Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) (8 page)

 There
was no sign of the awful fire that had ravaged the seas the night before. The B-29
bombers were in the air, flying in a massive formation northwest from Tinian.
It was a little over 2000 miles to Vladivostok, and with a range just over 3500
miles the bombers would not be returning to the island that day. Instead they
would land on airfields cleared and now well established on Okinawa.

If
the Russians had any more ships equipped with their new missile weaponry, they
would have 425 planes to shoot at, and odds were that the
Enola Gay
would get through. The Russians had built at least two bombs, and the great
risk was that they had more. What if they were to load one on another of their
fearsome new aerial defense rockets to blast the entire bomber formation? In
the end it was decided that, in spite of Truman’s dire fair warning, the US
would have the element of surprise.

Part III

Invincible

“One
day you wake up and realize the world can be conquered... I'm going to put a
mask on and scrawl my name across the face of the world…

—
Austin
Grossman:
Soon I will Be Invincible

Chapter 7

“Captain?”

Karpov
heard the voice, but it seemed to quaver in the air about him with a strange
echo. He backed slowly away from the viewport, seeing the distant cloud of doom
slowly fade in his vision, feeling dizzy and feather light.

There
came a sudden mist, rising thickly about the ship, and many on the bridge crew
thought they had been enveloped in the impenetrable haze that accompanied
nuclear detonations at sea, known as the “Wilson Cloud,” but this was not the
case. The mushroom cloud was gone, as if blown away by a sudden wind, as a man
might blow out a candle flame. And there was no wind, only the dull grey of the
enveloping fog, and a sudden chill, as if the ship had fallen off the edge of
the world long feared by mariners of old, and was now adrift in eternity.

The
Captain turned, his eyes glazed over, his face tortured with emotion. Rodenko
was at his side at once. “Captain, sir… Are you alright?
Mishman!
Summon
the doctor to the bridge.”

“No,
no. Belay that…” Karpov held up a hand as if to reassure his
Starpom
,
and now his numbed brain began to work again, and his senses began to assemble
the clues in his mind—the light, the changing color of the sky, the eerie
luminescence of the sea, and the hushed silence of the enveloping fog. He knew
what had happened.

“Radar,
report all contacts,” he said quickly.

“Captain,
my screen is empty, sir. I have no readings.”

The
helicopters they had up were gone as well. They had the KA-226 and one KA-40
aloft. The last was still in the helo bay.

“Sonar.
Active pings. Report!”

“Con,
sonar has been on active search for ten minutes. I can report no undersea
contacts.” Tasarov was listening intently, monitoring his scope closely for any
signal returns.

“Screw
noise?”

“Sir,
only our own turbines. I have no other registered harmonics or known sonic
signatures.”

“What
is the ship’s heading and speed?”

“Con,
Helm. My rudder is steady on zero, three, five degrees northeast. Speed
thirty.”

“Ahead
two thirds and steady on.”

“Sir,
aye, ahead two thirds and steady as we go.”

Karpov
folded his arms, his gaze still transfixed by the fog, which now began to waver
in places, diffused with ethereal luminescence. He turned his head to Rodenko.
“We have moved again,” he said quietly. “Moved in time….I can feel it. That
detonation has sliced open eternity yet again, and the ship has fallen through,
only who knows where we will end up this time.”

“We
might be heading home, sir,” Rodenko suggested hopefully, but the captain said
nothing, his eyes tightening, brow furrowed as he considered their situation.
He stepped back from the citadel view ports and slipped slowly into the
Captain’s chair, exhausted. The tension of the last few hours left him drained
and spent. He could still feel the cool sheen of perspiration on his forehead,
and he closed his eyes, grasping a moment of inner peace and calm. A shadow on
his shoulder became Rodenko again, his arm extended with a cup of steaming
coffee in hand.

Karpov
looked up, smiling wanly. “Thank you, Rodenko.” He considered something briefly
and then gave another order. “The ship will secure from level one alert. Assume
level three, guarded watch, and secure all NBC equipment. Maintenance crews
will conduct routine evolutions at their regular stations. Post watchmen with
field glasses on the high weather decks and they are to observe in a 360 degree
range about the ship.”

“At
once, sir.” Rodenko was off, repeating the order as he was expected, and the
tension on the bridge slackened noticeably.

“Mister
Nikolin,” the Captain swiveled his chair toward the communications station.
“Are you monitoring any radio traffic, ship-to-ship or otherwise?”

“No
sir. My band is clear.”

“Please
hail the
Orlan
. Request their position, course and speed.”

“Aye,
sir.”

Karpov
knew that with no contacts on the Fregat system the chances
Orlan
displaced with them were very slim. Perhaps the other ship did move, he
thought. Who knows? But I am willing to bet it is nowhere within fifty
kilometers of us now…here…wherever we are. God only knows what happened to them
or what fate they suffered alone to face what was still unfought in 1945. I was
such a fool to engage a force that size. It was simply too much for us to
contend with.

Pride
goeth before the fall, he thought. But where have we fallen?

“Mister
Nikolin, activate the Tin Man optical cameras and feed the signal to the overhead
HD display. Fore and aft, please, on split screen format.”

“Activating
Tin Man, sir, aye.”

Karpov
indulged himself, looking up at the display, though he saw only what he
expected—the seemingly endless fog. Where were they, in some strange limbo
where they would await their final judgment? It might be hours before they knew
their fate this time. The ship’s systems could have been affected, as they were
in past displacements. Then again, if they shifted forward again, would they
see only the devastation of the war in 2021?

I
was sent to try and buy us time to save that horror off, and now look what I
have done! I couldn’t wait for the war in 2021, I gave it to them in 1945.
Nikolin’s hail to
Orlan
now sounded like a funeral dirge.

“
Kirov
to
Orlan
. Come in Please.
Orlan
, please state position, course
and speed, over.
Kirov
to
Orlan
—where are you? Come in please.”

“That
will be enough, Mister Nikolin. I do not think they can hear us. Keep listening
on your headset and report any radio traffic. Please monitor, AM, FM and
Shortwave bands.” Karpov knew that if they were still in a world where life
existed, he should be able to hear it murmuring on the radio soon.

Now
the weight of what he had done began to feel like lead on his shoulders. He
needed sleep, needed to rest, and stood on unsteady legs. “Mister Rodenko. You
have the bridge. I will be in my quarters.”

* * *

The
Vodka did something to renew his
flagging soul. He sat at his desk for some time, staring at himself, until he
realized how stupid he looked with his military cap on—Vladimir Karpov, the man
who started World War Three.

They
will destroy
Orlan
, he knew. There was simply too much force there for the
ship to escape without our support. Together we might have run out into the
Pacific, but alone the Sea Eagle was doomed. Even if we did survive that
attack, our SAM inventory would have dwindled to next to nothing. Then all it
would take is a couple of their fast carriers to finish us off—unless I wanted
to fire off the last of our missiles and warheads. Yes, that might have put
such fear into them that they would not dare to approach us again, but we would
be lost, outlaws, outcasts on the high seas, and they would have hunted us with
every ship they had.

Fedorov
was correct, as was Zolkin. They would have built three ships for every one we
sank, and they would pursue and pursue until they made an end if us. I suppose
I could have sailed to within range of one of their cities, and then perhaps
they would listen to me if I threatened to destroy San Francisco. He shook his
head with that thought, aghast. I have done enough harm to this world as it
stands. I could not bear to believe I was the one responsible for what we saw
in that bleak future, then I made a certainty of that.

He
lay on his bunk, closing his eyes and letting himself fall into a deep,
restless sleep. Sometime later he awoke, startled to see that Doctor Zolkin was
sitting beside his bunk, a stethoscope around his neck and his doctor’s bag
open at his side.

“What
are you doing here?”

“Now,
now, rest easy,” the doctor assured him.

“What
time is it?”

“08:00
hours, at least insofar as the ship’s chronometer is concerned.”

“Morning?”

“The
bridge hailed you three hours ago, and when no answer came Rodenko became
concerned. He called me and I came to check on you.”

Karpov
saw the syringe on the nightstand. Then realized the doctor had also affixed an
IV drip to his arm. “What have you done?” he said, the suspicion evident in his
voice.

“Did
you think I came here to shoot you full of drugs, Karpov? I’m afraid not. You
appeared dehydrated and so I am simply giving you fluids.”

“And
that?” Karpov pointed at the syringe.

“A
mild sedative to calm your sleep. You looked like you were having some real
nightmares when I got here. Don’t worry. It has already worn off by now. How do
you feel?”

The
Captain blinked, and took a deep breath. “Better, I suppose.”

Zolkin
nodded. “Better this than the vodka,” he said.

Karpov’s
eyes darkened, but there was no point denying it. “I was not drinking heavily,
Doctor. It was only a shot to calm my nerves. I assure you, I was fully
competent—”

“No
one is accusing you of inappropriate conduct, Captain, at least insofar as the
vodka is concerned. I’m here to see to your wellbeing, nothing more.”

Karpov
looked away. “I should think you might also want to lecture me—wag a finger in
my face now, eh? Well, what’s done is done, Zolkin.”

“No
lecture, Captain. I spoke my mind at the officer’s meeting with the others. And
yes, you have done what you have done, and I don’t suppose anyone can do
anything about it now. It is all history, as they say. Though I have no idea
how it will read in the decades ahead.”

Karpov
realized he still did not know where they were. “Has Nikolin reported
anything?”

“Not
yet,” said Zolkin, reaching out to remove the IV drip and apply a bandage to
Karpov’s arm. “But we do have something on the radar now. That’s why they
called for you, some time ago.”

“And
you let me sleep here?”

“The
world will get on without Vladimir Karpov to watch over it for a few hours. You
needed the rest—Doctor’s orders. I told Rodenko that they should simply monitor
the contact and report if anything seemed dangerous.”

“What
type of contact, airborne?”

“No,
it appears to be a ship. Rodenko sent the helicopter to have a look around. It
saw a ship on radar northeast of our position, about 150 kilometers out. We
have been making a gradual approach for the last three or four hours. So I
thought I would check in on you again to wake you. You should see the sky
behind us, quite beautiful this morning.”

Karpov
leaned forward, still feeling tired but much better now. “I think a good meal
will work wonders for me now, Doctor. Tell Rodenko I’ll relieve him in an
hour.”

“Very
well, but don’t push yourself too hard, Captain. It’s not every man who gets to
fight the American Navy in two different centuries in the span of forty-eight
hours.” Zolkin stood up, closing his medical bag and setting a small container
with medication on the night stand. “That’s for those times you may think you
need more vodka, he said calmly. And I have personally found that one before
bed is very handy. It will give you a good night’s rest.” Zolkin started for
the door.

“Doctor…”
Karpov swung his legs out of bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he
looked up at Zolkin.

“Yes,
Captain?”

“Thank
you… for your attendance here…”

“All
in a day’s work, Mister Karpov. All in a day’s work.”