Kirov III-Pacific Storm (Kirov Series) (10 page)

The missiles ignited in a wash of
white steamy smoke and danced into the sky above, locking on to any target
within their arc of fire. The system could track only eight simultaneous
targets, but eight was enough. Within seconds the sky overhead erupted with one
explosion after another and the missiles found and killed the relatively slow
planes with fragmentation warheads that would create a sphere of shrapnel upon
detonation out to a five meter range. The air above the ship was soon a wild
spray of shrapnel. Two kills…three…five…Then a another bomb fell just ahead of
the ship and sent a wild spray of seawater over the bow.
Kirov
rolled as
she ran over the detonation, her sharp prow cutting through the seething water.

Karpov’s mind raced. Killing the
planes was not enough, he realized! The bombs may have already been released.
“Samsonov!
Gatling system
on full automatic!
Now!”

 The snarl of the Gatling guns
joined the cacophony of noise as the
Kashtans
flung thousands of rounds of 30mm shells from their heavy arms, the six barrels
rotating rapidly within the long black pipe that housed them with an evil
whirring sound, their muzzles spitting out enormous fiery jets of flame. Karpov
was filling the sky above the ship with a lethal barrage of metal, and three
falling bombs were hit and exploded high above the ship, one too close for
comfort.

That accounted for six of the nine
bombs on the planes in Lt. Commander Hayashi’s EII-3 Squadron. Two more died
before they could be released, their brave pilots waiting too long as they
sighted on the enemy ship beneath them. Yet it was bomb number nine that
finally found its target and struck an avenging blow—Hayashi’s bomb, striking
the ship and broiling up in thick black smoke and fire.

Kirov
had finally been hit, but not by the
20mm rounds of a British Beaufighter this time, most passing harmlessly through
the target that was not quite there.

This time it was a 250 kilogram bomb.

Part III

Engagement

“Although
the concept of defense is parrying a blow and its characteristic feature is
awaiting the blow, if we are really waging war, we must return the enemy's
blows. . . . Thus a defensive campaign can be fought with offensive battles. .
.  The defensive form of war is not a simple shield, but a shield made up
of well-directed blows."

- Clausewitz
on War

Chapter
7

The bomb
hit near the edge the aft deck, about
fifty feet behind the number three 152mm battery, and abreast and below battery
number two. It penetrated the upper deck, killing five men in and near a
stairwell and then exploded, the force ripping the overhead deck apart and
sending a blast of metal fragments, smoke and fire up into the air in a
broiling column.

It was a dangerous place to be struck,
as the underdeck magazines for two of the ship’s three 152mm batteries were
only two bulkheads away, and the outermost barrier had been badly buckled.
Kirov’s
designers had provided 100mm armor plating around all munitions storage areas,
and there was no immediate threat of secondary explosion. Fortunately, the
attack had come from the other side of the ship and the angle of descent on the
bomb actually saw it driving outward towards the exterior hull, and not inward,
so most of the damage was in access corridors and the stair well area, though a
fire started that could pose a real danger if not rapidly contained.

On the bridge they felt the ship shake
with the explosion, and the Admiral’s eyes darkened with misgiving. Fedorov was
quickly to the comm link to get initial damage reports and Karpov was
activating the aft Tin Man HD video display to get a good view of the exterior
damage. They could see troops of sailors dressed out in their bright yellow
vests, with orange helmets and heavy duty mittens rushing to the scene.
Unfortunately the bomb had destroyed two of three fire hose mounts in that
location, and they were only able to bring one hose to bear on the flames in
those early minutes, sending a white jet of water into the breach in the deck,
which thickened the smoke and made it difficult to see what was really
happening.

“We were lucky,” said Karpov. “It
missed both deck guns and was well forward of the Klinok silos on the aft
deck.”

A call from Engineer Byko quickly
confirmed that the hit was not threatening and the damage could be controlled
in twenty minutes. “But we lost men,” Byko finished. “I won’t know how many for
some time.”

Fedorov reported this to Volsky while
Karpov assessed their present situation. They could still hear the flights of
aircraft overhead, though the sound was diminishing. Rodenko’s screens were
wavering and generating unclear data, but he was beginning to get close range
signal returns again, and could now track the planes that had attacked them.

“Shall I engage them, sir?” Samsonov
asked.

“No,” said Volsky quickly. “Hold fire.
Rodenko tells us they are headed away from the ship, and therefore pose no
immediate threat. We must conserve weapons ordinance whenever possible.”

“They must be headed for Darwin, sir,”
said Fedorov. “That’s the only target of opportunity southeast of our position.
We shifted into this time frame right beneath them! This could be the Japanese
raid on that port we spoke of earlier, though it would mean we appeared here
even before we emerged in the Med if that is so.”

“Just our damn bad luck either way,”
said Volsky hotly, staring at the thick column of smoke as imaged on the HD
video display.

“I would not curse our luck just yet,
Admiral,” said Fedorov. The Russian psyche, long accustomed to facing hardship
and unexpected setbacks in life, had been inured to the whims of
fate
and fortune for many generations. A man could never
escape his fate, they knew, and the vagaries of chance and sheer luck often
played in the balance.

 “If I am correct then those planes
would have been loaded with incendiary bombs,” Fedorov explained, “not armor
piercing. A well placed hit from a heavy armor piercing bomb could have gone
right through the bottom of the ship. We’ll have a fire there, but Byko is
getting it under control and things could have been much worse. From what I saw
we were only attacked by a few planes—perhaps a single squadron. If the others
had come in as well…”

Volsky shuddered.

“At least I was not out there on a
ladder this time,” he muttered, upset with the smoke and fire aft and the
thought that
Kirov
had been finally struck a hard blow by the enemy.
“Thus far much of the damage we have sustained has been self-inflicted,” he
said. “We’re missing two helos because of missile misfires and Orlov. But this
time they let us know we are in for a fight, yes? They gave us a nice hard kick
in the rump to let us know we will find no welcome in these waters.” He
shrugged, then looked to Karpov who was huddling with Samsonov.

“Mister Karpov,” he said in a clear
voice.

“Sir?”

“Come here, please.” The Admiral
waited, a serious expression on his face, and the others on the bridge half
turned their heads, thinking Volsky was about to berate the Captain for his
actions during the engagement. After all, he had imposed himself, taking
control of the engagement as though Volsky were not even there. Karpov
stiffened, then approached the Admiral where he now was settling into his
chair.

“Mister Karpov,” Volsky continued. “I gave
Samsonov an order to engage those aircraft, weapons free.”

“Yes, sir, but I thought—”

“Just a moment, Captain Lieutenant, if
you please.” Now Volsky stood up, and reached out, placing his hand on Karpov’s
shoulder and speaking in a loud voice. “Look here,” he said “this man
intervened in a critical moment, overriding my spoken orders, and he saved the
ship just now. My orders were unclear. I specified no weapon system, yet
Captain Karpov immediately assessed the situation and selected the only weapon
system that could have possibly engaged the enemy given the angle of this
attack, and he saved the ship. I have long believed that Captain Karpov was one
of the finest tactical combat officers in the fleet. He proved that in the Med,
and today he has proved that yet again. I commend him for his action and hereby
advance him to Captain of the third rank. Well done, Karpov.” The Admiral broke
into a broad smile.

 Several of the men turned and congratulated
Karpov now, particularly Samsonov, who nodded his head in affirmation, a look
or pride in his eyes.

“Thank you, Admiral,” said Karpov,
clearly pleased. “ I was only doing my duty, sir.”

“As we all are,” said Volsky. “And
something tells me we’ll have a lot more duty ahead of us, so take a lesson
from this man,” Volsky shook a finger at the rest of the bridge crew. “Be
sharp. Be professional. Think clearly and do your jobs as best you can. With
officers like Karpov on the bridge, we are in good hands. And now…” He looked
for Fedorov. “We need more situational awareness. Rodenko, does your radar tell
us anything?”

“I’m starting to get intermediate
range returns now, sir. I have echoes of the Australian coastline south of our
position, the island ahead, and I am still tracking that outbound formation of
planes. Fedorov is correct. They are bearing on Port Darwin.”

“These planes are from an aircraft
carrier, Fedorov?”

“Yes, sir. Japanese naval dive
bombers, the Aichi D3A1.”

“Then where would this aircraft
carrier be?”

“Most likely northwest of our present
position, sir.”

Rodenko spoke up now. “Given their
heading I can back trace a probable point of origin if I knew the combat
radius.”

“Figure 350 nautical miles,” said
Fedorov. “My best guess is that they are cruising southeast of Kupang, right in
the middle of the Timor Sea. There would be no urgent need for them to strike
at maximum range, so I would put them about here.” He was at the navigation
station and displayed a map on the clear Plexiglas wall, the landforms outlined
in neon green. “This position would allow them to strike Darwin, with plenty of
time on target for the planes. And there would definitely be two carriers, sir.
I counted over fifty planes above us and we were engaged by another nine or
ten. A single carrier would not have that many dive bombers.”

“Two carriers?”

“Yes, sir. A full carrier division.
There may even be a light escort carrier present in the task force, and I must
tell you, Admiral, it is not likely they would use their torpedo bombers to
raid land based targets unless they felt it absolutely necessary. They know
about us now, sir, and those carriers will have twenty or thirty torpedo
bombers being spotted on deck by now if I was in command.”

“Wonderful,” said Volsky, “just what
we need with that nice black column of smoke hanging a sign for 150 miles in
every direction saying: here we are.”

“Byko should have that fire out in ten
minutes,” said Karpov.

“I suggest we get north of Melville
Island, sir,” Fedorov put in. “We're too exposed here. There will be screening
units associated with that carrier task force, fast cruisers, destroyers,
perhaps a battleship as well.”

“Speak of the devil!” Rodenko put in,
his eyes fixed on the surface contact radar screen. “Con, surface contact
bearing 295 degrees at seventy-five kilometers and now on a heading due east.”

“That would be an intercept course
based on our current heading,” said Fedorov.

Volsky looked at the map. They were
still cruising due north and he immediately altered course. “Helm, come right
to 50 degrees east-northeast. Thirty knots.”

“Coming right to 50 degrees, sir.
Speed thirty.”

“I would rather go due east as well,
but that channel south of the big island looks a bit narrow. We’ll have to get
north of that island, as Mister Fedorov suggests, so it’s going to be another
race gentlemen. What do you think our prospects are?”

“It will depend on the composition of
that surface action group,” said Fedorov.

“My systems are clearing, slowly now,”
said Rodenko, “just as they did before. I read six contacts, one more
prominent, two with weaker signal returns.”

“A typical screening force,” said
Fedorov. “The larger contact is probably a battleship, the weaker signal
returns would be destroyers. Everything in between is likely to be a cruiser
class vessel.”

“Will they be able to cut us off
before we reach the north cape of that island?” Volsky asked.

“That will depend on the speed of the
battleship, unless their commander is determined to engage us, he will likely
keep his task force together. If he sends cruisers out in front, they might
make thirty-three knots. The destroyers could be even faster.”

“Karpov?” Volsky looked to his new
Captain of the 3rd rank for a tactical assessment.

“If they send lighter ships forward our
deck guns can outrange them. What is the range of the guns on those cruisers,
Fedorov?”