Grand Alliance (Kirov Series)

by John Schettler

  Striding aboard that day, Karpov was in a high mood, his newly shined boots hard on the metal mesh deck as he walked the long central passage from nose to stern. He greeted the new crew, spoke with them at their assigned action stations, touring every corner of the airship, from the high top platforms where machine guns and even 76mm recoilless rifles were mounted, to the Topaz Radar in the nose, and finally his secret rocket turret. He had business that day, a very special inaugural cruise planned for Tunguska.

  The meeting had been arranged just after the collapse of the Omsk accords. Enraged at Volkov’s treachery, Karpov had made quiet contacts with Soviet Russia, and he convinced Kolchak that they should explore possibilities for cooperation in that area. So he was flying to Moscow that day, high above the Siberian cloud deck, where no other airship or plane could find or follow him. Yes, Volkov would learn of his arrival in Moscow soon, as his intelligence network was simply too good, but by then Karpov would have already achieved his aim.

  Let him find out when I arrive over Red Square with Tunguska, he thought with a smile. That will put some ice in his veins. I’ve stopped his little offensive on the Ob, and his bid to quickly eliminate me as a threat on his eastern flank has been foiled. Now the Soviets are pushing hard in the Caucasus, and Volkov will be getting just a bit worried. Good! Let him stew and think I’m here to sign a new treaty with Sergei Kirov. He’ll likely go running off to Hitler again and whine that he needs more air support to stop Kirov’s troops.

  The meeting was conducted as an official state function, with the proverbial red carpet rolled out in the Kremlin Square, and an honor guard and rousing band waiting when Karpov exited his vehicle with Tyrenkov, and a troop of personal security men following in his motorcade from the hotel. It was exhilarating to be back in Moscow again, and Karpov breathed deeply, taking in the clear, cold air that smelled sweeter than he ever remembered. It spoke of home in a way that affected him deeply, and one day, he thought, I may just make this place my home. I’m twenty years younger than Kirov, am I not?

  After the formal greeting from a line of state officials, with publicity photographs and hearty handshakes. Karpov’s pulse was up when the door to the gilded, octagonal Hall of the Order of Saint Vladimir in the Kremlin Palace was opened by a white gloved attendant, and he stepped inside. That was a nice touch, thought Karpov, as he had been named after that saint, and someone was making a subtle gesture by staging the reception here. He walked into the hall, his eye straying along the pink stucco pillars and up to the high vaulted dome lit by a skylight by day and an ornate chandelier by night. There he saw the words of the insignia and motto of Saint Vladimir, “Good, Honor, Glory.”

  The Red Security contingent was there, and his own personal guards joined them, departing through a doorway on the right, while Karpov was steered in to the meeting room beyond. He found himself alone for one minute in the lavishly appointed room, standing near a comfortable satin lined couch near a warming hearth. The door opened and a voice announced the arrival of the Secretary General, Sergie Kirov.

  Karpov’s heart leapt a beat as the man entered, his presence like that of a figure stepping from old memories of the past, a statue made real, endowed with the luster of history. Kirov had been an almost legendary figure in Russia at one time, and here was the man himself, a strong and vital presence, slightly gray, but with a ruddy, healthy face and sturdy build. He walked over to extend his hand, greeting Karpov warmly as he gestured for him to be seated.

  Karpov had removed his officer’s cap and set it aside on a marble topped table. “It is my very great pleasure to meet with you,” he said politely.

  “And my pleasure as well,” said Kirov, who then got right down to business, with no dawdling on pleasantries. “I must tell you that I wondered if you might wished to take this meeting after what happened at Omsk, in fact I was looking forward to it.”

  “Indeed,” said Karpov. “That was most unfortunate at Omsk, but the matter has evolved since then, and Ivan Volkov will come to regret his distasteful behavior.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Kirov, eyes narrowing, as he looked Karpov over, taking the man in. He had been told to be wary of this man, warned by Admiral Volsky and his young Captain Fedorov. So this was the former Captain of the Admiral’s ship, that amazing vessel that had come here from the future.

  “A most impressive airship you have out there. Is it new?”

  “Just commissioned,” said Karpov. “It was christened Tunguska, as its duralumin and steel rivets were mined and forged there.”

  “A good name. I see you have a fondness for large ships and the power they can wield.”

  That comment had an edge to it that Karpov did not fail to perceive. He shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Kirov had been at Murmansk, and that the appearance of the ship there meant the Soviets had certainly come to some arrangement with Admiral Volsky. He decided to be equally pointed and spoke his mind directly.

  “It has come to my attention that a most unusual ship has been seen in your harbor as well, Mister General Secretary.”

  “Please, simply call me Kirov… That is the name of the ship you ask about. Yes?”

  Karpov’s pulse quickened again with that. How much did this man know? “Then you have seen this ship? You have met with its commanding officers?”

  “Admiral Volsky? Yes, I traveled to Murmansk to see just what had dropped anchor there—also very impressive. I must say that I found him to be a most ingratiating and remarkable man, just as his ship is remarkable.”

  “I see… And may I ask what you learned about this ship?”

  “You wish to fill in the blank pages on your intelligence reports? Has your man Tyrenkov been slacking off?” Kirov smiled, deciding something inwardly. “I must be frank and tell you that your name was mentioned in that meeting, Admiral Karpov.”

  “Then they told you? You know who I am?”

  “Perhaps you can fill in a few blank pages in my intelligence book.”

  Karpov knew he was on thin ice here. He could not allow this meeting to fail. Too much was riding on it. If this man met with Admiral Volsky, who knows what they discussed. Would Volsky have been bold enough to tell Kirov everything? He had to find out, but to do that he would have to reveal much here about himself. This was dangerous, he knew, but he started out across that ice, hoping it would hold.

  “It may surprise you to learn that I know quite a bit more about that ship and its crew than you may realize,” he said. “And no, this information was not provided to me by my intelligence people. Let me say I have some firsthand experience in the matter. But before I go beyond that, I must understand what you have learned about this ship.”

  “Yes, the mysterious ship. We thought Volkov had built it at first—who else? You have no major ports under your control, nor the industry to build a large capital ship like that in Siberia. There it was, and with a Russian crew—a real mystery when it turned up in the North Atlantic, and then an even bigger mystery when it sailed and fought to support the Royal Navy! It was then that I received a message, one that struck a particular note with me. It was from a man named Fedorov—Captain Fedorov I later discovered, from that very ship. It referenced an incident from my past—very many years ago, but one I could never forget or even truly explain. So I was compelled to learn more, and was delighted when this ship sailed north to Murmansk as it did.”

  “And what did you learn from your meeting with this Admiral you mention?”

  “Enough to know this ship could never have been built by the Orenburg Federation either. It certainly wasn’t a British ship, nor of any other nationality. It flew the Russian Naval ensign, and by god, it was named in my honor—what a surprise!”

  “Then Volsky told you? You have learned the real origin of that ship?”

  Kirov folded his arms now, enjoying his little chess game with Karpov. The man was trying to be very cautious here. He suspects everything, but really knows nothing. What should I tell him? If he is, indeed, th
e man I was told about, then this game can lead only one place. It could go on like this, move after move, check and escape, so why not just end it and come to the heart of the matter. He looked at Karpov, a determined expression on his face.

  “Admiral Vladimir Karpov, First Air Commandant of the Siberian Aero Corps…. I was told a man by that same name was once a senior officer aboard that ship. Suppose you tell me plainly now, and then we can get to the real questions that need answers between us. Are you that same man?”

  Karpov pursed his lips, instinctively defensive, yet he appreciated the other man’s candor, and directness. He decided he would be equally direct. “I am. Before I assumed this rank I was a Captain, but not in the Siberian Aero Corps. No. I was a Captain in the Russian Navy, commander of the battlecruiser Kirov, the very same ship we are discussing. So anything you may have learned about that ship, its origins and true nature, applies to me as well, Mister Secretary.”

  Karpov set aside his doubt and worry now. He realized who he was, and the power he had at this moment. Kirov must understand that as well.

  “I see… Then you were the man they struggled with, correct? There was a power struggle on that ship, and you opposed your Admiral?”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “And it is clear that you did not prevail. Most unfortunate for you, but in appears you are very resilient. How was it that you came to your present post?”

  “That is a long story, and one we need not go into here. Yes, I failed in my bid to assume full command of that ship, and we parted company. Call me Lucifer if you will, thrown out of heaven when he thought he could rival God himself. That is my sad fate, but I have made the most of it. Now I rule here, in this little corner of the hell we’ve created of our motherland.”

  Kirov smiled. “Then you came from the upper floor as well, right along with Volsky and Fedorov.”

  “I don’t understand. Upper floor?”

  “Just a metaphor that Captain Fedorov used to explain himself to me. Imagine a simple boarding inn, lost on some forgotten stretch of railway. Imagine the people boarding there all come from different places, which is not that unusual. Yet now throw in a most remarkable twist—say they all come from different pages in the history, different eras in time. The bottom floor houses guests who lived before the revolution, the middle floor is reserved for travelers from this day… and the upper floor? Suppose men from tomorrow board there. Men with ships no one ever heard of, impossible for any nation on earth to build today, and with weapons so potent and advanced they become a most decisive force in little disagreements like this sad war we’re fighting. There, Captain or Admiral if you prefer the loftier title now. Is that enough for you?”

  Chapter 26

  “Fedorov told you all this?” Karpov could not keep himself from leaning forward, the implication of what he was hearing now obvious. He suddenly realized that this story, this metaphor, was very telling. It was not just any railway inn, but a very particular one.

  “Then you know about Ilanskiy?”

  “Of course. And it seems Ivan Volkov knows about it as well, or what was that little spat you had with him there? I believe he lost a pair of airships and some good men in that little raid—a bold maneuver, even for him. Well let’s put it this way. Let’s say we all seem to have one thing in common here, you, me, the men I met off that ship, and even Ivan Volkov. We have all signed our names in the register of that inn. Have we not?”

  Karpov’s mind spun round and round with that. Yes, that was where Volkov disappeared, in the year 2021, so the man obviously knew about Ilanskiy if he was ever smart enough to put two and two together. But what did Volsky and Fedorov have to do with it? And how did Sergei Kirov learn of Ilanskiy?

  “You know everything? About that inn, the stairway there. You were behind that mission to destroy it?”

  “Destroy it? Is that what was going on there?”

  “That was the result of that engagement. Whether Volkov intended to destroy it or not, I do not know. Are you saying you had no part in that? If not, what was a Soviet airship doing there, ferrying men off my old ship to the scene of the crime?”

  Kirov knew the details of that mission. He had given his permission to use Narva, sending the go ahead through Admiral Golovko, and he had been informed of the results in a message from Admiral Volsky. Since frank truth seemed to be the best way forward here, he was forthright again.

  “The mission was conceived by your former comrades. Admiral Volsky requested the use of an airship, and I provided one. He has already been of great service to me in return. I think I had better tell you about my stay at that inn, and then everything will be clear between us.”

  Kirov continued, relating the strange events of that morning in 1908 when the loud roar lit up the sky with a second sunrise, and a strange young man appeared at his breakfast table—a man named Fedorov. He told him of his curiosity, and how he ventured up to the second floor to satisfy that. And he told him of that fateful whisper in his ear when Fedorov let him go.

  “So you see,” he said at last. “That curiosity of mine got me into some real trouble in the past, but not this time. This time it put me here!” He gestured to the setting all around them, the palace, the Kremlin, the Soviet State he now ruled.

  “I went back to that inn, and took a few more trips up those stairs. It told me very many things, terrible things, and they were centered on the name of one man—Josef Stalin. I knew who he was, just a minor rabble rouser in the early days of the revolution. The Okhrana was hounding us all, throwing us into the nearest prison on trumped up charges, and I found out which one Stalin was in one day… The rest is history, at least for the moment, unless someone else gets a notion to try their luck on that back stairway.”

  “Amazing,” said Karpov. “Yes, now it all makes sense. Removing Stalin opened the door for you here, but you did not count on Ivan Volkov.”

  “Nor did I count on meeting that man Fedorov ever again, until I received that message. And to be honest, I did not count on you either, Karpov. They say knowledge is a powerful thing, and I suppose knowing what the days ahead are likely to bring is a good stiff vodka. So it doesn’t surprise me that this man Volkov outmaneuver Denikin, or that you are going to replace Kolchak in due course. The only question I have is whether you think you will be replacing me?”

  Karpov smiled at that. “I would never presume such a thing, but we must reach some understanding, you and I. As you say, we seem to be common fated, our names written in the same ledger of time.”

  “It looked to me like you had hoped to engineer something quite different at Omsk. Yes?”

  “That was… Unfortunate.”

  “Yes it was. And now that Volkov has shown you his true nature, you come to me.”

  Karpov hardened, knowing this awkward issue would have to be dealt with, but pressed on. “The Free Siberian State needs friends, Mister Secretary. You need friends now as well. I tried to make peace with Volkov because we have the Japanese to worry about at our backside. Volkov had other plans, and he has also chosen to ally himself with Hitler, which is something I would never do. I know the man from my time. He was a petty operative in Russian Naval Intelligence assigned to inspect my ship, and a nuisance. My meeting with him was meant to sound out his thinking and see what he had under his fingernails. Well he has shown me that, hasn’t he, and he got a nasty surprise the other day for getting too pushy. I won’t mince words here. You and I both know that Russia is in grave jeopardy now. Volkov sits atop all that oil and curries alliance with Hitler. At the moment the war is in North Africa, but you and I both know that it will soon be here—and not the back stabbing civil war we have inflicted upon ourselves, but the German Army.”

  “True enough,” said Kirov. “They moved another infantry corps to the border near Moldavia. That is where they will cross soon, and drive on the Crimea. They would be fools to try and push for Moscow.”

  “They did both in the history I know,” said Karpov. />
  “Yes… I learned that the hard way on one of my excursions up that stairway. They swept all the way to the Volga!”

  “Where you have divisions presently facing down Ivan Volkov. If they do this again, they will bring misery and hell to your world, Kirov, and eventually to mine. Hitler and Volkov—what a pair they make. I wonder if Volkov is smart enough to realize what Hitler will eventually do to him after he gets his oil. So yes, I came here to seek an alliance. There is much I can offer you. I can bedevil Volkov on his eastern front and force him to keep a substantial military presence there. You don’t want him free to use those divisions against you, do you?”

  “Certainly not, but as I see things Volkov has already decided what he wants to do with those divisions, and that is to crush you.”

  “Let him try. He’ll get more of the same medicine I gave him at Novosibirsk—and that’s another way I can help you. I have information, Kirov, knowledge of how this war played out once, and knowledge of all the advanced weapons systems that were born from it. I can be very useful to you and your war industries. Your tanks, for example. Most of your units are still equipped with older T-26 infantry tanks, and the light BT-Series tanks. They will not do the job when the Germans come.”

  “Don’t worry, we have other designs on the drawing board.”

  “Yes, the new T-34. But your generals want more of the older tanks, do they not? You must silence them and shift all production to this new tank. Believe me, Kolchak found out the hard way in our skirmishes with the Japanese. The T-26 is a metal coffin in battle. It is prone to catching fire, because you don’t use diesel fuel. Beyond that, the welding is bad, and the riveted armor plating is a faulty design. One hit from an enemy shell and the rivets break off and become steel bullets inside those tanks. They are all but useless, and this was against an inferior tank fielded by the Japanese. If you do not quickly build this new T-34 tank, you will be crushed when the German Army comes east. I can tell you what to do, warn you of wrong turns in the production cycle. I can be very useful.”