“Sir, respectfully, that did not stop the rocket weapons that struck this ship earlier. And you witnessed many such weapons pass our position heading south. They were fired at Takami, and I am happy to report that each and every one of them was defeated by our own rockets. If, however, they had been directed at this task force….” He let a moment of silence underscore his message. Kobayashi was a bright young officer, and he had been selected because of his uncanny way with his seniors, who invariably came to admire him. He seemed to know every nuance of the culture and language, even with these men, ghosts from Japan’s distant past.
“Respectfully, sir, if we join with Takami as a single task force, then your ships can be shielded from harm, and your guns may then get their chance. Yet we must redeploy south, out of range of the enemy to consolidate. Captain Harada makes this urgent request, and begs you to come to a heading of 180 true south. As for the air strikes, he requests they should be recalled to Kaga and Tosa immediately, the planes were unable to time their arrival properly, and Takami remains too far south to defend them as they approach.”
Kurita stared at the man, the anger evident in his eyes. Yet he was no fool, and one thing was now perfectly clear to him, this ship—the Takami—was overmatched. Yes, the attack was not properly coordinated. This is what happens when I allow a Captain to dictate deployments here. I should have taken complete charge of this mission, as I was ordered by Admiral Yamamoto. Under these circumstances, however, it would be foolish to press on without support of all our remaining fleet assets, particularly the carriers. As reluctant as I am to do so, the best course would now be to regroup as this Captain suggests.
“Very well,” he said. “Signal Takami that we are redeploying south as requested, whereupon he will meet with me personally on this ship to explain the incompetence that has put us in this position. That is all. Dismissed!”
When Karpov got the news that the enemy battleships had turned south, he smiled. Yes, he thought, I called their bluff and they folded. Now I savor the satisfaction that comes only to those who truly have power. This unexpected intruder is largely irrelevant. There is no sense wasting more missiles on it, let alone a special warhead. I’ll knock down those planes if they persist, then hasten this other surface action group along, and that alone will show this Captain Harada just how futile his situation is. That ship was never a match for Kirov, but then again, they knew that. This is why they tried to coordinate their surprise attack with these air strikes, but it was badly done.
We were Achilles here today, they were Hector, but lucky that I spare them. Now all of Troy lies before me for the taking. I’ve beaten the one champion they had with any chance of putting a dent in my armor. There is nothing they can do to stop me now, at least on the sea. The rest will be up to our troops on Sakhalin Island. If they do the job, then we will prevail.
I tested Fedorov just now to see how he might react to my proposal to use special warheads. While I expected resistance, I must say his analysis was quite sound. Even though he has been a lot of trouble in the past, he can be quite an asset now. He was completely correct in pointing out that while we are harboring tactical nukes in our magazines, their real power here lies in strategic application.
And there was one other thing that restrained me, even if he failed to mention it—the exotic effects of a nuclear detonation. I mustn’t forget that we still have Rod-25 aboard. From what I can gather in speaking with Fedorov, Time is rather warped and bruised here now. We must be very cautious about putting any more cracks in Fedorov’s mirror.
This other matter he brought up was also somewhat unsettling. He’s worried, as he always is, about the history, only this time there is something darker, more frightening in his manner than I ever perceived before. He is thinking our actions here are already starting to migrate forward, changing the history in the far future, in our time. He is worried that we will do something that will completely undermine the line of causality, and render our position here null and void. That would be very inconvenient.
I like my position here. In fact, I have no intention of ever trying to return to 2021. I saw quite enough of that world, that war. This one I can manage. Here I am a god on the sea, and a real player in these events. Back there, I am just another sea Captain, just another target when the ballistic missiles start to fly. ‘If I hold out here and I lay siege to Troy, my journey home is gone, but my glory never dies. If I voyage back to the fatherland I love, my pride, my glory dies…’ Words spoken by Achilles, he thought, and so I share his dilemma. Yet Fedorov may be on to something in his fear of tomorrow’s unfolding, and I must heed his warning.
When the engagement had settled down, his enemy turned south, Karpov gave orders to come about. Even the enemy planes turned to withdraw, and they only had to use those two Klinok missiles to discourage them.
That was not very Japanese of them, he thought, but someone must have ordered them to break off. Perhaps I will meet this ship again another day, but for now, I must speak with my Starpom.
“Mister Fedorov, a most satisfactory engagement. Yes?”
“Any engagement where the ship comes through without harm is a good one,” said Fedorov. “That said, we’re light a baker’s dozen under the forward deck.”
“Perhaps so, but they are far worse off, and largely irrelevant now.”
“Don’t discount them,” Fedorov cautioned. “That SPY-1D radar set is enough of a weapon to make a real difference here. Were they worth another dozen SSMs? I think not, but they remain a factor here, and a dangerous one.”
“I’m more concerned with this worry you have for the future. What is it, another threat from Paradox?”
“One was enough,” said Fedorov with a shrug.
“Yes… I faced it in a very harrowing hour aboard Tunguska, but as you can see, I prevailed, not Mother Time. That may sound like hubris, but here I stand, and she is still trying to figure out what to do about me—yes, I have no doubt. Then you see no paradox on our present course?”
“No, it isn’t that. The period we are in now is a kind of safe zone for the ship. We were never here before on the first ship. Remember? It was late August of 1941 when you did resort to a tactical nuke—”
“And I blew the ship into oblivion.”
“Correct.”
“Where in hell were we? I was in the brig, and did not see all that much. Believe me, it’s the last time that will ever happen.”
“The warhead, sir?”
“The damn brig! That aside, Volsky said the world went to hell.”
“Hell is a good way to describe it. I think it was a future that arose from our actions here, and it was very grim. Be glad you didn’t get a better look at it, but you remember what we saw in the Med before we shifted, Rome burned and blackened, Naples gone. Yes, it was hell.”
“But this period is safe? Explain.”
“We vanished in August of 1941, sailed through that broken future to the Med, and then reappeared a full year later, in August of 1942, right in the middle of Operation Pedestal. With Malta gone, that history isn’t likely to repeat, let alone the fact that we are still here in the Pacific. We never vanished last August like the first ship.”
“Should we fear that date, August of 1942? Might there be another paradox there?”