Ironfall

Chapter 34

The great ship eased around the headland of Cape Agustin, Mindanao, and into the deep sanctuary of Davao Gulf. Battleship Yamato was always an awesome spectacle on the sea, it sheer mass conveying power, and equal grace in the smooth lines of its clipper bow and hull. It was accompanied that day by a pair of heavy cruisers, one light carrier for air cover, and a flock of destroyers.

The battleship was carrying the Admiral of the fleet, Isoroku Yamamoto, who had canceled his planned tour of bases in the Solomons at the urging of Captain Harada, and instead traveled by sea to this place for a most secret and fateful rendezvous. That was a decision that had saved the Admiral’s own life, for the Americans had gotten wind of his planned itinerary, and they were going to send long range fighters out to look for him, and end his life. So now Yamamoto was a Zombie, the walking dead, and living a life he had never been meant to experience. Soon it would be his turn to stare in awe, for his forward air reconnaissance soon reported ships ahead, a full task force, and with two carriers.

That alone was surprising enough, for Yamamoto knew the locations and missions of every carrier in his fleet. They were the vital backbone of the navy, in spite of the power of his battleship, and he knew the fate of the Japanese Empire as it now existed rested on the integrity of those flight decks. And suddenly, unaccountably, here were two more!

This Captain Harada had called and reported the loss of his destroyer, Takami, but he nonetheless urged me to come to this place, thought Yamamoto. He stepped out onto the broad weather deck off the bridge of Yamato, to raise his field glasses and see for himself. There they were, unmistakably carriers, and around them was a small group of what appeared to be light cruiser escorts.

He was reminded of the old Zen proverb of a farmer’s only plow horse which ran off one day. The neighbor lamented the loss with him, for how would he ever sew and harvest his crop, but the farmer was steadfast. “Who knows what is good or bad,” he said quietly.

The simple wisdom of that statement was proved a few days later, when the horse returned from a foray in the wild, but with two others it met along the way! Again the neighbor came to rejoice with the farmer, telling him that his great good fortune would now allow him to complete his work three times faster. But he received the same reply: “Who knows what is good or bad.”

There is no end to that proverb. The farmer’s son breaks a leg trying to tame one of the new wild horses, but who knows what is good or bad, for the next day, when war came to the province, all the able bodied young men were rounded up—except that of the farmer…. And on and on it went.

So, thought Yamamoto, what have I here? Two fresh horses come from some far off wild place, and all those other ships look very much like the one this Captain Harada brought to me last year. How very strange. He would soon learn all that had happened. The meeting would be held aboard Yamato, for Admiral Kita was every bit as eager to see that ship up close as Yamamoto was to visit those two new carriers.

The experience the Admiral had with Harada and Fukada made all these impossible things easier for him to grasp. How this had happened would never be known, but he would accept the verdict of his own eyes. There, just beyond that headland and into the deep blue bay, was a harbor full of miracles. The ships were sitting at anchor and flying the flag of Japan, warriors from another time, returning to fight for the Empire.

After introductions, Admiral Kita, with Captain Harada and Lieutenant Fukada, were sitting at the table in Yamamoto’s stateroom aboard Yamato. Kita had offered a deep bow when he first laid eyes on the legendary Admiral, for there was the living history of the fleet, the most significant officer to serve Japan since the great Admiral Togo. Then these strange men from another time told their story, while Yamamoto listened quietly, struggling to believe in spite of his own eyes.

“The question now is how we should proceed,” said Admiral Kita. “My Captain Harada here has told me he pledged the service of his ship and crew to fight for Japan. They were here, impossibly here like I now find myself, and like them, we have no way of knowing if we will ever be able to return to our own time. So we put the same question to our own Captains and crew, and the answer was that we would stand and fight for Japan, in any time, any era of our nation’s history. So my little fleet is at your service, Admiral, and it is a most capable force.”

“Tell me. What are these ships I have seen? Are they the same as that of Captain Harada?”

“For the most part, Kita gestured to the nearest porthole, and the admiral followed. “That ship is the Atago, a vessel in the same class as Takami, those others are Kongo and Kirishima, capable destroyers, and with systems and weapons much like those of Atago. There is Omi, our replenishment ship, guarded by the helicopter destroyer Kurama, and that is yet another destroyer, Takao, sitting off the bow of the carrier Kaga, my flagship. The other carrier is the Akagi. All these names are familiar to you, for these ships were all named after their historical counterparts, now under your command.”

“Yet I see only two planes on the decks of each carrier. I assume you have others?” Yamamoto, always the pragmatist, came right to the point. A carrier had no more power than the planes it brought to sea. These ships seemed the same size as his own fleet carriers. His Kaga displaced over 38,000 tons, with a length of 247 meters. Admiral Kita’s ship was actually two feet longer, but not as heavy, displacing only 27,000 tons.

“At the moment, Kaga has seven fighters and an equal number of helicopters. Akagi has five more fighters, and six helicopters.”

“Twenty-five aircraft, and only twelve fighters? Then you have no strike aircraft?”

Admiral Kita smiled, giving Harada a sidelong glance. “These fighters are a good deal more capable than planes of this era,” he said calmly.

“May I sir?” asked Fukada, and the Admiral nodded.

“Admiral Yamamoto, sir,” Fukada bowed slightly, “The planes we carry are dual purpose fighter bombers, capable of serving in both roles. As a fighter, we can provide CAP coverage out to 250 miles, and see any approaching enemy plane within that envelope—unfailingly. Each plane is equipped with highly advanced sensors and radar, and so there is no question of our ever failing to detect an inbound aircraft. Each of our planes can then carry up to eight missiles similar to those we demonstrated to you here when we first met. That means that each of these twelve fighters can destroy eight enemy aircraft, again without fail, or a total of 96 enemy planes. That is, in effect, the entire compliment of an American Essex Class carrier. Our planes can kill from an extremely long range, and furthermore, they will be entirely invisible to the American radar.”

“Invisible? How is this possible?”

“The structure and shape of these aircraft is quite unusual, and you will see when we tour the modern carrier Kaga. It is a combination of that shape, and the special materials used in the construction of the plane, but I can assure you, they cannot be seen on radar of this era. We call this technology, ‘stealth.’”

“Indeed,” said Yamamoto, raising an eyebrow, and obviously surprised. “How do they perform in the strike role?”

“In much the same way, only we can extend our strike range with certain loadouts out to 470 nautical miles. At slightly shorter ranges, we can put up to six 500 pound bombs on a single plane, or two 1000 pound bombs, and each and every one will strike its target.”

“They do not miss? Ever?”

“That may be possible in modern defended airspace, but not likely here. So our twelve planes could deliver two dozen bombs in the 1000-pound category, or seventy-two 500 pound bombs. I do not have to tell you the kind of damage that will do to enemy carriers and cruisers.”

“Great Buddha,” said Yamamoto. “We might send many squadrons all in the hope of obtaining two or three good hits.”

“Our planes will deliver much more, sir, and after that, they can become fighters, for they also carry missiles in the strike role, though only two to four instead of eight. That said, our Kaga and Akagi could probably find and sing any American task force we face in battle, and the enemy will most likely not even know they are under attack until our bombs actually begin striking their ships. We should take no losses whatsoever.”

“Surely you make close dive bombing attacks to be this accurate. What about enemy flak?”

“No sir, these are not dive bombers, nor are they torpedo planes. These are high altitude strike fighters. In some loadouts, we can deliver our ordnance from altitudes of 50,000 feet.”

“What? That is well above our highest flying fighters.”

“It is, sir. Other loadouts require us to release weapons at about 36,000 feet, but that is still 4000 feet above the service ceiling of the American F4F-Wildcat, which is why the enemy will most likely never see us coming.”

“But how could you possibly hit anything if you release your bombs at such altitudes.”

“These weapons have sophisticated guidance capabilities. Our planes can vector them right into the targets. With some ordnance, we release as far away as sixty nautical miles, but can still hit the targets we aim for, almost without fail.”

“Astounding.” Yamamoto was deeply impressed. “If this is all true, then we can do exactly what you boasted earlier, and destroy an entire American carrier task force, and with only twelve planes. I cannot imagine what war must be like in your time—truly frightening. How does any sea Captain hope to ever prevail when he sets sail against such aircraft?”

“Because we sail in task forces like this one,” said Admiral Kita. “Each of our destroyers carries missiles. Atago, for example, like Takami, carries 96 missiles, and 84 of those could shoot down an incoming enemy plane. You can multiply that, roughly, by the number of destroyers you see out there, though some carry fewer missiles. And we have reloads aboard our replenishment ship Omi, which we also use as a fleet oiler.”

“But a good offense is our best defense,” said Captain Harada. “Our carriers, even with the few planes we now have, can get to the enemy before they ever know we are close, and destroy their carriers. Our destroyers may not ever need to use their missile compliment.”

“Suppose you encounter an enemy surface action group—with many cruisers or perhaps even a battleship.”

“Our planes would see them long before they could approach us, but granting your premise as a hypothetical, each of our destroyers carries up to eight larger missiles that target ships, and again, what we target, we hit, and without fail.”

“Yet you fought the Siberian ship, and where is your destroyer now, Captain Harada?”

“That was most unfortunate. However, my ship was not sunk by the enemy you call Mizuchi. It was hit by another Siberian vessel operating in these waters—a submarine.”

“I was not aware of this.”

“Neither were we, sir, and that was a surprise that was, in part, the reason I lost Takami.”

“So you are vulnerable to enemy submarines.” Yamamoto was covering all bases. “The Americans have many.”

“That is where our helicopters come in,” said Admiral Kita. “They can find and kill submarines of this era easily enough. In our time, a submarine is also quite stealthy. They carry missiles and torpedoes—a much more dangerous adversary.”

“Rocket weapons? On a submarine? I assume they must be on the surface to use those.”

“No sir, they can be fired while submerged, which is a reason why this enemy sub is so dangerous. We must maintain an almost constant anti-submarine patrol with our helicopters to keep watch for it, and also use highly advanced sonar, but it is very stealthy. We have only so much aviation fuel aboard, so it is obvious that we can function much better as a part of the navy you now command. In exchange for our service, we may need fuel.”

“Of course,” said Yamamoto, still dizzy with the capabilities these men were describing. Two ships, twelve planes, and he could break the American fleet and effectively win this war. Would the United States sue for peace if that happened, or would they persist, building more carriers like they have already done?

“How many times could you strike and kill an enemy carrier task force? I assume your magazines are not limitless.”

“Yes, we have limited stores of these weapons, but certainly enough to win this war,” Kita explained.

“But the Americans are a most persistent enemy. What if they will not accept a peace offer. I saw a terrible end in the library aboard your ship, Captain Harada. What of that terror weapon the Americans unleash upon Japan?”

“That will never happen,” said Fukada. “Even if the Americans do build their atomic weapons, they must get close enough to Japan to deliver it. We can prevent that from ever being the case.”

“And if they should then unleash it on our fleet? Suppose they targeted our base at Truk?”

“Again, we could prevent it.”

“Could you? I read that this weapon was delivered by a single bomber. Can you stand by every potential place they could send such a plane? Suppose they send them by the hundreds, as I also read in that library. How would your planes or missiles know which plane might be carrying their terror weapon?”

“You ask very good questions,” said Fukada, “but may I also point out that if we destroy the American fleet, they will not be able to defeat your navy. The Imperial Japanese Navy will reign supreme in these waters, and your ships and carriers, with our help, can then destroy all the bases they attempt to build for their bombers. We could even revisit Pearl Harbor.”

“We may be getting into too much here,” said Kita. “Suffice it to say, that we believe we can prevail in this war, but only fighting side by side with your own fleet, Admiral Yamamoto. This we are now prepared to do.”

“And the Siberian ship? Their submarine? They will undoubtedly fight on the other side.”

“That is the war we are prepared to fight here. We have already encountered that enemy, and driven him off, but not without cost. We are prepared to do so again.”

Chapter 35

That was the same issue that was now plaguing Volsky and Fedorov. Admiral Kita’s task force was out there somewhere, and how could they proceed with their mission, while leaving it to ravage the American fleet?

“The whole problem is a false one,” said Karpov. “This is all academic. Once we get to 1908, we can reset the entire history of this era. It will be as though none of this has ever happened.”

“That’s what is bothering me,” said Fedorov. “We devised this plan to go to 1908 precisely because all of this did happen. If it doesn’t occur, then we have no reason to go there—ever.”

“More of your fear of paradox,” said Karpov.

“A most justifiable fear,” said Fedorov back quickly. “Look what it did to you. There are two of you now! And what about your brother in all of this?”

“He will be what he will be. The way I look at it, the fact that there are two of us gives us twice the chance of surviving whatever we do in 1908. Hopefully, we will both survive.”

Volsky shook his head, a dazed look on his face. “I found one of you more than…. Sufficient,” he said. “No offense.”

“None taken, Admiral. But what I and trying to convey is this—we all know our personal fates are entwined in all of this business. If I am willing to put my fate on the line here, then you two must do the same—and you as well, Captain Gromyko. Now then, I’ve thought this through. You all have memories in your heads that are clearly not a part of this time line of events. You remember when you used the test reactors in the Primorskiy Engineering Center to move back to the 1940s at Vladivostok?”

“How could I forget that,” said Fedorov. “It led to this entire mess. I stumbled upon the crown jewel of your little empire, the railway inn at Ilanskiy, and that changed everything. I warned Sergei Kirov; he killed Josef Stalin, and Volkov came looking for me all in that same mission. There we have the entire train wreck, and all because of me.”

“You forget the Admiral who authorized you to do this,” said Volsky.

“Yes, and you also forget all I did in 1908 when I found myself there,” Karpov confessed. “But none of that is the point. That mission of yours first delivered you to September of 1942, right there at Vladivostok. From there you took the Trans-Siberian Rail to move west and look for Orlov at Kizlyar. You fought a battle there against the Germans, if I recall. Yes, in late September. Orlov was at Kizlyar on the 30th, because that’s what he put on that letter you found. Then you ran off on your mission to retrieve him. Well now, we didn’t do that this time around, did we? Not at all. In fact, in September of 1942 you and I were scheming on a plan very much like this one, to go back and deal with Sergei Kirov. I called that off, but you persisted, and then eventually failed to develop… what was it? …. Ah, yes, timely cruelty. You could not bring yourself to kill young Mironov.”

“Alright,” said Fedorov. “So what is your point?”

“The two months of September were not on the same time meridian.” He folded his arms, smiling. “You see? Your first mission to try and retrieve Orlov was in September of 42, but this time around your scheme was to get rid of Sergei Kirov—also in September of 1942. It was two different time lines! There’s no other way to explain it.”

“I suppose that must be true,” said Fedorov.

“Yes, but you thought everything would go to hell after September 30, 1942. Remember? You said this world would have no basis to exist after that, the day Orlov wrote that letter that you discovered. That set everything in motion, your mission to fetch him, your visit to Ilanskiy, your chat with Kirov, Volkov, the Orenburg Federation, and then all that I did. That is what built the world and war we’ve been fighting. Well, here we are, smack dab in the middle of 1943, and all still friends.” Karpov gave him a devious smile, then came to his point. “Nothing fell apart, Fedorov. The world did not end, nor did it start disintegrating, and it hasn’t spun off into an interminable loop like you suggested. It’s just blundering its way forward through all these Altered States. It’s a new time line, a new meridian—and guess what. Time has to settle her bets one day or another. We put an end to the old time line when we built this one. So this is all she’s got to work with now. See?”

“You mean to say—”

“Yes, I do. This is it, Fedorov. This is the new Prime Meridian! All that other stuff is dead and gone. Everything in the first loop we made here is nothing more than a fond memory in our heads. I challenge you to find anyone among the rank and file who remembers one lick of it, and there were some very memorable moments.”

“Like when you fired off that nuke in the North Atlantic?” Volsky gave him a recriminating look.

“Exactly!” said Karpov, unphased. “That caused Japan to enter the war early, remember, but not here. We have the old tried and true on this meridian, Pearl Harbor. So the old meridian is gone. This time line is all that matters now.”

“But it can’t be the new prime,” said Fedorov. “It’s a complete dead end. It continues to diverge from the old history, which makes the creation of this ship more and more impossible with each passing day. And yet, this ship must be built for this time line to even exist. It’s maddening!”

“Yes, it is,” said Karpov, “but the mistake you make was believing the world we came from was the prime meridian in the first place….”

He let that hang out there, waiting a moment. “That may have just been our selfish arrogance, but it was probably just ignorance instead. We had no idea that time travel was even possible until the Orel blew up while we were on fleet exercises. We just assumed there was only one meridian of time, but now we know that is not the case. There are many, but this is the way things are now. The altered states we created have become the new prime. Whether that gives rise to the building of this ship or not is irrelevant. Yes, we were first cause for the foundation and building of this new meridian, but where is the big bang, eh? They say that’s what built the whole universe, and it’s over—done and finished. This is the result, and the result is all there is.” He gestured with his hand to the ship and world around them.

“But how could a ship from 2021 be a part of this world?” Fedorov persisted. “We’re here because those other meridians did exist once. At one time, they were all that mattered.”

“Yes,” said Karpov, “but their time has come and gone. So let’s just take my proposition as a starting point. This is the new Prime Meridian, and here we all are trying to reach some unified intention of going back to 1908 and reshuffling the cards. Why? Because we still cling to some notion that this history is wrong. We’re still trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, and make this world look like the one we came from. We’re trying to raise the dead….”

“I need a good stiff drink,” said Gromyko.

“Agreed,” said Volsky, actually getting up and going over to a cabinet on the far wall where he shifted about some books and suddenly produced a hidden bottle of vodka!

“Well,” he said with a smile. “This new Prime Meridian was kind enough to keep my vodka safe and sound, just where I always stashed it. Gromyko, find some glasses.”

“So what do we do here,” said Karpov when they had all finished a few rounds of vodka. “Do we still combine our willpower as we planned. What was the principle Fedorov?”

“Absolute Certainty.”

“Yes. Who knows what that means, but you say if we put our heads together, we’ll get right where we decide to go—back to 1908. Do we persist with this? Do we still try to go and change this new Prime back into something that looks like the old one? Then what? Do we shift back and find everything in this world is suddenly back to normal?” He made opening and closing quotes in the air with his fingers to emphasize the word “normal.”

“Just what is it you two want to accomplish?”

“Well,” said Karpov, “for starters, we thought we’d do what Fedorov failed to do last time and get rid of this Mironov. That puts the Man of Steel back at the helm, and our assumption is that he will deal with Volkov.”

“Can you be sure?” asked Volsky. “Volkov is a very cunning man, and quite determined.”

“Yes, he was quite a pain in the backside when we first met him,” said Karpov. “That’s one thing that hasn’t changed either.”

“Alright,” said Volsky. “Suppose Stalin prevails. That unites the Soviet Union, and since you will not do anything to bother Admiral Togo, the situation here in the Pacific should be back to something we all would recognize from our old Meridian. But isn’t this all speculation? Frankly, I don’t see how we could possibly know what would result from the actions we now contemplate.”

“Correct,” said Karpov. “In fact, we don’t even know if we can get out of there again, and move forward in time. Will power and absolute certainty may get us there, but Time might have no other use for us after that. Hell, she might just get rid of us if we try to shift again. That would be a nice solution.”

“Shift again?” said Fedorov. “We haven’t even discussed how we intend to go back to 1908. Are we going to use this ship? Are we going to use that back stairway at Ilanskiy?”

“Or a good Zeppelin,” said Karpov, smiling. “Yes, there are lots of ways to go. Frankly, I’d prefer to take the ship along. We’d have a good deal more clout that way, if we ever needed it.”

“True, but using that clout is another matter,” said Volsky. “That is what got the world into all this trouble in the first place. Our missiles have a way of …. Unsettling things in the past. They don’t belong there, and taking the ship along could be risky. We’d be taking the whole crew back with us. And what about Gromyko’s boat? If Kirov shifts, doe she come along as well with Kazan ?”

“Good point,” said Gromyko.

“Yes, and in my mind, the more mass we try to move, the more complex and dangerous the operation becomes. You saw what happened last time we tried to move both vessels at the same time.”

“That’s because Rod-25 could not handle all that mass on its own,” said Fedorov. “It moved us, but we could not get all the way home.”

That brought back uncomfortable memories, so they moved on. “Besides,” said Fedorov, “Kazan has its own control rod now.”

“But how can we be certain they will work in harmony with one another. Ideally, we would all want to arrive in the past at the same time, but, as we have seen, when two vessels move, they can reach very different times.”

“Yes,” said Fedorov. “It could also be dangerous. We could experience… anomalies.”

“Anomalies?” Karpov gave him a sour face.

“That’s a real possibility,” said Volsky. “This old head of mine still has memories of that last shift we made. We emerged in a region of eerie fog. The helo could not climb high enough to penetrate it, and the sea was deathly calm, a kind of dead zone, the doldrums of infinity. Then people started to go missing—including you, Mister Fedorov. I could feel my number was up, and I had a chat with Mister Rodenko, by way of warning him that he was to take over as acting commander in my absence. The next thing I know that was all a fanciful memory. My point is this—if we do try to use the ship to run this mission, we could just end up in that same borscht.”

“Then Fedorov’s Absolute Certainty proposition would be wrong,” said Karpov.

“Well it might not happen on the initial shift,” Volsky equivocated. “But it’s a real possibility that this would become a one-way trip—for us all, and for this ship and crew as well.”

“We’ll get somewhere,” said Karpov. “This isn’t magic. We’ve determined that Rod-25’s effects are physical, and in 1908, it should be at the height of its powers, because we’ll be very close to the Tunguska event. So we’ll get somewhere, mark my words, but I can also guarantee one more thing: if we do make a return shift, we’ll land in a completely new meridian of time, not this one. This world will be dead, over, kaput. Understand? So forget any notion that we’ll be fixing this meridian, or restoring it to what it once was. We’ll simply be destroying it, annihilating it completely, and then we will be building an entirely new meridian that logically arises from the action we take. If we do shift again, that’s where we will appear, and from there, the rest is done with mirrors.”

There was silence all around.

Where would they end up if they went to 1908, did all that they planned, and then initiated a shift again? That question had many possible answers, and they all seemed to rest on the choice of how they would attempt to go there.

“I still say the ship gives us power if we should ever need it. On the other hand, the back stairway at Ilanskiy has been quite reliable—old faithful. It always seems to reach that moment of the Tunguska event when we go down the steps from this time.”

“Yet coming back could incur the same risk the Admiral pointed out,” said Fedorov. “Don’t forget Orlov. He was right in front of me on those stairs, and then he simply vanished.”

“Ah, yes, Mister Orlov. He’s the man who jumped ship in the first looping of these events, and that set everything in motion. And now it seems he’s found a way to jump ship again! I wonder where he ended up? Was it in the future? Might he have shifted months or years ahead of the rest of your team? Or did he slip back further in time?”

“My guess is that he went forward,” said Fedorov. “No shift of any kind has ever reached a point earlier than July of 1908.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Fedorov is to be forgiven for not knowing anything at all about the Duke of Elvington, or his rival Fortier.

“He’ll probably just appear on the upper landing one day down the road. Who knows, maybe he’ll appear in 1944.”

“Not if we do what we’re planning,” said Karpov. “Remember, this meridian gets destroyed if we tamper with things in 1908, so our good Mister Orlov will have no place to come home to. Perhaps he’ll be in that borscht that the Admiral mentioned. Frankly, he might be better off there than he would be blundering about on the new Meridian we create in any case. Orlov is a bit of a bull in a china closet.”

That he was….

Chapter 36

Orlov sneezed, his nose getting too much of a whiff of all that dust and soot in the darkness of that back stairway. Orlov sneezed, a reflex, an impulse, and his hand moved to his nose, as anyone’s might. In that fleeting instant, he lost contact with the man ahead of him on the stairs, and then it became very cold.

In that same awful moment, Orlov suddenly realized that he could no longer feel Fedorov’s hand on his own shoulder. He passed a moment of sickly uncertainty, as if he was suspended in mid-air. It immediately produced a feeling of great anxiety, and a sensation that he was falling. For some reason, he suddenly felt feather light, completely free, his being unfettered from the grip of gravity itself. He had not felt this way since that terrible moment when he had leapt from the helicopter over the Mediterranean, off the coast of Spain. Yes, he still had that memory in the back of his head, and he could follow the path it led him down, through the bars and brothels, onto the backs of old rusty ships, into the stony tunnels beneath the Rock of Gibraltar.

He had been interrogated, then put on a steamer heading for the Black Sea. There he was transferred to a trawler, operated by the NKVD, and he found that his knowledge of future events, all stored neatly in his computer jacket, gave him a most interesting peek at the events he was living out at that moment.

Eventually, he found the way to his Grandmother’s home in the Caucasus, but found that she, as a much younger woman, had already been hauled away by Beria’s men. A name came to him, that of a certain Commissar—Molla. He was the man responsible for his grandmother’s fate, and Orlov was determined to deal with him. He would still grin, inwardly, as he recalled the look on Molla’s face as he choked the breath and life out of the man. After that, in the midst of the battle on the Caspian coast, there was Zykov.

They had come back for him.

Fedorov had hatched the plan, always scheming, even as he always worried over everything they were doing in the past. But that world was long gone. It was as if it had never happened, for there were other memories in Orlov’s head, of Zeppelins and wild rides in sub-cloud cars—or bone numbing sound so deep that it reached inside you and pulled at every instinct in your body, with throbbing fear. There were raids, on this very place, Ilanskiy, and Orlov was a part of one. Then Fedorov had tapped him for this mission as well, another Zeppelin ride that ended up in a time none of them ever expected to reach aboard the Irkutsk.

When that happened, Orlov thought a long time about the great devastation he had seen from the Irkutsk. He sat there, in awe, staring at the Tunguska Event. Fedorov had wanted to go to 1908, and they he suddenly was. They found the man he went there to look for, just as Orlov finally found Commissar Molla, and there had been some ruckus in the dining hall between the two of them—Fedorov and Mironov. Then, they were simply ordered to gather up all their gear and get in a line to file up that back stairway. What in the world was that all about?

They filed in, one my one, and each man with his hand firmly on the shoulder of the man in front of him. Fedorov was right behind him, so close that he could hear him breathing. The sound of the heavy booted Marines was loud in the dark and narrow passage.

Then Orlov sneezed.

The dizzy sensation of falling subsided, and he could feel weight and substance returning to his heavy frame; feel his feet solidly planted on the wooden step. He had been in a strange fog, but it was dark again, the murky, dusty stillness now so thick that he felt he could not breathe. He groped forward for the man in front of him, feeling nothing.

Sookin Sim! Where’s that Marine gone? Then he realized there was no one behind him either. Fedorov was gone as well. He stood there, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Then he spoke.

“Fedorov? Son of a bitch…. Fedorov? Skatina, where have you run off to?” The other men must have gone on up the stairs, but where was Fedorov? He turned, peering into the inky darkness, and then went back the way he had come.

“If we do this,” said Volsky. “If we go back, by any means, then when will we arrive there?” He looked at Fedorov, as he had always been the one to sort these things out.

Fedorov cast a glance at Karpov, then spoke. “I’m going to assume that 1908 puts us back on the old Prime Meridian, because we think Tunguska was the source of all this time fracturing. That happened the morning of June 30, 1908. I was there that morning, via the back stairway at Ilanskiy. So I can’t get to that time because co-location is impossible.”

“So we once thought,” said Karpov, thinking of his brother self.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Fedorov. “But weren’t you…. elsewhere on Paradox Hour?”

“On my Zeppelin, again named Tunguska. How’s that for irony.”

“Alright… So I don’t think we could reach June 30th, but I was only there for a brief time. It might be possible, but it would also be extremely dangerous, because I was also there the following morning, July 1st. That was when I arrived using the Irkutsk on the mission to get Mironov.”

“Yes, and that was very strange that you could go there simply by overflying the site of the event in 1942.”

“The rift was obviously in play,” said Fedorov. “I might never be able to replicate that shift if I tried it again, but it happened. Call it fate, call it Absolute Certainty because of my earnest desire to get there—but there I was.”

“And I was blown back to 1908 aboard the ship after one of my little indiscretions,” said Karpov.

“Yes,” said Volsky. “Blowing the Americans to hell with a nuke.”

“I’ll have to admit, it did feel good.” Karpov was only half jesting with his smile. “In any case, I was there from the 10th of July through the 26th, having a good deal of success until you spoiled the party. I realize now that is what set Japan loose early, and why we lost all of Primorskiy Province, but that is…. History, at least from where we stand now. Those dates are out for me.”

“Then that leaves the period of July 2 through the 10th when you first arrived there,” said Fedorov. “That’s a very narrow window for you, and for me it would extend to July 17 when I went back on the Anatoly Alexandrov. I was there through the 19th trying to persuade you to come home peacefully.” He looked at Karpov.

“That’s not much time for me if we get to July 2nd. We could try, but as we approached the 10th, I’d have to make an exit.”

“But the earlier we get there, the better,” said Fedorov. “Mironov will be long gone if we wait until after July 26th to avoid these paradoxes.”

“This may sound stupid,” said Gromyko, “but do we get to pick the time we might appear there?”

“A very good point,” said Volsky. “In fact, isn’t this all up to Mother Time? We can’t assume we’ll get to any specific date.”

“To avoid Paradox, Time would have to make the same deliberations we are now engaged in,” said Fedorov. “So considering our combined intention as Prime Movers, we might just get the best seats in the theater available, and arrive on July 2nd. Time would know that our chances of success would be very low if we had to arrive after the 26th. Mironov could be hundreds of miles away from Ilanskiy if we take that route.”

“Which is, I think, the way we must go,” said Volsky. “Taking the ship gives us power, but it also becomes very complicated. We would then have to fly by helicopter to Ilanskiy to find this Mironov, and so we would have to take the ship north of Sakhalin Island to get as close as possible. Even then, it is 2500 kilometers to Ilanskiy from there.”

“But those helos at least give us mobility,” said Karpov.

“Until the aviation fuel runs out, which it will on a flight of that length,” said Volsky. No, Mister Karpov, I think the back stairway is our only choice here.”

“Agreed,” said Fedorov. “That puts us right where we need to be, and with the best chance of finding Mironov, or even Volkov. If we take the ship, our chances diminish considerably. We’d lose too much time trying to get to Ilanskiy, and then we’d have to get back before the 10th and get the ship out of there before Karpov’s arrival on that date.”

“Alright,” said Karpov, relenting, though he was inwardly disappointed. He had inner visions of taking the helm again in 1908, and settling affairs, but this mission was going to need cloak and dagger, not the muscle of the battlecruiser.

“Let’s assume you are correct, Fedorov. We go there, and I’ll take care of Mironov this time. Then we do everything possible to find Volkov before he slips away. He can’t get far. Where would he go?”

“East or west,” said Fedorov. There was a train heading east to Irkutsk—Train 94. It was approaching Kansk on June 30th, and they saw the event. That caused quite a stir, and they stopped at some debris on the line, sending men ahead on horseback to see if the rest of the line was clear. With all the commotion the event caused, the Engineer decided to re-coal at Kansk on the 30th and then proceed east, with a brief stop at Ilanskiy at the outset on July 1st. They had to sop there to pick up tourists and passengers that went by carriage to the inn there while the train was re-coaling. I think Mironov gets on that train. Zykov found him 10 klicks east of Ilanskiy on the morning of July 1st, so he was already heading that direction.”

“July 1st?” said Volsky. “Does the train leave that day?”

“This is where it gets complicated,” said Fedorov. “Yes, I think Train 94 probably left Kansk on the 1st of July, though we didn’t see it while we were there. It may have come later that morning, or even in the afternoon, but it had a schedule to keep, so I doubt if they lingered at Kansk long. They were heading for Irkutsk, a journey of 500 miles.”

“They might get there in one day,” said Karpov.”

“I doubt it. They probably stopped many times along the route, but they would certainly get there in 48 hours, unless something happened we don’t know about.”

“Then why not go to Irkutsk and wait for this Mironov at the rail station there?” Karpov was angling for something again. “We obviously can’t catch the train leaving Ilanskiy, because the earliest we can get there is July 2nd. We’ll be a day late, and Mironov will be hundreds of miles to the east if he gets on that train July 1st. The only way we could get to Irkutsk ahead of him would be to take the ship to the Yellow Sea, use Rod-25, and then go by helo to Irkutsk. That should cut down the range and fuel burden too.”

“You really want that ship back there,” said Gromyko.

“I’m just being practical,” said Karpov.

“Practical?” Fedorov gave him a wide-eyed look. “The Yellow Sea is a Japanese lake right now. We’d certainly be spotted if we tried to take Kirov there.”

“Well, I’d get you there safely aboard Kazan,” said Gromyko. “But my boat carries no helicopters.”

“Damn complicated,” said Volsky. “We may be determined to go back there, and perhaps time will send us right to July 2nd as you suggest, Mister Fedorov. However, there we will be, with a good chance Sergei Kirov has already gone east on that train. Can you imagine us all trying to find horses and then off we go, chasing a train through Siberia? Me? On a horse?”

The Admiral had made his point.

They all sat there, the Vodka setting in to soften their minds, glum expressions all around. “This Sergei Kirov is one slippery fish,” said Volsky again, using a term Kamenski was fond of. “And he’s carrying all this history we’re trying to reset on his back.”

“What about Volkov?” said Karpov. “That bastard will be on foot when he arrives. He couldn’t get far. We may not be able to get Sergei Kirov, but we would certainly have a good chance of collaring Volkov. He’ll have a service jacket on. We could rig out a device to find and track its signals.”

“What if he has it turned off?” said Gromyko.

“No,” said Karpov. “He’ll be confused. He’ll be wondering where his men are, and using the jacket to try and contact them. We could pick up that signal, home in on it, and get him. That at least solves part of the big problem here. It stops the Orenburg Federation from ever arising. As for Sergei Kirov, Fedorov has grown rather fond of him, and frankly, he’s much better for Russia. If we could at least solve the Volkov problem, that alone would introduce dramatic changes to this altered meridian.”

Fedorov raised an eyebrow at that. Getting Mironov was looking like a very difficult prospect. He had the man right in front of him, and now he was likely to slip away. We had our chance, he thought, and again, I blew that all to hell, though maybe that will be for the best.

“Yes….” He began. “Getting Volkov does do a great deal to fix this mess. It eliminates the Orenburg Federation, and even if Sergei Kirov survives as he did, he at least has a united Russia. In fact, without the strong opposition Volkov organized in the White Movement after Denikin’s demise, Kirov may have also subdued Kolchak, so there goes your Free Siberian State.” He looked at Karpov.

“Easy come, easy go,” said Karpov. “I told you I was willing to let all that pass.”

“Then what do we do here?” asked Volsky. “Is it just Volkov we’re after now?”

“If we can get him at all,” said Karpov, “then this may be our only chance. He’ll slip away just like Sergei Kirov if we don’t act, and take this opportunity while we can.”

“Agreed,” said Fedorov. He had harbored reservations about killing Mironov, and was inwardly wondering if that would wreck their plan to get Absolute Certainty on this mission. But in his mind, Volkov was fair game.

“So then the four of us go blundering down those steps to look for Volkov?” Volsky folded his arms. “I’m not sure how much help I would be in that scenario. You younger men might have an easier time of things, but this old man will be of no use to you.”

“None of us have to go,” said Karpov. “I can send my Man Tyrenkov. He’s already seen Volkov there once, and that was on the very day of his arrival, June 30th. He could get back there, and with no time limit like we have to worry about. Tyrenkov is a very reliable man. With a couple good snipers, he’ll get the bastard. I’m certain of that.”

“Just how certain?” asked Gromyko.

“Absolutely certain….” Karpov smiled. “Then all we have to worry about is Orlov.”

All they had to worry about was Orlov.

The Chief had turned and started back down those stairs, reaching the bottom and groping for the door handle. He pushed it open, the grey light a welcome relief from the stuffy darkness of the stairwell. This was the only way Fedorov could have gone, he thought. He certainly didn’t get past me in the dark.

He pushed the door open, and stepped into the alcove near the fireplace. Easing out into the dining room, he saw it was empty.

“Fedorov?” he called, looking around. “Captain? Are you here?”

Then he heard something, not in the room around him, which was still and quiet, but on his collar microphone. His service jacket was on passive mode, listening, but not broadcasting, and he heard a voice he did not immediately recognize, sounding a rather plaintive call.

“Team Seven, this is team leader. Come in team seven, this is Volkov—over.”

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s ass,” Orlov said aloud.