Kirov (6 page)

“Rodenko?”
It was clear that he wanted an immediate report from his CIC, the Combat Information
Center, positioned on the right quarter of the citadel. There sat his three gods
of war, Rodenko on radar and sensors, Tasarov on Anti-Submarine Warfare, and
Samsonov on Combat Systems. They were already hard at work, leaning forward to
note readings on their screens, and making adjustments to fine tune the data
they were receiving. Rodenko turned to the admiral, a bemused look on his face.

“Nothing,
sir. I read no contacts of any kind. But there is heavy interference.”

“Jamming
signatures?”

“No
sir. Too chaotic. Too widespread. It’s spread out over the entire bandwidth. We
may have just experienced a severe EMP burst. System integrity appears normal
but I'm initiating diagnostics to confirm.”

“EMP
burst?” said Karpov sharply. “Initiate immediate NBC protocols!” Chief Orlov
immediately repeated his order, a crewman stiffly palming a control toggle and
sending a shrill alarm throughout the ship to rig for defense against potential
nuclear, biological, or chemical attack. Already at action stations for the
exercise, the crew would now take additional measures, screening all ports,
securing all hatches, donning protective gear in the event of an attack by
exotic weaponry.

Yet
Admiral Volsky could see that this was clearly unnecessary. An EMP burst would
have had far more grievous effects upon ship systems, and he could see his
primary command and control facilities were still softly aglow in the dim
emergency lighting of the bridge. The ship seemed to have full power, was
maneuvering smartly, and was responding to commands in terms of its sensitive
electrical nervous system. He could only assume that this had not been an EMP
burst, which would have knocked down a good number of ship systems, potentially
frying circuitry in all but the most hardened and well protected equipment.

“Belay
that order,” he corrected the Captain. “I see no evidence of damage due to
electromagnetic pulse. Signal resume standard action stations,” he said to Chief
Orlov, and the surly chief nodded, snapping a quick hand gesture at the
signalman who immediately sounded the all clear.

The
Admiral glanced sharply at his Captain, then stepped up and into his chair and
settled into the still warm seat, assuming full command. Karpov gave him an
embarrassed look, a flash of anger hidden in his eyes, but said nothing.

“Tasarov?”
The Admiral swiveled his chair to face his ASW Chief, Alexi Tasarov. The
Captain was hovering near that station, tense and alert.

“The
same, sir. No acoustic or sonic contact on passive systems. Intense noise on
all passive sensors. And we just churned up the seas pretty badly with this
maneuver. There’s a great deal of interference. I can’t read a thing under
these conditions.”

“What
about the
Orel?”

Tasarov
hesitated briefly, looking at his screens and adjusting his headset. “No, sir.
I have no fix on her position. Her Target Motion Analysis track is void now.”

“An
enemy submarine,” said Karpov. “This is how they work, Admiral. The bastards
slink up on you in the dark. Tasarov, are you sure you hear nothing?”

“Not
with this interference and the screw noise, Captain.”

The
Admiral could see that Karpov was very agitated. He was already convinced this
was a deliberate attack, and a stealthy NATO submarine was plying the waters of
his mind, even if Tasarov could not hear it. He turn to his ASW man again. “Do
you recommend anti-submarine procedures based on this information. Mister
Tasarov?”

“I
cannot report or confirm any hostile contact on passive sonar, Admiral. But the
Captain may have a point, sir. That was a very strange emission after the
explosion. I can’t be certain my systems are functioning properly until we do a
full diagnostic. Under the circumstances, we may have been targeted by a
nuclear armed torpedo, yet I heard nothing in the water, sir.”

Volsky’s
eyes narrowed suspiciously, his brow set, lips pursed with some inner
conclusion. “Prepare to go to active sonar,” he said quietly. And then to his
communications officer he said: “Contact
Orel
at once.”

“But
Admiral,” Karpov said again. “That will reveal our position! If this was a
nuclear armed torpedo attack—”

“Then
we would not be discussing it,” the Admiral countered. “Reveal our position? You
think NATO will have overlooked us cruising about these last three days? They’ve
had surveillance planes over us every day now. And if they did attack us, are their
targeting systems all suddenly faulty? Bring the ship back on our original
heading. Steer 225 degrees southwest,” he said to his helmsman now, clearly
annoyed. Karpov may have been a good businessman, he thought, but he has certainly
misjudged this situation. Volsky did not think this was a torpedo attack,
nuclear or otherwise, but active sonar might help him find Rudnikov’s
submarine.

“
Orel
does not respond to hails, sir.”

“Active
sonar,” said the admiral. “Reacquire
Orel
at once.”

“Aye,
sir.” The pinging pulse of the sonar punctuated the tense silence on the bridge
as Admiral Volsky waited. Three pings, four, seven… The time seemed to stretch
interminably, yet Tasarov remained silent, hunched over his station with
intense concentration, listening with his eyes closed for a time, then blinking
as he peered at his phosphorescent view screens. Karpov seemed to be listening
with him, his eyes moving furtively from the ASW sonar screens to the forward
view panes, and there was fear there, Volsky noted. He had seen this before in
his new Captain. Karpov hated submarines, and when they drilled in ASW warfare
tactics he always seemed particularly taut and on edge.

There
was no contact anywhere on Tasarov’s scope, and nothing was discernable in the chaotic
data stream he was monitoring now. The ocean around them played like the
devil’s symphony, a muddle of odd noise and disorganized signal patterns, at
least insofar as his equipment was concerned. Yet he knew his information was
no more reliable now than the systems that provided it. Clearly there had been
some kind of undersea explosion, and the damage may not yet be fully evident if
the ship’s systems were affected.
Orel
had been cruising off their
starboard bow, at roughly 20,000 yards and close enough for him to detect her
on either his passive or active systems. Yet she was gone.

“I
have no reliable readings, sir,” said Tarasov.

“I
concur, Admiral,” said Rodenko. The radar man had a perplexed look on his face.
“There’s nothing within thirty nautical miles of us. Nothing on any of my
systems at all.”

“You
have no reading on the
Slava
?” The Admiral was referring to the old
cruiser that had been towing their targeting barges some thirty nautical miles
south of their position.

“I
have no acquisitions whatsoever, sir. This is crazy, I can't even read the weather
front that I was monitoring any longer! It was moving south at nearly thirty kilometers
per hour, but there is nothing on my screen now. We must have sustained
significant damage. I will switch to phased array and continue the search.”

Volsky’s
eye was immediately drawn to the barometer, where he saw, to his great
surprise, that the pressure had elevated considerably. He frowned, his thick
features registering disbelief. And yet, the tooth that had been bothering him
had quieted down, and he could feel the difference in the environment around
him. The weather had changed, and decidedly so.

His
gaze was drawn to the forward view pane where he noted the seas, which had once
been swelling up with the rising wind, had also calmed. The strange luminescent
glow still rippled from the depths of the water, an eerie phosphorescent green.
Seeing that the digital screens had settled down, he gave an order to display
the various arcs of view on the monitors.

“Pan
the Tin Men,” he said calmly, his eyes fixed on the big screen to his left.

He
was referring to the odd looking equipment mounted on
Kirov’s
two forward
watch decks called the ‘Tin Men’ by the crew, because they looked much like two
great metal robots standing their solitary watch. Each Tin Man mounted the HD
cameras and optical sensors necessary to provide high resolution views for
every arc of the ship to the flat panel monitors in the ship’s command center.
Rodenko toggled switches on his console and outside the ship the steely figures
slowly rotated to pan and display the sea all around the ship.

Admiral
Volsky was amazed as he stared at the screen. The ocean rippled with the same odd
luminescence in all directions, as if
Kirov
herself was the source of
the energy affecting the sea. The choppy swells had calmed, and there was an
unnatural stillness over the scene. In the distance, he perceived what looked
like a low bank of gray white fog.

“How
can this be?” he said, more to himself than anyone else. He slipped off his
chair walking slowly up to the forward view panes and staring at the glowing
water and distant horizon ahead, his eyes unwilling to trust the images on the
screen. He was looking for the obvious signs of an undersea nuclear explosion,
yet it is what he did
not
see that disturbed him most.

Ten
minutes ago they had force five winds and rising seas, yet now the ocean was
still and calm, almost glassy smooth. The long forward bow of the ship
stretched out before him, its sharp prow cutting smoothly through the jade
green water, and yes, that was
fog
ahead, thick, gray-white fog in a
misty rolling cloud bank right across his intended course.

His
first appreciation of the situation was that there had been an accident aboard
Orel
,
just as it was said there had been an accident aboard the
Kursk
, the
last doomed sub of her class. Rudnikov had reported trouble with one of his
torpedoes, and he thought it had detonated. The
Orel
would have been
cruising at no more than 200 feet depth, and if a 15 kiloton nuclear warhead
had indeed detonated he should be seeing a vast spray dome forming at the water
surface, a rising gas bubble, and a great chimney of violence pluming up from
the depths of the sea. That weapon was on the same scale as the bomb the
Americans had dropped on Hiroshima. Yet he saw nothing, just as the Rodenko saw
nothing on his radar screens, just as Tasarov heard nothing on his sonar.

A
tone sounded on the ship’s intercom and the Admiral’s eyes glanced up at the
overhead speaker, immediately recognizing the voice of Chief Engineer Dobrynin.
“Bridge, this is Engineering. We seem to be having a problem with the
reactors.”

Volsky
was up quickly, reaching for the microphone and thumbing the switch to speak.
“Flag Bridge responding. What is your problem, Chief?”

“Well,
sir, we seem to be getting some odd readings.”

“Radiation?”

“No
sir, the cores are stable and there is no radiation leak…But we are getting
some unusual thermal neutron flux measurements—nothing critical, just unusual.
Can we reduce speed? I’d like to take a closer look and see what happens if we
lower the power output.”

“Very
well, chief,” said Volsky. “Keep me informed.” Then to his helmsman he said: “Ahead
one third. Slow the ship down.”

“Ahead
one third, sir,” the helmsman made a quick reply, the big turbines beneath them
slowing their rotations as the ship glided more gracefully forward, her bow spray
diminishing in the calm seas.

“Mr.
Nikolin, signal the
Slava
to advise us of their current position at
once.”

“Aye,
sir.” The radioman began intonating his hail. “Task force flag to target, come
in please. Advise current heading, course and speed…” There was nothing but
static on his headphones, and no answer from
Slava
.

“Secure
from active sonar. Now you can listen again, Tasarov,” said the Admiral. “Let
me know the instant you have a fix on either
Slava
or
Orel
.
Mister Nikolin, hail both ships. If you do not receive an answer within five
minutes then contact Severomorsk. Advise them we have canceled the exercise.
Note that we are investigating an emergency situation, and that we have lost
position fix and contact with
Orel
and
Slava
. Asked them if these
ships have reported home.”

He
turned to find Captain Karpov and Chief Orlov. “Gentlemen, please join me in
the briefing room.”

The
three men proceeded to a secure room off the citadel, the eyes of the ever more
nervous bridge crew following them as they went. Once inside the Admiral closed
the door and leaned heavily on the table. “Your thoughts, Captain,” he said
following proper protocol in engaging Karpov first.

“I
did what I thought most appropriate, sir.” Karpov defended himself immediately.
“There was clearly an explosion of some kind, and it appeared to me that it may
have been a detonation from a torpedo. I took evasive action as specified by
command procedures.”

“That
is not what I am asking you,” said the Admiral. “Do you not find it even
passing strange that a moment ago we were sailing in rising winds and seas, and
now we're looking at calming conditions and fog? Did this explosion chase the
wind away? Where's the weather front Rodenko has been warning us about for the
last two hours? Did you notice the barometer? It was at 990 millibars and falling,
but has now risen to well over 1000.”