Karpov lingered in the Gilberts for some time, doing some reconnaissance of Jaluit and Tarawa, but seeing little of military interest there. The Japanese had not yet built these distant outposts up, and he did not want to waste valuable ammunition on nascent airfields, seaplanes, and coastal light artillery positions. So as the Shadow Fleet continued south, he turned west for the one place that certainly promised him some worthy targets—Truk.
The only island that had any air search assets that might have spotted him from that direction was Ponape, where six Emily flying boats were operating. He decided to navigate well north of that island, as Fedorov said he did not expect the Japanese to be searching much in that direction. So Kirov made a run past the island on the night of the 30th of January, intending to get into missile range by dawn. The sun would rise at 07:12, and the weather didn’t matter, only the range.
Karpov’s missile selection would determine that range, and he was discussing his options with Fedorov in a pre-dawn meeting on the bridge, eager for battle after the long journey south.
“Our longest range missile is the P-900,” he said. “That will have a 300-kilometer range and still hit hard with that 200kg warhead. The only problem is that we have only seven left, and one will be in the number ten silo, reserved for special warheads. The Moskit-II hits a little harder with a bigger warhead, and comes in much faster, but its range is only 120 kilometers. Obviously the closer we get, the better, as any reserve fuel adds to the fire damage that missile can inflict.”
“Use that and we’ll be well inside air strike radius of virtually any plane they have there,” Fedorov warned.
“Have you looked at the helo footage?” They had slipped in the KA-226 earlier that night with long range night vision cameras to have a look at the base.
“A lot of fighters,” said Fedorov. “Those won’t be a problem as I doubt they would use them in any strike role against a lone ship if they find us. But there were a couple dozen planes that matched the profile for the G4M light bomber, the planes the Allies called the Betty. They can carry bombs, and also the Type 91 Torpedo, and we won’t want to let any get close enough to make an attack run. It looks like they also have nine G3M Nells, another torpedo capable plane.”
“You certainly know your history,” said Karpov. “How can you tell them apart in that image?”
“Note the twin tail fins on this plane—those are the Nells. These others are the Betty, with a single fin.”
“Interesting. Well, I intend to catch them on the ground. That airstrip is only 200 feet wide, and we can time the warhead detonation at low altitude, right over those bombers. Anything else you see here that could pose a threat?”
“Just seaplanes. I wouldn’t worry about them. However, there may be strike aircraft on that light carrier. Yet if you want to hit the airfield, and the anchorage as well, how many missiles can we afford to use?”
“That is the question,” said Karpov. “We’ll make our approach well before sunrise, and the ship will run black. If they do have anything up that might spot us, I can easily knock it down. I want to be inside 120 klicks by 06:00. That way we can use any missile in inventory.”
“Why attack at dawn? Why attack in daylight at all. We could do this at night, and remain completely immune to the enemy air threat.”
“Mister Fedorov, we’re already immune. Don’t forget about those S-400s. I understand what you are saying, but I choose to attack at dawn for a reason. It’s what they would do—it’s what they already did at Pearl Harbor. They’ll understand it on that level, and then, when the time is right, I’ll show them the darkness is no impediment to the power I can wield. For the moment, I want them to think I may have limitations—that I may therefore be predictable in terms of warfighting rules that they use themselves. That increases the element of surprise later when I call upon it. Understand?”
Fedorov had no idea that Karpov ever ruminated on this level when he considered his operations. It was as if he was waging a kind of psychological warfare with his enemy, hoping to shock them, dupe them, and keep them constantly off balance.
“You’ve certainly thought this through,” he said. “You want to wear down your enemy—outwit him, and best him by turning his own assumptions against him at a moment of your choosing.”
“Precisely,” said Karpov. “For one day it won’t be a small island lagoon I stand off with Kirov at the edge of battle. One day I will take this ship into the home waters of Japan, and with utter impunity. The lessons I teach here today will be remembered.”
Fedorov narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps,” he said. “But you may find the Japanese of this era to be more stalwart and unmovable than you realize. You talk of these shadowy tactics, but understand that these are the men who saw their empire burning to the ground all around them, quite literally, and still fought on. The US sent B-29 bombers in a single massive night raid on Tokyo. Each plane was capable of delivering 20,000 pounds of bombs—9,000 kilograms, and they were dropping napalm bomblets, jellied gasoline and white phosphorus. Each plane delivered more than the weight of every missile we have, and there were over 330 planes sent. They saw the heart of Tokyo reduced to ashes in a single conflagration that killed at least a hundred thousand people overnight. And that figure may be low. The population density of Tokyo was over 100,000 per square mile, and nearly sixteen square miles burned that night. And still they fought on. They would not surrender. This was six months before Hiroshima. They say that the walls of flame were so high that whole neighborhoods were cut off, tens of thousands trapped in the streets, with nowhere to flee…”
Karpov let him finish, realizing what he was trying to convey.
“And here you stand discussing how you’ll spring a night attack on them one day when they think you need daylight to do so as they might, and you think of this as some kind of winning strategy? You need to realize who these people are. Admiral, know thy enemy.”
“Very dramatic, Fedorov, but you forget that I can trump all those B-29s on any day I choose, and with a single missile. In fact, I was considering the use of just one missile here—the number ten silo on the P-900 system. After all, this is the headquarters of the Combined Fleet, is it not? Imagine the shock value of learning I just vaporized it, all their little ships and planes, and yes, even the mighty Musashi. Then again, I may have bigger fish to fry with those missiles, quite literally, if Japan continues to oppose me. So I choose to take things… incrementally. Don’t worry, we’ll make this a conventional attack, but we’ll also make it one they’ll not forget.”
Fedorov sighed. He had tried to get Karpov to see things in another light, and he may have communicated something. Yet he could never quite be sure of that. Karpov was Karpov, a convoluted maze of a man, now redoubled back on himself with that doppelganger ‘brother’ of his out there. He had little doubt that the other version of this man was growing, slowly blooming into the same dark black rose that the Siberian had become.
“As to the threat of enemy reprisals,” said Karpov, “as I said, we will hit their airfield first… I think a pair of P-900s should do the job, with high fragmentation warheads. Then we deal with the warships. There weren’t many reported, but this big battleship must certainly be targeted.”
“Musashi,” said Fedorov. “Remember, we’re talking about 400mm side armor on that ship. Even a Moskit-II will break on it like a bottle of champagne.”