.
Karpov turned and saw it was clear that Volsky wanted to speak with him in private. His heart leapt, and he immediately knew what this must be about, but he steeled himself, and followed the Admiral to the briefing room. Volsky shut the hatch, folding his arms.
“Do you recall a conversation we had in the sick bay some weeks ago when I gave you a direct order that none of the nuclear warheads were to be mounted on missiles?”
“You’ve spoken with Martinov,” said Karpov.
“I have.”
“Sir, it must have been obvious to you that I countermanded that order when I fired that MOS-III.”
“Disobeyed that order, Karpov. Don’t mince words here.”
“Very well, I will not argue the point, and yes, I ordered Martinov to mount two warheads, one on the MOS-III and one on a P-900 cruise missile. I think I have given you reason enough as to why I did this. I do not say I am correct to have disregarded your order, but there it is.”
“Damn right,” said Volsky, clearly upset. “Yes, I was well aware of this transgression, at least insofar as the MOS-III was concerned, but so were you, Karpov. And all these weeks the second warhead has been sitting on missile number 10 in the P-900 bays, and you said nothing!”
Karpov breathed deeply, his chin raising, then clenched his jaw, silent for a time. He looked down. “It would be just like me to say I assumed that you discovered the warhead earlier, and had it removed,” he began in a low voice. “But that would be a bowl of lozh, just another lie from the man I was back then, and it would seem so right to me to serve it up to you. I would have seasoned it with reasons and arguments and justifications. But I will not lie to you now, Admiral. I remembered what I had done when we began using the P-900 missiles in the Med. I wondered if the warhead was still there, but did nothing more about it. It’s been in the back of my mind, and I must say that I haven’t given up the thought of what we might do with it. I was just hinting about it with Fedorov. He seems to think we could run afoul of a large air/sea battle in the Coral Sea, with many more ships and planes to contend with than we have missiles for. I’m sorry, sir. I should have brought the matter up with you.”
Volsky looked at him for some time, then he nodded. “Very well… I am going to tell you I did not have that warhead removed, as insane as that now sounds. It’s still th
ere, Captain, on the number ten missile, so have a care if we have to use cruise missiles again. The system has been reset to require two keys before it is used, however. I have one around my neck, and Fedorov has the other.”
“As it should be, sir.”
“Yes, as it should be, the commanding officer and his Starpom make any decision as to the deployment of tactical nuclear weapons. But we are in a combat zone now, and the hole in the roof of the aft battle bridge has made that painfully apparent, not to mention the line of men waiting for Doctor Zolkin. I have already suffered combat injuries myself, and spent a good deal of time with Zolkin in the sick bay. So it has occurred to me that it is entirely possible that we may be hit again before we find safe waters, and also possible that key officers might die. You understand?”
“I do, sir.”
“In that event the normal protocols of rank will still apply. Should I be killed in action, Fedorov will immediately advance from Starpom to Captain of the ship, and you will immediately advance to Starpom as his Executive Officer. In fact, those are your presumed ranks whenever I am not on the bridge. The two of you performed ably in the Med, your cooperation was exemplary. You asked me to give you a chance and I did so. I will not say that I have been in any way disappointed with your performance, but I wonder, Karpov…Is there any remnant of that old man still alive in you?” He gave his Captain a searching look.
Karpov met his gaze, unflinching. “A man may never purge himself entirely of his bad habits and faults, Admiral, or fully atone for his sins. But if he is a man, he can control himself and do what is right. This you have taught me well enough.”
“No, Karpov,” Volsky poked a fat finger on the other man’s shoulder. “That you learned on your own.” He smiled, obvious absolution in his eyes now.
“I tell you this because it may happen, by one circumstance or another, that you find a missile key around your neck again one day. Then you will have to decide what you have learned or failed to learn, particularly if I am no longer here to weigh in on the matter with this substantial belly of mine.”
Karpov smiled, relieved by the tack the Admiral had taken. What could have been another bitter argument, a scolding, retribution and the revisiting of that dark old stench of shame, had instead become something more akin to a discussion a father might have with a son, and one he had every hope for. Karpov appreciated Volsky more than ever now, and realized why he was so loved by the men.
“I would hope to find the courage to be half the man you are, sir, if I ever do find that key around my neck again.”
“Yes…” said Volsky. “If God dies, then we see how the angels fare. In some sense that is true for all of us now in this God forsaken world.” And he said nothing more. The distant rumble of thunder told them that they were being fired on again. Volsky opened the hatch, and the two men stepped out onto the bridge in time to see four tall geysers rise from the sea, directly abreast of the ship, though a thousand meters off their port side.
“Port fifteen,” said Fedorov turning the ship towards the enemy rounds. He looked over his shoulder at Karpov and Volsky. “I believe they have finally found the range, Admiral.”
Volsky nodded. “It is time we do something about it then,” and he looked at one of his archangels, Michael with his gleaming sword. “Mister Karpov…”
~ ~ ~
Captain Iwabuchi saw the first missile easily enough. He had been watching through his field glasses, eying the tall silhouette of the enemy ship ahead, still far away, but a real and tangible thing now, not the stuff of legends and lore. Mizuchi was a battleship, of that much he was certain. And as powerful as they were, any ship might die. He had every mind to kill this one, and avenge the loss of Haguro, not to mention Hara’s planes and pilots.
His pursuit squadron had closed to about 28,000 yards, still a long shot for his guns, but within their effective range. Nachi was 500 meters off his starboard side, and Myoko an equal distance off his port side, the three ships in line abreast, now charging at Kirishima’s top speed. He had assembled his war demons on the bridge with him: gunnery officer Koshino, and secondary battery commander Ikeda. Supply officer Kobayashi was on the battle bridge, marking off rounds fired. Flood control officer Kyshichi Yoshino was also standing by the voice tubes in the event the ship took any serious hit requiring his attention. His Executive Officer, Koro Ono, was standing by the helmsman, ready to maneuver the ship.
Then they saw the first rocket, and Iwabuchi finally knew what Captain Kiyota aboard Nachi had been talking about. He had called it Raiju, the thunder beast that falls from the sky, the lightning wolf that haunted children’s dreams back in the homeland on stormy nights. A good name for it, he thought, what speed!
Then the missile came at his ship like an arrow, his eyes widening as it roared in to strike his forward turret dead on, exploding in a massive brilliant orange and black fireball. The ship rocked with the blow, metal shrapnel flaying the tall pagoda superstructure, and shattering one window on the bridge. It was as if the gods had hurled metal brimstone at his ship, and when the main explosion finally cleared he could see that the forward turret had been jarred half off its barbette, one gun canted upward by the concussion. The turret itself had a large blackened indentation there by the twisted gun barrel, the place where the hard tip of the warhead must have struck.
Now fires fed by excess jet fuel broke out on the forward deck all around the turret, and he knew the heat there must have killed every man inside. One shot, one hit, but with what? This was no anti-aircraft rocket! This was a demon from the blackest of all hells set loose on him. Raiju was not word enough for it. His face reddened, anger surging.
“Return fire!” he yelled, watching the guns of the number two turret train and then belch their own fire and brimstone at the distant enemy ship, their concussion helping to snuff out fires on the forward deck, so great was the blast wave of the guns.
Spotters on the high main mast of the pagoda watched the rounds hit, slightly long, their blue dyed waterspouts churning into the sea about 500 meters off the port side of the enemy ship. It seemed a feeble response given the impact and shock they had just sustained. Lookouts were already shouting orders through voice tubes to the fire control men below, and the turret was re-training to correct even as the heavy shells were being hoisted and shoved into the breech, followed by four powder bags required for the range.
Then Iwabuchi saw the dark shadow of the enemy ship wink at him, almost like signal lamps, one, two, three. Seconds later he heard the whine of incoming shells, amazed to see two rounds fall not twenty meters off his port side. Then the main pagoda mast was struck hard by one, then a second explosion, more windows shattering on the bridge. The last two rounds were near misses to starboard.
“Those were small caliber rounds!” shouted Ikeda, surprised at their range and accuracy. He had not expected that his own secondary batteries would come into play in the engagement until they closed well inside 18,000 meters, but it did not seem as though they were gaining on the ship any longer. In fact, when Kirishima’s main battery fired again, the spotters clearly called the rounds short. The enemy ship was again slipping away.
Wink, wink, wink. More rounds were loping into the sea, this time one hitting the main mast above the bridge and taking down a watch station, and another striking well below, where it started a small fire. A third round hit close off the port side scudding against the main belt where it did little harm to the thick eleven inch armor there.
The Captain was enraged. It was as if the other ship had stepped up and delivered a hard fist to his nose with that first blow, and now followed it with the insult of these lighter slaps in the face. He considered ordering his cruisers to go to full speed and close the range on this beast, but realized they would only be peppered by these long range secondary batteries for at least an hour while they struggled to get in close, just as Captain Kiyota had reported. The accuracy of the enemy’s weapons was uncanny! Every round they fired had been po
intedly targeted at his own ship, a certain message that they knew where the real threat in his task force was.
Frustrated and angry, he clenched his fist, ordering his last forward battery to fire again. It was more for honor’s sake than anything else. The rounds were falling short again. This Mizuchi was slowly pulling away. It had lingered to see if he would dare engage, and delivered one hard blow to test the mettle of its pursuers. Iwabuchi reluctantly gave the order to cease fire.
“Twenty-eight knots,” he said darkly, listening to his old engines straining. How much longer could they keep the boilers fired up like this and run at high speed? The heavy cruiser Tone was rushing to join him, and he would soon have three fast cruisers again. Tone could make 36 knots and she also had six seaplanes for scouting and shadowing. He knew that the enemy would not be able to slip away, not today.
What ship was this? Certainly not the Renown as he first thought. There had been no fire from any large caliber gun, only these jabbing pricks by what seemed no more than a six inch round. But that rocket weapon was truly fearsome. This ship had real power, he knew. He could not catch this beast, but by all gods and kami he would not give up the chase. He would follow in the wake of this demon if it took every last drop of fuel, and if he ever did close the range he would kill it quickly and mercilessly…or he would kill himself trying.
~ ~ ~
“That got their attention,” said Fedorov. “I think they are falling off in speed a bit.”
“Confirmed,” said Rodenko. “I would estimate the battleship is now at 28 knots.” Kirov had gone to full battle speed earlier, and now had a four knot advantage on the enemy.
“Any sign those cruisers are getting curious?”
“No, sir. They are matching the speed of the battleship at the moment. But my readings aft are not precise. I’ve been using targeting radars of secondary systems, and I also painted the ship with a laser.”
Kirov III: Pacific Storm k-3 Page 15
