Condition Zebra: The Next War - 2025

Chapter 1

The shock of Karpov’s collapse on the bridge lay heavily on the ship and crew, though few really understood the gravity of what had happened to him. How do you mourn and grieve the loss of your own self?

Karpov could feel it, know it, just as you would surely feel and know the loss of an arm or leg. The pain he felt was as much physical as it was emotional, and the look of anguish on his face shocked Fedorov as he leaned over the table where the Admiral lay. As Doctor Zolkin tried to examine his eyes, Karpov’s outstretched arm found Fedorov’s, reaching like a drowning man for anything he could hold on to at that moment. It was as if a great yawning chasm was opening beneath him, and Karpov could feel the sucking roar of a mighty wind.

The pain and misery he felt was the onrushing flood tide of memories all seeking refuge in his mind when that DF-11A found the Siberian that hour. He saw all that had happened to his Brother Self, from that first shocking moment when the two men first encountered one another at Murmansk, through the years of WWII, where the Siberian fought, to secure and preserve the fate of his Free Siberian State.

Whenever Karpov was at sea aboard Kirov, his brother ruled the state in his absence, riding the thick cold skies of Siberia in his airships, holding the Ob River line against Volkov’s troops, raising and organizing new units that were sent off to help Sergei Kirov’s Soviet Army. Now Karpov knew the memories of all that had happened after the war, where his brother lingered to set up a strong leadership group in his place, taking a few chosen confederates into his confidence and telling them that he had a journey to make.

“I may be gone for a very long time, but do not be surprised if I should return, suddenly, unexpectedly, like a man taking shape and form from the icy fog over the tundra.”

Karpov knew it all. He saw the shift forward to the late 1980’s, the return of his brother to Siberia, where the nation was shocked to see him rise again to lead the Free Siberian State. It was as if Churchill had vanished at the end of WWII, only to suddenly appear again 40 years later. Of course, few believed it was really the same man, but most accepted that this was his son, and embraced him as they had his father during that long terrible war in the 1940’s

Karpov saw it all, the rising tension with China that had resulted in the first Sino-Siberian war, one that had ended badly for Siberia. He saw the long struggle to rebuild the nation and assuage its wounded pride, and he learned now the slow growth of his brother’s plan to make good that loss. Through it all, he saw his own face aging, the lines deepening, hair thinning and going grey. He felt the loneliness of the man, feeling that half his true self had been lost long ago when Karpov and Fedorov made their dramatic shift forward. Yes, he felt the anguish, the fear, the yawning isolation of the Siberian, and with it came a feeling of sorrow born of shame and regret. As he made his bold leap forward in time, Karpov had never thought of what might happen to his brother.

Now he knew it all….

When Fedorov and Karpov first launched their plan to try and stop the initial regression of Kirov to the past, they had faced, and accepted, the death of their local selves to make room for their own arrival. Yet any emotion bound up in that moment had been masked by the abstract machinations of the time theory they had been wrangling with, and then quickly replaced by the elation of having made good on their plan.

But this was different.

For Karpov, it had only been a few brief months since he left his Brother Self. For the Siberian, it had been long cold decades, alone, abandoned by his own self, struggling, fighting, dying…. Now Karpov saw that whole life, like the long curled ash of a cigarette that had been left to burn and wither, the red ember of its fire finally going grey and dim.

And now it was gone… gone….

The terrible sensation of loss was the first wave that swamped the bow of Karpov’s mind, rocking the core of his very being with a sense of wrenching loss. Yet as Fedorov held on to his arm, he could see him close his eyes, his breathing growing more calm and measured. He looked to Zolkin with a stab of fear.

The Doctor was listening to Karpov’s heartbeat with a stethoscope now, slowly making one assessment after another. He had ruled out the onset of a sudden stroke or heart attack, and was slowly coming to the conclusion that, at least in body, Karpov had suffered no serious harm.

“Doctor?”

“Not to worry, Mister Fedorov, he’s in no immediate danger—at least physically.” Yet Zolkin watched the clear movement of Karpov’s eyes beneath his closed lids, as if he had fallen into a deep REM state, dreaming the life of the Siberian, seeing the lines deepening on his brother’s slowly withering face, his eyes darkening as the light and energy of his soul faded.

There, in that seeming sleep, his restless eyes saw the proud bow and rising battlements of a great ship, crowned by the searching ears of radar, turning, turning. Karpov knew it at once—Kirov. There, in that solitary chair on the bridge, he had come to be the man he was that turbulent hour. The chair was his saddle, and the ship his great steed of war. Kirov….

Now he could see himself standing on a far off shore, looking through the eyes of his Brother Self. In his mind he saw the ship wrenched from within by the scuttling charges that ravaged the keel. He heard the thumping march of one explosion after another, saw the bow break, the ship keeling over, over, and making that awful wrenching slide into the oblivion of the sea. It had carried them all through time and tide, on every sea of the earth, carried that crew into battle in one age after another. Now the Siberian was Captain of a sinking ship, and no man can ever know the misery that befalls that heart.

Then he heard the mournful piping of the bosun’s call, heard the last clang of the ship’s bell, saw the honor guard slowly folding the battle ensign that had flown so proudly over that high mast. The white gloved men turned smartly, marched slowly, and then one leaned to present that flag to the Siberian.

It was over…. but nothing was lost!

No, the day was not lost, the hour held not the slightest inkling of defeat. That flag had always flown in the smoky airs of victory, never vanquished, never bested, unconquered. The Siberian could see the tightly folded ensign, and knew that as long as he held it within, unfurled in his mind and heart, Kirov would never die. The sea had not taken her, for he had given up the life of the ship willingly, sending the proud battlecruiser to a fitting rest, and shunning forever the cold, callous indignity of the scrap yard.

Yes, the ship was gone, but it sailed on and on, within his pilgrim soul, and those of all the crew that had gathered there that brave hour to let it go. Yes, yes… ‘there are wanderers o’er Eternity, whose bark drives on and on, and anchor’d neer shall be.’

“I think it best that I give him a mild sedative,” said Zolkin. “He’s in no physical danger, but it’s clear that he needs rest. The man is exhausted. Perhaps you could make an announcement, Fedorov, to settle the crew.”

Fedorov nodded. “Of course. Take good care of him, Doctor. I’ll see to the ship. If he should wake, and be in any state to speak, please call me.”

The long walk back up to the bridge seemed like it would never end. Along the way, in the close corridors and ladder ways of the ship, Fedorov met the crew, and told them not to worry; that all would be well. When he finally climbed the last stairway up and emerged through the hatch, Rodenko’s voice greeted him with all due respect.

“Captain on the bridge!”

Fedorov looked up, his heart still heavy with misgiving. “As you were,” he said, walking instinctively towards his old post at Navigation. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped, turning to see the eyes of the entire bridge crew on him now. Nikolin had set aside his headset, as had Tasarov, for there was no danger here in port at Sendai where Kirov, Kentucky, and New Orleans had sailed. Destroyer Halsey, badly damaged, had remained at Amori, waiting for a transport ship to arrive from Pearl Harbor, where it would be sea lifted back to that port.

Fedorov looked at the men, knowing he should say something, anything, for he could clearly see the doubt and uncertainty on their faces. So he would tell them what Zolkin had said.

“Rest assured,” he began, “the Admiral is in no danger, and has suffered no serious physical injury. He is taking a well-deserved rest now, in sick bay with Doctor Zolkin, and we will carry on. Wish him well. I will make this same announcement to the crew in a few moments.”

He saw Samsonov nod, then glance furtively at the empty Captain’s chair. In that moment, Fedorov knew that was where he belonged, and he turned and walked deliberately to the chair, taking his seat. The moment he did so, it seemed as though the bridge crew let out a long breath they had been holding since the Admiral was rushed away in that uncertain hour. That empty space had been filled, and they had seen Fedorov there on more than one occasion. When his first order followed soon after, the doubt in their eyes had dissipated.

“The ship will make ready to get underway at 06:00,” said Fedorov.

“Aye sir,” said Rodenko, now acting Starpom until the Admiral resumed command and Fedorov returned to that role. “Deck crews are posted on all lines.”

“Very well. Lieutenant Nikolin, please send a secure message to the Siberians. Ask if there is any news of note we should be made aware of. Request a status update on the situation near Vladivostok.”

Nikolin nodded, and put back his headset, turning to his radio. Samsonov and Tasarov settled in as the ship prepared to deploy again, checking their equipment. They would soon learn that the last Chinese naval brigade in Vladivostok had been evacuated by sea, along with the headquarters of the Beihaian Garrison there. But a specially encrypted message was attached, and he noted the label:

That would be me, thought Fedorov, taking the message when Nikolin handed it to him on a memory key. He went to the ready room, and slipped it into the decoding module, watching the blue screen light up with the decrypted message. It was from Lieutenant General Erkin Kutukov, Commander of the 1st Siberian Guards.

Fedorov took a long breath, thinking. Would Karpov want that—to leave the ship here and return to Siberia? Would he be in any condition to make such a decision soon? Should he inform the General as to his present condition? He knew he could not go to Karpov with this now—not until he had recovered from his fall. He therefore wrote and coded a return message saying that the General should proceed as he saw best, and that the Admiral would contact him in the near future.

On the 8th of November, seeing that the Siberians were willing to withdraw from all territories they had occupied in Heilongjiang, returning to the old Amur River border in exchange for Primorskiy Province, the Chinese accepted a cease fire to allow both sides to disengage and redeploy. General Kutukov was firm in demanding that the Chinese Army should not advance to reclaim lost ground until the Siberians had completed their withdrawal to the Amur River, and secured assurances that there would be no attempt to move military forces within 50 kilometers of that boundary line.

As negotiations proceeded over the next several days, one thing was perfectly clear in the General’s mind—the Chinese did not want a war along this long northern front while they were slowly becoming involved in a much broader general war at sea with the US and UK. The drain on supplies, and the need to devote a considerable portion of the PLAN Air Force to that theater, was a great burden. No nation wanted a two front war if that could be avoided.

So in keeping with the maxims of Sun Tzu, who said: “The greatest victory is that which requires no battle,” the Chinese were only too happy to wait and watch the Siberian troops pull back to the Amur River. They would see the threat to Mudanjiang relieved, recover Mudan, Jiamussu, and Fujin in the Rhino’s horn without a fight, and see the liberation of both Daqing and Qiqihar, along with the valuable oil district in that region. When they saw what the Siberians had done to many of the wells, an angry message was transmitted to Irkutsk, but in return, the Siberians simply sent photographs of the devastated docks and quays of Vladivostok.

Honor would be served, on both sides, and the hot war would slowly cool down to a low boil all along that front. A kind of DMZ was established along the river, and both armies would sit eyeing one another through field glasses, probing with UAV’s and drones, ever guarded against any possible attack and renewal of hostilities.

In truth, the Siberians wanted nothing to do with a general occupation of the territory they had overrun during the campaign. Such an occupation would have been fruitless, and would only fuel the fire of an incipient guerilla war that had already started behind the front line when the withdrawal began. If modern war proved one thing it was this, countries were no longer conquerable as they had been in the past, and no nation would ever really be able to sustain any occupation of Chinese territory for any length of time. Heilongjiang Province had only 38 million Chinese citizens, but this was more than the entire population of all Siberia. Behind that border province, there were over 1.3 billion more Chinese in the heartland of their country.

General Erkin Kutukov knew China would never be defeated in a land war, and never occupied by a hostile power for long, as this brief campaign had clearly proved. So in his mind, getting the army safely back to the Amur River was the smartest thing he could do. Strategically, he knew the old borders were not easily defended. The ‘Rhino’s Horn’ jutted ominously up through Fujin towards the liberated Siberian city of Khabarovsk. It had always been a dangerous salient that could see Primorskiy easily cut off, isolating Vladivostok if the river borders were ever crossed and the rail lines cut.

To forestall that, he knew the Siberian Army was now in for a long watch along that disputed border. The Chinese had come for resources they could not secure by trade. While occupying Amur and Primorskiy province, they had harvested vast amounts of timber, diverted fresh water, drilled new oil wells in many areas. In doing so, they had also improved roads and rail lines, so the raw, unfinished land was somewhat of a remodeled house for the Siberians now. Yet as he took that long ride north, watching his tanks and APC’s snaking along the roads and turnpikes, Erkin Kutukov knew that unless Siberia found a way to mend relations with the Great Dragon to the south, the fate of Siberia would always live under the shadow of war.

While Fedorov was pleased to hear of the cease fire and negotiations, a thorny question would soon arise: what would the Free Siberian Navy do now? He was sitting on it—Kirov the flagship, with Kursk its faithful escort. What would they do in the long struggle at sea that might lay ahead? He would soon find out.

Chapter 2

“You have no idea what it was like,” said Karpov. “It was as if another mind was rushing into my head, years, decades of life, the memories all crowding one on top of another. I didn’t think I could bear it. The pain was terrible.”

“Yes,” said Fedorov. “Something like that happened to Orlov, and it was lucky that I was with him at the time to talk him through it. And I think it also happened to me when I disappeared aboard our old warhorse, the very first ship we took out for those live fire exercises. Yet in both our cases, it was only a year or so that jumped into our heads, not half a lifetime.”

“That first ship…. Seems ages ago,” said Karpov. “Yes, we had all that old ordnance to get rid of, the old Moskit-II’s. Remember? We even had the Klinok, stocks of the export variant if that SAM system, though we also had the early prototype that became our new Zircon. Yes…. We called it the MOS-III.”

“How are you feeling now?” Fedorov’s eyes were still laden with concern.

“Better, Fedorov. Much better. Oh, I am still grieving the loss of my brother, and it is so terribly strange. It’s as if I bury my own future, for he lived through decades that remain ahead for me, should I be so lucky to survive and live those years out. Just meeting him again was one thing…. Seeing how your own self would grow old and wither is a very hard thing to do. Yet now, I can feel him inside me—literally. I can see the days he lived in my memory—not everything, as recollection is seldom ever that way. But I remember the salient events of his life, my life, really. Now I carry all of that within.”

Fedorov nodded. “You are one man again,” he said. “You are whole in heart and mind. All his experience, the lessons he learned, mistakes made—all of that is there for you to draw upon. In some ways, it’s an enviable thing—to see all you might have done had you remained in Siberia, and now to have that opportunity before you again. Only this time, you are a younger man—stronger, and fortified by all the Siberian brought to your soul when he passed. I suppose that begs a question. What will you do now that he is gone? General Erkin Kutukov was named as acting head of state upon his death, but he asked me to put this question to you. I hope it’s not too soon. You may just need to rest and recover now before you make these decisions.”

“No, no, I am quite alright,” said Karpov. “Erkin Kutukov… Yes, I can see the man’s face in my mind’s eye, though I have never met him personally. My brother trusted him, and relied upon him a great deal. I can pull up many conversations, long hours he spent with that man. He would be a very good choice if Siberia needs a new leader now, though he is not an administrator.”

“Then you would not want to take up the reins where your brother left off?”

“And rule Siberia? No Fedorov, no…. I have sea water running through my veins. What do they call them, these men of the sea?”

“Old Salts.”

“Yes, I’m an Old Salt. I took my post in Siberia, because it was necessary at the time. I had to get rid of Kolchak, because he was incompetent, and Volkov would have eaten him alive. I held Siberia Free, and forged the alliance with Sergei Kirov so we could save Russia and win that war. That we did, but I have no desire to take over as head of state there. Why, it would mean I would have to leave the ship and crew—leave you, Fedorov, and that I cannot do.”

Fedorov smiled.

“We’ve come a long way together since you were last shooting missiles at my helicopter. Very well. I can say that the entire crew is pulling for you, and that they wish you well. I don’t know this for a fact yet, but I can feel something in them, as if they also carry the memories of all we did in the past. It’s not obvious, more a latent thing, but it’s there. I can sense it.”

“You say Orlov remembered everything?”

“Yes, but that was the man who disappeared on the stairs of Ilanskiy. Tyrenkov and Volkov got rid of him. As for the man we have here now, he’s bound to be carrying the latent memories of all we experienced, which is why I’ve been checking in on him from time to time. While I don’t think he would experience a flood-tide like you just went through, he’s a Prime Mover in all these events as well. He’ll start to remember in time, and wake up as before.”

“That may be dangerous,” said Karpov. “To begin with, he carried quite a grudge concerning my first attempt to take the ship, and that’s understandable. Hell, I used him. I can admit that, but I was another man then too, young and foolish in so many ways, and too god-awful greedy for power.”

“I spoke with Tyrenkov earlier when he asked about your condition,” said Fedorov. “He sends his best regards.”

“Does he? Big of him,” said Karpov. “Fedorov, there’s a man we might want to send to Siberia to stand in for my brother. Erkin Kutukov is a fighter, a military man, but now that you’ve told me things are moving to the negotiation table, Tyrenkov is tailor made for that role. Here on the ship, he’s a useful asset, but suppose we put this to him. Wouldn’t he be better used in Siberia?”

“You want to make him head of state there?”

“Why not, assuming the locals will accept that. I don’t need his shadow here on the ship any longer. He’s efficient, but vastly underemployed here.”

“He might say the same of you,” said Fedorov. “Are you sure you do not want to stand at the head of the nation you helped build, and led in the last war?”

“More than sure. I’m staying here, on Kirov. I don’t know why, but I just feel that needs to be so. Let’s see if Tyrenkov might be interested in taking up a position in Siberia.”

“Are you sure we should risk that? You know how dangerous he could be. We had him over a barrel, as they say, because he needed us to make his escape from the situation in 2021, but are you certain we should empower him like this again? After all, here on the ship, we’ve got the man on a proverbial leash, and we might want to keep him there.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but that’s just the sort of situation that will fester trouble between us. We can’t lord it over him. He’s a proud man, Fedorov. I’ve tried to show him respect, and I think he knows that, but I do not really need an intelligence chief on this ship. Looking at things another way, we will have to trust one another now if we ever resolve this. If we think of Tyrenkov as our enemy, that is exactly what he will become. My vote is that we make this offer, and then see if it will be acceptable to the Siberians. Send him to me. I’ll endorse him if he wants the job. Tyrenkov can handle the Chinese. He’s just the man Siberia needs right now. I have no taste for that. I’ll stay here on Kirov.”

“Which brings up another question,” said Fedorov. “If Tyrenkov does this, and negotiates a peace, then what? We’re the Free Siberian Navy here, and he could be talking us right out of a job.”

“I doubt that,” said Karpov. “The Chinese will negotiate to make sure they get back the cities and territories our army just rolled through, but I don’t think they’ll look upon us as friendly neighbors any time soon. Erkin Kutukov will have to stand a watch on that border with the army now, and I would not put anything off the table when it comes to the Chinese. They’re in things up to their knees now, but soon it will be eyeballs.”

“Why are they doing this?” asked Fedorov. “They just shut down most commercial traffic through the Med, and closed Suez. Now the Royal Navy is mustering to push into the Indian Ocean, and the Saudi’s are getting very nervous about Iraq. Remember how China used its ally in North Korea to add pressure on the US position in the Pacific? Well, in this history, China has backed Iraq and Iran heavily, while the US backs the House of Saud.”

“Yes,” said Karpov. “Which is why this war may just be getting underway. My brother took a great risk crossing the Amur River as he did to cut off the Rhino’s Horn and liberate Vladivostok. Volsky was here yesterday, and he told me the port is useless, but at least it will no longer be called Haishenwei. It’s the Golden Horn Harbor, and it’s ours again. One day soon we’ll go there for a visit.”

“That may depend on the Chinese Navy,” Fedorov cautioned.

“Yes… They put up a damn good fight in the Sea of Japan this time around. We caught them by surprise earlier, but they have reinforced. The war here is dangerous, Fedorov, which is why I feel such a strong need to remain here and stay involved. We can make a difference here—Kirov and crew. We may only have two ships to float for Siberia, but we can fight like hell at sea, and the Chinese know it.”

“If we clash with them,” said Fedorov, “won’t that exacerbate the situation on the border?”

“Possibly, but we’ll let Tyrenkov solve that problem. Right now, this war is going to be fought at sea in the Pacific and Indian Ocean. If the Chinese persist, particularly in holding on to the Ryukyu Islands they seized, then we’ll have some hard decisions to make with the Americans. This is far from over. My brother’s whirlwind three week campaign into Manchuria was just the overture. I think China is in this for the long haul.”

“I can’t see how that benefits them. Soon trans-Pacific trade will falter as well. This war will crush the economies of everyone involved. The British have already run the Chinese Navy out of the Med. How do they see any victory here?”

“I don’t think the British really beat them,” said Karpov. “In fact, the Royal Navy took the worst of that fight. No, China redeployed those ships to the Indian Ocean, and that is what I would have done too. They could not support them in the Med, and by closing Suez, they put the thumbscrews on that trade route to Europe and the US. Now they’ll beef up in the Indian Ocean and make a fight there. Mark my words.”

“What do you think they’ll do?”

“Raise hell, just like they did in the Med. Tanker and sea carrier insurance rates must be through the roof by now. Commercial carriers can’t use the Med, so they’ll have to go around the Cape, which is why the Royal Navy is mustering there.”

“Yes, and the Fairchild Group is with them.”

“Good for them,” said Karpov. “Well, the war moves there next. The Chinese have a lot of bases in East Africa, and even in Pakistan. They can still route Middle East oil south of Sri Lanka to the Bay of Bengal and their terminals in Myanmar.”

“Myanmar? No, it’s still called Burma here in this history, but yes, the Chinese do have oil terminals there, and then rail and pipeline routes into China. The old Burma Road is an oil road now.”

“See my point? Europe and the US lose the sea lane to the Middle East through Suez, but it doesn’t really bother China. Their problem now is how to control the Indian Ocean. To do that they have to stop the Royal Navy incursion, and the Americans as well. What are they up to, Fedorov?”

“The Americans? At the moment, Tyrenkov says they are mustering at the port of Darwin—moving troops and equipment there by sea.”

“Bound for Saudi Arabia,” said Karpov. “Well, I’ll say this much. Job one for China is the Strait of Malacca. They have to gain control there, and it won’t be easy. Does Tyrenkov have a line on Chinese Naval strength in the Indian Ocean theater?”

“After being reinforced from the Med, about 40 ships and subs, not counting patrol craft, and they will be backed by Pakistan’s navy at Karachi—another twenty ships, mostly frigates, corvettes, and patrol craft, but they have a number of very capable diesel subs.”

“That’s a formidable force.”

“Almost as big as the entire Royal Navy in this region,” said Fedorov. “But the British can count on support from Singapore. They have 30 ships, mostly patrol craft, but several good frigates. Then there’s the Americans at Darwin.”

“So it’s going to be a real fight,” said Karpov. “It will start with sea control operations. That’s what the British and Americans have to do—clear a way to Saudi Arabia for the US Navy to get troops in there. And here we sit in a Japanese port, when all the action will be down south.”

“You could use the rest,” said Fedorov, though he could see how the mere discussion of these impending naval battles had breathed life into Karpov. His eyes had that glitter of fire in them again, and he was sitting up in the bunk. “Let’s not plan on conquering the world here just yet.”

“I’d still like to get down there. We should probably get face to face with the Fairchild Group and plan overall strategy.”

“In good time,” said Fedorov. “Rest, rest, there will be war enough left here for us when you feel ready to take the helm again.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll recover. In fact I have come to think my brother has not really left me. No, he came to me in that terrible moment, reaching, and now I have him safe within my very own mind, and I know him in a way I never could if he was standing here face to face with me at this moment. We sit in these shells, Fedorov. We put on uniforms and take up our roles, but we’re all old souls by now. We’ve seen this world from 1908 to this moment, a time spanning over 100 years. I’ll take your advice and rest here a few more days, but we should be ready for operations again soon. Has the crew had shore leave?”

“A good deal of it. They find the Japanese quite hospitable.”

“Good. They need the rest as well.”

They lapsed into silence for a time. Fedorov thought to leave it there, but wanted to know what he should be planning for.

“So are you serious about going south? Shouldn’t we stay up here near Vladivostok?”

“No, we have no business there. It will be a month before they can get that port cleared of mines, and rebuilt, and even then, using it would be too dangerous for Kirov. Once the Chinese found out we were there, they could lob ballistic missiles all day and night. That’s the first hard lesson for Russia in this war—once China becomes a hostile power, then we truly have no port on the Pacific with Vladivostok. We’ll have to rely on Sakhalin Island, Magadan and Petropavlovsk, and speaking of that, we should get some kind of a seaborne munitions carrier to move ordnance south. Yes, that is where we must go. If we stay up here, we’ll be on the fringes of the action, unless the Americans get serious about the Ryukyus, and that could take a good long while. Right now, the strategists in the UK and US have but one thing on their mind… The House of Saud.”

“Very well. Should I notify Captain Gromyko?”

“That would be wise. I’m not sure if Captain Rose and his battlecruiser will be accompanying us, but we will have to get some support from the Americans. It’s 2000 nautical miles from Sendai to the Surigao Strait in the Philippines. Kirov can sail there with no refueling needs, but Kursk will need support.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Fedorov.

Karpov nodded. “The Philippine Sea,” he said. “I want to be there in ten days.”

“That’s three or four sea days,” said Fedorov, “depending on our speed. That gives you a good long week to rest while we think this through and make the logistical arrangements. In the meantime. I’ll ask Tyrenkov to come see you here. I hope he can see this as an opportunity to change for the good. We have to stick together if we want to prevail here and shape the future beyond this conflict, and we’ve also got to keep a lid on things—no nukes, correct?”

“Don’t worry, my friend. We’ve learned a few things together on this long journey, haven’t we?”

Chapter 3

The door opened, and a man in a dark overcoat walked into the sick bay where Karpov was still resting quietly on his cot. Seeing him, Doctor Zolkin offered a brief greeting, and then excused himself, as per Karpov’s earlier request.

“Still cold, Tyrenkov?” said Karpov noting the overcoat.

“Something about the sea,” said Tyrenkov, smiling.

“The sea…” Karpov closed his eyes for a moment. He had spent the last day in a quiet slumber, dreaming the life of the Siberian, slowly playing the memories that had come to him so suddenly. It was as if he had been given a great sea chest, finding stacks of letters, photographs, and journals recounting that life. It was at once revealing of all the Siberian had lived and done, while also standing as a testament to his life. It was also ashes work, as Karpov also came to terms with his sudden demise. He was reliving it all, the triumph, the tragedy, the dreams become nightmares. They were one and the same.

“Yes, the sea,” he said again. “I never wanted to be anywhere else, Tyrenkov. Oh, I passed my time in Siberia during the war, doing what I had to there to consolidate power. I reveled in those wonderful old airships, the closest thing I could find to do that resembled my days aboard Kirov. Yes, I was Admiral of the Fleet. Then, when I learned Kirov had returned, the only thing on my mind was getting back to that ship, and I was willing to take it, by force or deception, from both Volsky and Fedorov at that time. I never once thought that I, myself, might already be there. You recall the night you came to me and told me that was so?”

“Indeed,” said Tyrenkov. “It was most remarkable.”

“Quite an understatement,” said Karpov. “There I was, fresh off the boat, if you will. There I was. I stood there looking at my very own self. He seemed just a little younger, raw, unfinished, yet full of potential. There was so much he did not yet know, and at that moment, I came to feel like his older brother. I had taken the first long loop through time aboard Kirov, but he had only just arrived, bewildered, and perhaps still struggling to comprehend and believe what had just happened to his ship and crew. Strangely, Fedorov was the only man on his ship that knew anything, because the soul that served with me aboard Kirov in that amazing first loop had somehow found its way into the mind and heart of the young Navigator serving aboard my brother’s ship. Understand?”

“I grasp what you are saying, but how could I ever really understand?” said Tyrenkov.

“Of course. Well, Tyrenkov, you are the man I recruited to my side during those early years in Siberia, my trusted Chief of Intelligence—until you became a wayward moon. Yet I suppose any man can turn, falling prey to some lure or another, and power is often the most compelling gravity that can seize a man. Do you remember when we labored to turn Kymchek, Volkov’s security man?”

“Of course, though I never truly believed he had come over to our side. Volkov would have had too many ways he could make Kymchek suffer. So while he paid us lip service, and bowed and scraped as he had to once we had him, Kymchek was always in Volkov’s service, secretly, as he believed, but it was quite transparent to me.”

Karpov nodded.

“And you, Tyrenkov… the man who was always seemingly in my service…. Who were you really serving?”

Tyrenkov smiled. “My own self,” he said frankly. “Yes, I served my own ambitions and desires, like every man. Have you ever really been foolish enough to think things were otherwise? That is not the way of the world, Karpov. Men serve others, and sometimes they even dupe themselves into thinking they serve some greater cause, but in the end, I think they really serve their own ambitions.”

“Perhaps true,” said Karpov, “if somewhat jaded. Well, speaking of service, be it to some greater cause or to the petty desires we are all prey to, I have a proposition for you. I am certain you are aware of the death of the Siberian.”

“Most regrettable. My condolences.”

“Yes… How do you lay your own self to rest, Tyrenkov? How do you bury your own future? That is what I have been struggling to do these last few days. I once thought of the Siberian as my younger brother, but when we arrived here, and I finally met him again, he was an old grey man. He had lived out decades that remain waiting for me in the years ahead, all in service to the Free Siberian State, and certainly to his own ambitions as well, as we both know. Now he is gone, and that leaves a great void at the top of the leadership pyramid over there. How would you feel about taking that throne?”

Tyrenkov inclined his head. “As Premier and General Secretary of the Free Siberian State?”

“Exactly. It has a nice ring to it, does it not? My brother left instructions with his most trusted lieutenants, but first and foremost, he specified that I should stand in his place if anything should happen to him, or have the final say as to who would advance to that post in the line of succession. In truth, I knew nothing of the men in his orbit, until recently. There are some very good men there, and chief among them is General Erkin Kutukov. He commanded the 1st Siberian Guards, and is presently serving as acting head of state, but now I offer this position to you. Interested?”

“How could I fail to be?” Tyrenkov replied.

“Of course,” said Karpov. “Here on the ship, your duties are simply too limited to satisfy. Frankly, you are made for bigger things, Tyrenkov. Analyzing message traffic, studying orders of battle, sifting through intelligence channels was the work you did in your early years, but now you are a man. The days and years ahead are going to be hard and difficult for Siberia. The Chinese may have agreed to this cease fire, because they get all of Heilongjiang province back from my brother—ground we overran in the last three weeks in this fight for Vladivostok. Yet you and I know that the conflict will remain at the boil for some time now—perhaps for years. It will need a good cook to stir that pot, and I cannot think of anyone better suited to the task. So I offer it to you.”

“Then you forsake the post yourself?”

“That should be evident in this offer.”

“This is not a temporary assignment?”

“No, I can tell you now that I have no intention of returning to Siberia to take up the reins of its affairs. My brother Self has already lived that. I want to take a different course, and remain here, aboard Kirov. Of course I will insist that I retain complete authority over this ship, and over any others that might ever join the ranks of the Siberian Navy. There isn’t much of that around these days, but it’s one thing we might fix in the years ahead. I will also expect your full support, logistics, air support, whenever requested.”

Tyrenkov nodded. “The lure of war has you in its gravity here. Yes?”

Karpov smiled with a nod, knowing that was true. “Tyrenkov, I am a fighter. I do my scheming and planning simply to make sure I get to the fight, and with everything I need to prevail. As for the day to day machinations of state, I built a government beneath me to manage that, and yes, I found you as well. This is what you wanted, correct? Stay here, and you will always be in my shadow. In Siberia, you will have come as close to your general ambition of ruling over all of Russia as is presently possible.”

“And who serves who in this arrangement. Are you expecting me to keep my vow of service, or should I expect you and your navy to pledge allegiance to Siberia?”

“I think we understand one another,” said Karpov. “Once it was in your mind to try and get rid of me, as you discarded Orlov when you thought to set up a little triumvirate with Volkov. Once Fedorov and I had your name penciled at the very top of our list of problems, yet, as we have seen, we are able to reason things out and reach accommodations. In taking you on here, we gained much, did we not? You brought weapons, that interesting key you found at Ilanskiy, and you would be under my thumb. I never pressed it too firmly upon you, and for good reason. I know your caliber, Tyrenkov. I have taken your measure, as you have certainly taken mine. So let us leave it with this—we will cooperate with one another, and all in the general aim of what we both know we must do for Siberia—for Russia.”

“Yet a moment ago I said men only dupe themselves into thinking they act for reasons beyond their own ambitions,” said Tyrenkov.

“Until they take one step more on their path. Think of Sergei Kirov. He formed and led his Soviet Union through its most tumultuous and darkest hours, and being there, meeting and speaking with him on numerous occasions, I could clearly see his greatness. Look at the Soviet Union now. Instead of 50 years of useless and wasteful ‘Cold War’ with the West, he found a way to reach an accommodation, and he did so while still preserving the government we brought to life in the revolution. To do this, he only let go of one thing, the need to export communism to the rest of the world. So in this history, we had no Castro in his Cuba, and if China embraced communism, they did so in their own way, and in their own time. Today the Europeans see our politburo as nothing more than a variant of their own governing systems, and frankly, if you study what Sergei Kirov built in Russia here, you will see we never really shunned democracy. Perhaps we can do the same.”

“Perhaps,” said Tyrenkov. “Yet this war will end, Karpov. What will a fighting Admiral do when that happens one day? When Kirov has no more battles to fight, then where will you go, and what will you do with this ship and the crew that serves you so faithfully in all these adventures?”

Karpov gave him a long look. “That is tomorrow,” he said. “In one sense, I have already seen it. Yes, we are the men who move from yesterday to tomorrow in the blink of an eye. I never fooled myself in that, knowing it was power beyond the measure of that ever held by the world’s mightiest leaders. You drank from that same cup, Tyrenkov, and it’s a dizzy, heady brew. But its exacts a price, it has consequences, terrible consequences, as we have seen in more than one world where we found ourselves. So let us face tomorrow when it comes. Today, we have other business. I offer you this position in Siberia. Do you want it?”

“Of course! And I thank you for your consideration. You have grown, Admiral. We give ourselves these names and titles, and we wear these uniforms to play the part, but sometimes certain men grow so large that no tailor can ever really fit them. We saw some of the truly great men of the last century, Churchill, Kirov, Roosevelt. The thought that our names might ever be mentioned in the same sentence with such men never occurred to us, but we now have a good deal to say what happens when they write the history of this century.”

“Well said. Yes, we grow. Ambition is one thing, and some men never get beyond its grip. Only the truly great men accomplish that. I won’t soft sell this to you. There will be difficulties ahead, for both of us. The Chinese cannot be underestimated. This is their century, and they are rising now in a way that few clearly see. And there are other forces, other men out there, all serving their own ambitions. We must speak now of one man in particular—Ivan Volkov. He is not here. I had Fedorov try and sleuth him out in this history, but nothing was found.”

“I can confirm that,” said Tyrenkov.

“But this is not to say that we are rid of the man,” said Karpov. “Frankly, when I learned you had taken up with him in the past, I was quite surprised. You know how ruthless and conniving that man can be. He made his bed with the likes of Adolf Hitler, betraying Russia in that devil’s bargain, and then simply disappeared when we prevailed in WWII. Yet I wonder what really became of that man. Then, imagine my surprise when you send him over to me for a nice little chat!”

“Ah, but that was not the man we fought in the last war. I got to him early, before the weed took root, and I thought I was able to prune him well.”

“I would not fool myself in thinking that,” said Karpov. “A weed is a weed, no matter where it sits in your well sculpted garden. Volkov may yet be a problem, and now I am talking of the man we just left behind in 2021. Both you and I were able to make good an escape from that world, but we both know the missile that struck near the airfield at the Northern Shamrock was meant for you, and I don’t have to tell you who was behind it.”

“Yes,” said Tyrenkov, “it was Volkov. I knew he was never a reliable partner. The two of us pulled the same carriage for a while, two horses lashed together in the same team, but he was always scheming, and never satisfied. I took steps to seal off any avenue he might find to cause further trouble, either in this future, or in the past. I burned Ilanskiy to the ground once, then rebuilt it to serve my needs. And as for that amazing airship you built, I gave orders that it should be destroyed before we embarked on this ship.”

“Yet we must be wary,” said Karpov. “We must remain vigilant. Volkov is a very resourceful man, and while this version of the man may not have lived out the enmity we engaged in during the war, Fedorov and I have learned that the memories and recollections of a man can emerge, either by slow degrees, or all in one wild rush. When I was very young, I learned to play the balalaika. Then with the business of life, I set it aside for decades. Yet once I picked one up, twenty years later, and I could still play. It’s old memory, Tyrenkov—muscle memory. Volkov already acts and moves in ways that belie that old muscle memory of enmity with us. I clearly saw that, and I think you did as well.”

“Quite true,” said Tyrenkov.

“Then we must not put him out of the equation here just yet. You took precautions, but he knows about Ilanskiy. That said, I do not think he will have time to do anything with that, given the situation we hurriedly left behind in 2021. We have no further history to read of what may have followed those nukes in Korea, but Fedorov and I have seen its end, and with our own eyes. It wasn’t speculation. No, we knew what was going to happen, because we sifted the ashes long ago, when my own wanton use of a special warhead pushed the ship forward into a shattered world, in a future where none of us could ever hope to find a home again. So we must be careful here, not only in shaping the outcome of this war, but also in making sure that Volkov never gets a toe-hold here, or a chance at finishing his dastardly unfinished business.”

“Yet how could he reach this time?”

“I don’t know, but what I can say is this…. Anyone who has managed to escape the world of 2021 has ended up here. We came here, then Argos Fire and Kazan. Was that mere coincidence? I think not. There is a reason why this is so, and it is a very dark one. It may just be that there is no other place to go—no other future that has survived our thoughtless intrusion in the past. So we must beware. If there is any way that Volkov might move, then he may just get to this time as we did. Remember what nuclear detonations do to the continuum—they open holes, create rifts, and things move through. Remember also that Volkov is Prime Mover in all of these events.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Tyrenkov.

“Well,” said Karpov, “there is an old saying that goes something like this…. if we keep heading in this direction, we might just get where we're going. Volkov is the last missing actor in this little play. Everyone else is here, all ready to take their part on the stage. So we must be wary. There could be a few more nightmares heading our way.”

“I understand.” Tyrenkov nodded. “So then, will you want me in Siberia soon?”

“When you are ready. Yes, you set the hour and day now, Mister Prime Minister. I have every confidence in you, and I know you will not disappoint me. No, not a second time. Are you the man I think you truly are? I suppose we shall see in good time. Pack your sea chest, Tyrenkov. You’re getting a big promotion!”