* * *
“Step lively, mates,” said Tovey. “Can’t you see that old Kent out there has already got up steam?” The Lieutenant pointed across the anchorage to the three stack Monmouth Class cruiser lying at anchor. Word had come down to make ready for the scheduled exercises, and Tovey had his blood up for the outing, eager to get away from the sweltering harbor heat and out to sea where at least they could make their own wind if they got up a good head of steam.
“They’ve only got one stack puffing, Lieutenant,” said a midshipman.
“Well, that’s one more than we’ve got fired up at the moment.”
“But we’ve got four stacks, sir. How do you suppose we’ll be up and ready before a smaller ship like Kent?”
“With grit and elbow grease, gentlemen. Now step to it! If we aren’t ready to weigh anchor in another hour they’ll be out in front and waving their backside at us the whole way out of the harbor. Let’s get the lead out, eh?” They had orders to make steam, and by God, that was what they would do, and well before HMS Kent blew smoke from all three stacks. And showed them up yet again.
“Mister Tovey, sir!”
The young officer turned, his eyes narrowing on another seaman who had come up behind him as he urged his mates on.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Message from Captain Baker, sir. You’re to leave off here and head to the bridge straight away.”
“The bridge?”
“What have you gone and done this time, Lieutenant?”
Tovey looked for the man who had called that out, but he was already down through the hatch and gone. The last time the Lieutenant received such a notice it was to receive a good tongue lashing from the Captain over a discussion between officers the previous evening. Perhaps the Captain had something further to say.
“See what I mean?” Tovey put his arms on his hips, head cocked as he called after the men on the ladder down. “The Captain has eyes too, and he can damn well see that stack charring up on Kent as plain as day. Now you men press on and get down to the boiler room to see about it.”
He shook his head, wondering what the Captain really wanted this time, and worried that it might indeed be something to do with his remarks in the officer’s mess the previous evening. A few of the men had been discussing tactics and the general consensus was that a good broadside at range was the best possible play in a sudden one-on-one engagement. Armored cruisers were often used in scouting roles, and would often find themselves in small groups, or even alone when they might happen on an enemy ship.
“What? A broadside with six inch guns?” Tovey put in. King Alfred had eight such guns on each side, but she could rotate both her forward and aft turrets as well to bring the two larger 9.2 inch guns into the mix.
“Well we’d have to be damn close to hit anything,” said Tovey. “Those casement guns can theoretically range out over 15,000 yards with a heavy charge, but good luck hitting anything that far out. No gentlemen, I’m an advocate of speed at the outset. I’d show the enemy my bow and put on a full head of steam to squeeze every knot out of those boilers I possibly could. Harass them with all our forward facing guns as we come in, then swing round and give them the old broadside well inside 10,000 yards. 8,000 yards would even be better—ideal I should think.” It was a strategy he would put to use in the future, though the ranges involved would change as gun size increased. Tovey would one day end up leading more than one good fight at sea.
“Concentration of firepower is always best, at any range,” came a voice behind him. Tovey had his arms folded and did not know who made the remark, but he batted it aside with the sharp intelligence he would become known for at sea. “At any range? On my watch I would use my cannon at the best range suited to them. If that means a little reliance on speed and armor to achieve a better firing solution, so be it.” The complete silence after his remark prompted him to turn his head, and there was Captain Baker, lips pursed with disapproval. He had come into the mess hall in the heat of the discussion and threw out the remark to test his young officers.
Later that evening he summoned Tovey to the bridge and took him aside in the plotting room for a private chat. “See hear, Mister Tovey. Concerning your remarks in the officer’s mess this evening… If you chance to contradict another officer ever again, you had bloody well better turn your head first and look the man in the eye so you will know who you’re speaking to.”
“Yes sir. Of course, sir. I’m terribly sorry. I meant no offense.”
“No offense taken, Tovey. This is simply a matter of decorum.”
“Yes sir.”
“Very good then. That will be all.”
“Sir!” Tovey saluted and went to leave, but the Captain scratched his ear, adding one last word.
“You were correct in one thing,” he said quietly.
“Sir?”
“That bit about reliance on speed and armor. I gave it some thought and find it sound advice, depending on the circumstances of course. But just remember that King Alfred is the flagship of this squadron, young man. In that role she will be at the head of her formation and expected to lead the battle line in. So in nine cases out of ten we will not be talking about single ship broadside, but that of the entire squadron. This is concentration of firepower, Mister Tovey. Don’t forget that.”
“Of course, sir. And thank you, sir.”
Tovey never did forget it, and he came to understand that the essence of combat at sea was to somehow find that perfect balance of firepower, speed, and armor that would win the day. It was a chemistry of steel, sea conditions, wind, and the fall of shot at selected range, and it could make all the difference between victory or defeat in the barest fraction of a second. There also was one more thing, he knew. You have to know your enemy first, and know him well.
He would get his chance to test his theories soon enough, and face a man in combat on the high seas that he was destined to encounter again many years hence, on the cold swells of the North Atlantic, in another life that would never even exist unless he first found a way to survive this one.
Part XII
The Ninth Circle
“The banners of Hell’s Monarch do come forth
Toward us; therefore look,” so spake my guide,
“If thou discern him.”
― Dante: The Inferno, Canto XXXIV
Chapter 34
They had lingered in the Sea of Japan for days now as Karpov tried to decide what to do. It seemed to him just as his campaign had begun, Fedorov appeared to cast the shadow of guilt on him with his obsession over not breaking the eggshells of history. Well, I am sorry Mister Fedorov, a ship with this much power leaves a wide wake. I barely flicked my little finger at those Japanese cruisers, and they could do nothing about it. That Canadian steamer was merely a distraction. I need to decided whether to commit myself here or to try to get the ship home.
He knew what he wanted to do, deep inside, but now that the men knew there’s a way home it could be difficult to burn this last bridge deliberately. Zolkin would certainly have a fit.
The decision weighed heavily on his shoulders, but that thought suddenly presented him with a possible solution. Zolkin! The Doctor’s words returned to him in the heat of his rumination.
“We are like blind men in a dark closet looking for the right coat here. Whatever you decide, consider the men on this ship. They may not share your dream of conquest. Have you even bothered to consider asking what they might want to do?”
Of course! That was the answer. He would explain their circumstances to the men and see what they would do. They would vote in a secret ballot. No man’s name would be compromised. They could speak their mind without fear, and then at least the Captain would know where he stood.
He had given them all his reasons for the action he planned. “We have beaten off every enemy we have faced and survived to fight again,” he said over the ship’s PA system. “Now we are here, far from home and, short of detonating another nucl
ear warhead, we are likely to remain here, or so I believed. Yet we have just discovered that Captain Anton Fedorov has managed to get back to this year and time as well, only in the Caspian Sea aboard Anatoly Alexandrov. He proposes to bring us new control rods by helicopter, though if we use them, we have no guarantee as to where they will take us, if anywhere at all. We might move forward, or even further back in time. This cannot be known. So we can now do one of two things, either try to rendezvous with Fedorov and see what happens, or remain here in this decisive era where we now find ourselves, and change the sad future our nation must face in the decades ahead.”
He went on to describe the history of this time and place, the prospect of restoring Russia to power in the Pacific, the idea of preventing Japan from ever rising as a military power here and bringing the Americans into the Pacific in WWII. “Russia has some hard years ahead,” he finished. “The revolution is coming, and it will be shaped only by those men who dare to do so here and now. Yes, we can try and go home to our world of computers and conveniences, and all our loved ones there. But, as we have seen, that world may not be so comfortable after all if the war we were fighting has continued. Who knows, we may get there and find only the ashes of the history I hope to change. Now, here, we have a chance to prevent that war and shape the future ahead. I realize this asks every man to sacrifice much, the entirety of the life you left behind, and to begin again here. So I leave this decision to you, the fighting crew of the battlecruiser Kirov. We have come a long way together. Now you decide where we will go together in the days ahead.”
He gave the men time to talk among themselves and decide how they felt about the situation, still lingering in the Sea of Japan. On the twentieth of July the vote was finally taken and the Captain was pacing fitfully on the bridge. Nikolin tabulated the results and made the announcement on the bridge. “Captain, sir. I have counted all the ballots and the crew votes 128 in favor of sailing to rendezvous with Fedorov, but a strong majority of 582 vote in favor of remaining here with you at the helm.”
Karpov had his eyes closed as Nikolin read the results, and now he opened them with a smile. “Five to one,” he said quietly. “Very well. You may make the results known to the crew, and then we must get about the business of building that new world I promised them. If that means that we must first make some changes to this world, so be it.” He looked at Rodenko now, looking for his reaction. He nodded, and the Captain took that as his assent, though he had no way of knowing how his first officer had actually voted.
It was decided.
At 18:00 hours on that day Karpov joined Nikolin at the communications station and they began broadcasting on the shortwave radio again as he had promised Fedorov. Now there was only one more man to convince, he thought, knowing that Fedorov would definitely not approve of this decision. Ten minutes later Nikolin had a clear signal.
“Fedorov, here,” came the familiar voice. “We’ve been waiting to hear from you, Captain.”
“Well enough, Fedorov. We have considered your plan, and I have discussed it with the officers, Doctor Zolkin, and the entire crew. Over.”
“Good to hear it, Captain. Which option seems most feasible to you. Do you think you can make it to the Arabian Sea? If not, the Bay of Bengal should be close enough. We wish we could come all the way to the Pacific, but we had to use fuel to search for Orlov, and that leaves us no margin of safety. It’s a very long way. Over.”
“You will not have to worry about that, Fedorov….We have decided to stay where we are.”
“Say again, Kirov? What have you decided? Over.”
“We are remaining here, in the Pacific of 1908. Our mission was to defend Russia, and this we will do, but from this place and time, when a ship like this battlecruiser can really make all the difference in the world.”
There was a considerable pause before Fedorov came back. “Did I hear you correctly, Captain? You are staying here? But you can’t do that, sir. The danger—”
“We can and we will, Fedorov.” The Captain cut in, sending right on top of Fedorov’s incoming message.
“What in God’s name do you think you are going to do?”
“It may not be in God’s name that we do anything, Fedorov. That is the nature of war. You know the history as well as anyone. We will restore Russia as a Pacific power and prevent Japan from becoming the militaristic power that leads her into World War Two. What do you expect us to do back home? All we could do is sit there waiting for the ICBMs to arrive. Besides, Fedorov. You have no idea whether or not those other control rods will even work, or where they might send us if we try to use them. Am I not correct?”
Again the long pause… “Yes, that is so, but Captain, anything you do here could have terrible consequences—things you cannot foresee now. It may seem so easy from the bridge of Kirov now, but it never is. We should at least try and get the ship and men home safely. I came all this way just to find Orlov, and by God we finally have the man. What you propose now is utter madness! It will change everything!”
“They is exactly the idea, Fedorov. Yes. We are going to change everything.”
“I cannot believe this! You have no idea what you are doing. You are betraying more than your own pledge to me and to Admiral Volsky here, Karpov. Do you remember it? What about the Russia you pledged to defend? Our homeland is in 2021, not here! We have no business even being here!”
“Do not think this is entirely my doing, Fedorov. You will want to make me out as a traitor and consign me to the Ninth Circle of Hell. Better to rule here than to serve in heaven, eh? So be it. Yet you should know that I put this question to the entire crew, the vote was decisive, five to one. We stay here. How is it we even find ourselves here? Have you wondered about that? We are here for a reason, Fedorov, and I think I know what that reason is now. If you must return to the future we came from, then do what you must.”
“…You must reconsider, Karpov. This is insane what you propose now.”
“That has yet to be proven, Captain. If you do make it back, you may read the history we write here yourself and see if we prevail. Once we finish here we will contact you again. If you still remain marooned in this time, as we are, then we will reconsider your plan. But do not get your hopes up, or wait for us. We have a world to change, Fedorov. I know that is the worst thing possible in your mind. You want to keep all the eggs in the nest, safe and sound, but that is clearly impossible now. We could not do that in 2021, nor even in all our battles in World War Two. But here, we are invincible, my friend. You know that. Here we make the real decisive difference! That is all that matters now. There is nothing more to be said. I wish you and the Admiral well. Yes, I know you will judge me, but so will time and fate. Kirov, over and out.”
“Captain…Listen to reason here! You cannot do this!”
Karpov gave Nikolin a hard hand signal to cut the transmission, and he did so, though he could see pain in the young officer’s eyes. He looked at Rodenko and the others, knowing this would be hardest part of the decision before them.
“I know you all loved Fedorov,” he said quietly. “Yet you also know he would do anything to set the table as it was before we left Severomorsk so long ago. Understand that he cannot assure that in any wise, no matter what he does. He had no intention of ever arriving here, in 1908; any more than we did. So you see he really has no control over what happens. Yes, it is hard to turn our back on him now, but this we must do. We are here, on these waters, in this ship, at this moment. The men have decided to stay and fight. So God bless Fedorov, but he will not understand what we must now do. He was always the white Angel, I was the demon of shadows. He would never understand me any more than white can know black.” He sighed, walking slowly toward the Captain’s chair. “Helm, come to 180 and steady at twenty knots.”
“Helm answering, Captain, Coming round to one, eight, zero, Aye.”
* * *
The transmission ended and Fedorov stood there, a shocked expression on his face. Dobrynin
was sitting on a chair by the main operations console.
“So Satan has fallen from heaven and now he rules in hell,” he said quietly. “I cannot say that this surprises me as much as you, Mister Fedorov.”
“The man is insane,” Fedorov said with a defeated tone in his voice. “What you say is not too far from the truth, Chief. The ninth circle of hell was reserved for traitors, particularly those who betray the trust of their nation. Karpov has been trying to do this all along. I could feel it even before we learned he was here. He wanted to strike the decisive blow and kill Churchill and Roosevelt at the Atlantic Charter meeting. Then he argued we could destroy Malta or Gibraltar and change the course of the war that way. After that it was the Japanese, then the Americans. He keeps looking to find his Waterloo, well, now he has found it here.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s right about the ship being invincible. There is nothing in this era that can pose a threat if he maneuvers smartly here. So I can only guess what is in the man’s mind now. He will probably think to first challenge the Japanese again, and reverse the outcome of the Russo-Japanese war. That sounds like the obvious thing to do, but anything could happen from here on out. Anything… If he starts another war here it could affect all Russian history, all world history from this point forward. Russia might not even enter the First World War. And considering that man has nuclear weapons at his disposal still—in 1908! It is truly chilling.”
“What can we do?” Dobrynin held up an empty hand. “Do you want to launch the Mi-26 mission now anyway? We might be able to get to the Pacific. We could strip the helicopter down to the bare essentials—just food, fuel and those two control rods. Perhaps even one will do.”
Fedorov’s mind was a chaos of plans and counter plans, and all beset now with the real terror of what Karpov was going to try to do. How could he decide anything now? He felt completely powerless here. But he could not simply sit there and do nothing. The idea of trying to find Kirov in the Pacific now was fruitless, and Dobrynin made that evident as he continued.
Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) Page 28
