Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series) (4 page)

Volsky smiled. “Give us this day our daily bread…”

“And forgive us our trespasses,” said Zolkin.

“As we forgive those who have trespassed against us…” He took a long breath. “I suppose I had better get things moving. Dobrynin is waiting for the order.”

“So what have you decided?”

“Time to go to sleep, Dmitri. We may soon wake up and find
Kazan
is no longer in bed with us, but I don’t see that there is anything else we can do. If we stay here it will be a very long and sleepless night.”

The Doctor nodded, smiling.

Chapter 3

Fedorov
was on the bridge, finally hearing the news he had been searching for on the BBC. Nikolin was translating the English, and the picture of the world being painted was quite astonishing. When Admiral Volsky returned he came to the communications station to see what he had discovered. He saw his young ex-navigator sitting with a pad device, checking references as Nikolin fed him information, a perplexed look on his face.

“Mister Fedorov, you look as though you are having difficulty balancing your checkbook.”

Fedorov looked up, scratching his head. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Admiral. We’ve been monitoring BBC as you have asked. The date is June 11, 1940, just as I suspected, but the news is very strange. Some of it makes perfect sense to me. The British have just evacuated Norway, the German Army is in France, Poland has been divided between Germany and the Soviet Union. The big news of the day is the declaration of war by Italy against Britain and France.”

“And the Soviet Union? What was this business about a Siberian State you heard earlier?”

“That has also been confirmed, sir. From what I can gather, Russia has divided into numerous factions. One calls itself the Soviet Union in the west and the news from there is centered on Moscow. A second state seems to exist in the heartland of the Urals and south into Kazakhstan. News there came out of Orenburg on the shortwave, something about the 17th Airship Wing and Samara.”

“Airship wing? That is very odd.”

“Then we monitored that other source again, the Free Soviet Siberian State. But it wasn’t broadcasting from Vladivostok. The signal signed off at Krasnoyarsk. In fact, we could hear nothing at all from Vladivostok, at least nothing identifiable in Russian. Nikolin says he has Japanese stations broadcasting on that vector, and the call sign is Urajio.”

“What does this mean?”

“I looked it up, sir. It is the Japanese name for Vladivostok. Apparently the Japanese Empire has established itself there, and extends from Korea, through Manchukuo and into the Trans-Baikal and Amur region.”

“This entire sector is occupied by Japan?”

“It appears so, Admiral.”

“So Russia is divided. I cannot say this surprises me. It is a miracle that the nation survived the revolution in one piece after the Tsar fell.”

“This would have to mean the civil war had a very different outcome. Perhaps the Bolshevik Reds were unable to completely defeat the Whites, and these other two states arose.”

“That is a reasonable conclusion,” said Volsky. “And what of this fighting on the Volga? Have the Germans invaded?”

“No sir. In fact, Soviet Russia is a declared neutral in the conflict. Instead there seems to be ongoing fighting between that state and the Orenburg Federation, and there is fighting in Samara, Saratov and the Don Basin along their common border.”

“Well Mister Fedorov, the history did not survive Karpov’s intervention after all. We did what we could, but
Kirov’s
engagement there may have caused irreparable damage even before we snuck in with
Kazan
. Now the only question is what will happen if we try to shift again as planned? If the history is this badly fractured, I cannot imagine what the world might look like in 2021.”

“It might heal, sir. History has proved to be very resilient. There could be ethnic and national forces at work that will eventually see Russia re-united, and the war now underway in the West will also affect the outcome and shape of the post-war world.”

“So Stalin will be busy getting his house in order for a good long while. I wonder how this will affect the war?”

“Who can say, sir, though another odd thing is that there has been no mention of Stalin, at least not in the news we heard. We did here something else, a broadcast out of Volgograd.”

“Volgograd? The city was not called that during the war, yes?”

“No sir. Before the war it was Tsaritsyn, and then it was renamed Stalingrad in 1925 and was called that until 1961 when it changed to Volgograd.”

“What do you think about this, Mister Fedorov?”

“I cannot be certain without a good deal more information, sir, but it could mean Stalin failed to consolidate power in the Bolshevik faction.”

“That would be welcome news.” Volsky looked for a chair to get off his feet, sitting down next to Nikolin at his station. “The two of you have done well. Yet now we must decide on this shift. I have spoken to Doctor Zolkin and Rodenko, and they both feel we should try another shift. Chief Dobrynin says he has both control rods installed. What about those contacts Rodenko reported on? Are they still closing?”

“No sir, they broke off and turned back to Japanese territorial waters once we were well into the Sea of Japan.”

“Good. Then we will have time to move north and sort ourselves out without being bothered, and we do not have to rush into this procedure yet.” He looked at his watch, thinking how he never felt the same about it now. It was always a touchstone and reference point in the day, but now the time was never certain.

“Mister Fedorov, do you have any ideas concerning the deployment of
Kazan
relative to
Kirov
when we attempt this?”

“Well sir, given that the two vessels may not move together, perhaps they should stage at a very safe distance from one another. We know Rod-25 has a radius that can affect things several kilometers away.”

“Then you suggest
Kazan
be well outside that range. I suppose this is a good precaution. If we are poking holes in Mother Time’s dress again, we might tear it apart if we shift too close to one another. Yet I have also wondered that if we do attempt a close coordinated shift, might it not increase the chances that we shift together? What do you think?”

“It is difficult to know, sir. My feeling is that these effects from the rods could interfere with one another. It may be very risky and we could open a much greater breach in time. Who knows what could happen then?”

“This is as I feared,” said Volsky with a shrug. “Very well, we go our separate ways, but I am very nervous about this. We could be sending
Kazan
off to an uncertain future. It could appear anywhere and then Gromyko is trapped in the same nightmare we have been living in. I have briefed him on this, but what will he do? He is only now revealing the true nature of this mission to his crew.”

“I have thought about that sir. Nikolin and I have set up a secure encrypted channel to
Kazan
on a special frequency. What we will do is immediately broadcast on that channel after the shift to determine the location of
Kazan
relative to
Kirov
, and they will do the same.”

“Yet we would only be able to communicate if both ships arrive in the same time, which you yourself argue is most unlikely.”

“That may be so, sir, but it must occur that one or another ship arrives first. The signal will then go out automatically. It might be heard even if the other ship arrives days or even months later.”

“And if it arrives ten years later?”

Fedorov raised his eyebrows, knowing that they were again facing a great unknown. Volsky could see his frustration, and raised a hand. “We may never be able to sort this out, Fedorov. But this is a good idea. Yes. Set up your automatic signal beacon, and let us hope for the best. We have some time yet. I want to get well north before we shift, and find a safe place to see to our bloody nose in the bow. Any suggestions?”

“The Sea of Japan is likely to be busy if we linger here, sir. If we could time it for a night transit we might slip through the Soya Strait north of Hokkaido and get into the Sea of Okhotsk, but it would take us two days to get there at 16 knots.”

“Plot that course. We have the time. But I have asked Gromyko for a little favor before we make the final decision.”

“What is that, if I may ask, sir?”

“I consulted with Samsonov on the state of our remaining weapons inventory. It seems we have eighteen missiles, nine each of the
Moskit II
and
MOS III.
Considering that we have an uncanny knack of finding ourselves in hot soup when we shift, I have asked Gromyko to transfer over nine of his P-900s. That will still leave him six of those and sixteen
Onyx
missiles, and all his torpedoes, so his boat remains very strong. But I would feel just a little more comfortable with a few more missiles—not that I have any desire to use them. Rodenko also tells me Karpov had re-configured several SAMs for special use. I want those restored to normal operating status.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I also want to arrange a ceremony for Captain Karpov, and brief the crew on what is happening. Then we will give Byko and his divers a day for repairs before we shift.”

* * *

Orlov
watched the last of the missiles being carefully loaded into the silos. The Admiral had come to him and asked him to oversee the operation, and he made sure it was done quickly and efficiently.
Kazan’s
teeth were a little smaller, by just a few centimeters, than the normal P-900s
Kirov
would carry. They also had a much smaller warhead at just 200 kilograms, though they had twice the range, out to 660 kilometers. Martinov checked them into inventory and set crews to see to their safe loading in the vertical silos. There was a modification kit that had to be installed for use on a surface ship, but otherwise they were soon lined up on the forward deck silos, and the hatches were slowly closing.

The Chief saw the lights wink farewell from the weather bridge on the sail of
Kazan
, and he raised his arm in return, hand making a fist. Then he watched as the men there scrambled below and the submarine slowly submerged. Gromyko, the Matador, was on his way to an unknown fate. Who knew if they would ever see the sub again?

With the missile silo hatches sealed and the forward deck cleared, he punched up a nearby intercom and reported the reload operation as completed. “Weapons secured in silos,” he finished.

“Very good, Chief,” came Rodenko’s voice in return, and Orlov smiled. They are still calling me the Chief, he thought. This is a forgiving ship and crew. If they knew what really happened back in the Med, I suppose they might think otherwise, but we will let those sleeping dogs lie.

He reached into his pocket, able to light up a cigarette at last. So now what, he wondered? Where are we off to this time? I get my little slice of redemption here, just as Karpov had his. But a leopard does not change his spots easily. Karpov was back to his same old self the instant he thought he was beyond the reach of higher authority. And what about me? What have I become in all this? Molla got what was coming to him. I’ve settled that…unless the bastard is still alive now. They say it is 1940, two years before I paid a visit to Molla. One day I would like to go home to Georgia, but that day may never come.

He looked at his watch, seeing it was nearly 18:00 hours and time to assemble on the fantail for the ceremony for Karpov. An empty casket was being laid to rest there, beneath a Russian flag. Hollow…That was how he felt about it, as hollow and empty as that casket. Karpov had tried to manipulate him to support his play for the ship, and positioned him to take the fall if things fell apart. Well, he felt my fist in his belly for that, so I will call things even and join the crew. I wasn’t here when Karpov was given command of the ship, but the men spoke highly of him. I suppose we owe him a decent burial, though his body is probably rotting in the sea by now.

He went forward where most of the senior officers and a good number of the crew had gathered on the fantail near the helo bay. Orlov slipped into the group, staying on the fringe of the crowd as he watched. The Admiral was there, standing by the flag draped casket, and now he spoke.

“Fighting crew of the battlecruiser
Kirov
,” he began, placing his hand on the casket. “Here we would lay your fighting Captain to rest. Yet he is not with us. His body was never found. So here we stand to pay our respects, and lay what we knew of this man to rest. He was a mystery to many of you, and yes, a man you may have feared. Yet when this ship was faced with certain danger, he fought, and saved us all on more than one occasion. I gave him command of the Red Banner Fleet because I knew he would do his best for us. It was only when he thought himself to be forever lost in time that his heart hardened again, and for that we can forgive him. Yes, we must forgive.”

Now he turned and faced the casket, saluting slowly. “Vladimir Karpov, Captain of the First Rank, acting Commander of the Red Banner Pacific Fleet, may you rest in peace.”

The boson raised his pipe and three long notes trilled out, cutting the silence. Then the Admiral nodded to Troyak where he stood with a squad of Marines in full dress uniforms. He unsheathed his ceremonial sword, raised it to his chin, and then turned his head, his voice sharp and clear as he ordered the squad to action. The Marines moved in well drilled unison, shouldering their rifles and firing once, twice, again. Then the boson’s call sounded a second time and a solitary trumpet followed it playing the national anthem of the Russian Federation. The high notes echoed in the helo bay, and not a man there was unmoved to hear them. Even Orlov swallowed hard, tightening his jaw as the anthem concluded.

Then, with a final salute, the Admiral reached for the lever and pulled it solemnly. The casket slid down a chute and into the sea where Karpov had fought and presumably died. And it was over.