Nemesis (21 page)

I paid
a high price for this ship, turning the divisions I built and hardened into
fighting men over to Kirov and Konev. One day I will return to the land to
rightfully claim those legions as my own again, but in truth, I have always
been a navy man. As for the airship fleet, I have plans for that as well. There
will be
Oko
panel radar sets that I can take from stores on
Kirov
and mount on my ships to replace those old
Topaz
radars I rigged out. I
will have situational awareness in the air that will be most useful. And for
that matter, we have hand held missiles aboard that would augment my airship
defenses considerably.

This
thought excited him. I can train and place a missile team on the upper gun
platform mounted on the brow of my ships. Can you imagine the look on Volkov’s
face when he sees the missiles launch, nice little needles, the a hand held
SAMs used by the Marines? They also have anti tank missiles! Even an RPG-30
could blow one of Volkov’s airships to hell. They can range out only about 200
meters, but it would make a nasty surprise in a close quarters gun duel. And I
think Troyak has a few other little goodies in his larders,
Kornet
ATGMs
that can range out 5000 meters with a HEAT round. The EM variant uses laser
targeting and even has a wonderful thermobaric warhead that can get out 10,000
meters. Talk about a bag buster! I could blow one of Volkov’s ships out of the
sky before he even set eyes on me…

But no,
not me. My days as Admiral of the zeppelin fleet are now over, but I have a
perfect candidate in mind for that post. As to Troyak, he could still be a
problem. I’ll need to get to him early and win over his support. With him on my
side, and Orlov, the crew will fall into line easily enough, and I’ll have my
own security contingent aboard this time, and Grilikov. He smiled.

He
looked at his watch, a heady sense of anticipation filling his mind. By now
Tyrenkov would have visited Troyak with that request to take the launch back to
the ship and fetch the Captain. If all goes well, I will soon be the first man
in the history of this earth to meet my very own self! I can only imagine what
that will be like, for both of us. It is still unbelievable to think that he is
out there at this very moment, the Devil’s Adjutant, waiting to take his place
at my side. The shock will be much greater for him. I have this foreknowledge
of his existence, while my sudden appearance will be a complete shock to him.
For me, the notion of movement in time is now old hat, while he is probably out
there struggling to understand what could have possibly happened to the ship,
and to Severomorsk.

Yes,
this will be a most difficult homecoming for the Captain, but I dare say I know
him quite well, and he will soon move in his mind from the incredulity of his
situation to the opportunities it now presents. He smiled inwardly at that,
remembering how he had felt when he first realized the impossible truth.

It was
like the floor falling away beneath my feet for a time, he thought, but then I
quickly adapted. Then came all the hemming and hawing with Volsky and Fedorov
over what to do next. That was obvious to me, but I’ll admit, I was a bit rash,
and more than headstrong in the beginning. If I had it to do over, I might do
things differently—and I
do
have that second chance, right now!

At this
moment, Britain was Russia’s ally, and that alliance will be necessary if we are
to survive this war. So I can’t take my hard line against Great Britain and
America, not yet. We’ll need them both if we are ever to defeat the Axis
powers—and now we
will
defeat them, Volkov be damned. He’ll be the very
first on my list, unless the Japanese start things early.

He took
a long breath, seeing it all in his mind now, and knowing exactly what he was
going to do. But first things first. Time to meet the man who made me possible,
my younger twin brother of sorts. Time to meet the Devil’s Adjutant.

Troyak
and Zykov were still amazed at the state
of things here, unable to believe their eyes when they finally docked.
Everything around them was obviously different. The shape of the hills, the land
forms were all familiar, but where was the fleet? They were docked right where
the main pier should be, and it was nothing like they had left it just days
ago. None of them had been privy to any of the evidence bandied about by the
senior officers. Seeing the
Tuman
had been enough of a surprise, and
they were still trying to figure out what was going on with that ship. Now
this! What had happened here? The Admiral had cautioned them that they might be
in for another surprise.

“My
God,” said Zykov when Volsky and Fedorov left for the meeting. “What has
happened to this place?”

Troyak
had a look on his gruff face that belied concern, but he could make no sense of
things either. “Everything must be out to sea,” he suggested.

“Yes? You
mean like that old rust bucket we saw chugging by on the way in? Well did they
take the whole goddamned city with them? The Admiral says to bear with the
situation, but who could expect to see this?”

“I
wonder if they can see it from the ship?” said Gretchko.

“Only
if they have your cat’s eyes,” said Zykov. “That fog has spared them all this
little surprise. What do you think has happened, Sergeant? Something is clearly
amiss, and there’s some kind of operation going on out west. Hear that?” He
paused, listening, and they could hear the muffled sound of artillery in the
distance, faint and far away, though unmistakable to them all.

“Is it
war, Sergeant? Is that what the Admiral meant earlier? The men have been saying
something killed
Slava
, and now I think they are right! Look at this
place!”

Troyak
looked around, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said, his hand just a
little tighter on the automatic weapon he carried.

“Stand
easy, the Admiral tells us. Fedorov will explain everything to us later. Well,
that I would like to hear.” Zykov shook his head, clearly shocked by the scene
around them. “I wonder if he finally botched his navigation charts and this is
the wrong inlet? Maybe he took us into Port Vladimir by mistake?”

They
all knew it wasn’t Port Vladimir, a tiny outpost up near the entrance to Ura
Bay, the next inlet to the west. No, it wasn’t Port Vladimir, nor was it Guba
Ara, the still bay further west. But it wasn’t Severomorsk either, at least not
the place they all knew so well, and nobody wanted to say anything more. They
just sat there listening to the sound of a distant battle to the west, and not
knowing they were hearing the far off tide of World War Two slowly rising, even
here in this isolated northern outpost at the top of the earth.

*

Tyrenkov
went down to the launch, walking slowly but deliberately
along the quay, and alone. As he came up on the boat he noted how different it
appeared compared to any other small boat that might be tied up here in the
harbor. The sight of the massive battlecruiser riding out in the bay soon
commanded his attention. So this is the apple in Karpov’s eye, he thought, the
mighty
Kirov
. This was the ship that met and defeated all comers, a ship
capable of standing against entire fleets of this day. Karpov’s interest in it
is obvious, but finding that the Captain was his own self was certainly
shocking. How could that be?

Karpov
lectured me time and again on how he could not reach certain moments in time were
he to use the stairway at Ilanskiy. It would be impossible for him to go to any
time or place where he already existed, or so he argued. Apparently he was
wrong, for if this Captain is indeed his own self, things here are about to get
very interesting, and very perilous. One such man in the world is enough, but
two? I shall have to see this man first, and make my own assessment.

“Sergeant?”
he called, seeing the dour faced Troyak waiting on the back of the boat, and
noting the dangerous looking rifle he was holding, discretely lowered, but
still a threatening presence.

“What
is it?” Troyak was looking the man over, noting his long, dark trench coat and
military cap, of a style and cut that he was not familiar with.

“Admiral
Volsky is still in his meeting, yet I have been sent to request the presence of
your Captain immediately. Can you bring him ashore?”

“Very
well, we will cast off and should return in twenty minutes.”

“Thank
you, Sergeant. I will wait for you here, and then escort the Captain to the
meeting place.”

Troyak
nodded to Zykov, who was listening from the cabin, and Gretchko untied the line
as he started the engine. Tyrenkov watched the boat turn about, hoping there
would be no difficulties here. He was not disappointed, for it was not long
before he heard the sound of the motor again, returning through the low lying mist.

There
he was, thought Tyrenkov, watching closely to see a fourth man in the launch.
How very strange…. In form and build the man looked very similar, and as the
boat docked, he caught a glimpse of his face, a little younger looking, not so
grim in aspect, and unscarred. Yet there was no denying the uncanny
resemblance. He could be an identical twin, he thought, how extraordinary! He
shook off his amazement, and extended a hand as the man climbed from the
launch.

“Captain?”
he said, more a question than a greeting.

“Vladimir
Karpov,” the man said in response, and he noted that even his voice was
identical in tone and timbre.

“Yes
sir, I am Tyrenkov, special adjutant for the discussions now underway. If you
will kindly accompany me, I will take you to the meeting.”

“Looks
like we don’t get dinner after all,” said Zykov with a grin, thinking that
might be their only consolation here.

“Dinner?”
Tyrenkov looked over his shoulder. “Oh yes, they will be serving food shortly.
I will come and show you the way when the meeting is concluded. You are, of
course, all invited.”

That
seemed to brighten Zykov’s expression, and the two men started down the long,
muddy street, illuminated by a single lamppost.

As they
walked, Tyrenkov noted how the Captain seemed to gawk at the landscape about
them, clearly surprised. “Has there been fighting here?” he asked, aghast at
the condition of the harbor. “Were we hit?”

“Fighting?”
said Tyrenkov. “That’s all out west, but the Germans are pushing hard now. How
much do you know, Captain, about what has happened to you and your ship? Have
you been briefed at all?”

“Briefed?
Who could listen to such an explanation and not think himself insane.”

“Understandable.”

“And
yet,” said Karpov, “seeing this gives me pause… You will also tell me what the
Admiral asserted? This is 1941?”

“I’m
afraid so, quietly slipping toward the third of August.”

“Yes,
and watched by a moon that should not be in the sky, at least according to our
Navigator. That I might have dismissed as an oversight, or misreading of the
data, but not this…” He looked around, clearly disheartened.

“Captain…
I’m afraid there will be one more surprise this evening. There is someone here
who wishes to speak with you in private.” They now came up to the unfinished
building that Karpov had been waiting in, and Tyrenkov knocked firmly on the
door.

“Come…”

“I have
another matter to attend to,” said Tyrenkov. “This hour is yours.”

Karpov
did not know what to make of that, but he stepped up to the door, and opened
it. The room was wreathed in shadow, and he edged inside, wondering what this
was all about, his instincts prickling up, and speaking of danger here.

Across
the long unfinished room, the moonlight shone through the beams of an open
ceiling, and some of the low fog and mist had found their way inside, seeming
like cold grey smoke in the room. At the far end, he could see a shadowy
figure, walking slowly towards him with measured steps.

The
Siberian walked toward his visitor, his heart beating faster as he took each of
those steps, each footfall echoed by three or four beats. Then he stopped, as
though he had struck something, and seemed to shudder. The pain!

Instinctively,
he stepped back, and the awful sensation abated. He looked, seeing the man
across the room in a leather service jacket, and sheep’s wool cap, the garb he
always wore when on his shift. My coat and cap, he thought, for there I am. The
man took another two steps forward, and again the pain began, something deep
within him, as though the very molecules of his being were shaken by a
withering vibration.

“Stop
there!” he said, “Take a step back please….”

The
Captain heard that voice, and was shot through with surprise. It sounded like
his own voice, though strangely different, like hearing yourself on a recording
and thinking your voice sounded odd.

“You
are the ship’s Captain?” said the figure across the room, still wreathed in
mist and shadow.

“Captain
of the First Rank, Vladimir Karpov.”

The
Siberian smiled, seeing how his visitor had pointed that little detail out,
even as he might. “Well Captain, I am your long lost brother.”

Karpov
was silent for a moment. “I don’t understand. I have no brothers.”

“Of
course you don’t. You are an only child, and your parents were more than glad
to see you off to the university. And you have seldom been home since. Well,
how do you like this homecoming? Hardly a place we can call home anymore, is
it?”

The
Captain wondered how this man could know that…. “Sir, may I ask who you are?
And where is Admiral Volsky?”

“Never
mind him. You and I have business to discuss.”

The man
eased himself forward, feeling the pain begin yet again, and then he edged
sideward’s instead, intending to move into the moonlight streaming through the
open beam ceiling. As he did so, he heard the sharp intake of breath from the
other man, but he said nothing, giving him the moment, letting him gape at him.

“Good
lord… How is this… Who
are
you?”

“I am
Vladimir Karpov, Captain of the First Rank, or at least I once was. Now some
men call me Admiral, and soon they will call me Mister Secretary, General
Secretary of the Free Siberian State. We bear a striking resemblance, do we
not? Except for this little scar on my cheek. I was careless once, but no
longer.”

“Amazing,”
said Karpov. “Resemblance? You can call me insane, but I might go so far as to
say we were identical twins!”

“That
we are.”

“But
that isn’t possible,” said Karpov.

“No, it
shouldn’t be, or so I thought. But here we are. Don’t come any closer, please.
It is a bit of a shock for us both, and you will be even more surprised to
learn what I must tell you now…. Yes, you are Vladimir Karpov, and that is my
name as well, not because of any coincidence, but due to something far
stranger. I know you had a very rough time on the ship trying to discern what
has happened to you after
Orel
blew up. So did I.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I mean
I found it very difficult when that annoying little Navigator of ours started
quoting me chapters from his history books.”

“Fedorov?
Yes, he can be quite the pest. You know the man? You know of what happened with
Orel?”

“Of
course I do.”

“But
how? We had no communication with Severomorsk, and now I see why. The place is
gone, just as I suspected! Then we finally received that coded message.”

“Yes. I
sent that. Rather clever of me, wasn’t it?”

“You
sent it?” Karpov was still shaken by the uncanny resemblance of this man, and
the sound of his voice, yet he was not certain who he was.

“Yes, I
sent it.”

“Not
possible. It used an authentication code that I only just learned when the
message was received, and we opened the ship’s safe.”

“Yes?
Well I opened the ship’s safe a good long while ago, and so the word, Nikolai,
was well known to me.”

“What
do you mean? You were aboard the ship before we left? I would certainly have
known that.”

“Yes, I
was aboard, and you
did
know about it…. How to say this without
triggering that reflexive dismissal you will likely give. I was
you
,
Karpov. In fact I
am
you. We are one and the same, and if you listen
carefully, I will explain that statement. You have seen how clearly different
this place is—Severomorsk. As annoying as he can be, our Mister Fedorov was
correct. We are no longer in our own time. That accident aboard
Orel
had
a good deal to do with it, but there was more. What happened was this—the ship
moved, Captain, not much in space, but in time. So all the things Fedorov told
you are true, and this is, indeed, the year 1941. Hear that? It’s the goddamned
German army on the Litsa River line, trying to get through. But we’ll stop
them. This place is so desolate now because everyone has moved out west to
fight the Germans, and also because I made arrangements to see the harbor was
clear for our little visit.”