Kirov Saga: Altered States (Kirov Series)

by John Schettler

  “Inspector General Kapustin has told me that that these last two control rods have a much higher quantity of the material mined along the stony Tunguska River. It could be that the effects we experienced with Rod-25 require a very precise measure of this material in order to work.”

  “That's the problem, sir,” said Fedorov. “We really don't know what we're dealing with here. We don't know what this material is, we don't know where it came from, and we don't really know how to control it in spite of chief Dobrynin's best effort. It's a miracle we have been able to move in time as we have, but that may have largely been the work of the unique properties of Rod-25.”

  “So it is fair to say that our first live field test of these additional rods has failed.” The Admiral rubbed a cramp from his neck, stretching to ease the fatigue in his shoulders. “We could try the third rod, but something tells me it may produce similar effects. Our situation here is far from certain, and we could have the whole Royal Navy after us again in a few days for all I know. It would be good to know we could leave this war, but who knows where we might end up if we try this again.”

  “Agreed, sir. Perhaps we could do some testing under reduced power. But I would like to give the reactors a full inspection before we initiate this procedure again.”

  Volsky nodded, thinking the situation over. “Now here we are in the North Atlantic of 1940, and if experience is any guide we are likely to come into conflict with someone here, the Americans, the British, even the Germans. Our problem remains as it was. There are no friendly ports in this world for us, and any ship we meet at sea could be an enemy. The ship is broken and needs repair, and the world we sail in now is also broken. I'm afraid it may be beyond our capacity to do anything about that, Mister Fedorov. Karpov thought he could shape the days ahead to his liking, that he was invincible, but the world is much bigger than anything he could hold in his arms. It may be all we can do to survive here, and to do so we are going to have to change enemies into friends. What have you learned about the geopolitical situation here, Fedorov?”

  “You are correct sir, this is not the same world we left. Russia is fragmented into at least three major states, and two of those are at war with one another. Soviet Russia, centered on Moscow, is presently engaged in conflict with the Orenburg Republic in the heartland. Apparently the Siberian state remains neutral, and all three states are still neutral in so far as the war is concerned, but that may change.”

  “What have you learned about these three Russian states? Who controls them?”

  “Something very shocking has happened, sir, and I must now confess that I believe I may be responsible for it.”

  “You are responsible? What do you mean, Mister Fedorov?”

  “Admiral, the Soviet Union is now being led by Sergei Kirov, not Josef Stalin.” He left that out there seeing the reaction on all their faces.

  “You have confirmed this?”

  “Kirov was mentioned by name in several news feeds, so he was not assassinated in 1934, and he apparently prevailed in the power struggle against Stalin and took control of the Red Faction in the civil war. I have no hard information on that yet. In fact I have found no reference to Stalin whatsoever in the radio intercepts we've been monitoring. It is as if he never lived.”

  “That would indeed make a colossal difference. But how could you be responsible for that?”

  “Remember, Admiral, I met Sergei Kirov as a young man in 1908. I foolishly told him to be wary of Stalin. In fact I even whispered the month and year of his assassination and told him to beware. I don’t know what I was thinking to do such a stupid thing. Perhaps it was that I always admired him, and wondered what the Soviet state might have become under his rule and free from the shadow of Stalin.”

  “You are suggesting Kirov had something to do with Stalin's demise?”

  “Quite possibly, sir. It does appear obvious that Kirov won the power struggle between him and Stalin, and that alone is quite remarkable.”

  “What about this Orenburg Federation you speak of?”

  “It seems to have initially formed around Denikin and the White Russian movement that opposed the Bolsheviks, but from what I can gather Denikin is not empowered there either. A man named Volkov is controlling that government, and his name is mentioned prominently in almost every newsfeed we get.”

  The Admiral raised an eyebrow at that. “Volkov? I have heard this name… Yes, that was the name of the intelligence officer that accompanied the Inspector General. Probably coincidence.”

  “Yes, I remember now, sir. But he should be safely lost in the year 2021 and of no concern to us.”

  “That may not be the case,” came a voice, and they turned to see Pavel Kamenski at the door of the briefing room. “Forgive my tardiness, Admiral, but I have just come from a little chat with your radio operator. I was equally curious about the state of our homeland, as you all are, and thought I would listen in briefly to Radio Moscow. Mister Fedorov is correct. Most of the news concerning Orenburg does seem to revolve around this nebulous figure known as Volkov. It may be a coincidence as you suggest, Admiral, but I must tell you that in order to remove the man as a potential threat to your operation at the Primorskiy Engineering Center, I sent this Volkov off on a little wild goose chase. When you disappeared, Mister Fedorov, there were only so many ways one could leave Vladivostok. We had men watching the airports and harbors, and that left the railroad. So, Admiral, just to get him out of the way I ordered this Volkov to search the entire route of the Siberian rail line to look for your Mister Fedorov. Of course I knew he would find nothing, because I already suspected there was another dimension to this secret operation of yours. In time I decided to reach an accommodation with you to see if I could help sort things out. So I sent the Inspector General to meet with you, Admiral, and here we are, one big happy family now. Yet after this amazing revelation concerning that back stairway in the railway inn at Ilanskiy, I now begin to hear more than I wish to in the name Volkov.”

  Fedorov stood in stunned silence for a moment, then he spoke, his voice laden with alarm. “Do you believe he may have found that stairway and moved into the past?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind.” Kamenski came in, closing the door behind him, and took a seat. “From what you have described that fissure in time connected 1908 with the year 1942. What we do not know, however, is whether that fissure continues on into the future. It could be that someone coming up those stairs could move beyond the year 1942, or even that someone coming down those stairs from the year 2021 would find himself in a most unusual place.”

  “I had never considered that,” said Fedorov. “The fact that I was able to move back and forth as I did was astounding enough. I did often wonder who else may have come up or down those stairs over the decades, and whether that stairway still opened a strange portal to the past, even in our day.”

  “This may be all speculation,” said Kamenski, “but they called this man a prophet, at least on the news I heard. It was said he had an uncanny knack for predicting the future. Now I must tell you one more thing. Before I came to see you at naval headquarters Fokino, Admiral, I received the report from the squad of security men that were traveling with Volkov. Apparently he disappeared without a trace.... At Ilanskiy. I did not know of this peculiar stairway at the time, and thought he may have simply gone under cover. But his men said they searched the entire facility, and I imagine they would have found those back stairs, but nothing seems to have happened to any of them.”

  “I did find that the effects were not consistent,” said Fedorov. “When I first went missing, Sergeant Troyak and Zykov searched for me as well. Troyak tells me he went down those stairs, even as I did, but nothing happened to him. Yet I ended up in 1908!”

  “Almost like a door swinging in the wind, sometimes open, sometimes closed.” Kamenski tapped his fingernail on the table as he considered this. “God help us if Volkov found it open. He may have gone down those steps as well, and who knows how far
down he went. He may have found himself in 1942, or even 1908. This is what I fear, and if that is so then Karpov was not the only gopher in the Devil’s Garden. Volkov is a bit of a devil at heart himself.”

  “This is all most disturbing,” said Volsky, “much more so than any problem we might have with our reactors. Look at all the trouble we went to over Orlov. To think that a man like Volkov has been at large in the past all this time, with knowledge of every twist and turn in the history… Why this is truly chilling. I can see how he might be able to position himself and become a very powerful man indeed.”

  “We do not know that this has indeed happened,” said Kamenski, “but I feel the same chill, Admiral, and if we should discover this to be true, then we are faced with the question of what to do about it.”

  “What could we do about it?” Volsky seemed completely nonplussed. “We cannot sail Kirov Orenburg. It is deep in the heartland, and we could not even reach that place with a helicopter from the Black Sea. And don't get any ideas about going to fetch him, Mister Fedorov. If Volkov is in power there he will be well protected and completely beyond our reach.”

  “If this is true, Admiral, he remains locked in a power struggle with Sergei Kirov. Russia remains at war with itself, sir, and I cannot escape the feeling that we are responsible, that I am responsible. If I had not insisted on this crazy plan to search for Orlov none of this would have happened.”

  “Do not blame yourself, Fedorov. You did only what you thought was right. You have worked tirelessly to protect the integrity of the history, but that may be beyond our power now. That said, we are Russians too. If our nation remains torn in Civil War, it may be that we, too, must choose a side. I do not have to think too long about this before I know who I would choose and support in this conflict. This ship bears his name.”

  Kamenski rubbed his forehead, thinking. “Are you suggesting we use the power at our disposal to influence the outcome of the events underway here, Admiral?”

  “I begin to sound much like Karpov, do I not? As far as possible I would like to avoid any conflict here and see to the repairs on the ship and the wellbeing of the crew. But the fact remains that we are here, and perhaps here for a reason. This barrier you spoke of, Chief. That got me thinking. What if neither of these control rods can move us forward in time again? Unless we wish to risk another shift and accept the consequences of a catastrophic failure, we may be here for a long while. In that event we must find friends here, or all the world will become our enemy. If I had to find one man alive here I might embrace, it would be Sergei Kirov. Yet the Royal Navy is likely to be our first challenge. Perhaps I could have another chat with this Admiral Tovey. Yes, you tell me he will have no recollection of that meeting, but I got a strong sense of the man when we met. He may be one we could make a friend instead of an enemy. We reached an accommodation before, and perhaps we can do so again. Find out all you can about this, Mister Fedorov. We have much to consider.”

  “Right sir, and to begin with perhaps we should decide our present course. We have been hovering off Cape Farewell, and we have already been sighted by that convoy. Chances are we will soon arouse more interest or suspicion if we stay here.”

  “I suppose I should also sort out the ship’s command structure before we proceed. Karpov is gone and we have no acting Captain. How do you feel about assuming that role again, Mister Fedorov?”

  “I would be honored, sir.”

  “Very well, then I designate you acting Captain, with Rodenko as your Starpom. Gentlemen…if we cannot get home with one of these control rods, then home is where we find ourselves. As much as my tooth hates the weather there, the cold waters of the north are also our home. We could head north again, just the way we came, or we could turn south and seek to linger in the warmer waters of the South Atlantic.”

  “I’ve done some thinking about this, Admiral. From our present position we are about 3500 kilometers from Severomorsk by way of the Denmark Strait, north of Jan Mayan, and then east above Norway. That is just under four days at 20 knots and three days if we can increase speed.”

  “Old familiar waters,” said Volsky. “And our route south?”

  “That depends on how far south, but if we were to seek neutral waters off the southern coast of Brazil we are looking at five to six days sailing at 20 knots.”

  “My heart tells me to go south and find a nice warm island somewhere as before. My head tells me that fantasy will be short lived, and that we must eventually come to grips with the world we have helped bring into being here. We cannot hide from it any longer. So we will go north, and you may get another chance to meet the man you inadvertently helped put in power, Fedorov. We will go pay a little visit to Sergie Kirov, if he will have us.”

  Chapter 15

  The weather was threatening, and Admiral Volsky was concerned about the bow in heavy seas. He gave orders for the ship to ease away from the convoy lane and come to all stop to allow Byko to get divers in the water again and do what they could to reinforce the hull. There they lingered for a long 48 hours before concluding undersea welds and repairs and turning north as planned.

  It was not long before the history began to take notice that a burglar might be in the warehouse. Rodenko was on the bridge standing the command watch when radar reported airborne contacts to the northeast. As a precaution he sounded air alert two, and put the ship on a guarded watch. Fedorov had been resting below but he came to the bridge the minute he heard the alert.

  “What do we have, Rodenko?”

  “Two aircraft, sir, low and slow bearing 40 degrees northeast about 50 kilometers out and cruising at about 300 KPH. That puts them a little more than ten minutes out if they have us, but they don’t look to be on an intercept course at the moment.”

  “It’s much too fast for a Swordfish. It has to be a Skua off a carrier. The British had nothing that fast on Iceland either.”

  “This has an odd feel to it, eh Fedorov?” It was much like that first plane that sighted the ship when they appeared in the Norwegian Sea of 1941 so long ago. The memory of that moment when the plane overflew the ship and Fedorov ran out the side hatch to the weather bridge was still crisp in his mind, but now it seemed a hollow echo.

  “They may not have us on radar yet,” said Fedorov. “If they even have radar.”

  “Do you want me to set up some jamming signatures?”

  “That would be wise at this point. I would prefer to remain anonymous as long as possible, and I don’t want to have to be put in a situation where we have to fire on those planes. Not unless that is absolutely necessary.”

  “Aye sir.” Rodenko could not help but appreciate the vast difference between Fedorov and Karpov. He knew that if Karpov were here now the ship would be at air alert one and tracking with SAMs already, and that he would not hesitate in the slightest to shoot down anything he deemed a potential threat. The only thing that had ever stayed his hand was the inevitable depletion of ammunition, except for that one time, just when he was ready to fire on the American Submarine in the Pacific, the Key West. That seemed like a lifetime ago, he thought, and perhaps it was.

  Rodenko was able to retrieve the jamming signatures they had used before, and so he quickly set up a program and began broadband interference on the channels most likely used by any planes in this timeframe.

  15 June, 1940

  Captain Richard Thomas Partridge was up with his squadron of Skua fighters for reconnaissance that day. In another writing of these events he would have been far to the north leading in six Skuas against the German battlecruisers where they fled to Trondheim after the attack on HMS Glorious. Out for blood and an equal measure of revenge for the loss of the carrier, the six pilots would bore in with a relentless dive bomber attack, losing four of six planes while 803 Squadron also lost four of nine. Partridge himself would have his plane shot from the sky that day, the second time he would lose a Skua over Norway, and be taken as a POW.

  A little over a month earlier he and two othe
r planes had come across a stray Heinkel-111 over Norway in the mountains north of Bergen and he made a run at the bomber, exchanging fire which ended in a draw. Both planes were hit and damaged. Partridge found his engine had stopped and he was soon forced to make a very chancy landing, wheels up in the ice and snow. Amazingly, he made it down safely that day and, after using his flare gun to fire the remaining petrol in his plane to destroy it, he and his radio telegraphist, Lt. Robert Bostock, set out on foot looking for shelter and food.

  A few miles away the Heinkel had made an equally dangerous crash landing, and the surviving crew of that plane was also out looking for shelter. As chance would have it, they came to the very same shed that the British flyers had found, entering to what could have become a very dangerous, if not deadly situation. Whether it was something in the man’s character or simply a realization that enemies could become friends in the service of their own survival as human beings, Partridge, simply offered his hand, the time honored gesture of good will. The Germans recognized it for what it was, and the embers of war, still a young fire in the world in mid-1940, did not consume that sheltering shed that day.

  The Germans had mistaken Partridge and his mates for Spitfires when the attack came in, so Partridge, managing some broken German and sign language, played out the story that he and his radio man were from a downed Wellington bomber. After huddling in the shed for the night, strange bedfellows all, the British and Germans eventually started for a nearby village and were soon encountered by a Norwegian ski patrol. Partridge and Bostock were repatriated to British forces, and it was the German aircrew that ended up as POWs.

  This time, however, Captain Partridge was not over Trondheim trying to dive bomb the Twins. All that had changed. HMS Glorious was attacked as it was before, but not sunk. The Twins did flee to Trondheim, but Ark Royal’s mission to attack them there was suddenly called off by the newly arrived CiC Home fleet, Admiral John Tovey.