Men of War

Chapter 10

Doctor Zolkin was the first senior officer on the scene, arriving behind the two Seamen and a 2nd Class Petty Officer. There were a cluster of three or four other sailors outside the hatch, and he quickly shooed them away. Peering into the cabin, he saw the men ready to lift another man from the cot, and stepped quickly inside, closing the hatch behind him.

“Leave him there, please,” he said, stepping to the side of the cot and seeing the man’s limp body. One look told him he was not merely asleep or unconscious. He opened an eyelid, saw the dark weal and purple bruise marks on the man’s neck, checked for a pulse there and noted the stain on his pants in the groin area. It was Voloshin, the man who had come to him a few weeks earlier with nightmare visions of a Japanese plane flying right through him. Zolkin had prescribed a good meal and bed rest, with a couple of aspirin infused with a mild tranquilizer, and sent the man to this very room on the officer’s deck for some peace and quiet. That was weeks ago, but Voloshin had come back. An orderly had been cleaning the empty rooms and found it difficult to enter here. Forcing the hatch open he saw Voloshin hanging from a high welded metal hook on the wall. He was stone cold dead.

“When did you find him?”

“Just ten minutes ago, sir. He was there.” The Petty officer pointed to the hook, and Zolkin nodded gravely.

“Very well, fetch a stretcher and take him down to the sick bay. I’ll have to do an autopsy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I think it would be best if you do not dwell on this in the ranks,” the Doctor admonished. “We have all had a hard ride of late, and the men are worn out.”

“It wasn’t only that, sir.”

“Oh?”

“Voloshin got some bad news today.”

“What news?”

“His wife, sir. He called home, but no one answered. The second time there was another man on the phone. He asked for her, but the man said there was no one by that name there.”

“I see…” Zolkin picked up his emergency medical kit. “And you think Voloshin believed his wife was seeing this other man?”

The two matros seamen shifted uncomfortably now and the other man continued. “It’s not that, sir. Voloshin moved his family here to Vladivostok two weeks before we made our farewell voyage from Severomorsk. He had a small apartment right here in Vladivostok—in the Leninskiy District. We went there with him yesterday but…”

“But what?”

“There was no apartment there, Doctor. He had building number twenty, but the numbers were all wrong: nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three.”

“You were on the right side of the street?”

“Of course, sir. But there were no even numbers, not anywhere on the street. It was very strange, sir. We looked up the address for his phone number, and it was way over on the other side of town, number 20 Partisanskiy Prospekt. But his apartment building was on Nevel’skogo Street. He was very upset about it, sir.”

“I can imagine he was.”

Zolkin wanted to think that the men had simply gone to the wrong address. After all, Voloshin had just moved to a new town thousands of miles from the cold north of Severomorsk. It may have been easy to become confused in the unfamiliar streets and neighborhoods of the city here. Yet, the more he thought about it the more he realized that the man would not likely forget the place of his new home, and the new life he hoped to start here.

“Very well, gentlemen. I’ll look into this. See that he is taken to sick bay at once.” He went to the linen cabinet and took out a clean sheet, covering Voloshin’s body with an air of solemnity. He was reaching for his medical bag again when someone stepped through the hatch, a tall officer in a gray overcoat with silver buttons and Captain’s stripes on his cuff. The man took a quick look at the scene and fixed his attention on the Doctor, knowing he would be the senior man present.

“What happened here?”

Zolkin gave him a quick glance. He did not know the man and so he stood formally and introduced himself. “Doctor Dmitri Zolkin, Ship’s Physician.”

“This man is ill?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but who might I be speaking to?”

The other man seemed annoyed, his eyes narrowed and a haughty air about him. “Volkov,” he said dryly. “Captain Volkov, Naval Intelligence.”

“Yes, well it’s Captain Zolkin here as well.” The Doctor smiled, extending a hand, which Volkov shook without much warmth. “There,” Zolkin continued. “Now that the Captains have tipped their hats, I think we would be more comfortable discussing this in my office. These men will have some work to do. Would you walk with me, Captain Volkov?” He gestured to the open door, and Volkov frowned, then stepped outside.

“You haven’t answered my question, Doctor,” he said as they started down the corridor.

“Was the man ill? No, Captain. The man was quite dead.”

“Dead?”

“Unfortunately so. From my initial observations it appears to be a suicide, but of course I will complete a formal autopsy and make a full report.”

“Were those other men involved?”

“No, no. They were just orderlies assigned to clean the officer’s quarters. They found him here.”

“This man was an officer?”

“In fact, he was not. That was Able Seaman Voloshin. Apparently he had some family problems—bad news.”

“What was he doing here?”

“It will most likely be a long story, Captain.”

“I see… Well I will want the full report, Doctor.”

“You will want the report? Are you a new command level officer assigned to the ship, Mister Volkov?”

“I told you. I am with Naval Intelligence, Inspectorate Division.”

“Well I am not in the habit of filing my medical briefs with the Naval Inspectorate. I thought you people were mostly concerned with ship’s systems and weapons inventories.”

“I’m afraid we concern ourselves with a great deal more, Doctor, though I can’t say that is a matter I need to discuss with you. Simply file your brief in the medical log, and of course I will want a complete copy of all those files as well.”

Zolkin raised his eyebrows. “I will hate to inconvenience you, Captain, but the logs were damaged during the accident. I’m not sure if you heard. Yes, nothing seemed to function properly and the technicians haven’t had time to get round to my office yet with a new computer. I’ve kept a few manual records, of course, for all prescriptions and drugs issued from the inventory. But there have been no formal computer logs, beyond documenting those men lost in the accident and other injuries sustained by the crew.”

They paused at a ladder, and it was clear that Volkov was not happy. “No medical logs?” he said, a note of recrimination in his voice. “This is most irregular, Doctor. In fact I may go so far as to say it was a dereliction of duty.”

“I can assure you, Captain, where the notion of duty entered my mind it was entirely to be of service to the men lined up outside my sick bay door. Of course I made basic notations in my medical journal, which I would be happy to release to the inspectorate upon approval by a ranking command level officer.”

“I am such an officer, Doctor. Don’t trouble yourself by going to the Admiral.”

“You are now in the command structure for this ship? When did you transfer in, Volkov?”

“Don’t be stupid. I haven’t transferred in. I’m here to complete a thorough investigation on this matter, and I will expect the full cooperation of every man aboard, particularly from the officers.”

“Oh, I will be very happy to satisfy you, Captain, but around here we do things by the book. I’ll need approval from ether Captain Karpov or the Admiral. After that you can spend all the time you wish trying to interpret my miserable writing scrawl. But then again, Physicians are notorious for that, yes?”

Zolkin smiled, gesturing to the ladder well. “After you, sir.”

Volkov clenched his jaw, then relented and started down the ladder, flashing an angry glance at Zolkin as he went.

Admiral Volsky had finished his main meeting with Pacific Fleet Commander Boris Abramov, clearing the way for his takeover of that position. Now the two men sat in a well appointed office at the Fleet Headquarters building at Fokino, a small closed town above a small inlet some twenty-five miles southeast of the main harbor at Vladivostok. Volsky set down his teacup, staring out over the blue rooftops of the town to the small islands in the bay and wondering if he would ever get back to a place like Tahiti before he died.

“So that is the situation, Leonid,” said Abramov. “One old Slava class cruiser, five rusting destroyers, a few frigates, ten submarines with so many leaks we issue the men chewing gum so they can have something handy to plug them when needed. Thank God they sent us Kuznetsov, and now your ship. The fleet is a bit of a mess, particularly with the present situation down south in the Sea of Japan.”

“Where is Kuznetsov?”

“Up north at the moment, running drills with her Mig-29F Squadron. We’d still be flying the older SU-33s if India hadn’t placed that order in 2012. That gave us enough economy of scale to roll out thirty-six Migs for Kuznetsov. It must be getting lonely up in Severomorsk with Kirov and our only fleet carrier here now.”

“They just commissioned the Leonid Brezhnev. He’ll stand in for us there. And they get most of the new Orlan Class ships. But what’s this business with Japan? We must talk about that now. We’ve been incommunicado for the last five or six weeks and missed out on all the news.”

“That was quite a hat trick,” Admiral. “If not for the fact that NATO staff are getting flayed alive for failing to detect your transit to the Pacific I think you would be the one being skinned. Suchkov was very upset. How did you manage it?”

“Suchkov is so old he can’t even think straight any longer,” said Volsky with a laugh. “He has nothing better to do than huff and puff before they put him in dry dock for good. We are the navy now, my friend. You, me and Tamilov in the Black Sea. God only knows who they will appoint to take my place up north. Suchkov can sit in Moscow and write his memoirs now.”

“You and Tamilov can run things, Leonid. I’m afraid I am not well-heart problems, and the doctors want to do some surgery.”

“You’ll pull through,” Volsky encouraged, but he could see that Abramov was also on his last voyage, tired, pale and with that rheumy eyed look that spoke of too much time on the seas of life.

“As for how we slipped by, that is our little secret. I have some very good people aboard Kirov. We had a lot of trouble with the electronics when Orel blew up, but we managed to get a few things running from ship’s stores. I put my best people on it, and we used a new ECM package that we unfortunately lost in that last missile misfire incident I told you about earlier. But while we had it up and running it was enough to get us through the northern route undetected. That and some very bad weather and thick cloud cover.”

“Amazing. I would have thought they would have had three submarines on you the moment you deployed.”

“Perhaps they did, Boris, but that was a very large detonation when Orel went up. Who knows what it did to their electronics? I knew that the whole place was going to be crawling with planes, ships and helicopters within twenty-four hours. We made a cursory investigation, found nothing—not even Slava—and so I wanted to get my ship as far from that area as possible. NATO spent the next three days searching south of Jan Mayen, yes? I went northwest, and that’s the last thing they might have expected.”

“I still can hardly believe it. You lost contact with Slava too?”

“Must have been our faulty equipment.”

“Radar, Sonar, Radio?”

“Have you ever tried to listen to the deep ocean after an underwater nuclear explosion?”

“It was nuclear?”

“We believed as much, and given the threat of radiation I wanted to get my ship to safer climes. I assumed Slava would do the same and return home. Those were her orders, mine were to transit to the Pacific, and since I was the one who issued those orders, I decided to follow them.” Volsky smiled.

“They didn’t even find you with satellites, at least not that we know of.”

“Good point, Admiral. We don’t know what they really knew about it. For all we know they could have been watching me from up there the whole time and now they are making this media fuss to simply cover their tracks. In any case, I am here, the ship is here, and once he’s been patched up, Kirov will put some backbone into the Pacific Fleet again.”

Unlike their Western counterparts, ships were masculine in the Russian Navy. The Russians couldn’t think of anything with the sheer raw power and hard lines of a battlecruiser as feminine.

“But tell me about this trouble in the Sea of Japan.” Volsky folded his arms, watching the white haired Abramov reach for a computer pad and slide it his way across the desk top.

“There you are,” he said. “I’ve poked at it long enough. See if you can make any sense of it.”

Volsky read the headline, thinking of the newspaper they had found on Malus Island with an inner shiver. It read: CHINA PROTESTS NEW JAPANESE NAVAL MANEUVERS, an old story in the Pacific, but one that was increasingly occupying the front pages of news outlets across the world.”

“Another protest,” he sighed.

“More than that, Leonid,” Abramov cautioned. “We have satellites too. The Chinese have been moving a lot of equipment around in the last few months—a lot of mobile rocket launchers. They’ve been rattling their saber again over the latest election results in Taiwan. They did not wish to see a president elected there who was so firmly set on Taiwan’s independence.”

“Yes, for a nation always wagging their fingers at people who interfere in their own internal politics, they are very fond of also sticking them in everyone else’s business.”

“Just like the Americans,” Abramov shrugged. “It’s a new world, Leonid. It’s China’s world too, particularly here in the Pacific. We’re just tired old men watching over a few tired old ships up here. China is calling the shots in the Pacific now, as we both know all too well. They didn’t like it when Japan modified those new helicopter destroyers and then put a squadron of F-35s on them.”

Abramov was referring to the 19000T class destroyer, now reclassified as light escort carriers and the largest surface combatants in the present Japanese Navy at a length of 248 meters and 27,000 tons fully loaded. Japan’s constitution had prohibited the deployment of nuclear weapons, strategic strike bombers and attack aircraft carriers, but the naval planners had argued that the new ships were defensive in nature. Then they modified them to allow for takeoff and landing of the JF-35B Lightning Joint Strike Fighter, a small squadron of only seven planes to augment the helicopters carried by the ships. If that was not enough of a provocation, naming their last two of four units in the class Kaga and Akagi after their old WWII era fleet carriers did little to comfort the Chinese.

It was the same old story again, as nations quibbled over limits on things like weapons systems, ship classes, and naval deployments, and haggled over deserted islands off each other’s coasts, mostly for the oil and gas rights in the seabed beneath them. The world of 2021 was slowly starving for energy. Oil and gas had carried the weight of development into the 21st century, but there had been no wide scale deployment of a reliable energy source that was not nuclear to stand in for the rapidly depleting resources in the petroleum industry. Nations were getting hungry now, their economies needing constant production to remain viable, and competition for any new oil and gas fields was bordering on fierce. The military forces of many key regional powers had now become oil and gas protection services, for the wheels had to always turn, and they were starting to slow down again, in the factories of China and on the freeways of the U.S.

“The Japanese Navy now outclasses our own fleet Pacific Fleet,” said Abramov. “They have these two light carriers, then two more smaller DDH type ships in their Hyuga Class, ten excellent new guided missile destroyers and another thirty DD and DE class warships—not to mention the sixteen submarines. Yes, some of those older destroyers date back to the 1980s like our Udaloys, but they have been well maintained. We’re still scraping the rust off our older ships to see what we can get seaworthy. I managed to get three old KGB Krivak class border guard frigates out to train with Kuznetsov, if you can believe it.”

“Krivaks? We’ve been selling off the best of those refits to the Indian Navy. Now I suppose we will wish we had them for ourselves.”

“So as you can see, Japan will be no pushover.”

“You will get no argument from me on that point,” said Volsky. “I am well aware of the capabilities of the Japanese navy.” He could, of course, never tell Abramov what he really meant with that.

“Yes, well their navy now outnumbers us almost three to one here in the Pacific, and without ships like Kirov and Kuznetsov, we’ve become little more than a coastal defense force, and a bunch of submarine tenders.”

“That’s a good looking new ship off our port side at the berthing,” said Volsky.

“Yes, the Orlan will help a little, and we just received the fast frigate Admiral Golovko as well, but without Kirov, this is still a three week fleet, if we could even last that long.”

“I’m afraid it may take a little longer than that to get Kirov back in full fighting trim,” Volsky sighed. “It was a difficult journey, my friend.” Volsky lowered his voice now. “I’ll tell you about it one day, but for now I have Kapustin sniffing around over there, and a lot of questions to answer.”

“Kapustin is a bureaucrat,” said Abramov, “very thorough too. He’ll work sixteen hour days, and no amount of paperwork will intimidate him. But it’s not Kapustin you should be worried about. He brought along Volkov, and that man is old school Naval Intelligence, sour as a lemon. He’ll be a pain in your neck in no time at all.”

Volsky nodded. Then slid the computer pad back over to Abramov and leaned heavily over the desk, his brow furrowed, eyes reflecting real worry beneath his heavy brows. “Boris…There’s a storm coming, and a very big one I fear. An American submarine snuck up on us when we were finishing up exercises in the Pacific, and we almost put a Shkval up their ass. Things are wound up tighter than a spring, and anything could set them off in this climate. Yes, there’s a storm coming, and if we can’t find some way to prevent it, then we had better be ready for it. Only this time… this time if the missiles start flying I must tell you I don’t hold out much hope for the world.”

The memory of Halifax Harbor was clear in his mind now, and a dark and ominous shadow on his soul.

Chapter 11

Inspector Kapustin sat at the desk, eyes intent on the list now, and a look of perplexed apprehension on his face. Volkov stood by the door, waiting for his reaction, a half smile on his face and the look of a self-righteous snitch all too apparent.

“Are you certain of this list?” said Kapustin. “These are the names of all men who died?”

“I got it straight from the ship’s physician, sir, though that took some doing. The impudent old man insisted I go to Karpov first, and we both know what a prick that man is.”

It takes one to know one, thought Kapustin, but he said nothing, staring solemnly at the list, his discomfiture more and more evident. “But I just consulted the ship’s register, and none of these names are even listed there. Could they have been stricken from the register as these casualties were reported.”

“I considered that, sir, but decided to check. I phoned Moscow on this and got the Naval Personnel Division to sent me over the entire active duty roster for Kirov as of 28 July of this year. None of those names were on the list, sir.”

Kapustin leaned back, his hand straying to his chin to run through the thick stubble of his curly gray beard. “Are you suggesting that these names were fabricated? That no one actually died and that they had to make this all up to bolster this story that all the damage was from the Orel incident?”

“I thought that as well, sir. Until I found these in the sick bay. It seems the good Doctor kept a few paper files in his cabinet. Not everything is digital these days.”

“You searched the Doctor’s files?”

“Well he wasn’t very cooperative, sir. In fact he’s somewhat of an obstructionist, hiding behind that home spun wit of his. But I got to the bottom of things, sir. If those names were fabricated, then have a look at these.” He handed the Director three manila file folders, old crew personnel documents attached from the days of typewriters and fax machines. The documents were typical naval records, service history, promotion reviews for three junior grade Lieutenants.

“All three of these men are on the casualty list.” Kapustin was more confused than ever. “If that list was fabricated, then someone went to a great deal of trouble to produce all this material for these three men. I can think of no reason why.”

“There’s more, sir,” Volkov rocked forward on his toes slightly, the light of the chase in his dark eyes. “I interviewed some of the men below decks. They say they knew those three men—talked about them as though they had just come from the mess hall together. Those men were on the ship, sir. I have every confidence in that.”

“They were on the ship, you say. The men knew of them, and here are thick typewritten files on all three, but the navy has absolutely no record of these men. Is that it?”

“Correct sir, and so I asked about many of the other men on the list. Yes, the men all knew them, they were all here, sir.”

“So it is obvious the list was not fabricated. They must have stricken those names from their register here, and Moscow has botched things up on their end. I cannot possibly conceive that Doctor Zolkin would write up such a list for formal submission to the Naval Inspectorate. A fabricated list? The man would have to be a lunatic to submit such a document in light of the present circumstances.”

“I did say I thought him to be somewhat of an obstructionist, sir. But the testimony of the other crewmen must also be considered. I spoke with the senior mishman in every section where the men on that list were posted. They all spoke glowingly of their service and performance, and expressed their sorrow for their loss.”

“Then how stupid and incompetent can the Naval Personnel Division be?” Kapustin threw the three manila files down on his desk now. “Have them verify their information on all these men. Tell them I want them to go into the paper archives as well. Some clerk might have thumbed his keyboard and wiped an entire data block. That’s the trouble with this world, Volkov. It’s all been reduced to ones and zeros. Well I, for one, am not willing to accept the fact that thirty-six men could have simply waltzed aboard the flagship of the Northern Fleet and merrily taken up posts on the ship with no record of their existence whatsoever!” Kapustin’s anger was plain now.

“I will make another telephone call, sir, and I hope you are correct. Perhaps the files are in the paper archives, but if they are not…Then we have some real cloak and dagger work to do here. And there is another matter. A man was found dead in the officers’ quarters today—a man named Volushin—and it appears to have been a suicide.”

“Suicide?”

“The men I spoke with claim he had family problems, but listen to this…” Volkov told the Director what he had learned, the whole sad tale of a simple matoc come home to find his wife and family, indeed his apartment as well, all missing.

“Not there?” Kapustin was irritated now. “Then they moved before this man arrived here. This is no mystery.”

“I haven’t been able to determine that yet, sir, but the incident was enough for this man to take his life.”

“More than one sailor has come home to find his wife run off with another man, Volkov. Don’t concern yourself with it.”

“Another man went missing just yesterday, sir.” Volkov was working down his shit list.

“A crewman?”

“Yes, sir, a fellow named Markov. He was with the Chief Engineer, Dobrynin. They were over in the nuclear reactor test-bed facility doing some maintenance and he turned up missing when his shift relief came in.”

“This man deserted his post?”

“It appears that way. Frankly, I find the lack of discipline in this crew to be a matter of some concern as well.”

“Aside from the damage, the ship appears to be running smoothly, Volkov. In fact, I would go so far as to say this is an exemplary crew. They complete their work rotations smartly, and there seems to be a real esprit de corps among them.”

“That’s just it, sir. There’s an edge to them that almost borders on insubordination at times. Take this Doctor Zolkin, for example.”

“There you go riding that man’s back again, Volkov. Give it a rest. I know Zolkin, and yes he’s a bit of an eccentric, but a fine physician, with thirty years in the service. Let him be.”

“Very well, but this Karpov is a bit too cheeky for my taste,” Volkov folded his arms, shifting targets.

“So are you, Volkov! I guess when they give a man that last stripe to make him a Captain of the First Rank he wants to let everyone else know it. Yes, Karpov can be arrogant at times, and his reputation is a bit sinister, but he’s a fine command level officer, one of the best in the fleet, or why else would the navy have given him Kirov?”

“As we have seen, sir, the navy makes mistakes.”

Kapustin gave him a wry smile, then leaned back, tapping a pen on his notepad. “Anything more?”

“The Starpom, sir. The ex-navigator.”

“Ah… yes. Anton Fedorov. What about him?”

“He was a Junior Lieutenant, and was promoted several ranks in just the last six weeks! Volsky moved him all the way up to Captain of the Second Rank. That is very unusual, sir.”

“I’ll make a note to discuss the matter with the Admiral when he returns from his business ashore. Is that all?”

“No sir, I have one other issue that we need to discuss. There was one man on that casualty list that did have a record on file in the personnel division. He was Chief of Operations, Captain Gennadi Orlov.”

“Orlov? I have heard of this man. He was on a Sovremenny Class Destroyer years ago and worked his way over to Kirov. A disagreeable man, from what I have heard.”

“Well he stood second to Karpov on this ship, sir. This Anton Fedorov appears to have been promoted when he was killed in that helicopter incident.”

“That explains Fedorov then.”

“Not entirely, sir. Fedorov was just a navigator. He had no combat training at all. Don’t you think it is odd for him to be made Starpom?

“Perhaps, but I said I would discuss this with Volsky. Get back to Orlov. What did you learn?”

“I overheard a couple of the Marines talking about this man—Orlov. They were none too complimentary, and when I stepped into the helo bay to ask them about it, they suddenly changed their tune, became happy little school boys and had nothing but good things to say about him. It was very suspicious, sir.”

Kapustin sighed, scratching his head. “Volkov, Volkov. You think the men in the ranks will ever say what they really think of a senior officer to his face—or to you, for that matter? You might be shocked to hear things that are said about you behind your own back. And don’t be surprised to see a man’s temperament change like the weather. Forget about such nonsense. Now I have a matter that is of some real concern. I spoke with the ship’s Quartermaster—a man named Martinov. This ship was issued three special warheads for this sortie, though none were authorized for live firing exercises—but one is missing, and a second has been mounted on the number ten cruise missile.”

“One is missing?”

“Yes… I suppose the warhead mounted is of no real concern. They may have run some kind of drill for special weapons. But for a nuclear warhead to turn up missing? What do you think about this, Volkov. You want a smoking gun? There it is.”

“Correct, sir. Could they have fired it in the drills on Volsky’s command?”

“Perhaps, but it would be most irregular.”

“An accident, sir? Considering what happened to Orel, I would not be surprised…My God! What if this was the warhead that killed Orel?”

“I considered that as well. These are questions easily answered when we sit down with the senior officers after the general audit. In either case, whether it was fired on Volsky’s order, or whether it was a mistake, someone will have to answer for it.”

That brought a smile to Volkov’s face. “I knew there was something suspicious about the damaged logs, sir. They were trying to cover something up, it was no accident. I think they deliberately purged the records to prevent us from discovering what happened.”

“Then they were quite stupid. As you can see, a simple audit of remaining weapons inventory has led us to this. If they wanted to cover this up, they should have worked a little harder.”

“I don’t think they could create a dummy warhead, sir.” Volkov shook his head. “Perhaps this Karpov is not so clever and conniving as his reputation warrants.”

“Karpov? Why do you grab Karpov’s ear? Volsky is the only one who could have authorized the use of nuclear weapons. You think Karpov would have rotated a special warhead into their firing plan without his approval? Don’t be stupid.”

Volkov cocked his head to one side, thinking. “Then we have bigger fish than Karpov to fry here, sir. You know Suchkov is very upset with Volsky as it stands.”

“Yes, he was not happy that he continued his mission, particularly incommunicado, without informing Severomorsk of his intention to do so. Here we thought Kirov was lost in that accident, and the navy expended considerable time and resources investigating the Orel incident, including a great deal of my own time. It was even considered that Kirov had been sunk by enemy action. I know we don’t want our egos bruised, Volkov, but not even our mighty Kirov is invulnerable. Hit a ship with the right weapon, in the right place, and it will sink. Well, we never found any sign of Kirov at the bottom of the Arctic sea. Orel was there, but Kirov just seemed to have disappeared—until she suddenly radioed in a week ago, badly damaged.”

“You are correct, sir. Volsky must answer for this.”

“Yes, and here he is poised to take over command of the entire Pacific Fleet, such as it is. This is no small matter, Captain. You are well aware of what’s been going on politically in the Pacific. China was not happy about the election results in Taiwan. They have been taking their tea cups out of the cupboard and setting the table all along the coast from Hong Kong to Shanghai. The Senkaku Island dispute is just a sideshow. It’s Taiwan they’re after. They always have been. Did you see the latest satellite photography from Shantou Harbor?” Kapustin was obviously referring to the Chinese naval base there.

“Well the Chinese have moved a number of their smaller Type 071 amphibious assault ships there, and two more of the bigger Type 081s.”

“We were aware of this in Naval Intelligence.”

“Of course,” Kapustin continued. “And you are also aware of the fact that they are moving more mobile ballistic missiles to that coastline. This may be more than a simple show of force, Captain. What do your people think about it?”

“I agree, sir. The Chinese are serious this time. They’ve been very patient over the Taiwan issue, and frankly more than patient with Japan. They had to be, sir, because they first needed to build a navy that could match Japan’s before they started throwing their weight around. Now they have that navy, and they won’t take no for an answer any longer when it comes to issues like the Senkaku Islands or Taiwan. And by the way sir, as we have signed on to the SinoPac alliance treaty, we have taken to calling those islands the Diaoyutai over at Naval Intelligence Division. One has to be at least politically correct, even if the Japanese still maintain control there.”

“Well what I am suggesting, Volkov, is that things may change—and very soon. Yes, China is sending a couple of destroyers to these islands, and we must join the party. But the real business here is happening at Shantou Harbor. I have little doubt that your satellite photo analysts will soon be reporting those amphibious assault ships are loading tanks and helicopters.”

“There has also been a major re-deployment of PLAN Air Force units to the coastal airfields, sir.”

“So the movement of all these planes, missiles, ships and helicopters will not go unnoticed by the Americans.”

“Of course not, sir. They have already dispatched another carrier to the region. The Eisenhower left the Persian Gulf last week, but it did not head west for Norfolk. They moved it into the Indian Ocean, and it is joining the Nimitz here in the Pacific. Both ships are quite old, and scheduled for retirement soon, but they are still in the equation as far as we are concerned. The Americans can double up on that ante if things get serious here. They still have CVN Washington in Yokosuka ready for immediate deployment, and then Stennis and Ford on their Pacific coast at Bremerton and San Diego. That’s a lot of carrier based air power if push comes to shove.”

“Push will come to shove, Captain. There’s a real storm brewing this time. Why do you think we transferred Kirov here to the Pacific fleet? Now look at her! We can patch her up to get her seaworthy again, but Volsky has delivered damaged goods and he’s going to have to pay for it, one way or another. And that, Volkov, is why we are here. Yes? Follow up on that casualty list, but I think we have all the rope we need to hang Volsky with this missing nuclear warhead.”

Chapter 12

Zolotoy Drakon, or the Golden Dragon, was in the growing Chinatown district near the naval moorings in Vladivostok harbor, up a plain street of weathered storefronts and eateries that were slowly remodeling for the new tourism business.

The dinner house itself was nicely appointed, with white table linen, candle light, a solitary orchid for an elegant centerpiece, and clean long-stemmed crystal wine glasses. Admiral Volsky settled into the comfortable high backed chair with Karpov and Fedorov, the irony of the moment not lost on him when Karpov mentioned their second choice for the meeting was the popular Yamato Sushi bar a few blocks north off the wharf district.

“Here we are, home at last, and settling in for Chinese food instead of a good borscht!”

“Things could be worse, Admiral,” said Fedorov. “The Captain here suggested sushi, but somehow I could not bring myself to that just yet after what we have just experienced.”

“Well, things are heating up again around the islands northeast of Taiwan,” said Volsky. “The Japanese have a destroyer flotilla on maneuvers and Abramov informed me this morning that the government has received a formal request for a combined show of force in the East China Sea. They want us to send a few ships to join the party. Two of their new destroyers are set to deploy from a Zhanjiang, the Lanzhou and Haikou.”

“Those are updated destroyers,” said Karpov, “their newest designs.”

“Correct,” said Volsky. “Which means we can’t very well send out a couple of old Udaloy class ships. It would be embarrassing. Here we taught them virtually everything they know about building a navy, shipped them the necessary weapons, and then watched them buy most of our carriers and start out producing us at our own game. We will have to send the frigate Golovko and the destroyer Orlan. Those are the only two ships we have that could show up dressed well enough to make any impression on the Chinese.”

“Excuse me, Admiral,” said Fedorov. “But why send any ships at all? It will just be a provocation. We send a flotilla, the Japanese send one, and on it goes. The next thing we know we are reading those headlines in the newspaper we found on Malus island.”

“I understand exactly what you are saying, Fedorov, But Abramov says he has been ordered to send the ships, and until the Naval Inspectorate completes this business over Kirov, he remains the nominal Fleet Commander for another week The orders have already been cut.”

“Why not speak with him, Admiral? Convince him this is useless escalation.”

“I have spoken with him, and he agrees, but that does not change the fact that he has orders from Moscow. Yes, Admirals get orders too. Hopefully this sortie will be nothing more than a dog and pony show. But in the meantime, gentlemen, I suggest we all get used to eating Chinese food. What do I do with these?” He held up his chopsticks, winking at them. Then he settled in to a more serious tone.

“How are things going aboard Kirov, Karpov?”

“Not as well as I might hope. We lost a man yesterday—an apparent suicide—Voloshin.”

“Suicide? Did Zolkin say anything about it?”

“He said the man was having nightmares, like we all are these days. On top of that it looks like his wife and family ran out on him.”

Volsky shook his head, deeply troubled by the news. “We must do more for the crew, be more vigilant and see to their needs. They have been through hell and back.”

“The Inspection isn’t helping matters either. This Captain Volkov is a bit of a ramrod. He’s been walking the ship, talking with the men, prying into compartments below decks. Yesterday he was jousting with Doctor Zolkin. Today he spent half the day with Chief Byko.”

“Zolkin? What did he want with him?”

“Ship’s medical records. Reports on the men we lost during our little odyssey through the 1940s. It still sounds crazy every time I think of it.”

“I have a bad feeling about that man,” said Fedorov. “He seems like a dog pulling on a rope. We did our best to cover things up, and our story seems to be holding for the moment, but a man like that can be trouble, and there will likely be things we overlooked or failed to consider completely. Everything that man uncovers will just make him want to dig deeper.”

“Medical records…” Volsky thought about that. “What would he want with medical records of the men we lost?”

There was a silence at the table, and then Karpov put his napkin down and spoke. “We may have a problem here, Admiral. I received a communication from the Naval Personnel Records Bureau. It was addressed to me personally, and came in through Nikolin’s board, properly coded, so that makes it an order.”

“What did they want?” Volsky had been so busy facilitating Dobrynin’s project and conferring with Abramov that he had been out of the loop on ship’s matters.

“They wanted me to transfer any and all information from ship’s records on the men we lost. I told them that data was wiped out when the computers were damaged in the accident, but they mentioned hard files on three men. These were the men in the aft citadel when it got hit, and being Junior Grade Lieutenants or higher, they had to submit a file to Zolkin when they signed on. The Doctor overlooked these records when we purged our digital systems. Volkov found them.”

“So what is the problem?” Volsky did not understand.

“The problem is that the Personnel Division has no other information on these men. They say they have no record of them ever being assigned to Kirov. In fact, they say they have no record of them at all.”

“That’s ridiculous. That was Denikin, Krasnov and Rykov. I selected all three for their assignment here and got them set up in the battle bridge to complete their training for regular rotation onto the main bridge. Now I’ll be writing the letters to their family. What do they mean, no records?”

“It’s not just those three sir. They have nothing on any of the men we lost. Inspector Kapustin and his little wolf hound Volkov have been looking over the list of the entire ship’s compliment and verifying background checks on every man with Naval Intelligence.”

“Background checks?” Volsky seemed upset now.

“Yes, sir. I think they may suspect sabotage as a possible reason for some of the damage we sustained. Put that next to the fact that there is still a low simmer of talk in the ranks about what happened in the Atlantic, and this situation could get ugly very soon. You know they’re going to check the lock box on the special warheads, and verify all three are still in the magazine with Martinov.”

“I’ve considered that,” said Volsky heavily. “I suppose I can take it upon myself and say that I ordered the number ten MOS-III missile fired as part of our exercises, but that would be most irregular. A nuclear weapon is never used in such scenarios. Never. To say I ordered it would be to pit my present rank and authority against the entire Naval Board in Moscow, and they won’t like it. Suchkov is already hollering for my head on a platter. It would be just the thing he needs to turn a few more heads in his direction.”

“Forgive me again, Admiral. This is of course all my fault.”

“We both know it, Karpov. No need to go over that again.”

“Then also forgive what I will say next. I didn’t rise through the ranks to a Captaincy aboard the fleet’s flagship by being a choir boy. I fought hard to get this position, and I know just how men like this Kapustin and Volkov think. I was a conniving, back stabbing, son-of-a bitch back then. I’ve seen things differently now after what we’ve been through, but if it comes down to Volkov or me, I’ll know what to do about it, rest assured.”

“This sort of infighting in the ranks has always been distasteful, Karpov, but I understand what you are saying. Yes, I suppose we can back Volkov down, but Kapustin is going to write the final report. Admiral Abramov has been somewhat sympathetic, and he seems to think Volkov is my main worry at the moment. I did not correct him, but I will tell you both now that it’s Kapustin. Volkov is the front man. He will do the pushing and prodding and digging, but Kapustin writes the report. He makes the recommendations. They will discover that we’re missing one of our nuclear eggs, and we’ll have to answer for it.”

“I have a possible solution, sir. I can tell you what I would do, or rather what the man I once was would do. In truth, I will also have to admit I still am that man. That same old black shark still circles in my soul, and if I let it take charge it would have come up with the simplest possible solution—blame it on a matoc. Say a man selected the wrong warhead. Isn’t that what happened on Orel?”

“We don’t really know,” said Volsky. “I understand what you are saying, Karpov, but it’s rather low.”

“Of course it is. I was a man of few scruples.”

“But you and I know this won’t be so easy. No Able Seaman is going to have access to one of the special warheads. It would have to come from Martinov, and be mounted under his direct supervision. The number ten silo is also sealed and has multiple fail safe guards on it. How do you explain that away? Then we get to the matter of a command level key being required to arm and fire the missile, and we both know what happened there. No. This will not be easily foisted off as incompetence. No matoc could make that series of errors. It won’t do, nor would I blame any innocent man on this ship in the matter, living or dead.”

“Then I will tell you next what this new Karpov would do—he would simply stand up to Kapustin and Volkov and take full responsibility for the whole incident.”

“Very noble of you,” said Volsky. “Yes, you could tell them you ordered Martinov to mount the warheads, and then you could tell them that it was your mistake as Bridge Tactical Officer, eh? But what about the key around your neck, and this one here around mine? Are you just going to tell them you decided you wanted to test a nuclear warhead while I was sleeping? Why? It is never done. It is completely unheard of, and you will lose your command, your rank, and may even be dismissed from the service.”

“I’ve already lost my command and rank once over the matter,” said Karpov. “The second time should be easier.”

“But don’t you understand?” Volsky held out an open palm as he explained. “Your action in defense of the ship, in a real combat scenario, is one thing. But remember, they must never know this ship ever fired a single round in anger. What would we have been firing at, eh? Try to stack that cup on the top of the plates and the whole thing comes tumbling down. The notion that we simply wanted to test a warhead won’t fly either. What do I tell Kapustin then—that we were firing at the American navy in 1941?”

“Of course not, Admiral, but I think this is our only solution. I’ll take the blame. It’s mine and it is only right that I should pay for it. I gave the order to Martinov, told him to reset the Coded Switch Set Controller, and I fired the MOS-III. Tell them I was convinced a real test fire was necessary, that I had asked for permission to do so and it was denied, in fact expressly forbidden, and then I’ll tell them I took it upon myself to countermand those orders while you were indisposed. That’s what happened. It’s our only way out of this mess.”

Now Karpov’s mind was truly working from within his old rotten center, where scheming and subterfuge were the order of the day. He knew men like Kapustin and Volkov, and he knew they were going to dig, and dig until they found something, and he explained it that way to the Admiral now, in the cold logic of the world he had fought his way through successfully all these many years.

“We have to give them something, sir. Give a dog his bone. Otherwise they will dig until they find one. Right now they are very suspicious. They are looking for possible sabotage. They can smell that something is wrong here, and these are a pair of bloodhounds. They want blood, Admiral. If we make it seem that our cover-up has been designed to hide what I did, then it just may divert them. I can tell you right now that if Volkov gets wind of it, he’ll rub his palms together and hump my ass for all he’s worth. Don’t you see? If we give them something, improbable as it may seem, it could be the only thing that stops them from discovering the real impossible truth.”

Volsky stared down at his Chinese food and then rubbed his weary brow, thinking. He looked at Karpov. “I see the logic of what you are suggesting, but you know what it means for your career. It’s going to raise a stink, one way or another, but I suppose it may be our only way out of this.”

Fedorov had been listening, with some anguish, to the whole conversation, and now he spoke up. “I hate to say it, Admiral, but Captain Karpov’s head may not even be enough to satisfy these men if they discover what I think they may in the next eight hours.”

“Discover what, Fedorov?”

“The records of the thirty-six men on the list of casualties they got from Doctor Zolkin were not destroyed by the accident as we claim, nor were they misplaced by the Naval Personnel Division. I think they’re going to discover that those men never existed.”

Volsky gave him an incredulous look. “Never existed?”

“Don’t you understand? Those men boarded the ship in Severomorsk and came from the homeland we left all those weeks ago, but this is a different world now. We changed things. In this world those men might not have ever been born, so I don’t think you’ll be writing those letters after all, Admiral.”

“We did this?”

“I believe so, sir. We changed the history of WWII. Remember, I had a good many books on that war. I’ve studied it all my life. I purged any volume in the ship’s library that related the history as we knew it, but forgive me, I kept certain books so I could see if anything had changed. As it turns out, three books I have were never even published in this world. That set me on a real track to find out what had changed. Remember that book I first came to you with, Admiral, The Chronology Of The Naval War At Sea?”

“Ah yes, that is what first led us down this crazy path.”

“Well I kept that book, and I went into town and bought the latest version as soon as we made port. I’ve been comparing its narrative to the volume I owned, checking things out. Yes, we definitely changed things. Japan engaged the Americans in the Solomons and lost three carriers. Our action also badly depleted their 5th Carrier Division. The Imperial Japanese Navy found itself with virtually no effective naval air arm after our intervention. It restored the balance of power to what it might have been in the history we knew, and then the war seemed to proceed on track—but there was no Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Japan surrendered in April of 1945.”

“But how does that affect the men who died on this ship?”

“I can’t say as I really know. We definitely changed things, so it may be that when the song replayed, a few notes were out of place. In many ways I discovered that the history had healed and repaired itself. There was no raid at Dieppe—that’s another thing we changed. But the D-Day invasion still took place as scheduled in Normandy. That said, there were subtle differences, particularly in little things.”

“They say the devil is in the details,” Karpov put in.

“Exactly, Captain. So it could be that something may have happened to the ancestors of the men on that list, and in some macabre way, Time found a way to get rid of them.”

“This is truly bizarre,” said Volsky.

“No argument there,” said Fedorov. “This whole incident is still completely confounding. But think of it sir. If something did happened differently, and say the grandfathers of men like Denikin, Krasnov and Rykov were killed in the war, or perhaps their fathers married someone else…Why, then they would never have existed. For us to bring them home to this world alive would create an enormous paradox. How could they be here? In effect, Time had no place for them. The history was a vast game of musical chairs, and when Karpov stayed his hand and stopped us from killing the Key West, everything changed. The music stopped, and there were no chairs here for those men. This world looks the same, it smells the same—why, here we are in Zoloty Drakon, right? But it isn’t the same world we left behind when we cleared the breakwater beacons at Severomorsk last July. As I said, I have books in my possession now that were never published.”

“How is it they remain intact?” asked Karpov.

“I’m not sure, but perhaps the fact that they were with us on the ship protected them. But not people—they change things—they are the living, breathing history as it happens. Time had to find a way to settle her accounts, and now I think we will find those men never existed. The only place any record of their lives now exists is right here on this ship.” Fedorov pointed to his head. “Right in our heads. We knew them, sailed and fought with them, but like those books I found missing, in this world they were never published…”

“My God,” said Karpov. “Forget the nuclear warheads, that’s just a matter of chest thumping and protocol. How in the world are we going to explain this to Kapustin?”