“Tell me now.”
Fedorov steeled himself, but these things had to be said. “In the course of events, we eventually reached our own time again. There we found that the situation in 2021 had deteriorated, and war was imminent. You gave Karpov command of the ship, and Kirov sortied from Vladivostok. That was where we were headed after those live fire exercises, and we eventually got there, though that is another tale. Karpov took the ship out himself.”
“You were aboard?”
“No sir. I had another mission, which I’ll explain later. Yet on that sortie, something happened to the ship again, and it was displaced to the past, only this time it went even farther back, all the way to 1908.”
Now he told the Admiral the long, tortuous winding tale that led them all to that dire moment off Iki Island. He told him of Orlov, and how they conceived a mission to retrieve him by using the control rod at the Primorskiy Engineering Center, though he said nothing of what had happened to him at Ilanskiy. Then he told him of the Anatoly Alexandrov, and how he had been able to locate the ship’s position in 1908. The story of the mission with Gromyko and Kazan that was launched to try and bring Kirov home was a long one, and Volsky just kept shaking his head, as though he simply could not hold everything that was being told to him.
“My God… All of that happened? You experienced it first hand?”
“I did sir, and I wish you could remember it all with me.”
“So this is what you were trying to tell me about Karpov… Trying to take the ship was unbelievable in itself, but this?”
“I know sir. It was all very difficult to live through. After that mission we attempted to try and get home again, to 2021. But Rod-25 seemed to be losing its potency, or perhaps there was simply too much mass to get us all the way home. We ended up here again, only it was June of 1940, a little over a year ago, and here we stayed, this time allied with the Royal Navy, until last May.”
“Allied with the British,” said Volsky. “Imagine that.”
“You made that choice, sir, and I think it was a wise one.”
“Then this is how you came to know that British Admiral Tovey? He was the historical Tovey, not a namesake from our time?”
“Correct sir. That message I urged you to send was one I knew he might immediately understand. Geronimo was a code word he devised to indicate we had appeared again.”
“And this explains why a British Admiral might wish to speak with a Lieutenant in the Russian Navy.” Volsky smiled.
“Actually… I was a Captain by then. You promoted me sir. In fact, I was still wearing my jacket with those stripes when I arrived here… appeared here, however it happened.”
“Yes… That was odd. We thought you had simply grabbed the wrong coat the other day when all this started and you fell ill. But yesterday the head man in the ship’s laundry wanted to know who’s jacket that was. He said he had already laundered Karpov’s. Too much was happening, and I gave it no mind, telling him to just store it away. I assumed it was Karpov’s, a spare, or perhaps Orlov’s. He’s a Captain of the third rank, even though we always call him Chief.”
Volsky was silent for a moment, everything Fedorov was saying weighing heavily on him now. “I still cannot believe Karpov and Orlov would do these things. They certainly complicated matters.”
“I’m afraid so, sir, and more than you realize.”
“Here I am thinking to make port at Severomorsk in a another hour or two. Yet the thought that Josef Stalin might get his hands on this ship gives me second thoughts now.”
“In that regard,” said Fedorov, taking a long breath, “things may have changed here. In the course of all these events, all these engagements we fought, things changed… It wasn’t just Karpov or Orlov’s doing, it was all of us, and I am as much to blame as anyone else. Every shot we fired into the history we were sailing through altered this reality, and the world is different now—at least it was last May. I was wondering if those changes still held with this second coming of Kirov to the past. You see sir, this ship came here directly from 2021, but we were already here, the ship, and so I wondered if this event, our first arrival here on July 28th, might ever occur. It seems it has.”
“Then what happened to the ship you were on last May?”
“I don’t know… That is the scary part of all of this. It may be out there, somewhere, then again it may be lost in that grey fog of infinity. Who can say. One thing I do know, is that another man was out there when this happened, Vladimir Karpov. He was separated from the ship off Iki Island, and we believed he was dead. We even conducted a memorial service before we attempted to get home again. Well, when the ship did move forward, it apparently dragged Karpov along too. I can only assume he went overboard during that engagement, and he was pulled forward along with us. I eventually discovered he was in Siberia.”
“Siberia? How in the world did he get there?”
“I don’t know, but he did, and he was able to use his knowledge of future events to get himself into a position of considerable power. We feared what might happen to the ship as we approached July 28th, the time the ship vanished due to that accident with Orel. I have seen what happened to us, but Karpov was exposed to that fate as well. It may be that he did not survive, but that recall order with the correct authentication code gave me pause. He might have obtained that code at any time he was on the ship, and he would be the only other person here in this time that might know that code.”
“Astounding,” said Volsky. “Yet the Captain is right up there on the bridge, Fedorov!”
“Yes, he is, and I have been trying to understand just what happened here. It all depends on what really happened to the ship in May of this year. I’m here, and with my memory of all these events intact. The fact that neither you, nor anyone else aboard, can remember what happened to us is most disturbing. We experienced many odd effects as we approached what I came to call Paradox Hour. Some of those effects involved memory lapses. After we disappeared in May, members of the crew also began to go missing—Tasarov, Orlov, and a man named Kamenski that had come aboard in the course of our operations. At one point I had completely forgotten Tasarov even existed! But strangely, Nikolin remembered him, and that eventually jogged my memory, which soon recovered. Your memory was also affected, until it slowly recovered. I was hoping that was the case here, and that you were still the man I left back in May, but that remains to be seen. Does any of this trigger any recollection?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” said Volsky. “It is incredulous—the most amazing story I have ever heard—yet I cannot recall any of the things you are describing. But Mister Fedorov… If I follow you here, are you suggesting that that recall order may have been sent by Karpov—the man who was in Siberia?”
“That is a possibility. He could have formatted that message before July 28th.”
“Yet how can he be there and here on this very ship?”
“I do not think that is possible, Admiral. Frankly, I think he must have suffered a fate similar to what we endured on the ship. Why I was spared, I cannot say, but I think it was not without great cost.”
“In what way?”
“Well sir, here I am, and with the recollection of all these events intact. In fact, I firmly believe I am the Fedorov from the ship I left in May, and not the young officer I was when you set out from Severomorsk for those live fire exercises.”
“Then what happened to that man?” asked Volsky, clearly confused by all of this.
“I don’t know, sir, but I believed it would be impossible for two versions of the ship and crew to co-exist—or for there to be two versions of me or any other man. That was the danger I thought we were facing. I believed that, unless we found a way to get out of this time before July 28th, we could face a grim fate, and perhaps we have. Finding myself here, I realize now that I may also be responsible for my own death—the death of that other man, who was completely innocent. And I have grieved the loss of everyone I knew aboard that other ship, b
rothers all, as if they had all died, just as I have grieved the death of my own self, the man I was before any of this happened.”
Volsky nodded, a grave expression on his face. “Mister Fedorov,” he said quietly, “you are a most remarkable young man. For you to appear here, remembering these things, must have been very trying. I can see now what you have been attempting to do, the way you have slowly tried to control how these events played out. Thank you for coming to me, and trying to get me to understand what has happened to us. It is all more than I think I can hold at one time, and I hope I don’t have another dizzy spell that sends me to Doctor Zolkin.”
“That makes two of us, sir. Your understanding and leadership now is essential. It is not just our fate at stake here. Karpov has said this was a very serious situation, and he was correct, though things are far more serious than he could imagine. It is August 2, 1941. Tonight the Northern Fleet will attempt the evacuation of the 325th Rifle Regiment by sea, and the German assault on Murmansk will be pressed forward to the boiling point over the next days and weeks.”
“Yet they failed, Fedorov. You said something about a second Rifle Division that we will bring up from reserve… the 52nd?”
“Yes, that is so, and as much as the history seems to ring true to what it once was, this is an altered reality here now sir. The history is not the same. You worried a moment ago about Josef Stalin, but if this is the same world I left in May, Stalin is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes sir, killed in 1908 by assassination. We learned this in the course of our stay here, after we shifted forward from 1908.”
“That is very serious indeed! Stalin dead? Then who leads the Soviet Union in his place?”
“The man the Sub-Lieutenant wished long life as we left the Tuman, sir, Sergei Kirov. He wasn’t saluting our ship, but the man it was named after, and in May he was alive and well, leading the Soviet State, though it would no longer be fair to call it the Soviet Union. Things we did in 1908 have caused a tremendous change in the history we now find ourselves in. Our nation did not survive the revolution intact. The Reds and the Whites continued to struggle with one another, and Russia fragmented into three separate regions, One is the Soviet State led by Sergei Kirov. He controls most of European Russia as we knew it, or at least he once did. By now the Germans are at his throat, and they have already probably overrun a third of the country. Everything east of Omsk, all of Siberia, is a separate state as well, and it is presently being led by Kolchak, if you recall him, and another man was also prominently involved there, Vladimir Karpov.”
“The same man who is presently Captain of this ship?”
“If he survived, though I do not believe that is possible. Only that recall order makes me suspicious, as I’ve explained. But there is also one more state, controlling all of the Caucasus, territory east of the Volga, and all of the central Eurasian states like Kazakhstan. There was another man involved in all of these events that I have not yet spoken of. His name is Ivan Volkov…”
Chapter 17
Volsky’s head was too full to fully focus on what Fedorov was trying to tell him now. This other man, Volkov, had been a Captain in Russian Naval Intelligence, from 2021. The ship had returned from this wild nightmare, and only to face the Inspector General and a possible Board of Inquiry at Vladivostok. Yet Fedorov explained he had another mission, slipping out of the city on the Trans-Siberian rail, only after another amazing journey to the past by using the same control rod that had caused the ship to displace, only this time in the nuclear reactor test bed at the Primorskiy Engineering Center.
Fedorov could see that it was all too much for the Admiral to take at one time. “I will explain it all in detail later,” he said. “But suffice it to say, that this man, Ivan Volkov is that same Captain we met at Vladivostok.”
Volsky rubbed the brow of his forehead. “This story is like an onion! You just keep peeling away one layer after another.”
“It has been a very long journey, sir,” said Fedorov.
“Well, now I must go up and see if I can explain some of this to the Captain.”
“I will be happy to come with you, sir.”
“No, Mister Fedorov, I think it best if I see the Captain alone.”
*
The message came at a little after 17:00 that evening, and Volsky had been with Karpov alone in the briefing room for the last hour and a half. It was now 18:30, and the moon Fedorov had predicted was slowly rising through the mist. The message was short and direct, handed to the Admiral by Nikolin just before he started his meeting. It read simply: ‘Admiral Golovko, Commander Northern Fleet, invites you to dock at Pier 7, and requests the presence of Admiral Volsky and his party at No. 1 Staraya Vaenga, 20:00, at which time he will present an important communication from Moscow.’
Volsky had been meeting with Captain Karpov in the briefing room when it came, undertaking the difficult task of trying to explain the impossible truth he had finally come to embrace himself. He had chosen this moment deliberately, as Fedorov had, and had pushed a pad device with Fedorov’s sun and moon data displayed predicting what the two men would soon see out the port side window, the testimony of the moon itself, which he hoped would weigh heavily.
Volsky said nothing to Karpov of what Fedorov had revealed concerning his loyalty, and the things he had done when given command of the ship. He simply went over all the evidence they had uncovered, the lack of any visible wreckage from either Orel or Slava, the loss of satellite and GPS links, the endless radio broadcasts, the silence from Severomorsk, all the video feeds, which he again compared to imagery provided by Fedorov, the missing facilities on Jan Mayen, and then he related the incredible story of his brief meeting with Sub-Lieutenant Shestakov aboard the Tuman.
“Yes, this is yet one more inconceivable thing, but I saw this man with my own eyes, shook his hand, read his ship’s log, and saw there the entry for this very day.” He related what they had learned about events on land, and the planned evacuation of the 325th Rifle Regiment that night.
Karpov was astonished, first to think that the Admiral had swallowed Fedorov’s entire story whole, and now had a belly full of borscht that would surely make him a very sick man, just like Fedorov, or so he believed. And yet, here was the Admiral of the Northern Fleet, with over 40 years in the service, speaking to him earnestly and with all seriousness, and asking him to believe the impossible.
“Everything we have discovered since that accident makes absolutely no sense if we stand in the year 2021, but if the date in that logbook I read was correct, then all these things fit the picture. There it is, right before our noses, and now I invite you to look out there at that moon, and review the data for yourself. It is correct for this date, time, and location, and yet, that should be a morning crescent, and it should not be up until 20:32.”
“But the recall order,” said Karpov, voicing the same last objection Volsky had clung to himself.
“Yes, the order,” said Volsky. “I plan on getting to the bottom of that this evening. I gave orders to enter Kola bay a half hour ago.” Now he handed Karpov the message he had received from Nikolin just before the meeting, watching quietly as the Captain read.
“Admiral Golovko?” Karpov knew the name well, for he had once applied for a captaincy aboard the new frigate by that name, until he was accepted as Captain of Kirov, much to his delight.
“In light of everything else we have just gone over, I will not be surprised to learn he is, indeed, Arseniy Golovko, who was Commander of the Red Banner Northern Fleet from 1940 to 1946. Could all of this be staged? Possibly. But why? Would our own people now wish to put us through some strange psychological test here?”
“I might believe that easier than anything else you have told me,” said Karpov.
“Yes? Well I will soon see for myself. The port and city will also give testimony. I think we should get to a weather deck and have a good look as we enter the harbor, but I have ordered all non-essential personnel b
elow decks. No need to start the rumor mill. You and I both know this place like the back of our hands. Let us see what we find.” He stood up, and the two men made their way to the bridge, where Rodenko was in command as Senior Watch Officer, slowly taking the ship in.
“Any difficulties?” asked Volsky as they were announced on the bridge.
“This fog has visibility down to 100 meters, and none of the navigation buoys are out where they should be,” said Rodenko. “But the helmsman knows the channel well. We just skirted Salniy Island, and should be ready to dock in fifteen minutes.”
“Very good. Take us in. Then the ship will come about to 360 and hover well out in the bay. We will not come alongside the quay. The Captain and I will be out on the weather deck.”
Once there, Karpov scanned the way ahead with an anxious look. He had thought he would be coming home, and now a yawning hole opened in his gut, filled only with all these impossibilities that had beset them these many days. Clearly Severomorsk was still here. There was no sign of attack, but the place seemed completely different, empty as that hole in his soul, a forlorn and forsaken harbor at the edge of the world. There had been 100,000 people living in this region when they left it just a few days ago. Even through the fog, they should see the tall, squat apartment buildings crowding one another in bleak rows, and see the city lights softly glowing behind the mist. But it was so still and quiet now.
“Strange how dark it seems. Could there be a power outage?”
Karpov realized the very question betrayed his inner mind, for he was still reaching for things to explain the strangeness away, account for it in some way, make sense of the lunacy that had started when they lost Orel. It was here that they thought to come for all their final answers, and yet with each passing minute, all they found were more questions. It was as if the surety and safety of home had betrayed them, and now conspired with all these other odd events to torment them.
Then they heard the plaintive call of a fog horn, and he looked to see another ship approaching, a perplexed look on his face when he saw it.
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