Doppelganger (2 page)

My god, he thought, as he noted the tall seething column on the horizon, rising like a thunderhead, up and up. He had seen this before…
somewhere
… He could not recall when and where it was, but the sight of that awful grey mushroom chilled him to the bone. What was happening here?

The plaintive reports from
Rodney
harried him as well, and though
Invincible
was running all out at her best speed of 32 knots, it would never be enough. The old battleship he hoped to keep from harm was already stricken, hit by an enemy torpedo, and the gaping wound was battered open again by the hard steel of shells from the
Tirpitz
. He did not know that his charge had already slipped from his grasp, falling inexorably into the depths of the murky sea, the light of the glittering bars of gold bullion slowly fading as they fell.

“Message from Captain Tennant sir.” It was the Flag Lieutenant, Commander James Villers, a dark haired, blue-eyed man, tall and aristocratic in bearing, with a stiff posture and equally stiff manner, particularly with subordinates. He had been the tutor of Tovey’s young protégé, now Captain Christopher Wells, and he eyed the message with some concern.

“Emergency to Admiralty and C-in-C, Home Fleet. From BC2 – Sighted battleship and battlecruiser, bearing 220, distance 21 miles. My position, course, and speed to follow. Requesting permission to engage.”

Tovey looked up, squinting at his Flag Lieutenant, his eyes narrow with thought. Villers walked slowly to the Admiral’s side, handing him the signal. “That’s twelve more 15-inchers on the field,” he said.

“Yes,” said Tovey, still thinking. “Yet with bloody thin skin.”

“They’ve laid on a bit more deck armor for
Renown
after that bomb damage she took.”

“Quite so,” said Tovey, “but nothing that will stop the steel being flung about by that German battleship. Any more word from
Rodney
?”

“She’s in bad shape, Admiral, foundering with a hard list to port. Captain Hamilton is of a mind that we may lose her, yet he’s still in the fight.”

“Then order Captain Tennant to engage at once. Tell them we’re coming with all the speed we can muster.”

“Very good, sir.” Villers started away, looking to collar a signalman, but Tovey spoke again.

“What about the German carrier?”

“Apparently the Russians put the fire to them, sir. Hamilton reports he can see a considerable column of smoke to his northwest. Good of them to get one in like that, but where in bloody hell are they now?”

“I wish I knew, Mister Villers. And between you and I, that ship has maneuvered to make good its attack. I want no talk on the ship of magic tricks, miracles, and disappearing acts. I’ll want to see every member of the morning watch in my cabin after this is over.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Tovey wanted to keep a lid on what had happened to the Russian ship.
Kirov
had been there, right in the vanguard of his small formation, not half a mile on. Then, when he turned his head to look again, there was little more than a cold wisp of fog that quickly dissipated on the light morning breeze.

The Admiral knew at that moment, with a sinking feeling, that something had happened. The ship had a habit of bouncing about. Something deep within him grasped that, an inner recollection that he knew was his, yet one he also realized he had never lived in this world. It was as if he was now being haunted by some unseen duplicate of himself, a strange Doppelganger who had made the acquaintance of this Russian ship and crew long before Tovey ever set eyes on it in this world. Then again… the old memory returned to him, from his days with the China Squadron as a young Lieutenant. He
had
seen this ship before, and he was certain of that now. In fact, his first order upon taking command of
King Albert
when its Captain had been felled on the weather bridge, had been to turn every gun he had on the demon, rushing in, just as he was now, to the fire and shock of a battle at sea.

The shouting voices still echoed in his mind from that distant memory…

“Port thirty, and signal all ships to follow!”

“Port Thirty, aye sir!”

“Come round to two-seven-zero and set your range!”

“Sir, coming to two-seven-zero,”
the helmsman echoed back.

“Range 9,000 yards, aye sir, and all guns ready.”

“Steady… Steady… Commence firing! All ships to fire in turn!”

He could still feel the vibration on the deck beneath his feet when his own ship trembled again with the impact of yet another enemy shell, this time at the base of the conning tower where it rattled the heavy armor. Yes, he remembered it all now, they had a fire amidships, one funnel sheared off and bleeding smoke, one of his stacked casement guns on the starboard side blasted away, the weather deck gone and the Captain with it, but still he did the one thing that instinct and honor demanded, and drove relentlessly on.

It was the grandest battle he had ever seen at sea, with all of forty ships or more dashing forward in a wild surge of steel and violence. It was Armageddon and he was right in the middle of it all, thrust into battle with a nemesis that would haunt him the remainder of his long life. One day he would see this ship again, and the strange, unnerving feeling would settle in his gut as he reached for the faded memory of that hour. He would wait, through long decades, unknowing and unaware that this demon before him would return again and again. Once it had been a dire threat, and then the face of his enemy had returned, yet the demon had become a guardian angel.

The unseen enemies he had fought decades ago had become friends, but just as they vanished from the swirling fire of that battle so long ago, the ship was missing yet again. Where have they gone this time, he wondered? On what grey sea do they find themselves now, and will they ever return?

He had come to know the Russian Admiral, and the intrepid young Captain Fedorov, so very well. They were not the demons he had first made them out to be, but men of honor, reason, and strong moral fiber. And the coming of their ship had been a godsend this time. If not for their intervention the previous year,
Hood
may not have survived its first encounter with Admiral Lütjens. And it was equally clear to him that
Kirov
had been an unflinching bulwark of strength in the Mediterranean as well, bludgeoning the Italians, French, and Germans alike.

Men from the future, he thought, still shaking his head inwardly. Boxes full of files, photos and reports from the future as well, detailing his intimate involvement with this strange interloper on the high seas. Yet now the ship had vanished again, right in the midst of the engagement that was before him—another battle, another mad rush at sea, and the hard fire and steel of war.

God go with you…

It was a silent wish and prayer for his lost comrades, and the sight of that awful mushroom cloud shook him from his reverie, and he returned to the moment at hand.

“What is the situation with Captains Patterson and Leach?” he said to Villers when his Flag Lieutenant had returned.

“We had them about 120 nautical miles out, sir. I have the position in the Flag Plot Room.”

“And what about Holland?”

“Another hundred miles behind,” said Villers with a shrug. But the two carriers are coming up fast, and we should get some air support in due course.”

Tovey was plotting it all out in his mind. Patterson had
King George V
, with Leach commanding
Prince of Wales
. Holland was on the
Hood
, and he had a strong right arm with the newest battleship to enter the fleet, the
Duke of York
. The two carriers were
Ark Royal
and
Illustrious
, racing to the scene behind the forward advance of Patterson’s group. In the long run, he had sufficient power here to prevail, he knew, but in the short run…

“Things will be dicey at the outset, Mister Villers,” he said. “It will be the two battlecruisers and
Invincible
, and we must expect to be facing everything the Germans have. If
Rodney
still has some fight left in her, all the better, but we must plan on going it alone for some hours until the rest of the fleet can come on the scene.”

“And what about that fleet air defense cruiser?” said Villers.

“The
Argos?”
Tovey squinted again, noting the rising swell in the sea, still shadowed by the overweening presence of that distant mushroom cloud. “They’re out there to the east, and may have to fight it out with the others until we can get there.”

“With those naval rockets, sir?”

Tovey gave Villers a look. “I suppose we shall have to see… Very good, Mister Villers. That will be all.”

He looked at the sea, noting a sudden wave come sweeping in, seeing it break heavily over the forward bow, feeling it lift the entire ship. It was the fading swell of that thing out there, he knew. Even here, maybe sixty miles out, we feel it lift the ship with its anger, a weapon so powerful that it can move the sea itself.

He remembered Admiral Volsky speaking of this power, yet he could scarcely imagine how it had been achieved. Fire and steel, he thought
.
What will war become in the decades ahead? Is it any wonder that these ships and men flee to us here?

 And now the memory of his own voice, the young Lieutenant shouting all those many years ago, sounded hollow.
Port thirty and signal all ships to follow…
But there was no one in his wake now, and HMS
Invincible
was alone.

* * *

Gordon
MacRae was considering what to do now, standing behind the Captain’s station, as he often did, wanting his feet on the deck in any good fight, and not his ass in the chair. Mack Morgan had returned with Miss Fairchild’s consent, indeed her order, to stand the men up, and he had just put the crew to their battle stations.
Rodney
was finally on their horizon to the north, and the smoke there was certainly cause for alarm. He could see the distant flash, and hear the dull roar of the guns, like far off thunder. Somewhere over that horizon to the northwest, the German battleships also had
Rodney
on their horizon. The white geysers of shellfall seemed tiny in comparison to the awful wrack that now fisted up into the morning sky.

“What happened to that Russian sub?” Mack Morgan had an ‘I told you so’ look on his face. “And who the bloody hell is flinging nukes about?”

The tall column from the massive explosion to the north had been most alarming. The Russian sub was out there somewhere, supposedly on point. MacRae figured they had nukes aboard, but it never occurred to him that they would resort to their use. It was completely unexpected, a level of anger and violence that might have been par for the course in the world they came from, where he knew the hunter killer subs of his day had those shark’s teeth in them, and little hesitation to use them. But not here, not now, the ugly mushroom cloud blighting the sea for the first time in the history of this world.

 “Lord almighty… That’s done it,” he said to Morgan. “Someone has one heavy hand out there.”

“Has to be 15 to 20 kilotons,” said Morgan. He was still watching the horizon, transfixed. Like MacRae, he had expected to see nuclear weapons in easy use in the war that was brewing back home, but not here. “It either came off that Russian boat,” he said, “or that bloody
Astute
Class we were warned about must have fired the damn thing.”

They had received one hurried radio message on the secure system, stating a British
Astute
class submarine was now on the scene, and that is when the whole scenario began to spin off like a wild Irish jig. Acting on pure reflex, MacRae had sent out an all channels message to try and stand the submarine down. Minutes later the crackle of static came over the airwaves and the horizon had erupted with the broiling mass of a good sized warhead.

Yet now they had no sign or word from either sub. It was as if they had also disappeared, just as the Russian battlecruiser had vanished some hours earlier. Were they down there, backs broken, and slowly sinking into the murky depths? He had no idea what was going on, but the sight of
Rodney
now was enough to rattle his reflex for battle again, and he knew he had to act.

The Germans were obviously closing in for the kill, and MacRae did not have to guess where the enemy ships were as the British might. His Sampson radar had their exact positions pegged, and he knew it was now time for
Argos Fire
to join the action. After seeing that mushroom cloud, anything he fired might seem a feeble thing by comparison, but he knew he could still influence the outcome of this battle if
Argos Fire
engaged.

He leaned in toward Morgan, lowering his voice. “Did her Ladyship say anything about our missile quota this time around?”

“Not a peep, Gordie. She seems particularly invested in the health of that ship out there.”

“Aye…” MacRae considered his situation. They had used seven of their precious GB-7 missiles in the Med, and only ten remained. He had already engaged the enemy planes swooping in to attack
Rodney
, his Aster-15s wreaking havoc with the German formation. Now the battleships were in range, and he needed to weigh in.

“The ship will ready for missile fire,” he said with as much calm as he could muster. “Ship-to-ship. Spin up three GB-7s, and be quick about it.”

The warning claxon sounded. The target was noted and assigned. “Let’s get after that number two ship in the enemy formation out there. I make it to be their flag. Engage!”

The missiles were up to greet the morning sun, their hot tails of fire pushing steel. The GB-7 was fast at Mach 3, and it would barely have the time to accelerate to its full speed before it had the target in its radar cross section, swooping down and then boring in at sea level to make the final run.