The sound was very loud now, and he saw an eerie red-yellow glow. He slipped through the broken door, squinting in the light, and was completely astounded by what he saw.
The entire upper floor had been mostly blown away. He found himself on a tenuous perch, a part of the upper floor that still remained standing. There were loose shards of shattered glass under his feet, dust everywhere, blown by a foul wind that seemed to chill his soul with its heartless sound. What had happened?
There! He saw the source of the angry light as the dust cleared, shielding his eyes. There! It rose up in a seething dark column of destruction, unmistakable in its shape and form, a broiling mushroom cloud with a livid white top, lit by an evil glow. He knew what it was at once, for he had set loose that same hammer hand of doom on the world many times himself. Yet this was impossible! How could this be happening, here in 1940? Nuclear weapons would not be developed for years and he knew there were no such projects underway in the wild lands of Siberia.
Then it struck him—jarred loose by the sight of that terrible mushroom cloud. He had come here looking for the reason Volkov might have shifted in time, and he had found it! Yes, that could not be happening in 1940, which meant…
With a sense of rising panic Karpov looked over his shoulder, staring back at the broken door, aghast. He took one last look at the roiling detonation, knowing it would have been right over the Naval Arsenal near Kansk. Then, like a man who had stumbled upon the entry way to hell itself, he took one backward step, edging slowly away, back to the broken door, back to the darkened stairs.
Shaking with fear and shock, he turned and hurtled down the steps, shouting for Tyrenkov. Half way down the awful rumble of the explosion diminished, becoming a muffled background sound, and then fading away altogether when he reached the bottom landing.
He stood there, shivering, his eyes still wide with fear. The sound of a barking dog came from far off, and he took two steps, out from the shadowy alcove on unsteady legs. Then he started, reflexively jerking his hand to see that he still had hold of his cigarette, and the ash had burned down to singe his fingers. The sound of men shouting…
He stepped into the dining room, making his way slowly toward the front desk of the inn, and seeing there the same calendar, the same date: 8 DEC 28. As he stepped outside he saw one of his guards, who turned, face alight when he saw Karpov.
“Commandant!” The man looked over his shoulder, waving at someone. “Lieutenant! I have found the Commandant!”
Karpov heard men running, fast booted footfalls on the ruddy ground. Then up came Lieutenant Tyrenkov, his dour face registering surprise and relief.
“There you are, sir. We thought something had happened to you. I’ve had men searching for you the last hour.” Now he looked at Karpov, somewhat shocked. The Commandant’s uniform was soiled, a sheen of chalky dust on his shoulders. Karpov just stared at him, his mind finally starting to function and think again. The sound… that distant rumble, the stairway.
“Tyrenkov,” he said, his voice hoarse. Karpov looked over his shoulder, to the northwest, the place where he had seen the terrible mushroom cloud just minutes ago. There was nothing there, only the pallid sky and the distant shape of Abakan gleaming from the tether at Kansk, the sunlight finally breaking through and reflecting off the airship’s smooth surface.
“You say you have been searching an hour?”
“Yes, sir. I came to give you my report. The town is abandoned, but you were not where I left you at the inn.” He noted the diminishing ash on the Commandant’s cigarette, a strange look on his face now.
“Sir, what happened to your uniform?”
Karpov now took notice of the dust that lay on him, his shoulders and cap all covered with a sheen of chalky white. He removed his cap, slapping it on his pants leg to clear the soot, and brushing off his shoulders.
“Filthy place,” he said. “That damn back stairwell. Cobwebs everywhere!”
Tyrenkov surmised that the Commandant must have gone up those stairs, but where he had been the last hour still befuddled him. He had a man up there, searching every room, and he had shouted into that stairwell calling for the Commandant himself. Why did he not answer? Perhaps he was simply enjoying his smoke and did not wish to be disturbed, he thought. The sight of the cigarette still burning in Karpov’s hand drew his gaze again, and he remembered that it had been the last one in the pack when Karpov offered it to him an hour ago. He dismissed the thought, realizing the Commandant must have had another pack in his coat pocket.
Karpov could feel his weight on his feet again. His breath calmed, eyes narrowed. That damn stairway, he thought. One minute I am here, and the next I am somewhere else! This is the madness that Volkov described. What did he say? He struggled to remember the man’s exact words.
“The little railway inn just east of Kansk near the old naval munitions center. That's when the madness started. I was searching the premises with my guards, and thought I discovered a hidden stairway at the back of that inn. I found someone was hiding there, and herded the rascal down to the dining hall. The next thing I know I encountered men who seemed completely out of place …”
Tyrenkov saw Karpov reach into his jacket, fishing out the cigarette pack. He found it empty and threw it away, then turned and walked slowly to the waiting car.
Karpov looked at his Lieutenant. “Bar the entry to this inn—every door and every window. Leave two men here and no one is to enter—absolutely no one. And get me some cigarettes. Understood?”
Part X
Vengeance
“To choose one's victims, to prepare one's plan minutely, to slake an implacable vengeance, and then to go to bed ... there is nothing sweeter in the world.”
—Josef Stalin
Chapter 28
July 28, 1940
In spite of the grave danger the stairway at Ilanskiy represented, Admiral Volsky could think of no way they could do anything about it. He paced for days, postponing his movement south into the Norwegian Sea as he considered the situation, realizing the danger and the need to act soon. Fedorov was patient, but he could see his young Captain was still concerned. Finally he raised the matter yet again, and Volsky had come to a decision.
“Let us now consider an operation, Fedorov. How far is it to Ilanskiy?” He soon got the answer he already knew intuitively.
“Just over 3000 kilometers, Admiral. But if we sailed to the deep inlet south of Port Dikson, we could trim a thousand kilometers off that range.”
“That still leaves 2000 kilometers. And what is the maximum range of our KA-40? That is the only way we could get men there any time soon, yes?”
Another quick check with the helo bay brought no discouraging news. Even with external reserve fuel tanks mounted, the KA-40 could range no more than 1200 kilometers.
“So if we were to attempt a mission with the helicopter, we would also have to abandon it at the 1200 kilometer mark. Where would that leave the men, Fedorov? In the middle of the Siberian wilderness, with an 800 kilometer hike in front of them. A man might be lucky to get twenty kilometers a day in such terrain, particularly now, in July. The place is a morass of bog and marshland, with no roads and little to eat. They might make good sport for the wolves, but it would probably take them months to reach Kansk. Then what? They could blow that railway inn to pieces, but there they would be.”
Fedorov frowned. It seemed hopeless, until he suddenly remembered what Admiral Golovko had told him. “Just a moment, sir.” The light of a plan was in his eyes again, and Volsky recognized it at once.
“Admiral Golovko said that they were able to find and shadow the German ships with a zeppelin—the Narva. The later German models had tremendous range, over 16,000 kilometers. If Narva could do the same it could easily get an assault team to Ilanskiy.”
Volsky folded his arms, looking at his ex-navigator, slowly nodding his head. Then he smiled. “Mister Fedorov… Another of your missions to the heartland of Russia, is it?”
&
nbsp; “It sounds like a job for Sergeant Troyak, sir. I’m sure he could do it. Then we would at least know that the history we are dealing with here will stay put for a while. As it stands, if the nature of that stairway were to be discovered, and a man knew what he was about, why he could go down those steps, appear in 1908 and change everything.”
Volsky’s eyes narrowed. “Yes… he could. He could find the man you met there, for example, Mironov, the young Sergei Kirov, and he could kill him. What would happened then?”
“Sir? Kill Kirov? Then we get Josef Stalin back.”
“Yes, we do. Does that mean we also see him unite Russia under his iron fist—that these altered states will no longer exist? Have you considered that, Fedorov?”
“Frankly I haven’t considered it, Admiral. It never occurred to me. But killing Sergei Kirov? Somehow after meeting the man he became, I think that would be very hard to do, sir.”
“Yes, I agree. Who in their right mind would want to replace him with Stalin? We might re-unite our homeland. I don’t think this Volkov character could even stand against him, but we get all the rest with him—the detention camps, the purges, the millions dead in the Gulags. Which world would you prefer to live in, Fedorov?”
“I see your point, sir. Yet every coin has two sides. Suppose a man were to go down those steps and find Ivan Volkov instead? That is how he moved in time, sir. We are certain of it now. Volkov went down those steps, and if another man followed him down, perhaps this Orenburg Federation would never arise? Perhaps Kirov could then unite the country under his banner.”
“An interesting proposition.” Volsky shook his head. “Here we stand, two fools, one old and weary, one young and eager. Here we stand considering how we might change all modern history in a single stroke. At the moment we have placed this ship and crew on the scales, but I wonder if we are heavy enough to shift the balance, Fedorov. We have only so many missiles, and while we can decide the fate of naval engagements, that does little to determine the outcome of the land war. Yes, we still have our special warheads, but that is a fairly radical lever on events that I would hope I never have to use. Yet here we calmly discuss how we might do more than every missile in our dwindling magazines with just a single bullet from Sergeant Troyak’s rifle. It’s maddening. Kill this man and one thing happens. Kill another man and the world spins off its rocker. How can we make such decisions?”
“Sir… We would not have to kill anybody,” said Fedorov. “Apprehending Volkov in 1908 would do the job well enough, would it not?”
“Capturing him?”
“Yes, sir. We just bring him back—a rescue mission. In fact, I can imagine he was quite disoriented after he went down those steps. He might welcome anything that anchors him to the reality he knew. The sight of Russian Naval Marines sent to rescue him would be a great relief.”
“One might think so…” Volsky was considering this deeply now. So if we remove Volkov, can we be sure this Orenburg Federation never arises? What if another man takes Volkov’s place?”
“This we cannot know, Admiral.”
“Yes, it’s like reaching into a dark cupboard for a cookie, and finding a rat. More meddling. The world is shattered as it stands. Who knows what might result if we do this?”
“We do not have to decide that now, sir. We could assemble the mission team and then see if we can get Narva, or some other zeppelin. Admiral Golovko owes us a favor, does he not?”
“He does. How surprising that these old airships could be the key to everything now.”
“Actually, I’m not surprised they are still in use here, sir. Even in our time they were setting up the Krylo Airship project at Omsk. Zeppelins are the perfect transportation solution for the Siberian heartland. They can go where no road or rail can, and with good speed. Our modern designs will make 280kph.”
Volsky considered. “I have arranged a meeting with the British at the Faeroes. We must get ready to depart in a few days, but I would like to linger here if we attempt this operation. I don’t know what good it would do, but I would feel better seeing to this before I meet with the British again.”
“I understand, sir.”
“And what about Karpov?”
Fedorov stumbled in his thinking a bit. Karpov… Another rogue was at large in the history as well. It wasn’t just Volkov they had to worry about.
“I see that gives you pause,” said Volsky, “Yes, what about Karpov? Admiral Karpov, if your intelligence is now correct. He has zeppelins too. I think we need to know more about the dangers such a mission might face. That said, I think we must also give it every consideration. Select the mission team, and have Mister Nikolin see if he can reach Admiral Golovko. I will also have to request a brief delay with the British. In the meantime, we have a great deal to discuss.”
* * *
The old “B-Series” zeppelins built by the Russians were long gone. They had all crashed into mountains, failed in storms, or simply run afoul of power lines to catch fire. One had its ballast tanks sheared off an ascended so rapidly that it’s inflation bags exploded. Another fell prey to simple incompetence when its service crew forgot to remove the caps from the exhaust valves, which resulted in a rupture of the hull.
In their place, however, the much more successful “C-Series” had corrected many of the problems pioneered in earlier decades. They successfully converted to helium lifting gas, incorporated the new Duralumin frames and Vulcan self-sealing gas bags, and proved remarkably durable. But there were only five ships left in Soviet Russia. Three were serving on the Black Sea Flotilla, Odessa, Sevastopol and Rostov. Only two remained in service in the north, Narva, and Riga, and the latter was far to the south in the Baltic Military District.
“Narva will have to do, Mister Fedorov. Admiral Golovko says it is a solid ship, and one of the biggest in the fleet. It is as big as the old German Hindenburg class zeppelins, 200,000 cubic meter gas capacity and a useful lift of over 232,000 kilograms.” He was reading from notes he had taken. “Half of that capacity is in the guns they have mounted on the damn thing—recoilless rifles! Golovko says each one has 200 rounds. Those guns and other equipment leave you about 120,000 kilograms for your mission lift.”
“That will be sufficient, sir.” Fedorov was excited at the prospect of another mission, though he had more than a few worries about it.
“Yes, these airships were designed as cargo lifters and troop transports, among other duties. You can carry a full battalion.”
“I think a few platoons is all we have in the Marine contingent, though Karpov was running basic crewmen through combat training and trying to make naval infantry of them.”
“I think our Marines will have to do. I assume Troyak will lead the mission?”
“Both Troyak and Zykov have been to the location, sir. That was in 1942, but it should be much the same in this year. In fact, its basic structure was the same from 1908 to modern times, hiding that fissure in time for decades.”
“I wonder if the innkeeper knew about it?” Volsky was curious.
“I met his daughter when I was there, sir. She said there were stories about that stairwell, and that they were never allowed to play there. It was often sealed off and shunned, and for good reason. I can imagine that inn might have lost more than one visitor on that back stairway.”
“Amazing to think of such a thing.” The Admiral shook his head.
“One other thing, sir. It’s about Orlov.”
“Orlov? What’s the problem?”
“He heard about the mission from one of the Marines and he has asked if he can join the team.”
“What do you think, Fedorov? Is this risky? After all, we never quite got to the bottom of his disappearance from the ship.”
“I know that, sir. It’s just that he’s been going from one duty to the next, and his mood has been souring. I think he still feels diminished and discarded in many ways. After all, he was Chief of Operations.”
“He still is. You restored his rank and
position and I let that stand.”
“I know, sir. But his heart is no longer in it, if that makes any sense, and he’s been drinking again. He knows he doesn’t really have any part in the real decisions these days. His morale has obviously suffered.”
Well… I suppose Troyak can keep him in line if we do approve this request. I will leave this decision to you, Fedorov. You are ship’s Captain now.” The Admiral suddenly had a question.
“Fedorov, I hope you are not thinking of joining this mission.”
“I considered it, sir, but as you say, I am the Captain of this ship, and proud of it. My duty is here.”
“Agreed,” said Volsky. “Troyak is the sort we need for this mission, and in many ways Orlov too. Have you set the objectives?
“Get to the site, secure the inn, and report back. At that time, if the situation is favorable, we can give the order for the descent.”
“The descent—oh yes, you mean that trip down those stairs. This is very risky, Fedorov.”
“I know, sir. Many things could make that mission impossible. Troyak—and he’s the only man I would trust with this—well he could arrive before Volkov, or well after. It could take time to find him, and we don’t know how much time will transpire here while that is going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Time seems to pass differently at both ends of that stairway. When I went down those stairs I was only there a few minutes, but Troyak said I was gone for over an hour from their perspective. Suppose it takes Troyak days to locate Volkov. That could mean the team we leave at the top would have to hold that location secure for weeks.”
“That could be a problem.”
“Yes sir. That zeppelin is not very inconspicuous. The mission is likely to be discovered soon after the team arrives on site.”
“And what will you find there, Fedorov?”
Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) Page 23