John Schettler - Kirov

Volsky smiled. They still have no idea who and what we are, he thought. All the better, though he realized the situation would likely change, and very soon. Mister Fedorov had reminded him of something else-the American president was as sea.

The previous day, on August 3rd, Franklin Delano Roosevelt had set out on the presidential yacht Potomac for what was described as a fishing trip. In fact he had secretly boarded US heavy cruiser Augusta and was even now headed for the new American naval base at Argentia in Newfoundland. The President’s yacht returned via the Cape Cod Canal with a fireman, presidential aide, and an army general dressed out in summer whites and posing on the forward deck lounge chairs with a pipe as if they were FDR and his party. They waved at a curious public lining the banks and gawking at them from overhead bridges as they passed, quietly enjoying their mission. The deception kept the lid of secrecy on Roosevelt's planned meeting with Churchill in just a few days time.

Not only would these two remarkable men be present, the meeting was also attended by the heads of the Army and Navy on both sides, a gaggle of high-ranking officers and other dignitaries. The gold on the hat bands, collars and cuffs would be fairly thick, as the British were intent on engaging in negotiations with the Americans.

The Prime Minister had already boarded the battleship Prince of Wales at Scapa Flow earlier that morning, and the ship slipped quietly out to sea with only the very highest senior ranks in the Navy and War Cabinet aware of what was happening, and many of them were aboard. Volsky was still considering what to do about this meeting, and weighing his options if they held to this course.

That same morning another man on the ship was exploring the same corridors of thought, though with a very different mind on the matter. Captain Karpov had cornered Fedorov below decks while the Admiral was on the bridge. He marched him into the officer’s ward room and, to the navigator’s surprise, he locked the door.

“All right Fedorov, what is this book you’ve been reading from and bending the Admiral's ear with these last several days?”

“Sir? It's a naval history, a chronology of the war at sea that has fairly detailed information about operations conducted during this time, throughout the whole of the war in fact.”

Karpov eyes narrowed. “And where is this book?”

“At the moment, the Admiral has been reading it in his cabin,” said Fedorov.

“I would like to have a look at it. After all, I am Captain of the ship even if a fleet admiral is aboard. How is it you did not think to inform me as well?”

“I'm sorry, sir. You seemed unwilling to consider the possibility early on, and I did not want to offend you by pushing the matter. The Admiral was particularly interested in what I had to say, so I loaned him the book at his request. I meant no disrespect, sir.”

“Of course not,” said Karpov, changing his tack somewhat. He clasped his navigator on the shoulder. “Very well, Mister Fedorov, as you were. I will ask the Admiral about it myself.” He went to the door, opening the latch. “Dismissed, Lieutenant. That will be all.”

“As Fedorov edged past him, the Captain spoke again. “One other thing, Fedorov,” he said. “The next time you contradict me in front of the Admiral…” He gave the Navigator a hard look that finished the sentence well enough.

Fedorov went on his way, and so did Karpov, but the Captain had no intention of asking the Admiral a thing. He made his way directly towards the senior officer’s quarters, intent on finding this book and having a look for himself while the Admiral was busy on the bridge. The situation reminded him of his days in the university library, where he jealously guarded the reserved stacks, controlling access and doling out volumes to those he favored while denying them to others. A brash young arbitura, a freshman, had the temerity to sneak into the reserve vault and take out a reference volume while he was busy with another student. At first he thought to severely punish the lad for trying to bypass his authority, but inwardly, he admired the student’s initiative and guts. The boy saw an opportunity and he took it. It was something he might have done himself, he knew. So he let the matter pass.

Now Karpov would do a little snooping around on his own to see what was on the Admiral’s mind. He had mentioned the Atlantic Charter in their initial briefings, this secret meeting between Churchill and Roosevelt. That had to be uppermost in Volsky’s mind now, but what was he planning? Karpov intended to find out. There were some things, he thought, that were simply a Captain's prerogative.

Karpov was pleased to find the Admiral’s cabin door unlocked, and as this gangway was for senior officers only, there was little risk that he would be seen by a member of the crew. He slipped inside, flipping on a light and scanning the room and desk for any sign of the book. It was there on the night stand, and he was soon sitting at the Admiral’s desk, flipping to the bookmarked pages to locate August of 1941, looking for information on the Atlantic Charter conference. It was not long before he learned the details. Churchill and Roosevelt were at sea, this very moment, and bound for a secret meeting in Newfoundland! It was all there, the ships they would travel in, and their escorts, the timing of their arrival.

The Captain smiled, his eyes narrowing. All these high ranking officers in one place. What a catch that would make, he thought. One well placed round, or a well targeted missile barrage could take them all out in a single blow, decapitating the American and British armed forces and eliminating these two vital heads of state as well. Could the US and Britain recover from such a loss? Would the men who replaced these giants have the courage and resolve to prosecute the war as Roosevelt and Churchill clearly did? All he had to do was get within firing range. A single missile could do all the rest, as long as he chose the right warhead.

The Admiral’s strict order prohibiting the deployment of nuclear weapons was unwise, he thought. The impossible circumstances of this mission had to have some meaning. Kirov was here for a reason. She was bearing down on a time and place in history where her presence and firepower could make a profound impact. He doubted that they would ever again have an opportunity like the one that was before them now.

“I’ll be damned if I’ll peck away at Royal Navy ships and then run off into the Atlantic to hide,” he said aloud. No. This was the time and the place. Volsky was correct that the judicious application of force was necessary here, but he was too cautious, too slow to perceive the true nature of the opportunity now before them. Yet he was the Admiral, and the men would follow his lead…unless…

That pulse of anxiety leapt in his chest again with his next thought. His reflex would have been to get a message through to Severomorsk and seek to bypass Volsky by appealing to the Naval Board, or even to Navy Chief Suchkov himself. But Suchkov was not there. Severomorsk was not even there, at least not the same city he knew. There was no one senior in the ranks he could appeal to. The matter had to be decided here, on this ship. Kirov was all that mattered now. Kirov had the power to change everything, as long as she had the men aboard her with the will to do what was necessary.

How could he convince the Admiral? He could try to bring Doctor Zolkin around to his point of view. The Admiral respected the Doctor’s opinion, and Zolkin was actually a Captain of the Second Rank, one rung above Orlov in the chain of command. He was not trained in the running of the ship, however, but his rank gave him power, particularly as the ship’s physician. Yet the more he thought on this the more he realized what Zolkin was likely to say to him. The man was weak kneed. He was a healer and caretaker; a lamb and not a wolf. He realized an appeal to Zolkin would be fruitless.