John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

Something told him Fedorov was in for a real surprise, because no matter what Orlov did, or failed to do, he was not the last of the Mohicans any longer. No. That honor would fall to Captain Vladimir Karpov.

I wanted this, he thought. I dreamed of a situation like this, where I could take hold of fate itself by the throat and choke it to death if I chose to. And now I have that in my power once again! Rodenko is correct. The math becomes the brutal reality of the matter. Sixty enemy ships…Sixty two missiles. We put eight missiles and two torpedoes into Yamato …

Yet now I could win this battle with just one or two punches—a few missiles with warheads that could take out Halsey’s entire fleet. I would use another MOS-III, a second Starfire to put bookends on this whole charade, just as I did before. That is the sound tactical decision now—why am I hesitating?

The voice of Dr. Zolkin played out in his mind now, speaking last as they huddled in the sick bay trying to decided what to do when the ship appeared in the Tyrrhenian Sea. “You have all been discussing what we might do, what we are capable of doing, and yes, what the consequences may be in the end, but speak now to what we should do…” The implication of some moral element in the decision was obvious. “Yes, we can smash our way through these ships, and blacken Malta or Gibraltar if we so decide, but should we? Simply to secure our own lives and fate? How many will die if we attempt this?”

How many will die?

The Second World War was finally over, but the world had not seen the fire of Atomic weapons again…until Vladimir Karpov appeared to remind them of just what he had done once before. My God, he thought, thinking of the report Nikolin gave him a few minutes earlier. He had monitored the American radio calls and determined that the missiles they fired had struck a carrier—the Wasp , the very same ship I sunk in the North Atlantic! They built another one, and probably named it in honor of the first. Fate and time put the damn ship in front of me again and, lo and behold, what did I do? Now here I am ready to annihilate Halsey and all the rest of them, just as they are planning the same fate for me. We can crush them like insects… “But should we? Simply to secure our own lives and fate? How many will die if we attempt this?”

Even as he asked the question he knew the answer. He could hear it in the echo of his own pledge to Volsky before he was given a second chance by the Admiral… “I swear to you—here and now… I know what I did, and why, and that is over now. I know I deserve nothing but your contempt, but give me this chance and I will not fail you again—ever.”

The Captain caught a glimpse of himself in his shaving mirror, sitting there on the desk. He saw the pain and confusion on his own face, and knew he was far from decided on this matter. A second chance…. “If there is any shred of honor left in you, Karpov, I will give you this one chance to find it again. ” Volsky had given him that. He treated him with respect—treated him like a man, and Karpov swelled with pride at the recollection of the Admiral’s praise when they finally made it through the storm and sailed home again. The eyes of every man on the bridge were on him when he belayed the order to fire on Key West, and he was every man on the ship at that moment—all of them.

A second chance. Time was handing it all to him once again. History doesn’t repeat itself, but it echoes…yes, and a haunting sound it is to sit and listen to it all again. What will it be, another missile, another MOS-III, another mushroom cloud on the angry sea? It had taken the eruption of hell itself to get him to this place—a place few men could ever stand—at the very edge of a second chance to do what he should do, to be a real man, and not a mindless shark.

Then his own words to Zolkin returned, biting at him, a clawing reminder that grew in the cold logic of war where the equation ‘kill or be killed’ was the solitary factor, and the synapse and nerve set the reflex that would make that difference and decide the issue for one side or another. He had given it all to the good doctor when the shrill alarm sounded to break off their discussion …“Listen, Zolkin,” he said quickly, a finger pointing to the scrambling sound of booted feet on the decks above them. “Hear that? This is no longer a question of what we should do, but what we must do. It is either that, or we go to the bottom of the sea like so many before us.”

Volsky had said much the same thing to him once as he tried to sort this whole impossible situation out . “Did we do all this?” The Admiral waved his arm at unseen shores as he spoke. “No. We did not. We only made it possible for them to do it—all the other generals and admirals and prime ministers and presidents. We showed them what power was, and they wanted it for themselves as badly as you wanted it, Karpov. So now we see the result. In truth, I cannot blame you any more than I blame myself, and all we have before us now is simply a matter of survival.”

Yes, we showed them what power was, and that was exactly what he wanted to do again. He had it all worked out in his mind, the missile, the mushroom cloud, the ultimatum that would follow like the dark rain of radioactive seawater. They were still cruising within sight of the Demon Volcano that had sent him here, and he could erupt as well, a Demon in his own right, and spew the wrath and fire of hell at his enemy to bring them under his heel in one swift act of retribution. But he would give them fair warning.

Can I reach an agreement of some kind here with these men? Can I make an arrangement? If not, I can show them what real power is. It would be as easy and flipping a switch.

But should I?

Itwas a dull gray morning that day, all too common on the Caspian Sea, but as Captain Shlyupkin stepped onto the weather deck he wished the clouds were thicker. His ship, Caspian tanker Kulibekov , was one of four fat vessels in a long line heading south for Baku. Behind him came the Komitern , followed by Ubelikov and Amerika , each laden with war supplies bound for ports along the Caspian coast where the hard pressed 58th Army was struggling to hold back the German advance. There had been fighting at Kizlyar just a few days ago when German recon units tried to take the place in a surprise attack. The NKVD units had held the line there, but the 16th Panzer division had managed to cut the roads and rails leading north to the Volga, and the only way to get supplies through was by sea.

That made Captain Shlyupkin just a little more uncomfortable that morning, and he found his eyes searching the clouds overhead for signs of enemy planes. A little fog would do us a world of good now, he thought. Where is it when you need it? Thus far there had been no losses in the Caspian due to air attack, but something about the morning, the silence on the sea, the stillness in the air all conspired to whisper warning to him. There was a hush on the world, a quiet that could not last. Something was going to happen. He could feel it.

Shlyupkin had good reason to feel ill at ease. If this was now the only supply route south, the Germans would certainly know about it. And this was the first major convoy mounted since the rail line had been shut down. The Germans could have eyes on that coastline at this very moment. The flotilla was moving in towards the west coast now, bound for their first port of call at Kaspiysk just south of Makhachkala.