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had not engaged that smaller American scouting force
earlier…”
    “What’s
done is done, Rodenko.” The Captain walked briskly over to the communications station
where Nikolin was monitoring radio traffic.
    “They’re
very chatty,” he said. “Everyone has two names.”
    “Nicknames,
Mister Nikolin. The Americans love them.”
    “Yes,
sir. I believe one of the flight leaders is called “Iron Mike.”
    “Can
you broadcast on that band?”
    “Of
course, sir.”
    “Then
warn those planes off. State that we are on a diplomatic mission to Sagami Bay.
We are not to be overflown by armed planes, and if any attempt to do so they will
be opposed.”
    Nikolin
translated and broadcast the message, but the voice on the other end of the line
didn’t seem too accommodating. “He says they have orders to investigate the
downing of five American planes, and that’s what they intend to do, sir. And he
doesn’t sound impressed by our threat to oppose an overflight. He wants us to
identify ourselves.”
    That
was expected, thought Karpov. Identify ourselves. Just who in God’s name are we
in this world now? Could he say he was on a mission from the Soviet government?
That may provide some thin cover for a time, until inquiries were made and it
was denied. How could he possibly explain his situation and intent to a fighter
pilot named “Iron Mike?” He might just as well try to explain it all to a dog, or
so he thought in that moment. The notion that he was bigger, better, more evolved
and definitely more powerful than the men behind those radar blips on the
ship’s screens was evident to him now.
    “Tell
them this is Captain Vladimir Karpov on an independent diplomatic mission, and
that if they do not break off and alter heading within ten minutes we must
assume hostile intent.”
    The
word came back a minute later. “He says they have no intention of altering course
and advises us to reduce speed and prepare to be overflown. He says boarding parties
will be dispatched from nearby ships and we can take up our diplomatic request
with the proper authorities.”
    The
proper authorities, thought Karpov. As if I am answerable to these men for my presence
and actions here! Their immediate assumption is that they hold all authority,
that they are the law and rule the day. There was a brief flash of anger in his
mind, and his next words reflected his mood well enough.
    “You
tell Iron Mike that he has no authority over this ship, over these waters, or anything
else in this region. We will not be boarded, nor will we be overflown by armed
aircraft. He has about five minutes to divert his heading.”
    Nikolin
listened intently, turning to Karpov, his brown eyes large under this head phones
now. “He’s talking to his superiors now sir…Here he is again…” He translated as
he listened. “Captain Carp, or whoever you are, might makes right, and we have
both, as you will soon bear witness. The United States Navy is presently the
sole authority in all these waters now. You’ll give way and heave to for boarding
and inspection or be damned. If it is found that you are not an authorized
agent of an allied government, then you and your crew will be arrested, the
ship impounded, and your case heard before a properly formed military tribunal.
We will not divert.”
    “The
United States Navy…” Karpov’s tone carried the obvious disdain he felt now. “They’re
all the same,” he breathed. “This one is no different than Captain Tanner was
eighty years hence. They will hound us from this moment until that volcano
erupts. This is where it all started, but not this time; not on my watch.”
    Rodenko
gave the Captain a wide eyed look, but said nothing. He knew what was likely to
happen here, and feared the worse from the moment he saw those radar returns on
the incoming planes.
    “Mister
Nikolin. Contact destroyer Orlan . Signal Air Alert One and prepare to oppose
incoming strike wave. Tell them to track and prepare to fire