Kirov (53 page)

He
ran down the long narrow halls and corridors, up a ladder and onto the central
deck where Zolkin held forth in his clinic. Usually there would be a line
there, but not during battle stations. Fedorov huffed up to the door and pulled
on the hatch, surprised to find it was shut tight. Then he heard a voice from
the inside, somewhat cautious, yet insistent. It was the Doctor.

“Who
is there?”

“It’s
me, Doctor. Lieutenant Fedorov. You asked me to come at 1800 hours. If it is
inconvenient, I can come another time.”

“Fedorov!”
It was the Admiral’s voice. “Look at the emergency hatch latch on top. What do you
see?”

Fedorov
looked up, shocked to see a small metal padlock slipped through the machined
holes in the metal flange to lock the bolt in place. He told the Admiral what
he saw, and was ordered to fetch engineers at once with metal cutters or an
acetylene torch. What was happening? His mind needed only a few seconds to
piece the situation together. It was Karpov, he knew. Karpov and Orlov. They
were taking the ship, and god only knew what mischief the Captain had in mind.
He had to get to engineering as fast as he could.

~
~ ~

Karpov
had sealed off the bridge and
posted a guard. He checked the hatch latches personally and thumbed off the
intercom there to disable incoming calls through the hatch. There was nothing
to preclude someone banging on the hatch with a wrench to get attention, but he
could ignore it, and it would take time to force the hatch open, even for the
ship’s engineers. Time was all he needed now. Tasarov found and killed the
enemy submarine, and he realized it must have been a German U-boat.

In
fact, it was the boat Fedorov had discussed with the Admiral,
U-563
, an
early arrival with orders to join the
Grönland
wolfpack forming up south
of Iceland, but the boat’s captain had seen something curious that led him
astray. He spotted
King George V
and
Repulse
hastening west, saw
them hit and burning, and came to believe that there must be other U-boats
about. Eager to get into the action, he turned west. The British ships were
hurt but not sunk, and then made off to the south, but
U-563
kept on a
course that eventually brought it very near another strange looking vessel,
which he tried to engage with a badly planned long shot. He paid for that
mistake with his life.

Now
Karpov was taking final stock of the situation. He could see that the Americans
were getting dangerously close to his ship, yet they did not seem to have very
many heavy units in their task groups. He was more concerned about group three
on Rodenko’s screen, with at least three battleships, or so he believed. What
were the names of the ships? The King, the Prince, and another one. It did not
matter. He would sink them all.

“I
have been recording signal return characteristics on those units,” said
Rodenko.
King George V
is there again, along with another ship that is
nearly identical in its profile.”

“Churchill,”
said Karpov, his eyes alight.

“Sir?”
Rodenko did not understand what the Captain meant.

“Never
mind, Lieutenant.” Karpov decided to engage the heavy British task force he
presumed to be the British Home Fleet, ordering Samsonov to fire Moskit-II
Sunburns in two missile salvos.

“What
about group number one, sir?” Samsonov asked. “It is well inside ninety miles
and closing.”

“Those
are nothing more than destroyers,” said Karpov. “We’ll deal with them later.
For now, target the British—this group.” The Captain pointed at Samsonov’s CIC
screen and the weapons officer acknowledged with a deep “Aye, sir.”

~
~ ~

The
British
were
steaming with destroyers
Icarus
and
Intrepid
, and a screen of
three cruisers,
Suffolk
,
Nigeria
, and
Aurora
. Behind them
came the battleships
King George V
and
Prince of Wales
, with the
battlecruiser
Repulse
at the rear. The missiles would come in on the
starboard side of the task force, aiming for its heart.

The
first two had been reprogrammed to cancel their terminal sea skimming run, and
they plunged down at
Prince of Wales
, striking her amidships with a
thunderous explosion. Her aft stack was blown clean away by one missile, which
then went on into the sea in a rain of fire. The second plunged into the heart
of the ship, the heavy warhead penetrating four decks and the fuel laden
fuselage igniting an inferno at every level.

The
next pair fell on
Repulse
, also from above, where the missiles easily
penetrated the thin deck armor, less than two inches at the point of impact.
Their heavy 450 kilogram warheads, and the extreme kinetic force behind them,
saw both missiles plunge completely through the ship, blowing holes in her hull
as they did so. Catastrophic flooding was underway almost immediately. Twenty eight
of her forty-two boilers were destroyed in one massive explosion that killed
half the engineering crew on the ship. The old battlecruiser floundered to one
side, soon settling deep into the water as she began to sink. A massive column
of smoke was ejected into the sky above her. Her time had come, but it was nigh
at hand in any case, for just a little over four months later she would have
met a similar fate, along with
Prince of Wales
, at the hands of Japanese
pilots after having been transferred to the Pacific. The Japanese would not get
their chance—with either ship.

Prince
of Wales
was also
wounded and on fire, but still under her own power, with all guns unharmed and
ready for action. Yet had the Prime Minister been aboard her at that moment,
the Sunburns would have taken his life, striking within a few yards of the
state room where he had been quartered. Thankfully, Churchill was hundreds of
miles away by now on the cruiser
Devonshire
, speeding toward his
rendezvous with Roosevelt at Argentia Bay.

The
next four Sunburns were sea skimmers, again streaking in from the starboard
side, and aimed at the vanguard of the British task force this time. One struck
the cruiser
Nigeria
full amidships and blew through her armor causing
serious damage. Two more went on through a gap in the formation and struck
Prince
of Wales
, but her heavy fifteen inch main belt was enough protection to
save her. The fires amidships, however, were far more severe, and her Captain, John
Leach, gave the order to fall off in speed until she was well behind
King
George V
, trailing in her wake near the stricken
Repulse
. The last
of the four missiles struck the destroyer
Icarus
, which had been leading
in the vanguard of the fleet. The damage there was so severe that the small
destroyer capsized within fifteen minutes and was floundering in the swelling
sea, which became a seething mix of fire and hissing steam as the hot metal hit
the cold ocean waters when the ship started to sink.

Admiral
Tovey's Home Fleet had been struck a hard blow, decimated by a single barrage
of
Kirov’s
powerful anti-ship missiles. Though
King George V
and
Prince
of Wales
were still battle worthy, he knew he could not sail on and leave
the stricken ships and crew of the
Repulse
to their fate. The Home Fleet
slowed and circled to begin rescue and recovery operations at once while the
damage control squads on
Prince of Wales
desperately fought her fires.
If they could be controlled he fully intended to press on with his heavier
battleships, though he could see now that even a screen of lighter cruisers and
destroyers was of no benefit to him. It was coming down to armor now, he
decided. This was a job for his fast battleships. But could he get them within range
of the enemy before his ships were pummeled again by these infernal rockets?
How many more did the enemy have?

~
~ ~

Karpov
knew none of this, hearing only that
he had scored multiple hits, and determining that some must have caused severe
damage when Rodenko reported that the speed of several targeted contacts had
diminished considerably. Yet he had expended another eight of his precious
Moskit-II Sunburn missiles to achieve these results, and now there were only
twenty left in the ship's inventory, the crews below already racing to reload
the silos that had fired.

This
will not do, he thought. This barrage had wounded the British, to be sure, but
the blow was not fatal and the two American task forces to the south had not
yet even been engaged. When Rodenko reported yet another contact, a new surface
action group coming up from the south very near the British home fleet, the
odds began to stack ever higher against him.

“Con,
new contact, seven ships, fifteen kilometers southwest of original target.”

Seven
more ships, thought Karpov. Seven more. He had twenty Moskit-IIs, ten MOS-IIIs
and ten P-900 Cruise missiles left, just forty anti-ship missiles remaining.
Once they were fired the ship's power would be diminished considerably, and
Kirov
would have to rely on her 152 millimeter deck guns in any future ship to ship
engagement, a circumstance that would allow the enemy to come within firing
range as well. Her torpedoes were best suited to anti-submarine warfare, and
they had already been attacked by one German U-boat. He would need them to
counter that threat as well. This was no good. It was simply a matter of math
now. He had all of forty missiles, and there were at least twenty-eight ships
south of them now, all steaming north hoping to be the first to get within
firing range for the vengeance that must surely be burning in the hearts of
every man aboard.

Were
there more behind them? Karpov’s eyes gleamed, reflecting the milky green
phosphorescence of Rodenko's radar returns as he leaned over that station in
the darkened citadel. He stood up stiffly, looking for Orlov.

“Mister
Orlov, I need you.”

The
chief was at his side a moment later, his wool cap pulled down low on his forehead
over gloomy eyes. “Look at Rodenko’s screen,” said Karpov. “We would have to
expend most of our remaining missile inventory to put even one hit on each of
those ships and, as we have seen, a single hit is not sufficient to disable
their larger capital ships. We hit four of eight ships with our first barrage
of eight missiles. Yet many remain active in that surface action group, still
operational. I believe we must resort to stronger measures. Do you concur?”

Orlov
knew exactly what the Captain was asking him. He rubbed an eyebrow, his eyes
uncertain. “What about the Admiral’s order?”

“What
about it?” Karpov said in a hushed tone. “The old fool is still in sick bay,
where he should have been all along.”

“There'll
be hell to pay if we resort to special warheads, Karpov.”

“From
who? Are you losing your nerve? There will be hell to pay if we do not,” said
Karpov. “The British will most likely stop to rescue survivors of any ship we
may have struck, but they will be back after us again in little time. As for
the Americans, they have not been persuaded by our last attack on their carrier
group and something must be done to strengthen the lesson. One missile could do
the work of twenty here. Do you agree?”

“There
will be consequences, Captain. Severe consequences.” Punching a man in the face
was one thing. Orlov did that a lot. But killing a man was quite another thing,
and in spite of his checkered past, Orlov had never been a murderer. He had
hurt men, sometimes badly, but never killed.

“Do
you agree?” The Captain's voice was harder now, more insistent. Orlov was his
strongest ally and he wanted the comfort of a second command level officer to
justify what he knew he would order, one way or another.

“We
do not have to fight here,” Orlov suggested again with a nervous edge to his
voice. “We could turn north and outrun any battleship they have. The Atlantic
is a big ocean.”

Karpov
was angry now. “Look, this will go on and on, Orlov. If not here we will face
the same question again another time, in another battle, and each time we
engage the enemy our missile inventory grows thinner and thinner. We must
strike a decisive blow! We must convince them the power we possess is unassailable.
We could take out a significant portion of their fleet here with a single
warhead now, and all the less to bother us later. I will ask you one final
time. Do you support my decision?”

Rodenko
had been listening to everything the two men were saying, his eyes casting
furtive glances at them as they spoke in hushed tones, their voices tense and strained.
Karpov looked at his Chief one last time and said, “are you going to let them
chase us off, Orlov, humiliate us as they will do for the next seventy years if
we let them?”

Orlov
shrugged, his eyes laden with anxiety. “Execute your attack, Captain. I’ll back
you. But you had better be quick about it.” He looked at Rodenko, realizing the
radar man had heard just a little too much in the heat of their discussion. “Keep
your nose here, Rodenko.” he tapped the radar screen, as he opened his jacket,
allowing a glimpse of the Glock pistol tucked away there.