Read Online Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) by John Schettler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Schettler
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mushroom cloud was gone, as if blown away by a sudden wind, as a man
might blow out a candle flame. And there was no wind, only the dull grey of the
enveloping fog, and a sudden chill, as if the ship had fallen off the edge of
the world long feared by mariners of old, and was now adrift in eternity.
The
Captain turned, his eyes glazed over, his face tortured with emotion. Rodenko
was at his side at once. “Captain, sir… Are you alright? Mishman! Summon
the doctor to the bridge.”
“No,
no. Belay that…” Karpov held up a hand as if to reassure his Starpom ,
and now his numbed brain began to work again, and his senses began to assemble
the clues in his mind—the light, the changing color of the sky, the eerie
luminescence of the sea, and the hushed silence of the enveloping fog. He knew
what had happened.
“Radar,
report all contacts,” he said quickly.
“Captain,
my screen is empty, sir. I have no readings.”
The
helicopters they had up were gone as well. They had the KA-226 and one KA-40
aloft. The last was still in the helo bay.
“Sonar.
Active pings. Report!”
“Con,
sonar has been on active search for ten minutes. I can report no undersea
contacts.” Tasarov was listening intently, monitoring his scope closely for any
signal returns.
“Screw
noise?”
“Sir,
only our own turbines. I have no other registered harmonics or known sonic
signatures.”
“What
is the ship’s heading and speed?”
“Con,
Helm. My rudder is steady on zero, three, five degrees northeast. Speed
thirty.”
“Ahead
two thirds and steady on.”
“Sir,
aye, ahead two thirds and steady as we go.”
Karpov
folded his arms, his gaze still transfixed by the fog, which now began to waver
in places, diffused with ethereal luminescence. He turned his head to Rodenko.
“We have moved again,” he said quietly. “Moved in time….I can feel it. That
detonation has sliced open eternity yet again, and the ship has fallen through,
only who knows where we will end up this time.”
“We
might be heading home, sir,” Rodenko suggested hopefully, but the captain said
nothing, his eyes tightening, brow furrowed as he considered their situation.
He stepped back from the citadel view ports and slipped slowly into the
Captain’s chair, exhausted. The tension of the last few hours left him drained
and spent. He could still feel the cool sheen of perspiration on his forehead,
and he closed his eyes, grasping a moment of inner peace and calm. A shadow on
his shoulder became Rodenko again, his arm extended with a cup of steaming
coffee in hand.
Karpov
looked up, smiling wanly. “Thank you, Rodenko.” He considered something briefly
and then gave another order. “The ship will secure from level one alert. Assume
level three, guarded watch, and secure all NBC equipment. Maintenance crews
will conduct routine evolutions at their regular stations. Post watchmen with
field glasses on the high weather decks and they are to observe in a 360 degree
range about the ship.”
“At
once, sir.” Rodenko was off, repeating the order as he was expected, and the
tension on the bridge slackened noticeably.
“Mister
Nikolin,” the Captain swiveled his chair toward the communications station.
“Are you monitoring any radio traffic, ship-to-ship or otherwise?”
“No
sir. My band is clear.”
“Please
hail the Orlan . Request their position, course and speed.”
“Aye,
sir.”
Karpov
knew that with no contacts on the Fregat system the chances Orlan displaced with them were very slim. Perhaps the other ship did move, he
thought. Who knows? But I am willing to bet it is nowhere within fifty
kilometers of us now…here…wherever we are. God only knows what happened to them
or what fate they suffered alone to face what was still unfought in 1945. I was
such a fool to engage a force that size. It was simply too much for us to
contend with.
Pride
goeth before the fall, he thought. But where have we fallen?
“Mister
Nikolin, activate the
might blow out a candle flame. And there was no wind, only the dull grey of the
enveloping fog, and a sudden chill, as if the ship had fallen off the edge of
the world long feared by mariners of old, and was now adrift in eternity.
The
Captain turned, his eyes glazed over, his face tortured with emotion. Rodenko
was at his side at once. “Captain, sir… Are you alright? Mishman! Summon
the doctor to the bridge.”
“No,
no. Belay that…” Karpov held up a hand as if to reassure his Starpom ,
and now his numbed brain began to work again, and his senses began to assemble
the clues in his mind—the light, the changing color of the sky, the eerie
luminescence of the sea, and the hushed silence of the enveloping fog. He knew
what had happened.
“Radar,
report all contacts,” he said quickly.
“Captain,
my screen is empty, sir. I have no readings.”
The
helicopters they had up were gone as well. They had the KA-226 and one KA-40
aloft. The last was still in the helo bay.
“Sonar.
Active pings. Report!”
“Con,
sonar has been on active search for ten minutes. I can report no undersea
contacts.” Tasarov was listening intently, monitoring his scope closely for any
signal returns.
“Screw
noise?”
“Sir,
only our own turbines. I have no other registered harmonics or known sonic
signatures.”
“What
is the ship’s heading and speed?”
“Con,
Helm. My rudder is steady on zero, three, five degrees northeast. Speed
thirty.”
“Ahead
two thirds and steady on.”
“Sir,
aye, ahead two thirds and steady as we go.”
Karpov
folded his arms, his gaze still transfixed by the fog, which now began to waver
in places, diffused with ethereal luminescence. He turned his head to Rodenko.
“We have moved again,” he said quietly. “Moved in time….I can feel it. That
detonation has sliced open eternity yet again, and the ship has fallen through,
only who knows where we will end up this time.”
“We
might be heading home, sir,” Rodenko suggested hopefully, but the captain said
nothing, his eyes tightening, brow furrowed as he considered their situation.
He stepped back from the citadel view ports and slipped slowly into the
Captain’s chair, exhausted. The tension of the last few hours left him drained
and spent. He could still feel the cool sheen of perspiration on his forehead,
and he closed his eyes, grasping a moment of inner peace and calm. A shadow on
his shoulder became Rodenko again, his arm extended with a cup of steaming
coffee in hand.
Karpov
looked up, smiling wanly. “Thank you, Rodenko.” He considered something briefly
and then gave another order. “The ship will secure from level one alert. Assume
level three, guarded watch, and secure all NBC equipment. Maintenance crews
will conduct routine evolutions at their regular stations. Post watchmen with
field glasses on the high weather decks and they are to observe in a 360 degree
range about the ship.”
“At
once, sir.” Rodenko was off, repeating the order as he was expected, and the
tension on the bridge slackened noticeably.
“Mister
Nikolin,” the Captain swiveled his chair toward the communications station.
“Are you monitoring any radio traffic, ship-to-ship or otherwise?”
“No
sir. My band is clear.”
“Please
hail the Orlan . Request their position, course and speed.”
“Aye,
sir.”
Karpov
knew that with no contacts on the Fregat system the chances Orlan displaced with them were very slim. Perhaps the other ship did move, he
thought. Who knows? But I am willing to bet it is nowhere within fifty
kilometers of us now…here…wherever we are. God only knows what happened to them
or what fate they suffered alone to face what was still unfought in 1945. I was
such a fool to engage a force that size. It was simply too much for us to
contend with.
Pride
goeth before the fall, he thought. But where have we fallen?
“Mister
Nikolin, activate the
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