emergency situation, and that we have lost position fix and contact with Orel and Slava. Asked them if these ships have reported home.”
He turned to find Captain Karpov and Chief Orlov. “Gentlemen, please join me in the briefing room.”
The three men proceeded to a secure room off the citadel, the eyes of the ever more nervous bridge crew following them as they went. Once inside the Admiral closed the door and leaned heavily on the table. “Your thoughts, Captain,” he said following proper protocol in engaging Karpov first.
“I did what I thought most appropriate, sir.” Karpov defended himself immediately. “There was clearly an explosion of some kind, and it appeared to me that it may have been a detonation from a torpedo. I took evasive action as specified by command procedures.”
“That is not what I am asking you,” said the Admiral. “Do you not find it even passing strange that a moment ago we were sailing in rising winds and seas, and now we're looking at calming conditions and fog? Did this explosion chase the wind away? Where's the weather front Rodenko has been warning us about for the last two hours? Did you notice the barometer? It was at 990 millibars and falling, but has now risen to well over 1000.”
“But Admiral, we saw it, felt it!” Gennadi Orlov, the ship’s Chief of Staff seemed to side with Karpov on the matter. ”There was a detonation of some kind.”
“Yes, I felt that as well. The shock wave nearly threw me against the bulkhead. My first thought is that something had happened to Orel, and the fact that we have no fix on her position now leads me to think Rudnikov may have had more of a problem than he was letting on. Yet if one of his warheads went off we should still see it well above the surface.”
“You think one of his missiles exploded, sir?”
“It has happened before,” said Admiral Volsky. “Do you forget what happened to the Kursk?”
“I remember only too well what happened to the Kursk,” said Karpov, his voice laden with sarcasm. “It was attacked by an American submarine. Then the families were paid off with blood money shipped over from Washington.”
Volsky frowned. Many in the navy knew the real reason Kursk had sunk, but few would have been brazen enough to state it as Karpov had. The Admiral shook his head. “That aside, what happened to the weather? I have known conditions in the Arctic seas to change suddenly, but never like this.”
“Clearly, we need more information, Admiral.” Karpov folded his arms, a worried look on his face, his eyes darting this way and that as he considered. The logic of what the Admiral had asserted was plain to him, but it made no sense.
“There has to be something wrong with the ship’s sensors,” said Orlov. “This was no ordinary explosion. It was very energetic, and we may have sustained damage. Yes, I feel it may have been a nuclear detonation, sir. Perhaps there is nothing on Rodenko's screen because his systems are all whacked up.”
“Perhaps, but I do not need the Rodenko’s radar system to tell me what the weather is like,” said Volsky. “We will get the equipment sorted out, but for now we will proceed to rendezvous with Slava's last known position. It may be that Orel was damaged herself, and is not able to communicate, perhaps she has even suffered a more grievous fate. We will not know that anytime soon. But what we do know is that the cruiser Slava should be south of our position towing targeting barges, easy enough to find.”
“Then why can't we see her on radar, sir?” said Karpov.
“It's the equipment, I tell you.” Orlov was adamant. “There was an electromagnetic pulse of some kind. It may not have been strong enough to disable our systems, but there could be damage.”
Orlov was a practical man, big, rough hewn, and easily irritated. Yet he held his emotions tightly in hand in spite of the obvious danger inherent in the situation. Something had exploded. Something was wrong. His was a mind and hand that would first reach for a wrench or spanner to fix the problem. Afterwards he would find out who was responsible and grill them to a hard char. His thick woolen cap was pulled low on his forehead, heavy brows frowning as he spoke. And when he mentioned possible damage, the Admiral could also perceive just a hint of blame in his voice, as if Orlov was already running down the system maintenance roster in his mind, looking to single out an unfortunate mishman, or midshipman, to goad and blame for the mishap.
“Very well,” the Admiral intervened. “Initiate full, ship-wide systems checks. Every system, every component. Then, until we hear from Severomorsk, we will continue south to rendezvous with Slava's last known position. If there was such a pulse as you describe, Orlov, then she may have sustained damage as well. This would account for the radio silence.”
“But it could be an attack, Admiral.” Karpov still had a nervous, anxious look on his face.
“A single missile? A single torpedo? Perhaps, Karpov, but would you attack in such a manner?”
“With nuclear weapons, one is enough, sir.”
“True, but to miss by a margin sufficient to leave us afloat? This is very unlikely. And no follow-on attack? You are assuming that the enemy sensors are damaged as well, and that they do not know we are still here, steaming quietly at 10 knots with active sonar pinging away just a moment ago?”
Karpov raised his eyebrows. It didn't make sense. And when things did not fit into his carefully ordered perception of the world he was soon at his wits end. If the ship were his to command he would be on an alternate evasive heading at thirty knots. “Have you considered the possibility that Slava may have been destroyed as well, sir?”
“I am considering every possibility, Captain. And I take your concerns under advisement. That is why we will investigate this matter further. If Slava is there, then we will find her, or at least the targeting barges she was towing. If this was an attack, I do not think the enemy would have any interest and sinking them.”
“But what if Slava was also targeted with a nuclear warhead, sir? The barges would have been destroyed as well.”
“Time will tell. And to shorten the wait, let's get the KA-226 up immediately. It will be over Slava's position in 10 minutes.”
He was referring to the KA-226 scout helicopter carried on the aft quarter of the ship. It was ideal when used in an extended reconnaissance role like this.
“See to it, Karpov. Let us answer your questions once and for all. Tell them to rig radiation detection sensors and drop sonar and infrared detection buoys if they make no visual contact with Slava after they reach her last plotted position. If this was an attack, then it should be obvious to us very soon. Even if Slava were sunk, we should still be able to detect the wreckage on the seafloor, particularly on infrared. In the meantime, the ship is at action stations and we will complete our systems diagnostics to assure ourselves we can function should it come to a fight. At the moment we have no targets, gentlemen. So there is nothing more to be done. Now, get that helicopter into the air at once.”
Twenty minutes later they got their first report, yet even the radio transmission seemed distant, distorted and almost garbled at times. This merely added to Karpov’s suspicion that the atmosphere was still experiencing effects of a recent nuclear detonation. And when the KA-226 reported no sign of the Slava, or of any of her towed barges, the Captain was even more certain that the task force had been attacked. He paced anxiously on the bridge, his eyes searching the thickening fog ahead of them as if he expected to see incoming missiles at any moment.
Yet the Admiral sat calmly on his chair, his eyes narrowed with that vacant look of inward thought that so clearly signaled to the others that he was not be disturbed at the moment. What had happened to the rest of his task force? There were 465 men aboard Slava, and another 100 on Orel. Where in god’s name were they? The feeling that had bothered him all morning was back again. He had a clear sense that something profound had happened, but he could not discern what it was. What if Karpov was correct and this was war?
Would NATO launch a surprise attack like this, perhaps from a stealthy submarine that had been lurking undetected in the region? Orel and Slava were gone, yet his ship, the only real threat in the task force, was untouched. The more he considered this the more he began to feel that this had been another accident. Yet if Orel had suffered an accident, where was Slava? She was farther away from the sub’s position than Kirov and should have been well outside the effect radius of a 15 kiloton explosion. These odd incongruities frustrated and blocked his thinking, like pieces of a puzzle that would simply not fit, no matter how hard he tried to force them into a coherent picture.
The rest of the bridge crew sat silent at their posts, watchful, wary, and somewhat on edge. Tasarov had a pained, worrisome expression on his young face. He was checking and rechecking his system, adjusting settings, listening intently, his hand running through his hair at times as he adjusted his equipment. His brow was heavy with
