“My point exactly, sir.”
“Then you believe we can safely move these two CV battlegroups —say into the East China Sea?”
“I think I would stand off just a little farther out, sir. We don’t need to be in those waters to project our force there. Remember, we’ve got assets at Kadena on Okinawa as well.”
“Yes, but look what happened at Naha. Are we to expect a rain of these ballistic missiles on our airfields in the region as well?”
“If we get into it, I would certainly count on that, sir. I described those J-20s as aimed darts. Well the ballistic missiles are another matter entirely. Think of them as arrows, and fired by some very good archers.”
“Can we stop these things, Commander?”
“We can try, sir. And to bring it back full circle, I would begin with the satellites, and I wouldn’t waste much more time with that. The General made a real show if it in the UN when he dragged out that photo of a cratered airstrip in the Gobi. Yes, they can hit a target, as we clearly saw, but they have to know where it is, sir. As it stands now, they can sit up there with satellites and see exactly where Eisenhower and Nimitz are at this very moment. Take down those satellites and they’ll have to rely on three other things: air reconnaissance, submarines, or over the horizon radar. We can shoot down the first one, find and kill the second one with our own subs, and jam the third one. But the satellites? You’ve got one option, sir. Get them as soon as you can.”
Leyman took that all in and slowly set his briefing file on the table. “I see,” he said. “Well just how many of these ballistic missiles are we talking about, Mister Reed? All it took was six of the damn things to raise hell at Naha.”
“I’m afraid they have quite a few more than that, sir.”
“How many? Are we talking about a couple hundred here?”
Reed rubbed his nose, and then looked Leyman in the eye and told it to him straight. “No sir, we’re talking about a couple thousand, over 2,200 by our latest estimates.”
“My God…” Leyman reached for a glass of water.
“And then there’s one other matter, sir.”
“For heaven’s sake, these damn missiles are quite enough, but go ahead, Commander. What else have they got in their back pocket I need to know about?”
“Well, sir…. They have the Russians.”
Chapter 30
Admiral Volsky sat behind the big desk in Abramov’s old office at Naval Headquarters, Fokino. It was now his new home, his new ship, and somehow being chained to a desk forced home the realization that comes to every admiral over the age of sixty years—the bone yard was not far off. This was the last post he would likely hold in the navy, and the shadow of imminent retirement was already darkening the light of his long and distinguished career. Soon he would be like the old ships in the graveyard bays of Sakhalin and Kamchatka, and the sight of the rusting hulk of the second original Kirov Class battlecruiser, Admiral Lazarev, seemed to mock him where it rode at anchor near the Fleet Munitions Depot down in Abrek Bay.
Yes, he thought, There you sit, Lazarev, just as I sit here at Abramov’s old desk. This chair was his, and now it’s mine until they drag me off to some desolate harbor where I can rust my last years away. Maybe one day they will name a ship after me, the Admiral Leonid Volsky, and then I will live again and cut through the open seas under a starry night… But not today. Now I have other matters to attend to, the things that choked the veins and arteries of old Abramov and put him in that hospital bed. And the worst of it is knowing the futility of it all—knowing the dark end it all comes to, and sitting here trying to find a way to still be a serving Fleet Admiral in the Russian Navy while I strive to prevent the very thing that the ships and men I command were made for.
We build them, and by God we will use them one day. That was the sad and inevitable logic of war. The Admiral Lazarev had not seen much action in her brief career. She was laid down in the old harbor at Leningrad in 1981, commissioned in 1984, sailed about for a time with visits to Aden, Luanda, Vietnam, and then sat uselessly at her port berthing, retired in 1999. Her heart was ripped out a few years later when they unloaded her nuclear fuel, just like Abramov.
His eye wandered to the squat buildings southwest around Chazhma Bay where the Ship Repair Facility received the old depleted fuel that was at the heart of the fleet’s nuclear powered submarines. The long thin steel of the Trans-Siberian railway would receive fresh fuel from the Machine Building Plant in Elektrostal and return spent fuel assemblies for storage or reprocessing at the Mayak Chemical Combine in Chelyabinsk. Heart surgery, he thought, wondering how many years he had left himself.
Nothing lasts forever…
His Chief of Staff, Talanov, buzzed him, breaking his reverie with the news he had been expecting. “Good morning, Admiral, Captain Karpov and Captain Fedorov are waiting as ordered. Shall I send them in?”
“Please do. Thank you, Mister Talanov.”
The door opened and the two men entered, smiling to see the Admiral again. Volsky stood to shake their hands, invigorated to see them, and gesturing warmly to the two chairs before the polished maple desk.
“Well, gentlemen, I expect you have seen the theatrics at the United Nations. Astounding to think the Chinese would make such a display.”
“The talk is that there has been a split between the civilian leadership and the military, sir,” said Karpov.
“Perhaps,” said Volsky. “The Chinese ambassador seemed as surprised as everyone else when that general stormed in and took the microphone. So now they are pouring over their maps over there, and pointing fingers at islands and rattling off numbers and the names of men and ships they will send there to fight. There is nothing more dangerous than an Admiral or General with a compass and a map. Sadly, that applies equally to me at this moment. I called you here because Moscow wants us to mobilize the fleet and make a strong show of force in accordance with our ‘obligations’ under the SinoPac treaty.” He used his fingers to put quotation marks around the word “obligations,” a cynical look on his face. “Of course the Americans are also dipping that same old tea bag into their hot water, and so the table will soon be set for some very uncomfortable company in these waters.”
“It appears so, sir,” said Fedorov. “I’ve been watching for the clear warning signs we were privileged to learn about from that Australian newspaper. We’ve already avoided one tripwire when we spared the Key West, and I suppose that was mutual, as they could have put torpedoes into us long before Tasarov’s equipment came back on-line and we knew the sub was even there. Yet it looks like that may have only bought us a brief respite. The other warning signs are shaping up in the news now like a bad storm on the horizon.”
“Quite so,” said Volsky. “We received word this morning that the Chinese are lighting the fires under that old carrier they bought some years ago. The Liaoning is blooming on infrared and getting ready to put out to sea from Dialan. We’ve seen deliveries of additional J-15 fighters on satellite, and their new J-20s. They’re putting together a strong flotilla this time. This was the next major incident mentioned in that newspaper, was it not?”
“Yes, sir,” said Fedorov. “Yet the spin on that report in the article we found seemed to indicate that the American submarine that sunk the Liaoning did so in reprisal for the loss of the Key West. We’ve already re-written that part of the story.”
“Perhaps, but I tend to think this attack on Liaoning was also meant to send a strong message to the Chinese not to attempt an invasion of Taiwan.”
“Yes, sir, but it would be an alarming way to do so. A telephone would serve just as well, or a microphone at the UN.”
“Very true,” Volsky smiled. “Perhaps the Americans will act intelligently in this situation and this attack will not occur. But remember Dostoyevsky: it takes something more than intelligence to act intelligently. I wonder if the Americans have that missing factor in this situation. They’ve had their way on the world stage since the end of World
War Two. They won’t like the Chinese starting to throw their weight around, and may act stupidly.”
“Well it seems we may have only bought ourselves a couple week’s delay in the course of events, sir. That article stated that the Liaoning sunk on September 7th, and here it is weeks later on the 21st and it has not yet left Dialan. CV Eisenhower is presently in the Strait of Malacca and approaching Singapore. It was supposed to have been sunk a week ago, so events are running about two weeks late. That time has been filled by the incident in the Diaoyutai Island group and this war of words in the UN. Unfortunately, it may have worsened the situation. There was no mention of that incident in that newspaper we found, but now the Japanese are also involved. That means the US is obligated by two treaties. This may compel them to take stronger action.”
“The question is whether the Americans will attack Liaoning this time,” said Karpov. “If they do then the dominoes are falling as before. But even if they do not attack the ship, I think these dominoes are going to fall another way.”
“Correct,” said Volsky. “This is why there may be some wisdom in what Moscow wants for the moment, strange as that may sound. If we make a strong show of force now, it might convince the Americans that they will have to deal with us along with the Chinese. It could give them pause, and perhaps allow time for negotiations. I have already spoken with their Admiral Richardson and expressed my sentiments on the matter. He seems a reasonable man, but may soon be compelled to act by the civilian leadership over there, just as I am now.”
“There was news today that their Admiral Ghortney may be named Fleet Admiral and replace him,” said Fedorov. “That is very rare event to see a five star Admiral there. It only happens during wartime.”
“Yes, the Americans have sent a strong signal with this move. Richardson came up through their nuclear propulsion division, but Ghortney is a carrier man, a fighting Admiral. Let us hope the Chinese get the message. We certainly would, but they haven’t had a nice long eighty year cold war with the Americans. We have instincts and understand the nuances of an adversarial relationship like that. The Chinese may not yet know how to play the game. They have made their first move by pushing a pawn out to challenge the Japanese for those useless islands, but it is clear they now mean to post a strong knight on Taiwan. The Americans will play out the Ruy Lopez, of course. And post a Bishop with their carrier battlegroups holding a knife to that knight’s neck.” Volsky was referring to the famous Ruy Lopez chess opening where a white bishop immediately sortied to challenge the black knight. “But as for the moves we must now make, and the message we must send, I’m afraid no one is getting any sleep at the RVSN.” He was referring to Russia’s strategic missile command center. “The missile fields of Svobodnyy may soon be warming up the silos. Hopefully it will not come to that any time soon, but in the near term I will have some orders for you now. I hope the ship is seaworthy, Mister Karpov.”
“We’ve done a great deal in the last week, sir. Byko has had men in the water every day reinforcing that hull patch, and we’ve done more metal work from the inside. The Fregat system is up and running again, and they’ve mounted a new sensor on the top mast, though they still have a lot of work to do there before it’s functional. As for the aft citadel, I’m afraid all we could do was clear the wreckage, clean it up, and throw a coat of paint over it. They put up some bare frame steel beams to support a new roof and laid down some metal plating there to keep out the elements, but there’s no armor to speak of. The space is just being used for storage and other equipment. The damage aft from that bomb hit we took has been patched over, but we still have no fire control system for the Klinok silos there, so we’ll be a little light on SAMs for that system. I told them to load the missiles anyway. We can always move them, and Rodenko is seeing about cross circuiting with the forward fire control radars. To compensate, they replaced our S-300s with a nice new upgrade.”
“The S-400s?”
Karpov nodded in the affirmative. “All three range variants.” The newest Russian ship-based air defense system, S-400F Triumf, was a ‘suite’ of air defense missiles that utilized the new long-range 40N6 missile effective out to 400 kilometers, 250 miles, with a bigger 180kg warhead.
“That will be an unpleasant surprise for the Americans,” said the Admiral.
“Indeed, sir. As for the rest, we’ve completed missile reloads for the Moskit-IIs and other SSMs late last night and they are moving away the cranes.”
“Then you will be ready to put to sea directly?”
“The ship is ready, sir.”
Fedorov had a troubled look on his face and spoke up, haltingly at first, but gaining more resolve as he went. “Sir… I have a request to make. Are you aware of the incident with Markov over at the test bed center?”
“The missing man? Yes, Dobrynin reported it, but I have been too busy to follow up. I had him seal off that facility, and I suspect you have been doing some digging on the matter, right Fedorov?”
“I have, sir.” He told the Admiral what he had discovered about the changed passage in the naval history chronology, and his thoughts about Orlov. Karpov folded his arms, thinking they had put this to rest, but bearing with the situation as Fedorov had his say.
“Very mysterious,” said Volsky. “You suspect the British found that magazine article and cancelled their operation, and then your book changed? That is somewhat disturbing if it is true.”
“Indeed, sir, but only one book changed—the one I bought in the city when we arrived. My original book is just as it was.”
“What does that mean, Fedorov?”
“It means that we remain in a privileged position sir. We are unaffected by the changes in the history, at least this is what I believed at first. But then I discovered something else. Another crewman went missing the same day Markov vanished, a matoc named Yolkin in supply. He went into town to fill an order for Martinov and never returned.”
“I see,” said Volsky. “Well as much as I hate to suggest it, this may be a simple AWOL, Mister Fedorov. Who knows why this man was missing? It could be a girlfriend, or some other matter that sent him off.”
“Possibly, sir, but I did some further research. Inspector Kapustin was somewhat perturbed when he discovered they had no records in Moscow for any of the men we listed as casualties. Well we must now add yet another man to that list—Yolkin. I checked with Moscow on him as well. There is no record that such a man was ever signed on to our active duty roster.”
“But we’re sitting here discussing the man,” said Volsky. “I remember him, short, a little heavy set, and his nose was always red from the cold when we were up north.”
“Yes, and the men in his section remember him as well, sir. But there is no longer a physical record of him, not even in the backup of the data we made before we purged our logs and files. It’s changed, sir, just like the book. It was made after we shifted forward, and did not come from the world we left behind in Severomorsk. I interviewed Yolkin’s closest friends, found out his birth date and went so far as to look for this man’s birth certificate. There are lots of Yolkins, of course, but not this one. He’s vanished, just like Markov, but it’s as if he never even existed…”
That statement surprised Volsky, and lent considerable weight to Fedorov’s argument. “Never existed? Are you telling me the incident with Markov caused this man’s life history to be changed to a point where he was never even born?”
“All I can say for certain is that there is now no record of his existence, no birth certificate, school records, medical records, tax or credit information. Yolkin has been completely erased from the ledger of life. It could have been a side effect from the Markov incident, but he died within minutes of his appearance in Vladivostok of 1942. I found the police report in the wartime archives. They found his wallet, of course, and when they saw his identification they probably assumed it was a fraudulent ID, though I’m willing to bet that if he had any Rubles in there it would have raised an eyebrow or two.
It’s hard to make any connection between Markov and Yolkin’s disappearance, other than the fact that they both vanished the same day, which could have been coincidental.”
“Then how, Fedorov? How do you explain this?”
“I wish I could tell you, Admiral. More time and research might lead me to a more definitive answer, but there is one other possibility—Orlov.”
“Orlov? He would have died long ago. How could he be responsible?”
“This is what I first believed, Admiral—that Orlov’s life and fate had been sealed, and that the world we returned to here was therefore the final result of any change he may have worked on the history. It was easy to think he may have had something to do with this imminent war we are facing, but I discarded that. There are too many thumbs in that pie to blame it all on Orlov. Then I discovered something in my research on the man.” He reached into his coat pocket and handed the letter he had shared with Karpov to the Admiral, who read it with a silent sadness shrouding his features.
Volsky read the last few lines aloud: “Be heroes, be valiant men of war so that history will remember you as defenders of the Rodina. Should you ever find this, and learn my fate, I hope that you, courageous Russian sailors, will avenge my death.” He folded the letter slowly, setting it in the desk.
“Very sad,” he said. “Avenge him? We do not yet know how he died, or at who’s hands. Kizlyar… Yes there was an NKVD division operating there once. Strange that you should find it, but I do not understand how that changes anything here, or causes a man like Yolkin to simply disappear.”
“This is what I told him,” said Karpov. “He suggested we attempt to go find Orlov and bring him home, but there is a little more on our plate to deal with now.”
“Go and find him? What do you mean, Fedorov?”
The young Captain explained what he had suggested, and then admitted that Karpov had convinced him that such a mission would not be feasible with the ship given their present circumstances. “But there is one thing I wish to bring up, sir,” he pressed on.
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