was a lesson his years at Gazprom had taught him very well. The longer you waited, the more chance your foe had to cover his tracks, or finagle some way of escaping your well set trap. He pushed this same thought forward in military terms. “American submarines can dive very deep, Admiral, particularly this class. We may lose them. Why not strike now while we have the contact and can plot a certain firing solution? We may not get a second chance with a submarine like this.”
The Captain had a good point, and Volsky knew it. In the grueling, silent game of ship versus sub, it was the undersea boat that always had the advantage. Victory would go to the side who heard the enemy first and established a good firing solution. A weapon active in the water, ready to acquire its target, was not even a sure defense against a stealthy attack submarine. Sixty percent of the time, a sub would hear and find the surface ship first, and also shoot first. And the ship that got off the first shot then had a strong possibility of surviving intact. Was the explosion they had experienced a first shot by this submarine, a warning intending to frighten and intimidate, as Karpov suggested? Clearly this was not a friendly submarine-or was it? The Admiral considered the possibility that this might even be the Orel, damaged but still alive. The damage could be masking the boat’s IFF signals and clouding Tasarov’s ESM readings. His heavy heart wanted to believe as much, so he decided to be very cautious here.
The Captain was just a little too quick to see ‘wood goblins’ in the taiga, or so the Admiral believed. If they fired on this contact and destroyed it, they would never know whether it was Orel. He decided to wait, unwilling to escalate the situation just yet, or to fully accept Karpov’s assertion that this was a NATO attack.
“Move the helicopter, Captain. We will observe the contact’s reaction and consider the matter further. And for good measure,” he turned to his navigator now, “Mister Fedorov, plot an intercept course and put us on that heading at once. Increase speed to 20 knots.” If this were Orel, and they could hear his helicopter above them, then perhaps the boat would surface, Volsky hoped.
“It’s very odd, sir…” Fedorov spoke up.
“What is very odd?”
“My GPS navigation systems are all still down, sir. The equipment appears to be operating correctly. I’ve tried three diagnostic tests, and even reset the entire array, but I cannot acquire any satellites. I’ll have to plot by other means.”
“We are probably still experiencing the aftereffects of this undersea explosion. Carry on.”
Karpov glanced at his Chief of Operations, and the two men met eyes, but Orlov said nothing. Reluctantly, the Captain ordered Nikolin to move the helicopter as the Admiral wished. But it was clear that he was uncomfortable with the situation, and wanted to take more aggressive action at once. He was fretting nervously, his hands still rubbing away the cold with frenetic movement.
Rodenko’s deep voice sounded yet another warning. He had been monitoring telemetry from the helicopters as well. “Con-Active radar reports new surface contact, sir. Now bearing two-zero-five degrees, 80 kilometers out.” Information was now winking onto his screens, as if the ship was awakening from the stupor that had enfolded it with the thick ice fog, and was slowly coming to its senses.
The Admiral raised his thick charcoal eyebrows, surprised with this new information, though he considered it in silence for the moment.
Karpov was not so contemplative. In his mind the new surface contact was an immediate vindication of his assessment that enemy forces were indeed operating against them now. Rodenko read the signal carefully and reported.
“This is a large signal, sir. Multiple ships, but very slow, speed no more than 15 knots.”
Who was this creeping up on them from the south, thought Volsky? A large signal? He rubbed his eyes, weary, his head still aching. “How many ships?”
Rodenko was not certain. “I make it ten, possibly twelve discrete contacts, sir. It appears to be a fairly large task force.”
“Air activity?” The Admiral wanted to know if an American carrier was coming to make their acquaintance.
“No air contacts reported, sir. This appears to be a surface action group, and they are running emissions tight. I get just the whisper of a faint radar signal. Perhaps they have found a way to drastically reduce their electronic signature, sir.”
A submarine on one side, and a large surface contact on the other, both apparently moving toward his ship like two predators stealthily stalking their prey. The Admiral considered the situation. He could feel Karpov's uneasiness, feel the Captain’s eyes upon him, waiting, impatient, and eager to take further action. He knew what his Captain would advise, but there was something about the scenario that just did not make sense. The enemy was creeping up on him, inching along at slow speed. If he were mounting such an attack, he would be surging in from both sides and, at this range, missiles would already be in the air, inbound on his ship with bad intent. The struggle for the first salvo was the first lesson of naval combat in the modern era. Both contacts were well within range of his ship, yet neither one had fired. Were they waiting for him to take the next move? Given these circumstances, he decided to be very wary here.
“Very well… Designate the undersea contact as Red Wolf One. It will be tracked by KA-40 Alpha. Designate the surface action group as Red Wolf Two. Move KA-40 Bravo toward Red Wolf Two at once,” he said. “Rodenko, do you have any ESM signatures that can assist in identifying these vessels?”
“No sir. At least not in the combat database.”
“Radio emissions?”
“No, sir,” said Nikolin. “The contact is observing complete radio silence. I read nothing on typical communications bands.”
“Move KA-40 Bravo, and tell them to use their long range HD cameras to give me a visual on this surface contact. Let’s see where the dog is buried here.” The Admiral wanted to get to the heart of the matter. “We will show them we know they are here, and find out just who they are at the same time. They are well within range and would've fired on us by now if they had any aggressive intentions. The same can be said for this submarine to our north, but given this development, I think we had best turn to face this surface action group. Mr. Fedorov, hold on that submarine intercept. Helmsman, Port fifteen. Put us into a gentle turn. We will keep station here until the helo report firms up this new contact.” He voiced his reasoning, looking directly at Karpov. “So let us have a closer look, gentlemen. I want to know what I am shooting at before I commit this ship to an act of war. But keep a wary eye on that undersea contact. Karpov may yet be correct.” He threw a bone to his Captain willing to consider any possible contingency until it was proven one way or another.
The tension on the bridge increased perceptively. Karpov was fluttering back and forth between Tasarov and Rodenko, looking at the signals traffic on their monitors though he did not understand what the readings meant. Nonetheless, he would point at the screens asking questions, what is that, what is this, and it was clear that Rodenko was becoming irritated over having to explain each and every item on his scope to the Captain.
On the other side of the Combat Information Center, Orlov was hovering near the heavy set Victor Samsonov where he was completing diagnostics on his primary weapons systems. Samsonov was one of the few men the Chief never bothered much. His girth and strength were the equal of Orlov, and Samsonov was a thick-necked warrior, the hard fist of the ship when it came to battle. So Orlov had naturally befriended the man, often chatting with him on the bridge and standing close by when the smell of imminent violence was in the air.
The previous year, just after Kirov was commissioned and out for her very first sea trials, the ship had caught a Somali pirate skiff in the Gulf of Aden on Orlov’s watch. The Chief did not hesitate to take direct and immediate action. He told Nikolin to order the boat to stand by and be boarded, and when the pirates failed to comply he increased speed, closed on the skiff, and ordered one of the close in defense Gatling guns to tear it to pieces, laughing under his breath when he saw the effect of the gun on the small boat.
“That will teach them a thing or two,” he said, clapping Samsonov on the shoulder. The weapons officer was the kind of man Orlov understood and respected, one who’s training and disposition would see him solving any perceived problem with something in the ship’s considerable weapons inventory. It was as if the Chief inherently understood Samsonov, and saw him as a kind of protege.
Yet Samsonov’s boards were clean of distinguishable ESM data as well, Orlov noted. Whatever was out there, it did not conform to any of the signatures for known Western combat vessels. There were no active radars ranging on them, which was another reason why he believed the Admiral had hesitated to take further action. In spite of Karpov's frenetic energy, the Chief was beginning to feel that this was not a planned strike mission after all. What
