Tigers East (Kirov Series Book 25)

by John Schettler

  “Thank you, sir,” said Nikolin. He did not know where to begin. Then he just came out with it. “Doctor, I was at my station just now, when I suddenly remembered something, not just one thing, but a torrent of things, as if I had suddenly remembered a whole other life that I had completely forgotten!”

  “A torrent of things? You mean memories?”

  “Exactly, sir—memories of things that I just can’t understand… I mean, I remember things, but then I can’t fit them into my life here at all. Its very confusing.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Events, sir, just memories that you might have of anything, only some of these memories are fairly intense. The only thing is, I don’t see where or when they could have happened.”

  “I see,” said Zolkin, paying more attention now. “Can you give me an example?”

  Nikolin reached right into his pocket and pulled out the message, explaining what it was to Zolkin, and how he had stowed it away in that special drawer. “But sir,” he concluded. “This is dated just last month, but I never got such a message. It’s from Chief Orlov, and he was right here on the ship at that time. So how could he be sending me something like this on the radio when he was right here? It makes no sense.”

  “That is quite odd,” said Zolkin. “What does it mean, Mister Nikolin? Have you determined that?”

  “Yes sir… Well… It was something the Chief said to me once. We were playing cards, not here, not recently, but I still remember it. We were playing cards and he won the final hand, and after that he gave me that big grin of his and said this, shaking his head the way he does, Nikolin, Nikolin, Nikolin… you lose. Well Doctor, I got that message—at least that’s what I remember now. It came over the radio in Morse, and when I decoded it, I realized it had to be from the Chief. I mean—who else could have said that, but… I’m all mixed up sir, I can’t remember receiving such a message recently, but look at the date. I should remember it. I do in one side of my head, but I don’t in the other.”

  “I see,” said Zolkin. “You say you remember receiving that, but yet have no recollection of when it happened. It that it?”

  “Something like that sir… It’s as if…”

  “As if what?”

  “As if I had two versions of events in my mind now, two lives. I have memories of two separate lives all jumbled up now, all together in the same head. I tried to explain one of them away—like you would shake off a bad dream that seemed so real that you could swear you actually lived it, a kind of waking dream. I tried to just dismiss it that way, as a bad dream, but it’s too real, too detailed. It isn’t just one memory, but a whole sequence of events, day, to day, to day. And this is from one of them.” He held out the paper, an anguished look on his face.

  Now Zolkin was very quiet, thinking, nodding to Nikolin to give him some solace, but thinking, very deeply about something. “You say that came from one of these memories you have, but you cannot account for it.”

  “That’s it, sir. But if this is real, then…”

  “Then the memory is real.” Zolkin voiced the impossible conclusion that had brought the young officer to him. It would be easy enough to simply summon Chief Orlov, but he wasn’t on the ship. He had gone off with Fedorov on the KA-40, and they had not yet returned. Yet this incident affected him in a very odd way, for he had experienced something very much like this earlier, when he found that bloodied bandage in the special cabinet where he only put things that mattered, keepsakes, mementos, things of importance.

  That bloodied bandage…. That was his message in a drawer, and it had picked at the edge of a memory that he could not quite recall, something dark and dangerous with in his mind, lurking, like a burglar that had broken into his home in the night, hidden, stalking, ready to do harm but as yet unseen in the dark.

  “Mister Nikolin,” he said. “Something very much like this, happened to me. In fact, it happened to Fedorov as well. He came to me with a story just like this. I suggested it was Déjà vu at first. You know, the feeling that you are living an event you have already experienced. But it was more than that. And just like that message there you pulled from your private drawer, I found something here in my domain that I could not quite account for. So I went searching through my own medical logs, to see if I had made an entry about it, and found a good deal more…. May I ask you something? These memories you say you have in your head now, does one of them have the ship heading south through the Denmark Strait after we first arrived here, and not east to the Pacific?”

  “Yes!” Nikolin’s eyes widened, a look of great relief on his face.

  Fedorov had explained the anomaly to Zolkin, the list of names he had found, names of men that had all died in combat. It was a list, he told him, that Zolkin himself had compiled and filed away. The Doctor could not remember that, but Fedorov asserted it to be true, and he could recite, chapter and verse, exactly how every man on that list had died, even Lenkov… yes, that ghastly incident written into the record about Lenkov, even though the man was alive and well in the ship’s galley at that very moment. The list, said Fedorov, had been compiled by another version of himself, another Zolkin, from another ship, a phantom ship, yet one so real that it had changed all history.

  Now Zolkin remembered that visit from Fedorov again, and the incredible revelations the Starpom had come out with. Fedorov claimed this exact same thing, that the ship had turned south, entering the Denmark Strait, and logged another history that was quite different from the journey they were on now. He could still hear Fedorov’s words… “I am the man who was at sea in the Atlantic, in May of 1941 when we made that final shift. I am not simply Fedorov, remembering things I once lived through. I’m the man who lived out each and every one of those moments, and up on the bridge, Karpov is the same.”

  Then Fedorov came out with that word as he explained Karpov—doppelganger, double walker, another version of yourself at large in the world. Was Nikolin remembering things his own doppelganger had lived and experienced? Is that what had happened to Fedorov? He had believed Fedorov when he came to him with that impossible story, and largely because of the strange evidence he had uncovered, that bloodied bandage, that list of dead men’s names buried in his files. Those things were not the assertions or testimony of a man, which could be colored as he wished. They were real and tangible things, almost as if they were remnants from the world Fedorov claimed he lived through.

  Now, here was Nikolin, a folded paper in hand, yet another remnant, just like that bloodied bandage. And here he came with a story that sounded exactly like the one Fedorov had told him. He asked another question.

  “Mister Nikolin… Do you see that bandage there in the cabinet—the one with the blood stain? I have been trying to determine where that blood came from, as we’ve had no serious incidents, even with all the shooting that’s been going on here. But just when we were turning east, Mister Fedorov told me something about it—said that it was mine, with my blood on it. Might you remember anything about it?”

  Nikolin swallowed. “Yes sir,” he began. “This will sound crazy to you, but I remember that you wore a bandage like that on your arm. You were wounded, sir.”

  “Wounded?” Zolkin was fishing for more. He wanted Nikolin to come out with the same story Fedorov had shared with him. “How would that have happened?”

  “Karpov…” Just one word from Nikolin sent Zolkin’s heart beating faster. “On the bridge, sir. It’s one of the things I remember. There was a battle on, and Rodenko was trying to get Karpov to stop. You were there, sir, and… well… I remember the Captain pulled out a pistol and shot you in the arm. It just grazed you, but your arm was bandaged up for a few weeks after. I know it sounds crazy sir, but I can remember it as clear as I remember shaving this morning. Only I can’t fit it into any of the days we’ve lived out here since we arrived. See what I mean now? Am I going crazy?”

  Chapter 32

  Zolkin just stared at him, eyes wide, a feeling of profound disquiet
falling over him. Nikolin recounted the exact same incident that Fedorov had asserted. “Did Fedorov tell you this?” He asked the most obvious question.

  “Sir? No. He has never spoken to me about that.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “He wouldn’t have to tell me that, sir. I was there when it happened. I saw what the Captain did—everyone saw it, Rodenko, all the other officers on the watch that day.”

  “Only none of them have come in to tell me this,” said Zolkin. “None, except you and Fedorov.”

  “Fedorov? He knew about it?”

  “He told me this exact same thing, and I told him I believed him. But by god, if I was the man shot in the arm, why in God’s name can’t I remember it? I’ve got snatches of all this in my mind, fragments, but they won’t come out and face me.” He was talking to himself now more than Nikolin. Now he looked at the young officer. “How long have you known these things?”

  “Since the message came in on the HF encrypted channel, just a few hours ago.” Now he told Zolkin the rest of his story, the message, the code, the torrent of memories that flooded in after.

  “Interesting,” said Zolkin. “A kind of satori moment for you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Zen,” said Zolkin. “A moment of sudden realization that might be triggered by some small event, even a leaf falling. You say you entered that code, knew what it was, and that knowledge open the door to all these other memories.”

  “Yes sir, that’s it exactly.”

  “Then what was that message about, if I might ask?”

  “Sir, it was a secure message protocol, something Fedorov arranged, and it’s a bit of a story. In these memories I have, we were not alone here. There was another ship, a boat, a submarine with us.”

  “A submarine?”

  “Yes sir—the Kazan—Captain Gromyko’s boat.”

  “Ah, yes, I know the man—The Matador.”

  “That’s him, sir. Well, his boat was with us, and there was a battle in the Atlantic, but then it vanished—Kazan—it disappeared and we never heard from it again. But Mister Fedorov had set up this protocol, seeing as though ships and subs were moving about in time like this. He thought that Gromyko might appear some time again, in the future, and if he did, he was supposed to send out a signal on this specific channel, and that code was the way it would be authenticated.

  “And you remembered it—the code—and then you remembered everything else.”

  “Exactly sir. I knew you would understand!”

  “I’m not quite sure that I do, only that seems to be what has happened, to both you and Fedorov. Now let me get this right. If you got that message, then it came from Gromyko?”

  “Yes sir. In fact, I keyed in the code and the channel opened, and I heard Mister Fedorov speaking directly with Captain Gromyko.”

  “Indeed. Well, what did they say? What was this all about?”

  “Fedorov is arranging a meeting with Kazan. That’s how I understand it. They’re going to meet in the Barents Sea.”

  “Interesting. A very busy man, our Mister Fedorov. Did you report this message traffic?”

  Nikolin lowered his eyes. “No sir… All these memories came flooding in, and I was trying to keep my head and all. Then I realized that things were getting dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “That last missile we fired—well, Karpov fired it at Fedorov on the KA-40.”

  “What?”

  “Yes sir, he said he was just trying to get his attention, but I think… well I think he meant to shoot that helo down. I think he was trying to kill him.”

  “That passes for dangerous in any book I’ve ever read,” said Zolkin, and he put two and two together. He didn’t know what Fedorov was up to on that mission, but it was certainly something important.

  “Why in the world did Karpov try to shoot down that helicopter?”

  “He didn’t want Fedorov to proceed with his mission, whatever that was. Nobody tells us things, but Karpov ordered him back to the ship, and when Fedorov asked to speak with him, he responded by firing that missile.”

  “The little Admiral wanted his Starpom back very urgently—or he wanted him dead. I see….”

  “What’s going on, Doctor?”

  “You probably know more than I, Mister Nikolin. These memories you say you have, might they give you the reasons?”

  Nikolin shrugged. “Mister Fedorov and Karpov have been adversaries for a good long while,” he said. “I wish Admiral Volsky was still here.”

  Zolkin nodded solemnly. “I wish that as well,” he said quietly. “Very well, I do not think you should reveal any of this to the rest of the crew. They would not understand.”

  “Not unless they remember it all too,” said Nikolin.

  “Perhaps, perhaps. I can tell you that Fedorov himself remembered it all, just as you do. I’ve had flashes, bits and pieces, and when you tell me these things they seem to ring true to me, though I can’t pull out the clear memory of it all like you seem to do. And so, my young man, I can say that you are not crazy—not unless Fedorov is crazy with you, and Karpov as well.”

  “Karpov?”

  “Yes, Mister Fedorov told me that Karpov knows all of this—knows he pulled that pistol on me and fired, and all the other things you remember. He knows it all, and yet acts as if none of it ever happened. There is more I could tell you—things Fedorov revealed to me, but that would only complicate things at the moment. Needless to say, if Karpov thought you remembered all these things, that would be…. dangerous for you. So I’d keep this all under your hat, Mister Nikolin, even that message you just received from Gromyko. Understand?”

  “Alright, sir. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Good. If it gets too difficult, I want you to come right here and see me about it, and the two of us will sort it through. But I don’t think it would be good if Karpov discovered you know these things.”

  “Alright sir, but how did this happen to me—and to Fedorov? Why can I remember these things, but no one else on the ship remembers, except perhaps you, if only just a little.”

  “There are others,” said Zolkin. “Men have come to me like this with odd feelings, uncomfortable feelings about things that were bothering them, like waking dreams, nightmares. Fedorov told me that one other man woke up to it all, just like you apparently did—the Chief.”

  “Orlov?”

  “Yes, and perhaps that is why Mister Fedorov wanted the Chief to accompany him on this mission. Orlov can’t keep secrets. He simply talks too much. But you, Mister Nikolin, you must be very cautious now. Not a word. But I want you to come to me if it bothers you. I’m with you. You can always come to me.”

  “Thank you,” said Nikolin, glad that he wasn’t crazy after all. The whole world around him was topsy-turvy, but at least the Doctor was telling him his memory of it all wasn’t a nightmare, not a waking dream. It was real, as real as the message he had in hand, as real as that missile Karpov had fired, as real as Gromyko’s voice in his headset, which meant that Kazan was out there somewhere, and Fedorov made it safely away to find that sub.

  The story in his head had a good many chapters left to be written, he thought, but now he worried what they might hold. Fedorov had been on that submarine before, with Admiral Volsky, and they had come for Karpov. The things he remembered happening after that were not too pleasant, and he glanced at that bloodied bandage the Doctor had pointed out. Might it come to that again? Would it come down to Samsonov standing up like he did, stalwart, sturdy Samsonov, refusing to do Karpov’s bidding, come hell or high water. The memory of how the crew all stood with Samsonov, of how he stood with him, was clear in his mind now. Would the crew have to mutiny here again to sort this all out?

  Then he remembered something else, someone else—Grilikov.

  * * *

  Karpov was not happy. In fact, he was deeply upset. Fedorov… his old nemesis was up to the same tricks again. He was always hatching these crazy missio
ns, always thinking he could fix everything, make it all right again. First it was that wild hunt for Orlov, which built the world they were sailing in now. Then he thought he could just waltz into Ilanskiy, go down those steps and change everything again. Well not so fast.

  The Admiral was well settled into his new reality here, and quite comfortable in fact. That suggestion he had shocked Fedorov with, that the time loop would effectively allow him to live forever, seemed strangely inviting to him. Yet for that to happen, the ship would have to slip again, fall backwards in time, to a period before its first coming. That would set up Paradox Hour once more, and Time would have no choice other than to double back on itself for another replay, to see if she could sort things out. Otherwise, argued Fedorov, she could not proceed to draw the future they came from, or even fully certify this world as sound.

  We certainly caused a great deal of trouble here, he thought, and most of it is on my shoulders. But what do I care as long as I am in charge? They thought to throw me out of my heaven, so now I reign in hell. So be it. Now that I have Grilikov and my security contingent aboard, there won’t be any little rebellions aboard ship here to frustrate my plans. Even Troyak is gone with a chunk of the Marines. My men should be able to handle the rest. So there won’t be any heroics from the crew this time, like Rodenko and Zolkin tried to pull before. It took a long history to move those men to do what they did. Even faithful Samsonov bucked my authority in the end. I must never forget that.

  Yet without the cooperation of the crew, I cannot carry out my plans. So I must be cautious here. Rodenko objected to that missile firing, and for the very first time. And Samsonov hesitated when I gave the order to fire. That was also a first. It tells me that their instinct is none so ruthless as my own. In the end, they are Fedorov’s men, and would weigh in on his side of the equation. There’s one more good reason to continue with Grilikov’s training at the CIC.

  That was one hell of a fight we just had with this rogue destroyer. What was it doing there? Who really knows, but it remains a threat to my plans here as well. My research indicated those ships only carried eight anti-ship missiles, so unless they had something below decks in crates, they have an empty gun now, at least insofar as the ship-to-ship missiles go. Yet they probably still have SAMs left, and that could be a problem for me. The can’t harm Kirov with their little Standard Missile 2. I can shoot those down as easily as I took down their SSMs. And now that I know they are here, they certainly won’t be able to ambush me like that again.