Nemesis

by John Schettler

  “It was quite a tale,” said Volsky.

  “It certainly was, but the good news is that your prescription for Fedorov is just what he needs now—food, rest, time away from the stress of the bridge, and from Karpov. I’ll keep a very close eye on him, and make sure Orlov minds his own business and leaves the young man alone. One of the cooks was in here earlier and reported the Chief was with Fedorov in the officer’s mess. It seems there was an incident there, nothing serious, but Orlov could have only heightened Fedorov’s sense of vulnerability.”

  “I see…” Volsky was listening intently to what the Doctor was saying, thinking and considering.

  “Notice how he kept most of this to himself until Karpov came out with his accusation here?” Zolkin continued. “Now we get this story placing the Captain in the center of a conspiracy to seize control of events. As we have just heard, Karpov is a man of action, and in many ways he may represent that threat of war that Fedorov seems to be reacting to here. Look what Fedorov tells us—that it was Karpov who seized control of the ship and then set loose the nukes! I think Fedorov fears that if Karpov has his way in the interpretation of these events, we get war, and that is what is really frightening him. And who foils this attempted mutiny? Fedorov himself, armed with the foreknowledge of everything Karpov will do—armed with certainty in the face of this intense uncertainty we have been facing. Understand? The mind is a fickle thing under stress, Leonid, and particularly when it gets knocked about with a good bump on the head. Hence we get this fantastic tale Fedorov spun out. You see? He claims to know what happened as a way of bringing a kind of certainty to the situation. This déjà vu he claims to be experiencing is just a kind of defense mechanism.”

  “I see…” Volsky was obviously troubled. “Well my friend, we still have a great many unanswered questions here, and the Captain just took a shot at one of them! I won’t get to the bottom of all this sitting here with this breakfast tray on my lap. I think I feel well enough to get myself to the bridge.”

  “Are you certain, Leonid? We don’t need you taking another fall on a ladder or stairway now.”

  “Don’t worry, my sea legs are back. I will be fine. But I need to get up there and see what is going on. Obviously we did not get any good news from the KA-226. Karpov has not reported, so he may be otherwise occupied. If he fired, then the sun and moon aside, this ship may now be at war. My place is on the bridge.”

  Volsky set the breakfast tray aside, and the Doctor fetched his officer’s coat and cap as he made ready to leave.

  “I must say, Leonid, I’ve been more than tempted to dig into the back of my medicine cabinet and find that bottle of Vodka.”

  “Let me know if you do,” Volsky smiled. “Because at 18:30 this evening, I have a suspicion that we will indeed find our missing moon. That and the recall order sit as two opposing arguments here—like fire and ice. A poet once wondered which way the world would end, with fire or ice, and now I find myself wondering the same thing. I hope, when we do get home, the damn base is still there, and then someone can please explain to me why the moon is off its well appointed rounds.”

  Zolkin just looked at him, shaking his head.

  “And one more thing, Dmitri,” said Volsky. “Did you know that when this business started, Fedorov suggested we send out a message on a very specific channel. I assumed he knew the British command link frequencies, and it seemed logical to try and diffuse the situation if we could, so I had Nikolin send out that signal. Lo and behold, we get a call from a man claiming to be an Admiral Tovey, right out of Fedorov’s history books, and the man he claims we were steaming with in battle just a few months ago. Yes, Fedorov may have quite an imagination, and he certainly loves his history, but who does this British Admiral ask to speak with when he contacts us? Well, I’m told he was kind enough to ask for me, the commanding officer aboard this ship. But that failing, Karpov tells me he wanted to speak with Mister Fedorov…” He waited, adjusting the buttons on his coat.

  “Now then… Why in the world would an Admiral in the Royal Navy want to speak with our Lieutenant and Senior Navigator, this I wonder? Karpov wondered about it too, and it certainly led him to one conclusion about Fedorov—that he was a spy, or a double agent working for the British. So tell me, Dmitri, which tall tale am I to believe here? I may just find my answer on the bridge. If Karpov is correct, yes, do keep an eye on Mister Fedorov for me. But if Fedorov is correct… Then find that bottle of Vodka, will you? I think I’m going to need it.”

  Part V

  Coming Home

  “The stranger who comes home does not make himself at home but makes home itself strange.”

  ― Rainer Maria Rilke

  Chapter 13

  A pair of German U-Boats were out hunting that morning, U-451 under Lt. Cdr Hoffmann, and U-566 under Kapitan Dietrich Borchert. They had left the German occupied harbor at Kirkenes the previous day, cruising up past Vardo on the icy cape, and well out into the Barents Sea. Their intention was to turn southeast the following day, working their way down along the Kola Coast north of Murmansk, towards the entrance to the White Sea, where supplies for that important Arctic Bastion would often come in by boat from Arkhangelsk. Yet that morning, Kapitan Borchert received a most unexpected message in the hand of his Executive Officer Hans Karpf.

  “Change of plans,” said Karpf with a smile. “It looks like we may have bigger fish to fry out west.”

  “West?”

  “Yes sir. One of our seaplanes out of Tromso was out looking for those British cruisers snooping around up north. It appears they found something more.”

  “Well don’t be coy, Number One, what was it?”

  “That isn’t clear, at least not from this message.” He handed the signal to the Kapitan, waiting while he read it. The number two Watch Officer, Otto Westphalen was suddenly curious, fetching a map to see where they might be headed. Of the three men, he would end up being the most successful, eventually logging six kills and one additional hit when he moved on to U-968, for 32,415 tons, most of these very late in the war. Kapitan Borchert would have to wait another six months before he would get his first kill with this boat, and then four more months before he would get his last, along with an Iron Cross, 1st Class. But none of this would matter now, as that history had faded to grey with the coming of the very ship these men were now about to encounter.

  “Trouble,” said the Kapitan. “The plane went down and now they want us to take position north of Tanafjord to wait for something.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Who knows, but if we lost a seaplane, then it might be a carrier. Or possibly those cruisers we were warned about. Very well, come about to 300 and let’s get up there. U-451 has been ordered to accompany us.”

  “A carrier, Herr Kapitan?” said Otto Westphalen. “That would make a nice trophy, and Iron Crosses for all of us if we get lucky.”

  If wishes were horses, thought Borchert. A British carrier would not steam alone, and they often cruised in pairs, with plenty of destroyers along, and fast cruisers. They would have to get very lucky, he thought, but then more news came in a second signal later that day. ‘6th DD Flotilla reports one large enemy warship, now estimated 30 kilometers north of Mehman and approaching your intended position.’

  “A large enemy warship,” said Borchert, “and apparently alone from the sound of this. Very strange.”

  “It could be one of those cruisers we were looking for, sir. Most likely out on an offensive sweep before heading home. ”

  “Most likely…” He looked at his watch, thinking. “We’ll dive in ten minutes. Signal Hoffmann on U-451 to do the same. Let’s be ready and load the bow tubes now.”

  This Type VII-C boat had four tubes forward, and one more aft, with fourteen torpedoes in all, along with 26 mines and a nice 88mm deck gun. Yet even as they stooped over the map, noting the position beneath the wan overhead light, another man was listening to them quietly marking their slow progress across the
bow of a most unwelcome guest in these frigid northern seas.

  *

  Admiral Volsky had a lot to think about that morning, and soon the least of his worries would be the mental state of his Senior Navigator. When he got to the bridge, announced by Rodenko, the Captain was huddling with Samsonov.

  “Admiral,” he said, looking somewhat surprised. “We did not expect you.”

  “Missile fire has a way of motivating even me, Captain. What did we just kill?” There was no question in his mind that the missile found its target. The only question was how bad the damage was, and whether or not it had escalated the delicate situation they now found themselves in.

  “The aircraft was approached by the KA-226 and we obtained long range video,” said Karpov. “Have a look, Admiral. It was clearly a military aircraft, a seaplane of some type, but it was not a simple reconnaissance plane. When the KA-226 made a closer approach, it received machinegun fire.”

  “From that?” Volsky was squinting at the video on the overhead display. “What is that tail marking?”

  “We believe it was a German plane.”

  “German? And you killed it?”

  “Sir, it fired on our helicopter, and when I got that report I initiated hostilities. The aircraft was downed, and I have moved the KA-226 south to have a look at that surface contact. We should have a report in minutes.”

  “I understand what you have done Captain, but that could have been a warning shot. Was our helicopter hit?”

  “No sir, I was not about to let that happen.”

  “Yes? Well let us hope we did not just start a major international incident here.”

  “If that is the case, we did not start it, Admiral. They did, and I finished it. There is a complete record of events on log. I took the liberty of protecting myself, and the ship and crew, by recording this event. If you review the file, you will see that I acted appropriately, and in accord with all international protocols. I had Nikolin warn that plane off, and when they refused to alter course, I locked on targeting radars, and issued a further warning. There was no response, other than machine gun fire directed at our helicopter, and so sixty seconds later I gave the order to fire the Klinok system. The target was successfully engaged and the threat removed.”

  Volsky listened with a heavy heart. It all sounded so sanitary and proper. A leads on to B, and B leads on to C, a reflexive action that might now spark a major incident, just one more thing they would have to account for when they reached Severomorsk. He shook his head. “Did it occur to you that this could be interpreted as a reprisal for what happened to Slava and Orel?”

  “If that is so, then let them be warned,” said Karpov flatly. “The Russian Navy will not tolerate this nonsense any longer. We still get nothing but that garbage on all radio stations. They must have a ship out here somewhere, or possibly a submarine, flooding every channel with those signals.”

  “Well,” said Volsky, “It is clear your tolerance and patience in our present situation has worn thin, and perhaps understandably so. But do not assume your wishes define the present policy of the Russian Navy, Mister Karpov.”

  As if in answer to Karpov’s assertion, Tasarov shifted in his chair and put one hand to his headset. “Con… contact, bearing 110 southwest… confidence high.”

  “A submarine?” Karpov was quickly at his side.

  “Surface contact, sir. Make that two contacts, very similar. Slow and quiet. I think they were on the other side of the cape and have only now emerged. Rodenko should have them on radar soon.”

  “Nothing yet,” said Rodenko, his eyes heavy on the screens of the Fregat system. Tasarov kept listening, then nodded his head.

  “I read this as an undersea contact now, he said. Two submarines. I think these are diesel boats, sir, but they are quite noisy.”

  “They must have just submerged when they saw us on radar after rounding the cape.”

  “They can’t have anything better than our Fregat system,” said Rodenko. “Any reading on range, Tasarov?”

  “Processing… Processing… Reading now… I make it roughly 35 kilometers, sir. I don’t think they could have picked us up.”

  “Norwegian submarines, Tasarov?” asked Volsky. “Do we have signatures on these contacts?”

  “No sir. I get enough to classify them as diesel boats, but no signature match.”

  “Admiral,” said Karpov, “there must be a combined NATO operation underway here. What would a German marked aircraft be doing this far north? That plane had to be part of some unified force.”

  “Yet we received no notifications prior to our departure, or any time since,” said Volsky.

  “Sir,” said Nikolin. “The KA-226 is now in long visual range of those surface contacts to our south.”

  Volsky took a deep breath. “Yes, and we just shot down a NATO recon plane, or so the Captain now believes. Did it occur to you that if those ships are part of this combined force you mention, that our helicopter is now in grave jeopardy. Surely they will learn we just fired a missile.”

  “Then let them take the lesson well,” said Karpov, and the Admiral gave him a sour look, striding to the Captain’s chair and sitting down.

  “Mister Nikolin, contact our helo and tell them to maintain range. I repeat, do not close on that surface contact. If they can obtain long range video footage, get it on that overhead display for me as soon as possible. Mister Karpov, let us now see if these are indeed Nansen class Frigates, as you suggested earlier. In the meantime, please order a KA-40 to rig for undersea combat, and report when ready.”

  “Aye sir,” said Karpov, eager to see the Admiral getting into fighting trim. With Fedorov gone, there was no further nonsense on the bridge, and they could prosecute these contacts properly, as they should have long ago. Yet the thought that two enemy submarines had just submerged ahead of them was somewhat unnerving for him, and he had his eye on Tasarov now, as he continued to track the contact. He went quickly to the intercom to relay the order to the helo bay, then returned to Tasarov.

  “Anything more?”

  “Processing speed now sir,” said Tasarov. “Very slow. I make it no more than 7 knots.”

  “They are creeping along like a pair of old brown bears on the tundra,” said Karpov. “Designate that contact group Brown Bear 1, and let me know the instant you hear anything more.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Video feed arriving from KA-226,” said Nikolin, and all eyes were now on the overhead display.

  “Four ships,” said Karpov. “There’s your high speed screw noise, Admiral. Four corvettes, from the look of this.”

  “But they are clearly not Nansen class,” said Volsky. “Do I see two single deck guns forward there? And two stacks? This is a very old ship from the look of it. Look at the hull design.”

  The Nansen class Norwegian frigate was a sleek, modern ship, with a unitary hull shaped for stealth, and a distinctive octagonal conning tower well forward for its sensor suite. The ship had one single gun turret forward, but otherwise presented clean lines, with decks virtually empty of anything that might catch and return a radar signal.

  “Are they emitting?” Volsky looked at Rodenko now.

  “Nothing, sir. They continue to run dark and silent at 28 knots.”

  “Well they clearly don’t belong to Norway. That plane was German, do we have a match there?”

  “There is no German ship I know of with two turrets forward like that sir,” said Rodenko. “If Fedorov were here, I’d bet he could ID those ships.”

  “Yes,” said Karpov with obvious disdain. “from his fantasy land history books. Well, whatever they are, Admiral, we must consider them a threat.”

  “What is our present speed?” asked Volsky.

  “Ahead two thirds,” Karpov’s reply was crisp.

  “Increase to 28 knots, and come right ten degrees to port.”

  “Helm answering. Ten degrees to port an twenty-eight knots, Aye sir.”

  “Why are we tu
rning?” asked Karpov.

  “I want to see if those contacts react,” said Volsky. “By increasing to 28 knots, we hold the range on the surface group to our south. And since it is not a good idea to rush in on a pair of brown bears, I divert off axis to see what those submarines might do.” The Admiral looked up again at the video feed, thinking.

  “Mister Nikolin… Kindly make a P.A. announcement and summon Mister Fedorov to the bridge.”

  Karpov was not happy to hear that, and he gave Volsky a dark look. “Fedorov again, sir?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “May I ask just what exactly he had to say down there?”

  “Later, Captain. I’m calling Mister Rodenko’s bet here to see if our resident historian can help us identify those surface contacts. As for our discussion, I expect you to treat Fedorov like a bridge officer, and put aside your misgivings for the moment. Yes, Doctor Zolkin believes he is having some difficulty, but no need to aggravate his condition with unproven accusations, and by all means, leave the man alone. I understand Orlov has recently paid him a visit. None of that, Captain. Not with the officers, particularly a Senior Lieutenant. He will be here on ship’s business, and I expect you to treat him in a professional manner.”

  “And if he starts spouting more nonsense, sir? What good will such input do us now? This is a serious situation. We have two submarines off our bow, and four surface contacts behind us.”

  “Yes, and a plane went into the sea this morning as well,” said Volsky. “We cannot a-identify any of these contacts, Mister Karpov, and that is somewhat bothersome, is it not? We have signatures on virtually every ship and class we would be likely to encounter up here, collected over many years. Yet nothing matches our database.”

  “They are running emissions silent, sir.”

  “Yet our own systems should be returning some recognizable signature. Tasarov there can count the screws on a trawler off Kola Bay and tell you the hull number, yet he has nothing on these submarines at all? That is very strange. And they are noisy diesel boats, and therefore not something new. This whole situation remains very odd. What were they doing on the surface?”