He knew that this was most likely mere coincidence, but made his phone call just the same—to his old friend Inspector Gerasim Kapustin, in town that week and aboard Kirov at that very moment. Was missile number 110720-12 still in inventory he had asked? No it was expended on trials, came the answer, and yes let us get together Sunday for dinner.
Kamenski did not know what difference that little tidbit of knowledge would make, but he knew he had asked the question for some reason, perhaps buried deep within his unconscious mind where it still sifted and churned through all the data and photos, and other puzzle pieces he had been playing with over the years. What could hold off Admiral Hara’s fleet and Yamamoto’s on top of it? He was beginning to think he knew. His grandson had told him all about it that very same morning…
Then there was the cruiser Tone, the odd crumpling on her hull after she returned from that same war patrol. He stared at a faded old photo purporting to picture a sailor from that ship in the moment just before he committed seppuku. Oddly, out of a crew of some 800 men, there had been 346 reported suicides! Tone had been called the Ghost Ship ever thereafter, and any man who ever served aboard her had reported strange visions and restless nights at sea, fitful sleep and night terrors. Her former Captain, Sanji Iwabuchi, had also committed seppuku, just as the American army closed in on his final positions in Manila.
The cruiser Haguro had been reported sunk that same month, in that very same week, but no reason was given. She was merely listed as “lost to enemy action off Mellvile Island.” It was all very strange but remained nothing more than an old man’s fancy until that Sunday evening dinner when he sat down with Gerasim Kapustin.
~ ~ ~
“Have a look at this photo,” said Kamenski showing his friend the book. “Yes I’m an old fool, but doesn’t that look oddly familiar? If I didn’t know any better I would say it was a part of a stabilizing fin on one of our Moskit-IIs.”
Kapustin smiled, looking over the top of his reading glasses to peer at the photo, and noting the caption. It was dated to 1946. “Yes, it’s is a very strange coincidence, but I’m glad you are still the same curious old man you always were, Pavel. When you called to ask about that missile I wondered what you were up to. Well listen to this, my friend…” He looked around the restaurant, though the two man had selected a private corner table and had little fear that anyone might overhear them. “Speaking of serial numbers, another weapon was also fired during the weapons trials for Kirov, or so we just discovered, and its number ends with the character X.”
Kamenski raised his heavy brows, for the letter X at the end of the number designated it as an nuclear weapon, and Kapustin was telling him something very significant here. “It was fired?” He said, an incredulous look on his face. “Where?”
“I have not yet been able to determine that.”
“Have you checked the satellite data?”
“Of course, but there was nothing there for the Pacific, which is where I am guessing the weapon would have been fired. I expanded my request to look over sea lanes in the Atlantic and Arctic as well, but I won’t hear on that for a day or so.”
“My, my, this is most unusual. You know, Gerasim, I took my grandson down to the harbor to have a look at that ship. My God, it looks like it’s been through hell! That damage aft is very telling. From what I could see the ship was struck from above and the hull blew out from the inside.”
“They claim it was a missile misfire.”
“Missile misfire? Nonsense. The only missiles mounted aft are SAMs, correct? Don’t tell me any one of them could penetrate the deck and blow a hole that size in the hull. I saw the new paint job too, but they are covering something up there, Gerasim. Scrape it away and I think you will find smoke residue, or even flash damage from explosives.”
“I thought as much, Pavel, but it leads me to some very uncomfortable conclusions. I will tell you something more… There was damage you could not see from the quay—below the water line, right amidships. Yes! I sent my wolf hound Volkov down to have a look, and we discovered significant hull damage. They used the new at-sea hull replacement panels to cover it up, and then did a fairly good repair job from the inside, but the ship will have to go to dry dock eventually. It’s holed beneath the water line. They claim that was from the Orel incident, but honestly, can you imagine that Volsky would have sustained such damage and then decided to sail from north of Jan Mayen to Vladivostok?”
“Astounding,” said Kamenski. “More astounding that NATO wasn’t all over the ship like flies on honey. I still cannot believe that Kirov slipped by them like that. You say the ship was conducting live fire exercises? How could they fail to see it on satellite? What route did they take?”
“Karpov says they went north of Greenland. That, too, is interesting. He claims they found some weak sea ice and a lot of open floes.”
“That sea lane has been open since 2012,” said Kamenski. “Global warming has made the trip from much easier these days. It is still much less traveled than other routes, but I can’t imagine he sailed south round either the Cape of Good Hope or Cape Horn. Not with a gash in his side as your just described.”
“I quite agree, and if he did go north then it might have been possible to evade NATO patrols for a time. They are not as vigilant up there, and I am willing to bet that most of their assets were sent to snoop on our recovery effort for the Orel.”
“Most likely,” Kamenski agreed. ‘But firing missiles at ice bergs would attract a lot of attention too, yes? And Kirov left in late July. What were they doing all that time?”
“Volsky took the ship down into the South Pacific. I think that is probably where they conducted most of their exercises, away from prying eyes. Only a submarine might find them there, and it’s a very big ocean.”
“Yes, but a special warhead? Have you asked the senior officers what happened to the weapon?”
“Not yet, but that is coming soon.” Kapustin shrugged. “There is one other possibility… the explosion that killed the Orel was found to be a nuclear detonation. I made that inspection myself.”
Kamenski was shocked by the implication. “You think they fired on Orel?”
“It crossed my mind, though I have no evidence of this. They claim Orel had an accident, but perhaps it was here—on Kirov—and they are trying to cover it up. We will see what my investigation turns up, but given the situation in the Pacific, I wonder if I’ll have time to even complete my report before the whole place blows up.”
“Ah… You are worried about those island disputes? All they will do is cruise about with a few destroyers and test fire a missile or a deck cannon. Nothing more will come of it. They’ve been haggling for those territorial waters ever since the oil rights were disputed.”
“It’s not the little islands I’m worried about. It’s the big island.”
“Taiwan?”
“What else, Pavel? There’s a lot of movement, ships, planes, missiles. I think they mean to do something about it this time, and soon.”
“You believe the Chinese will actually attempt military occupation?”
“They’re loading nine amphibious ships even as we speak, and if I know that, then so do the Americans.”
“This sounds serious, Gerasim. What does Moscow think?”
“Moscow? They can’t even keep track of ship’s rosters these days! No, Moscow is likely to muddle along until things get out of hand. Oh, I heard they were moving some strategic bomber assets east at the request of China, and of course, Kirov was sent here for a reason, yes? It’s a pity the ship won’t do us much good if it comes to a fight. We can re-arm her, easily enough, but that hull damage will take weeks, even months, and those big canvas tarps aft you might have seen were covering up the rest of the damage. Her entire aft citadel was blown to pieces. They say one of the KA-40’s was aloft when Orel went up and came right down on the ship there, weapons load and all. I went over the area, but they cleaned it up very thoroughly. I did find a little wreckag
e from a KA-40 there but it looked too staged to my discerning eye. What do I do with this mess, Pavel? A war is coming, and we will need this ship and crew more than ever now.”
“What are you going to do about it? Are you going to challenge Volsky? You know how respected that man is. Papa Volsky won’t be moved aside easily.”
Kapustin sighed. “Exactly. And with this business with the Chinese brewing up I’m having second thoughts about my whole investigation. Yes, I could go back to Moscow and raise a big stink. Suchkov would kiss me on my backside. Then when things blow up out here where will Volsky be? He’ll be in Moscow wrestling with Suchkov. Abramov’s health is declining and, quite frankly, we need Volsky more than ever now. He’s called Papa Volsky because the men love him so much, but up north they called him King of the Northern Sea, and he’s earned that title. So now what do I do? Should I write up a shit list and send it to Moscow while we watch the Chinese start a major incident? Because you know damn well we can’t sit this one out. If China attacks the Japanese again, or moves on Taiwan, then we’re in the borscht too. And mark my words, they are going to do this. I’m almost certain of it this time.”
“Well…” Kamenski thought for some time. “No one says you have to file your report tomorrow, Gerasim. Take your time, dicker around, sit down with Volsky and see what he has to say. If China is about to square off with Taiwan, yes, we’re in it too. And you know damn well that the Japanese and the Americans and then everyone else is in it as well. So If I were you, I would have second thoughts about starting a ruckus with Volsky. It’s bad enough that Kirov is sitting there covered up with tarps, and hull panels, and fresh paint. What sense would it make to try and put a torpedo into Volsky now? We’ll need him here. What you say about Abramov is very true. He had a heart attack last month.”
Kapustin nodded, leaning over his soup and slurping it heartily. “You know, Pavel. If they put me on an island and I could only have one thing to eat, it would be soup. I can’t live without it, and you are correct, the Pacific Fleet can’t live without Volsky at the moment. Yes, I can take my time. There are still a lot of unanswered questions about this Kirov business. Something tells me we’re headed for the abyss this time, my friend. In that event, I think the best we could do is get Kirov seaworthy again, any way we can. I think we are going to need every last ship we have now, even those rusting old Udaloys.”
“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.”<
br />
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.”
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