Kirov III: Pacific Storm

group and hunt this sea dragon down again.”

Yamamoto’s eyes were like frozen fire. “Where is this ship?” he asked, his voice low, with a dangerous edge.

“It is now reported heading southeast, sir, and on a course that could still threaten the second wave troop convoy in the Coral Sea.”

Yamamoto gave him a hard look. “Then we turn to join the hunt as well,” he said. “Plot an intercept course at once, and tell Captain Iwabuchi he may proceed. Let his hounds flush this bird out and we will do the rest. It will be a long voyage north to Japan after this is over.”

“I will personally apologize to the Emperor, sir. It is all my responsibility.” Kuroshima lowered his head, the shame apparent, his shoulders slouching.

“No, Kuroshima,” said Yamamoto. “I will apologize to the Emperor—for the sinking of the Akagi, and all the rest. The responsibility lies with me.” The Akagi had always been a much loved and favorite ship for the Emperor. “But before I do so I will finish off this Mizuchi once and for all…Or die trying.”

“Sakamoto had another name for this ship, sir. How strange that his men lost contact with it in the middle of a fight like that, only to find it a mere forty miles away over six hours later! He called it Kumuri Kage, the Shadow Dancer. Everything we have learned about this ship is most unsettling, sir. It has endured two major air strikes and yet survived. That last attack by Hara’s group threw everything he had at the ship—over ninety planes! It has sunk a cruiser, killed a submarine, beached a battleship and still it eludes our grasp.”

Yamamoto gave Kuroshima a last sullen look, a strange uncertainty in his eyes now, chased by sudden determination. Then he gestured with his hand. “That will be all.”

Nothing more was said.

Part IX DECISIONS

“Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains.”

~ Paolo Giordano, The Solitude of Prime Numbers

Chapter 25

Doctor Zolkin looked at Voloshin, trying to understand what the man was saying, and mustering as much sympathy as he could. The Able Seaman had come to him soon after the last attack, shivering with fear. It would not be the first time a man at sea faced the terrors of naval combat and came away shattered by its horror. Yet the story Voloshin told him had a nightmarish edge to it, a surreal quality that Zolkin found unbelievable.

True to the conventions of vranyo, the Russian game where one man’s stretching of the truth was quietly received by another without objection or complaint, he listened attentively as the man told his tale. He had seen something pass through the ship, a shadow at first, then what looked like a plane. He had been right in its path, servicing the missiles beneath the long forward deck, turning to see it coming for him with no hope of escape. Then the face of a man, his features frozen in a strange agonizing scream. He said he could actually see the face of the pilot as the shadow came hurtling for him, passing right through him, the leering face, the wailing sound, like an angel of death itself.

He had fallen to the deck, terrified, shaken badly, and even now he was still struggling to suppress involuntary shivers, so great was the man’s fear.

“Now, now, Voloshin,” said the Doctor. “This business has every man aboard on edge, yes? That plane that came in on the ship a while back has sent twenty other men in here to see me as well. You must remember that this is the first real look at combat for this crew, and you are no exception. It is very harrowing, most frightening. You must allow yourself that fear and yet still manage to do your duty. Even the Admiral has come to see me about it. Yes, Admiral Volsky himself! You know he was hit by those planes that found us in the Med, yes? Well take an example from him. Now he is up on the bridge, as a good fighting admiral should be when his ship is in danger. And you, Voloshin, you are a good fighting Seaman of the battlecruiser Kirov. What you have seen is frightening, to be sure. But you must put it aside, and find a way to remain stalwart.”

Voloshin nodded, still shivering.

“But I have a prescription for you first.” Zolkin was writing now on a small pad of paper. “This is going to tell the ship’s quartermaster to admit you to the junior officer’s mess hall. I want you to go there right now and have a nice long meal. The food is much better than the men’s mess below decks, so take every advantage. There is nothing like a good meal to give a man back his strength, eh? After that I want you to take two of these pills.” He held up a small medicine container, shaking it to rattle the pills inside.

“Take only two, yes? Then go to this cabin, number 147 on the third deck, and go to sleep. I will check on you in four hours.”

“Third deck, sir?”

“Yes, the officers quarters. Don’t worry, I’m writing it all down here. If anyone asks what you are doing there say you have been sent on my orders. I am a Captain of the Second Rank, did you not know? And you have heard of ‘Doctor’s orders,’ so follow these well. Two pills—only two—and cabin 147. Have a good long sleep. I will check on you later, and see how you feel then. But first, go and eat.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Good then. On your way. I hear they have very good food on the menu today. Don’t let anyone bother you. Just hand the kitchen master that note, and eat well.”

Good food and sleep, a couple of aspirin with just a little tranquilizer in the mix. That was the prescription for Voloshin, and Zolkin sighed after he left, wondering how the rest of the crew was holding up. There was a knock on his door and he was pleased to see Admiral Volsky step into the sick bay, removing his cap with a smile.

“Are you hungry and sleepy too?” asked Zolkin, and he told the Admiral what had just transpired.

“The men have been under a lot of strain,” said Volsky. “I have been making the rounds below decks again, but I thought I would talk to you briefly. No, I am fine. I got several hours sleep last night before this latest attack.

“And the ship?”

“Still here,” said the Admiral, at least we think it is. Voloshin was not imagining things, Dmitri. One of those planes went right through the ship.”

“We were struck again? I did not feel any impact. I heard nothing.”

“Correct. It went through us, but something was happening at the time. The ship was moving to another time. This is what Fedorov thinks. He says that if we are as much as a second or two out of sync, then they cannot touch us. But it is frightening how we still see the shadows of the other time for a few brief moments when we shift. We are here, but yet not here. It is all very disturbing and completely mind boggling at the same time. But we were lucky we did move, or Voloshin would not be alive now. Perhaps the ship itself would have been struck a fatal blow. Where did he say this happened?”

“He was down tending to the missiles, under the forward deck, very near the gun mount there.

“A very bad place for a plane to strike us.”

“Udachi,” said Zolkin. “Our luck is still good. But how could this have happened. We have moved again in time?”

“Do you remember what you said during one of the meetings in here while we were in the Med, Dmitri?”