“Wait just a moment!” It was Fedorov, that look on his face again, and Karpov was very lucky he had him on the bridge at that moment. “There’s no Japanese plane in their current carrier inventory that can make 480 knots. That’s almost 200 knots faster than their Zero fighters.” His voice was edged with warning, his eyes dark and serious.
“What’s out there, Rodenko?” Karpov had his eyes fixed on that contact, his voice prodding his radar man for more information.
“Contact reads class unknown. I have it at 36,000 feet, and steady at 480 knots.”
“That’s 4,000 feet above the Zero’s service ceiling as well,” said Fedorov.
“Could they have a new plane?” Karpov gave him a searching glance.
“The Nakajima C6N Saiun could fly that high, but sir, the speed. Rodenko is reporting 480 knots. The Zero was fast for this time, and never exceeded 350 knots, typically operating at about 280. The only plane that could approach that speed might be the Ki-84, the plane the Allies called Frank, but the first one didn’t come off the production lines until August of this year.” The F-35’s could double their present speed, but they were still cruising, hoping to get in unnoticed.
“This makes no sense….” Karpov could not grasp how the Japanese could have a plane that fast, and if there was a carrier out there, why would Rodenko only see a single aircraft? They typically launched in waves. He wanted more information. “Move Turkey 2 on a heading to intercept that contact.” He was going to have one of the KA-40s take a better look. “See if they can refine their information. Something is wrong here.”
“Damn wrong,” said Fedorov. “Unless….”
“What?” Karpov turned, his eyes hard on Fedorov, waiting.
“Suppose this Japanese destroyer had a jump jet on its aft deck?”
“Contact has closed to 125 miles,” said Rodenko.
Now Karpov was all business.
“Mark it hostile.” There was a hard edge to his tone. “We shoot first, and ask questions later. Samsonov—get me a firing solution on that thing.”
“Sir, I can put an S-400 on it now.”
“Do so, one missile. Let’s see what happens.” Then he turned to Fedorov. “Check your chronometers, or sun and moon data—whatever it is you do. See that we haven’t moved in time. That has to be a jet aircraft out there, and I want to know why. For the time being, I’ll buy your theory about a jump-jet on the fantail. It would have to be a Harrier, or even an F-35B. That’s the vertical takeoff and landing model, but let’s see what our missile does.”
The seconds ticked off as the S-400 streaked in at its target. It was the SEAD plane out in front of Akagi’s Shotai carrying the JSOW missile payloads. The S-400 was very good. It saw the target increase speed to over 620 knots and turn. The F-35 deployed countermeasures, decoys attempting to seduce the active radar seeker on the missile as it now closed for the kill. It had perhaps a 25% chance of succeeding, but the S-400 did not bite. It turned for the target, ran true, and exploded.
“Hit!” said Rodenko. “Target destroyed!”
Karpov smiled. “So much for their little surprise,” he said. “They must have launched that bird earlier, and sent it north of their position like that. Then this Harada got on the line and tried to play patty cake with me on the radio. A little theater here. I’m half tempted to call him again and see what he thinks now.”
Before Karpov had any more time to gloat, Rodenko sounded off with yet another string of contacts. They were on the same heading as the first plane, and now the little surprise became something more.
“Con, new airborne contact—same heading, speed 480, at 36,000 feet.” He gave Karpov an astonished look. “I’m reading three planes.”
Three brief seconds passed in Karpov’s mind, one for each of those planes. They rang the alarm in his head like a great hammer striking a bell. He might explain away one plane, a little secret harbored by Takami to throw at him like this, but he could not explain three planes. He passed the briefest moment, stunned by the report. Then the rush of adrenaline took over, and the synapses of his brain fired in response. He had lightning fast computers at his beck and call, but his mind had to process that signal first, and set the defensive abilities of the ship in motion. He did not waste another half second with speculation concerning his enemy, or worries over inventory on hand. Wheeling about, he looked Samsonov in the eye and said one word.
“Fire!”
The big CIC Chief knew exactly how to interpret that command, his own reflexes well-honed for battle. All the while, Grilikov, sitting at his side again like the devil’s adjutant, stared in wide eyed suspense.
Three planes, three targets, three missiles. Samsonov was quick to get his weapons keyed and on their way, the deadly S-400s. The development of the S-400 Triumf was in some ways a response to missiles like the American Patriot air defense system. The S-300 had begun that way as well, a land deployed mobile missile that would fire from a canister bearing four launch tubes. It was an excellent “denial of airspace” attack on intruding aircraft, but the S-300 had always been designed with naval deployment in mind, a perfect candidate for the vertical launch modules installed on big ships like Kirov.
The Russians had long ago claimed that they had a system in that weapon that could find, track, and kill 5th Generation stealth fighters like the F-35. Now it was about to be put to a real-time test. NATO called the missile the SA-21 Growler when it was first deployed in 2016. Later it would evolve as the worthy successor to the S-300 SAMs used by the Russian Navy, the Gargoyles to NATO, and be replaced by an even better missile, the S-500, which had not been widely deployed by the time war broke out in 2021.
For now, the Triumf was about the best SAM the Russians had, fast at Mach 7, and it could range out 215 nautical miles, with a blast fragmentation warhead that was like shooting a 12 gauge shotgun at a chicken at close range when it exploded.
There were no emissions coming from the planes, so Karpov could not be certain just what he had in front of him, but he knew it had bad intent, and he knew that Samsonov had done exactly the right thing in selecting that weapon. You always lead with your Ace.
“A nice little rat’s nest out there,” he said to Fedorov, amazingly cool given the shock they all just had.
“Yes sir, those have to be enemy strike planes—modern day equipment. But how?”
“Ours is not to reason why,” said Karpov. “Not now, not in combat. It’s kill or be killed at this moment, and I want to live.”
“Sir,” said Rodenko. “The KA-40 has sent a refinement. We’ve got a hot fix on those bogies! They’re reading as F-35B Lightning fighter jets!”
Karpov’s jaw clenched. Now, with his missiles on the way, he reached for an answer. “Fedorov? Have we moved? Are we still in 1943?”
“There’s been no observable change I can put my finger on,” said Fedorov. “The sun is up, and just where it should be.”
“Mister Nikolin… Can you pick up that station you’ve been listening to?”
“Aye sir. Radio Tokyo is still on the air.”
“Then what in God’s name is going on here?” Karpov looked at the screen, his eyes glued on the thin lines tracing the path of his S-400s towards the contact.
“The fantail on Takami could not hold anything more,” said Fedorov, seeming to be a hundred miles away now. “I’m damn sure we haven’t moved in time. No explanation, sir, unless our system is malfunctioning.”
“No time for a diagnostic.” said Karpov. “I’ll treat any further contact as hostile and act accordingly.”