Free Kirov II: Cauldron Of Fire (Kirov Series) by John Schettler Page B

somewhat
drowsy.
    Is this what
it is to sit at death’s door, he thought to himself. Memories of that awful
sound of the chattering machine guns, then the sharp bite of metal on metal,
the whine of ricochet, the hot fire of the pain in his leg and side as he
slipped from his perch on the ladder and made that headlong fall. Then he felt
the hard thump on his head, a flash of white light, sharp pain and darkness as
his awareness seemed to collapse inward on itself like a black hole.
    Now he
longed for sleep, and just a moment’s rest without the burden of command, but
here was Fedorov, with another impossible story that he must certainly believe.
His voice seemed to echo in his mind, and he struggled to focus his attention. The
young officer had been right at every step in their first encounter in the
dangerous waters of WWII, and there was no reason to believe otherwise now.
    “Operation
Pedestal,” he said slowly after his First Officer had finished speaking. “Yes,
I studied this battle in the academy, but that was too long ago to remember the
details. Something tells me you have that well in hand, Mr. Fedorov, and I can
give my aching head a rest. Yes?”
    “I have a 50
page paper from the American Naval War College on the campaign, sir. It will
tell us everything we need to know—down to the last details: dates, times,
orders of battle—everything.”
    “Where are
we now?” asked Volsky.
    “Sir, I
changed our heading to 210 right after the attack, and we held that course for two
hours at twenty knots. But we are about to exit the Tyrrhenian Sea, and I believe
that course will be very dangerous for us now. I have just come about to head
northeast again on a heading of 45 degrees. We are making our way back into the
Tyrrhenian Sea, which could provide us a little maneuvering room away from the
major action getting underway now while we catch our breath.”
    “And you
tell me you believe the current date and time is August 11, 1942 at sixteen
hundred hours—give or take a few minutes I suppose.” Volsky managed a wan
smile, though it was clear to them all that he was still in considerable pain.
“Not August 20th?”
    “Yes, sir. I
can only go by radio intercepts we’ve made, but events reported would seem to
indicate that HMS Eagle was sunk today at mid-day, at 13:10 hours.
Nikolin says he is still getting residual radio traffic on that event regarding
the movement of survivors to Gibraltar. We would not be hearing that traffic a
week later if it was August 20th.”
    “So what
happened to those days we were sailing across the Atlantic?”
    “I cannot
say, sir. I can only make my best estimate of our current time.”
    “Of
course…Well done, Mister Fedorov, as always. Your prompt action may have saved
the ship from blundering into the middle of something we would come to greatly
regret. It is imperative that we steer well away from this operation. The only
question now is what course to set in our present circumstances? But before we
begin, I would like to ask that one more officer be included in this briefing.”
The Admiral looked at his good friend Dr. Zolkin. “Would you kindly summon
Mister Karpov, Doctor?”
    “Karpov?”
Zolkin was quick to express the reaction they all had, his face clearly
registering displeasure.
    “Yes, yes, I
know how we all still feel about the man given what happened. But he is a
highly trained officer, one of the best combat officers in the fleet. I would
like him to hear this briefing so that we might have the benefit of his opinion
from a military perspective.”
    The Doctor
folded his arms, frowning.“Well if you want my opinion, there was nothing
admirable in the tactics he displayed in the North Atlantic. He sailed directly
into the teeth of strong enemy forces and engaged them with no regard to life,
principle or anything else beyond his own personal ambition. God only knows
what he was planning to do at Argentia Bay, set another nuclear missile loose
on Churchill