Men of War (2013)

by John Schettler

  Twenty minutes later he reached the Naval Headquarters building, sensed the rising tension there in the urgent movements of staff and adjutants, knew the thickening night above would be a long one. But will there ever be a dawn, he wondered?

  The Chief of Staff greeted him warmly, Andre Talanov, a stout and competent dark haired man in his late forties with a sharp eye and a good head on his shoulders. “Good evening, sir. We have received a communication from Moscow in light of both the current situation in the Pacific, and Admiral Abramov’s condition.”

  “How is the Admiral?”

  “We do not yet know sir, he is still in intensive care.” He handed Volsky a plain teletype message decrypt, and he knew what it was going to say as soon as he glanced at it… “Effective immediately, FLEET ADM VOLSKY, LEONID is herewith to assume full operational command of Red Banner Pacific Fleet Operations…”

  So I am out of Kapustin’s little frying pan for the moment, he thought to himself as he read the few closing details in the message. Yes, out of the frying pan and into the fire. He folded the message and gave his new Chief of Staff a solemn look. “I expect you have much more to tell me, Captain Talanov, and I certainly hope you have a cupboard full of good tea in the building.”

  “That we do, sir.”

  “Very well. Let’s get started then. I suppose you’ll want to brief me on this situation with the Chinese and Japanese.”

  “Yes, sir. There has been a live fire incident just northeast of the Diaoyutai Island group. We don’t know how it started yet, but the Japanese have lost a small destroyer escort, 2500 tons, the Oyoko, sir. It was part of a three ship flotilla and the remaining assets returned fire, sinking a Chinese Type 095 submarine. We have been in contact with Beijing, and they confirm that they have lost communications with the Li Zhu. The Japanese withdrew two remaining ships to the northeast temporarily. Japan issued a quick condemnation, vowed reprisal, and then put another flotilla to sea.”

  “And the Chinese?”

  “Their ships remain on station off the main island at Diaoyutai. They have put men ashore there, sir, and now we get word that a small Japanese coast guard cutter has also been fired on and boarded by Chinese Naval Marines off the principle ship in their task force, the Lanzhou.”

  “It sounds like the long war of words over those islands has ended. Of course it will be in all the papers tomorrow and the Japanese ambassador in Beijing will be hopping mad.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t do him much good, sir. Beijing informs me that they have occupied the Japanese Embassy there and arrested the ambassador.”

  “They did what? That’s unheard of!”

  “I think they mean business this time, sir. There’s a great deal going on in the diplomatic back channels tonight, but rumors are flying that a formal declaration of war is being considered. Beijing has been on the phone to Moscow about it for the last hour.”

  “War? Over those useless hunks of rock in the Pacific?”

  “It won’t be the first time, sir,” said Talanov, and Volsky knew all too well the truth of that statement.

  “What do we have at sea?”

  “The frigate Golovko and the destroyer Orlan are both in the Sea of Japan with the cruiser Varyag.”

  “Good. Make sure they stay there.”

  “But sir, they were ordered to the East China Sea to rendezvous with the Chinese.”

  “They are going to be late. I am countermanding that order immediately. The flotilla is to remain in the Sea of Japan and circle in place. Someone has to act sensibly in this situation. I think it will be me.”

  “Very good, sir, but won’t this cause some… political problems? The Chinese will be expecting our support.”

  “Political problems are solved more easily than military ones, Mister Talanov. It would have been nice of the Chinese to inform us they were going to start firing at Japanese ships, eh? Do you think our fleet is ready for a major air sea engagement in the East China Sea? I hardly think so. You may position one or two submarines there for situational awareness, and I think it would be wise to get two IL-38s and a Bear up on long range reconnaissance. But I don’t want surface ships attempting to transit the Korea Strait under these circumstances. If we do the Japanese will have planes over them in no time, and then we will need to send fighters, and so on. No. If we deploy it will be north of Hokkaido Island in the Sea of Okhotsk, and in close cooperation with our naval air forces on Sakhalin Island. That way anything we have in Kamchatka can join us in the Pacific. Look at your map, Captain. They do not call the waters south of us the Sea of Japan without good reason. Now then…I would also like a secure line to Moscow, and after that to the American Naval Headquarters in Hawaii.”

  “The Americans, sir?”

  “Of course. Get Admiral Richardson’s office on the line for me please, and ask them if he can take my call within the hour. And I want a list of everything the Americans have in the region or presently in transit on my desk in ten minutes.”

  Talanov had not seen this kind of decisive command style for some time, and it seemed a breath of fresh air to him after the slow and equivocating ways of Abramov. He smiled, grateful for the tone in Volsky’s voice that knew how to give an order and make it stick.

  “Aye, sir. Ten minutes. I’ll put you through to Moscow at once.” He saluted and rushed off.

  Volsky went quickly to Abramov’s old office, his eye falling on the family photos on his desk, a wife, daughter, grandchild. His mind strayed at once to his own wife back in Moscow. He had spoken with her on the telephone, heard the relief and joy in her voice to know that he was home safely again, and he apologized to her for the sorrow his sudden absence must have caused.

  “Elena,” he remembered telling her long ago. “You know that a sailor’s life is fraught with many dangers, and surprises. It may be that I go out one day and do not come home as planned, but never lose hope. The navy compels hard choices at times, and some things I do you will never know. Yes, there are still secrets to be kept under my hat, and an Admiral of the fleet gets more than his fair share of them. So you just wait for me. I will come home soon enough. Busy yourself with plans for the new house in Vladivostok.”

  She did that, good wife that she was, but when news of the accident with Orel came over the television, her faithful heart was rent through. Yet she waited, a long month, not having the slightest inkling of what her husband of forty years had been doing, but never losing hope. Then one day he called her, and her heart leapt with joy.

  “Leonid, you forgot to take your new leather gloves,” she said, remembering that last fitful worry she had clung to when he left her.

  “You packed them for the move?”

  “Of course, but you know how cold your hands always get on those ships. You’ll forget your head one day.”

  “But I’ll not forget you…”

  The silence between them on the line was enough, a long distended fiber of the love they had shared together for decades. The Admiral smiled inwardly at the memory, grateful that the two ends of time that had been rejoined had left them together as man and wife, unlike the sad fate of Voloshin. Some things, he realized, were simply meant to be, in this world or in any other.

  Volsky settled in to Abramov’s desk, putting his personal things aside in a drawer and trying to clear his mind for the difficult days that would surely lay ahead. Talanov was back in ten minutes as promised, a look of concern in his eyes.

  “There’s been a development,” he said flatly. “The Japanese have escalated the situation. They’ve sent a couple of their new DDH class helicopter destroyers and put men on the main island.”

  “The landing was opposed?” Volsky asked the obvious next question.

  “It was, sir and hostilities have renewed. The Chinese fired on the helicopters as they made their approach and the Japanese took out that ship, one of the new Chinese Type 054 class frigates, the Weifang.”

  “They sunk it? What has suddenly possessed the Japanese?
For decades they were content to sit in their islands and build the world’s best cars and electronics. Now this!”

  “It’s that new Prime Minister, sir. You know the old Chinese proverb.”

  “What is that?” the Admiral asked.

  “A newly appointed official burns three fires. They tend to overdo things, and Mr. Amori has taken a very hard line concerning matters related to Japanese territorial claims.”

  “Yes,” said Volsky. “Particularly when they sit atop a lot of potential oil and gas contracts. And what are the Chinese doing?”

  “There was an air duel between fighters off Okinawa and mainland China, and then the icing on the cake.”

  “Something tells me I do not wish to hear what followed.”

  “A ballistic missile strike, sir. DongFeng 15s and 21s. The Chinese hit one of the Japanese DDH class ships. It went down about two hours ago in the East China Sea. Missiles also struck Naha airfield on Okinawa. Conventional warheads, but a rather daring escalation. Those islands are still disputed territory, but there is no question about Okinawa. That is the home soil of the Japanese nation.”

  “Yes,” Volsky had a worried look now, his thoughts bouncing from shadowed memories of blackened cities to the rapid pulse of these current events.

  “I don’t think they were quite prepared for this level of conflict, sir. They sent only one flotilla of three ships, and the Japanese overmatched them. One of their helo carriers has deployed the new American Joint Strike Fighter.”

  “My Mister Fedorov would be able to tell me all about them. Well, the Japanese have a bad habit of catching their adversaries unprepared and paying a high price for it. Look what they did at Pearl Harbor.”

  “Pearl Harbor, sir?”

  The Admiral suddenly realized he had stumbled, and made a recovery in the easiest way possible. For he, too, was a newly appointed official, and so he just decided to start burning a few fires of his own.

  “Never mind the Japanese for the moment, Talanov. When will you have Moscow on the line?”

  “Zhakarov is holding now, sir. We are waiting for Suchkov.”

  “Yes, we’ve been waiting for him to retire for years,” said Volsky, and it brought a knowing smile to Talanov’s eyes.

  “It should just be a few minutes more, Admiral.”

  How true, thought Volsky. It is coming down to minutes and seconds on that alarm clock bomb again, and God help us this time, because after that comes the abyss.

  Chapter 18

  Karpov was doing something he seldom ever did before. He was walking the ship, just as Volsky might have done, and he was talking with the men, listening to them, hearing their concerns and seeing what he might do to help them. He worked the ship from bow to stern, checking on the progress of all work being done and encouraging the crews to get ready for action. He admired their determination and sense of duty, the smooth, easy way they cooperated with the junior officers, the confidence that seemed to underlie their every movement now. This was a ship of veteran sailors, and he was proud to be its Captain. He knew he still had a few bills to pay for what he had done in the Atlantic, and now he went to see about one of them.

  When he found Troyak he was busy supervising the load-out operations for the sole KA-40 on the helo deck. The stalwart Marine Sergeant saluted and Karpov asked him to walk with him to the starboard gunwale.

  “The men look good, Sergeant. How are they feeling?”

  “They are in good shape, sir. Mantek had a problem with home, but the others enjoyed a good long shore leave this last week.”

  “What was wrong with Mantek?”

  “Girlfriends,” Troyak smiled.

  “I understand. And what about you, Sergeant? Where is home for you?”

  “Provideniya, sir. A little place on the Chukchi peninsula.”

  “Have you called home? I hope all is well.”

  “It’s still there, sir.”

  Karpov smiled. Then he changed his tone, his voice lowering somewhat. “That was not the case with a few other men,” he confided. “One came home to find his wife with another man; another could not even find his apartment here in the city. Things have changed, Troyak, do you understand this?”

  “Not exactly, sir.”

  “That makes two of us. But I think our Mister Fedorov will sort the matter out for us both one day. In the meantime…” He gave Troyak a long look. “Sergeant, I have come to apologize to you for what I did in the Atlantic; for the position I put you and your men in, trying to set you in opposition to the Admiral. I was a stupid fool. I should have been severely punished, and instead I was handed forgiveness. I am here to see if you might spare me a little as well.”

  Troyak nodded gravely, and the Captain continued.

  “I was wrong to do what I did, and I have only the Admiral’s grace to hold for the fact that I am standing here now and still wearing these stripes. I should be in the Brig, or worse, but Volsky gave me this chance and I am pledged to the service of this ship. I won’t let him down, or this crew down, ever again. Understand?”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  Karpov smiled. “I finally learned something that you have known for some time, Troyak.”

  “Sir?”

  “The meaning of the word duty.”

  The doughty Sergeant nodded silently, understanding. Now Karpov folded his arms, taking the stance of a commanding officer briefing a subordinate, but there was something more in his tone. He was taking Troyak into his confidence, and the Sergeant could hear it plainly.

  “Admiral Volsky has been summoned to Naval Headquarters at Fokino. I believe he will be assuming command there, and thank God for that. Now that leaves us to do what we can here. There has been an incident in the East China Sea, Sergeant. The Chinese and Japanese are at it again, only this time it looks serious. It’s very likely that we will be called to action again soon. I just wanted you to know, one man of war to another.”

  Troyak remembered the last time Karpov had placed himself in the same rank and file as he was with his Marines. He recalled how he had inwardly distained the remark, but this time things were different. He had heard the stories the men still told about Karpov on the bridge. The junior officers rotating down to the lower decks had painted the picture very sharply. The enemy was right on top of us, but Karpov saved the ship. They were coming at us from all sides, but Karpov was cold as ice, and he stopped them! The big enemy battleship was trying to stick it to us, but not with the Captain on the bridge. Karpov gave them hell! He knew he was now standing with a man of his own ilk, another warrior in the stream of life, and yes, a man of war. Karpov’s strength was not in his shoulders or arms, but he had stood his watch on the wall, and he had fought and delivered the ship safely home again. Troyak nodded, and conferred both his absolution and acceptance of the other man in that one simple gesture.

  “You can rely on me, sir.”

  “Yes…But I think that will be the easy part for us, Sergeant Troyak. When it comes to a fight we will know what to do easily enough. Yet we have both seen what was left of the world on one black day after another. Something tells me we are steering a course that way even as we speak. I don’t know how yet, or what we can do about it. I once thought that if I could just get the ship home safely it would be enough, but there is something more in front of us now. We may be called to war soon, but if we are ever to avoid that other world we saw, we’ll have to become something more, you and I. We’ll have to become men of peace as well.”

  “I understand, sir….At least I think I do.”

  “You are the business end of a platoon of highly trained men, Sergeant. But not every blow is struck to do harm. This is the only way I can think to understand it. Sometimes we fight to do some good, and we do what we must when it comes to battle. But Fedorov once told me to think also of what we should do, and this time I will keep his advice in my front shirt pocket, and heed it well.”

  The Captain clasped Troyak on the shoulder, even as he had done once befo
re, only this time things were different. This time the gesture was real. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “Sir.” Troyak saluted, and returned to his men.

  Karpov headed forward to look for Fedorov, learning that he had gone to the sick bay, so he made his way there. When he arrived he was surprised to see both Kapustin and Volkov there, in some heated conversation with Doctor Zolkin.

  “Welcome, Captain,” the Doctor said with some exasperation. “Perhaps you can do some of the shouting now, and I can have a rest.”

  Zolkin was at his desk, Fedorov sitting on a chair by the wall, and Kapustin was seated opposite the Doctor with three manila folders in hand. Volkov was standing behind him like a gray shadow, a smirk on his face.

  “I was asking the good Doctor here how he managed to come up with this little charade,” said Kapustin, gesturing at the files.

  “What are you talking about, Inspector?” said Karpov, his eyes drawn to the folders.

  “You are going to tell me that you know nothing about it as well? What do I have here now, three blind mice? You are the senior officers aboard this ship!”

  “He is telling me these records were fabricated,” said Zolkin, an aggrieved expression on his face. “These are the files for the new junior officer trainees that we lost in the accident aft.”

  “Denikin, Krasnov and Rykov,” said Karpov.

  “Exactly,” said Zolkin. “You see, Mister Kapustin, he knows them by name without a second thought.” He pointed at the Captain, claiming him as evidence on his side of the argument. Karpov realized that Zolkin had been out of the loop in the discussion he had with Volsky and Fedorov on this matter, and he was thinking how to proceed.

  “Well the Captain knows them, does he?” said Kapustin slowly. “That’s good, because no one in Moscow seems to know them, not their names, not their service records either. So where did these come from?” He rotated slowly in his chair, like a big threatening gun turret slowly training to engage a new target.