John Schettler - Kirov

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I think we could cruise safely enough through to the South Atlantic, avoiding further engagement as far as possible. Our presence here is an offense to history. I cannot begin to think what the consequences will be. There will be many lives we cut short before their time, and yet, if these events prompt America to declare war on Germany at this time, there will be many lives we may have spared at Pearl Harbor.”

“It’s likely the Americans will come into the war with a vengeance, sir,” said Fedorov. “I don’t think we can count on Soviet troops getting to the Rhine first after this. As for the Japanese, they may think twice about their daring plan to sail six aircraft carriers across the Pacific to attack Pearl Harbor. The Americans will be on a full wartime footing there within days. They won’t leave their Pacific Fleet sitting there like fat ducks in a line.”

“Who can know these things?” said Zolkin.

“I am beginning to long for that tropical island, Dmitri,” said the Admiral.

At that moment they heard Kalinichev’s voice over the ship’s intercom. “Con, Radar to Admiral Volsky. We are reading a large group of air contacts, forty planes, range 100 kilometers and inbound on our position.”

“That has to be off the Ark Royal, sir,” said Fedorov.

Volsky shook his head. “Hurry on, gentlemen. We must get to the main bridge.”

They arrived to find Karpov yammering at Rodenko, waving his arms at Samsonov, berating Troyak in a loud, annoyed voice. The Admiral stepped through the hatch, and the Doctor had the pleasure of announcing him.

“Admiral on the bridge!” He shouted over the Captain’s strained voice, looking pointedly at Karpov.

Troyak saluted crisply. Karpov turned, his eyes glowing red in the darkness, and said: “What in God's name are you doing? We are in battle! You have disabled the bridge at a critical time and put us all at risk!”

“Shut up, Captain Karpov!” Volsky's voice was as blunt as he could make it. The Admiral strode quickly into the combat information center, drew out his key, and inserted it into the command module. He turned the key, entered his code, and restored command level operations to the main bridge. Seconds later the main lights fluttered on, equipment rebooting quickly with the hum of many computer screens and consoles. Gromenko’s brief stint as battle bridge commander was over.

The Admiral looked at Karpov, a disgusted expression on his face, and anger in his eyes. “Mister Karpov, you are relieved.”

“What are you going to do, Admiral? You have no justification to remove me from command! I was carrying out my lawful responsibility. I was defending the ship as I saw best. Mister Orlov concurred with my decisions. Ask him!”

“Mister Orlov is relieved as well,” said Volsky. “Lawful responsibility? Just what law were you abiding by, Captain, the law of the jungle? You are both under arrest. Sergeant Troyak-you will escort the Captain and Chief Operations Officer to their quarters and place two armed guards outside their door. They are to remain there until further notice. If any man here wishes to join them, let them stand now and be relieved of his duty as well.”

There was complete silence on the bridge. Karpov’s face was a mix of anguish and restrained rage. “You old fool,” he said. “What do you know? Can't you see that we are under attack? You will get this ship destroyed with your blubbering equivocation. Don’t you see the opportunity we have here now?”

“Sergeant Troyak!”

The Sergeant moved quickly, waving at his men, and they took a firm hold on both Orlov and Karpov, pushing them toward the hatch. Orlov sneered, but otherwise offered no resistance. A marine found his weapon and removed it with a smirk, pleased to finally put one over on the bullying Chief. Karpov looked back at the Admiral and fired off one last missile. “This is not over Admiral. You will regret this decision, I promise you!” It was a useless boast, and Karpov knew it.

When the Captain had been removed Volsky took a moment to look at every man that remained on the bridge, coming to a quiet inner assessment. They looked at him, with mute admiration, and a touch of shame on their faces, and no one spoke. He could see that they had done nothing more than obey the orders of his lunatic Captain. There was no hint of conspiracy here. All this had been Karpov's doing, and Orlov was the devil’s only apprentice. He thought he could rely on the rest of his bridge crew, and so he left them at their posts.

“I am going to assume that you are all innocent of complicity in this mutiny unless subsequent investigation proves otherwise,” he said quietly, almost like a pained father would speak to his wayward, but much loved children when they misbehaved. Then it occurred to him that the ship needed a second in command. He needed a new Starpom, an Executive Officer to replace Karpov. Without hesitation he turned to Fedorov at his navigation post.

“Mister Fedorov,” he said quietly. “You are hereby promoted two grades to the rank of Captain Lieutenant, and I now designate you as Starpom, my First Officer. You may leave navigation in the able hands of Mister Tovarich for now.”

Fedorov’s eyes widened with surprise. It might have taken him another year to make Senior Lieutenant, and then another year or two at that post before he made Captain Lieutenant. He smiled, his eyes clearly expressing his thanks. “Thank you, sir. I am honored to serve.”

For the first time he cast his gaze out through the forward view screen, suddenly shocked to see the conditions outside. The ocean water all around them had that same strange hue and glow they had seen before, just after the accident aboard Orel. The wave sets seemed oddly disturbed, rippling away from the ship in all directions, as if Kirov was exerting some strange magnetic effect on the sea itself. What was happening?

The Admiral reached for his intercom microphone. “Flag bridge to engineering,” he said. “Anything unusual Dobrynin?”

There was a brief delay before the Chief responded. “Yes, sir. I’ve got those flux readings again-the same as before. Can we slow down?”

“I’ll do what I can, Chief.”

At that moment he heard a strange sound, and turned, surprised to see the Doctor's cat Gretchko, who had come all the way through the ship looking for his caretaker, and now stood near the open hatch to the main bridge mewing loudly.

Volsky smiled, looking at the Doctor. “Well, I see the crew is now fully assembled. Helmsman, steady on a heading of fifteen degrees north, and ahead two thirds. I think it best we get out of these waters as soon as possible.”

But the green soup they were in only seemed to deepen, the odd glow of the sea more redolent, until all the systems on the bridge were struck again by a wave of static and interference that crackled through the wires and over the screens of every station. Volsky felt it again, that prickling sensation of needles all through his body, and his hair seemed to stand on end. His first thought was that they were experiencing some odd effects radiating from the detonation, but it soon passed and the ship seemed to settle down, though the water around them still glowed with an ominous hue of green that rippled and shimmered all around them, radiating outward from the ship in all directions.

The Admiral settled into his command chair, and Gretchko the cat ran over and leapt up into his lap, purring contentedly.

“You have a message for the Admiral, Gretchko?” said the Doctor, reaching over to pet the cat on his head.

“Radar,” said Volsky. “Give me an update on those airborne contacts.” Volsky was already thinking he might yet have one more battle on his hands, more blood as well.