When the Chinese fleet withdrew to Cam Ranh Bay, he was initially gratified to think he had driven them off with that stunning blow that sank the carrier Shandong. Kirov had single-handedly cut the Chinese carrier fleet by a third. Then he grew restless with the long empty hours at sea, and decided he would prefer to spend them heading for the center of the impending storm in the Arabian Sea. So he pointed Kirov’s bow in that direction, looking for another battle.
What will I do when this is over, he thought? My mind moves from one campaign to another. Even in my dreams, I see the missiles firing off the forward deck, and the radar screens cast an eerie glow on my fitful sleep. I told Fedorov I was fine now, and past the loss of my brother self, but who could really say that was true? I suppose I’m the only man that ever lived who had this happen, received the news of his own death. Talk about dancing on your own grave!
Yet what will I do? I am a man of war, and peacetime will surely kill me if a submarine doesn’t get me first. I could not bear to be landed, seeing Kirov berthed and sitting idle in port after so many thousands of hours at sea, through so many battles, across long decades, forward and backwards in time. Yes… what in God’s name will I do? Should I go back to Siberia, and take up a post in the government there? Should I retire to a lonesome cabin on the taiga? What does a man of war ever do when peace comes?
Well, that is a bridge I cross later. Now there is war, and here I sit on this warship, playing a prominent part. Kirov carries her weight in this conflict, and then some.
“Sir,” said Nikolin. “I’ve been monitoring the US comm channels. There’s been a submarine attack. A US destroyer was just hit by a torpedo.”
“Submarine?” that was a surefire way to break Karpov’s reverie. “Where did this happen?”
“With the Independence Carrier Strike Group, out in the Arabian Sea.”
That was far enough away to alleviate any immediate concern, but it was a wakeup call for Karpov. “Where is Tasarov?” he said.
Rodenko looked over, noting the position on radar. “He comes on for his watch at 15:00, sir.”
“Very well. In the meantime, let’s get a helicopter ASW watch posted, which is no disrespect to Comrade Velichko here. The more options we have at detection when it comes to enemy subs, the better. Helm, come left fifteen degrees to port. We will make regular course changes and zig zag from this point on. The Sunda Strait is up ahead, a narrow place where an enemy sub might be lurking. Notify Kazan, Comrade Nikolin.”
“Aye sir.”
* * *
The Sunda Strait was always a dangerous place, largely because of the presence of Anak Krakatoa, the Child of the great Krakatoa Volcano. In these altered states, it had stayed it wrath, failing to erupt in 1883, and reserving that fury for a crucial time in the middle of WWII, (28 FEB 42), just as the Japanese were invading the nearby island of Java. General Montgomery, sent to relieve General Arthur Percival had reordered the defense of Singapore and delivered a stunning rebuke to General Yamashita, the Tiger of Malaya, repelling his landings on the island. For that act of military wizardry, Monty earned the moniker “The Rock of the East,” but the glory earned at Singapore was short lived.
The Japanese launched an alternate operation to bypass and isolate Singapore, using their navy to effectively starve the island into submission. Yet before the British and Australian troops there could be trapped, Montgomery obtained permission to withdraw to Java, where he set about preparing for the inevitable Japanese landing there. These occurred in several locations, and those on the western end of the island took place 26 FEB 42. Two days later, Krakatoa erupted with a fury not seen on the earth in centuries of recorded history. Japanese transports were swept away by the raging tsunami, and the entire elite 2nd Infantry Division was largely destroyed. For the soldiers on the line anywhere near the west coast of Java on the Sunda Strait, the sound was so intense that they were all struck deaf, along with Captain Agar and the crew of HMS Dorsetshire, which had been fighting a battle in the strait when the eruption occurred.
The Gates of Hell had opened with that eruption, and through that yawning portal came a most unexpected demon, the modern day Japanese destroyer Takami, led by Captain Harada. The appearance of that ship, eventually deciding to fight with Imperial Japan in the war, had a profound effect on the outcome, introducing many variations that would ripple forward through the history. Two months later, on 20 MAY 42, Takami met with another modern day interloper in battle at sea, the mighty Kirov. The two ships would duel with one another on more than one occasion until Takami was eventually attacked and sunk by Kirov’s undersea companion, Captain Ivan Gromyko on the submarine Kazan.
Now, in the distant future of those events, Karpov had decided to follow the New Jersey into the Indian Ocean, but not by sailing in its wake up through the Strait of Malacca. Instead, He put out from Jakarta and turned west, intending to navigate the Sunda Strait, yet before he did so, he had to wait for the Enterprise Strike Group to arrive in the Java Sea and take up the watch he would be abandoning. That had happened, and he was now rounding the Cape near Merak, intending to transit via the western side of the strait, which was deeper water, and much easier to navigate.
“There are too many hazards in the eastern side of the strait,” said Fedorov. “We have to avoid sandbars, shallow waters, offshore oil rigs, and the currents there are strong, and very unpredictable.”
It was then that a call came in from Engineering, where the reactor chief Dobrynin held sway. Nothing had been heard from him for long months after the ship left the cold waters of the icy north. Kirov’s reactor plant had been humming along in perfect working order, but the edge of concern in Dobrynin’s voice was unmistakable when he called.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
“What is it, Dobrynin? Trouble with the reactors?”
“I think you’d better have a look for yourself, sir. Can you come down to Engineering?”
“Very well. Fedorov, with me please. You have the bridge, Comrade Rodenko.”
“Sir, aye, Admiral off the bridge.”
Karpov and Fedorov went through the hatch and down the staircase to the heart of the ship, many decks below. As they approached the reactor section, Dobrynin came out to meet them.
“Sir, thank you for coming. We have a problem, and a man missing as well.”
“A man missing? Overboard?”
“No sir, no way to fall overboard from here. Come inside, if you will. I can show you what we’re dealing with.”
Karpov gave Fedorov a look, and they followed Dobrynin in past his outer office, where he would often sit listening to classical music on his off hours, or just listening to the ship’s reactor plant. He could hear things that could only be discerned by years and years of experience. He knew every hum and vibration of the reactor, and would often hear trouble coming long before it happened. That had been the case here.
“I heard it a few days ago, after we left Jakarta,” said Dobrynin. “It was just a flutter, a small vibration, and very transient, but it was there, and it seemed to get worse as we sailed west.”
“You are speaking of the reactors,” said Karpov, knowing many things about Dobrynin and his near symbiotic relationship with that engineering plant. “You heard something change?”
“Right sir, but everything else seemed normal. The plant was running fine, and we had no system warnings. Just to be safe, I ran some diagnostics. Markov was checking, something in the outer chamber when he reported seeing something odd.”
“Seeing something? Not hearing something… What was it, Chief?” They called Dobrynin Chief in much the same way that Orlov often bore that title, though there was no such rank in the Russian Navy. It just seemed to sum up his overall rule over all things mechanical on the ship, particularly here in the inner domain of the reactor section.
“This way, sir. We’ll stay on this side of the bulkhead, but there’s an observation window just ahead.”
Dobrynin opened a hatch, and
they all stepped through. He sealed it behind him, as per protocol, and then led them down a circular corridor lit by overhead neon lighting. Up ahead, however, the light seemed to quaver, with odd hints of magenta and pale green.
“This outer hall runs parallel to an inner corridor, which circles the main reactors. We can use view slits and these high density portholes to make visual observations. Markov was here, and saw something odd, so I had him suit up and enter the inner circle for a closer look. Yet when I called for him, he didn’t answer. He’s gone, sir. Markov is missing.”
“You checked the inner corridor?”
“Yes sir. Suited up myself and went in, thinking he might have passed out and fallen, but there was no one there—no sign of him, sir. Just the odd light, right there. You can see it wavering just ahead.”
“Where is that coming from?”
“It’s right on the other side of the bulkhead where we have an observation port hole. Markov was going there to have a look. I saw it on the cameras, first, but it was just outside the viewing angle. I thought it might be a fire, though we had no warnings, so I sent Markov in to have a look. He’s gone, sir, and I’ll be damned if I know how he could have just vanished.” He gave them a sallow look, a little fear in his eyes now as he finished.
Fedorov eased forward down the outer corridor, prompting Karpov to caution him. “Careful there, Fedorov.”
His Starpom raised a hand as he reached the observation window. There he could see the port hole on the wall of the inner corridor, and the wavering blue green light was quite apparent. He retreated slowly, back stepping as he went, his eyes always on that light. There was a tingling feeling now, unaccountable, but ominous.
“Let’s get another bulkhead between us and that light,” he warned. The bulkheads here were very thick, with radiation proof materials in the event of a reactor failure. Beyond this section, the entire reactor plant was also boxed in a citadel of heavy armor. They backed off to the hatch they had come through, and retreated beyond yet another bulkhead to Dobrynin’s office area.
“That light, sir,” said Dobrynin. “At first I thought it was just Cherenkov Light. We usually don’t see it in that segment of the reactor room, but that would be normal in the inner sections.”
“Cherenkov Light?”
“Ah,” said Dobrynin. “Light slows down in a medium, like the water cooling the reactor. But other charged particles emitted by the reactor do not slow down. They actually excite the electrons in the cooling water surrounding the reactor, and since that particle is actually traveling faster than the light can through that water, it creates a disturbance that we see as blue light. That I can live with—green light… well that I have never seen, particularly when it also makes a sound.”
“I heard nothing,” said Fedorov, but he remembered how sensitive Dobrynin’s ears were, as sharp as those of Tasarov at the sonar station.
“It’s happening,” said Dobrynin. “I can hear it behind the sound of the plant running. I hear everything there is to be heard where this equipment is concerned. It started when we turned west, and it’s been getting more prominent by the hour.”
Karpov nodded, then looked at Fedorov. The two of them exchanged volumes in that glance, for they had many misadventures together, and knew the reactors here could be a source of odd occurrences, particularly where the control rods were concerned.
“Is there any radiation threat?”
“Not a whisper of one,” said Dobrynin.
“Any strain on the reactors now?” asked Karpov.
“No sir, and that’s what’s so odd about this. The readings are fine, though I suppose if I really dug in deep, I might find a trace of something in the data that would result in that light.”
“Best have a look then,” said Karpov. “Chief… Say nothing about Markov to the other men here, or to the crew. Better to keep a safe distance from that inner circle. Can you get the cameras to rotate?”
“I’ll give that a try, sir.”
“Good. And Chief… You don’t have Rod-25 mounted, do you?”
“No sir. It’s in the Rad-Safe container and stored as you ordered.”
“Very well. Have a closer look at the data. See if you can find any reason for this aberration. Give it a good listen, too. Determine what is happening, and by all means, if it gets worse, let me know at once. As a precaution, please order all non-essential personnel to evacuate this section.”
“Aye sir.”
They left the reactor section, speaking in low voices as they went.
“What did you see, Fedorov?”
“Just that light, but not directly. It’s coming from the other side of the inner bulkhead. Very strange… Markov. He was the man that vanished before.”
“What?”
“Yes, in the Primorskiy Engineering Lab. Remember? We removed Rod-25, and mounted it there in a small reactor. I was going to try and use the facility to shift back to the 1940’s, then take the Trans-Siberian Rail west to look for Orlov.”
“God,” said Karpov. “It seems so long ago now.”
“Well, there was an incident in the facility, and it involved Markov. Remember?”
Karpov thought, and the memory rose in his mind now. It was Fedorov, with his history books, and he was telling him what had happened to the missing man….
Chief Dobrynin came to me and said we lost a man—Markov. He went missing over at the reactor test bed facility.”
“Yes, I heard the report. What about it?”
“Well they had just completed their procedure on the control rod—Rod-25, the very same control rod we suspected here on the ship. Then, Markov vanishes, and not just the man. His jacket was gone, the tea he was drinking, books and magazines, his data clipboard and pen, and get this—both chairs were gone. Everything in the room that was not an integral part of the building itself just vanished!”
Karpov did not know what to make of that, but the connection to Rod-25 took him the next step without too much urging from Fedorov. “They moved into the past,” he said in a low voice. “Our suspicions about that control rod were correct. Did Dobrynin learn anything about it?”
“He went over it with a microscope, but frankly, he’s not a physicist. He was just looking for aberrations or other obvious abnormalities, but the rod looks normal.”
“There must be something about it that is different from the others. This is astounding!”
Chapter 32
“Yes,” said Karpov, “Markov. You told me he had shifted to the past, but died there in Vladivostok shortly thereafter.”
“That’s what I determined,” said Fedorov. “This is eerie—the same man.”
“You make this connection in your mind,” said Karpov, “but Markov worked here. He was sent to have that closer look in the inner corridor. This could just be a coincidence. It might have nothing to do with his earlier disappearance.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Fedorov. “Some things are fated, Karpov. Time has a way of balancing her books.”
“Well, what’s going on here? Are you saying you think Markov slipped into the past again?”
“If he did, he would be in the sea right now, about ten miles off the coast of Java in the Sunda Strait.”
He was… Fedorov’s guess was born of all the experience they had in matters where time came unstuck, and things slipped. When Markov vanished earlier, he had appeared in an old woman’s house, right there in Vladivostok, but in the 1940’s. That was the spot that was later used to build the Primorskiy Engineering Center. Understandably shocked by what had just happened to him, he ran outside, but the old woman had seen him there, raising hell and claiming someone had broken into her house. Markov died on the harbor quay, pursued by a police officer who fired at him as he ran.
Now the same man who had been peering at that odd light in the inner corridor had gone missing again. He suddenly found himself flailing in the sea, just as Fedorov had surmised, and the date and time of his startling arriva
l would make him a most unwilling witness to one of the great historic events of the war—the eruption of Krakatoa, on the 28th of February 1942. Needless to say, he did not survive what he saw, and briefly heard that hour, before the raging sound struck him deaf in the rising waters of the tsunami that followed the explosion.
“Karpov,” said Fedorov. “I think I had better plot us a different course.”
“Why so?”
“Don’t you realize where we’re headed? That’s Anak Krakatoa out there, the child of the volcano that erupted here during the war.”
“But that was 83 years ago, Fedorov.”
“Yes, but we both know that explosions of that magnitude destabilize time. This whole region may be riddled with small cracks and fissures in time.”
“Then you think that light in the reactor room is related to the eruption?”
“I don’t know, but we’re presently sailing toward the heart of any disturbance in time that may still be here in this region.”
“But Fedorov, ships have been passing through this strait for decades without incident.”
“Yes? Well now… we have Rod-25 aboard, we have that box and the Keys too. There’s a blue-green light shimmering in our reactor room, and Markov is gone….”
Karpov hesitated, but just for a moment. Then he went to the nearest intercom in the corridor and punched up the bridge. “Helm, this is Admiral Karpov. Come about, and make your heading 045 degrees northeast.”
* * *
So Karpov’s plan to march to the sound of the guns and sail to the Arabian Sea was put on hold. Little did he know, the guns would soon find him. The operation planned by the Chinese Naval General Staff had been approved, and it was already underway. Admiral Wu Jinlong was ordered to fly back to his flagship, which was already at sea, and press on to Riau Island.
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