his hand firm on his weapon.
The situation had changed now from one where the authority flowed from the protocols of rank and command structure to one where muscle and steel held sway. It was a world Orlov knew well, for he often used his own brawn to intimidate and harass the crew, imposing his surly will on any whom he found to be remiss in their duties. But Troyak was an unmovable rock, he knew. He stood there in full battle array, a black Kevlar body shield covering his broad chest, combat helmet pulled low on his forehead, weapon at hand and those dark slits of eyes watching, waiting, yet revealing nothing.
Orlov looked at the Captain and said: “Consequences, Karpov. Consequences.”
“Nonsense!” Karpov strode over to the CIC, reaching for his command key with the intent of making a coded request for dual control of the ship’s systems. The ship’s guns were still firing at the American destroyers, fully automatic, as the tension on the bridge wound to the breaking point.
“Sir,” said Troyak, coldly. “I must request that you surrender your command key at once.”
The Captain ignored him, seating himself before the command module, his key in hand. Troyak moved so quickly that even Orlov was stunned at the man’s speed. He took three brisk steps, and placed the muzzle of his assault rifle directly against the Captain’s head. A second later his hand was on Karpov’s, gripping it like a cold metal clamp.
Karpov yelled and the key slipped from his squashed hand, snatched up in one sharp movement by the marine sergeant, who then jerked his arm back and snapped the thin beaded metal chain that secured the key around Karpov’s neck. The Captain grimaced, clasping his hand where the sergeant had gripped it, and then rubbing the side of his neck.
“Your pardon, sir,” said Troyak, stepping back into a position where he could easily see every station on the bridge. He handed the key to one of his marines. “Take this to the Admiral,” he said. Then he resumed his position with his back to the far bulkhead, stolid, implacable and silent, as if nothing had happened.
The marine stepped through the hatch, quickly on his way to the battle bridge with a silver message that would tell the Admiral the ship was finally secure. At that moment, a mishman near the forward viewing screen called out. “The ocean!” he exclaimed. “Look at the sea!”
Karpov turned, a pained expression still on his face, and looked out towards the distant horizon. “You will pay for this insult,” he said, pointing at Troyak, but his gaze was soon riveted to the great white cloud in the distance, looming over the gray horizon and clearly visible as it broiled up into the atmosphere. He knew the ship was much too far from the epicenter of the detonation to suffer any ill effects, but he did see a large swelling wave rolling towards them, the leading edge of the tsunami generated by the blast wave. It was still near 40 feet high at this range, but Kirov was a big ship, 900 feet in length and with a good beam. She rode it well, rising up and then surging back down into the sea again as the battlecruiser slid into the deep trough, her bow awash with fuming white seawater.
The American destroyers did not fare so well. Two were swamped, the others forced to maneuver quickly to turn their bows into the wave, where they still floundered in the chaotic sea. But the great wave had one side benefit-its water helped quash the many raging fires aboard the destroyers as they struggled forward through the smoke of battle.
The mishman continued to point, however, and Karpov got up and stepped closer to the view screen, peering through the thick shatter proof glass and squinting as the external wipers sloshed back and forth to clear the spray of seawater. To his amazement, the ocean was rippled with a phosphorescent tide, an eerie glow of quavering green and gold.
“What in God’s name is going on?”
Everyone just stared at the scene in silence.
Chapter 33
Admiral Volsky braced himself against a bulkhead when the ship rolled with the great wave. Karpov! That fool had fired a nuclear warhead against his expressed order. God only knows what he has done now, he thought. His mind raced, as he tried to get a grip on the tactical situation.
“Cease fire on those deck guns!” said Volsky. “Shut them down.” Then to Fedorov he said: “Can you examine Mister Kalinichev’s radar and tell me what I am looking at?”
Fedorov moved quickly, the Admiral coming to his side as both men hovered over Kalinichev at Radar 1. “Sir, I read four surface action groups. That is the coast of Newfoundland. The first is close in to our position, probably smaller destroyers of Desron 7 we were engaging with our forward batteries. The second group was probably hit by our warhead. Not much left it now, sir, as you can see. That smudge there must be the detonation. Groups three and four would most likely be Royal Navy units. It looks like the Captain fired a conventional missile barrage at group four earlier-most likely a collection of the forces that have been pursuing us this far, sir. That would be the British Home Fleet, probably commanded by Admiral Tovey. They were hit, but that group is still reading six viable surface contacts.”
The Admiral nodded, his face drawn and serious. “And the number three contact?”
“It’s track shows it arriving from the southeast, sir. This can only be Force H under Admiral Somerville from Gibraltar.”
“Gibraltar?” Volsky raised his heavy brows. “You were correct about these British. They have put to sea with everything they have. Will there be an aircraft carrier there?”
“Aye, sir. The Ark Royal. She probably has two or three squadrons aboard, with veteran pilots.”
“And Group two?”
My guess is that it was composed of the ships that were originally bound for Iceland. The Americans were escorting the second of many relief convoys to reinforce their garrison there. That group was probably Task Force 16, built around the battleship Mississippi. There were two cruisers and five destroyers escorting four transports, but we only read one ship there now. Probably the battleship. It’s the only ship that might have had the armor to survive intact, but I wouldn’t want to be aboard her now, sir. The detonation was very close and there would have been an enormous shock and base surge of ocean water from the explosion of our warhead.”
Volsky nodded. “How close are those destroyers?”
“I read five contacts still afloat there, sir,” said Fedorov. “ Desron 7 was the large destroyer escort accompanying Task Force 19 en route to Argentia Bay. Their speed has fallen off with the blast wave and tsunami shaking them up pretty badly. The range looks to be over 10,000 meters now. We’re still making 30 knots. I doubt if they’ll get any closer if we turn away.”
“Range 12,000 meters now and increasing,” said Kalinichev, to be exact.
The Admiral sighed heavily, his eyes troubled. “Karpov has more than likely put another two or three thousand men into the sea.”
“ Mississippi had over a thousand aboard,” said Fedorov. “Cruiser Quincy had another eight hundred. She was supposed to be sunk a year and a day from now, on August 9th 1942 at the battle of Salvo Island off Guadalcanal. But I’m afraid the Japanese will be denied, sir. The other cruiser, Wichita, served with distinction in both the Atlantic and Pacific, and survived the war.”
“But not this war,” said Volsky. “Another eight hundred men gone there…” He rubbed his forehead as Doctor Zolkin watched him closely.
“Very well. Helm, come about, take us north, away from those destroyers. I want to pay a visit to Mister Karpov and resume command from the main bridge. Thank you gentlemen,” he said to his young junior officers. “I may be calling you to duty on the main bridge as well after I have sorted this mess through. Mister Fedorov, Doctor Zolkin, would you both accompany me, please?”
They stepped through the hatch, then the Admiral peeked back at his men and said: “You have the bridge, Mister Gromenko. But don’t get trigger happy, please.”
“Aye, sir.” Gromenko smiled. It was the first time in his career that he had official control of a fighting ship. He assigned his station to another petty officer and stepped ever so quietly to the command chair. He looked at it for a moment, thinking, then sat quietly down, a look of profound satisfaction on his young face, and a gleam of joy in his eyes.
