Men of War

Chapter 16

Kamenski flipped slowly through the book, quietly shaking his head within as he did so. It was the History of the Japanese Navy in WWII, and he had come here to the library in Vladivostok to chase an itch he had been scratching for the last twenty years. He had learned a great deal about a mysterious incident in the Coral Sea that the history never fully explained. The Japanese had tried to cover things up, but as the years went by, more and more evidence slowly came to light. Something has happened, like a ripple of lightning across the blackened storm clouds of war. Something came out of the Indian ocean and struck through the heart of the Japanese offensive in 1942 like a steel javelin.

It started off the coast of Melville Island, where he had read reports made by coast watchers that the Japanese had engaged an Allied surface ship running east away from Darwin. The problem was that there were no allied warships worth the name in Darwin at the time, and no one seemed to be able to identify what this ship was. Yet the Japanese had pursued it through the Torres Straits and into the Coral Sea, expending the considerable power of their entire 5th Carrier Division to do so, and leaving the battleship Kirishima a half sunken wreck on the coral reefs of the strait. He remembered the text he had read on the incident, still vague and non-specific: “Unaccountable losses sustained by Hara’s Group prevented them from reinforcing Yamashiro’s carriers at a vital moment, and the Americans were therefore able to deal with each arm of the Japanese offensive in detail.”

Unaccountable losses? That was all that was to be said about this after eighty long years? Then the mystery deepened when Admiral Yamamoto split his heavy covering force for the counter invasion of Guadalcanal and sailed west into the Coral Sea… aboard the battleship Yamato. That was most unusual. The Yamato was the symbol of Japan’s prestige and power at sea, named for the ancient homeland itself. What could have possessed Yamamoto to commit it to action like that? And more—what sent it back to Kure harbor a broken and damaged ship? That had been kept very secret by the Japanese. In fact, it was never known that Yamato had been engaged and sustained heavy damage until well after the war.

Something mean and powerful had sailed those waters. Something capable of defending itself from an entire carrier air wing and then bludgeoning the most powerful battleship the world had ever seen. Even now the details of that battle were very shady. It still remained a mystery. The initial accounts were that Yamato struck a mine off Milne Bay, and then this was revised a few years later by an American historian who claimed the USS Sea Dragon was returning to Australia from her third war patrol in the South China Sea and came across the Yamato, promptly putting two torpedoes into the mighty ship.

Kamenski took both versions of that history with a grain of salt, particularly when he managed to dig up hidden records of the damage sustained by Yamato. One of the guns on an aft turret had been put out of action and replaced with a barrel that had been originally machined for the Shinano. She also had extensive fire damage above the water line on her superstructure, damage that could only have been produced by large caliber weapons. There had been snippets of reports of naval rockets used in an engagement, which in themselves were very odd, and then he came across something that stunned him, a photo of two Japanese engineers holding up a piece of charred metal where an engraved serial number was quite evident.

Kamenski kept that number in his head for many, many years, but he could never run it down until the year 2020. He was more than a curious old man. He had spent forty years in the service of his government, with posts in the Navy, and in intelligence as well. He still had access to things a normal person would never have seen, and he had been going over some weapons production information for the new navy Moskit-II missiles when he came across the number—the exact same number he had carried all those years, and it was assigned to a missile that was mounted on none other than the battlecruiser Kirov, the very same ship he had taken Alexi to gawk at in the harbor that afternoon.

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 wreckage 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.”

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.”

“How is the Admiral?”

“We do not yet know sir, he is still in intensive care.” He handed Volsky a plain teletype message decrypt, and he knew what it was going to say as soon as he glanced at it… “Effective immediately, FLEET ADM VOLSKY, LEONID is herewith to assume full operational command of Red Banner Pacific Fleet Operations…”

So I am out of Kapustin’s little frying pan for the moment, he thought to himself as he read the few closing details in the message. Yes, out of the frying pan and into the fire. He folded the message and gave his new Chief of Staff a solemn look. “I expect you have much more to tell me, Captain Talanov, and I certainly hope you have a cupboard full of good tea in the building.”

“That we do, sir.”

“Very well. Let’s get started then. I suppose you’ll want to brief me on this situation with the Chinese and Japanese.”

“Yes, sir. There has been a live fire incident just northeast of the Diaoyutai Island group. We don’t know how it started yet, but the Japanese have lost a small destroyer escort, 2500 tons, the Oyoko, sir. It was part of a three ship flotilla and the remaining assets returned fire, sinking a Chinese Type 095 submarine. We have been in contact with Beijing, and they confirm that they have lost communications with the Li Zhu. The Japanese withdrew two remaining ships to the northeast temporarily. Japan issued a quick condemnation, vowed reprisal, and then put another flotilla to sea.”

“And the Chinese?”

“Their ships remain on station off the main island at Diaoyutai. They have put men ashore there, sir, and now we get word that a small Japanese coast guard cutter has also been fired on and boarded by Chinese Naval Marines off the principle ship in their task force, the Lanzhou.”

“It sounds like the long war of words over those islands has ended. Of course it will be in all the papers tomorrow and the Japanese ambassador in Beijing will be hopping mad.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do him much good, sir. Beijing informs me that they have occupied the Japanese Embassy there and arrested the ambassador.”

“They did what? That’s unheard of!”

“I think they mean business this time, sir. There’s a great deal going on in the diplomatic back channels tonight, but rumors are flying that a formal declaration of war is being considered. Beijing has been on the phone to Moscow about it for the last hour.”

“War? Over those useless hunks of rock in the Pacific?”

“It won’t be the first time, sir,” said Talanov, and Volsky knew all too well the truth of that statement.

“What do we have at sea?”

“The frigate Golovko and the destroyer Orlan are both in the Sea of Japan with the cruiser Varyag.”

“Good. Make sure they stay there.”

“But sir, they were ordered to the East China Sea to rendezvous with the Chinese.”

“They are going to be late. I am countermanding that order immediately. The flotilla is to remain in the Sea of Japan and circle in place. Someone has to act sensibly in this situation. I think it will be me.”

“Very good, sir, but won’t this cause some… political problems? The Chinese will be expecting our support.”

“Political problems are solved more easily than military ones, Mister Talanov. It would have been nice of the Chinese to inform us they were going to start firing at Japanese ships, eh? Do you think our fleet is ready for a major air sea engagement in the East China Sea? I hardly think so. You may position one or two submarines there for situational awareness, and I think it would be wise to get two IL-38s and a Bear up on long range reconnaissance. But I don’t want surface ships attempting to transit the Korea Strait under these circumstances. If we do the Japanese will have planes over them in no time, and then we will need to send fighters, and so on. No. If we deploy it will be north of Hokkaido Island in the Sea of Okhotsk, and in close cooperation with our naval air forces on Sakhalin Island. That way anything we have in Kamchatka can join us in the Pacific. Look at your map, Captain. They do not call the waters south of us the Sea of Japan without good reason. Now then…I would also like a secure line to Moscow, and after that to the American Naval Headquarters in Hawaii.”

“The Americans, sir?”

“Of course. Get Admiral Richardson’s office on the line for me please, and ask them if he can take my call within the hour. And I want a list of everything the Americans have in the region or presently in transit on my desk in ten minutes.”

Talanov had not seen this kind of decisive command style for some time, and it seemed a breath of fresh air to him after the slow and equivocating ways of Abramov. He smiled, grateful for the tone in Volsky’s voice that knew how to give an order and make it stick.

“Aye, sir. Ten minutes. I’ll put you through to Moscow at once.” He saluted and rushed off.

Volsky went quickly to Abramov’s old office, his eye falling on the family photos on his desk, a wife, daughter, grandchild. His mind strayed at once to his own wife back in Moscow. He had spoken with her on the telephone, heard the relief and joy in her voice to know that he was home safely again, and he apologized to her for the sorrow his sudden absence must have caused.

“Elena,” he remembered telling her long ago. “You know that a sailor’s life is fraught with many dangers, and surprises. It may be that I go out one day and do not come home as planned, but never lose hope. The navy compels hard choices at times, and some things I do you will never know. Yes, there are still secrets to be kept under my hat, and an Admiral of the fleet gets more than his fair share of them. So you just wait for me. I will come home soon enough. Busy yourself with plans for the new house in Vladivostok.”

She did that, good wife that she was, but when news of the accident with Orel came over the television, her faithful heart was rent through. Yet she waited, a long month, not having the slightest inkling of what her husband of forty years had been doing, but never losing hope. Then one day he called her, and her heart leapt with joy.

“Leonid, you forgot to take your new leather gloves,” she said, remembering that last fitful worry she had clung to when he left her.

“You packed them for the move?”

“Of course, but you know how cold your hands always get on those ships. You’ll forget your head one day.”

“But I’ll not forget you…”

The silence between them on the line was enough, a long distended fiber of the love they had shared together for decades. The Admiral smiled inwardly at the memory, grateful that the two ends of time that had been rejoined had left them together as man and wife, unlike the sad fate of Voloshin. Some things, he realized, were simply meant to be, in this world or in any other.

Volsky settled in to Abramov’s desk, putting his personal things aside in a drawer and trying to clear his mind for the difficult days that would surely lay ahead. Talanov was back in ten minutes as promised, a look of concern in his eyes.

“There’s been a development,” he said flatly. “The Japanese have escalated the situation. They’ve sent a couple of their new DDH class helicopter destroyers and put men on the main island.”

“The landing was opposed?” Volsky asked the obvious next question.

“It was, sir and hostilities have renewed. The Chinese fired on the helicopters as they made their approach and the Japanese took out that ship, one of the new Chinese Type 054 class frigates, the Weifang.”

“They sunk it? What has suddenly possessed the Japanese? For decades they were content to sit in their islands and build the world’s best cars and electronics. Now this!”

“It’s that new Prime Minister, sir. You know the old Chinese proverb.”

“What is that?” the Admiral asked.

“A newly appointed official burns three fires. They tend to overdo things, and Mr. Amori has taken a very hard line concerning matters related to Japanese territorial claims.”

“Yes,” said Volsky. “Particularly when they sit atop a lot of potential oil and gas contracts. And what are the Chinese doing?”

“There was an air duel between fighters off Okinawa and mainland China, and then the icing on the cake.”

“Something tells me I do not wish to hear what followed.”

“A ballistic missile strike, sir. DongFeng 15s and 21s. The Chinese hit one of the Japanese DDH class ships. It went down about two hours ago in the East China Sea. Missiles also struck Naha airfield on Okinawa. Conventional warheads, but a rather daring escalation. Those islands are still disputed territory, but there is no question about Okinawa. That is the home soil of the Japanese nation.”

“Yes,” Volsky had a worried look now, his thoughts bouncing from shadowed memories of blackened cities to the rapid pulse of these current events.

“I don’t think they were quite prepared for this level of conflict, sir. They sent only one flotilla of three ships, and the Japanese overmatched them. One of their helo carriers has deployed the new American Joint Strike Fighter.”

“My Mister Fedorov would be able to tell me all about them. Well, the Japanese have a bad habit of catching their adversaries unprepared and paying a high price for it. Look what they did at Pearl Harbor.”

“Pearl Harbor, sir?”

The Admiral suddenly realized he had stumbled, and made a recovery in the easiest way possible. For he, too, was a newly appointed official, and so he just decided to start burning a few fires of his own.

“Never mind the Japanese for the moment, Talanov. When will you have Moscow on the line?”

“Zhakarov is holding now, sir. We are waiting for Suchkov.”

“Yes, we’ve been waiting for him to retire for years,” said Volsky, and it brought a knowing smile to Talanov’s eyes.

“It should just be a few minutes more, Admiral.”

How true, thought Volsky. It is coming down to minutes and seconds on that alarm clock bomb again, and God help us this time, because after that comes the abyss.

Chapter 18

Karpov was doing something he seldom ever did before. He was walking the ship, just as Volsky might have done, and he was talking with the men, listening to them, hearing their concerns and seeing what he might do to help them. He worked the ship from bow to stern, checking on the progress of all work being done and encouraging the crews to get ready for action. He admired their determination and sense of duty, the smooth, easy way they cooperated with the junior officers, the confidence that seemed to underlie their every movement now. This was a ship of veteran sailors, and he was proud to be its Captain. He knew he still had a few bills to pay for what he had done in the Atlantic, and now he went to see about one of them.

When he found Troyak he was busy supervising the load-out operations for the sole KA-40 on the helo deck. The stalwart Marine Sergeant saluted and Karpov asked him to walk with him to the starboard gunwale.

“The men look good, Sergeant. How are they feeling?”

“They are in good shape, sir. Mantek had a problem with home, but the others enjoyed a good long shore leave this last week.”

“What was wrong with Mantek?”

“Girlfriends,” Troyak smiled.

“I understand. And what about you, Sergeant? Where is home for you?”

“Provideniya, sir. A little place on the Chukchi peninsula.”

“Have you called home? I hope all is well.”

“It’s still there, sir.”

Karpov smiled. Then he changed his tone, his voice lowering somewhat. “That was not the case with a few other men,” he confided. “One came home to find his wife with another man; another could not even find his apartment here in the city. Things have changed, Troyak, do you understand this?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“That makes two of us. But I think our Mister Fedorov will sort the matter out for us both one day. In the meantime…” He gave Troyak a long look. “Sergeant, I have come to apologize to you for what I did in the Atlantic; for the position I put you and your men in, trying to set you in opposition to the Admiral. I was a stupid fool. I should have been severely punished, and instead I was handed forgiveness. I am here to see if you might spare me a little as well.”

Troyak nodded gravely, and the Captain continued.

“I was wrong to do what I did, and I have only the Admiral’s grace to hold for the fact that I am standing here now and still wearing these stripes. I should be in the Brig, or worse, but Volsky gave me this chance and I am pledged to the service of this ship. I won’t let him down, or this crew down, ever again. Understand?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

Karpov smiled. “I finally learned something that you have known for some time, Troyak.”

“Sir?”

“The meaning of the word duty.”

The doughty Sergeant nodded silently, understanding. Now Karpov folded his arms, taking the stance of a commanding officer briefing a subordinate, but there was something more in his tone. He was taking Troyak into his confidence, and the Sergeant could hear it plainly.

“Admiral Volsky has been summoned to Naval Headquarters at Fokino. I believe he will be assuming command there, and thank God for that. Now that leaves us to do what we can here. There has been an incident in the East China Sea, Sergeant. The Chinese and Japanese are at it again, only this time it looks serious. It’s very likely that we will be called to action again soon. I just wanted you to know, one man of war to another.”

Troyak remembered the last time Karpov had placed himself in the same rank and file as he was with his Marines. He recalled how he had inwardly distained the remark, but this time things were different. He had heard the stories the men still told about Karpov on the bridge. The junior officers rotating down to the lower decks had painted the picture very sharply. The enemy was right on top of us, but Karpov saved the ship. They were coming at us from all sides, but Karpov was cold as ice, and he stopped them! The big enemy battleship was trying to stick it to us, but not with the Captain on the bridge. Karpov gave them hell! He knew he was now standing with a man of his own ilk, another warrior in the stream of life, and yes, a man of war. Karpov’s strength was not in his shoulders or arms, but he had stood his watch on the wall, and he had fought and delivered the ship safely home again. Troyak nodded, and conferred both his absolution and acceptance of the other man in that one simple gesture.

“You can rely on me, sir.”

“Yes…But I think that will be the easy part for us, Sergeant Troyak. When it comes to a fight we will know what to do easily enough. Yet we have both seen what was left of the world on one black day after another. Something tells me we are steering a course that way even as we speak. I don’t know how yet, or what we can do about it. I once thought that if I could just get the ship home safely it would be enough, but there is something more in front of us now. We may be called to war soon, but if we are ever to avoid that other world we saw, we’ll have to become something more, you and I. We’ll have to become men of peace as well.”

“I understand, sir… At least I think I do.”

“You are the business end of a platoon of highly trained men, Sergeant. But not every blow is struck to do harm. This is the only way I can think to understand it. Sometimes we fight to do some good, and we do what we must when it comes to battle. But Fedorov once told me to think also of what we should do, and this time I will keep his advice in my front shirt pocket, and heed it well.”

The Captain clasped Troyak on the shoulder, even as he had done once before, only this time things were different. This time the gesture was real. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Sir.” Troyak saluted, and returned to his men.

Karpov headed forward to look for Fedorov, learning that he had gone to the sick bay, so he made his way there. When he arrived he was surprised to see both Kapustin and Volkov there, in some heated conversation with Doctor Zolkin.

“Welcome, Captain,” the Doctor said with some exasperation. “Perhaps you can do some of the shouting now, and I can have a rest.”

Zolkin was at his desk, Fedorov sitting on a chair by the wall, and Kapustin was seated opposite the Doctor with three manila folders in hand. Volkov was standing behind him like a gray shadow, a smirk on his face.

“I was asking the good Doctor here how he managed to come up with this little charade,” said Kapustin, gesturing at the files.

“What are you talking about, Inspector?” said Karpov, his eyes drawn to the folders.

“You are going to tell me that you know nothing about it as well? What do I have here now, three blind mice? You are the senior officers aboard this ship!”

“He is telling me these records were fabricated,” said Zolkin, an aggrieved expression on his face. “These are the files for the new junior officer trainees that we lost in the accident aft.”

“Denikin, Krasnov and Rykov,” said Karpov.

“Exactly,” said Zolkin. “You see, Mister Kapustin, he knows them by name without a second thought.” He pointed at the Captain, claiming him as evidence on his side of the argument. Karpov realized that Zolkin had been out of the loop in the discussion he had with Volsky and Fedorov on this matter, and he was thinking how to proceed.

“Well the Captain knows them, does he?” said Kapustin slowly. “That’s good, because no one in Moscow seems to know them, not their names, not their service records either. So where did these come from?” He rotated slowly in his chair, like a big threatening gun turret slowly training to engage a new target.

Karpov knew the matter was not going to be resolved easily; not here, not now. They had not come to any decision as to how it might be handled before their dinner was interrupted by the call to return to duty at once. Now Kapustin and Volkov were right back at it again, but the Captain decided what he had to do, so he keyed his Moskit-II and fired.

“This is a matter of state security,” he said calmly. “Neither you, nor Captain Volkov here were privy to it. Yes, do not look so surprised, Inspector General. You do not know everything, and should you inquire about this further you will get the same reaction you received from Moscow when you went after the names on that list.” Karpov was lying, of course, but he did so with such a convincing tone that it sounded completely believable.

“You are telling me… You mean to say these men are not dead?” Kapustin leapt to the obvious conclusion.

“This is outrageous,” said Volkov.

“Oh?” Karpov turned at him, missiles ready. “You are a ranking officer in the Naval Intelligence Division, and you are going to stand there and tell me that men with names but no traceable life history behind them are not sometimes very useful? Get a head on your shoulders!” He raised his voice now, then put his hands on his hips, leaning forward and staring right at Kapustin.

“Do you know what’s going on out there now?” He pointed a stiff arm towards the unseen harbor, and the ocean beyond. “Do you have any idea what’s been happening these last weeks and months? Where the world is headed? You think you know everything and have it all written down there in your files? Has it ever entered your thick head that this ship disappeared for a reason?” He pointed to the deck. Kapustin’s eyes widened, a hint of uncertainty there. Volkov gave Karpov a sallow look, a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Yes,” Karpov pressed on. “How does a ship like this get half way around the world without NATO knowing about it? Yes. Where is that missing special warhead? And by God what happened to the thirty-six men on the list Doctor Zolkin gave you? Well get a hold of your boots and pull them on, Inspector. To put it quite plainly, it’s none of your damn business! But it is my business, and the business of this ship and crew. Forgive me if no one bothered to inform you before we left Severomorsk, but I think you were probably busy keeping track of serial numbers on some other ship then, yes?”

Kapustin gave Karpov a long look, thinking. He was Inspector General of the Russian Navy, and in that position he knew a great deal. He could tell you what was in the magazines and holds of nearly every ship in the fleet, and who was serving on them, and where they were berthed, and how many cans of paint they had on order and which ones were efficient and which ones were sloppy. Yes, he knew a lot about the navy, but he also knew that it was folded in on itself like a maze at times, and the pathways of power flowed through the heads of an alarming number of gray haired old men.

Karpov’s bravado had shaken him, for the Captain had been correct—nobody knows everything. There were still dark corners into which he had never been able to peer. Men like Volkov behind him were often sent into those corners to bark and sniff and drag things out of the shadows. But there were times they went in and never came back out. There were places in the convoluted, old power structure of the Russian military where it was still very dangerous to tread.

Now the situation developing in the Pacific came to mind and Karpov’s words began to make sense. The ship had clearly been on a very dangerous mission. He had not sorted it all through, but his careful inspection had uncovered enough to know that this ship had been in combat. It was no accident that she had a hole in her hull. That was torpedo damage. And the injury to her main mast and aft citadel was no accident either. A little scrape of a pen knife here…A sample or two in a plain plastic bag for the labs…Yes, he soon had his suspicions confirmed. The smoke and fire and residue of battle was on the ship, and the scars of combat at sea. He could see it also in the eyes and demeanor of the crew. This was a fighting ship, a man-o-war in every respect. This was a fighting crew, men of war indeed. And Karpov, he knew, was a fighting Captain, as good as any man in the fleet by the scores notched in his fleet exercise records. Now something told him clearly that Kirov had been involved in some very special mission this last month, and it was no exercise.

Kapustin leaned back, eyes narrowed as his surprise faded and these thoughts ran through his mind. Then he simply gathered the three manila folders into a neat pile on Doctor Zolkin’s desk and stood up.

“Thank you, Captain. I think that settles the matter for the moment.” He had been struck amidships and had fires to put out. The smoke of uncertainty was now thick, and his gunners could not range on the target. He had to fall off and come about, just as Admiral Da Zara had in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and just like Admiral Iachino had at the Bonifacio Strait. Something told him, an inner instinct that had served him well for many long years, that this was not the place and time to fight his battle over this matter. If he pursued it, he might sail into hidden shoals and reefs that lay unseen in the murky waters surrounding this incident. Sanji Iwabuchi might have told him to beware of impetuosity in this regard, though he knew nothing of that man’s sad fate.

“What are you saying?” said Volkov pointing at Karpov, an incredulous look on his face. “You mean to say you’re going to let them get away with this insubordination? What about Orel? I’ll tell you where the missing warhead went! What about Orel?”

Karpov gave him a murderous stare, and Kapustin quickly intervened, like someone pulling on a heavy leash. “Mister Volkov,” he said sharply. “Insubordination? Either you were not listening to what Captain Karpov just said, or you were not smart enough to hear what I just heard in his words. I am going to flatter you and assume you are not stupid. So I will say it again—this matter is closed for the moment. I believe I have enough information to complete my report, but I may be some weeks writing it.” He looked askance at Karpov and Fedorov now, then fixed his attention fully on Volkov again. “In the meantime, our work here is done, and I believe these officers have other matters to attend to.”

“But—”

Volkov fought his own quick inner battle between his eagerness to make the kill and his instinct for caution. It was fight or flight, and he had always been the attack dog when it came to situations like this. But he could feel the hard chain on his neck now, and saw how the leash was firmly in Kapustin’s hand, and so he stifled his protest, deciding he could deal with this some other way through Naval Intelligence.

“Very well,” he growled. “I will make arrangements for our departure at once.” It was clear that Volkov was not happy, and he strode out, giving Karpov an evil eye as he went.

Kapustin composed himself, then looked from Zolkin, to Fedorov where he sat silently on the chair by the wall, and then to Karpov. The Captain stood, stiff backed, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

“Do you know I had a very good dog once,” said the inspector. “A Belgian Tervuren I called Chang. He was a magnificent animal. You know they have the thickest ruff of any breed I have ever seen. They can handle a German Shepherd with no trouble, because the other dog just can’t get its teeth through that ruff.” He clenched his fingers to illustrate the frustrated bite. “You are correct, Captain. Nobody knows everything, do they? Not even the Inspector General of the Russian Navy, though I may know quite a bit more than you realize, and enough to know I am not going to get my teeth through your ruff this time either. Perhaps we will talk again another day, but I think you are correct about one more thing, and that is why I leave you here to attend to it. The world is going to hell faster than we know, and I, for one, do not look forward to the trip. We’re going to need your sort at the helm of ships like this, and so I leave you to more important matters.”

Kapustin smiled, picked up his black felt fedora, and walked slowly out of the room. They listened to the echo of his footsteps fade to silence before anyone said another word.