John Schettler - Kirov

“Or we could send you to have a look in the KA-226. You can identify these ships by sight?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“No,” said Karpov. “I want tangible evidence, not simply this man’s assessment from a long range camera. I want to see these ships myself.”

“Well you could fly with him, Mister Karpov. However, if this is an anti-aircraft cruiser, perhaps we should be cautious with our helicopters.”

“If we wish to make a close approach with the ship,” said Fedorov, “then we could put men up on the highest mast and establish a watch there. You can see out twelve to fourteen miles from that height, and we’ll see them on radar long before that. With a good, high powered observation lens we can probably identify these ships at that range visually. In fact, we could even simply use the high powered cameras on the Tin Man watch decks. Even the Captain’s field glasses would do,” Fedorov finished. “And we would still be three or four miles beyond the range of their 4.7 inch guns.”

“We can get closer than that,” said Karpov sourly. “If they dare attack us I will make short work of them.”

“Very well,” said the Admiral. “Then this is exactly what we will do, and hopefully before this weather front makes observation impossible. But Captain, I will be on the bridge for this operation.” He eyed Karpov, noting the man’s reaction.

“Gentlemen, let’s get moving. Anyone scheduled for relief get some sleep. I am well rested, and I will take the ship in, Mister Karpov. You may stand down and get some rest. Join me on the bridge in 6 hours. By that time we should be very near these ships. Mister Fedorov-plot me a good intercept course. I want to sail west of Jan Mayen.”

“Aye, sir.”

Karpov sighed heavily, still convinced this was all a waste of time. Yet the first thing on his mind now was his stomach. He was hungry and wanted to get in a meal and a few hours sleep before he returned to the bridge. On the way to the officer’s mess he pulled Orlov aside and asked him what he thought of the situation.

“It’s one fine v’zadnitse, Captain. How is it the Americans say this? Up shit creek without a paddle. It’s crazy. And the more I think on it the more I begin to feel crazy. Yet, after all this, it begins to paint that impossible picture.”

“Don't be a fool, Orlov. Yes, I know the evidence seems convincing, but everything we have seen could have been part of a psychological operation staged by NATO, even the removal of the facilities on Jan Mayen, in spite of what the Doctor says.”

“I'm not so sure about that, Vladimir. That's the one thing about all this that bothers me. I've been on that island too, and I'm telling you there was nothing there when we overflew it a few hours ago. You don't disassemble those buildings in a few hours time. What, do you think they've stored everything in some underground bunker to put them back together again after they've had their fun with us? This is very disturbing, Captain. I can dismiss the other things, even that airplane, but this business concerning the island is very perplexing.”

Karpov said nothing for a time. He was also finding it difficult to dismiss the evidence they had uncovered by visiting the island. Yet something in him remained stubborn, holding on to the world they had come from, and unwilling to embrace the prospect that it was entirely gone now-possibly gone forever. He felt like a spider without a web, a mouse without a hole to hide in any longer. Even so, another part of his mind was creeping ahead, sifting through the possibilities. “Who do you think our real enemy is, Orlov?”

“The British, the Germans, the Americans, they are all the same as far as I'm concerned. Aren’t they all in league together anyway? We have few friends in the world, Captain. Even the Chinese eye us with suspicion these days.”

“But let's assume the impossible. If this were 1941, would you join the British in opposing Nazi Germany?”

“I would find some way to stick it to them both,” said Orlov emphatically.

Karpov thought about that for some time as they walked, and when they had reached the officer’s mess, he leaned close and gave Orlov a quiet order. “When we finish up here, Chief, I think it best we put some men to work and remove any obvious insignia on the ship. Pull down the ensigns as well. Just as a precaution.” He forced a weak smile.

Orlov grinned. “You’ve been thinking about this from a few different angles, haven't you, Captain? Your point about securing a better position for us after the war was well taken. Yes, we have a very powerful ship here, but consider what the Admiral said… We have just sixty missiles on board, and we are lucky to have even that many. The reloads for the Moskit-IIs are stacked high in the crates below decks, so if we were to take a hit, we would go off like a firecracker. We must be careful in the early going, no matter whose ships are out there, no matter what year it is. The silence from Severomorsk is also very disturbing. I don't know which scenario frightens me the most. If things turn out to be the way you see them, and this isn’t World War II, then World War III might have started eight hours ago. Take your pick. It’s a nightmare in either case as far as I’m concerned.”

“If that is so, then we are in the fight of our lives, Chief. Yet we have the means to defend ourselves adequately, and we can punch harder than any ship in the world.”

As Orlov stood to leave, Karpov left him with one final thought. “Yes, we have limited ammunition, and we must be very prudent in the way we use it. But we have other means, and I am not so squeamish as the Admiral when it comes to using them.”

At that, Orlov said nothing. He took his leave, out to make the rounds below decks and see that the scheduled maintenance checks had been finished.

Karpov sat with his dinner for some time, though his appetite had vanished. He ate, reflexively, sopping up the gravy with some good black Russian rye bread, but his mind was wandering in distant fields. As usual, except for those times when Orlov was with him, he ate alone. None of the junior officers seemed to want to share his table, and when he was in the officer’s mess they often stilled their conversation as well, talking in hushed tones with one another as if they might disturb the Captain.

Karpov was used to such reactions from the men under him. In one sense, he took it as a sign of respect, though deep down he knew they shunned him out of fear. One voice in his mind believed that was good. The men should have a healthy fear and respect for their senior officers, yes? But a deeper feeling that could only be described as loneliness whispered something else to him about it. He did not want to listen to that voice.

Yet, by and large, he was alone in the world. Take him out of this small kollectiv on the ship and there was no one back home waiting for him. When the ship returned to Severomorsk, all the other crewmen would rush down the gangways and into the waiting arms of wives, children, parents, but not Karpov. His parents were long gone, and he had been too preoccupied with the machinations of his career to ever contemplate marriage. There was no secret photo tucked away in his wallet of a sweetheart left behind. Yes, he had rank and authority now, but even the lowly mishman, the warrant officers he would post to the watch, and the able seamen busy with menial tasks below decks had something, someone, where he was denied. It made their banal and pointless existence bearable, he thought. They were too easily contented by the fat cheeks of their devushkas and babushkas.

He was still perturbed with Fedorov, that damn z’opoliz, an ass kisser if ever there was one. The man seemed to have read the Captain’s own book-buttering old Volsky’s bread as he pushed his war books and silly ideas on him. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he realized Fedorov had nothing of the cold, hard ruthlessness in him to make any use of his new found connection to the Admiral. Fedorov was too naive to have any notion of the game where real power was concerned, except perhaps to be a good victim. He was just a little chaynik, wet behind the ears, he thought, and he dismissed him as another young fool of an officer, and by no means an opponent worthy of his attention. He could crush Fedorov any time he chose.