B00DSDUWIQ EBOK (29 page)

So
the Russians have the bomb… I’m told we’ve got one too. That was top secret.
The men out on Tinian tending the airfields didn’t even know about it, but
Nimitz had sent the word through on a secure channel. They throw another one
our way and we’re going to repay them in spades. That was the terrible logic of
war. Here we were ready for champagne, celebration, and a long ride home. Now
this. The crews were working smartly, the planes armed and spotted. All we need
now is the go sign, then God help the Russians, because we’ll send them
straight to hell.

It
was then that the midshipman rushed in with a message. John Mulholland was under
attack. He had been shadowing the Russians with his two radar pickets,
Benner
and
Sutherland
. Something came at them out of nowhere, like a couple lone
kamikazes that had managed to slip through to dive on the ships for a kill.
Sprague was on the radio immediately to ascertain his situation.

“Both
ships hit,”
came the voice,
harried and urgent.
“Bad fires amidships and Sutherland is dead in the
water. Radar is all whacky. Can’t read a thing now, and there’s no way we can
close or keep up with the bogies. They have just turned on a new heading. They’re
running east at high speed now.”

“Good
enough, Commander. See to your men and withdraw south. We’ll take it from here.”
Sprague had a look of real anger on his face now.

He
turned to Captain William Sinton by the plotting table. “They just sucker punched
John Mulholland,” he said hotly. “I’ve had about all I’m going to take from
those bastards. “What’s the closest destroyer on the inner screen?”

“That
would be
McKee
there off our starboard bow.”

“Signal
McKee
to come along side. I’m going for a little ride.”

“Sir?
You’re transferring the flag?”

“Correct,
Captain. Admiral Ballentine is still replenishing his carriers south near Tokyo
Bay. We need speed, fire and steel on the front line now, so he was kind enough
to send me a little present in compensation for
Wasp
, the battleship
Wisconsin
.
I was considering transferring to the Showboat, but Wisky is a good bit faster,
and that’s just what we need now to run these brigands down.”

The
“Showboat” was the nickname for the most decorated battleship in the fleet, with
15 battle stars awarded to BB
North Carolina
thus far in the war. Yet at
a top speed of 26 knots she was slower than the newer
Wisconsin
, an
Iowa
class ship that could run at 30 knots. They called her “Wisky” and spelled it
exactly that way, without the letter H. Sprague heard what Mulholland said about
the Russians running east, and thought that extra speed would soon matter a
great deal.
Wisconsin
would give him that, and plenty of fire and steel
along with her two sister ships,
Missouri
and
Iowa
.

“Big-T
is yours, Bill. Your decks are spotted and the boys are ready to go. I’m going up
there personally, and we’ll give it to Stalin, right on the chin.”

“Very
well, sir. Good hunting.” Sinton snapped off a crisp salute.

Another
voice whispered from within as Sprague was piped off the bridge, more sobering,
and steeped in the wisdom this long war had instilled in him. It left off the bravado
and thirst for revenge and settled on the heart of the matter, because any way
he looked at it now he knew men were going to die here today.… God help us all,
it whispered to him, God help us all.

Chapter 29

Oberleutnant
Ernst Wellman, commander of
Panzergrenadier Schützen-Regiment 3 looked the man over as he slowly pulled on
his gloves. “You say the Russians have collapsed?” He was speaking to a broad
shouldered Cossack, Lieutenant Koban of the 1st troop of the 82nd Cossack
Squadron.

Russian
Cossacks fighting for the German Army, thought Wellman, and they have been damn
useful. This particular unit had been formed from prisoners swept up in the lightning
advance toward Stalingrad, months ago at Millerovo. The Germans had taken some 18,000
prisoners, and were trying to find a way to herd them to holding areas behind
the front line. An enterprising officer who spoke Russian knew that many were
not happy over their fate in the Russian Army, and were very receptive to the
Germans when they came. He hit on the idea of rounding up stray horses and
mounting them to form a makeshift escort for the rest of the prisoners. As
amazing as that sounded, it worked. The dissident Cossacks were only too glad
to switch sides and join the German advance, and now several units had been
formed to serve as security and reconnaissance troops in the wide ranging
steppes of the Caucasus. They were familiar with the land, could infiltrate
Russian lines easily with their language skills, and brought back valuable
intelligence.

“I’ve
had patrols out all night on horseback,” said Koban. “The NKVD have thrown up a
few roadblocks as a delaying force. They are falling back on Makhachkala. Take that
and the road to Baku is yours.”

“How
strong is the enemy ahead of us?”

“Battalion
strength at best, Oberleutnant. If you move quickly with your armored cars, you
can be in the city by nightfall.”

Wellman
looked at the man, his fair hair wild with the wind, field coat sodden with the
recent rain, face reddened by the sting of the cold after long hours in the saddle.
These Cossacks had been with them when they made the cross-river assault at
Ishcherskaya, and fought bravely, side by side with his Panzergrenadiers. They
had proved themselves reliable a hundred times over.

“Very
well,” he said. “I’ll push on all morning and we’ll see if we can break through.
The Russians are still fighting hard for Grozny, but here we have them flanked.
Westhoven had given me permission to move the entire regiment up—Liebenstein’s
Panzers in support. I’ll lead with my column, and you, Lieutenant Koban, you
will show us the way.”

* * *

“Bukin
is going on the Mi-26 mission,” said Fedorov.
“So I’m assigning you overall command of the rescue mission here.”

“Very
well, sir.” Troyak folded his brawny arms, ready and willing.

“Now
that we know where Orlov is, what do you advise?”

“A
small team will be no good,” said Troyak. “We’ll have to take the place and hold
it to conduct a search and get Orlov safely out.” He had a map of the city and
spread it out on a work table. “The problem is the Germans. They have been pushing
down this road where we saw that column. They could reach the harbor soon,
unless we stop them.”

“Can
you stop them?”

“I
believe we could, sir. We have lots of equipment here, even hand-held anti-tank
and anti-aircraft weapons, not to mention the two tanks and APCs.”

“Where
would you land our main force?”

“Here,
sir, right at the harbor. We can use this wide beach area on the isthmus. It puts
us very near the facility where Orlov is, and all we would have to do is close
these roads leading to the port district. I’ll send up blocking forces and
we’ll stop the Germans in their tracks.”

It
seemed as good a plan as any. They had the force at hand for the job, and they were
Russians. He worried that the sudden appearance of hovercraft, and modern Naval
Marines would be unsettling, but what could be more disturbing than the war the
Germans pushed south on them like an oncoming wall of fire.

“It
may be that the local defense forces would see us as reinforcements in a desperate
hour,” said Fedorov. “After all, we’re Russian troops, just as you said,
Troyak. All we have to do is say we were sent from Baku with the best new equipment
available to stop the Germans.”

“And
that is just what we will do, sir. There’s no trouble out there we can’t
handle,” Troyak said confidently.

 “I
suppose you are correct, but if we were to just go with the helo, how would you
operate with the Mi-26, Troyak? Could it be protected?” That was the key factor
now. They could not afford to have the helicopter damaged or lost, and the fuel
issue remained another problem.

“We
would just land on the tip of this sharp isthmus here,” said Troyak pointing at
the map. Then we take the company in for a lightning fast assault, leaving one squad
with the helo. It should be safe there.” The Sergeant could see that Fedorov
was very worried about the helicopter.

“Which
plan is best, to go in with force or try the lightning swift rescue with the helicopter?”

“You
can never have too much combat power at hand for any mission,” said Troyak. If the
Germans do come in force, we will want our assets ashore and ready to oppose
them. If we go with the helo, we can take up to 90 men, only half the force,
and no APCs. In that case we’ll need to rely on speed. I would suggest an
amphibious assault with the entire force. We cave tanks and APCs that will be
very useful.”

“Yes,
but we can’t leave anything behind here, Troyak. All the equipment must be safely
withdrawn—and all our men. If any man falls, he must he brought out safely. We
can leave no man behind.”

“Sir,
we
never
leave a man behind. Rest assured.”

“Very
well…prepare your mission. I want the option to use those hovercraft and the heavy
assets they can carry. We must be in a position to attack in a matter of hours.
I’ll square things with Bukin on the command change.”

“It
won’t bother him, sir. He still thinks I’m his Gunnery Sergeant.”

* * *

The
Mi-26 was soon squatting on the deck of
Anatoly
Alexandrov
again, the Marines finishing up the loading of their equipment
as evening folded he land with gray. Dobrynin had scoured the ship for any
further reserve they could find, and the big helo had her tanks topped off for
the long haul. He thought they would want to leave for the Pacific coast
immediately, but Fedorov had pulled him aside earlier to tell him of the sudden
change of plans.

“You’re
taking the Mi-26 south again?”

“Not
if I can avoid it, but I want the helo available in case we run into any problems.
It can’t be helped, Chief.” Fedorov explained.

“But
the Admiral said this mission east was very urgent, Fedorov. It’s a very long way.
Why delay?”

“You
act like the mission is running late, but remember, it’s 1942 here, and we have
nearly three years before we need to be on the Pacific coast.”

“Mister
Fedorov, we have two Kalmar assault class hovercraft here, each one carrying a PT-76
amphibious tank, and a contingent of 60 Marines. And over there we have an even
bigger “Aist” Class hovercraft, with three more APCs and more Marines. You will
have an assault contingent of 180 men! Why can’t they get the job done? Why do
you still need the helicopter?”

Fedorov
could see Dobrynin was worried about everything, and the stress of planning the
mission lay heavily on him. “I want the helo in reserve until the outcome here is
decided. I know you are worried about Bukin’s mission, but we’ll get it all done—this
mission and the job out east,” he reassured him. “I’ll also have to leave some
force with you here to protect the
Anatoly Alexandrov
. We cannot afford
to lose this ship and its reactors. Otherwise none of the control rods will be
worth anything at all. Leave things to me.”

 He
did not confide his remaining concerns—a deep inner worry over those two control
rods. He had no idea whether they would even work, and he had been thinking
about the situation for some time.

Suppose
we conclude this mission safely, he thought. Suppose we then use Rod-25 here and
all goes as we expect. We end up in the year 2021, and then what? Then we will
know whether that helicopter out there ever really makes it to the Pacific coast
and manages to contact
Kirov
. It will all be history by the time we get
home. And what if I learn the mission failed—for lack of fuel because I had to
stubbornly insist on using the Mi-26 to find Orlov. Keeping it here is just
going to tempt me to use it again. The mobility it provides is very desirable…But
if I’m the reason it fails to reach Karpov, what then? What does Karpov do
here, marooned in the past with three of the most powerful ships in the world?

He
struggled with that, wondering what would happen if push came to shove and another
battle started in the Pacific with the Americans. The situation will be too
tempting for Karpov, and he has the power to change everything now. Even if we
do reach him, and supposing these two new rods work as we hope, where will it
send
Kirov
and the other ships this time? The Admiral just assumes that
they will all be brought home to the year 2021, but that is by no means certain.
They could go anywhere, even further back into the past!

He
ran into that same dead end in his thinking again. There was just no way to know.
All they could do was stumble about like blind men in the dark. They had no
comprehension of the forces they were playing with now, and no way to really control
these time displacements.

Then
there was that incident on the back stairs of Ilanskiy. What really happened there,
he wondered? Was there a rift in time that I walked through, or was it something
about me that caused that displacement? Troyak went down those stairs and
nothing happened to him. But Mironov came up them and moved from 1908 to 1942!
It was maddening.

If
it was a rift, a tear in the fabric of time caused by the Tunguska event, then it
clearly allowed displacement between those two points on the continuum. June 30,
1908 was hotwired and linked to August of 1942. It was a gap of thirty-four years.
What if I went back up those stairs from this point in time? Would it take me
forward, perhaps by another interval of time equal to thirty-four years? Would
I end up in 1976? Again, there was no way to know, so this was all useless
speculation. The only thing he could control for the moment was this mission,
and so he shook himself from his reverie as Troyak came up, saluting.

“Sir,
the men are ready.”

“Very
well, Sergeant. Let’s get moving.”

Troyak
looked over the gunwale of the main deck to the pilot in the hovercraft below and
rotated his hand overhead to signal engine startup. There was a high pitch whine,
then a lower growl as the big engines started. With tremendous noise.

Fedorov
had briefed the men, telling them what was at stake. “I know that we may be opposed,
but do not harm the Russians if it can be avoided. If it is possible to take
prisoners and hold them while we find Orlov, all the better. But the mission must
not fail. No man can be left behind. Not one piece of equipment either.” He left
that out there, and each man considered what he might have to do now, facing
their own countrymen in a potential conflict here, as well as the Germans.

“I
just hope my Great Grandfather isn’t here,” Corporal Subakin jibed, and the other
men laughed.

They
were on their way.

* * *

Orlov
heard the footsteps in the
hall, and smiled inwardly. At last, he thought. The Commissar was finally here.
Once inside the prison they had taken his overcoat, cap and service jacket,
just as he expected, and they were hanging on the coat rack in the corner,
objects of curiosity or evidence to be fodder for the interrogation that was
coming next. Orlov was suddenly reminded of that first session with Loban under
the Rock of Gibraltar. He wondered if this Molla would get curious and meet
Svetlana the way Loban had?

The
door opened and a man stepped in, medium build, and dressed in a plain NKVD uniform
with side pistol holstered and two thin leather straps crossed on his chest.
Right over the place where the man’s heart was missing, thought Orlov. Yet as
nondescript as his dress was, the man’s face and eyes were quite revealing. He
was much younger than Orlov had expected him to be, and there was a cold,
arrogant air about him, the character of a young man who had come into too much
authority and power before he had lived enough to know how to use it. His eyes
seemed to squint as he looked Orlov over, narrowed slits with obsidian ice
behind them.

The
Commissar walked to his desk, his footfalls loud on the old wood floor, but he did
not sit down, He stood, regarding Orlov with those cold black eyes, one hand on
his left hip. Then he calmly drew his pistol, raising it to the level of his
cheek to take aim square at Orlov’s head.

“Name,”
Molla’s voice was flat and terse, edged with impatience.