Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

detonate the 273kg warhead on contact. It could still do significant damage, even if it was running shallow.

The entrance to the bay was a little over 500 meters wide here, but it opened quickly to two kilometers, and was all of five kilometers long, just deep enough near the little village to give him a place to hide on the bottom. They’ll never find me here, he thought as he watched his wrist watch, counting down the seconds left in the long torpedo run. If he heard no detonation, indicating a miss, he would settle on the bottom and wait things out. The British would search for him in vain and, when he was ready, he would sneak out to have another look and begin the game again.

The second hand ticked away…

Byko was waiting on the fantail, watching the KA-40 slowly rise up from the flight deck, its twin rotors bronzed by the fading sunlight, its overhead engines roaring as the helo hovered, then slowly gained altitude. He was a big man, with good sea legs and burly shoulders and arms, sleeves rolled back and a spanner in one hand while he waited at the diving station. His features were raw, and weathered from years at sea, and his close cropped hair did little to conceal the prominent dome of his skull, with more hair on his short, thick neck than he seemed to have on his head.

The men had been in the water for two hours, coming and going from the small skiff where it hovered amidships. They had inspected the big forward bulge off the lower bow where the passive sonar array was installed and found it free of damage. The starboard hull was lightly dimpled by fragments of splintered metal, some still lodged there, and the men were removing them and filling the holes with a fast acting adhesive sealant. What little seawater they took had been confined to the inner void and was easily pumped out.

Now they were working the port side, and the divers had noted a large shrapnel fragment cutting cleanly across their underwater sonar rim. This was undoubtedly where the damage was, and after an initial assessment they had returned to the diving skiff to run round to the aft of the ship and use the side ladders and stair extension there to re-embark. They were going to need tools, and some replacement parts as well, including underwater Acetylene torches. A marine guard sat sullenly in the back of the skiff, standard procedure for security on any boat that was manned and away from the ship, no matter how close.

Andrey Siyanko had been with the 874th Naval Infantry Battalion for some years, and was excited to be included in the special detachment assigned to the new Kirov when she launched. Now he looked to the west, watching the last traces of sunlight fade and etch the distant islands of the Balearic chain in sharp relief. Then he caught something out of the corner of his left eye, and turned to squint at the placid sea. His eyes widened with shock when he saw it, the long thin trail of a fast moving torpedo aimed directly at the heart of the ship!

“Torpedo!’ He shouted, and he instinctively unslung his automatic weapon, taking aim as the deadly undersea weapon bored in on them. He had little chance of hitting it, but reacted by sheer reflex as it came surging in, firing on full automatic.

With Kirov’s sonar dark for this vital repair, no one saw the torpedo but this one man, and the sharp rattle of his weapon was the only reprisal the ship mustered against the attack. He was firing in sheer self defense, because the torpedo was now running up very near the surface of the water and aimed directly at his boat. Siyanko would not live to know what his reflexive, if futile, action had accomplished.

Chapter 20

The Torpedo ran true, right at the diving boat and struck it dead on, detonating and literally ripping the small boat to pieces. The fire from Siyanko’s automatic rifle may have helped in that, but it could not save his life, or even spare Kirov from being hurt by the powerful explosion.

On the bridge, Karpov had just resumed his post while Fedorov remained below seeing to damage control. He was watching the launch of their last KA-40 on the aft Tin Man camera feed, pleased that they had some protection airborne against submarines. Yet no sooner had that thought come to him when he heard the violent explosion, and felt the ship lurch in response. His only thought in that wild moment was that they had struck an unseen mine.

He ran out the side hatch of the citadel to the watch deck, looking aft with shock to see that there was a huge explosive spray washing up over the ship there. The diving tender boat was obliterated, and parts of it had been flung against Kirov’s hull. Then he saw it, the thin remnant of a torpedo wake dissipating on the water.

His heart pounded, eyes wide as he rushed into the citadel shouting at the top of his voice. “Torpedo! Submarine off the port quarter. Tasarov, do you hear anything? Go to active sonar!”

“Aye sir!” The sharp ping of the sonar resounded a second later. Kirov’s passive systems had been shut down for the diving repair, but she could still shout at the unseen enemy below and listen for the telltale return of the sound waves.

“Samsonov, be ready on the Shkval system and get me an immediate firing solution.”

But no solution came. Tasarov listened, and listened, and though he was one of the best sonar men in the fleet, he could hear nothing moving beneath the darkening still waters.

“We’re too close to this island,” he said. “I’m getting too many reflections from the coastal headlands. We need sea room, sir.”

Karpov’s mind raced ahead, trying to catch up with the unseen enemy. He noted the direction of the torpedo wake and resolved to immediately fire a salvo from the ship’s UDAV system down that line at once. The sub had to be somewhere between the island and the ship, probably a few hundred meters left of right of that track, and trying to slink away. He squinted at the narrow mouth of an inlet, but could see little in the dark. It seemed entirely too small a channel there and he discarded it as a potential escape route. The sub would be diving now and maneuvering out to sea as quietly as it could.

“Activate UDAV ASW system! Fire in an arc toward that island, three kilometer range. Now!”

Samsonov was flipping switches to key the manual fire, as he had no data incoming from Tasarov’s sonar. He quickly activated the UDAV-2 ASW system and fired two salvos sending a total of ten rockets out in a wide fan off the port side of the ship. They exploded with raging fury, generating a curtain of tumultuous seawater in the distance. If any submarine was lurking there, it would surely be shaken up by the sudden violence of the attack. Kirov had fired back, yet had not yet seen its foe. It was the first time they had fired without being able to precisely target their enemy, and with no real assurance of hitting or hurting him in the process. Even the frantic attempt by the young Siyanko had been directly aimed. This was no more than a random wall of fire intended to frighten their enemy and buy the ship some vital time while Karpov tried to better assess their situation and gain control of the engagement.

Karpov needed to move the ship now, but how bad was the damage? If he put on speed would he cause even more flooding? He decided to risk ten knots, feeling exposed and helpless at this slow speed. He could see the diving boat was gone, and they could come back for any man left in the water once he had found and destroyed this sinister enemy. But if they did not move soon they might all be in the sea.

The comm-link rang sharply and a watch stander answered. “It’s Byko, sir. He has initial damage reports.”

Karpov took the handset and heard what he had hoped. The torpedo had struck and destroyed the diving boat, which was five meters off the port side of the ship. The explosive concussion of the warhead was still enough to shake the ship and fling fragments of the destroyed boat against the hull, but learning lessons from the terrorist attack on the American Destroyer Cole in the port of Aden, Kirov had been reinforced amidships with a long 100mm anti explosive bulwark. It was enough to protect the watertight integrity of the hull, and Byko’s men reported some minor buckling, but no flooding or damage below the waterline. That was exactly what Karpov had hoped to hear. Now they had their speed and maneuverability back, and he immediately ordered all ahead full, with a hard turn to starboard and the open sea just as Fedorov burst in through the hatch, breathless from his long run up to the bridge.

“Captain on the bridge!”