Paradox Hour

by John Schettler

  “Take us up!” said Volkov sharply. “And call up on the field wire and tell the bridge to climb. Set a course west for Orenburg at once.”

  As to the men he left behind on the ground, they were as far from his thought now as the capitol was. All he could think of was getting safely away from this place, and back to his gilded stateroom in Orenburg. The men he left here would hang on in the woodland. He would see about trying to pull them out later, but first things first.

  I need to get back home and gather the rest of my fleet. Karpov got the best of me here, damn his soul. He was waiting there for me, hidden in that storm like he knew exactly what we were up to. It was as if he had read my entire operational plan right out of a book! Kymchek was correct. Those reports of that crash over the English Channel were a complete ruse, but he should have seen this ambush coming. If he made it to the ground, I hope he remembers what we came here to do—our little fallback plan. We shall see.

  Then the weight of all that had happened that day fell on him, the sudden ambush of the enemy, savaging his Caspian Division. Then that horrific explosion when they turned to engage old Krasny, and his harrowing fall in the escape pod. The sound of Orenburg falling from the sky as a burning wreck still gored him. His jaw was tight, eyes puckered, face set and grim, smudged and soiled with the dirt and mud of this place. His trousers and overcoat were sodden and wet, and he smelled like a peasant.

  But I’m so much more, he thought. I’m Ivan Volkov, and still alive, by god. And I’m going to light this whole front on fire when I get back home. It’s war at long last! The Germans are crossing the Soviet frontier even now. It’s general mobilization, and I’ll call every man who can hold a rifle to the fight, from as far away as Turkmenistan if I have to. This little skirmish here is nothing. It was ill planned, and I won’t be so stupid again.

  You want war, Karpov? I’ll give you one.

  The long cables slowly retracted, pulling Volkov up and up, until the Sergeant below saw the basket reach the hard duralumin under-keel of the airship. It was the last time he would ever see friendly forces again, though he did not know that just then. He blinked, staring up at the hulking shape of Pavlodar, taking heart from the sight of the guns bristling from the gondolas. Then he turned to his men, still waiting near their motor bike barricade.

  “You heard the General Secretary,” he said. “Carry on. Who knows, maybe we’ll get a medal for dying here.”

  Chapter 3

  Karpov was pacing on the bridge, making everyone there more and more edgy as he did so. The Elevatorman and Rudderman were giving him sidelong glances, then watching the Air Commandant to see how he was reacting, but Bogrov stewed in silence. He was still sullen and angry over what Karpov had done, blasting Big Red like that, sending all those men to an agonizing death.

  I thought he was trying to hit the Orenburg, but I could see easily enough that would be impossible. My god, it never entered my mind that he was targeting Big Red all along. That’s why he asked about those fire bombs. He was gambling that he could detonate that wizards brew of his, and do exactly what he did. Wizard’s brew? No. That came straight from hell itself, and this man is a devil if ever there was one. He didn’t hesitate one second. The men on Big Red were just an expedient to him, just a means to that terrible end he had planned for the Orenburg. He gave them no more than a minute or two to escape before firing. Maybe the gunners got out, and the bridge crew, if they had the parachutes handy in the lockers. As for the riggers and bag men, the engineers, top gunners, cargo crews…

  That wasn’t all… Then he had the temerity to strike me, right here in front of the entire bridge crew! Alright, I cursed the man for what he did, and they all heard that as well. But to lay hands on me like that was wrong. He may be Admiral of the Fleet, but I’m Air Commandant, chief of all flying operations. Titles aside, I would have made him pay dearly for that little insult, and I may still find a way. Yes, I’m getting on in years, but I’m still fit, and by god I stand a head taller than that rascal. One day…

  Be careful, another inner voice spoke to him. Don’t judge this man by his size or the cut of his shoulders. He’s a cold hearted beast of a man, this one. He’s dangerous. Yes, I’ve held my tongue for good reason, because with a man like Karpov, you never really know what he might do from one minute to the next. He was willing to take down Big Red like that without a second thought. This man could do anything. He has no remorse, and less concern for the men he killed today. Something tells me he killed a good many more before he ever darkened my bridge with that odd uniform and jacket of his.

  The man is strange. The way he paces, the way he goes off to a corner and whispers to himself, that look in his eye when the ship goes to battle stations. So what is he up to now with this maneuver? We had damn good elevation on those three heavy cruisers, and we had the speed to close on them if he wanted to engage. Then he pulls this turn hard to port, and off we go after that second contact. What’s he up to? Volkov… Karpov thinks he’s down there, and trying to escape. That’s what this was all about from the beginning, wasn’t it?

  Bogrov shook his head, still trying to understand what had been happening these last hours. There we were, sitting right over Ilanskiy, though the place didn’t look right. It was too small! None of the outlying hamlets were there. It looked as though the surrounding woodland had just swallowed them whole! I know this ground like the back of my hand, and there was something very wrong here. That tree line there. Why, two hours ago it was creeping right up on the rail line. Now it’s well back as it should be. And where was the mooring tower at Kansk? Something is very odd here.

  The Admiral has been completely phobic over this place for months now. He’s posting at least two airships here at all times, and keeping a good garrison on the ground as well. The men have been cutting trees for lumber and he’s brought in engineers. What is that demon up to down there? It all has something to do with that damn railway inn, the place where Volkov staged that raid earlier. And here he comes again with damn near half his fleet! We were lucky to come out of that storm as we did, and find ourselves right over those airships. I’ll give Karpov one thing—he can fight. I’ve never seen any man so ruthless and determined in battle. We were badly outnumbered here, and look now—Volkov’s boys are running for any wind they can find.

  Yes, Volkov… That’s what this is all about.

  Karpov is dead set on making sure Volkov goes down with his ship. Who could survive what we saw, but he’s taking no chances. If Volkov was there, then he’s probably lying in a pile of burning wreckage down below, but Karpov is maneuvering about like he’s still in the hunt. He thinks Volkov made it safely to ground, and if he did, the man would be trying to get airborne again as soon as he possibly could. That’s why Karpov pulled north after these cruisers. Now he’s pulled west for that second contact.

  The Signalman came in again, and this time he went directly to Karpov, speaking quietly. Bogrov pretended to be checking his instruments and ballast board, but he was keeping a subtle eye on the two men, wondering.

  “You have the bridge, Bogrov. Get us west over that contact. I will return shortly.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Admiral off the bridge,” said the boatswain.

  Aye, thought Bogrov. The bloody Admiral is off his bloody bridge, most likely off to the radio room for some business or another. Maybe its Kolchak this time. Maybe he wants to know why Karpov needs the entire goddamn fleet out here over this stinking little railway inn, while there’s a major offensive underway out west on the Ob, and we’ve no air cover there. When Karpov had gone, he looked around at the other men, and finally breathed a little easier.

  “As you were,” he said quietly, glad for the opportunity to give an order up here once in a while. He was the goddamn Air Commandant of the entire goddamn fleet! Except when Karpov was here, and Karpov was always here, wasn’t he….

  * * *

  The Signalman had a handle on some odd radio traffic, ship to
ship, and he thought the Admiral would want to listen in. Tunguska had been running west at good speed, and they were very near the contact the Topaz Station had reported, close enough to pick up the short range ship to ship radio sets used for fleet order transmission.

  “It’s two ships, sir,” he told the Admiral, “Pavlodar and Talgar.”

  “Can we break in on this channel?” asked Karpov.

  “I don’t see why not.” The Signalman began to adjust his radio dials, and then handed the handset over to the Admiral.

  “Very well. Dismissed.”

  The man saluted and was out the door, leaving Karpov alone in the radio room. He pressed the send and began to speak, hailing the other ships out there beneath the cloud deck. They were very close, down there somewhere, lurking like submarines, and he had the same odd feeling as he might have aboard Kirov whenever Tasarov reported an undersea contact. All he wanted to do is find the damn thing, and kill it.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “This is Admiral Vladimir Karpov. Welcome to Siberia! My radar crew tells me you’re running west. Not very sporting of you to leave without paying the full bill.” He smiled at that, and waited, knowing that if Volkov was down there the temptation to get on the line with him would be overwhelming. He did not have long to wait.

  “Greetings Admiral.” The voice was unmistakable. “So you’ve found me at last. I thought you had taken the bait and were up north after my cruiser squadron.”

  “Volkov! You son-of–a-bitch! What do you think you’re doing here? Didn’t I teach you not to try and sneak through the back door like this? A pity I had to repeat the lesson.”

  “Yes,” came Volkov’s voice. “A pity for the men on Krasny, and on Orenburg as well. You want to play with fire, Karpov? You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing collecting all that coal dust? Well, let me tell you that two can play at that game. I had my service jacket on when I went down those stairs, and I’ve spent a good long while archiving every bit of information it contained. You hit me again with a thermobaric, and I’ll lay waste to every city on the Ob. Then you can sit up there and watch them burn.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” said Karpov. “You’re in no position to do that or anything else here. If you haven’t noticed, a good number of your airships are missing, are they not?”

  “Missing? Like Yakutsk, Tomsk, Angara, Krasnoyarsk? That’s half your fleet, Karpov. I meant to kill them all, but I’ll admit that while my intelligence is usually spot on, we missed this little maneuver you pulled here just now.”

  “Oh? And did you also miss the fact that half of your fleet is missing as well? I took down six ships here today, including your precious fleet flagship, and put damage on at least three or four others. Now I’d like to finish the job.”

  “Don’t quibble with me,” said Volkov. “Yes, we took our lumps here, but you can’t trade with me. This was only half my fleet, and you damn well know that. I can come back here with twelve more ships any time I choose, and next time there will be no mistakes. I’ll grind what’s left of your air fleet right under my left boot, including that monstrosity you float about in up there.”

  “Your cruiser squadron took one look at us and ran north, Volkov. With men of that caliber at the helm, I have nothing to fear.”

  “Don’t be stupid. They ran north because that is exactly what I ordered them to do.”

  “Yes? Well I wasn’t stupid enough to take your bait, Volkov. I’m sitting up here at 5000 meters watching this lovely storm brewing. Why don’t you come up and we’ll settle this?”

  Volkov laughed now, long and hard over the strained airwaves. “You’d like me to do exactly that, wouldn’t you? No thanks, Karpov. We’ll stay right where we are, and if you have the guts for another fight, then come on down and join me. We’ll lock horns down here, and then I’ll order those three cruisers to come in on top of you and put you out of your misery.”

  Karpov nodded, realizing that was Volkov’s only play now. He had to stay low, and count on the fact that he still had those three cruisers up there to tip the scales in his favor if I drop elevation to engage here. I could call for Abakan to join me soon, but it would probably get here too late.

  He decided to goad the man one last time, but he knew he could not indulge himself here, no matter how badly he wanted to get Volkov in another fight.

  “So you’re running west now, are you? Well don’t wait for Armavir. We took care of that ship as well. And when we finish rounding up the men you left behind on the ground, the interrogations will be very thorough.”

  There was just enough silence on the line for Karpov to realize he had drawn a little blood with that. He let Volkov stew a moment, then pressed on. “As for that little offensive you kicked off on the Ob, you and I both know that will lead you nowhere. Face it, Volkov. It’s 750 kilometers to your lines back west. You’ll never take Ilanskiy militarily—never. I’ll put three divisions here if I have to, and then you can bring every airship you have left, but they still won’t be enough to land anything more than a single brigade. And while you blunder about on the Ob, I’ve been making other plans.”

  “Ha!” There was a challenge in Volkov’s tone now. “Where have you been, Karpov? Yes, you were hiding in that storm up there, but have you listened to the news lately? The Germans are about to cross the frontier into Sergei Kirov’s Soviet Union, or what’s left of it. It’s only a matter of time now. We’ve just been playing with you out here with a couple infantry corps, but now I’m mobilizing my entire army on the Volga. In two months time I’ll raise divisions from Kazakhstan to Turkmenistan, and raise a good deal of hell with them. This business on the Ob isn’t finished either. Once we shake hands with German troops on the Volga, and kick Kirov out of the Caucasus for good, then we come for you, Karpov.”

  “Tough talk,” said Karpov. “You say you’ve archived your service jacket data files? Well why don’t you read a few. Germany lost this damn war. Have you forgotten that?”

  “Not this time,” Volkov came back sharply. “No, not this time. It took every man that I can raise, and all your troops thrown in with Kirov to beat the Germans. You bet on the wrong horse, Karpov, and I’m going to enjoy these next few years as you struggle to raise troops out here. I had a good look at those Siberian Tartars you’re always crowing about. My men brushed them aside easily enough on the road to Kansk. The rest of your lot will get the same treatment.”

  Time for the coup de grace, thought Karpov. Should I tell Volkov where I’ve been in recent days? Should I tell him I had a man staring at him from the upper window of the second floor at Ilanskiy, just hours ago? Hours, minutes, long decades. They were all the same now for Karpov. No matter what Volkov blustered about, the fact remained that he had lost this battle, and I still control Ilanskiy. That was going to make all the difference, and he decided to remind Volkov of that one important fact.

  “Look here, Mister General Secretary. That was a nifty little trick you pulled with that escape pod, and yes, it looks as though you will make good your escape here as well. You and I both know I’m not giving up four thousand meters in elevation to settle this now, as much as I would love to see you leaping from another burning airship. Was the ride down comfortable last time? So, you can run your mouth all you want about the Germans. You think you can push all the right pawns, and king yourself on the back row before this game ends. But don’t forget me, Volkov. I’ll be sitting on the other side of the board now, right at Sergei Kirov’s shoulder. I know the history as well as you do.”

  “Then let the game begin,” came the challenge. “Pawn to King four! You can castle to King side or Queen side. It won’t matter. The Germans will get through, in the south. They drove all the way to the Terek River, and that was with no help from me! So they’ll get through, and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing,” Karpov came back. “You’re forgetting the very reason you tried to pull t
his little maneuver here again—Ilanskiy. I beat you here, Volkov, and decisively, no matter how many airships we traded. I control Ilanskiy, and that’s the end of it. Do you realize what I can do when I complete the reconstruction of that back stairway? Yes, I’ve got all the original plans now.” He let an interval of silence play on the airwaves before he finished, then spoke only one word. “Checkmate!”

  No response came back for some time, and there was static on the line from the storm. Then he heard Volkov’s voice again, a distant crackle on the speaker.

  “See you in hell, Karpov. I’ll see you in hell.”

  “I suppose you will,” said Karpov. “Yes, I’ll be sitting on Lucifer’s throne down there one day, so please come and pay your respects. Karpov out.”

  He switched off the radio set, folding his arms and smiling. Let Volkov think long and hard about Ilanskiy. Let him wonder just what I might do when that stairway is complete again. He hasn’t the foggiest idea where I was these last few weeks and days, what I can do now with this ship, where I can go when I have need. I am no longer a simple fleet Admiral here. I’m not merely Kolchak’s lieutenant and Minister of all Western Siberia. No. I am so very much more now. I’m the master of time itself, and I can count the hours, minutes and seconds Volkov may have to live at my leisure. I can figure a way to put an end to that man, and a way to do the job myself instead of sending Tyrenkov. So let him raise his army here, while I raise mine.

  For now, it was time to get back to the bridge.

  Part II

  Ghost Ship

  “Nor does the man sitting by the hearth beneath his roof better escape his fated doom.”

  ― Aeschylus

  Chapter 4

  Schlachtkreuzer Kaiser Wilhelm was a beautiful ship, fast and deadly as it plowed ahead through light swells that day. Laid down in 1937 by Deutsch Werke at Kiel, it was a design that evolved from the fast Panzerschiff models planned as successors to the Deutschland class pocket battleships. The Germans wanted a faster ship with 11-inch guns to better the performance of the Deutschland Class, but to get that speed required a longer hull and widened beam. This required more armor to cover that hull, which in turn added weight, and a vicious circle ensued. Thus only two of twelve planned Panzerschiff Kreuzers had been built, the Rhineland and Westfalen, and designers moved to a larger ship that could accommodate the armor and also get a dual propulsion system with both diesel engines for efficient long haul cruising, and turbines for high speed engagements.