torpedo in the water after all! A moment later he heard Stanton calling “fish away,” but no word from Dobbs in the other Mark I.
Stanton’s shot was four kilometers out, just inside the maximum range for this torpedo, and then he turned on Jackson’s heading. But Dobbs kept running on, bearing in on the target to get a better shot. Jackson saw something flash out of the corner of his eye and craned his neck to get a look behind him. The dark silhouette of a warship lit up with the firing of a single gun, a Bofors from the looks of the volume it poured out, but it was lethally accurate. A hail of fire swamped Dobbs plane and it was riddled and on fire in seconds. He quickly lost control and went into the sea.
“Damn!” said Jackson. His squadron was decimated—worse than decimated. What in hell were they shooting at us? He had his cameras running the whole while, and hoped the footage would be valuable if he could get it home safely. “Bad day’s work”, he said to Stanton on the radio.
“Bloody hell!” came the return. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Torpedo in the water!” Tasarov called out loudly. “Two signals, both running true!”
Karpov, turned to Fedorov near the comm-link. “Mister Fedorov,” he asked. “Will these torpedoes home in on the ship’s hull?”
“No,” said Fedorov, “they will run true as aimed to their maximum range, and only detect the hull for purposes of detonation. They have no active tracking radar or sonar components. You can avoid them by maneuvering the ship.”
“Helm, come hard to port and all ahead full!”
“Aye, sir,” came the echo, “Hard to port and ahead full!”
The ship went into a high speed turn, leaning heavily in the sea and surging forward with renewed speed. Karpov wanted to get as far off the torpedo bearing as possible, and he was easily able to maneuver the ship out of harm’s way. Then he went to the viewport, looking for his binoculars, pleased to find them hanging just where he had left them, so long ago it seemed now. A quick scan satisfied him that the evasive maneuver had worked. He saw the two torpedo wakes well off the starboard side of the ship and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Two airborne contacts withdrawing,” said Rodenko. “I think they've had enough, sir.”
Karpov nodded. “Let us hope this is the last we see of them for while.” And then to Fedorov he said. “Captain, how is the situation on the aft deck?”
Fedorov had just finished being briefed and had a grim expression on his face. “Not good,” he said. “The KA-40 caught fire when the missile failed and they had to jettison it over the side. I don’t know how they managed that, but they did. That secondary explosion we heard was probably the fuel tanks going up. If the ship is in no further danger I suggested we slow to ten knots and get divers down to have a look. Byko tells me the aft Horse Tail sonar has been badly damaged and we may have sustained further harm from that explosion.”
“I confirm that,” said Tasarov. “I have a red light on the aft sonar system, but the forward bow dome is still returning good signals. It looks like we won't be able to deploy the Horse Tail variable depth sonar, but at least our jaw isn't broken. And if we still have the other two helicopters in working order we can use their dipping sonar as well.”
The ship utilized a variant of the older Horse Jaw low-frequency hull sonar system, principally deployed in a prominent bow dome and along the forward segments of the hull. But the aft quarter also allowed for the deployment of additional sensors towed by a long cable which allowed them to move the devices to variable depths and listen through thermal layers when necessary.
Fedorov shrugged, stepping to the center of the command citadel and resting an arm on the Admiral's chair. Karpov drew near, and clasped him on the shoulder. “We are no longer in any immediate danger,” he said.
“Glad to hear that,” said Fedorov. “It seems like I've been on my feet for hours now.”
Karpov smiled. “Get used to it, Captain.” Then he looked at the Admiral's chair and gestured. “Have a seat, Fedorov. The ship is yours now.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Fedorov, and he slipped quietly into the chair, realizing it was the first time he had ever sat there. Something about the moment stayed with him the rest of his life. He was commander of the most powerful ship in the world, at least for the moment.
Chapter 9
Three men showed up at sick bay, and Zolkin was surprised when he saw Orlov among them, his face black with soot, and bleeding. He also quickly noticed his hands, clenched and held tightly near his soiled sweatshirt, as if protecting them from further harm. His wool cap was still on, and pulled low on his forehead, and he looked every bit the threatening, brute of a man that he had been while serving as Chief of Operations.
But for Zolkin, a man in medical need was his charge and duty, and he put aside his ill feelings for Orlov and got him quickly onto a cot for some much needed first aid.
“Well, I hope you don’t plan on getting into any boxing matches with those hands, Orlov. How did this happen?”
Orlov grimaced as the Doctor applied antiseptic and bandages, but the burns were not severe. He told Zolkin of the fire, and the effort to ditch the helicopter before it exploded. The other two men in for minor bruises and burns heaped praise on Orlov, and not because they feared any reprisal on his part if they failed to do so. In the heat of a dire emergency Orlov had instinctively acted to save the ship, risking his own life and the lives of all the men he called to action with him, but narrowly averting that fate by a matter of seconds. Yet the fact remained that he was seen as a hero by the men for what he did, and Zolkin thought this good for a change, and a positive first step for Orlov in his new post.
“In spite of what I might wish to say to you on other matters,” he said, “I put that aside now and congratulate you for your courage. Two other men were here before you with tales of your herculean feat. The Admiral will be pleased when I tell him what you have done.”
When the other two men had been dismissed Orlov pressed the Doctor with a question. “What has happened, Zolkin? I have heard nothing. What were we firing at?”
“Don’t ask me. Yes, I was in the briefing and can tell you that the ship has moved again, backward, into this mess of a war that we blundered into. Fedorov was able to pinpoint the date as August 12, 1942, a full
Orlov lowered his head.
“I was a fool, Zolkin,” he said in a low voice. “Karpov duped me, that snake, and I fell for his
“Now, now—that will do you no good either, Orlov!” Zolkin wagged a finger at him, admonishing.
“Let him rot in the brig, then. At least I have a post, and some measure of rank left.”
“Don’t become perturbed, but Karpov was sent to the bridge as acting First Officer to Fedorov. The Admiral may not recover for some days yet, and we were under attack. What does Fedorov know about naval combat? Nothing. Karpov pledged to serve faithfully if given a second chance, and the Admiral sent him up.”
Orlov shook his head. “It was his doing!” he said. “All his doing!”
“Don’t hold yourself blameless, Orlov. You had a choice to make and you chose wrongly. If it is any consolation to you, Karpov was also reduced in rank three levels. He is Captain Lieutenant now, under Fedorov. I expect they will make a formal announcement when this business settles down. For your part, you have done something right in that action just now. Good for you. Now don’t let the bear in the kitchen over Karpov and keep your wits about you. You are a natural leader, Orlov, but you let your anger get the best of you all too often. Think about that—and don’t get any more stupid ideas in your head about Karpov. There is a limit to Volsky’s forbearance. He has given Karpov a chance to redeem himself. You now have yours.”
He looked over the top of his glasses and smiled. “I’ll tell Troyak that you are to rest those hands for at least 48 hours. In the mean time—find a good book, or better yet, a good meal. Your rank as Lieutenant still gets you into
