Nemesis

by John Schettler

  Before they would reach the inlet, one more contact was reported by Rodenko, very near the island of Ostrov Kil’din, just northeast of the bay. With the KA-40 still up on overwatch, the Admiral had it shift forward to have a look while they recovered the KA-226.

  “Overwatch one to Mother. We are approaching the contact and will feed video imagery from our present altitude.”

  “Mister Nikolin,” said Volsky. “Have them hail that ship and see if we can get a quick identification that will not require any further research by Fedorov here.” As he said that there was just a touch of frustration in his voice, impatient with the world that would simply not make sense any longer. All around him was the familiar sea and sky, the waters of the North Cape being a long time operations zone for the fleet, and yet, the sense of strangeness in the air around them here was palpable now, and very disturbing.

  The ship they were observing was a small converted merchant vessel, an old fishing trawler being used as a patrol ship, now designated SKR-12, the Tuman. The ship’s name meant ‘Mist,’ and it was destined to have a storied fate when it would be surprised by three of the destroyers that had been slowly following in Kirov’s wake, and sunk in a gallant but futile ten minute gun battle. Tuman’s two 45mm guns were no match for the German destroyers, which would fire off 270 5-inch rounds to riddle the Soviet scout ship and sink her, with heavy loss of life.

  Coming at a time when the Germans were making their initial effort to take Murmansk by land, the sinking of the Tuman was quickly rolled into the stories that began to circulate at the beleaguered port, as a way of bolstering the courage of the defenders. The men of the Tuman fought like hellcats, they said, to the last man, and last round before they were sunk. They gave the Germans everything they had.

  In truth, when the old trawler sighted the three German destroyers, it reported the contact to Northern Fleet and then made smoke. But this did not deter the Germans, who were eager for prey, and quickly closed to within about five nautical miles before opening fire. Some of the first hits quickly killed the ship’s commander, Sub-Lieutenant Shestakov, and the Commissar on board. They also damaged the aft 45mm gun, and so the Tuman had very little to shoot with during the brief engagement. At one point the ship’s flag was shot from the mast, but the senior radio operator, Bilinov, and a wounded sailor, Semenov, struggled bravely to raise the colors yet again.

  Soon Russian shore batteries responded to Tuman’s calls, and began to range in fire on the German destroyers. Planes were launched from the airfield at Murmansk, and came diving in to attack, eventually driving off the German ships, which sustained minor damage from these attacks. Rescue boats were dispatched, and eventually pulled 37 of 52 men out of the water, and Tuman sank in to the cold seas, and the enfolding mist of history soon after.

  The story of Tuman’s gallant stand was cemented in the lore of the Northern Feet when the survivors were greeted by the workers of Murmansk harbor, heartily welcomed home. They cheered the men on the quay, and some days later, Admiral Golovko then ordered all ships leaving Kola Bay to dip their flags and sound their horns in tribute when they passed the point of the engagement off Kildin Island. In fact, seawater was collected from the location and embedded in the giant statue known as ‘Alyosha,’ a stone statue standing 23 feet tall, of a soldier in his winter greatcoat, rifle in hand. It was erected in 1974 as a dedication to the Defenders of the Arctic during the Great Patriotic War.

  Alyosha stands to this day, 500 tons of stone facing the ‘Valley of Glory,’ on the Lista River defense line that protected the city in the face of a fierce German attack by the troops of Gebirgskorps Norwegen, the German Alpine Korps under Generaloberst Eduard Dietl. It became the second tallest statue in Russia, exceeded only by a similar monument erected in Volgograd to commemorate that pivotal battle.

  The naval ritual commemorating the small engagement continued through the decades, even to the year 2021, and Kirov had also sounded her horn when the ship left Severomorsk on the outward leg of her deployment for those fateful live fire exercises. So it was a great surprise when the radio man aboard the KA-40 hailed the ship and got back a signal from the small contact, identifying itself as SKR-12.

  Nikolin turned to the Admiral, somewhat surprised. “Sir… The KA-40 reports the contact identifies itself as SKR-12, Patrol Ship Tuman, under Sub-Lieutenant Shestakov!”

  “Shestakov?” Volsky knew the name. In fact, he had even made the P.A. announcement when Kirov was about to sound off as they passed the location of Tuman’s sinking some days ago. “What is going on here? Are our boys getting in on this NATO deception you suggest, Mister Karpov? The Tuman? That name was retired long ago.” He looked at Fedorov now, a strange light in his eye, but Fedorov said nothing, preferring that the reality of their situation speak for him now.

  “Nikolin,” said Volsky. “Recall our helicopter, and while you are at it, ask the Sub-Lieutenant if he would care to rendezvous with us. Tell him this is the heavy cruiser Kirov, returning to Severomorsk. And since we are breaking radio silence here under my orders, inform Command at Severomorsk of our imminent arrival as well.”

  Nikolin sent the message, and now they began to study the video feed being sent by the KA-40, the image of a small commercial steamer evident. Rodenko tracked the location of the ship easily, and twenty minutes later, they slowed as they began their approach in a light rolling fog that had begun to form. Soon they saw a small shadow ahead, and Volsky got up from his chair, walking slowly to the forward viewports. There, as if it had formed from the Arctic mist that it was named after, was a small trawler flying the flag of the Russian Navy. Volsky decided to play his part, even before he knew what he would soon discover there.

  “Mister Nikolin… Sound our horn.”

  The long single blast soon followed, a precaution against collision, but Volsky passed a silent moment within, realizing that it was as if they had paid their respects yet again to the fabled ship Tuman, greeting a phantom from their own past, haunted by the gallant crew that had been spoken of so long in the Northern Fleet. They were, and the ghosts aboard would soon become men of real flesh and blood, when Admiral Volsky determined to take a launch over to see for himself what this ship really was.

  “Mister Karpov, you have the bridge, but hopefully you will not find it necessary to fire at anything. Mister Fedorov, will you please accompany me? We will now settle this matter, once and for all.”

  *

  It was hard to say which man was more astonished, the young Sub-Lieutenant Shestakov when he first set eyes on the looming presence of the battlecruiser Kirov as it emerged from a low cloud, or the wizened Admiral when he set eyes on the lowly trawler, and came alongside to board with Fedorov, Troyak, and two Marines.

  The men there instinctively saluted, knowing an officer when they saw one, and seeing the broad stripes on Volsky’s cuff, the big star on his shoulder insignia. The very presence of the man himself spoke of authority, massively underscored by a ship that was bigger than anything else in the fleet. The Kirov class heavy cruiser that they might know from the Baltic Fleet was no more than 9,500 tons full load, and the modern battlecruiser was three times that, approaching 30,000 tons, and over 60 meters longer.

  The stolid aspect of Sergeant Troyak completed the picture. Here was power, the like of which the Lieutenant had seldom seen, and it gave him heart to think that in spite of the beating the Army was taking, the Navy was standing tall, and holding firm.

  Volsky looked the men over, noting their uniforms, all clearly military, but not modern Russian Navy issue. Who were these men, particularly that squat fellow next to the Lieutenant with the red star on his cap? He decided to find out.

  “And you, sir?” he said, looking the man over.

  “Commissar,” the man said quickly, though he gave no name, and Volsky smiled, thinking he was jesting. There had not been a Commissar in the service for over 25 years. Shestakov and his Commissar, seemed quite surprised to be receiving a navy Admiral, partic
ularly one they had never heard of. Yet there was no doubting the authenticity of that massive ship out there, or the man before them.

  “Greetings,” said Volsky. “Forgive our sudden appearance, but we have had little communication from Fleet Command, and you are the first friendly vessel flying that ensign we have seen since Moscow ordered us home. How are things at Severomorsk?”

  “Not good, Admiral,” said Shestakov. “We are evacuating the 325th Rifle Regiment from its position west of the Litsa River, and it happens tonight. That is why we are out here, ready to report any enemy movements, and now that I see your ship, I am greatly relieved.”

  This was not anything Volsky had expected to hear. “You are evacuating troops? Our troops?”

  “Yes sir, the men of the 14th Rifle Division that we landed along the Kola Coast last month. They’ve held their beachhead for weeks now, holding up the enemy advance, but tonight we pull them out.”

  “For weeks you say?” Volsky looked over his shoulder at Fedorov, as none of this sounded plausible to him at all. “And just who is advancing?”

  “Sir? The Germans, of course. They brought up yet another Mountain Division, or so we have heard from men coming back from the front.”

  “The Germans…” Here they were again. He had listened to Fedorov tell him he was living in the past, though he had not really embraced that impossible notion. He allowed his Navigator to shed light on the contacts they had encountered, both on and beneath the sea, though all the while, he held Doctor Zolkin’s comments to himself. Fedorov was seeing the Germans in his war books everywhere about them, which was troubling to Volsky when he thought about what Zolkin had said. Yet now, here was this man telling him the German Army was out there advancing on Murmansk!

  “Troops of Dietl’s Mountain Korps,” said Fedorov. “Don’t worry, they’ll be stopped. That regiment is from the 14th Rifle Division. The 52nd will come up in support.”

  “The 52nd…” Volsky had a strange look on his face, like a man coming home and finding someone else had moved into his house. “May I see your logs, Sub-Lieutenant?”

  “Certainly sir.”

  “You will find everything in order,” said the Commissar. “I’ve seen to that.”

  “No doubt,” said Volsky, taking the logbook in hand when it was brought to him and flipping through the pages briefly. He was simply interested in the dates, and when his eye fell on the entry for this day, he felt a sudden surge of adrenalin. It read: ‘August 2, 1941 – On patrol West of Kildin Island. No Contacts to report by Mid-Day.’

  “I see you will be tempted to amend your log, but do not report our meeting here, Lieutenant.” Something whispered to Volsky now, behind that pulse of adrenalin, a warning.

  “I understand sir,” said Shestakov, looking quickly at the Commissar. “You are here to cover the evacuation operation? That is good! I was told to look out for German destroyers, and they have been nipping at us with U-boats up here as well. We lost the survey ship Meridian in the Polar Sea off Teriberka last month, and one of their damn Stukas got the destroyer Stremitleny, right in Kola Bay! Those bastards will learn we have more fight in us than they believe. If I ever do run into them, we’ll let them know!” He nodded his head, a determined look on his face.

  The Admiral’s head was spinning now. German destroyers and U-boats, some that he had seen right on the ship’s HD video, ships that were dead and long gone for decades. And here was this man talking about Rifle Divisions and Germans attacking, just as he knew had happened in the Great Patriotic War, and his log books set the same date that Fedorov asserted, the same date being broadcast on every radio signal they could pick up.

  What had happened? Was Fedorov’s entire story true? Was this man standing before him the same Shestakov he would salute so often, this ship the same brave Tuman rolling in the mist about them now? My God, my God, he thought. It’s World War Two! It is really happening, just as Fedorov claimed! Yet even as he thought this, one last objection forced itself upon his mind—the message from Moscow, with the correct authentication code. It now remained the only thing he could grasp, a last dangling rope of sanity in the enveloping mist of chaos.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, amazed at his outer calm, a long practiced mask he could wear in the face of adversity and confusion. “We will be leaving now, and yes, you must keep our presence here secret. No log entry.”

  “Aye sir, I understand. Tonight is the night. Good luck, Admiral, and long live Sergei Kirov!” Shestakov saluted, along with his dark eyed Commissar, and he was not talking about the ship, Fedorov knew, but the man. He had not yet told Admiral Volsky any of that, how the world he once knew was now fractured in a hundred pieces, and how their homeland might never be the same, no matter what any of them decided or did after this.

  You can never go home, thought Fedorov, and now he truly knew the meaning of that phrase. Five minutes later they were into the Admiral’s launch and returning to the ship, the mist over the waters folding over them as they went. He passed a moment of sadness, realizing that the man he had just spoken with might be killed in just a few days, for those German destroyers were out there, and time might be jealous enough to force the appointment with death that waited for the Tuman on the 9th of August, 1941. But we are here now, he thought, and that might never happen.

  The realization that Tuman might be spared, and that no ship in the fleet would ever pay tribute as it passed Kildin Island in all the years ahead, suddenly brought a strange, nostalgic feeling. Yet he thought that would be a small price to pay for the life of Sub-Lieutenant Shestakov and his Commissar, and all the men soon fated to die with them.

  Part VI

  Impossible

  “And the vagueness of his alarm added to its terrors; when once you have taken the Impossible into your calculations, its possibilities become practically limitless.”

  ― Saki, The Chronicles of Clovis

  Chapter 16

  The Admiral was quiet as they reached the ship, and when they boarded, his hand on the ladder rail seemed as if it were grasping at reality, trying to hold on to something that assured him things were as they once were, the ship itself. How could any of this have happened? How could this possibly be true? The Bosun’s pipe seemed hollow as he came aboard, his feet on the decks of 2021 again, though now he felt as though he were on an island, lost in a sea of time. He waited until Troyak saluted and led the Marines aft to the helo bay, and then turned to Fedorov.

  “Walk with me, Mister Fedorov. I think you and I must talk for a while.” They started along the outer deck, heading forward, past the tall central superstructure, rising up like a metal castle. Volsky looked up, seeing the Fregat radar making its never ending circuit, scanning the world about them with electronic eyes. Yet it had not been able to see the truth of what had happened to them. Only this one man beside him had the courage to speak that aloud, and seem a fool in doing so.

  “Fedorov, if I had not seen that Lieutenant and his Commissar with my own eyes…”

  “I know, sir. I felt the same way when I first set eyes on the video feed we took of Wake-Walker’s task force, and saw that Fairy Fulmar overfly the ship. I knew it was impossible, as my eyes were showing me things that could simply not be here. In the end, seeing was believing. I hesitated to speak, thinking I might wait until your eyes showed you the impossible first, but I knew the situation here at the beginning would be particularly dangerous. The Captain was going to interpret things very differently. In fact, it may still be difficult to convince him this has really happened to us, but I am very relieved to know that you might finally believe me now.”

  “Zolkin was beginning to think you had a more serious problem than we first realized.”

  “That is understandable. My story must have sounded completely insane, but I thank you for listening to me as you did. I counted on you, Admiral, as it was your wisdom and restraint that was able to hold Karpov in check.”

  Volsky nodded. “Yet one thing still bo
thers me,” he said. “That recall order. It was properly formatted, and how could anyone here know that, or the authentication code? That is still the one thing that gives me pause.”

  “I’m not certain, sir, but I have a theory. I was trying to explain earlier, then the missile warning distracted us.”

  “You were suggesting Karpov was behind this somehow?”

  “It was the only thing I could think of. Only you or the Captain could have known that authentication code.”

  “Yes, I was aware of it,” said Volsky, “but I do not think the Captain knew what it was until we received that message and opened the safe to obtain the envelope.”

  “Not this Captain,” said Fedorov darkly, prompting Volsky to stop for a moment and turn to him.

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  “Sir… this will be hard to explain, but just days ago, the ship was well south of here in the North Atlantic. It was May then, of 1941, though that seems like yesterday to me now. But don’t you understand sir? The ship was there, along with the entire crew, or most of them. We lost men through all the trials we experienced, but you were there, Admiral. You were still in command. We shifted, deliberately as I tried to explain.”

  “By using that reactor maintenance procedure?”

  “Yes sir… And then I was here. But there was another Admiral Volsky at my side earlier, and you knew all of this, everything I know. Why I remember it now, while you and everyone else seem oblivious, I do not know.”

  “I see… but how does this explain that message?”

  “Well sir, there was one man who was not aboard when we made that final shift—the Captain. I never got the chance to explain what happened to him.”