B00DSDUWIQ EBOK (19 page)

A
second chance. Time was handing it all to him once again. History doesn’t repeat
itself, but it echoes…yes, and a haunting sound it is to sit and listen to it
all again. What will it be, another missile, another MOS-III, another mushroom
cloud on the angry sea? It had taken the eruption of hell itself to get him to
this place—a place few men could ever stand—at the very edge of a second chance
to do what he
should
do, to be a real man, and not a mindless shark.

Then
his own words to Zolkin returned, biting at him, a clawing reminder that grew in
the cold logic of war where the equation ‘kill or be killed’ was the solitary factor,
and the synapse and nerve set the reflex that would make that difference and
decide the issue for one side or another. He had given it all to the good
doctor when the shrill alarm sounded to break off their discussion
…“Listen, Zolkin,”
he said quickly, a finger pointing to the scrambling sound of booted feet on
the decks above them.
“Hear that? This is no longer a question of what we
should do, but what we
must
do. It is either that, or we go to the
bottom of the sea like so many before us.”

Volsky
had said much the same thing to him once as he tried to sort this whole impossible
situation out
. “Did we do all this?”
The Admiral waved his arm at unseen
shores as he spoke.
“No. We did not. We only made it possible for
them
to do it—all the other generals and admirals and prime ministers and
presidents. We showed them what power was, and they wanted it for themselves as
badly as you wanted it, Karpov. So now we see the result. In truth, I cannot
blame you any more than I blame myself, and all we have before us now is simply
a matter of survival.”

Yes,
we showed them what power was, and that was exactly what he wanted to do again.
He had it all worked out in his mind, the missile, the mushroom cloud, the ultimatum
that would follow like the dark rain of radioactive seawater. They were still
cruising within sight of the Demon Volcano that had sent him here, and he could
erupt as well, a Demon in his own right, and spew the wrath and fire of hell at
his enemy to bring them under his heel in one swift act of retribution. But he
would give them fair warning.

Can
I reach an agreement of some kind here with these men? Can I make an arrangement?
If not, I can show them what real power is. It would be as easy and flipping a
switch.

But
should I?

Part VII

The
Mission

“But first whom
shall we send
In search of this new world, whom shall we find
Sufficient? Who shall tempt, with wand'ring feet
The dark unbottomed infinite abyss
And through the palpable obscure find out
His uncouth way, or spread his aery flight
Upborne with indefatigable wings?”

―
John Milton, Paradise Lost

Chapter 19

It
was a dull gray morning that day, all too
common on the Caspian Sea, but as Captain Shlyupkin stepped onto the weather
deck he wished the clouds were thicker. His ship, Caspian tanker
Kulibekov
,
was one of four fat vessels in a long line heading south for Baku. Behind him came
the
Komitern
, followed by
Ubelikov
and
Amerika
, each laden
with war supplies bound for ports along the Caspian coast where the hard pressed
58th Army was struggling to hold back the German advance. There had been
fighting at Kizlyar just a few days ago when German recon units tried to take
the place in a surprise attack. The NKVD units had held the line there, but the
16th Panzer division had managed to cut the roads and rails leading north to
the Volga, and the only way to get supplies through was by sea.

That
made Captain Shlyupkin just a little more uncomfortable that morning, and he found
his eyes searching the clouds overhead for signs of enemy planes. A little fog
would do us a world of good now, he thought. Where is it when you need it? Thus
far there had been no losses in the Caspian due to air attack, but something
about the morning, the silence on the sea, the stillness in the air all
conspired to whisper warning to him. There was a hush on the world, a quiet that
could not last. Something was going to happen. He could feel it.

Shlyupkin
had good reason to feel ill at ease. If this was now the only supply route south,
the Germans would certainly know about it. And this was the first major convoy
mounted since the rail line had been shut down. The Germans could have eyes on
that coastline at this very moment. The flotilla was moving in towards the west
coast now, bound for their first port of call at Kaspiysk just south of
Makhachkala.

“Ruyazin…Smirnov!
Get up on the main mast and into that crow’s nest. I want you up with binoculars
looking for enemy planes. And sound that bell the moment you see anything.
Right now!”

Smirnov
was first up the ladder, Ruyazin following halfheartedly behind him. They settled
into their watch like a couple of chicks in the nest, and it was not long
before the bell rang that morning.

The
Captain turned quickly. “Where?” he shouted, but his watch standers were not pointing
at the sky, but ahead, off the bow of the ship where the mist rode lightly on
the still waters of the sea. Smirnov was pointing a long arm forward, and the
Captain turned, raising his field glasses to see what he was indicating.

At
that moment the bell rang again, more urgent, a strident peal in the still morning
air, and this time Captain Shlyupkin did not have to wonder what was coming. He
could hear it, the muffled sound of aircraft engines, getting louder with each
passing second. “Man the guns, All ahead full!” He shouted orders to the bridge
and saw his crewmen scrambling to get the tarps off the two machine guns, his
only defense.

Then
he looked forward again, thinking he could finally make something out there, a formless
shape on the sea. What was he seeing? They were well south, approaching the
naval base at Kaspiysk. It might be trawler or other lighter out to meet us, he
thought. And he hoped they had a few good more guns to join the fight that he knew
would soon be underway. No… whatever it was, it was massive, like nothing he
had ever seen before.

The
growl of the planes was louder now, and he looked to see the dark shapes sharpen
overhead as they came. Stukas! God help us, Stukas! How did they get this
close?

They
were flying out of makeshift bases east of Mozdok on the Terek River. The Germans
had leap-frogged them closer to the front for just this purpose, so they could
sink their 500kg bombs into the vulnerable tanker traffic heading south and cut
the last supply route to the 58th Army. Shlyupkin saw their broad wings tip
over and they started to dive. The scream of their engines sent a chill up his
spine, and he heard the distant bells on the other ships ringing out the alarm,
the sound of machine gun fire rattling the still morning air.

Then
the first bombs began to fall with an awful wail.

* * *

“Get
a move on. All you men must be down on the
lower deck!”

Dobrynin
shouted at the last of Bukin’s Marines as they trundled along the roof of the
Anatoly
Alexandrov
, laden with arms and satchels. The vast bulk of the Mi-26 overshadowed
them, its long rotary props drooping towards the roof deck in sweeping arcs.

The
Chief was justifiably worried as the operation moved towards the last hurried stages
of preparation to the launch hour. He had signaled Admiral Volsky two hours ago
that the reactors were now fully operational and running safely, with Rod-25
mounted and ready to go. He immediately received the go ahead to launch his
mission, and it was now well underway. The thing that worried him was the odd
time delay that was sometimes noted between the conclusion of the maintenance
procedure on
Kirov
, and the onset of the effects that resulted in time
displacement. What if nothing happened? What if the magic wand that had sent
them careening into the past would no longer work?

Dobrynin
stood on the deck until the Marines were safely down the ladder and scrambling into
the hovercraft below. There they would man the other equipment that had been
crowded about the facility. A pair of Project 1206 Kalmar assault class hovercraft
were moored close to port side of the floating power plant. Each one carried a
single PT-76 light amphibious tank, and a contingent of 60 Marines. A third and
larger “Aist” Class hovercraft, hull number 609, was moored to the starboard
side. It’s carrying capacity was greater, up to 80 tons, and so it held more
APCs. One was a ZSU 23-4
Shilka
quad Anti Aircraft gun, and it was
joined by two BTR-50 amphibious APCs. There was room left over for another 60
Marines and their supplies and equipment, bringing the land assault contingent
to 180 men, all commanded by the newly promoted Lieutenant of Marines, Arseny
Bukin. The three hovercraft would be collectively commanded by Captain Oleg
Malkin of the 242nd division of amphibious ships, Caspian Flotilla.

What
in the world are we doing, thought Dobrynin? He was a long way from his familiar
old post aboard
Kirov
. As he stared at the big Mi-26 he wondered about
the other two radiation safe containers aboard. Would they really work just
like Rod-25? The whole plan was so characteristically Russian that it almost
amused him. Why couldn’t they just use one rod installed at the Primorskiy
Engineering Center to send the other one back, he had asked Admiral Volsky.
Then they would not have to fly all the way from the Caspian to Vladivostok and
the Pacific coast again.

“Two
reasons,” Volsky had answered. “First, we don’t know how far back these other two
rods will shift something, assuming they even work. Second, we have three ships
there—two with nuclear propulsion units,
Kirov
and
Orlan
. Our
plan was to get them all lined up, install one rod in the two nuclear powered
ships with the
Admiral Golovko
sandwiched between them. Then we will try
to run the maintenance procedure simultaneously and see what happens.”

“See
what happens?”

“Yes,
Dobrynin, I know it sounds crazy, but we could think of nothing more to do. One
voice here suggested we hold these last two rods in reserve. Their obvious power
would give us some amazing potential. But I refused. We must do everything
possible to bring
Kirov
and the other ships home again. Their presence
there is too much of an offense to the history. But you need not worry about
that. your mission is to find Fedorov first, and hopefully Orlov as well. But
make sure that helicopter gets safely on its way.”

“I
understand, sir.” Yet Dobrynin did
not
really understand. This was the most
insane exercise he had ever been involved in, and the thought that Volsky was
relying on him as overall mission commander was heavy on him now.

“I’m
not trained for combat operations,” he had argued when the Admiral first handed
him the assignment.

“Don’t
worry about that, Chief. Leave that to Bukin and his Marines. Captain Malkin has
also been fully briefed. Yes, he found the situation unbelievable, as we all
did at first, but he is a good officer. He will command the amphibious units and
see to the defense of the
Anatoly Alexandrov
. You just do what you do
best. Organize the mission, see to all the equipment and supplies, operate the
reactors. We have even taken the precaution of mounting engines on the
Anatoly
Alexandrov
, just in case you should need to move the platform for some reason
or another. They are mounted aft, and will give you no more than 10 or 12
knots, but it would be enough in an emergency.”

“I
will do my very best, sir.”

“I
know you will, Dobrynin. Signal me the instant you return…And I hope to God we are
all still here to greet you.”

That
thought was a sobering one, and it underscored just what was at stake with this
mission. It was no longer the fate of a few officers and men, or even the three
ships they were foolishly trying to bring home. Something much more was on the table
now, for they all knew well what the world could look like if they failed. They
had seen it with their own eyes in the devastation of one port of call after
another. Now they had come to tempt the dark unbottomed infinite abyss of time
and fate itself.

 Dobrynin
sighed heavily, shook his head as he stared at the Mi-26, and then headed for the
ladder down. By the time he made his way to the main operations center on the
facility a young
mishman
rushed over with news from the radio room. The
worry on his face was obvious.

“Sir,
we just received a call from Kaspiysk Naval Base. They say they have radar returns
on airborne contacts to our south”

“NATO
planes?”

“We
don’t know, sir. They are coming in very low, and quite slow, so they may be helicopters.
Kaspiysk is activating the 847th Coastal Missile Artillery detachment.”

The
young man’s worry was infectious. The war was now at their doorstep, but Dobrynin
knew one thing about command that was an absolute necessity—a steady hand. The
long years of patience and precision care in the operation of delicate and
dangerous naval reactors would now stand him in good stead.

“Very
well,
mishman
, return to your post.” His voice was calm and reassuring. He
walked slowly to the operations center and gave the order to conclude the maintenance
routine. He looked at his watch. They had dipped Rod-25 into the neutron flux
over an hour ago. It was already being slowly withdrawn from the reactor core,
but it would take another ten minutes for full extraction. If NATO was coming
for them now he might not even get the mission underway, but he would have to
leave that with the defensive units Volsky had provided. His job was to get
Rod-25 in and out of the nuclear borscht, and hope for the best. Yet now he had
need for haste.

“Increase
rod withdrawal speed,” he said. “Use the number three rating.”

“Aye,
sir. Increasing withdrawal rate to three.”

“Keep
a sharp eye on those flux readings…” Dobrynin walked slowly to a chair and sat down,
closing his eyes. He was listening to the music of the core. The score was
different here, the harmonics and rhythm slightly varied from the music
Kirov
would sing to him, but the song remained the same. He could hear the subtle harmonies
in the vibration of the system, and then he smiled. Yes…there it was…It was the
same odd meter, the same rhythm and beat, He could hear Rod-25 conducting its
nuclear chorus, and he knew the procedure would be a success, and very soon
now.

“Sir!”
The
mishman
was back again, his voice strained and urgent. “Kaspiysk says
we are under attack! They are engaging with missile defense batteries!”

“Good
for them,” said Dobrynin, slowly opening his eyes. “Let them do their work. We have
already done ours.”

* * *

Lieutenant
Ryan was not happy about his chances just
now. They left one X-3 back at Baku as a reserve, as he had explained it. But
he knew the real reason was that he did not want to risk losing all three helos
and stranding the Argonauts there. Now his worse misgivings had come to pass. They
had been spotted as they came in low from the south. The Russians were not sleeping
as he hoped. His co-pilot Tom Wicks had just informed him the Russians had
located his X-3s on radar.