John Schettler - Kirov

For Karpov, however, is was something entirely new now. In one sweeping realization the whole creaking, calcified power structure of the Russian Navy had just collapsed like a badly made bridge. There was no longer anyone back in Severomorsk as a check and balance on the decisions and actions of any man aboard this ship. They answered only to their own inner compass now, or to the cruel whim of fate, but the long rein of accountability, the game of fawning and planning and currying favor with just the right men, that was gone now, extinguished in one startling moment in the Captain’s mind. In its place came that vague thrum of anxiety again.

Severomorsk no longer had any say in the matter. They would never answer their plaintive radio calls again. Fate had set him down on this sea of uncertainty, and now his own personal fortune was in his own hands, or so he thought, with only one man standing senior to him on the most powerful ship in the world.

He turned to the Admiral, a glint in his eye. “What now?” he asked, eager and strangely energized. Yet Volsky could perceive a darkness there, and a yawning ambition that warned him to be cautious.

“We must consider our situation carefully,” said the Admiral. “First off, this will be difficult to explain to the crew. We have spent two days discussing it and testing the proposition with one scenario after another, and only now do we begin to believe the impossible. There will be many among the crew who will not accept this explanation any more than you did, Captain.”

“We had to be certain,” Karpov said defensively as he folded his arms. Was the Admiral calling him a bull headed ox? He overlooked the insult, and made another suggestion. “You are correct, Admiral. At least for the foreseeable future, I suggest we do not make a general announcement. The men will not understand it, and it will be bad for morale. Orlov might convince them in time.”

“Yes, but we do not need to bully them,” the Admiral looked at Orlov, the strict disciplinarian on the ship. “Cut them a little slack, as the Americans might say. This is going to be a difficult adjustment for all of us. I am sure you have all stopped a moment to consider the fact that our wives, our children, our friends… They are all gone. Many have yet to be born! Perhaps they never will be born. This will be a shock to the men when the realization hits home, as it was to me when I first accepted the situation we so obviously find ourselves in now. We need time to pull ourselves together. Perhaps you are wise, Karpov, we must grieve it ourselves before it settles in to the bone; give it time. What do you suggest, Doctor Zolkin?”

“I could not have said it better, Admiral,” said the Doctor. “And we will likely have many long days to dwell on the memory of those we once knew and loved back home. If we do inform the men, we should do so gradually, perhaps in small groups. But what you say is sadly true. We have no home. Yes, we are sworn to protect and defend the Rodina, and that we can do with this brave ship and crew, but we can never sail this vessel into Severomorsk to be taken by the Soviet government as it stands now. The government that sent us here was bad enough. But Stalin? That is a black hole I do not think any of us might wish to return to.”

“Why not?” said Karpov, immediately challenging the Doctor. It was a reflexive comment. A part of him seemed to want to put the old world he knew back-to keep the old power structures in place, any power structure that he could cling to again instead of this awful void. None of the men knew anything real about Stalin. He was just a name in one of Fedorov’s history books, and a dark shadow from their past. As far as Karpov knew, Stalin left Russia as one of the most powerful nations on earth. Her fall after that may have largely been due to the corruption that grew in that shadow, and the fear and mistrust it bred at every level of society. Why couldn’t they fight for Russia now, he thought?

“Think of it, Captain. Ninety-nine percent of all the computing power now on earth is right here on this ship. We have technology, weapons, capabilities that will not be developed for nearly a century! Should this vessel fall into the wrong hands…”

“Since when is our homeland a place to be feared?” said Karpov.

“What do you know of Josef Stalin, Captain? I mean you no disrespect, but consider what would Stalin do, right now, this very day, if he could command this ship in battle?”

“He would most likely rename it at once,” quipped Volsky. The one time hero of the revolution, Sergey Kirov, did not survive Stalin’s purges after opposing his policies in the politburo.

“True Admiral,” said Zolkin. “But how would he stop the Germans as they close in on Moscow, choking off the nation’s breath, smothering her, killing and raping and leveling whole cities as they come? Do you think he would hesitate for one moment to unleash the arsenal of nuclear weapons we have aboard? We sit here, with the hindsight of history as our guide, and we tell ourselves not to worry, Russia wins the war, one way or another. Yet a man like Stalin will not see things in this light. He will want to use this ship for any expediency that comes to mind, and he will be as ruthless and merciless as we all know he was. How many died at his command in the next few years? Give him this ship and he will destroy Germany first, yes, but god only knows what else he will do when he is finished.”

They were all silent, the gravity of their situation finally becoming apparent to them. The agony of the Great Patriotic War was not something any of them understood on a personal level. Even the oldest man aboard the ship, the Admiral himself, had been born in the year 1957. The Second World War was just a dark gray story of generals and armor, old black and white photographs and lines on maps. They knew nothing of the terror, the horror of war. The six rounds of 100mm ammunition Kirov had just lobbed at the oncoming British destroyer was one of the few times a Russian naval vessel had actually fired in anger in nearly a decade! They had trifled with a few Somali pirates, using a few rounds of their close in defense Gatling guns, but the ship had never once employed its formidable missiles in real combat.

“Yes,” said Admiral Volsky, “God only knows. It is clear to me that we cannot simply sail home to Severomorsk, as tempting as that prospect might be. There is no way we could make certain that the technology and weaponry on this ship could be kept from the hands of a man like Stalin, short of destroying the ship outright first.”

“We might consider that,” Doctor Zolkin suggested lightly. “Suppose we find some nice Pacific island, well south of the conflict there, and then off-load just a few weapons and all our supplies before scuttling the ship.”

“Are you insane?” said Karpov sharply.

“I’m a psychiatrist, Captain, at least grant me some latitude here. We don’t just have Stalin to worry about in considering the things we have on this ship. We have the British and Americans too! What would they do if the ship, or any of the technology we have aboard, were to fall into their hands?”

“Some say the Germans aboard Bismarck scuttled the ship to prevent the British from towing her off and discovering the secret of her hull design,” said Fedorov.

“Exactly,” said the Doctor. “This ship must not fall into enemy hands. Period. And I am afraid that given the knowledge we have of the history of these years in Russia, Stalin will have to be considered an enemy as well. Do you agree, Admiral?”

“You make a good point, Doctor,” said the Admiral. “We must not allow either side to gain possession of the technology we have, let alone the weapons. Yet if I understand what Mister Fedorov was trying to tell us earlier, we may soon be in a fight for our very lives. Mister Rodenko tells me the main body of the fleet we were tracking yesterday has halted its eastward progression and reversed course. It seems that the word is getting out, one way or another, that there is something dangerous prowling the waters of the Arctic sea. We may have to move south soon.”