commander worth his salt would make such an approach? Then something else occurred to him and he spoke his mind.
“Perhaps these ships are here to investigate very same incident we have been involved with,” he suggested. “They may have detected this explosion, and dispatched a task force to the area for further information.”
Admiral Volsky nodded, his eyes grave and serious now. “And so we must be very cautious, gentlemen. Very, very cautious. You all know that we can ill afford another incident where NATO forces are concerned.” He leaned heavily on the word incident, a not so veiled reference to the loss of the destroyer Admiral Levchenko in the Mediterranean the previous year when she was maneuvering at high speed and collided with a NATO cruiser in bad weather. “Mister Samsonov, no active combat radars will be locked on Red Wolf Two until we have further information as to their intentions, is that clear?”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Samsonov's deep basso confirmed the Admiral's order. The big, broad shouldered man sat easily in his chair, radiating confidence that one might expect from one in his position. He sat at the business end of the most powerful surface combatant in the Russian Navy, and oceangoing gladiator. His short cropped hair, chiseled features, and burly muscularity fit the image well. Samsonov was a warrior, and eager to fight. Though he could not know then just how busy he would be in the hours and days ahead.
Chapter 6
When the video feed from the KA-40 finally reached Rodenko's combat information center, the situation took a sudden and very unexpected turn. If Admiral Volsky thought he was perplexed before, this latest news was completely confounding. It seemed that every attempt they made to clarify the situation only seemed to muddy the waters around them, presenting impossible circumstances that they struggled to understand.
The ship’s navigator, Fedorov, was keenly interested in the images on the screen, yet his face registered obvious disbelief and surprise. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smart phone, swiping at the screen to activate an application. Moments later he was comparing images from the helo video feed to the photos he had stored on his cell phone, a bemused look on his face.
“Those are British ships,” he began, hesitating somewhat. “But they are clearly not modern vessels. I have the entire database of Royal Navy ships back to the year 1900 right here.” He hefted his cell phone and showed them the application. “These ships are antiquated… Old World War II class vessels.”
Karpov listened, strait faced as any listener must when he heard preposterous nonsense masquerading as truth, like good, well-told vranyo over a drink at a bar. But this was no bar, and the Captain was in no mood for flights of fancy. “ Tufta, nonsense,” he said, breaking form and pointing at the screen. “Now you are hanging noodles from your ears, Fedorov. What are you saying, that they have dragged these ships out of mothball? Perhaps they are planning to use them for target practice just as we were with Slava. Go and chase the wind.” It was clear that the Captain thought he might have more success with that than with this outlandish analysis.
“You don't understand,” said Fedorov. “I am not trying to fool you, Captain, or be glib here. That looks like an Illustrious class aircraft carrier.” He pointed at the screen, suddenly sure of what he was seeing. “It is most likely HMS Victorious, and she was sold off to the ship breakers for demolition in…” he squinted at his application, “1969.” Anton Fedorov was not lying, even if he believed his own eyes might be fooling him. He was a long time naval history buff with a particular interest in World War II. Now he was peering at the live video feed, shoulders hunched, his cap askew on a head full of thick brown hair, and he could not believe what his eyes were telling him. “That ship,” he pointed, “is even older! It looks like HMS Furious, sir, in service with the Royal Navy until 1948. You see? The typical island superstructure is completely missing. No one has designed anything like that for decades. Look at the way the forward edge of the flight deck is curved above that long, narrow bow. It’s the Furious. I’m certain of it, Captain.”
Karpov was not persuaded “This is no time to be foolish, Fedorov. Talk sense! Don’t try to tell me these ships were dragged out of the shipping yards and put back in service. We may have to resort to such measures, but our fat capitalists here do not.”
“No sir, I’m telling you these ships were scrapped — years ago! There is no way they could be put back in service.” Fedorov had a look of complete amazement on his face. “Good lord, what in the world is going on here?”
Karpov just stared at him. “You’ve spent too many hours with your nose in those history books of yours, Lieutenant, and like any good liar you begin to believe your own vranyo. This is not possible. There has to be another explanation.” Karpov refused to believe what his navigator was telling him. These had to be modern British aircraft carriers, and he said as much. But Fedorov was quick to correct him.
“With all due respect, sir, the only ship in the Royal Navy that might look anything like this carrier here,” he pointed, “would be their new HMS Queen Elizabeth. And look, sir, there’s not even any discernable island on that other carrier. There’s no modern British carrier in such a design. That has to be HMS Furious, sir. She was just a converted battlecruiser with a single deck running the full length of the hull.”
“Nonsense,” said Karpov, shaking his head.
“But sir, Queen Elizabeth is a full fleet sized carrier. 65,000 tons, and the ship we have on video is just a light carrier by comparison. Perhaps 22,000 tons. Queen Elizabeth is the newest addition to the British fleet, and her signature would be unmistakable to us on radar. We've already cataloged her ESM emissions long ago. And if that were Queen Elizabeth, the airspace above her would be well patrolled. Yet this fleet is moving in complete silence, with virtually no radio or radar emissions of any type. No air cover. These are simply not modern vessels, sir. I am certain of it.”
Admiral Volsky was standing behind the two men, his eyes fixed on the view screen, his mind also struggling to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing. He liked Fedorov, and often talked with him about the old war, and he had come to respect the young man’s passion and knowledge on the subject. So instead of dismissing him, as Karpov clearly did, he pressed for more information. “Those other ships?” He asked, pointing at two sizable vessels steaming to either side of the two carriers.
Fedorov squinted at the screen, then smiled, amazed, but certain of what he was seeing. “Admiral, those are two Kent class British cruisers, 14,000 tons full load. Look, those turrets there on the forward section are mounting heavy 8 inch guns. No ship has carried that kind of armament since the Second World War. In fact, the keels on those ships were laid down in the mid-1920s, and they mostly entered service by 1926. Many survived the war, but not a single one escaped the salvage yards, sir. The ships simply do not exist any longer.”
“You are certain of this?”
“Yes, sir, the three stacks amidships are unmistakable. I would know that silhouette anywhere.”
“Then we are looking at a ghost fleet?” Karpov protested. “This is preposterous! I have heard a lot of guff in my day, Fedorov, but this tops it all. It's nonsense, I tell you.”
“It's there,” said Admiral Volsky gesturing at the video. “Or are you suggesting the British are feeding us this video footage with some new electronic warfare gizmo?”
Karpov raised his eyebrows, thinking a moment. “That may be possible, sir.” His eyes widened as he spoke, quick to latch on to anything that would allow him to fit what he was seeing into some understandable point of reference and dispel the illusion that Fedorov was spinning out. “This could all be part of some elaborate ruse, designed to confuse us. Some kind of electronic warfare, perhaps a NATO PSYOP. That strange explosion we experienced hours ago may have been the opening salvo.”
Official deception was something Karpov could deal with much more easily. He presented the situation as a deliberate attempt by their enemies to deceive. Russians had been subjected to so many official lies over the years that they became almost incapable of recognizing truth. Their own language even used the same verb to describe coming and going, and so in that sense, a Russian never quite knew where he stood, or wither he was bound. Karpov heard Fedorov’s arguments, and deep inside he knew something was terribly wrong with the ships on the video feed, but he could not accept what the man was saying. A deliberate hoax, aimed as an attack, was the only thing that made sense to him now.
“Orlov?” The Admiral wanted to know what his Chief of Operations thought, but Orlov looked as confused as anyone. He had idled with Fedorov at times, the two of them also sharing stories of the second war where both their grandfathers had served, but this was difficult to believe. “I don't know what to think, Admiral. But, as it is
