The Admiral looked at Karpov, a disgusted expression on his face, and anger in his eyes. “Mister Karpov, you are relieved.”
“What are you going to do, Admiral? You have no justification to remove me from command! I was carrying out my lawful responsibility. I was defending the ship as I saw best. Mister Orlov concurred with my decisions. Ask him!”
“Mister Orlov is relieved as well,” said Volsky. “Lawful responsibility? Just what law were you abiding by, Captain, the law of the jungle? You are both under arrest. Sergeant Troyak—you will escort the Captain and Chief Operations Officer to their quarters and place two armed guards outside their door. They are to remain there until further notice. If any man here wishes to join them, let them stand now and be relieved of his duty as well.”
There was complete silence on the bridge. Karpov’s face was a mix of anguish and restrained rage. “You old fool,” he said. “What do you know? Can't you see that we are under attack? You will get this ship destroyed with your blubbering equivocation. Don’t you see the opportunity we have here now?”
“Sergeant Troyak!”
The Sergeant moved quickly, waving at his men, and they took a firm hold on both Orlov and Karpov, pushing them toward the hatch. Orlov sneered, but otherwise offered no resistance. A marine found his weapon and removed it with a smirk, pleased to finally put one over on the bullying Chief. Karpov looked back at the Admiral and fired off one last missile. “This is not over Admiral. You will regret this decision, I promise you!” It was a useless boast, and Karpov knew it.
When the Captain had been removed Volsky took a moment to look at every man that remained on the bridge, coming to a quiet inner assessment. They looked at him, with mute admiration, and a touch of shame on their faces, and no one spoke. He could see that they had done nothing more than obey the orders of his lunatic Captain. There was no hint of conspiracy here. All this had been Karpov's doing, and Orlov was the devil’s only apprentice. He thought he could rely on the rest of his bridge crew, and so he left them at their posts.
“I am going to assume that you are all innocent of complicity in this mutiny unless subsequent investigation proves otherwise,” he said quietly, almost like a pained father would speak to his wayward, but much loved children when they misbehaved. Then it occurred to him that the ship needed a second in command. He needed a new Starpom, an Executive Officer to replace Karpov. Without hesitation he turned to Fedorov at his navigation post.
“Mister Fedorov,” he said quietly. “You are hereby promoted two grades to the rank of Captain Lieutenant, and I now designate you as Starpom, my First Officer. You may leave navigation in the able hands of Mister Tovarich for now.”
Fedorov’s eyes widened with surprise. It might have taken him another year to make Senior Lieutenant, and then another year or two at that post before he made Captain Lieutenant. He smiled, his eyes clearly expressing his thanks. “Thank you, sir. I am honored to serve.”
For the first time he cast his gaze out through the forward view screen, suddenly shocked to see the conditions outside. The ocean water all around them had that same strange hue and glow they had seen before, just after the accident aboard Orel. The wave sets seemed oddly disturbed, rippling away from the ship in all directions, as if Kirov was exerting some strange magnetic effect on the sea itself. What was happening?
The Admiral reached for his intercom microphone. “Flag bridge to engineering,” he said. “Anything unusual Dobrynin?”
There was a brief delay before the Chief responded. “Yes, sir. I’ve got those flux readings again—the same as before. Can we slow down?”
“I’ll do what I can, Chief.”
At that moment he heard a strange sound, and turned, surprised to see the Doctor's cat Gretchko, who had come all the way through the ship looking for his caretaker, and now stood near the open hatch to the main bridge mewing loudly.
Volsky smiled, looking at the Doctor. “Well, I see the crew is now fully assembled. Helmsman, steady on a heading of fifteen degrees north, and ahead two thirds. I think it best we get out of these waters as soon as possible.”
But the green soup they were in only seemed to deepen, the odd glow of the sea more redolent, until all the systems on the bridge were struck again by a wave of static and interference that crackled through the wires and over the screens of every station. Volsky felt it again, that prickling sensation of needles all through his body, and his hair seemed to stand on end. His first thought was that they were experiencing some odd effects radiating from the detonation, but it soon passed and the ship seemed to settle down, though the water around them still glowed with an ominous hue of green that rippled and shimmered all around them, radiating outward from the ship in all directions.
The Admiral settled into his command chair, and Gretchko the cat ran over and leapt up into his lap, purring contentedly.
“You have a message for the Admiral, Gretchko?” said the Doctor, reaching over to pet the cat on his head.
“Radar,” said Volsky. “Give me an update on those airborne contacts.” Volsky was already thinking he might yet have one more battle on his hands, more blood as well.
Rodenko was quiet for a moment, adjusting his consul, and looking at screens to the right and left of him as if he was trying to confirm something. “Sir,” he began. “I have no airborne contacts. There is nothing on my screen at all now. I’ve switched from rotating pulse Doppler on the main mast to Phased-Array, and still no contacts, sir.”
“Nothing? You have no reading on the surface action groups we were tracking?”
“No sir. Those destroyers that were chasing us are gone as well. I can read the coast of Newfoundland, so my system is processing signal returns, but I see no surface or airborne contacts of any kind. In fact, I can no longer read the detonation site. There should be a clearly visible column of steam and water vapor there, but there is no signal return. We just experienced another odd electronic flux, so the systems may have been compromised as before. It’s easy to process a signal return on a distant landform, but ships at sea, at this range, and in a post nuclear environment, may be difficult.”
“For both Doppler and Phased-Array systems? You are suggesting they are still out there but we cannot see them? Perhaps you are correct, Rodenko, but much more than the radar was compromised the last time we saw the ocean in this condition.”
Volsky looked at the ceiling mounted flat panel screen for his rear facing HD video system where a third ‘Tin Man’ stood a watch. The ship was pointed away from the detonation site, and he had to rely on his cameras to see if the mushroom from the 15 Kiloton warhead was still visible, particularly on infrared. The signal was unsteady, breaking up in the characteristic mottled digital squares. He sighed. “I miss analog,” he said. “With analog at least you got a picture, even if it was cloudy or full of fuzz. But this digital nonsense? It’s either pristine, or not there at all.” Then he decided on the obvious.
“Mister Fedorov,” he said calmly. “You are fond of rushing out on to the watch deck to look for planes, yes? Please take the Captain’s field glasses and do so now to see if you find anything out there that belongs in a museum. And while you are at it, let me know if you can still spot the detonation mushroom from the warhead the Captain fired. It should still be visible to the southeast.” When in doubt, there was always the comforting reassurance of the human eye to weigh in on the question.
Fedorov had the field glasses and was out on the watch deck for some time before he poked his head back through the hatch. “Nothing, Admiral,” he said with a smile. “No sign of the detonation at all. The horizon is clear and calm. I don’t think Rodenko is experiencing a system failure, sir. The ship appears to be in order, and the helm is responding, just as before.”
“Yes”, said Volsky, “But where are we steering her now, Mister Fedorov? The last time we slipped seventy years!” Volsky shrugged. There was nothing more to be done. The sudden disappearance of the opposing ships and planes had a
vacant, hollow warning in it, and the vanishing mushroom cloud was worse than the rapid change in the weather the last time they had experienced these strange events. Something was clearly wrong, and he did not think it was the ship’s radar system.
“Mister Tasarov,” he said. “Do you have sonar readings on the surface action groups we were tracking?”
“No sir. The passive systems were all fouled up when our warhead detonated, but I can’t even read that disturbance any longer. I think we are too far off for active sonar to re-acquire, but we could try that, sir.”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” said the Admiral. “Something tells me those ships and planes are not there any longer. But then again, perhaps they are… They seem to have vanished, but I think that is what they will say of us in time.”
Fedorov nodded his head, understanding what the Admiral was hinting at. “Well, sir,” he said. “We’re alive and well. The ship is sound, and in time we’ll discover what has happened, just as before.”
“Quite right, Number One,” said Volsky. “In time. We are obviously here, somewhere, and in spite of the color this still looks to be the Atlantic ocean. We have the who, what and where of things firmly in hand. The only question now is when.”
“Yes, sir,” said Fedorov, “and why.”
Epilogue
Consequences
“Man is a mystery. It needs to be unraveled, and if you spend your whole life unraveling it, don't say that you've wasted time. I am studying that mystery because I want to be a human being.”
—Fyodor Dostoevsky
Epilogue
By the time Home Fleet reached the scene it was well past too late to save anyone in the sea. Admiral Tovey was out on the watch deck off the starboard rear of the flag bridge with his Chief of Staff, Daddy Brind, staring at the remnant of the great spray dome of vapor and mist that was slowly dissipating in the distance. He squinted through his field glasses, his face tired, eyes beset with an expression of pain and bewilderment. The grey swells of the ocean had settled, and they could still vaguely make out a gleam of wan light on the capsized hulk of the American battleship Mississippi, like a great behemoth that had been harpooned and now lay swamped in the misty grey seas.
The waters around them were awash with debris, the flotsam of Task Force 16, which had been crushed by a single massive explosion that the British had seen from nearly fifty nautical miles away. When King George V approached the scene, Tovey would never forget the angry steaming column he saw, as cool air and seawater were drawn upward over five thousand feet into a mushrooming cloud. What they saw now was mostly the dissipating plume of water vapor, and the silent grey rain of condensation falling at the edges of the detonation site like a shroud of doom.
“What was it, Brind? What could do this?”
The grey haired Chief of Staff was mute, his eyes glazed with shock and a strange tinge of sadness. He had no answer for the Admiral, and the two men just stared in silence. They had not felt such despair since the news of Hood’s demise had come to them, just a few short months ago. Then over a thousand men had gone into the angry sea, but this was far worse.
A white fog seemed to be settling over the scene, as they watched the fast cruisers of the American Task Force 19 arriving to join a group of destroyers searching for survivors. They had pulled 212 men out of the sea, but not a single man they found alive would live two weeks, so close were they to the rain of radioactive seawater that showered down on them after the passing of the enormous blast wave and base surge from the detonation. It rained for an hour after the blast, a deadly man made storm that continued killing the survivors days and weeks after.
Tovey saw a yellow lantern flash from his forecastle as King George V signaled to the distant American cruisers. She was ready and able to render any and all assistance, but flutter of the lamps winking back carried a stark, brief message that lay heavily on them both—no further survivors. The cruisers were passing north, slowly making speed as they set out to look for the enemy ship that had wreaked this havoc. As they turned one last message winked back at Tovey’s bruised battleships. Advise dispersal.
The Admiral looked at Brind. “I can’t imagine the weapon that did this Brind, nor can I believe the Germans could possibly have more than one aboard that demon ship, whatever it was. The Americans may have given us good advice, but I think I’ll keep Home Fleet just as it is for the moment.”
“Very well, sir,” said Brind.
“Signal the Yanks good luck,” Tovey looked at him, an ashen expression on his face. “And good hunting.”
“Word is the German ship has vanished, sir. American PBY’s out of Argentia Bay have been scouring the seas north of our position for some hours now. Ark Royal has had planes up as well. They reported some odd sea effects for a time, but no sign of this German raider, sir. No word from the American destroyer group that managed to get in close on the monster either.”
“Damndest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Tovey lowered his field glasses. “Well then… We’ve orders to turn about and rejoin the Prime Minister,” he said sullenly. “And God help us the rest of the way on in this damn war, Brind. If the Germans have any more of these weapons….”
“God help us all, sir.”
~ ~ ~
HMS Devonshire sailed smoothly into Argentia Bay heading for the anchorage where the old battleship Arkansas rode quietly in the waning light. The ship executed a smart turn, then slowed to a gentle glide as she came along side the American ship.
Prime Minister Churchill was out on the main deck, his face set hard, yet a smoldering determination in his eyes. Admiral Pound was at his right hand, and when they saw the array of officers and staff on the deck of the Arkansas, and heard the band there strike up “God Save The Queen” he allowed himself the hint of a smile.
Churchill could see the tall, stiff figure of President Roosevelt standing in greeting, and he noted the sallow cheeks, deep set eyes and furrowed brow of the man, and how he leaned slightly on the arm of another young officer, which he took to be the President’s son. I’ll be leaning on your arm soon enough, he thought. We’re in this together now. I can’t do it without you.
The ships came abeam of one another, and pipes wailed over the sound of the band as able seamen ran to secure lines and tie them off. Soon a gangway was laid across from Arkansas to the smaller cruiser, and Churchill wasted no time making his way quickly to the side railing where he was piped aboard with a finishing flourish from the band. He saluted the American flag as he came aboard, smiling, then walked steadfastly on to greet the American President, taking his hand in a firm handshake, his eyes alight, yet his face set with an expression of deep concern and respect.
“Mister President,” he said. “My deepest condolences on the losses you have so grievously suffered at the hands of our enemy.”
“Thank you Mister Prime Minister,” said Roosevelt. “It seems we have a great deal to talk about, and I am honored to finally make your acquaintance.”
“The honor is mine, sir, and I can only regret that your nation has made the acquaintance of Hitler’s war machine in such a startling and unexpected manner.”
The cameras whirled, light bulbs flashing and recording images that would stand as the symbol of an new alliance in arms between Britain and the United States. The two men stood side by side as the anthems of both nations were smartly played by the band, then, one by one the senior British officers followed Sir Dudley Pound and crossed the gangway to greet the President and their American counterparts all lined up in dress uniforms, their dour faces warming to meet these new found allies. Even Admiral King, long suspicious and resentful of British influence in the Atlantic, allowed himself a grudging smile.
“I’m afraid Herr Hitler has kept us all in the dark for a good long time,” said Roosevelt.
“Indeed,” said Churchill. “When I first heard that the Germans had attacked your carrier Wasp I was of mixed mind, Mister President. On the one hand I
was wrenched by the loss of life, and reviled by the ignominious nature of the enemy, striking at a neutral power as they did. Yet, on the other hand, I felt this would clearly demonstrate the nature of the foe, and make my appeal to you for active support in this war more likely to be heard and embraced. I was elated to think England might now survive this conflict, and indeed prevail with the United States at her side. Yet, after what we have now seen and learned, this terrible new weapon, I come to believe that it will take the whole blood, bone and sinew of both our nations to survive as free peoples. We must stand shoulder to shoulder, for we will most certainly face perdition if we fail.”
“Well said, Winston, if I may, sir.”
“If you please,” said Churchill with a smile.
“They’ve drawn up a few chairs here for us to sit before the cameras, and more likely so I can get off of these lead feet. I suppose we had best sit a while and indulge them. After that, I think we have very much to discuss. Will you graciously join me below decks here aboard the Arkansas? They tell me this is a sturdy ship, and a safer place than any billet ashore.”
“It would be my pleasure, Mister President,” said Churchill.
“Well, if I’m getting away with Winston, you had better call me Franklin. I suppose I could make it Sir Winston to satisfy protocol, but I’m not sure what you could tack on to my name in return.”
“Let me start with my good friend Franklin,” said Churchill, “and let us hope it is a long and fruitful friendship indeed.”
The band concluded, the cameras winked and the two great men smiled dutifully, then were solemnly escorted below decks while the band played on. Soon the they were comfortably below, exchanging gifts, a fine crafted pen for Roosevelt with a wish that it be used to mandate a new alliance and common purpose between the two nations. From Roosevelt came a box of the finest Cuban cigars for the Prime Minister. “I hope you’ll enjoy these, Winston,” he said, “because I think we’ll be making quite a bit of smoke together now.”
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