“We just weren’t there in that moment.” Fedorov finished his thought. “We phased. I’m almost sure of it.”
Karpov smiled. “Well you can thank any God you’d care to pray to for that. Thank old Mother Time if you will. But Fedorov—have we moved? Have we gone to some other time?”
“I don’t think so. That detonation cloud is still out there, plain as day. No, I think we’ve settled back into 1943, just where we were.”
Then Rodenko spoke up again, confirming the issue. “I have re-established contact with both KA-40s.”
“Sir,” said Nikolin. “Blackbird is hovering and requesting permission to land. Very strange… They say they lost sight of the ship as they descended and couldn’t relocate us for over ten minutes. Now they have only three minutes fuel left.”
“Permission granted. Bring them in.”
Karpov gave Fedorov a knowing look. He felt his whole frame relax, the tension unwinding, but it left him feeling strangely weak. He walked slowly to the Captain’s chair, and took a seat, with Fedorov following him.
Fedorov reached for his missile key, intending to return it to Karpov, a sour expression on his face. “There’s no point in my having this.”
“What? Now don’t be so sensitive, Fedorov. I’m sorry, but I had only seconds to complete that missile launch—you understand? Seconds.”
“Oh I understand completely. You gave me this key, and made me Starpom, but all I seem to be good for here in your eyes is sorting out the time travel.”
“Come on, Fedorov. Don’t be that way. You know I trust your judgment.”
“Except when it comes to the use of special warheads.”
“I already told you,” said Karpov. “I had no time. A moment’s hesitation and those smart bombs would have been too close for me to do what I did. Grilikov is all synapse and nerve, and that was what that moment required. I could have no hesitation; no discussion. The missile had to be fired. If you want to discuss it now, be my guest, but hold on to that key. Under any other circumstances, I would have brought you in on the decision. In that situation, I had to make it alone.”
“And you made damn sure you had the means to do so. In fact, Grilikov is on the bridge for more reasons than turning missile keys, yes?”
“Well Fedorov… Let’s just say that a man once burned is twice guarded. I’ve had you raise the alarm and set Troyak and his Marines on me, and I’ve seen that one over there raise a ruckus,” he nodded at Rodenko, “though it was Zolkin that did the real meddling. That isn’t ever going to happen on this bridge again. If it takes Grilikov, then that’s what it takes. But why all this talk? We should all be glad for the breath we still have to waste on it. Forgive me, but let me check in with Rodenko.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Radar—anything out there I need to worry about?”
“Sir, no airborne contacts, but we still have that Japanese destroyer. The datalinks are back up, and Turkey 1 has a good fix on their position. But the range has closed to 73 nautical miles, bearing 32 degrees. I have them on a heading of 216 degrees, at 30 knots. Designate Greybear.”
Karpov took a deep breath, finally able to relax, if only for a moment. “This confirms that we’ve settled in to the same time, right Fedorov?”
“It seem so, like a wave rolling over us. We may have only been out of phase with this time for a very brief moment.”
“A perfect moment,” said Karpov, somewhat buoyant now. “In that moment, death may have very well passed right through us in those thirty two glide bombs. Oh, if I had to fight them I would have probably taken down at least twenty-eight… But there were thirty two. If any of the others had struck us…” He didn’t have to finish.
“Then I guess we got lucky,” said Fedorov.
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I reached this end by taking decisive action when it was needed—cause an effect—and I was the cause. Of course I couldn’t foresee the exact effects of that detonation, but I’ll take the hand we were dealt after that. I traded that warhead for our lives, and the life of this ship. Now then… We have a lot more on our hands than we did an hour ago. Here we thought we were out to get Takami, and all the while, they were out to get us. It could be that these other forces were already in theater, and we just never knew about it. They may have arrived at the same time Takami did.”
“No way to really know,” said Fedorov, “unless you feel like chatting with Captain Harada again.”
“F-35’s…. The Japanese have those planes, and they can lift them on their Izumo class carriers. So my bet is that we’ve got one out there to the north. We faced twelve planes, and by god, this isn’t over. Those that got away safely could be landing on that carrier even as we speak. In training we figured four to six hours for turnover if they have to arm and refuel them again. Modern ordnance is a little more tricky than just latching on a dumb iron bomb, as in this war. But the dangerous fact remains that we could be facing another air attack, and very soon.”
Chief Biko stepped through the main bridge hatch, removing his cap. “Sir, damage control report. We had a few feathers ruffled by that shock wave, and some minor EMP damage.” Biko was all business. He had been as surprised as anyone else when the nuke went off, but that want not his business. He saw to the ship, fretting over each and every mechanical and electronic component like they were his children.
“Anything serious?”
“A little damage to one of the MP-407 ECM systems, and strangely, to the secure radio set. I have men on it now, but we won’t be able to send messages to Kazan until I get that fixed. Give me twenty minutes.” He saluted and withdrew, more business to attend to.
Karpov looked at his Plexiglas status board. “Well, Kazan is right on top of those bastards. Why hasn’t he fired?”
Gromyko looked to be no more than 16 nautical miles from Takami, and in fact, he was just about to enter the game. He had brought Kazan from its cruising station above the layer up to shallow depth, about 130 feet, suitable for missile launch. He slowed to 12 knots to prevent cavitation at that depth, wanting to remain as silent as possible, even if he was about to give away his position and fire.
Chernov, his Sonarman, then reported something odd, a sound, like that of a great kettle drum being struck, and a deep rumble that resolved to some very strange harmonics.
“Where?” said Gromyko, leaning over his station, and Chernov pointed out the location. “Here sir, about fifty nautical miles north of Kirov’s position.”
Gromyko listened to the recording of the sound Chernov had heard, his eyes narrowing and his aspect more resolved with each passing second. He had heard this before. Something was happening, and every sense warned him of danger. Kirov was at war…
“Admiral,” he said to Volsky. “With your permission, I would like to engage and kill that ship.”
“Permission granted,” said Volsky. Then he inclined his head. “Can you kill it, Captain?”
Gromyko gave him a thin lipped smile.
He decided to send a distraction towards the Japanese ship to see if they were on their toes. He wanted to know the score when he went shallow, so he fired a Fizik 533 mm Torpedo to see what his quarry would do, internally counting the seconds that passed after he made that launch. Sure enough, the Japanese reacted almost immediately, without ten seconds hesitation, Chernov reported the enemy ship had turned away from the torpedo, and they were putting on speed.
So they know I’m here, he thought. Either that or they have a very good sonar operator to locate the exact bearing of that torpedo launch so quickly. No. They must have made me long ago, so I’d better finish up here and be quick about getting somewhere else.