Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

flight. See?” He held up a fistful of tightly wound cabling, grinning balefully at the pilot, who just shook his head and radioed the aft helo con tower for permission to take off. Minutes later the KA-226 was aloft and heading south with orders to get some seventy to a hundred kilometers out and sweep the area for signs of a large enemy task force.

Fedorov was still on the bridge when Karpov arrived to begin his next shift. He was consulting with Kalinichev at radar and waved his first officer over.

“We turned on our planned heading of 200 degrees about thirty minutes ago, he said. The ship’s radar might pick up Force Z soon, but I need information now. I’ve sent the KA-226 up with an Oko panel and we’ll have a good look to the south. My best guess is that Force Z is some 225 kilometers southwest of our position now, and most likely approaching Oran. We should be getting some good signal returns from the helo in about twenty to thirty minutes.”

“What about the enemy carriers,” said Karpov. “Won’t they have fighters up?”

“Probably, but they won’t get a whiff of our KA-226. Remember, it’s also got good jamming equipment, and I had it re-tuned to include British aerial radar bandwidths six hours ago. The game is on now, Mister Karpov. We want to find and mark their position as soon as possible, and keep them in the dark about our whereabouts at the same time. If they do happen to spot a British fighter, they can easily avoid it, and that failing, they will have to shoot it down.”

The helo could mount interchangeable mission pods in the space that would normally be the rear cabin. This load out would include a thirty mm cannon and also air-to-air and light surface attack missiles. The Oko panel was mounted beneath this cabin and controlled by connecting utility cables. They waited while Nikolin monitored the routine signal feed from the helo, and routed it to the ship’s main radar systems. Kalinichev was also watching the progress of the helo on his air search radar.

“Tell them it looks like they are a little too far west,” he said over his shoulder, and Nikolin passed the message on a secure, encrypted radio channel. His voice was digitized, then encrypted for the transmission and decoded on the helo to play on the pilot’s speakers. Anyone who might manage to intercept the signal would just hear garbage.

“Command one to KA-226. You are too far west. Resume heading of one-eight-zero and deploy your panel for radar sweep—over.”

The helo was too far west for a good reason, or a bad one depending on whose perspective you took in the matter. Orlov had been sitting in the back compartment, and drinking from a flask as they moved south. He waited patiently, until the helo was about a hundred kilometers out, then took a long swig on his flask and pulled out his pistol.

“Are you ready back there, Lieutenant? It’s time to deploy the radar panel.”

“I told you not to call me Lieutenant,” Orlov growled. “Am I ready?” Orlov grinned. “Oh yes, I’m ready. Are you ready, Pratkin?” And without a second thought he pulled the trigger and put a bullet right through Pratkin’s head. The pilot slumped forward, and for a moment the helo danced wildly in the sky, but Orlov quickly scrambled into the co-pilot seat up front and seized the controls. He had taken some rudimentary flight training on the KA-226 years ago, as he often was tasked as a mission leader when the Marines would deploy on the chopper. Now he struggled to remember what he had to do to stabilize the helo and get it moving where he wanted it to go.

Orlov managed to gain control before the aircraft got a mind of its own, and he nudged it into a slow turn to the west, and put on speed. Then he picked up the auxiliary microphone from the flight instrument panel and sent Nikolin back a message of his own. “I’m sorry, sir, but I won’t be deploying your damn radar today. You lose, Nikolin.” He shut the system down, laughing. Then he looked over at the limp body of the pilot, saw the blood oozing from the bullet hole in his head, and laughed again. “What do you say we take a little vacation, Pratkin? Because that’s the last either one of us are ever going to see of that stinking ship and crew.”

He suddenly remembered something very important, and reached down to turn off his transponder and activate all his jamming gear at full power. The last thing he wanted now was a visit from one of Kirov’s lethal surface to air missiles.

Back on the bridge Nikolin had a shocked expression on his face. He looked for Fedorov and reported. “Sir… that was Orlov on the radio just now, and he says they cannot deploy the radar panel.”

“Orlov? He wasn’t assigned to that mission. He was just supposed to lead the rigging and load out. What’s he doing on that helo?” He shook his head, looking at Karpov and seeing his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Tell them to report. What is the trouble with the radar panel?”

“I can't, sir. I've lost all telemetry. It looks like he switched off his transponder. The whole band is garbled now.”

“Garbled?”

Kalinichev saw the telemetry feed terminate on his board and also immediately recognized the jamming signatures clouding his screen. “He switched on his jamming pods, sir, I can't see him any longer.”

“What was his last recorded heading?” asked Fedorov quickly.

“It looked like he turned west sir. That's all I was able to get before the signal clouded over.”

Fedorov looked at Karpov and saw that his suspicion had become a flash of anger now. “That bastard,” he said. “What in God's name does he think he's doing?”

“Are you saying he did this deliberately?” Fedorov was stunned. He knew Orlov was an irascible and cantankerous officer, unruly and undisciplined, yes, and downright disrespectful at times, but this was more than he ever expected from him.

“If he’s heading west he's making for the Spanish coast,” said Karpov. “I should've known he was up to no good! Do you realize he actually assaulted me outside the officer’s mess yesterday? The man is insane!”

“He assaulted you?”

“Yes, a good punch in the ribs. I suppose he thought I had it coming, and perhaps I did. He didn’t like being stuck down there in the engineering bay. I think we have a renegade on our hands, Fedorov. I don't think he has any intention of returning to the ship.”

“But… He can't take the helo like this! What in the world is he trying to do? Where could he possibly be going?”

“Spain,” Karpov said flatly. “It's the only neutral land close enough, and with his jammers running full out like this he knows we can't see him or shoot him down. That lunatic is planning to take that helicopter and land there.”

“That's crazy,” said Fedorov, and his mind was awhirl with the consequences of what could happen if the helicopter were to be taken by the authorities there. “Do you realize what this means? We'll have to go after him, Karpov. We can't let him do this. That technology must not fall into the hands of any other living soul.”

“I don't think we'll find him easily sir,” said Karpov. “Not in the short run. Look at your map. That's fairly hilly country north and west of Cartagena. He could set down anywhere in those mountains, and it might take us days to find him. He's obviously planned this very well. Who knows what he is going to do? Perhaps the lunatic doesn't even know himself.”

Fedorov was deeply concerned now. This was something totally unexpected, that one insane moment in the flow of events that could simply not be predicted no matter how carefully he had planned his course to the south. All he could think about was what effect this would have on all the history from this point forward. If Orlov survived, how might he changed things? He knew he was not an educated man, yet Orlov knew enough to cause real havoc if the information about days yet to come would ever be believed by anyone he encountered. Believed and acted upon…

Yet worse than this was the presence of the helicopter itself here in the middle of World War II. No matter how skillfully Orlov set it down, perhaps on some remote hilltop, one day it would be found and that discovery would have a dramatic and incalculable effect on the history. He lowered his head confused, angry, and frustrated. It was hard enough trying to learn how to command the ship when he had never been trained for such a position. He relied on the support of the Admiral, Captain Karpov, and his good officers here on the bridge. All it takes is one bad apple, he thought, and Orlov was as sour as they came. Why didn't he see it sooner? The man should've been left locked up in the brig. After the fire and incident with the KA-40 he thought Orlov might have a chance at redeeming himself, just as Karpov had. Now all that had gone to hell in one unpredictable moment, and how in the world could he possibly fix things this time? Where in all of his history books would you find a solution this time?