“At the moment.” He gave Karpov those dark, warning eyes. “Drop a stone in a pool of water, and the ripples migrate out. In the beginning the frequency is very tight, but as they progress, the wavelengths increase, and the intensity grows less over time, like a tsunami that sees its energy dissipate over great distances. I suppose I always expected that these changes would have to migrate forward, but I thought that the real consequences could be held here—until these events have run their course.”
“You’re saying that these events are already changing the future—and you did not expect this to happen now?”
“Not yet. Sir… As we approached Paradox Hour—July 28th, last year, things began to happen on the ship—some very strange things, as I have told you. I’ve given that a good deal of thought, and I think those events may be linked to changes that migrated forward in time. Men started to go missing, and now I think it was because something in the long chain of causality was broken—their life line annulled, and time could no longer justify their continued existence. Understand sir? When we change this present, we will also change the future—all the days between this moment and this ship’s point of departure in 2021. Those men may have vanished because they never even existed—just like the names on that list Volkov squeezed out of Zolkin, the men we lost in combat on the first ship. When we returned to Vladivostok, it was as if they never existed.”
“And you are thinking that if something like our missile inventory has changed….”
Fedorov nodded. “Let me put it to you this way… Suppose we change something here that has a catastrophic effect on the line of causality, so much so that time cannot account for our presence here any longer. Don’t you understand sir? The very fact that this ship was even built rests on a big stack of plates—WWII, its outcome, the post war alignments, the cold war. Suppose they never build this ship. Yes, we could do something here that would lead to that, and apparently the consequences of our actions here are already starting to reach 2021, small ripples at first, small changes, but there could be a tsunami out there, moving inexorably forward in time, and every missile we fire increases that energy. Look what we’re doing here at this very moment—dueling with an Aegis class destroyer in 1942!”
Karpov blinked, thinking. Then Rodenko reported again, and the Admiral inclined his head, listening, though his eyes were still locked on Fedorov.
“Sir, missile launch detected by MR-800 Flag radar system at 188 degrees, 60 nautical miles. They’re firing at our KA-40. It’s an SM-2.”
Now Karpov turned. “Not very sporting of them. Signal that helo to drop elevation at once, get them right down on the deck. Do we still have a fix with our other helo?”
“It’s being jammed, but I still have good confidence on the contact location.”
“Then it’s time we settled this. Mister Samsonov, Moskit II system. Set attack profile to extreme low altitude with evasion on final approach. Eight missiles please. Target the contact and fire when ready. Rodenko. How’s our KA-40?”
“Descending… Descending… They’re using ECM now sir… I think they’ve spoofed that missile.”
“Good. If they survive, have them climb again and reacquire the contact to help our missiles along. Now let’s see how they like our Sunburns.”
“I’ve reacquired the KA-40,” said Otani. “They dropped elevation and hit our last missile with ECM.”
“Put one more on the damn thing,” said Harada. “Let’s keep them dancing.”
“Incoming!” said Otani. “J/OPS-28C has a missile at 20 nautical miles. SPY confirms, multiple contacts inbound.”
“Mister Honjo, weapons free. Knock them down.”
“Salvo of eight missiles this time—Sunburns.” Otani tagged the threat, and everyone on the bridge tensed up. They weren’t seeing these missiles until they broke the horizon at about 20 miles, which meant the Russians were also doing a number on their Sea King’s radar. Admiral Kurita had them in his binoculars at about the same time as they streaked past his position, one after another, a long train of potential destruction.
“That will make twelve in all,” said Fukada. “With what they threw at other targets earlier, this looks like they’re pushing all their chips out on one last number.”
He was wrong in that, for he was still assuming Kirov would have only 20 SSMs aboard, when in fact it left Severomorsk with three times that number. In they came, and only Otani could see it playing out in real time. It was coming down to seconds now, not minutes. Soon the watch called out they had tail fire on the Mark 1 Eyeball. Then Harada gave an order that no one expected.
“Signal the Kurita group. Tell them that unless they hear from us in five minutes, we strongly advise they withdraw.”
Then the deck erupted with fire and the SM-2s leapt up, heading for their targets. “Vampires at 10 nautical miles,” said Otani. “Splash Vampire 1!”
They were firing the SM-2s in pairs again, assigning a lead missile and a wingmate to every Vampire. The theory was that a ship would always carry more SAMs than the number of SSMs the enemy might be packing.
In they came, and the sky suddenly lit up with more explosions, and every single one saw the crew breathing just a little easier. They got five more missiles, one after another, with Otani calling out each kill. It was now down to the final two Vampires and there were still six SN-2s in the air out after them. Harada had been looking over Otani’s shoulder, not realizing that his right hand had tightened to a fist and his nails were biting into the flesh of his palm. He took a deep breath, opening his hand. It was looking good. Then they heard the laser firing at just inside the seven mile range.
“Laser hit! Splash Vampire 7.”
The pair of SN-2s double teamed the last missile, and they took it down at the six mile range marker, the brilliant red-orange explosion vibrating the ship with the shock wave. The last four SM-2s ran blind and slit their throats about twelve miles out.
“Missile eight is gone,” said Samsonov. “Nothing got through, sir. They threw sixteen SM-2s at them.”
Karpov was not happy. “So now we see just how good the American tech is. Twelve fucking Moskit IIs, and not one gets through.” He stroked his chin, thinking.
“SSM inventory,” he said with a growl.
“Sir, we have 24 missiles on the Moskit II system, 10 MOS-III, and 6 on the P-900 system—40 missiles in all.”
Karpov looked at Fedorov now. “Nice of Mother Time to leave the MOS-IIIs alone, eh Fedorov? At least nothing has changed on that count. They are quite a bit faster to the target. Let’s see if they can catch lightning. Mister Samsonov, one MOS-III—just one please.”
“Ready sir.”
Karpov looked over. “Mister Grilikov, why don’t you do the honors and fire this missile.”
Grilikov had been watching, somewhat dumbfounded at Samsonov’s side. Now he blinked, looking at his teacher, who quietly moved his thumb to point to the correct switch, then he winked.
Grilikov fired.
The MOS III was a descendant of the P-800 Onyx missile and the work that was done on the Brahmos/Yakhont system for foreign export. The Russians were looking to compress the response time for the defender even more, and in the balance of stealth vs speed, they usually opted for speed. What they wanted was a hypersonic missile, and the first SSM to fill that bill was the Zircon 3M-22, and the 3M stood for MOS-III. That original design was first introduced in 2017, and was capable of speeds up to Mach 5, but the missile Kirov was carrying was an upgrade, the 3M-33, still called MOS-III by the rank and file.