“Well, we have to do something,” said Karpov, his impatience obvious. “We’ve been ground anchoring to save fuel and keep station in one place, but we can’t just sit here waiting for the perfect storm to come blowing in.”
“Unfortunately, we have no other option that I can see. First off, we know we’re far in the past. Reykjavik isn’t even there! Yet we really have no way of ascertaining where we are in time, so I have no way to reference history using my field jacket computer. Even if I could, it might take a good long while to wait for a recorded volcanic eruption. Catching a storm will likely happen much sooner.”
“Well you know me, Fedorov. I get easily frustrated, and idling about in this weather isn’t doing my disposition any good. If you are correct in your assumption that time stashed away that Oko Panel equipment here, deep in the past to keep it safe from meddling hands, then haven’t we done our job? We’ve collected our trash, as you put it earlier, and now Time ought to get about her business and move us on to our intended destination.”
He folded his arms. It was clear that Karpov was not used to waiting when he wanted something done. That was a pratfall of his pride. The head of the Free Siberian State had become to accustomed to seeing men jump at the snap of his fingers, but Mother Time seemed in no hurry to cooperate with them here.
“The bitch is probably having a good laugh at our expense,” said Karpov.
That got a smile from Fedorov. “You know the old saying, all things in good time. We’ll just have to be patient. I’ve set up some weather and wind measuring equipment on the top gun platforms, and we’ll use the radar to watch for fronts. Don’t worry. Something will happen.”
It would, but not from any storm here on the earth. It would be something altogether unexpected that would eventually send Tunguska on her way, something from the void of space that would light up the night skies with a shimmering array of auroras, and it would happen that very same night.
It started when the radar operators started getting intense interference, and the failsafe circuit of the Oko Panel shut the system down to avoid damage. The radios went wild, and also had to be completely taken off line.
“My God!” Fedorov exclaimed. “Have you ever seen such a display? Karpov, let’s get some altitude.”
“Why? You can see them right now from where we are.”
“That’s not what I mean. Those auroras are being caused by a massive solar storm. Have you heard of the Carrington Event? It happened in 1859. A solar coronal mass ejection hit Earth's magnetosphere and induced one of the largest geomagnetic storms ever recorded. We came within nine days of being struck by a storm of the same magnitude in 2012. It would have caused complete havoc at that time if it had struck the earth. In fact, the Americans were so spooked by the near miss, that they waited a full two years before their NASA outfit made the news public. It could have knocked down the power grids worldwide for years. But here it will likely be completely harmless. This looks to be an equally powerful event. I want to get higher. Thank god this airship uses all mechanical components for flight. I think our engines will continue well enough. Let’s use them!”
So they climbed, higher and higher, the message going out on voice tubes and passed by word of mouth that all crew members should rig for high altitude flight. Karpov first thought it would all just become a waste of vital fuel. They were already down to 70%, and he was getting stingy, wanting to preserve Tunguska’s mobility as long as possible. That was one reason why he decided to stay there where they were instead of returning to the European mainland. He just didn’t want to waste the fuel.
But they climbed, way up to 15,000 meters, which was just under 50,000 feet. As they gained altitude, the geomagnetic storm seemed to increase, the auroras rippling through the cold night sky, a strange and ghostly energy dancing with the stars.
And then it happened….
That same milky green glow began to infuse the interior skeleton of the airship. At first Fedorov thought that someone had opened a big exterior patch in the outer canvas, and they were just seeing a reflection of the auroras, but that was not the case. Something in the energy that drove that heady visual atmospheric display was affecting the fairy dust in Tunguska’s bones, and when that happened, Fedorov could only smile.
“We’re going to shift, Karpov. I can feel it. Look at the ship! The whole framework is energized.”
Karpov could see it clearly enough, resisting the urge to get into the protective armored safety of the interior stateroom. “A goddamn solar storm,” he said. “Who would have thought that would send us on our way? But where, Fedorov? Where will we end up?”
“Don’t say such a thing,” Fedorov chided. “Put your will to it. Remember absolute certainty? We can go only one place that truly matters—home. Put your mind to that, Admiral, and set your course firmly towards the hours and days just before Kirov first started those live fire exercises. By God, Time, or Fate, we’ll get there. I know we will. You must be equally certain of that.”
“Very well, Fedorov. We’re going home. In fact, I will go so far as to make that an order! Will that be good enough?”
“Aye, Sir,” said Fedorov, saluting.
* * *
Mother Time would hear and obey, seconding that order as Fedorov had. For in all their many machinations, tampering with the complex and convoluted history of WWII, traveling back to 1908, they had finally set their minds on the one place that really could make a difference—the time and place where the aberration first occurred. It had taken them years to realize that, and see past the selfish ways they were using the tremendous power they had acquired with the ability to move in time. Now their effort was finally selfless. It was not aimed at garnering power, righting wrongs, or raising themselves up. It was merely to prevent the grave mistakes they had made in all their many experiences.
Without this mission in their minds, Time was in a fearful bind. The ship had crossed and re-crossed its course, twisting the rope of time into an insoluble knot. Paradox was the only knife sharp enough to cut through, a dark, devouring energy that would be Time’s only redress, and the silence from the future was grim and foreboding. They were wayward sons, insofar as Mother Time was concerned, all of them. Now, if they so ardently wished to return home, that was where she would damn well send them—back to the lives and the fate that should have been theirs before the accident aboard Orel shattered the continuum and sent then careening into the troubled heart of WWII.
That was never their war. It was the province of Eisenhower, Patton, Rommel Guderian, Manstein and Zhukov. They were never meant to turn their might and missiles on Zeroes and Swordfish, swatting them down as though they were flies. No, theirs was another war, a crucible far more trying and challenging, for their adversaries would also have the benefit of modern arms.
Their war was WWIII….
* * *
The telltale giveaway was the sky.
When the wild display of phosphorescent green, violet, ochre and red suddenly dissipated to a cold black star-filled night, Fedorov was certain that they had shifted. He had every hope that they had moved forward, but there was still a root of fear in his mind. What if they had slipped even farther back in time? They had found their Oko Panel equipment stashed away in a time before the founding of Reykjavik, which had been settled in 870 AD. The thought that they were beyond that date, deeper in the past, had been very unnerving. What if Time decided to get rid of them the same way she had disposed of that Oko Panel?
Having endured so many shifts in his many adventures, the intrepid navigator knew what to do to begin gathering data on what may have happened.
“Let’s get to the main radio room on the command gondola,” he said. “If we moved forward, the airwaves should be humming here.”
He was very correct. This time, they would ascertain the exact date and time of their present position with little difficulty. The airwaves were thrumming with traffic. They could hear radio in islandic languages, and tuning in t
he shortwave they could pick up many signals, from the US east coast and Europe. Fedorov was thrilled when they were able to quickly nail down the date of their arrival. It was July 26th, 2021, exactly two days before the accident that had first sent Kirov into the past!
Fedorov turned to Karpov and the two men clasped arms, elated. “We did it, Admiral,” he said, smiling broadly. “I knew we could pull it off!”
“Captain,” said Karpov with a grin. “Remember I’m just a lowly Captain here now. It was a heady fall, from General Secretary of the Free Siberian State, to Admiral of the Siberian airship fleet, to Captain of the battlecruiser Kirov , but somehow, if feels sweet.”
“It does indeed,” said Fedorov, “and I’m just a simple navigator now, another Lieutenant. That said, we really don’t have either post. Remember, our other selves must be out there this very moment.”
“Right,” said Karpov. “We left Severomorsk some days ago, but if I recall, Admiral Volsky did not schedule the live fire exercises until July 28th. That gives us two days to plan what we have to do.”
“How close are we to the place where Orel had that accident?” Karpov was already thinking ahead.
“About 750 nautical miles,” said Fedorov. There was always a chart somewhere in his head, and his mind seemed to call up an appropriate map whenever he needed it. “That’s about ten hours at our normal cruising speed. Kirov was between Jan Mayen and the Norwegian coast when the accident occurred.”
“Yes,” said Karpov. “I remember it now. But by God, I have so many questions. We’re here, the date is confirmed by radio traffic, but I don’t like the sound of the news on the airwaves. Things are heating up. Were here, but we’re doppelgangers, interlopers, and we have no real basis for existing in this time frame. As you say, our other selves are out there somewhere, and we cannot co-locate with them. It was only the protective shell of Tunguska that allow us to be alive here at this moment, correct?”
“That’s the way I understand it,” said Fedorov.
“Yet I co-located with my younger self after the second coming,” Karpov asserted, “and my brother and I could stand eye to eye together, with no ill effects to either one of us… unless we got too close.”
“That may be so,” said Fedorov, “but considering that we should not be here, I think we will be tempting time and fate if we ever tried to leave this airship.”
Fedorov’s eyes lit up. “I just thought of something,” he said. “Remember that trip to Jan Mayen?”
“You mean after we shifted back?”
“No, the day before the live fire exercises. Volsky was thinking he might establish a data collection team there and conduct the exercises closer to that island. You and I went out in a KA-40, with Troyak and a few marines.”
“Ah,” said Karpov. “Now I remember. That base isn’t always occupied, but we discovered there was a Norwegian team there, and that put an end to Volsky’s idea.”
“So that means our other selves will be closer than we think—tomorrow,” said Fedorov. “We might be able to use that. We cannot leave the ship… but could they come aboard?”
“That would be very risky,” said Karpov. “We’d better think this through, Fedorov. It may not be easy trying to convince Volsky to call off these maneuvers and exercises. As I recall, he was in a foul mood before that accident.”
They would not have time to finish that conversation, for little happened in the world of 2021 that went unnoticed, particularly now that tensions were ratcheting up in these norther waters. The West knew Kirov was out at sea, and with another powerful ship, the cruiser Slava , which was renamed the Moskva before being given back her original name after a lengthy life extension refit in 2020. Slava was an old ship, laid down in 1976, and should have been retired, but Russia needed any hull it could keep seaworthy by 2020, and the refit was ordered. Both those ships would have been seen, and likely tracked or shadowed on their maneuvers, so the situation Tunguska found itself in now was quite inherently dangerous.
The news from the radar room quickly confirmed that as well.
“Airborne Contact!” came the word, and Karpov and Fedorov wend back to look it over.
“Well Fedorov,” said the Captain. “That’s a fighter or I’m still an Admiral. We haven’t been here but ten minutes and we’re already on someone watch list. We’d better bring the crew to battle stations.”
“What? well they won’t be coming out to see us in another airship,” said Fedorov. “What good will battle stations do?”
“Trust me,” said Karpov darkly. “It’s an old habit. A moment ago I said that we have no basis for existing here. Something tells me this will get worse before it gets better. Get hold of Troyak. Tell him I want him on the upper gun platform, and with missiles….”
The Saga Continues….
Yes! There’s more to come!
Read about it in the brief afterword that follows.
Afterword: Homecoming
Dear Readers:
How did it get so late so soon? Here we are after so many battles, listening to the fading call of those trumpets in the gloaming of the sunset. I took you to so many places since this alternate history began, way back in Season 2 of the series. We saw the young officer Wells save the carrier Glorious and go on to fight in the battle to contain the French Fleet. The Germans weighed in with Hans Rudel and Marco Ritter on the light carrier Goeben , and the exploits of the battlecruiser Kaiser Wilhelm took us deep into the South Atlantic for that strange encounter that delivered a great harvest to the Germans.
As the airships dueled over Ilanskiy, and Sergeant Troyak attempted to destroy the railway inn, Lieutenant Dawes held the night watch at Gibraltar when the Brandenburg commandos lead in the German assault. It took the threat of immolation by fire for the British to yield the Rock, and then Admiral Raeder led us boldly into the Canary Islands with his Operation Condor.
In North Africa, General Richard O’Connor was starting to make a name for himself, as the Führer orders in the famous General Erwin Rommel with three words: “Stop that man.” He couldn’t prevail, largely because of the incredible events that saw Brigadier Kinlan’s heavy 7th Armored Brigade arrive from the year 2021. Not even the daring operation by General Student’s Sky Hunters in seizing Malta could relieve the pressure on the German position in North Africa. There, the battle was really won by Admiral Tovey at sea, and by the air forces that swept the skies clean above.
Once the German Navy was beaten, and forced to abandon Casablanca, the way was laid open for the alternate history Operation Torch that brought the American Army to Morocco, while the British took back Gibraltar with the intrepid machinations of Sir Bernard Law Montgomery. We saw him begin building his own legend in that long fight for Singapore, as General Yamashita saw his hopes blooded in that desperate Bonzai charge across the open ground of the airfield. The “Rock of the East” held firm, only to be forced to relinquish the island he had so stubbornly defended.
As the Japanese offensive forsook Midway for Operation F-S, we fought in Fiji, the action as fine as the sweat on the brows of the American Rangers as they crept through that humid jungle. We stood on the weather deck with Admiral Bull Halsey as he fought one tense battle after another with Yamamoto and his carrier fleets. Fiji became the “Guadalcanal” of the campaign, which then led to one grueling island invasion after another as Nimitz pushed his strategy to the forefront, eventually taking us into the three battles in the Marianas.
We shivered with Heinz Guderian as he clawed his way through Tula toward Moscow, where the dark tide of the Third Reich swept into the city behind a great conflagration that had been part of a plan to assassinate Sergei Kirov. But that was not to be. Saved by his trusted Intelligence Chief Berzin, Kirov lives to fight on, through the fighting at Volgograd, at Voronezh, Kharkov, and Kursk. Manstein fought one miraculous holding action after another, but the weight of history was simply too much for him to vanquish. In the end, he stands before Kirov and Berzin to face the inevit
able.
Through all these battles, we stood with Fedorov in the desert, saving Richard O’Connor to become the flashing sword for the British Army. He also took us into Syria, as Hitler turned his greedy gaze on the oilfields of the Middle East. Guderian lead the vaunted Brandenburg Division to Baghdad for that dramatic battle for the city, while Rommel rose from the ashes of his defeat in Tunisia to try, one more time, to get at the Suez Canal through Damascus. That was not to be either, and soon the Allies took us to Sardinia, Italy and then to that remarkable early invasion of Southern France as General George Marshall finally gets his way.
After that, it was all up to George Patton, fending off the first Great German counterattack in Operation Valkyrie, and pressing the tide of war doggedly forward to the banks of the Rhine. Through all this action, the two Karpovs tormented Yamamoto and the Japanese Fleet, stormed into Kamchatka and Sakhalin island, while Kirov dueled with the sudden and unexpected arrival of the destroyer Takami, and Admiral Kita’s little fleet. There will be more to come on all that, as all the main characters and their warships now exit the turbulent waters of WWII and return to 2021.
What a ride this has all been, the most detailed depiction of WWII that I know of, a set of volumes rivaling the official histories of that great conflict in length and breadth. I’ve loved every minute of it, and it has been a great pleasure and privilege to bring you all the many volumes of this story, and find you still here, reading these lines in volume 40. I have thanked you many times for your loyalty and support, and I thank you now again, while also asking you to stay with me. Because like Fedorov and Karpov, we’re going home…. The final season of the Kirov Series now returns to its roots, where every volume will be centered on the main characters, and their role in the adventure that will soon unfold in 2021.
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