“Aye sir.”
Fedorov moved quickly to the Navigation station, and Tovarich saluted. “God morning, Captain,” he said. “Just putting a few charts to rest. We won’t need them out here.”
“Right,” said Fedorov, “we’re in deep water here, and Christmas Island is the only land we’ll likely see.”
“350 miles west, sir,” said Tovarich.
“A long way… Well, I’d like to use the almanac computer. Take a short break and get some coffee or tea.”
“Of course, sir.”
Fedorov settled in and activated the computer module, which was basically just a big database with sun and moon rising and setting times for each day, projecting 200 years into the past and future. He was going to his old standby, the heavenly bodies, unalterable things that would always be where they were supposed to be, each and every second of every day. They were in the first hour of a new day, Zulu Time, which Fedorov always called “Zulu Hour.” Here it was a kind of Zulu Dawn instead, because they were many hours ahead of Zulu Time at this geographic location and it was 07:30, just about an hour after sunrise. That data would be consistent at this location, year after year. The sun rose that morning at 06:28 and it would set that day at a minute after 19:00. Ten years forward or backward in time, and those numbers would be identical—but not for the moon.
The wild mistress of the night shined by borrowed light, and its rising and setting times, and phase, would be different in this location every year. That day, on the 24th of January 2026, the moon was not yet up, and would rise at 10:46. That meant hours of uncertainty until he could get a visual on that moon and determine its phase. It should be an evening crescent, about a third full, and that was what he hoped he would see, though he feared that might not be the case. Just to satisfy himself, he got up and went to the port side weather deck off the bridge, looking for any sign of the moon, but nothing was there. Now he passed through the bridge to the starboard side to rejoin Karpov.
“Anything, Fedorov?” said the Admiral.
“Rodenko says he’s lost contact with land based radars on Java, and the network is down, so he can’t see the Enterprise or Washington groups either.”
“That happens,” said Karpov, “but Java isn’t radiating anything? That’s odd. You mean he hasn’t picked up any civilian aircraft either?”
“Nothing. So I was at navigation looking up sun and moon data.”
For the first time, Karpov lowered his field glasses and looked at him, a searching expression on his face. “You’re thinking we may have shifted?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what I’m trying to determine. I was just looking for the moon. It shouldn’t be up yet, and thankfully, it’s not visible, so that’s some relief. Yet Nikolin says there’s a wave like interference all across the band. I suggested there might have been an EMP event to Rodenko, but he said he saw nothing to indicate that.”
“So you’re thinking we might have drifted off to never-never land again. I wouldn’t put it past this ship, but Tasarov thinks he’s got a bite on an undersea contact, and that argues for the fact that we’re still in our nice little war here.”
“Possibly,” said Fedorov. “Has he confirmed that?”
“Not yet, but the helo is out in position now and he should be getting more data.”
A junior crewman was at the hatch. “Sir,” he said. “Rodenko is reporting an unidentified airborne contact.”
Karpov looked over his shoulder, and that report suddenly focused his attention. “Come Fedorov. Let’s see what this is about.”
They moved quickly to the radar station, and there they could see a pair of bears in the woods, about 236 miles out and very high at 60,000 feet.
“That’s unusual,” said Karpov. “What would be up that high, and out here, in the middle of nowhere like this? Is it on an intercept vector?”
“No sir, there are actually two contacts, and they are slightly off angle, heading 136 degrees southeast, speed 420 knots.”
Chapter 35
“Two contacts….” Karpov thought about that. “Well, it can’t be a Chinese aircraft, not way down here south of Java. Their nearest airfield would be Riau Island, and those contacts would have to be over 800 miles from that. They’re probably Australian aircraft, most likely from Christmas Island. They fly routine maritime surveillance over these waters. Comrade Nikolin—”
“Sir?”
“Get hold of Christmas Island. Ask them if they have any aircraft up this morning.”
It would not take Nikolin long to make that call, but it would offer them no more information. He reported that he was unable to raise anyone there. “No one answers, sir. I get no response.”
Karpov looked at Fedorov. If it was the Australian military, it would have been on the network, but that system was dark at the moment, so there was no joy down that hallway. Karpov didn’t like this ambiguity, and his eyes narrowed.
“The ship will come to Air Alert-2,” he said. “Warm up the Gargoyles, Comrade Samsonov.”
As he finished, Rodenko broke in with yet another contact report.
“New airborne contacts, Bear, Bear, two units off our starboard bow. Heading 133 degrees southeast, and that is an intercept vector. Speed, 480 knots at 45,000 feet.”
Now that was right in the wheelhouse for a fighter or strike plane, thought Karpov, but here?
“Nikolin, raise those aircraft with a warning. They need to respond, and now.”
But all Nikolin got back was silence, after repeated hails. This was very strange. Was it the Australians, the Indonesians? Could it be planes out of Singapore headed for Perth? He had no reason to do anything more than wait, but there was a stirring in his gut that was unsettling. His instincts told him this was an attack vector.
He was quite correct.
“Vampires!” shouted Rodenko. “The Bears have fired. Weapon speed 2000 knots. More Vampires to the north, now falling through 12,000 feet, speed 530 knots. I’m getting two more Bears there, sir—just picked them up as they fired.”
“Air Alert-1. You are cleared hot, Samsonov.”
“Kursk is responding with Growlers, sir,” said Rodenko.
They watched, riveted to the tactical screen as Kursk’s 9M96 Growlers lanced out and tore up the fast contacts Rodenko had reported. Then they fired on the slower contacts. Kursk had pulled ahead to take the morning forward watch, and it seemed to be able to lock on and engage. But Samsonov reported he had no reflectivity on the Vampires.
“What about the Bears?” said Karpov.
“Imprecise targets, sir. I cannot lock on.”
“Even at 65 mile range?”
“Sir,” said Rodenko. “Kursk has downed all the Vampires, but they also report they cannot get a solution on the Bears.”
Karpov nodded.
“Stealth fighters?” Fedorov suggested. “That looked like a glide bomb attack from the north, with anti-radiation missiles from the northwest.”
“Affirmative,” said Rodenko. “And I can now report the initial two contacts have turned on an intercept heading. They are now 206 miles out, and still at 60,000 feet.”
Karpov frowned. A J-20 might get up there, though it was believed that plane topped out at 55,000 feet. In his estimation, those had to be reconnaissance planes, possibly even UAV’s, but who owned them? Who was calling the shots here? They were suddenly jolted by yet another alarm.
“Vampires at one-o-clock!” said Samsonov in his deep voice. “Locking on and engaging now.”