Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

The bay doors were shut and the other two helos were below decks. I hope we haven’t lost it.”

“That sounded very bad,” Karpov warned.

“Damn, I wish we could get a Tin Man video feed in here.”

“I’m sorry, Leonid, but I’m not fond of watching battles,” said Zolkin. “I’m like Byko. He picks up the pieces, I patch up the men—when I can.” He looked over his shoulder at the three body bags. “I hope I will not have to fill very many more of those any time soon.”

“As do I, Dmitri,” said Volsky, “as do I.”

Karpov looked down, rubbed the back of his neck, and took a deep breath. “What do you want me to say, Admiral?” he spoke quickly. “That I was wrong? Of course I was wrong. I was a fool, and I’ll pay for that mistake, but if you need me, I can help you now, in any way you order.”

The Admiral looked at him, then closed his eyes, rubbing his brow, so weary. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, and Zolkin gave him a concerned look, reaching to his medical stand and fetching a syringe.

“How can I send you back, Karpov?” Volsky said sadly.

“I swear to you—here and now—that I will serve this ship and obey your orders, or those of any man you place over me. Send a Marine with me to the bridge if you wish. I know what I did, and why, and that is over now. I know I deserve nothing but your contempt, but give me this chance and I will not fail you again—ever.” He had a pleading expression on his face, eyes wet, lips tight as he held his emotions in check.

Zolkin was going to administer a sedative to the Admiral, but he paused, one hand holding a cotton swab, the other holding the syringe. The admiral opened his eyes and looked at his Captain.

“Very well,” he said slowly. “If there is any shred of honor left in you, Karpov, I will give you this one chance to find it again. Fedorov is young, and yes, he is inexperienced at sea—particularly in battle. But I must tell you that his judgment is sound, his insight into what we have gone though exceptional. Without him I do not think this ship would have survived our last encounter with the combined British and American fleets. So Fedorov will remain senior officer in command, and I’ll give him the leg up in rank to make that clear. He is the one who will order what we should do, Doctor Zolkin,” he angled his head to his old friend now.

“But you, Karpov, you will do what we must do to accomplish his objectives. Assuming he accepts your presence on the bridge. And one more thing—leave off discussion of how we might best use our nuclear weapons, please. That question is mine to decide. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Karpov penitently. “I will serve as Fedorov’s first officer if you wish, and support him with all the skill I have. I will state my opinions fairly if asked, but will not argue the matter in the face of the enemy, or in front of the other men. And if he gives me an order, I will follow it—I swear it.”

“You are fortunate to be in sick bay,” said Volsky, with a smile. “That’s a lot of pride to swallow in one gulp, and you could choke.” He laughed, feeling a great burden of worry taken from his shoulders.

Karpov smiled, appreciating the old Admiral in a way he never could before. Now, when he looked over his shoulder at the man he was before—always resenting Volsky’s presence and authority over his ship, always scheming out ways to subvert him and oppose him, he felt nothing but shame. If Volsky gave him this chance, he could not let the man down—could not let himself down.

“Will the men accept his, Leonid?” said Zolkin.

“Perhaps,” said Volsky. “Perhaps not, but they will do their duty nonetheless.” Now he looked at Karpov, deciding. “This is a good ship, Captain, and a good crew. They deserve more than our lot now, and it is our job to save them, and preserve this ship. Very well… As punishment for your actions earlier, and the willful mutiny you instigated, you are hereby reduce in rank three marks to Captain Lieutenant. Fedorov I hereby promote one level to Captain of the third rank, and he and will assume the position of acting Captain of the ship until I can make a full recovery. You are hereby designated his first officer, Starpom, and immediately assigned to the current watch in that position. You will proceed to the bridge at once, and yes, I think I will send the Marine guard outside along with you, until you have proven the pledge you have made here today, to me, and to the other men on this ship.”

Karpov’s eyes were glassy as he nodded, grateful for the chance the Admiral was giving him now. “Rely on me to keep my word in this,” he said. “To you and to the men…”

“Go then,” said Volsky. “And Mister Karpov—when you get there, and inform Fedorov of his new rank and position, don’t forget to salute.”

Karpov smiled. “I will click my heels, sir.”

Volsky laughed again, but it subsided with a wince of pain. “Can we still that claxon? My head is killing me. And Doctor, you may give me your shot now. If you have a few hours sleep for me in that syringe I will be a new man myself.”

~ ~ ~

Fedorov was as surprised as anyone else when the citadel hatch opened and Karpov stepped onto the bridge, a Marine Guard in his wake. He had been staring up at the aft Tin Man video display, watching the chaotic effort to fight the fire there and seeing the desperate effort of the men as they heaved the KA-40 over the side just before it exploded. Now he and the other officers turned, equally surprised, and Karpov looked down, fighting his shame, then found resolve and straightened to attention in a way he had promised, literally clicking his heels as he saluted.

“Sir,” he said formally. “I am ordered here by Admiral Volsky, and with the new rank of Captain Lieutenant. I am to inform you that you are hereby promoted to Captain of the Third Rank, and the Admiral wishes you to assume formal command of the ship until such time as he is fully recovered. I have asked him, and I now ask you, to accept me as your first officer, and I pledge that I will serve you to the best of my ability.” He held his salute as he spoke.

Fedorov returned it, astonished, but inwardly relieved by this development. He had been distracted by the explosion aft and almost forgot that the ship was engaged. When he remembered the incoming aircraft he was thinking what to do next when Karpov appeared. The enormity of these events was a lot to process at once, but he maintained his composure and turned to Karpov, nodding.

“Very well,” he said, imitating the Admiral again. “Now hear this,” he said to the bridge crew. “I formally accept command of battlecruiser Kirov until such time as the Admiral returns to duty, and I hereby accept, and appoint, Captain Lieutenant Karpov as my First Officer. He will advise me and second my decisions according to protocol. Understood?”

The men nodded, particularly his senior officers, Rodenko, Tasarov, Samsonov. “Mister Karpov, please work with Rodenko to monitor the status of an incoming air contact and use your best judgment as to how to deal with it to ensure the safety of the ship. I must coordinate with Byko on the comm-link to assess what has happened aft.”

“Sir!” Karpov saluted again, and went immediately to Rodenko’s Fregat radar station to get on top of their present tactical situation. Rodenko felt his presence looming over him, but something seemed different in the man now. That edge of haughtiness was gone, and the arrogance. Instead he looked and saw Karpov scanning the readout with the quiet, cool assessment of a trained naval combat officer, and he was glad, relieved even, to have the burden taken from him. He had advised Fedorov as best he could, but in truth, his specialty was radar.

“Samsonov,” said Karpov, “You used bank seven on the Klinock system?”

“Aye, sir,” said Samsonov, and the mood of the bridge tamped down to business as usual. “We only got off three missiles before the misfire.”

“All three hit, in spite of the damage to the main ship borne guidance radars. But we have lost time with this misfire and Rodenko is still showing three airborne contacts, very close now. We will have to switch to the Gatling guns, but they may need tracking assistance.”

“Aye, sir. Activating close in defense system.”

~ ~ ~

Melville-Jackson emerged from the bank of low flying clouds, his radar man shouting out the contact: “Three-o’clock, Jackie and Five miles out!”

“Roger that. Put your fish in the water now boys, and let’s get moving. We’ve bitten off more than we can chew from the looks of things. This is no cruiser. It’s a bleeding battleship! Look at the damn thing!”

Two of the three planes still had torpedoes, and there was no sense in trying a strafing run with his shattered flight now. He pulled the stick back, breaking round in a sharp turn. Then he caught a glimpse of the distant enemy ship as he emerged from a cloud, and could clearly see a fire aft. Perhaps one of his boys got a