Kirov Saga: Hinge Of Fate: Altered States Volume III (Kirov Series)

by Schettler, John

  Troyak shifted his equipment pack. “Whatever it was, it was radioactive,” he said quietly. “We got a low dosage in the time we were there, not enough to worry about anything, but better to be somewhere else.”

  “Anywhere else,” said Orlov with a shrug. “That damn place is so thick a man can’t even walk. I fell right on my face.” He covered for the embarrassment of having turned to run for the tree line, but neither Troyak or Chenko held it against him. They knew what he had felt.

  Then Orlov remembered the small shiny metal he had found by chance, wondering if it was silently burning him with a radioactive emission. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, holding it up to see that it glittered with an unnatural light. “Test this,” he said.

  “Where did you get that?” Zykov leaned his way to get a better look at the fragment.

  “It was right in front of my face when I tripped up. Is it radioactive, Troyak?”

  The Sergeant grunted, pulling out his Geiger counter and doing a scan of the object, eventually shaking his head.

  “Nothing to worry about,” he said. “Keep it as a little souvenir.”

  Orlov pocketed the object returning to his coffee, the memory of that unheard sound still deeply troubling. They were cruising at 500 meters now, but he still felt uneasy, and he could sense the other men were equally discomfited.

  They all lapsed into silence until Captain Selikov came back to the aft cargo gondola and saw them all huddled with their mugs of hot spiked coffee.

  “Well?” He was understandably curious as to what the men had found, but Orlov just kept staring into his coffee mug. No one else said anything, and the Captain nodded, inwardly knowing that they had just had a taste of the reason he wanted to get the ship as far from this place as possible.

  “We’re low enough to navigate beneath this cloud deck,” Selikov said at last. “I could follow this river northwest, and with any luck we may get back to the main branch of the Yenisei River and find our way to the Angara. But that is 400 to 600 kilometers out of our way, and we might just as easily head south from this point. The Tunguska river bends that way here. If I follow it for a little while it will point us towards the Angara, which is where we were supposed to be all along, before that storm took us off course. In fact, the Tunguska River is pointing us right at our objective at the moment.”

  “Let’s hope the damn ship’s compass settles down,” said Zykov. “How do you know you can keep us heading south? What if we get lost again?”

  “I think I know where we are on the chart now. The river splits here, and one branch leads south for a while. There should be a little Evenik village called Kuyumba soon. Then it will begin to jog east again, and If you think you have seen the real nightmare in Siberia, let me tell you that you have seen nothing yet. That way leads to hell on earth. There’s a place there where every tree has been blown to the ground, for hundreds of kilometers in every direction. I think you know of what I speak.”

  Selikov folded his arms, considering. “Shall we try to get south from here?”

  No one objected.

  Chapter 9

  They eventually found the small village Selikov had mentioned, no more than a few log cabins and wood sheds by the winding Tunguska River. Even though their compass was still quivering, the effects were less pronounced, and the Captain was confident that he had the nose of the airship pointed south. So they left the river, vanishing over the green wilderness, where small rivulets formed a web that wandered through the taiga forest, aimless waterways to nowhere. It was another three hours at about 80KPH before Selikov was heartened to see what looked to be a substantial river, running perpendicular to his present course, just as he had hoped.

  “There is the Angara,” he said jubilantly. “With steady weather and a nudge in the right direction I can still navigate without a compass. Look,” he pointed for Orlov to see. “The needle still can’t seem to find its way north.”

  “So how do we find Ilanskiy?”

  “It should be about another 275 kilometers, due south on our present heading. Look there,” he pointed at the river below. “That’s the village of Boguchany on the Angara River. Another three hours should do it. The only problem is that we still have this odd interference on many of the ship’s systems, including our RUS-1 radar. What about that thing you mounted on the gondola?”

  “The Oko panel? That is our radar,” said Orlov. “But Troyak says it suffers the same effects. We’re getting a signal but not at the ranges we would expect. It’s very strange. That is a heavily shielded system, very resistant to jamming or any other disturbances. All the radio equipment is cloudy as well. I thought it would abate when we got farther south, but it persists.”

  “Well I don’t like going in blind like this,” Selikov warned.

  “Don’t worry,” Orlov admonished. “This place is still out in the middle of nowhere—just a backwater stop along the Trans-Siberian rail, and I’m told there are very few trains these days. This should be a quick in and out. Troyak is very efficient.”

  Selikov shook his head. He didn’t even really know why he was on this mission, or why Ilanskiy was in any way important. He had simply been told to ferry the Marines to the location, set them down, and provide air cover while they were on the ground. Once they were recovered, then he was to bring them home. A little over an hour later, however, they were about to find out that there was more going on at Ilanskiy than any of them could have believed.

  The Oko panel radar finally began to pick up a number of airborne contacts to the south, one at very close range. It was clearly an aircraft, though it did not approach. Zykov was monitoring the system with his mobile equipment pack, and reported.

  “That plane was probably close enough to spot us,” he said. “As for the other contacts, they have to be airships. There is no movement. I believe they are hovering in place.”

  “How many?” Captain Selikov turned his head as Zykov reported.

  “I count four main contacts, and there appear to be a few aircraft up as well.”

  Selikov was not happy to hear this, and quickly convened a meeting with Troyak and Orlov. “Well gentlemen,” he said. “Either someone has wind of this little mission or they have just decided to throw a party out here in the middle of nowhere. Your man here says there are four airships to the south, and if we can see them, then they will certainly see us if we continue.”

  “Four airships? Sookin Syn! What have we gotten ourselves into here? Could they have been sent here to stop us?”

  “I doubt anyone knew of this mission. Spies could have seen us depart from Severomorsk, or even Port Dikson, but after that we’ve been lost in Siberia, and there would be no way anyone could predict our final destination like this. No. This has to be something more, but I certainly did not expect this here at a small rail depot like Ilanskiy. What do we do?”

  Orlov thought for a moment. “Can we get through to Kirov on your military radio now, Troyak?”

  “Interference is still clouding over the signals, but I will try.”

  “You can’t count on getting through,” said Selikov. “You have to decide whether to push this mission forward, or abort. If they are on to us, those four airships will make an end of us in short order. I’m hovering in place. Moving south now would be suicide. You want to go on with this, then you will have to do it on the ground.”

  “On the ground? How far are we from Ilanskiy?

  “Well over 120 kilometers! It will have to be a very long walk if you go, and there is no way I can get you out in that event, not with four goddamn airships south. We should turn tail and head north again at once.”

  * * *

  Karpov sat across from Air Commandant Symenko, a self satisfied look on his face as he poured them both a glass of brandy.

  “Just something to warm you up,” he said. “I regret that caution dictated I take a fairly hard line with you, Captain. But you will see that I am not uncouth, or even spiteful. Forgive my remarks concer
ning Omsk. They were uncalled for, but understand that city was never Volkov’s to take or give away. It was ours, the Free Siberian State, and now the border is back where it belongs, west of Isilkul.”

  Symenko accepted the apology, such as it was, and took a lingering sip of the brandy, finding it very good, particularly with the fresh summer sausage and a bit of aged cheese and crackers to go along with it.

  “You have a delivery to make?”

  “That I do.”

  “What was so important that it could not be handed off to a Lieutenant. There was no need for you to come up in that drafty spy basket.”

  “Orders are orders,” Symenko said flatly, and he hefted the diplomatic pouch up onto the table.

  Karpov gave it a long look, curious, but waiting. What was there? He summoned a Lieutenant, telling him to open the brief while he continued to eat his cold cuts, seemingly unconcerned, in spite of his curiosity. The man undid the leather straps, and pulled out a plain oversized envelope, placing it on the table near Karpov’s left arm. Then he saluted and withdrew.

  Karpov gave it a sideward’s glance, finishing a morsel and taking another sip of brandy. “You were ordered to bring both airships, Symenko, or was that your idea?”

  “Orders, plain and simple.”

  “Then I suppose this must be important.” Karpov sighed, taking up the envelope and opening it to find a letter, addressed to him and signed by Ivan Volkov. As he read it silently, it was all he could do to keep the emotion from his face in front of Symenko.

  It was information he had long wondered about, and now Volkov’s intelligence network had finally answered the question that had lingered in his mind for some time. They had found the ship—Kirov—his ship. It was spotted at Murmansk, but what were they doing there?

  A moment’s thought answered that question. They obviously shifted, dragging him along with them as he suspected, but they would have found themselves in the Pacific. Knowing Fedorov, he would have quickly learned what had happened politically here. They certainly could not return to Vladivostok under these conditions, so they must have sailed home to Murmansk. My god, that will mean Sergei Kirov might have learned about the ship that bears his name. This opened door after door in his mind, dark yawning possibilities, and each portal filled with yet more questions.

  Did that damn submarine go with them? What tremendous power they would have in that case. Kazan was even more of a threat than the battlecruiser insofar as any intervention in this war might be considered. A submarine like that would be completely invincible. It could operate undetected, delivering its lethal torpedoes unseen, like a whisper of death.

  Volkov’s last notation was very cryptic. It read: “So Kirov is there, back home where it came from. My only question now is why are you there at Ilanskiy, and not on your ship?”

  Yes, Volkov was getting very curious now, and justifiably so.

  They were soon interrupted by the Lieutenant, who walked very quickly to Karpov’s side and bent to whisper something in his ear. Karpov could no longer control himself, sitting up stiffly, the light of alarm in his eyes.

  “You are certain of this?”

  “We have three border stations reporting now, sir. But the wireless room is still receiving signals.”

  “Make certain this gets to Irkutsk. Then find out what is happening south of Pavlodar. That will be all.”

  He waited until the Lieutenant had withdrawn, then slowly folded his hands on the table, his face set and deadly serious now. Symenko had been finishing his brandy and thinking how to ask for another glass when he perceived something was very wrong.

  “Very clever, Symenko,” said Karpov, the edge of danger in his voice. “Nice little theater here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know damn well what I mean! I should string you up and blow both your airships to hell, shouldn’t I. My, my. What have you done to so displease Volkov? It’s clear that he considers you expendable.”

  “Expendable? I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool, Symenko! Are you going to sit there and tell me you knew nothing of this treachery?”

  “Treachery? What are you saying, Karpov? I‘ve told you why I am here, and treachery has nothing to do with it. Why else would I have allowed you to sit off my brow where you can bring most of your guns to bear? Now what is this about?” The Captain was getting angry as well, and the two men stared at one another until Karpov spoke.

  “Three border stations have reported shooting incidents in the last hour, all along the western border. Volkov’s 17th, 21st and 9th rifle divisions have pushed into Free Siberian Territory and they are all moving on your little city—the one you hoped to get your greedy hands on Symenko. Yes, my intelligence services know more than you may think. So now you can tell me what you are really doing here before I have you shot as a hostile enemy behind our lines!”

  Symenko was truly surprised, and he could not keep the emotion from his face. Karpov could see it, was still suspicious, but soon began to perceive that this Captain might have been no more than an unwitting pawn here.

  “I tell you I had no knowledge of this. I was simply sent here to deliver that pouch, and I expect diplomatic immunity, even if what you say is true.”

  “Oh, it’s true, Captain. I will not be surprised to learn that there is now another big operation underway out west. Very clever, this Volkov. He baits me with promises at Omsk, and we move in the 18th Siberian Rifles to occupy the place. Now he has pushed three divisions across the border, and probably more south of Pavlodar. He knows we still are sitting on our main defense line on the Ob River. So now he can take a bite and trap our 18th Division at Omsk, and all this after all those smiles and handshakes at our recent conference. I should have known better. So why should I not put a bullet through your head for your part in this?”

  “I tell you I knew nothing of this! Nothing at all.”

  “Does it feel good to be used, Symenko? Is that what you are telling me here?”

  Symenko’s face reddened as he realized what had happened. Volkov, that son-of-a-bitch! He’s thrown me to the wolves. He reneged on his promise to post me as Governor in Omsk, and sends me here on the eve of his operation like this, knowing what Karpov would do to me. That’s why the bastard insisted I deliver that damn pouch personally. Sookin Syn!

  “That bastard betrayed me as well! No wonder he refused my posting to the Governorship. He was just trying to get me out of the way so he could give the city to someone else. It all makes sense now, this whole charade—rousted out of bed at four in the morning with special orders. Deliver the pouch personally, that was what I was told, and now I see why. Well, don’t shoot the messenger, Karpov. I have as much of a bone to pick with Volkov as you do. I tell you I had no knowledge that any such operation was planned or even contemplated!”

  Karpov looked at him. Symenko was a rough hewn man, brutal at times, plain and ill mannered at others. He had read the file on him to size the man up, and Symenko was hardly the sort to use in a role like this. No, Symenko was not the artful dodger, one to mince words and handle a matter of this nature. It was probably true what he said now. Volkov had sent him all this way to be certain he was out of the picture he was painting. But what about his airships? Did they have orders here too? Were they getting ready to engage here to tie me down. I’ve gone and pulled in most of our regional reserves with this Ilanskiy business. A thousand questions ran through Karpov’s mind in an instant, yet one overshadowed them all. What was Volkov really up to?

  “So you’re just the messenger, is it? You want to claim diplomatic immunity and have me kiss your backside and send you merrily on your way? I should drag your ass into that spy basket and cut the damn thing loose. That would be a nice long ride to hell, right Symenko? We are at 4500 meters up here. But before I do that let me test what you have said here. You tell me Volkov has betrayed you as well? Then join me.”

  “What?”

&nb
sp; “Don’t look so stupid. If it is true that Volkov considers you expendable and sends you into the bear’s den with that pouch, then how eager can you be to fight for him now? Is that what your Executive officer is planning? Are you going to open your gun ports and climb any second as part of this diversion? Well the minute I hear the first round fired you are a dead man. But if you are innocent in this, then I won’t hear a thing. Yes? If you are innocent, then you will have every reason to want to screw Volkov for what he has just done to you. Right Symenko?”

  The Captain steamed, his eyes looking this way and that, clearly beside himself, and struggling with both fear and anger here. Then a knock came and in rushed the young Lieutenant again, this time with no message in hand.

  “Air alert sir! One of the planes scouting north has seen a large airborne contact to the northwest! There’s another airship bearing down on us!”

  Karpov smiled, and slowly reached into his jacket to produce a revolver, which he pointed directly at Symenko’s forehead.

  Part IV

  Best Laid Plans

  “The best laid schemes of Mice and Men

  oft go awry,

  And leave us nothing but grief and pain,

  For promised joy.”

  —Robert Burns: To A Mouse, (Paraphrased)

  Chapter 10

  So there it was, and Orlov was now in the hot seat of command with a real decision to make. Of course he looked at Troyak to see what he advised.

  “Troyak?”

  The Sergeant thought for a moment. “I could take in a single squad from here. We will be a long day to get there, but perhaps this will have blown over by the time we do. If not, I can set up an observation on the site and report. One way or another, a chance may come up for us to execute the mission.”

  “Or to get executed yourself!” Orlov was not convinced this was a good idea. The whole mission was meant to rely on stealth. This was supposed to be a backwater outpost, not a bustling hub of military activity.