dimmed and blanched to a sallow gray again.
“Any
response from either ship? Severomorsk?” He broke his reverie, turning to his
communications officer Nikolin.
“No
sir,” said Nikolin. “I have sent encrypted traffic using normal wartime
protocols, but I received no response.”
Karpov
drifted to the Admiral’s side, his arms clasped firmly behind his back as he
leaned slightly to one side and spoke in a quiet tone of voice, as if to
prevent the other members of the bridge crew from hearing him. “What if
Severomorsk was also attacked, sir? We could be at war.”
The
Admiral gave him a serious look, but said nothing.
Part II
The Fog Of War
“God
sets us nothing but riddles. Here the boundaries meet and all contradictions
exist side by side…”
—Fyodor Dostoevsky
Chapter 4
The fog around them was
so thick now that you could barely see from one end of the ship to the other. The
sea was calm and still, and the gray white mist of an ice fog slowly enfolded
ship. Soon the gilded masts, radars and antennas were fringed with a hoary
white frost, which also settled on the upper decks and superstructure of the ship
until she appeared like a great pale white ghost ship silently sliding through
the glassy sea.
Kirov was still steaming slowly south
by southwest at 10 knots, her sensors keenly scanning the surrounding ocean and
airspace for any sign of an enemy of vessel or plane. They seemed to have
perfect clarity, but only out to a range of about 30 kilometers, and Rodenko
noted that radius slowly increasing. Tasarov’s sonar was clearing up as well,
but he still had no contact on the Orel .
Admiral
Volsky had been trying to decide whether to continue the investigation or
return to Severomorsk. He considered what Karpov had been arguing, that this
was indeed a surprise attack by Western forces upon his nation. Both Slava and Orel were suddenly missing and, seen in that light, the explosion Kirov had experienced might have been a near miss attempt to destroy her as well. The
fact that Severomorsk did not respond on normal naval message frequencies could
mean many things. The base could be observing radio silence, or they could have
sustained damage preventing communications. Then again, the base could have been
destroyed as well. It was homeport of the Russian North Seas fleet, surely a tempting
and vital target in any first strike scenario.
Volsky
called down to engineering for a status update on the reactors, pleased to
learn that the system readings were now normal again.
“It
sounded a bit odd there for a while,” said Chief Dobrynin.
“It
sounded odd? What do you mean?”
“I’m
not sure, sir. It’s just…Well I’ve been around this equipment most of my career
in the service, and you come to know a thing by how it sounds. The harmonics
were odd—that’s all I can say. It didn’t sound right to me, but the readings
are normal, sir. There is nothing to be concerned about.”
“Very
Well, Chief. Carry on, and report immediately if you hear anything else that
disturbs you. Anything at all, yes?” The Admiral knew exactly what the Chief
was trying to tell him. Years on ships at sea gave some men an uncanny sense
that could detect the slightest abnormality in the ship—the way it sounded, or
moved in the sea. Volsky settled into his chair, musing as he listened himself,
thinking he might hear an answer to their dilemma in the faint hum of the
ship’s consoles, or the thrum of the turbines.
Karpov
lingered near Nikolin’s communications station for some time, as if he was
waiting for a coded signal message to return from Severomorsk at any moment.
Yet the time stretched out, and Nikolin waited with him, seeming edgy and
somewhat discomfited by the Captain’s close presence. Karpov had a way of
hovering over a workstation, and asking entirely too many questions. He was
tense and uneasy as well. Somehow the sense of isolation in the long silence
left him feeling strangely
“Any
response from either ship? Severomorsk?” He broke his reverie, turning to his
communications officer Nikolin.
“No
sir,” said Nikolin. “I have sent encrypted traffic using normal wartime
protocols, but I received no response.”
Karpov
drifted to the Admiral’s side, his arms clasped firmly behind his back as he
leaned slightly to one side and spoke in a quiet tone of voice, as if to
prevent the other members of the bridge crew from hearing him. “What if
Severomorsk was also attacked, sir? We could be at war.”
The
Admiral gave him a serious look, but said nothing.
Part II
The Fog Of War
“God
sets us nothing but riddles. Here the boundaries meet and all contradictions
exist side by side…”
—Fyodor Dostoevsky
Chapter 4
The fog around them was
so thick now that you could barely see from one end of the ship to the other. The
sea was calm and still, and the gray white mist of an ice fog slowly enfolded
ship. Soon the gilded masts, radars and antennas were fringed with a hoary
white frost, which also settled on the upper decks and superstructure of the ship
until she appeared like a great pale white ghost ship silently sliding through
the glassy sea.
Kirov was still steaming slowly south
by southwest at 10 knots, her sensors keenly scanning the surrounding ocean and
airspace for any sign of an enemy of vessel or plane. They seemed to have
perfect clarity, but only out to a range of about 30 kilometers, and Rodenko
noted that radius slowly increasing. Tasarov’s sonar was clearing up as well,
but he still had no contact on the Orel .
Admiral
Volsky had been trying to decide whether to continue the investigation or
return to Severomorsk. He considered what Karpov had been arguing, that this
was indeed a surprise attack by Western forces upon his nation. Both Slava and Orel were suddenly missing and, seen in that light, the explosion Kirov had experienced might have been a near miss attempt to destroy her as well. The
fact that Severomorsk did not respond on normal naval message frequencies could
mean many things. The base could be observing radio silence, or they could have
sustained damage preventing communications. Then again, the base could have been
destroyed as well. It was homeport of the Russian North Seas fleet, surely a tempting
and vital target in any first strike scenario.
Volsky
called down to engineering for a status update on the reactors, pleased to
learn that the system readings were now normal again.
“It
sounded a bit odd there for a while,” said Chief Dobrynin.
“It
sounded odd? What do you mean?”
“I’m
not sure, sir. It’s just…Well I’ve been around this equipment most of my career
in the service, and you come to know a thing by how it sounds. The harmonics
were odd—that’s all I can say. It didn’t sound right to me, but the readings
are normal, sir. There is nothing to be concerned about.”
“Very
Well, Chief. Carry on, and report immediately if you hear anything else that
disturbs you. Anything at all, yes?” The Admiral knew exactly what the Chief
was trying to tell him. Years on ships at sea gave some men an uncanny sense
that could detect the slightest abnormality in the ship—the way it sounded, or
moved in the sea. Volsky settled into his chair, musing as he listened himself,
thinking he might hear an answer to their dilemma in the faint hum of the
ship’s consoles, or the thrum of the turbines.
Karpov
lingered near Nikolin’s communications station for some time, as if he was
waiting for a coded signal message to return from Severomorsk at any moment.
Yet the time stretched out, and Nikolin waited with him, seeming edgy and
somewhat discomfited by the Captain’s close presence. Karpov had a way of
hovering over a workstation, and asking entirely too many questions. He was
tense and uneasy as well. Somehow the sense of isolation in the long silence
left him feeling strangely
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