enough.
Fedorov went on his way, and so did Karpov, but the Captain had no intention of asking the Admiral a thing. He made his way directly towards the senior officer’s quarters, intent on finding this book and having a look for himself while the Admiral was busy on the bridge. The situation reminded him of his days in the university library, where he jealously guarded the reserved stacks, controlling access and doling out volumes to those he favored while denying them to others. A brash young arbitura, a freshman, had the temerity to sneak into the reserve vault and take out a reference volume while he was busy with another student. At first he thought to severely punish the lad for trying to bypass his authority, but inwardly, he admired the student’s initiative and guts. The boy saw an opportunity and he took it. It was something he might have done himself, he knew. So he let the matter pass.
Now Karpov would do a little snooping around on his own to see what was on the Admiral’s mind. He had mentioned the Atlantic Charter in their initial briefings, this secret meeting between Churchill and Roosevelt. That had to be uppermost in Volsky’s mind now, but what was he planning? Karpov intended to find out. There were some things, he thought, that were simply a Captain's prerogative.
Karpov was pleased to find the Admiral’s cabin door unlocked, and as this gangway was for senior officers only, there was little risk that he would be seen by a member of the crew. He slipped inside, flipping on a light and scanning the room and desk for any sign of the book. It was there on the night stand, and he was soon sitting at the Admiral’s desk, flipping to the bookmarked pages to locate August of 1941, looking for information on the Atlantic Charter conference. It was not long before he learned the details. Churchill and Roosevelt were at sea, this very moment, and bound for a secret meeting in Newfoundland! It was all there, the ships they would travel in, and their escorts, the timing of their arrival.
The Captain smiled, his eyes narrowing. All these high ranking officers in one place. What a catch that would make, he thought. One well placed round, or a well targeted missile barrage could take them all out in a single blow, decapitating the American and British armed forces and eliminating these two vital heads of state as well. Could the US and Britain recover from such a loss? Would the men who replaced these giants have the courage and resolve to prosecute the war as Roosevelt and Churchill clearly did? All he had to do was get within firing range. A single missile could do all the rest, as long as he chose the right warhead.
The Admiral’s strict order prohibiting the deployment of nuclear weapons was unwise, he thought. The impossible circumstances of this mission had to have some meaning. Kirov was here for a reason. She was bearing down on a time and place in history where her presence and firepower could make a profound impact. He doubted that they would ever again have an opportunity like the one that was before them now.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll peck away at Royal Navy ships and then run off into the Atlantic to hide,” he said aloud. No. This was the time and the place. Volsky was correct that the judicious application of force was necessary here, but he was too cautious, too slow to perceive the true nature of the opportunity now before them. Yet he was the Admiral, and the men would follow his lead…unless…
That pulse of anxiety leapt in his chest again with his next thought. His reflex would have been to get a message through to Severomorsk and seek to bypass Volsky by appealing to the Naval Board, or even to Navy Chief Suchkov himself. But Suchkov was not there. Severomorsk was not even there, at least not the same city he knew. There was no one senior in the ranks he could appeal to. The matter had to be decided here, on this ship. Kirov was all that mattered now. Kirov had the power to change everything, as long as she had the men aboard her with the will to do what was necessary.
How could he convince the Admiral? He could try to bring Doctor Zolkin around to his point of view. The Admiral respected the Doctor’s opinion, and Zolkin was actually a Captain of the Second Rank, one rung above Orlov in the chain of command. He was not trained in the running of the ship, however, but his rank gave him power, particularly as the ship’s physician. Yet the more he thought on this the more he realized what Zolkin was likely to say to him. The man was weak kneed. He was a healer and caretaker; a lamb and not a wolf. He realized an appeal to Zolkin would be fruitless.
What about Volsky’s new lap dog, Fedorov? The Lieutenant had maneuvered himself very close to the Admiral in recent days. He dismissed him earlier, but it was clear that Fedorov had one thing that was useful in this situation-knowledge. He was, in fact, the keeper of the books now. Fedorov’s little library held information that would be vital to them all in the days ahead. He was using that information skillfully, doling it out, like honey in the Admiral’s tea. Perhaps he had underestimated the Lieutenant. The man was demonstrating an understated craftiness worthy of the Captain himself.
Menja naduli! He’s fooled me, thought Karpov, realizing he had been duped by the young officer. I warn him to watch his mouth and he gives me those big, innocent brown eyes. Yes, Fedorov had been very clever, and very bold. He was naive enough to believe what his eyes were telling him from the very first look he had at that long range video feed. Perhaps he saw what he wanted to see there, what he delighted in with his bookish reading and study. But he was correct; he has been one step ahead of me all along! He discretely fed this vital information to the Admiral while denying me access. Now he was going so far as to insert his opinions on the bridge, even contradicting me right in front of the Admiral.
The Captain had overlooked the man before, thinking him to be no real threat, but now he reconsidered the matter. Fedorov… What else did he have in his pockets? Perhaps he should have another little chat with the man and sound him out a bit more; see what else he knew. He might use Fedorov to help him persuade the Admiral. But that failing…
Karpov thought about that problem for some time. Then he closed the book, a wary and harried look on his face. The thought in his head now was unlike anything he had ever considered before. If he could not appeal to Severomorsk, and if there was no one else on the ship he could use to bend the Admiral’s mind on this, then he had no other choice but to act himself, boldly, directly. Somehow that thought made him very uncomfortable. Yet he let his mind wander down that corridor for a moment, considering his options. I will need Orlov, he thought, and Troyak. The rest will be of no concern.
Chapter 20
Admiral Tovey was still fretting over the fact that his Prime Minister was now at sea in an active war zone as he sized up the situation. He realized that he may soon have a battle in front of him in which the presence of Prince of Wales could prove very valuable to him. But he could not afford to let that ship come anywhere near the Denmark Strait now, in spite of his earlier bluster with Brind, and so he strongly advised the Admiralty to route it by a more secure, southerly course. In fact, almost every convoy scheduled between the United States and Great Britain had also been deviously rerouted in the weeks from mid-July through tenth of August so as to clear the seas along the intended route the Prime Minister would travel. The logic was that if the convoys weren't there the U-boats would not be there either.
Admiral Tovey hoped the decision had worked in his favor as well, as he had already been forced to detach his destroyer screen to Iceland for refueling, and was now calling on Vian’s two cruisers in Force K to effect a rendezvous with him for additional support. The American PBY spotting confused as much as it helped, though he had not seen the valuable photographs taken of the enemy ship. The description of a large cruiser or commercial armed vessel dovetailed with what the British had already discovered about this mysterious new German raider.
“Could the Germans have modified one of their other cruisers and built a hybrid carrier, Brind? All the spotting reports mentioned smaller secondary type batteries aft, yet the forward deck was largely clear, except for these cargo hatches reported. Do you suppose the Germans have some way of deploying a makeshift deck platform there for launching planes? That would account for the relatively few air contacts we’ve had. If this is Graf Zeppelin I would expect to see more air activity, yet this American PBY just waltzed right in and got their sighting, completely unchallenged.”
Brind wanted to stick with his assessment that this was, indeed Graf Zeppelin, but with only a very few modified planes, experimental models the Germans were testing on sea trials with their new Ack-Ack rocket defense. “Suppose Wake-Walker simply spoiled the party, sir, and came up on this ship while it was testing. He forced it to run west and south, and it may have had no intention of breaking out until Force P got in on the hunt. And as for that PBY sighting, the Germans may have been cautious about engaging the Americans if they sighted
