“Sir,” he said to Rodenko again. “I’ve another signal intercept. Looks like it was directed north, and a little stronger this time—same profile, short burst HF transmission with rapid modulation and hopping.”
Rodenko came over, looking over the data on Nikolin’s board, and then decided enough was enough. He went directly to Fedorov, who had the watch that hour, and reported. “Another signals packet intercept sir. Same heading and modulation. Someone is down there whispering again.”
Kirov had come south at 18 knots for the last 6 hours, radars sweeping the open sea and coastal regions of the long island. Now Fedorov thought it was time for a more active search.
“Mister Nikolin,” he said. “Send a message to the Helo Bay. I want the KA-226 ready for launch in twenty minutes—aerial search and reconnaissance. We need to have a closer look down south. Make sure they have the long range module installed for the Oko panel.”
“Aye sir.”
Fedorov gave Rodenko a look, but said nothing. He merely reached for the overhead intercom and punched up the officers dining hall. “Admiral Karpov, please come to the bridge.”
There would be no one in the dining hall to hear that call, for Karpov was up early and had finished his breakfast ten minutes earlier. He was already on the ladder up, and soon emerged from the main aft hatch, in what seemed like record time.
“That was fast,” said Fedorov.
“What? You needed me? Well, here I am.”
“We have a situation,” said Fedorov.
“Contact?”
“No sir, but more suspicious message traffic. I’m sending the KA-226 south to have a look around.”
“I’m still not sure what we think we might find there,” said Karpov. “But it will do no harm. Our operations here will soon be concluded. I have all three regiments of the 32nd ashore now, with supplies offloaded and the convoy withdrawing to Magadan this afternoon. This was a much easier operation than I first feared. I can relieve you now, Fedorov, if you’d care for a decent breakfast.”
“Sir, you have the bridge, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay and see what this recon operation turns up.”
That tickled some inner sense in Karpov, for he knew his first officer very well by now. Fedorov was worried about something, and so was Rodenko. The delicate sensory network of the ship extended at the very end to the nerves and synapses of the men who stood their watches. They were good men all, and very capable in the positions they held. He needed to pay attention here.
It was not long before the KA-226 began to find pieces of the puzzle. It had moved south with impunity, at an elevation of about 15,000 feet. At that height its Oko panel had a marvelous view of the sea in all directions, spinning slowly beneath the undercarriage of the helicopter. About a hundred kilometers south of Kirov, it obtained its first contact, another 200 klicks south, and began feeding the data directly to the mother ship.
“Five contacts,” said Rodenko, “in a fairly tight surface action group. No telling what they are at this point, but signal strength is good, and I’m guessing that isn’t commercial traffic.”
That was a very good guess, for the KA-226 was looking at the battleships Hiraga and Satsuma, with three heavy cruisers, Mogami, Mikuma, and Takao. Kurita had been found.
“Con, Radar has an airborne contact, bearing 375 north, range 280 kilometers approximate, and closing at 200kph.”
Fukada looked at Harada, a knowing look in his eye. “Someone is getting curious,” he said. “That has to be a helicopter.”
“Are we certain it isn’t a friendly off Sakhalin Island?”
“Could be, but they had orders to sit tight until we gave the signal for takeoff. And that contact is moving south.”
Harada rubbed his chin. This was not anything surprising. Kirov had helicopters available for recon and ASW missions, and this was undoubtedly one or the other. “They’ll be seeing Kurita by now,” he said.
“In another ten minutes they make us too,” said Fukada.
“But as far as they are concerned, we would just be another ship out here. If our EMCON is tight, we shouldn’t arouse any undue suspicion.”
“What if they get orders to eyeball the contacts. Some of those Russian helos have good long range optics and camera systems.”
“If he persists south towards Kurita we can make that call. Sure, we could take it down, but that would pretty much seal the deal insofar as who and what we are. The air strikes aren’t in position yet. We’ve got to coordinate this thing perfectly if we’re to have any chance of pulling it off.”
“Then I suggest we get those planes in the air,” said Fukada. “Every second counts.”
Harada nodded. Someone was out there strolling at the edge of the lawn, and likely to come right up the garden path and knock on his front door any minute now. He had to act.
“Lieutenant Shiota,” he said firmly. “Signal Hiraga—one phrase. Climb Mount Takami.”
“Aye sir.”
That was the prearranged signal to execute the plan. Land based planes would approach Kirov’s suspected position from the southwest, the wiggle of that jab in Harada’s mind. The carrier based planes would come due east to his position, then turn north. Once they got there, he would get his own helos in the air, use them to find Kirov, and vector the strike waves in. His only problem now was the need to close the range as quickly as possible, so he could bring that big right hand into the fight. The Type 12 SSM could only range out 120 kilometers.
“Sir,” said Fukada. “We should get a helo up as well. If we stay passive, it should still get a good fix on their location.”
“And if they tag our Sea King?”
“Sure, they’ll see it, but it will just be an airborne contact. They would probably assume it’s just a seaplane. We’ve got to know where they are to have any idea how much sea room we’ve got to eat up here. We need to nail down the range to target, and fast.”
Harada had written the score, but now it seemed that Fukada was conducting the orchestra. He was much more on edge than the Captain, and his reflexes prompted him to take some action. They weren’t going to win this thing by simply playing possum.
“Agreed,” said Harada. “Let’s get Whisky-T in the air and have them move as far north as Kurita. But I don’t want them bumping noses with that bogie out there. You’re right about those cameras on the Russian helos. Helm—ahead full and steady as she goes.”
“Aye sir, engines ahead full and steady on.”
It was about to begin.
“Con, airborne contact, low and slow, bearing 180 south of our helicopter.”
Karpov came over, eyeing the contact on Rodenko’s screen, all telemetry being fed by the Oko panel on the KA-226. The helo had been loitering, watching the approach of Kurita’s task force, but now Karpov was concerned.
“A single plane?”
“Looks that way sir,” said Rodenko. “Could be a seaplane off a cruiser.”
“Or a carrier.”
“I wouldn’t think that,” said Fedorov joining them. “If it was a carrier there to cover that forward group, they should have combat air patrols up by now.”
“This could be exactly that, the first plane to take off.”
“Well, the KA-226 is in no danger at this point,” said Fedorov. “They would have to get within visual range.”