“More than that, it is now a real mystery. We got the casualty list, but when we matched it to the ship’s roster, none of the names were there. So we called Moscow. They don’t have any of the names on file either-not in the computers, and now not even in the paper archives-no service records, no orders cut for any men by those names. We checked every system and in ever dusty old file box in the city. The ship’s physician, this Doctor Zolkin aboard Kirov, handed Volkov a list of thirty-six men who were killed in action, and the navy has no record that any one of them ever existed!”
“That’s impossible. The list must have been fabricated then.”
“Yes, but why, Pavel? Why? What are they doing over there? I’m the Inspector General of the Russian Navy! Did they think they could hand me such a list and I would not discover this? Is this some kind of a macabre joke? I am not amused-not one bit.”
Again the cell phone in Kapustin’s pocket wanted to have its say. He frowned, clearly upset now. “What is it this time?…Yes? When?… Has it been confirmed? I see. Very well, I be there as soon as I can.”
He looked down at his soup bowl, then stared into his old friend’s face, a sadness in his eyes this time, and a weariness.
“There’s been a shooting incident at sea off the Diaoyutai Islands. The Chinese and the Japanese are finally at it, Pavel. It’s started, and God only knows where or when it will end.”
Chapter 17
Kapustin and Kamenski were not the only men to have their dinners interrupted that evening. Admiral Volsky received the very same call, and was soon hastening into a cab for the run out to Naval Headquarters at Fokino. Karpov and Fedorov were ordered to the ship immediately.
Volsky rolled down the window, looking at his two officers and wondering if he would ever see them again. “Karpov,” he said, waving the Captain over to the cab. “Get the ship ready. Have Byko do whatever he can, particularly on that hull patch.”
“Don’t worry sir. Byko has had men in the water all week working on that problem. They also completed the missile reloads this afternoon. Kapustin was recording every last serial number.”
“Yes, well we both know what is happening now. We may have plugged one hole in the dike by sparing that American sub, but now the water seems to be coming up over the top. Remember, you are acting Captain of the battlecruiser Kirov. Don’t let Kapustin and Volkov push you around. And one more thing…Fedorov…Listen to him, Captain. Listen to him. He is Starpom this time around and you have the ship, but don’t forget those moments on the bridge when that situation was reversed. Become the same mind and heart together that saw us safely home. Do what you must, but we both know that there is something much greater than the fate of the ship at stake now, something much bigger than our own lives. We are the only ones who know what is coming, Karpov, and fate will never forgive us if we fail her this time.”
“Fedorov will stand right beside me, Admiral, and we will do everything in our power to prevent that future we saw together. I promise you.”
“I’ll have faith in you both,” said Volsky. “There’s one more thing…” The Admiral drew out his missile key, removing it and slowly handing it to Karpov. Their eyes met, a thousand words unspoken, and then Volsky nodded, raising his heavy hand in a salute, which Karpov returned briskly with a farewell smile. Then the Admiral watched his Captain turn and rush away to the nearby quay where the dark threatening profile of the world’s most powerful surface action ship rode quietly at anchor. He looked at her, still missing her Top Mast radar antenna, though now a new Fregat system was installed on the aft mast and rotating quietly in the night.
A stirring of wind rustled the gray canvas tarp which still covered the blackened wreck of her aft battle bridge. The lone KA-40 stood a silent watch on the aft deck, and he briefly considered hitching a ride on the helo, then decided to let it be. He needed time to think before he saw Abramov again. There was other news in the back of his mind that he had not had time to digest with his Chinese food, or even to discuss with Karpov and Fedorov.
Dobrynin had called him just before sunset, strangely upset over a missing crewman, Markov. Something about his report gave Volsky the shivers, but he did not know enough about it to bring it up with the others. Instead he told Dobrynin to send for two Marine Guards and post them outside his test bed unit, and admit no one else until Rod-25 was again safely removed from the system and stored in a radiation safe container.
Now he tapped the front seat and ordered the driver on to Fokino. It would be a fifty mile trip by car, but he would probably get there faster than he would by trying to find a reasonably fast coastal lighter and crossing the wide Gulf of Peter the Great. Along the way he telephoned the HQ and asked for Admiral Abramov.
“Admiral Volsky? Good evening, sir. We were just trying to reach you. I regret to inform you that Admiral Abramov has suffered another heart attack, sir. He is being rushed to the naval hospital as we speak.”
The news shocked Volsky, even though it was not unexpected. Abramov had been in declining health for the last year, and Volsky knew that with standing orders to assume the man’s post, he would soon be charged with the weight of the combined operations of the entire Pacific Fleet, a burden poor Abramov could no longer carry.
It was not long before the cab had wound its way around the northern nose of the gulf, through the hamlet of Shkotovo and on through Romanovka, now heading south to Fokino. He soon saw the tall mast of the Pacific Fleet Transceiver Station winking in the night, on a high hill southeast of the town. He thought it a bit ironic that another of the four original Kirov class battlecruisers, the Admiral Lazarev, was still tied off in ‘conservation status’ down in the bay below Naval Headquarters here. It had been scheduled to rejoin the fleet again, but the money was never found to complete her refit, and in fact, several of her interior components had been cannibalized to build the new Kirov. Yet here was a good strong hull, now just the shell of a ship, slowly rusting away.
Twenty minutes later he reached the Naval Headquarters building, sensed the rising tension there in the urgent movements of staff and adjutants, knew the thickening night above would be a long one. But will there ever be a dawn, he wondered?
The Chief of Staff greeted him warmly, Andre Talanov, a stout and competent dark haired man in his late forties with a sharp eye and a good head on his shoulders. “Good evening, sir. We have received a communication from Moscow in light of both the current situation in the Pacific, and Admiral Abramov’s condition.”
“How is the Admiral?”
“We do not yet know sir, he is still in intensive care.” He handed Volsky a plain teletype message decrypt, and he knew what it was going to say as soon as he glanced at it… “Effective immediately, FLEET ADM VOLSKY, LEONID is herewith to assume full operational command of Red Banner Pacific Fleet Operations…”
So I am out of Kapustin’s little frying pan for the moment, he thought to himself as he read the few closing details in the message. Yes, out of the frying pan and into the fire. He folded the message and gave his new Chief of Staff a solemn look. “I expect you have much more to tell me, Captain Talanov, and I certainly hope you have a cupboard full of good tea in the building.”
“That we do, sir.”
“Very well. Let’s get started then. I suppose you’ll want to brief me on this situation with the Chinese and Japanese.”
“Yes, sir. There has been a live fire incident just northeast of the Diaoyutai Island group. We don’t know how it started yet, but the Japanese have lost a small destroyer escort, 2500 tons, the Oyoko, sir. It was part of a three ship flotilla and the remaining assets returned fire, sinking a Chinese Type 095 submarine. We have been in contact with Beijing, and they confirm that they have lost communications with the Li Zhu. The Japanese withdrew two remaining ships to the northeast temporarily. Japan issued a quick condemnation, vowed reprisal, and then put another flotilla to sea.”
“And the Chinese?”
“Their ships remain on station off the main island at Diaoyutai. They have put men ashore there, sir, and now we get word that a small Japanese coast guard cutter has also been fired on and boarded by Chinese Naval Marines off the principle ship in their task force, the Lanzhou.”
“It sounds like the long war of words over those islands has ended. Of course it will be in all the papers tomorrow and the Japanese ambassador in Beijing will be hopping mad.”
