might be?”
Admiral Volsky nodded, agreeing with his old friend.” I had this same thought the first moment we had to fire on that ship,” he said.
“Think of it,” said Zolkin. “The British have no idea what they're dealing with. There's almost a quality of innocence about them as I think this through. They are like children, yet they are men, brave men, and they will fight to the bitter end if we threaten their lifeline in the Atlantic.”
“We are men as well,” said Karpov, “are we not? And this crew will fight, if we lead them.”
“True,” said Zolkin, “but you must carry fire in one hand and water in the other. Do not be so quick to look for war here, Captain, it will find you all on its own. After all, Mister Fedorov makes a good point. The whole world is at war. Then we come along and you want to jump right into the borscht! One does not take a samovar to Tula.”
Volsky smiled at this. The city of Tula was renowned for making the finest samovars in the world, and no one would ever bring one with them when visiting there. The fires of war and conflict here were already well kindled. The flames of the Second World War were only just beginning, but soon they would become a conflagration that would consume most of the developed world.
“ Kirov is a powerful fighting ship, to be sure,” said Zolkin, “but how long could she stand against the combined armed might of the Western Allies we have just fired on?”
“The Doctor also makes a good point about this ship.” The Admiral pressed his thick finger on the table. “Yes we have power, but all power has limits. We must hold the reins tightly for a while and think this situation through carefully. And should it come to that moment when we perceive that the ship may fall into the hands of any other nation, then we must destroy her first. That will be a standing order that every man here must agree and swear to before this begins. As to that desert island you talk about, Dmitri, I hope it has lots of pretty Polynesian girls!” He forced a smile, lightening the mood somewhat.
“But before it comes to such a weighty decision, we will have much to think about. Much to plan and consider. The Captain made an interesting point earlier when he suggested that a prudent and measured application of force at just the right place and time may be all that is necessary to make the world our country lives in just a little better in our day if we should choose to do so. That said, it is the British we must nudge, and perhaps the Americans. Most of the German army is deep inside Russia now. Only our ten cruise missiles could range that far, and then only if we were firing from the Baltic Sea. I do not think we will go there. What impact would we have? It would be like throwing stones at ants. We will not easily change the situation on the eastern front. And yes, we don't fight for Stalin in any case. Who would fight for that man knowing what we now know about him? But there will be a Russia after he is gone, and there will be one seventy years from now, even if none of us may ever live to see her again…”
They stood in silence for some time, their eyes downcast, each man lost in his own inner thoughts, thinking of home, thinking of girlfriends, wives, mothers, children that they would never see again. How long could they last? How much pain would they inflict before that awful moment when the final decision came to end it? How many of them would live out this year, or the next? All of these thoughts ran through their minds, a haunting chorus of unanswered questions and riddles with no end.
They all seemed to share that cup of toska together now, yet it was something only Karpov would not drink. There was no one back home to miss him now. All he left behind was his own closeted life, and the creaking system that had grown up in Russia during the arduous second “great depression” of the early 21st century. In some ways he felt adrift now, like a ship that had been moored at harbor, rusting away, suddenly swept out to sea in a raging storm. All the mooring lines were cut, their anchor lost, as they were lost now on a sea that seemed all too familiar, although it was a world of complete unknowns.
While the others felt the yearning nostalgic sadness of toska, Karpov’s reaction was more one of anxiety. He had been creeping and climbing through that old system back home for some time, and had come to know its every nook and cranny. Like a mouse in a mansion, he knew where to find the bread crumbs on the old kitchen floor, and where to find the cheese. All of that was gone now, and it left him strangely afraid as his mind felt its way through the sea of shadows that hid their immediate future from them. But there were possibilities in those shadows, he knew, and opportunities.
To calm that thrum of fear in his chest, the Captain was soon thinking of something else, his mind occupied with the immediacy of their situation. The British had a good look at them just now, and as much as he hated to admit it, Fedorov had been correct. They will soon be marshalling their resources to hunt for them. Karpov was already thinking what they might do about that when the Admiral led them forward again with the same thought.
“On the other hand,” said Volsky. “We are a naval fighting ship, and in this we have the power to considerably affect the conduct of the war at sea in the Atlantic if we choose to do so. But we must take things slowly, as the good doctor says. Should we fight here? For either side? If we do, then what do we propose to accomplish? We must give ourselves a little breathing room first, and time to think on these things. We could stay up here, in the cold Arctic sea. It is not much traveled, and we're fast enough to keep well ahead of anything that tries to run us down.”
“But there is not much room to maneuver here,” said Karpov, his mind sizing up their predicament from a tactical perspective. “The temptation to return home to Severomorsk will be very great, particularly when the winter comes in just a few months. This will be a very cruel place to live and fight.”
“Then we are faced with the prospect of breaking out into the Atlantic,” said the Admiral. “If we do so, we must move south. Word is only now just reaching the British Admiralty, as you suggest, Mister Fedorov. We are in a good position to transit the Denmark Strait. I think it best that we run on through and out into the Atlantic. With our knowledge of the history we can keep ahead of the enemy for some time. I do not think we will suffer the fate of Bismarck, hunted down and killed in just a few days time. Eventually we might work our way down into the South Atlantic and around the Cape of Good Hope into the Indian Ocean. Those waters are less traveled as well, and therefore less dangerous. Perhaps we could look for one of those little islands Doctor Zolkin was talking about. We have unlimited fuel in our nuclear reactors, but we must also keep our bellies full, yes? There is food aboard for thirty days or more, but eventually we will have to seek a landfall somewhere to replenish our stocks, and I do not think we can sail into any port nearby, yes? But for now, one thing at a time, let us get to the Denmark Strait and out into the North Atlantic. I'm tired of this cold gray place.”
“You propose we turn this ship into a simple convoy raider? Or worse, that we just slink off to the Indian Ocean?” Karpov tapped his fingernail on the table as he spoke, a habit he had when ready to argue a point.
“I would not underestimate the impact of a convoy raider,” said Fedorov, “assuming we did decide to oppose the British. The Germans had a few very successful sorties. Not every ship suffered Bismarck’s fate. The Admiral Scheer sunk well over 100,000 tons before making it safely back to a friendly port. Scharnhorst and Gneisenau fought well together, and there were others like the raider Atlantis and the armed commercial ship Penguin that made remarkable sorties.”
“Yes, and none of them mattered in the long run,” said Karpov. “We could cruise out into the middle of the Atlantic and become little more than a rock in the stream. They would simply divert convoys to the north and south of our position. And even if we pursued them, we could sink sixty merchant ships before our missile inventory would be expended, or even a hundred ships considering our deck guns, and it would all have little real impact on the war. We do not have a friendly port to go home to and replenish our ammunition. Every U-boat the Germans put to sea had no effect in the end, and they sank considerably more than a hundred ships, yes?”
“In that you are correct, sir. The U-boats sank nearly 2800 ships, accounting for about 70 % of all allied ship losses in the war.”
“And look what good it did them. No. If we want to have any real impact on events then we must work to bring about a situation where the power we have will be feared and respected by our enemies to a point where they may be willing to negotiate.”
“Negotiate? What do you mean, Captain?” asked the Admiral. “Do you expect Great Britain and the United States to surrender to this ship?”
Karpov hesitated, as if unwilling to reveal the full dimension of his thinking, but he continued. He glanced briefly at Orlov, but the Chief seemed lost in some inner muse, listening, but eyes averted as he fiddled with a folded pocket knife.
“This ship is not merely a tactical threat to the allied sea lanes. Our sea power does not rely solely on our limited ship-to-ship missile inventory, or our speed, or the fact that we can out think and out maneuver our
