Grand Alliance

Chapter 1

Brigadier General Kinlan arrived back at the tail of the column, his mind weighted with a thousand impossible thoughts. The evidence of his own eyes had betrayed his thin hold on sanity, forcing him to stand at the edge of oblivion and stare into the abyss. He felt completely untethered, his thoughts as dark as the dead satellite GPS links, a blind man groping about in a desert sandstorm in a desperate search to find something he could get hold of to save himself from being buried.

He stepped out of the FV432 command vehicle, thankful his sand goggles hid the uncertainty and fear in his eyes. His boast to his Chief of Staff, old reliable Sims, still echoed in his mind. What were they going to do? Could this all be really happening? Was his whole brigade now caught up in this whirlwind of impossibility, trapped in the deserts of 1941 and marooned in World War Two?

Where was that damn Russian Captain? “Sims,” he said, forcing as much normalcy on his tone of voice as he could. The men, the few that had heard and seen the same evidence as he had, would be as disoriented and clueless as he felt now, and it was his to be the heavy anchor and keep this ship from foundering on the rocks. They would look to him, first and foremost, to make sense of what was happening, and sort it all out. So he reached for the book. They would do things the Army way, step by step.

The Army way, thought Kinlan. The four pillars of operations were drilled into his head early on in officer’s training schools: integrity of purpose, application and threat of force, the nature and character of the conflict, enduring philosophy and principles… he smiled grimly at that, still hearing the command instructor’s words as if they were just spoken.

“These principles should be adhered to in every respect, but they are not immune from change. They are malleable, and can be altered so that they may be applied to as many situations as possible, but only after careful consideration. Doctrine is the map for all your operations. It turns the sum of subjective thinking into an objective guide for action, thus distilling a sometimes confusing array of ideas and opinions into a clear, simple essence. Existing doctrine — based on common sense — should be consulted before new ideas are floated, but nothing should be taken too literally in translation. And remember that all principles of war fighting rest upon the cohesion of will, in ourselves, our allies, and our adversaries.”

Doctrine, common sense and will power. Know the rules and use them, but be ready to break them if the situation warrants… But only after careful consideration. And by all means, don’t be stupid. That was the menu now, right from the book of war. He had long known that no plan, however carefully it was devised, ever survived first contact with the enemy — but this? This was something else entirely. This was sheer bedlam.

Rommel… He had told Sims he was going to head for Mersa Matruh as planned, and if he found anyone named Rommel out there he would kick his ass half way to Berlin. Yet at the moment, with communications down, no satellite links, no sitrep, little intelligence as to what had actually happened, and this crazy Russian Captain and his troupe of World War Two impersonators, the doctrine called for caution. Rommel… It was he who had coined the phrase so often repeated by surly instructors in the officer’s schools: “The British write some of the best doctrine in the world; it is fortunate that their officers do not read it!”

Doctrine… Observe, Orientate, Decide, Act… Yet at the moment he would go dark and still. There was no sense pushing his five miles of steel and thunder north until he knew damn well what he was heading for, and to a certainty. Now he wished he still had the 656th Squadron Apaches with him, but the air assault units were the first to depart. They left for Mersa Matruh three days before the missile came in. They were spared the madness, but he could damn well use their eyes and mobility right now. Then he remembered the Russians, and that nice fat KA-40 helicopter sitting out there somewhere.

“Tell Hampton to send out a Wingo to all units. The column is to stop and remain in NBC order, engines off, lights dark, except for flankers and air defense security. Then find me that Russian Captain and his interpreter, the fellow who calls himself Popski. We’re going to get to the bottom of this right now.”

“Sir!” Sims was off at the trot, soon disappearing into the heavy brown desert airs, still occluded heavily at ground level from the recent storm.

Send out a Wingo, which was Army slang for WngO, a Warning Order. Sense, warn, consider, decide, execute… And be ready to take risks. He might be faulted for stopping now, leaving his column strung out, motionless, a massive sinuous heat signature on the desert. That wouldn’t matter much to another ICBM, so he decided to take the risk. He knew that mobility was his first guarantor of survivability, but something told him it was not good just blundering ahead until he could understand his environment and make some sense of this situation.

He wanted to talk to that Russian Captain again, but even as he thought this, he heard the rebuke so often quoted in the Army Operations Manual about the last war in this goddamned desert. ‘The British were plagued by feebleness, by lack of instant authority in the high command. Intentions were too often obscure. Orders at army, corps, or divisional level were too often treated as the basis for discussion, matters for visit, argument, expostulation even. The result was a system of command too conversational and chatty, rather than instant and incisive…’

What if these two characters had been sent out here to serve as a grand distraction to delay his move north? That thought was silly. Could he imagine the Russians dreaming up something like this charade? How can we make sure the British will stay in the target zone? I know, send in a few men on helicopters to ID their position, and better yet, we can dress them up in old World War Two uniforms and tell the British they’ve been transported to that old romantic era of the past where the Desert Rats first made their mark on these sands.

He shook his head… Impossible. The Russians couldn’t dream this up in a century. This business with the LRDG, Popski, O’Connor and the whole bit… well it all seemed so damnably authentic. The look in O’Connor’s eye was riveting, and he was mad as a hornet now in the other FV432. To calm the man he had played along, almost comically.

“General,” he had said. “We’re glad you’ve been recovered, but I’ve a bit of a problem on my hands at the moment, and more than one. Would you be so kind as to wait here while I complete my reconnaissance? We’re trying to get through to the liaison officer in Cairo.”

That worked. It at least gave him the time he needed to slip away and sort this whole mess out. Yet the more he looked at the situation, the more wild and crazy it all became! The Russian had come to him bang away with the assertion that he should look over his shoulder and return to the Sultan Apache facilities. In the end, he had granted the man the small grace of compliance, and sent a patrol back to check on the status of things at the massive oil drilling site. They reported nothing was there, and Kinlan immediately assumed they had wandered off somewhere in this damn desert sand storm and were probably lost in the desolation of the Qattara Depression. So he went to look for himself.

Nine months out here in the desert had given him an uncanny sense of how to navigate, even in conditions like this. He knew where his column was when the lights went out and they had lost all satellite links and GPS. So he got in his FV432, pulled out a compass, only to find the needle was spinning like a top! Something was certainly wrong, but he moved south, able to follow the fading remnant of the column’s tracks. Sixty ton tanks leave a good footprint on the desert wherever they go, and he had sixty Challenger IIs in the brigade. It wasn’t long before he saw the familiar shape of Hill 587, and realized he had come east to the edge of the Qattara Depression. Beyond this point the land would cascade down in a steep escarpment into the silted, wadi infested Sebka that was completely impassible to vehicles. But behind him he had the stony plateau where the Sultan Apache facilities should be… and they were gone.

Not destroyed… not blasted to hell by another damn Russian ICBM… The desert was a sublime, immaculate wasteland, with fresh drifts of windblown sand forming even here. This was something he had not counted on; something no man could factor into his operational planning, no matter how closely he read the manual and adhered to the principles of the Operational Art. This was something wholly unaccountable, a madness that had come upon him like the desert storm, obscuring all reason and sanity and presenting him with the bewildering prospect of having to lend credence to the impossible story spewed by this Russian Captain.

Popski, O’Connor, and a Russian Naval Captain… Now he had the distinct feeling that O’Connor had never once laid eyes on the Russian, and knew nothing whatsoever of the man. If this was an act, aimed at distracting him into immobility here, it was masterful.

Sims was back, with the Russian in tow, and he folded his arms, thinking. “Very well,” he began, looking at the Russian. “I’ve done what you asked of me, and had a good long look at the facilities, at least the place where they once existed. That is no longer the case.”

Popski translated, still with a completely befuddled look on his face as he did so. When Fedorov realized they were again to meet with the commander of this force, he had quietly spoken with Popski to try and prepare him for what he might soon hear.

“Popski,” he said. “I must discuss our situation with this officer, and you will hear many things that will make absolutely no sense to you. I know it will be confusing, and I will do my best to explain it all to you later, but for now, can you simply serve as my voice and translate what I say? My English can get the essence across, but I’m afraid my vocabulary is somewhat limited still. Just translate, and I’ll sort this all out for you once we set things right with the British.”

“Good enough,” said Popski, but it was not long before he did begin to hear strange talk between these two men, some of it stupefying nonsense, other things complete mysteries to him, words and terms he had never heard or used before, though these two men clearly seemed to know what they meant.

“It is as I have told you,” said Fedorov. “The facilities remain where they were, but the timeframe has changed. There was a missile strike on your position, and a detonation, correct?”

“You ought to know about it,” said Kinlan, still nurturing the assumption that this man and his band of Russian Marines were out here to guide in those warheads.

“I assure you, I knew nothing, because I was not there, General. I was not in that timeframe at all. I was here all along. Understand? I have been here for the last six months, my ship and crew as well, and all of us trapped here in this time — in this war.”

“You’re telling me you had some kind of an accident aboard ship?”

“It had something to do with our reactors.” Fedorov did not want to get into all the details of Rod-25, Tunguska, the fragmented time that event had caused, the hidden places in the world where fissures in time had been created to allow men and objects to make impossible journeys through time. It was enough to try and give this man some footing here, some kind of solid ground to stand on, as shiftless and windblown as it all might seem now.

“General,” he said through Popski. “When this storm finally abates, your systems will settle down, but you will never establish satellite links again — ever. In fact, you will never again receive another message or word from the world you knew. The only communications you will ever pick up will be things of this world, of this time, and the year is 1941—January of 1941 to be more precise. That is why the stars and moon seem to conspire against you. Believe me, I was a navigator by trade before being promoted to my present position. When this first happened to us, I used my skills as a navigator to determine the stars and moon were not what they should be, just as your men did.”

Popski could not help but cast a furtive glance at the night sky above as the evening settled over the scene and the first stars were again visible in the slowly clearing airs.

“Then you’re trying to tell me this man O’Connor is the real thing? This fellow Wavell that was bending my ear ten minutes ago is indeed General Archibald Wavell?”

“Correct. Impossible, but true. It took us a very long time to determine what had happened to us, and relate it to the strange effects of a nuclear detonation. Apparently the same thing has just happened to you. We determined that these effects have a radius — like the EMP effect can influence an area beyond the core blast zone. Well, even if this detonation missed its target, you must have remained inside the zone.”

Kinlan stood with that for some time, removing his sand goggles to get a better look at the man, noting the unfailing sincerity in his tone and expression. He allowed himself a question, even though it would admit to grudging acceptance of this whole wild scenario.

“Then how do we get back?”

Fedorov gave him a look of real sympathy and understanding, then spoke quietly. “That may no longer be possible.”

“What? You mean we’re marooned here, for good?”

“For good or for ill, but you are here, that much you will inevitably come to realize and believe, just as we did. And being here is a matter of grave concern, not simply for your own fate, or the lives of the men you command, but for the fate of this world. Do you understand what I am saying now, general? You are no ordinary man here — not in this time and place. This is the Western Desert of Egypt in 1941. You know what is happening here now, and why men with names like Wavell and O’Connor are before you. And you will soon hear of another familiar name — Rommel. He is here as well, and undoubtedly up to the same old tricks that confounded the British for years in this campaign. But you can change all that, General Kinlan.”

“Change it?” Now Kinlan remembered his own impulsive vow to Major Sims, that he would kick Rommel’s ass half way to Berlin if he found him.

“Yes,” said Fedorov. “That is the real dilemma now. We faced it, talked endlessly about it, debated it, and then we realized we could not remain here in the midst of this terrible war without choosing sides. And General, there was some contention among our ranks over that choice. There were those who were very embittered over the hostility and enmity that has grown between our nations in our day. It was a struggle, but my Admiral held firm and eventually opted for reason in the face of all this insanity.”

“Admiral?”

“Leonid Volsky. You have heard of this man?”

“Volsky. He’s the commander of the Red Banner Northern Fleet, or at least he was before your ship went missing.”

“Correct, and he was to transfer to the Pacific Fleet just as the incident at the Diaoyutai/Senkaku Islands ignited hostilities there. That little squabble was going to become something that would eventually devour the entire world. The missile attack you experienced was undoubtedly a part of all that, and your presence here may be the only safe ground you could have found for your men and vehicles. You know damn well that there would have been a second strike, and a third if your air defense prevented that.”

“Is that what you were here for, Battle Damage Assessment?”

“No General, you must understand that I was never there — never in that time. I was here all along, with my Marines and helicopter, and we were out here doing exactly as we have told you, looking for General O’Connor. You see, when we found ourselves here, in this time, we realized there was no way we could stand apart from this conflict. We had to take sides, one way or another, and knowing that Russia and Britain were allies once eventually guided our thinking to the right path. So it is as I have told you. My ship is out there right now, waiting for my return. Kirov is cruising with Cunningham’s Royal Navy fleet, and ready to do battle in support of the British here — and it is a grave hour indeed. Believe me, General, it’s all in shreds and patches now, but you will piece it together soon enough, just as we did, and the quilt of your understanding could save your country now — here — in 1941.”

Chapter 2

Shreds and patches… That was as good a way to put things as he could fathom. Here he was, a king of shreds and patches, just as Hamlet put it. Yet he wanted to shout at this man as Hamlet’s mother had… ‘No more! Your words are like daggers, please no more, sweet Hamlet. Angels in heaven protect me with your wings!…’ A ragtag king he was, lost, completely out of his world, but a king indeed. That was what this man was saying to him now, that he was here and that meant something. He had a responsibility here, and it would begin with the same choice this Russian Captain had made, to be or not to be, here and now, in this war, taking up arms against a sea of trouble and by opposing…

“You’re asking me to fight here… now?”

“Where else?” Fedorov gave him a thin smile. “We fought. We were misguided by a headstrong Captain at first — the very man I replaced. His was a hard line, and he had no love of the West, or the British. But my view was that if we could somehow prevent the enmity between our nations from ever taking root after this war, then we might prevent the one that comes after, the searing fire that you have only just escaped. Understand, General? You are here. This war is here as well. Your countrymen fight even as we speak. We have joined them. That decision should be much easier for you.”

Popski was following the essence of this, but could not see why this Fedorov would have to try and convince a British serving officer as to which side he was on in this damn war, and he said as much.

“I’ll admit I had my doubts about you when you gave us the rough treatment up front,” he said to Kinlan, “but forgive and forget, General.” This man here seems to think he needs to persuade you to take up sides here, as silly as that may seem.”

Kinlan gave Popski a look, then realized that if any of this were true, then this man was not of his day and time. He was a man of this era, the very same man he had stared at in the data files on his library pad. He was ‘Popski,’ head of the PPA, a fringe element of the Long Range Desert Group, the Number One Demolition Group, to be more accurate. He wanted to dismiss all this with one boisterous ‘bloody hell,’ but that would not do. What he needed now was more than the evidence he had before him. He needed information on what was happening here in the desert.

“So tell him to look at the uniform I’m wearing,” he said to Popski. “That should answer his question.”

“Clear enough, General,” Popski returned. “Not that I can say as I’ve ever seen kit like that before. So I’m thinking you’re a special unit, seeing as though General O’Connor doesn’t even seem to know anything about you. But you had old Wavell on the blower a while back. What did he say?”

“Popski,” said Fedorov urgently, picking up some of what he had been saying. “Don’t converse. Please stay with me and translate. This is urgent now.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get all hot and bothered. The man is obviously a British serving officer, and so there should be no question as to whether or not he will do any fighting, and which side he’s on.”

“He said that? He’s willing to engage here? Ask him again. I need to be certain of this now.”

“Very well… General, this man wants to know if you’re prepared to engage here — take up the good fight, eh? I’m not sure what your orders are, but Wavell must have given you an earful.”

“That he did,” said Kinlan. “Tell him Wavell was just a tad upset, but he’s grateful we’ve found O’Connor. Yet he doesn’t seem to know much about my unit here… secret and all, even from the up and ups.” He gave Popski a wink.

“That will be the case at the outset,” said Fedorov through Popski. “You are a great unknown. There will be questions, a good many questions, and it would be wise if you allowed me to assist you in answering them. You see, only a very few men alive here know the real truth concerning our presence here, and the operations we are presently undertaking.”

“You were ordered here by the Russian government?”

“No. We are acting independently. Our present intention is to try and reverse what is looking to be a very desperate situation in the Mediterranean at the moment.”

“Well, we know how it all turns out,” said Kinlan, still inwardly shaking his head to hear himself admit the insanity of the thought that this man was telling him the truth, and this was, indeed, 1941.

“We know how it once turned out,” said Fedorov quickly, in halting English, wanting to make certain Popski got it right. “This time things are different,” he said again to Popski in Russian. “Tell him that the Germans have taken Gibraltar.”

“What’s that you say? Gibraltar?”

“Yes,” said Fedorov. “And if you know this history at all, then you know that was never supposed to happen.”

“Know what history?” said Popski.

“Just translate what I said! We’ll have time to talk later.”

Kinlan could see that Popski was in the dark. He did not really know who this Russian was — at least who he claimed to be. So he decided to explore this ground briefly.

“These men don’t seem to know the whole story, Captain,” he said. “Have you told them the same tale you’ve spun out for me?”

“Only one man here knows the whole truth — two actually.”

“Wavell?”

“No sir, General Wavell has not yet been briefed.”

“Is this man here in the know?” He nodded to Popski.

“No,” said Fedorov directly, his eyes carrying a note of caution that he did not wish to try and put into words.

Popski knew what they were saying, but if this was something that Wavell was not even privy too, then he was in good company, and he did not let any of this bother him. Yes, this was some secret unit assembling out here. Perhaps that’s why the LRDG has units down at Siwa, and why Jock Campbell is there now.

“Look General, this is the situation as far as I understand it. I was in Alexandria yesterday, and with Wavell himself, along with Admiral John Tovey, who has been fully briefed in this matter.”

“Tovey?” Kinlan knew the name, and knew Tovey had been the man in charge of Home Fleet during these years. “Who else knows?” he asked.

“That isn’t important now,” said Fedorov. “But what is important is that your unit here is going to eventually be discovered. You had orders to withdraw to Mersa Matruh? Thankfully that was still in British hands when we left yesterday, though it may not be theirs for very much longer. Now it’s time I gave you a good briefing. Gibraltar was attacked last September, and the Germans have closed the entire Western Mediterranean. All traffic to Egypt now has to go by way of Capetown, and that’s the least of it. To take Gibraltar the Germans persuaded Spain to join the Axis, and the Vichy French have followed suit. That means all of North Africa, from Casablanca all the way to Tobruk, is now Axis controlled territory. The British still have Tobruk itself, or they did yesterday, but Rommel is here early, and he’s doing what he did so well before — raising hell. We’ve saved O’Connor, which may be a real plus, but for now the British are overmatched. The Germans have already sent the 15th Panzer Division to reinforce Rommel’s 5th Light Division and, after recent operations, the British have nothing in the way of mobile armor left.”

“You say they still have Tobruk?”

“Correct, and I spoke to Wavell about that personally. The 6th Australian Division is there, but the rest of the army has fallen back on Bardia and Sollum. That’s a strong position, a natural castle in the desert. The escarpment there means Rommel will have to go some 80 kilometers further east if he wants to outflank that position.”

“How is it you have Wavell’s ear, Captain, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Because we matter, General. That’s the simplest way to put it. You know what my ship is capable of, and we’re about to take off the gloves here and get serious.”

“You’re an active combatant?”

Fedorov did not want to go into any of the events that preceded their arrival to 1940—or to hint in any way that they once were actively combating the British! He had to get to the heart of the matter here, and get Kinlan to see that he mattered as well — that his force could be decisive here.

“Yes, we fight for the British. We have helped them secure the Iceland gap against German raiders, and intervened on more than one occasion to support their operations. Up until now, my Admiral has been reluctant to fully engage, but events have taken a real turn for the worse in this war, and so now we fight. We are prepared to use the full power of our ship and crew to try and reverse the setbacks lately suffered by the British. If we do not, and Egypt falls to Rommel, then it will be more difficult than ever to prevent a German victory in this war.”

“I seem to recall that you Russians had a good deal to do with stopping Hitler.”

“True, but my homeland is no longer whole. The Soviet Union, as it was once known, exists only in part now. The country has fragmented into three warring states. We think we know how this has happened, but the implications are staggering. It took all these states, strongly unified under Stalin, to stave off the German invasion that may happen later this year. Without a unified Soviet state, I fear that the West has little prospect for victory. Remember, it is January of 1941, and the Americans are not in this yet.”

“He says the Yanks aren’t in it yet,” said Popski. “So it’s a nice private little fight for us now, just like my PPA — that’s Popski’s Private Army. Got that right from Hackett, if you know the man.”

“So you see, General,” said Fedorov, “What we can do at sea in the Mediterranean, you can do here in the desert. How was it Lawrence put it when he was trying to enlist Arab support with Feisal? The desert is a sea in which no oar is dipped, and on this sea you can go where you please, and strike where you please, and this is what you must do now.”

Kinlan’s eyes narrowed. In the face of this whole impossible day, he at last had his hand on something solid. Here I was, he thought, about to preside over a withdrawal on the brink of World War III, and worried about how I could save these men here. Now I’ve gone and landed in the last war instead if this crazy talk holds. But if that is so… If I am here, with the 7th Brigade at my command, well then it is exactly as this man puts it — I matter here, we matter a very great deal. I can do exactly what I told Sims, and I can kick Rommel’s behind any time I choose.

Wavell had been hopping mad. He had no idea who he was talking to, and wanted to speak with O’Connor straight away. I had to feign a communications lapse to get out of that one, and I still have this O’Connor fellow on ice in the other FV432. I know it sounds crazy, but something tells me I haven’t heard the last from this Wavell, and that O’Connor is going to want to get right back in the saddle as soon as he can. That thought brought a question.

“O’Connor… Does he know all this?”

“No sir,” said Fedorov, “he has not been briefed either. The only other man in theater that is fully briefed is Admiral John Tovey.”

“Tovey knows. He’s heard everything you’ve told me here?”

“Yes.”

“And he believed it?”

“He’s seen my ship in action. That can be very persuasive.”

“I suppose that is so.” Kinlan rubbed a cramp from the back of his neck, the least of his worries. “So what will I find if I do proceed to Mersa Matruh now?”

“That will depend on how far east Rommel has moved. The last I knew he was operating near Bardia.”

“That’s 200 kilometers west of Matruh.”

“About that,” said Fedorov. “If you get there soon you will likely appear well behind British lines — assuming there is still a line. If I can get through to Wavell I can determine what the situation is. Then again… If you go north for Bardia, you might appear behind German lines, which would be a very unpleasant surprise. May I ask how big your force is?”

“He wants to know just how many lad’s you’ve got here,” said Popski.

Kinlan passed a brief moment thinking he was about to divulge information to an enemy, but then he realized that the Russians of 2021 knew full well the composition of his force when they took their pot shot. Telling this man what cards he had in hand would not affect the game one way or another.

“Tell him I’ve a full brigade, 7th Armored Brigade, to be precise.”

“He says he has a full brigade here.”

“Can he be more specific?” Fedorov gave Popski a nudge.

“I have the 12th Royal Lancers for starters, with one company in Dragons and the rest with the old Scimitars.”

“Just an armored cavalry unit?”

“I said for starters,” Kinlan corrected. “Right behind them are the Royal Scotts Dragoon Guards, and not the 2020 light cavalry configuration. They sent the big boys here to settle this business at Sultan Apache. See those two tanks over there?” Kinlan pointed to the two Challenger II tanks that were part of his headquarters troop. “Well, I have four Sabres — a full battalion of 60 tanks, and a few more tucked away in HQ troops. Then two mechanized infantry battalions are in support, the Highlanders and 3rd Mercian, both Armored Infantry in Warrior IFVs. That’s a real fist full of war fighting for you. Throw in a battalion of Gurkha light role infantry and supporting engineers, supply, and logistics troops to round it all off. It’s a lot to keep on my mind, and none of those boys have heard this wild tale were spinning out here.”

That brought another whole can of worms to the discussion. If this were true, how in the world would he tell his men about it? How could he tell them there would be no sealift units waiting for them at Mersa Matruh. They were scheduled to rendezvous there to meet several RoRo units, the ‘Roll on — Roll off’ ships that could accommodate his heavy vehicles. Hurst, Hartland, Anvil Point and Eddystone were to be in attendance to move the 7th Brigade to Toulon in several trips, for deployment in Europe. But that would never happen now. That was all gone. Even if we were still where we should be, it might still all be gone, he thought. If the Russkies lobbed warheads our way, they would have hit those units at Mersa Matruh as well.

“So that’s what I’ve got out here,” said Kinlan. “If this had happened a few days ago I’d have a squadron of Apache attack helicopters too, but they left early and missed the party.”

Fedorov nodded. “It may not feel that way now, General, but you were the lucky ones. Speaking of helicopters… can we sort this out and get my men back aboard our KA-40? We were to get General O’Connor back to Alexandria, but your presence here has changed everything. That said, my helicopter can give you some very good airborne reconnaissance. Care to take a ride with me? I’ll give you a good sitrep on the whole situation up north.”

“The Captain here invites you to accompany him on that helicontraption of his, and believe me, General, that’s a royal ride if ever there was one.”

Kinlan thought about that. “Well,” he said at last. “I’ve a good deal on my plate just now, the least of which is advising my men on this situation.”

“For the moment, sir, I would recommend considerable discretion concerning that. We can discuss it later, but it would be best to keep things quiet.”

“Well they’ll have to know, Captain. This isn’t exactly news that will be in any way easy to explain or deliver.”

“I understand… Come with me on the helicopter. I can leave my men here if you suspect any foul play, though I assure you, I am your friend and ally, perhaps the best friend you will have here. I can help you, General, and you can help us all — immensely. Come with me. You’ll get good situational awareness, and I can discuss all this further.”

Kinlan waited, thinking, then decided.

Chapter 3

While Fedorov’s team had been waiting out the storm at Bir Basure and making these encounters, events in the north became more precarious for the British with each passing day. O’Connor’s disappearance left the ragtag 2nd Armored to fall back on Tobruk, and when he had been reported missing Wavell gave a quiet order that the tough 6th Australian would go no further. They would dig in along the strong fortified lines outside Tobruk and make a stand there. Two light motorized brigades of Indian troops covered their southern flank, and all the remaining armor drifted back towards Bardia, along with the 9th Australian Division.

Rommel took one look at Tobruk’s fortifications on a map given to him by the Italians and made a fateful decision. He would not stop and commit his German troops to a static battle of attrition here, though he had no confidence that the Italians could take the place on their own. Even so, he invested the port with four Italian infantry divisions, Pavia, Pistoia, Bologna and Savona. The Sbratha division was held in reserve, and the remaining two Italian divisions, being more mobile, would continue east. These were the Trento Motorized Division, and the Ariete Armored Division, which alone possessed more operational tanks than the British had in all of Egypt at that time. In fact, the British 2nd Armored had taken to fleshing out its thinned ranks with captured Italian tanks taken during O’Connor’s whirlwind drive in Operation Compass.

Now, however, the compass needle was pointing the other direction, and Wavell was trying to throw together the semblance of a defense along the Egyptian border. His first thought was to position the Australian 9th Infantry Division in a wide arc covering Bardia and Sollum, and place the armor on the southern desert flank, but the German buildup on the border seemed more than a single division could hope to contain. Like a poker player stolidly throwing chips onto the table with a bad hand, he first thought to yield Bardia, shortening the 9th Division’s lines at Sollum, then finally realized his best play was to fold and hold the narrow defile near Halfaya Pass instead. The ground was so constricted there that he might post a single brigade on defense and have the other two available for other duty.

From Sollum and Halfaya Pass the rugged escarpment stretched south and east for nearly 80 kilometers, ending about 25 kilometers south of the coastal town of Sidi Barani. The escarpment was a godsend, like a stony castle wall that could not be outflanked by the fast moving German columns. So into this castle Wavell moved the bulk of the 9th Australian Division, and all the service and support troops that had been clustered around the ports. He knew he was yielding the small advantage of using Bardia and Sollum to supply his troops, but knew that if he had left them there, they would have been invested along with their brothers in Tobruk.

Even as he made these dispositions, Wavell was hastening the remainder of his ANZAC Corps west in the 2nd New Zealand Division. Instead of making the dangerous sea transit to Greece, he now had this division to stand on a defensive line well south of Sidi Barani, but it was his last full division reserve of any strength in Egypt. He might cobble together one more division sized force with the Carpathian Infantry Brigade, and the British 22nd Guards that were now mustering to the defense. Added to the 2nd Armored, no more than a brigade, this was all that he had left, and that unit would be lucky if it could muster thirty operational tanks.

Rommel invested Tobruk on January 25th, and then showed every intention of crossing the border soon after he was satisfied the Italians were in position. He now had two strong German units at hand, the 5th Light being reinforced by the early arrival of the 15th Panzer Division. Keitel had made good on his promises to Rommel in more than one way. He had sent him that second division, and was even now gathering elements of what would become the 90th Light Division, and sending them to Tripoli.

At the same time, the Fallschirmjagers on Malta had been slowly building up strength, enough to clear most of the northwest quadrant of the island, occupy a defensive position known as the Victoria Lines there, and seize the vital airfield at Ta’qali. This allowed the Germans to land much needed supplies there, and move troops onto the island more rapidly. The Italian Folgore Paras had also landed on the smaller island of Gozo to the north, and were preparing to take the main town of Victoria. The remainder of the defenders had fallen back on the vital port of Valetta to make their final stand. The meager air defenses had been pounded to dust by the intense combined German Italian air campaign, and what remained of that force was now grounded or evacuated.

To speed the battle there along, the Germans decided to send a single regiment of the 1st Mountain Division, which landed at the small fishing ports in the north between Gozo and Malta. From there they quickly moved south to join the Fallschirmjagers, which were building up to near division strength on the island by nightfall on January 28th when Rommel made the decision to cross into Egypt. That was the day Fedorov had organized his rescue mission for General O’Connor with Popski, and the fleet put to sea on the 29th.

The following day, while Fedorov’s group hunkered down in the desert sandstorm, Rommel was pushing his two divisions east with the two Italian motorized units. 1st Battalion, 61st Motorized of the Trento division were the first troops to reach Bardia, jubilantly reclaiming that coastal fortress for El Duce. The Armored cars of the 7th Bersaglieri Battalion pushed on ahead and swept into Sollum by mid day on the 29th of January. They still had 23 operational Autoblinda 41 armored cars out of the 30 they had started with way back at Agheila on the Gulf of Sirte, a maintenance feat that was seldom equaled in this harsh terrain.

On their right, the tanks of the Ariete Division pushed quickly through the undefended fort at Capuzzo, and reached Halfaya Pass. There they stopped to refuel and repair while they waited for the divisional artillery to come up. A reconnaissance had shown them the Australian Brigade digging in just beyond the pass, and they knew that they would need those guns before any attempt could be made to storm the narrow defile.

And so, positions that might have proved very difficult to take if adequately defended were all in hand by the morning of the 30th when Fedorov made his fateful encounter with Lieutenant Reeves of the 12th Royal Lancers. They would take that whole day to sort the situation through, but Brigadier Kinlan finally decided to take Fedorov up on his offer to use the KA-40 to have a look around. If nothing else, he would either prove or disprove the impossible premise he had been led to believe. Fedorov had one final trump card to play in that game. He thought they could have a quick look at Giarabub Oasis. If it was held by the Italians, that would run the table. The evidence of a hostile force there with old WWII equipment would be incontrovertible, but what they saw there was far more than Fedorov expected.

O’Connor had been steaming like dry ice where he waited with one of the command vehicles. The men posted with him were respectful, and followed full military protocols as per Brigadier Kinlan’s instructions. He did not want the man any more ruffled than he already was, and knew one question would quickly become three then five, then seven. So he assigned a staff adjutant to see to the General’s needs, serving tea and other refreshment, which O’Connor found most welcome. The Earl Grey went a long way towards soothing his temper, and he felt like a civilized man again for the first time in what seemed like many long weeks.

Then the weariness of the hour, the long desert trek and fatigue overcame him, and he drifted off to some much needed sleep on a cot set beside a large tracked vehicle. Some hours later he awoke, finding a Sergeant Major in attendance and ready with boiled eggs, muffins and jam, and more tea. It was very near dawn, or so he came to feel, his instincts well honed after months in the desert. He was grateful for the warm woolen blanket he found draped over him, as the mornings were quite cold before the sun was up to heat the day.

He seemed a bit groggy for a time, yet soon remembered where he was, blinking, bleary eyed. In spite of that, his mind was taking in everything he saw around him, with a mixed feeling of suspicion and wonderment. He had never seen a vehicle like this one behind him, let alone the Scimitar tanks he had encountered earlier. Kinlan had discretely ordered the two HQ Challengers to be moved during the night so, when O’Connor got up to stretch his legs, they were no longer there to be seen.

Now he was in a circle of odd looking new vehicles, two FV432s, and a pair of Sultan Armored Command Vehicles, which looked much like oversized light Mark VI tankettes. One had a large vertically displayed map next to a retractable side desk, where three men sat on a bench making notations on the map board, their heads and ears covered with headsets that were obviously for local area radio communications. There was other odd looking equipment about, which was actually a battery of the 16th Regiment, Royal Artillery, a Rapier air defense system protecting the headquarters.

“See here,” he said to the Sergeant Major standing by for security. “You chaps seem to have things well wired here. Has there been any word from Alexandria?”

“I haven’t been informed of anything sir, but I would be happy to check with the comm-shack.” Sergeant Dilling had been told to see to the General’s comfort, and by all means to keep him safely where he was, and out of trouble. He had no idea who this visitor was, or why he would be decked out in such an archaic uniform, but he did his best nonetheless — for the third time — returning a few minutes later to report that they had no recent communications of any note.

At this O’Connor exhaled, frustrated and eager to be up and about his business again. He needed to get to Alexandria, but this unit was quite a mystery to him.

“Just who do you say you are out here, Sergeant?”

“Sir?”

“What unit are you, man? Are you out from Siwa?”

“No sir,” said Dilling politely, answering the second question while ignoring the first. He had been told to say as little as possible about the business of the brigade, but he could see that this man was getting up a good head of steam and seemed restless to be up and about, which would be his problem. Thankfully he was reinforced by a Major from Brigadier Kinlan’s staff and was able to recede, off the hook for the moment.

“Ah, there you are General,” said Major Isaac. “I have been asked to inquire on your wellbeing, sir. I trust you managed to get a few hours sleep.”

“Quite so,” said O’Connor, “and a better breakfast than I’ve had for a good long while.”

“Splendid. Well, sir, if you would be so good as to accompany me, we’ve arranged for a local area reconnaissance. Brigadier Kinlan would be very pleased if you would come along.”

That sounded better. Reconnaissance was an art O’Connor strongly believed in, but he wondered what this was about, and asked as much.

“Well sir,” said Major Isaac, “that storm could have masked a host of unpleasantries out here, and it’s standard procedure to have a good look around before we move the column out. General Kinlan was most eager to have you along. Then we can see about getting you to Alexandria. Right this way, sir.”

At last, thought O’Connor. Things were starting to feel just a bit more normal now. For a moment there he had the distinct feeling that he was being treated like an outsider here, an interloper, and even came to feel he was being considered a prisoner! The questions that had succumbed to the weariness of the night were all with him again now. Who were these men? Why were they dressed so strangely, and by god, where did they get all these odd new vehicles? He had seen two tanks the other night, but they were gone now, and for a moment he doubted what he had seen. It must have been the bloody sand storm, a trick of light and shadow in the wind.

Yet what he saw next did little to still his mind. He was politely ushered aboard a vehicle, where two curious looking soldiers sat with unusual looking rifles, and the hatch was closed, obscuring everything from view. Yet O’Connor had a good pair of ears, and he knew the sounds of a military unit waking up in the desert, shaking off the cold, warming up and getting ready to move soon.

“You’ve obviously just come off the boat,” he said to the Major. “Yet I can’t imagine why, or even how you managed to get the ten or twenty odd vehicles you have here this far south, and it sounds like there’s a good deal more here. Just what are you up to out here, Major? A reinforcement sent to Fergusson at Siwa?”

Like Dillings, the Major had been told to divulge as little as possible and simply get the General into a secure vehicle, with no windows, and get him out to the Russian helicopter. So he fell back on the one thing that he knew might allow him a brief holding action here, and punted.

“Well sir, I haven’t been fully briefed on the situation. Brigadier Kinlan has simply asked me to convey his invitation, and stated he preferred to brief you in person.”

“Good enough, Major.” That made sense to O’Connor, and so he let the matter go, but one question after another was waking up in his head again and, when the vehicle finally stopped and he stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness, he got yet another surprise to be standing in the shadow of a massive mechanical beast, a huge metal locust, with long bladed wings.

Fedorov was there to greet him, along with Brigadier Kinlan, who saluted. The two men had conferred over how they would handle the matter with O’Connor. The only question now was whether they could pull it off.

“You can’t just come out with this cockamamie tale about time travel,” said Kinlan. “Yes, you’ve managed to drag my horse’s ass to the water, but it’s rather brackish and unpalatable. I at least had some understanding of what you tried to convey. I know what nuclear weapons are, and the strange effects they give rise to, but this man hasn’t even heard of something like radiation, let alone EMP or this fracturing of time you’re arguing. He has no framework whatsoever to understand any of this.”

There it was again, thought Popski. What in bloody hell was EMP? What was this talk of nuclear weapons? The two seemed right chummy on the subject, but I’ve no idea what they’re talking about.

“Tell him in the short run we’ll have to take things easy,” said Fedorov. It was a real dilemma, and he had to think what to do here. They could just spirit O’Connor away to Alexandria and get him out of the picture. That would be the safest bet, but it would only postpone the inevitable. One day he would have to see what was down there, massed on the desert floor in the fighting steel and Dorchester Chobham armor of the 7th Brigade, and one day he would have to know the truth. But yet he still felt that secrecy was best for the moment. The bear would wake up and get out of his den in due course.

His mind went round and round about it. Could they say this unit had been sent from England, a highly classified war secret, with new weapons and vehicles being deployed for the very first time? This was a lie that would soon become the thin veil it was, for one look at a Challenger II up close, or a good look inside the command compartment of any of these vehicles, would reveal more than he could explain away with that line. There were touch screen digital panels, technology and equipment that would amaze and dazzle any man of this era. He remembered the look on Tovey’s face when they brought him aboard Kirov and showed him the missiles and radar stations up close. And Tovey had a whole other life to prepare him for what he saw there. In fact, he had come to the truth about the ship they had once called Geronimo all on his own, albeit with the able assistance of Alan Turing.

Telling O’Connor the truth would be like throwing the man in ice water just now, but he would have to know, just as Kinlan had to know. The future would have to meet the past here, shake hands to reach a mutual understanding somehow, and it was up to him to make that so. But how? How could he wade in gently, and slowly lead this man to the truth?