Crescendo Of Doom

by John Schettler

  “No sir… It won’t be my doing. The third alternative would be the hand of fate, and I guess that is why I feel somewhat anxious now. Yes, we have the missiles to defend ourselves here, but there is one other way we could leave this time period before July 28th, and it is not very pleasant to consider.”

  “The hand of fate? I see what you are getting at now. You are thinking our luck may run out one day. Well, I am the first to admit that I worry about that as well. Yes, every time we go into battle like this. There have been numerous close calls, and the sight of those big shells hitting the water near us is enough to give any man at sea the cold chill of death. The British were good, were they not? They were good enough to force Karpov to use a special warhead. And as for the Japanese, every time I walk past the battle bridge aft, I realize how close we came to that moment you fear. Every time I see that fresh paint over the scars of battle on this ship, I wonder about it. Yes, we have been very lucky. We have been at large here for a good long while, with the power to have our way, to go where we please and do what we like. Those men out there on the planes heading our way do not know what is about to befall them, and the odds are heavily in our favor that we will prevail here easily enough. Still… that gives me no solace, and this is what is really bothering you. Yes? You are thinking our lease is running out here, and that if we cannot reach into our bag of tricks and find a way to move the ship safely somewhere else, that Mother Time will have no recourse but to take the matter into her own hands.”

  Fedorov nodded, for this was truly the heart of his worry. “Yes sir, you have scored a direct hit. That is what I’m concerned about, because that may be all it would take to finish us, and make certain we are not in the way to create this insoluble paradox come late July. So yes, when we go into battle like this, I feel that nerve pulse somewhere inside—a little fear and anxiety is normal, but this is something more. The thought that our doom may be inevitable is most unsettling.”

  “So you are thinking one of these planes may get through our defenses here? While that may be possible, I do not think it is likely. If need be we could destroy each and every contact well before they get into firing range. You said yourself that this will most likely be a low level torpedo attack, and the weapons of this day do not have a very long range.”

  “They will have to get inside 3000 meters,” said Fedorov, the reflexive retrieval of that fact a small comfort to them both.

  “Well then,” said Volsky with an air of finality. “This is really nothing special at all. The day you stop feeling that twist in your chest when you go into combat, is the day you should really be worried. Fight your battle, Mister Fedorov. We do what we must, and leave the rest to time and fate.”

  Samsonov was ready for action, and this time Kirov would not be sorely tested, though the killing gave Fedorov little comfort. When the missiles came, the more experienced squadron leaders called out for their sub-flights to dive to attack elevation, hoping to evade the high flying rockets, but to no avail. The fiery lances swooped and dived, falling on the formation of SM-79s and lighting up the horizon with bright red-yellow explosions, each one the death of one plane and its unlucky crew, the souls tapped by Samsonov as he heedlessly made his target selections. Shocked by the attack, the Italian pilots craned their necks, thinking they may have miscalculated the range and flown right over an enemy ship. Others knew better, having seen the missile contrails that led back over the horizon. Yet knowing where the attackers were imparted no advantage to them. The fact remained that they would be seen, targeted, and killed long before they ever would get the chance to do the same to their enemy.

  All twelve Klinok missiles scored hits, thinning the ranks to 22 Sparrowhawks and 16 Kingfishers. There came a brief interval of calm. Then, ten minutes later, the sky was scored by the vapor trails of more missiles, this time the Aster-15s rising to challenge the enemy as they reached the 30 kilometer range line. Argos Fire had eighty of these left, and had fired an initial barrage of ten. By the time ten more planes and crews had died, the incoming attack had sustained nearly 50% casualties, and it was going to take some very brave men to press on against targets they had not even spotted.

  The squadron leader had had enough. Citing darkness and poor visibility, and facing an enemy that had such lethal accuracy, he broke off his attack and turned back. The first trip wire of enemy air defenses would therefore be passed for the expense of 22 missiles. The last twelve pilots in the Kingfishers dropped their torpedoes, if only to say they had at least delivered some potential reprisal to the unseen enemy. None of the 60 torpedoes carried by the Sparrowhawks ever tasted water, except those that fell in those fiery wrecks.

  Back at their bases, disheartened and defeated, the Air Commander had no harsh words for them. “Let the Navy handle this,” he said. “I will send no more of my men to their death against ships that can kill us before we even see them! Let the submarines deal with these ships!”

  It was as if he had announced act two of the play that was now unfolding, for far beneath the sea, well out in the van of the British formation, Chernov was listening intently on his sonar headphones, and suddenly smiled.

  “Con, Sonar. Contacts ahead, enemy submarines, confidence high.”

  On the bridge of Kazan, Gromyko reached up, ever so slowly, and did what every man there expected him to do— he scratched the back of his head. The Matador was about to unfurl his cape.

  Chapter 33

  Mack Morgan had his answer from Tovey, that Rodney had been recalled for maintenance problems, and would be bound for Boston soon. It seemed simple enough, but just to be thorough, he decided to check ship’s records to see what he could find on the incident. Now he was in Elena Fairchild’s stateroom, making his intelligence report.

  “A bit of a mixed bag here, Mum. On the one hand, Tovey’s information jives with our own historical records on movements for this ship, on the other, I don’t think he’s given us the whole story.”

  “Oh? Please explain.”

  “Well, I decided to dig a little deeper, and went over the log of that ship’s movements in some detail. It seems it was given a special mission, very secret, transporting bullion and other valuables to the United States for safe keeping.”

  Elena did not tell Mack that she already knew that. It was in the historical record, and she knew all the details given her position in the Watch.

  “Thing is this, Mum. That’s our history, from the world we were sailing in before that trip we took to Delphi, and before we pulled this duty. As we’ve seen, this world is more than a wee bit different. That British ship out there never existed in our world, nor the ship we’re out after now, the Hindenburg. So I find it odd that these little details still seem to hold some coherent shape. I mean, Rodney was detailed to Force H just before this assignment, not on convoy duty out of Halifax, as in our history. But when it comes to this little secret mission, it’s as if the event has a kind of magnetism. I’ve had my people listening in on Admiralty message traffic—got to keep the black line boys busy. And we went over those message logs as well. Rodney was ordered back to the Clyde, and was to refuel for immediate duty thereafter. Needless to say, that’s very strange for a ship with dodgy boilers and a bad turbine.”

  “King’s business, at least in this world,” said Elena. “Any movement of bullion and other valuables would have that designation.”

  “Fair enough, no argument there. But I read a little further, and it seems Rodney had a collision a few weeks ago. The ship ran into a trawler in a night passage as she was returning to the Clyde. Oh, it’s right there in our own historical logs, but why should it also be the case here in this world? We’ve got Russia broken into three pieces, strange ships at sea, Gibraltar taken by the Germans, not to mention Malta! With all these major changes, why would something of such insignificance hold true in both worlds like that? But that’s the case. I just read the Admiralty message on that collision. Found it in the signals archive we’ve been building since we got
here. There it was—same ship, and same bloody day. It happened on the 20th of April.”

  “Same day? That is strange,” said Elena. “And where is Rodney at this moment?”

  “Scapa Flow,” said Morgan. “She was escorted there by three destroyers, and arrived the 23rd of April. She’s been there ever since. The cover story is maintenance on those turbines, but then we have this King’s business you mention. According to our history, she’ll soon be sent to the Clyde again to load boiler tubes and a few other little niceties.”

  “The Elgin Marbles,” said Elena.

  “Aye, pilfered by our very own Lord Elgin.”

  “Rescued by Lord Elgin,” said Elena, and Mack gave her a wink.

  “You have an interest in this, Mum?”

  “Somewhat,” said Elena, thinking. “Thanks Mack. Stay on top of this, will you? I want to be informed the instant that ship puts to sea, and if you can give me heading, course and speed, all the better. Don’t you just love tall orders like that?”

  “Well,” said Mack, “I’ll have to earn my keep somehow. I’ll have my ear to the ground on this one for you because, with this little foot race we’re in here, I’ve a notion that things are going to heat up for us fairly soon. We expended ten Aster-15s to repel that incoming air strike, but that was the end of it. The Russians threw twelve missiles at it themselves, and there will be more than a few empty chairs in the squadron briefing room tomorrow. So I think we’ll get through the Sicilian narrows tonight as planned. After that, things should settle down until we get closer to Gibraltar.”

  “Good enough, Mack. Keep me informed.” She thought for a moment. “Oh Mack, one other thing. Get another message off to Admiral Tovey. Ask if we can come alongside tonight. I’d like to have a little chat with him.”

  * * *

  That night the weather was fair, with calm seas, and it made the ride across to HMS Invincible a little easier for Elena. She had sea legs for the big boats, but never felt comfortable on the small ones. She was piped aboard, glad to be up the ladder and on a firm and steady deck again, and enduring the curious glances from the young officers, unaccustomed as they were to ever seeing a woman aboard ship.

  Some minutes later she was escorted into Admiral Tovey’s stateroom, and there she was surprised to see that the young Russian Captain was also there with his interpreter.

  “Good evening, Miss Fairchild,” said Tovey. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited another guest for tea.”

  Elena gave Fedorov a quick glance, smiling and extending a hand, but thought better of saying that she had hoped this might be a private meeting. The Russian Captain was most likely here to discuss the route ahead, and coordinate plans, so she would get through ship’s business first, as always, before turning to the questions she had been ruminating on of late.

  “The Captain and I have just been informed that a pair of Italian submarines are waiting for us up ahead off the Skerki Banks. Good place for an ambush, I suppose. We call those narrows ‘Bomb Alley,’ at least we did before we lost Malta. Our convoys have no business there now, and the Italians are probably wondering just what business we have at the moment. But don’t worry, Mister Fedorov here tells me his people are handling the matter.”

  “I’m sure they are.” She gave Fedorov a quick glance, listening to Nikolin translate, but it was the tone of her voice that carried most of the message, with just enough of the edge of suspicion to be discernible.

  “Well,” said Tovey. “First things first. We should coordinate our plans for Gibraltar. We’ve been lucky thus far. If that is all the Italians have to throw at us, I’ll be quite satisfied on our chances of slipping through at Gibraltar.”

  “What about the Germans,” asked Elena. “Won’t they have planes at Tunis?”

  “Possibly, though from what we have been able to learn, most of those squadrons have forward deployed to support Rommel’s move east. It seems we could not have picked a better time to try and slip out. The Germans will likely have something based at Gibraltar, and we should also expect threats from mines, shore batteries on both sides of that passage, and enemy U-Boats. As to the shore batteries, RAF has had a look at that for us. They say the Germans have what look to be a few artillery installations in the works near Ceuta on the Peninsula de Santa Catalina. I could pound them with those nice big 16-inch guns out there, but that does get a bit untidy. Any thoughts?”

  “We will not want to waste any missiles on them,” said Fedorov after he had heard the translation. “Our own deck guns are a good deal more accurate than your main batteries, Admiral. They can engage that artillery long before we ever come inside their range, but again, that will be like ringing the doorbell, and serve to alert any other defenses the enemy may have in place. The preferred strategy would be to engage the batteries just as we make ready to run through the straits. It would mean waiting until we are very near their firing range, yet it will be dark, and we’ll be running black. I think the risk is acceptable.”

  “We could also use my X-3s,” said Elena, when Nikolin had finished. “They could hover on overwatch, and engage those guns spot on, and only if we are discovered and it appears they are making ready to engage us.”

  “A good plan,” said Tovey.

  “Yet I’m more worried about the U-boat threat,” said Elena.

  “That will not be a problem,” said Tovey. “At least that is what I am told by Captain Fedorov.” Tovey looked at Fedorov now, and received a confirming nod of the head.

  “Miss Fairchild,” said the Admiral. “At a meeting with Admiral Cunningham, myself, and the Russian Admiral Volsky, something else was confided to us. It was being held secret, as so much of this business is, but as you and your ship are in the thick of it here with us, you must know what I am now about to tell you. The Russian battlecruiser is not the only vessel from their time that is present here in 1941. There is another boat, a submarine, and it is out in front of our task force clearing the way insofar as the undersea threat is concerned.”

  “A submarine?” Elena was quite surprised, restraining a flash of anger at the same time. “Why wasn’t I told this before?”

  “My apologies,” said Tovey. “You were not at that meeting, and the matter slipped my mind, though I had every intention of briefing you, for obvious reasons. I am told the radars and sonar systems on your ship are very good, and was worried you might discover this submarine on your own and deem it a threat. I put that aside, being told that this vessel was not near us at the time, but now, with this mission, you need to know.”

  “I see… So things are being handled on a need to know only basis here. I cannot say I am happy with this arrangement, Admiral.”

  “I apologize again, but please understand that we meant you no disrespect.”

  “The submarine in question is our Yasen Class boat, Kazan.” Fedorov was forthcoming, seeing himself that Fairchild was not happy the information was withheld. “It is a very long story as to how it comes to be here with us, but I would be happy to brief you in full. It is not our wish to withhold information, and frankly, I do have many questions myself, chiefly concerning the matter of how your own ship arrived here.”

  Elena folded her arms, looking the young Russian over and trying to size him up. She had a knack for getting a sense of someone, born from long hours negotiating business arrangements across boardroom tables, and with some very shady characters over the years. She could hear the obvious sincerity in the man’s voice, even with the language barrier. It was a struggle for her, at first, as she had only just come from a hot engagement with the Russian Black Sea fleet, losing a fleet tanker and a lot of her people there. Now here she was, wrapped up in this strange alliance with this Russian ship and crew, in another world, another time. It was still taking her some time to tamp down her old instincts and reflexes where the Russians were concerned, and now she had questions of her own.

  “Alright,” she said finally. “I accept your apology, Admiral, and I’m not naive enough
to think I will be privy to everything, but there are some things I should know, and yes, Captain Fedorov, the first is how this submarine came to be here.”

  So Fedorov started to explain, trying to be brief, but fair and complete enough to satisfy this woman. Yet the moment he tried, he realized how tangled all of this was. Kazan was here because of Rod-25. That was the simple explanation as to how the sub had appeared. Revealing why it had been sent on this mission was another matter. It meant that he would have to explain a good deal about what had happened to them aboard Kirov, information concerning Captain Karpov, the mutiny, and his redemption. He told that story faithfully, and then spoke of the clues they had found in the Pacific as to how the war would begin in 2021. It was a little more difficult when it came to Karpov’s assignment in leading out the Red Banner Pacific Fleet, and his subsequent disappearance, wayward fall from grace, and mysterious re-appearance here in WWII. It was a lot to convey, and Nikolin was kept quite busy for a while, but Elena was spellbound.

  “Amazing,” she said at last. “He ended up in 1908? Your ship was actually engaging Admiral Togo’s fleet there?”

  “Our Captain Karpov was a very determined man,” said Fedorov. “When he found himself in that time, by chance we believed at first, he saw it as an opportunity to reverse Russia’s defeat at the hands of the Japanese Navy in 1905. In fact, it was always a struggle with Karpov, even while he served aboard our ship. He saw these events as presenting us with a definitive opportunity to change the history in a way that favors Russia.”

  “Then he was trying to deliberately change the history? This wasn’t all an accident as I was told earlier?”

  “Let me be clear,” said Fedorov. “Our initial displacement in time was the accident. Decisions this man made after that were willful, and though we must take responsibility for what we have done, we did not agree with Karpov, and were trying to stop him. We found ourselves here, bewildered, and soon pulled into the fire of this war. Much of what we did was simply to defend ourselves, as Admiral Tovey and his Royal Navy proved to be quite a formidable opponent! But yes, Karpov took deliberate action, and it was aimed at bettering Russia’s future, yet it failed. We later saw the terrible consequences of our meddling here. Ever since then, it had been our effort to try and prevent those consequences, one of which is that war we were starting in 2021.”