“As you wish, sir,” came Solokov’s dull voice—right out of his sullen, dull head, thought Karpov.
If I do mount an operation, and leave this time by one means or another, will I ever get back? Thinking I can impose my will on time is one thing, but in Tunguska, I really have no way of controlling the displacement that occurs. At least that stairway seemed to be more predictable. But what if it does work again? Then let me assume that Kirov does appear here on July 28th. What then? Will that other Karpov do everything I did before? That is not possible. The British are thick as thieves with Volsky and Fedorov now, so the damn Royal Navy would not be hounding us at all. That world we came to no longer exists. If the ship does return, then it will be to some other world, and not this one.
One question tumbled after another in his mind now, and behind them all was that thrum of fear. What if they do arrive here? What if there is only this one world, and no others? I’m supposed to be right there on that ship, and yet here I am at Ilanskiy. And what if that ship stays put this time, and never leaves? If I go up those stairs, I might escape this little Paradox, but then I might be trapped in any future time I reach, and prevented from returning to this place because I am already here! If I use Tunguska and try to find another storm, who knows where I will end up this time? I might find myself back in the past again, with all of this to live over. This is madness!
Pacing sometimes helped, a way to burn off the fight or flight reflex, and make the looming potential energy in his mind kinetic. Yet the notion that he was being tried and judged still harried him, and he knew it was more than the old pangs of guilt that once shadowed his every thought.
I did what was necessary, he thought stubbornly. The Americans had every round I fired coming, every missile, every warhead—yes, even the special warheads I was forced to use when they persisted.
They were behind the misery that had befallen the Russian Republic he grew up in, slowly engineering the fall of the Soviet Union with careful subterfuge, clandestine intelligence operations, deception, economic bullying, and sometimes even military threats. They lined up their armored cavalry and heavy tank divisions in Europe for decades, until the real center of gravity in the world centered on the whirlwind of the Middle East.
Both Russia and the United States courted client states there, arming them, and then watching them quarrel with one another, until the desert sands became a proving ground for the weapon systems each side so willingly supplied to tyrants and sheiks of the wayward, oil drenched sands.
When they wanted something, the Americans just took it, thought Karpov. Saddam took Kuwait, then the United States took it back, and all of Iraq for good measure, until they found out what a hornet’s nest the whole place was. After ten years of fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, they eventually pulled out, and then ISIS swept in like a bad squall at the edge of the so called “Arab Spring,” and undid nine years, and nine hundred billion dollars worth of nation building in Iraq, in only 90 days.
The Democrats wanted nothing more to do with the wars the Republicans left them. Instead they pursued their agenda by other means, smiling diplomacy and economic incentives offered to Ukraine, until the Prime Minister they put in place there balked and got too cozy with Putin. They worked to quickly remove the man, and shepherd Ukraine into the NATO camp, but Putin would have none of that. He took back the Crimea, armed and supported Russian Separatists, and within months there was all out war in the Donbass, one of the Soviet Union’s old industrial heartlands, as essential to Russia’s sphere of influence as the old industrial middle states of America had once been—before they came to be called the “Rust Belt.” Karpov admired Putin in many ways. He was a man who also did what was necessary, and when he saw what was rightfully his, he simply took it.
Once I struggled to be a man of that ilk, he thought. Once I had to wring my hands and agonize over whether I should try to take a single ship, but no longer. What I need to do now is unmistakably clear, and it must begin by eliminating Ivan Volkov from the pages of this badly re-written history. Ivan Volkov—the prophet—Ivan the Terrible. Yet now you meet your match, and then some—Vladimir Karpov, Vlad the Impaler, Vlad the Destroyer—and you will be my first order of business.
But soon there is this little matter of Paradox I have been contemplating. I have two means of avoiding it, yet I don’t like the idea of turning tail and running now. What if I do nothing, and simply stand my ground here? After all, I fought for it. I earned the power I now hold, and I am a real force in this world, much unlike the witless Captain I was when kibitzing on the ship with Volsky and Fedorov.
It was all I could do back then to muster the courage to try and take the ship, and I needed Orlov for that. I could not do it on my own. No! I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay exactly where I am, and stare time right in the eye come July 28th. I am Vladimir Karpov! We will see who blinks first, and who she chooses to cede the hours and days that follow in this world. Time is no fool. That other Karpov, the man I once was, did not have an ounce of the iron that now runs in my veins. If any man could rightfully call himself Stalin, the man of steel, it would be me.
So time must choose. My actions here have made my case well enough. Without my opposition, it is very likely that Ivan Volkov could help Germany to an early victory in this war. Time must certainly know that. What can that other Karpov do but quibble with Volsky?
He felt a quiet tremor in his hand, unwilling to interpret it as jangled nerves or anxious fear. Instead he clenched his fist to chase it away, a determination forming in him now. Yes, time would soon have to make a very important choice…. Very important indeed. And yet, like so much of Fedorov’s muse on all of these issues, he was wrong.
Karpov’s own sense of self-importance had gone to his head like too much vodka. He was not indispensible, for time had used and discarded so many others before him, men who call themselves great and believed they would live forever. They had their moment, and died, like all things must, and they were now all in their graves. The deserts were littered with the ruins of their achievements, and graven images sat weathered by wind and sun, now mocking testimony to their hubris and arrogance.
So as Mother Time sat listening to him, watching him, waiting for her hour of vengeance, the thought that Karpov was too essential, too important to all that was now transpiring never entered her head. Yet, not even Time was all powerful, and something had happened, born of Karpov’s inner weakness, not his strength, that would now change everything. Harried and fearful, he had moved from his headquarters at Ilanskiy to the Admiral’s stateroom aboard Tunguska, and that small decision was going to count more in the equation of his fate than all his devious planning would ever know.
Chapter 17
In spite of his inner bravado, that bothersome feeling of anxiety would just not leave Karpov. It was more than the inevitable security threat now that he had joined in open war with Orenburg. Even though he had captured Volkov’s number one security man, he was under no illusions about Kymchek at this stage, and he knew the man had labored for years to build a network of spies and agents that was still a serious threat.
He was pleased to hear the knock on his stateroom door at precisely the correct time for the day’s intelligence briefing. Tyrenkov was very punctual, and a moment later he stood before Karpov’s desk, handing him a plain manila envelope.
“How is our new recruit? Are you watching Kymchek closely? You and I know quite well that he would never have turned so easily. Yet we must be discreet here, and give this dog the leash to see where he might end up sticking his nose. Perhaps he will dig up a bone or two.”
“Of course,” said Tyrenkov. “Yet that uniform you have given him will open quite a few doors.”
“You will arrange a nice little honor guard for our newest general. Yes? Just make certain there is one door he never opens, and you know of what I speak.”
Tyrenkov certainly knew of that door, though he had only seen it in another time. Even as the
y spoke, he could hear the carpenters and engineers framing out the new door and surrounding the nearby hearth with paneling to restore the dining room. In time that door would be right there again, as would the stairway it would lead to, though all fresh and new. Would it work as it did before?
“It will not be long now, Tyrenkov,” said Karpov, changing the subject. “Kirov has moved five more rifle divisions to join us on the upper Volga, and he has also promised tanks and engineers for the crossing operation.”
“Will it be enough sir? Volkov has all of his first and second armies watching that sector.”
“Which means those two armies cannot be further south. What we must do now is put in a credible attack, and see if we can pull in his reserves there. Then we will see how long he can hold his position on the Ob River line.”
“The information Kymchek has given us this far checks out well enough,” said Tyrenkov.
“Of course it does. Do you think he would be stupid enough to feed us misinformation at this stage? He knows your organization would expose his lies easily enough. No. He will be much more subtle. He is a very clever man.”
“Indeed,” said Tyrenkov.
Karpov opened the envelope Tyrenkov had delivered for the morning intelligence briefing, taking out a stack of photographs.
“Where did you get these?” said Karpov.
“Our Cairo operation. We’ve been monitoring British reinforcements arriving through the Suez Canal. They just received a big shipment of tanks, yet as far as I know, none of these vehicles were in that convoy. These photos were taken some weeks earlier, when the British moved troops from Egypt to Lebanon to support their Operation Scimitar. They were so heavy that they had to move by rail.”
Karpov took up his magnifying glass, leaning in to have a closer look, his eyes narrowing. “Astounding,” he breathed. “This is not possible. These could not have been built by the British. Look at their size! See that man there for scale? Why, it must be at least 30 feet long!”
“Yes sir. That is twice the size of their main heavy Matilda tanks, and is even ten feet longer than the Soviet KV tanks. They have taken great pains to camouflage it, but if you look closely, you will see the main gun is pointing backwards for easier transport. If rotated forward this tank would be 45 feet from the tip of that gun to the rear.”
“So this is what has been causing all the trouble for the Germans in the Middle East,” said Karpov. “It is very much like modern tank designs from my day.”
“Our engineers estimate that it must weigh at least 60 tons.”
“Where was it developed?” asked Karpov quickly.
“We don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What is wrong with your operational teams in the United Kingdom? It had to be shipped out of a British port.”
“That’s the problem, sir. We have not been able to identify any production facility in the United Kingdom, so now we are looking overseas—possibly in India.”
“That is preposterous.”
“Yet that is the only place outside England where they might have been built. Our thinking is that they were then transported in through Sudan. There aren’t many eyes there, and it would be a clever way to sneak them into Egypt.”
Karpov nodded his head. “So now we see how the British were able to stop a full German Panzer Division in Northern Lebanon. I didn’t believe the reports at first. When news came of the Turkish capitulation, I thought the Germans would kick the British out of Egypt within months. How in the world did they pull this rabbit out of their hat? This is an important development, Tyrenkov. Get me all the information you can on this new British tank.”
Being a navy man, Karpov did not immediately recognize the British tank as a Challenger II. The photograph was taken in low light, very grainy, and hastily shot, as the agent was obviously at great risk.
“That is what will eventually win this ground war,” said Karpov. “Tanks! It is the one area in which we lag well behind the other powers. There is too little industry here in Siberia, and we will have to rely on cooperation and handouts from Sergei Kirov. My god, we strained to simply build these airships, and there is no way we will ever have any tank production here of any consequence unless Kirov builds them. Do you know we built entire new cities in the Siberian Urals? There was a massive armaments plant called Uralmash at Yekaterinburg, but it has not been built in this world. We must consider rooting better production facilities there.”
“Perhaps you should bring this up with Sergei Kirov at your upcoming meeting,” Tyrenkov suggested.
“Don’t worry. Kirov will soon be packing up his factory equipment and shipping it all east. Over 1500 factories were evacuated in Soviet Russia and moved here. For the moment, we will just have to make do with the manpower resources we have. But rifle divisions will only take us so far. Volkov is building tanks in Orenburg, and he still controls Chelyabinsk, Magnitogorsk, and Omsk, which were all places where the Soviet factories were relocated. We control Yekaterinburg, and so we must keep it well defended. I predict that place will again become a major armaments production center, as in the history I know, and in exchange for welcoming Sergei Kirov’s factory workers and equipment there, we will get our fair share of tanks. Yet that is a year or more off, and much will happen in that time. What is the situation on the German front?”
“They have crossed the border in force. The Soviet air force was smashed at the outset, and the Germans are making rapid progress. Yet much of that is because Kirov has ordered his troops to fall back—especially his armored and mechanized divisions.”
“He is no fool, Tyrenkov. Remember, that man knew about the stairway at Ilanskiy. Who knows how many times he went up those stairs? If he did so, and it took him to these years, then he would have seen much of what was happening in the war. So it will be no surprise to me if the Soviets try to avoid the major encirclements and massive losses they suffered in the summer and fall of 1941. If Kirov is crafty, he will trade space for time, husband his armor, and build strong defenses on the Dnieper. That will be the major obstacle to stop the Germans this year.”
“At the moment, the Soviets appear to be falling back on Minsk.”
“Yes, but they will not save that city, and if they attempt to do so they will lose 600,000 men in the Minsk pocket. Did you send that message packet I prepared to Kirov?”
“Yes sir. The information was delivered securely, and with no problems.”
“Good. Then Kirov will know what happens at Minsk. He will be much better off screening Moscow and holding at Smolensk, or forward of that position if he can. And he must hold Kiev as long as possible, and all the line of the lower Dnieper. As for us, we must do all we can to deal with the significant threat posed by Volkov. That man will have just enough force to tie down hundreds of thousands of Soviet troops on the Volga. How is the planning going for Autumn Wind?”
“We have most of the Tartar and Cossack Cavalry Divisions moving through Perm now,” said Tyrenkov. “The first six rifle divisions will deploy through there soon, and ten more will follow. Soviet buildup on the upper Volga has been slow, so we cannot yet assign a firm jump off date for the offensive.”
“And Volkov?”
“As you predicted, sir, the Ob River offensive has been cancelled. In fact, Volkov has pulled his mechanized divisions out, and he is moving them west to the Volga front.”
“Of course,” said Karpov. “He will leave five or ten rifle divisions on the line, and a strong reserve at Omsk, but I have every intention of taking that city back as soon as possible.”
“Yet we have only eight divisions on that front,” said Tyrenkov.
“That will change,” said Karpov. “We will raise ten divisions every month and, by autumn, we will be ready to launch a major offensive on the Ob simultaneous with the Autumn Wind operation on the Volga. 1941 will all be about buildup and re-rooting the Soviet industrial capacity. The Germans will soon overrun two thirds of the existing Soviet coal mines. Luckily we have
resources in abundance here, and soon Sergei Kirov will be sending us the engineers, skilled labor, and all the machinery we need to make good use of those resources. On that note, tell Bogrov to get the ship ready for a long haul operation.”
“Sir? We are leaving Ilanskiy now?”
“Don’t worry, Tyrenkov. I think Volkov learned his lesson with that last little disaster he planned here. I have told Kolchak that I will need both Irkutsk and Novosibirsk to stand by here in my absence. He can have them back after Baikal is delivered to the fleet next month. In the meantime, I am taking Tunguska to Moscow to meet with Sergei Kirov and discuss these matters. We need to get our piece of the pie. I will show Kirov that he simply has no hope of winning this war without us, and extract considerable concessions.”
“What about the Japanese, sir?” said Tyrenkov. “Kolchak is always droning on about the Japanese.”
“They will not pose a serious threat until later this year. I wonder if they will attack Hawaii as planned?”
“Hawaii?” Tyrenkov seemed surprised. “We know they are rehearsing some big naval operation, but the target has not yet been determined. Several of my operatives believe it may be Singapore or Manila.”
“Oh, it will be both,” said Karpov with a smile, “and more. In my history, the Japanese attacked the big American naval base at Pearl Harbor on December 7th, of this year. That kicked off their major campaign into southeast Asia. They already have significant holdings in China and Primorskiy, so I see no reason for them to try and push further into our territory. No. I think the Strike South camp will now win by default in Japan. They will push all the way to the Solomons, and possibly farther, and come very close to destroying the American Pacific Fleet in doing so. Don’t forget, Tyrenkov. I know every plan, every battle, and every mistake they will make. Kolchak has nothing to worry about for the time being.”
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