Kirov III: Pacific Storm

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“They are dispersing,” said Rodenko. “The main formation is breaking up. I can now read about forty-five contacts in Group One, twenty-eight in Group Two to the south.”

“One more time, Mister Samsonov, salvo of six per group. Ten second intervals.”

“Samsonov paused briefly as his light pen reached to select his missiles. “Sir,” he said, “we have only seven S-300s remaining.”

Karpov turned, “Of course… Three missile salvo to each group then, and fire when ready.”

“Firing now, sir.”

The second attack was equally deadly, but it found fewer planes. Sakamoto’s tactic had worked, and with the A6N2s well out in front now, the fighters took the brunt of the attack, their wings bright with machine gun fire that had no hope of hitting the missiles, the voices of the pilots strident and wild in Sakamoto’s head set. The wide dispersal of the strike wave meant the missile kill would fall to a one to one ratio again. Three Rei- sen fighters died in the second barrage, one for each rocket that came at them. Two others were scored by shrapnel, but still flyable.

The Southern group off the light carrier Ryuho had yet to climb the learning curve, and its planes had stolidly closed formations again after the first rockets thinned their ranks. When the second salvo of three missiles hit them, it took out six more planes, four of them brave fighter pilots that had charged into the vanguard of the attack wave and two strike planes. There were still two of six dive bombers alive and flying, and nine of twelve torpedo bombers. On they came, soon crossing the fifty kilometer range line.

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Karpov’s palms were sweating, though he clasped his hands tightly together as he waited. There was now only a single S-300 missile remaining. Steady and calm, the Captain gave another firm order.

“Switch to Klinok system, enable infrared and optical guidance systems.” They had lost one of two fire control radar sets for that system when Hayashi’s plane had come thundering down on the aft battle bridge. Their forward radar could not process all the contacts they were still facing at one time. They would use it to give the missiles their initial heading and range to target, and then allow infrared and optical tracking systems to take over if necessary.

There came a slight vibration, barely perceptible, and then the comm link buzzed and Fedorov went to receive the call. It was Admiral Volsky.

“What is happening, Fedorov?”

The young Captain quickly briefed the Admiral.

“Very well, carry on as best you can. I will be in engineering with Dobrynin.”

At forty kilometers the medium range Klinok system began to fire, the last missile gauntlet to be run by the enemy before they could get in actual visual range of their target, but they had only sixteen remaining. Karpov sighed heavily and gave the order.

“Two salvos of eight,” he said. “Ten second firing intervals, as before.” They still had plenty of time before the enemy could threaten the ship with direct attack. He wanted to be sure each missile acquired a target before a second was sent on its way, to avoid any possibility that two missiles might expend themselves on a single plane. The tactic worked as planned. Eight more planes would die in each oncoming group, but five minutes after the first missile streaked away a strange silence settled over Kirov’s long forward deck, the warm morning breeze slowly driving off the last of the steamy smoke and vapor from the missile firings. The Klinoks were gone. Samsonov’s light pen still hovered over the screen, but he had no more missiles to select. Only the last S-300 remained.

“Helm,” said Karpov. “Ahead thirty. Mister Fedorov, will you take charge of maneuvering the ship?”

“I will,” said Fedorov grimly.

There was a second shudder from below decks, and this time Fedorov noticed it, worrying that the hull patch might fail at high speed. This had been the very first time the new innovation had been tested under actual combat conditions. Yet Kirov plowed ahead, her sleek bow kicking up a white wash as the prow of the ship cut through the jade green sea.

“Thirty Kilometers and closing fast now,” said Rodenko.

“Ready on Kashtan-2 system, Samsonov.”

“Aye, sir.” It was now up to Kirov’s close in defense systems.

The Ryuho Group to the south had been hit very hard. All six of the dive bombers there were gone, and only seven fighters and seven torpedo bombers remained. Sakamoto’s more experienced pilots presented a stronger threat. Only two of his dive bombers had been hit, and he had eleven left. There were still fourteen of the eighteen torpedo bombers as well. But his brave fighters still dancing ahead of the strike wave, had paid heavily. Only nine of twenty-four remained.

“I can hear them now,” said Nikolin, his brown eyes dark beneath his head set. The shouts of one pilot to another were evident, and though he did not know what they were saying, he could sense the emotion, hear the iron in their voices, and he knew they called to hearten one another, and bolster their resolve.

The Kashtan system still had thirty-two close range missiles to augment its two twin Gatling gun mounts, and then there were the four AR-710 single barreled Gatling Guns as well, and plenty of 30mm ammunition. The weapons were computer controlled, with radar, laser range finding and optical backup systems as well. The four single Gatling guns could even be fired by a human crew that could man a control harness from a nearby position on the deck. They had forty-eight planes to kill.

In they came, brave to a man, unyielding. Not one pilot ever considered peeling off and turning away. Sakamoto gathered his dive bombers into two fists of five or six planes each at the top of the formation and he saw his torpedo bombers under Lt. Subota slowly dropping down to begin their low altitude runs. Off to the south they could see what was left of Ryuho’s strike charging in on a well timed attack, both groups arriving within minutes of one another. It was time. He tipped his nose down and yelled for his men to follow, and the D3As were soon screaming down like a flock of merciless falcons swooping on their prey.

Chapter 23

The old Kashtan system sat like a gray crab at the base of the aft secondary mast that was topped with the Fregat radar system, one on each side of the ship. Directly above it the stolid robot-like figure of the Tin Man seemed to stand a solitary watch as the enemy planes came in.

The arms of the gray crab were now heavy with four barreled missile canisters above the Gatling guns, each capable of ranging out to 10,000 meters, and Karpov wasted no time firing them. Their smaller warheads could still generate a fragmentation sphere five meters in diameter when the missile detonated, and so they posed another strong threat with a high probability of interception for approaching air targets, and a follow-on engagement of surviving targets at a close-in range with the intense gunfire generated from the long black six-barreled Gatling guns.

The old Kirov had six such systems installed, but four had been replaced with the AR-710 Gatling guns given the new ship’s substantial SAM inventory. But now, Karpov found himself wishing he had all six Kashtans back, as they proved to be a most capable close in defense system.

Half their missiles were gone in a flash, a barrage of eight from each unit. Then the heavy crab-like arms rotated skyward to retract the missile tubes vertically, and a rotating canister below decks quickly moved in the last remaining missiles. The reload was very quick, under two seconds, and soon the missiles were ready to fire again.

The head of the crab was a rapidly spinning fire control radar painting the sky with microwaves intent of finding and assigning targets. After the first barrage it noted that there were still twenty-six targets to the northeast and nine to the south. The second and final barrage of missiles fired, sixteen in all and their lean vapor trails wound out like thin threads in the sky seeking the planes with precision accuracy. Kirov did indeed seem like a great sea monster with white smoky octopus arms reaching up into the blue skies to lash at the oncoming planes. When the Kashtans had expended