John Schettler - Stormtide Rising

“They still have the edge on us in numbers, even with Baikal and Siberian added to the fleet,” said Karpov.

“Strange that he should come to us this way,” said Tyrenkov. “Over 70 percent of his total armed forces are deployed against Sergei Kirov.”

“Tyrenkov, do you think he may be making a similar proposal to the Soviets?” Karpov shifted in his chair.

“Thus far, my network has not picked anything of that nature up. But considering the trouble they went to in order to keep this meeting secret, that is not surprising. We’re watching key Soviet officials who might typically respond to such a proposal. If they make any unusual movements, it may tip us off.”

“The secrecy doesn’t surprise me,” said Karpov. “They certainly would not want the Germans to know about this little proposal, and they took a great risk in even going this far with it here. If Hitler learns about this, Volkov may have the devil to pay—and quite literally.”

“What should we do, sir? Shall I open further discussion with Doctorov, or send the man home?”

Karpov smiled. Then he gave Tyrenkov a respectful look. “Tyrenkov… Thank you for coming to me with this.”

“Sir? Who else would I take this to?”

“My brother. You could have gone directly to him for any discussion or decision on this matter, but instead you came to me. Perhaps that was more convenient, as my brother is out to sea, but it is nonetheless appreciated. In fact, I am grateful for the respect you have always shown me, and your flawless efficiency. Have you also informed my brother of this?”

“No sir. You are acting head of the Free Siberian State. If your elder self needed to be informed, it was my assumption that you would make this decision yourself.”

Karpov took a deep breath, feeling very gratified. “I think we’ll have a further chat with Doctorov—only here. Our theater with the meat packing dungeon has had its effect. Bring him here, Tyrenkov. Let’s get to the bottom of this. Then I will take it to my brother and see that he is properly informed.”

The Siberian would eventually learn of the proposal, or rather he would have what he felt to be an inner hunch confirmed when Nikolin received a coded message about it later on. It was something that he could feel in his bones, some sea change in the winds of war that promised either terrible disaster, or a great windfall for his cause in arms. It was as if he instinctively could feel, and know, all the things his brother self was privy too, even though he was separated from him by thousands of miles. That strange connection would continue to deepen over time, but for now, he experienced it as an inner muse, a subtle feeling emerging from his unconscious mind, a hunch.

Something was happening, and his thinking about the war, and all their aims here was also caught up in the same inner shift of that wind. As he often did when considering such things, he would eventually seek out the one man that had been a consistent sounding board for him—Anton Fedorov.

“Con—Sonar—Sonobuoy in the water! I have active pinging.”

Gromyko reacted immediately. “Come right 15 degrees, 20 degree down bubble. Make your speed 12 knots. Make your depth 1200. We’re going deep.”

Kazan had been sprinting again at 35 knots, still looking for those carriers. Gromyko had been tempted to turn and try and close the range on the contacts behind him, naturally curious as to what they might be. Instead he decided to sprint one more time, giving Chernov another chance to listen fifteen minutes later. He refreshed his reading on that destroyer, still edgy about it, but not inclined to go to an active missile attack until he knew where the carriers were.

But he would not be satisfied that day. Admiral Kita had made a course and speed change an hour earlier, and was now over 30 nautical miles away. Kurama and Omi had also turned, the entire force thinking to rendezvous near the sinking site of Takami . Then came the sonobuoy, and Gromyko took Kazan deep, slowing to 5 knots, and then hovering in the dark cold stillness of the sea, very near the bottom.

Kita had been very wary, knowing that the Russian sub was out there somewhere. He had no contacts, but decided to act as though he did. He sent a message to Takao to have her helo drop three sonobuoys, and make them active. To any sub driver in the business, that was a strong and clear signal that he had been made. So Gromyko did the logical thing, going deep, hovering, becoming nothing and nowhere in the sea.

Kita’s move was a bluff, but it worked. Those three sonobuoys pinged away for an hour, and all the while Kaga and Akagi were steaming at 24 knots, opening the range to nearly 55 nautical miles as they slipped away, Takao still following as a screening unit. Kita’s task force would reach the rescue site, his Marines looking over some flotsam to see if anything vital might be recoverable.

After that long hour, Gromyko decided to creep away to the east, moving at a stealthy 5 knots for the next 30 minutes. The sound of the sonobuoys continued to diminish and fade, and finally Chernov looked at the Captain and spoke.

“Sir… I don’t think they have us. If they did, there would have been some response to this move. Those buoys are still back near our previous position. I think they were fishing, sir.”

Gromyko smiled. Perhaps they never did have us, he thought. Someone out there is very cagey. He knew I was out here, and perhaps they picked up a whisper of my trail on one of the high speed sprints. So he popped off those sonobuoys to make it seem as though they were prosecuting a contact. Very clever. I think my quarry has given me the slip this time.

“What was the last course and speed we had on that destroyer?”

“220 at 24 knots.”

Gromyko looked at his chart. Then he glanced up at Belanov. “Karpov reported the three destroyers chasing him broke off hours ago and turned northeast. Our last reading on this one had it running southwest. I think they’re making a rendezvous.”

‘Where, sir?” Belanov stepped over to the chart table.

“Here,” Gromyko pointed. “Right where we sunk Takami .”

“A good assumption,” said Belanov.

“Yes, Momma Bear has called home all her cubs. So what are we looking at here? That means there are at least four destroyers, and we also had those two other contacts trailing behind that we never investigated.”

“What do you figure them to be, the carriers?”

“Possibly, but now I’m thinking the carriers must have been off on 240 when we went deep, and I think we were very close. Then they played their bluff, and I knuckled under. Considering things now, what else would we typically see in a task force of this size, particularly one this far from Japanese home waters?” Gromyko was reasoning the situation out, his long years of experience at sea informing him where his sensors had failed to do the job.

“Replenishment,” said Belanov.

“Exactly. I think those last two contacts were most likely a replenishment ship, and possibly one more destroyer in escort. So let’s fill out the dance card here. Karpov reported he was attacked by strike planes, and from his last message, they got in close enough to deliver a glide bomb attack. What do you make of that?”