I’ve gone from Keyholder Alpha to Watchstander G1, she thought. Yet I haven’t really any idea of what my responsibilities are for either role. It was clear now that the Keyholders were meant to be moved in time. How many were there? Were they all out there on similar missions? Where were they going with the keys that had hung about their neck? What would they open? Were there other places, hidden vaults, mysterious boxes and devices seeded in the world by people from our own future? What was the intent of all of this? Why this time, right in the middle of WWII?
I thought I would finally get my answer when I took this to Admiral Tovey, but he seemed completely in the dark. He had no recollection of ever writing the note I found in that device, and how could he? This John Tovey was living a full year before he had ever even founded his secret group, the Watch.
It became even stranger for her when Tovey had confided that information about the reports, documents, and photographs in the archive at Bletchley Park. An anomaly… She had been told such things might happen. They had told us it was possible, those unseen voices from the future. Things sometimes slip, they become unhinged, they pass through cracks and holes, and turn up in most unexpected places. That was all she had learned about it, and all she knew. Yet her curiosity would not let it go.
For years she had taken in all this incredible information, never seeing the entire picture, but always being asked to hold a brush. Now she was doing much more than simply standing her watch. Yes, now she had that brush in hand, and she was being asked to paint on the canvass of this history. She knew that her very presence here was an offense. The Argos Fire did not belong here, nor did Geronimo, Kirov, the ship… Yet here they were, actively intervening in the events that were unfolding, as if they were at war with destiny. Were they sent here to merely hold the line? What was their real purpose? The Russians tell me that this was all an accident, but clearly my presence here was very well planned…
We’ve turned back the tide for a while, she thought. Yet now we sail west for Gibraltar. I wonder how long this has been planned? Is this my mission now, to simply serve here in the midst of this war? How long will we have to stand this watch?
She remembered telling Gordon all this, and expressing her curiosity about Delphi… “That box we found at Delphi… It’s been nagging at me,” she had told him…. “It’s a nice little mystery, isn’t it? So there are other keys out there, Gordon, and yes, they may open other hidden doors, or even other little boxes like the one we found at Delphi. And they may lead to some very unexpected places. This is all we know.”
“Interesting,” said MacRae.
“Yes, and now that I’ve got your curiosity up with my own, I was wondering something—whether that chamber under Delphi is still there.”
“You mean you don’t know when it was built?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m not even sure it exists in this go round—in this world where we find ourselves now. But this damn key of mine exists, and for every key there’s a locked door out there somewhere. I wonder…”
“Well you could satisfy yourself,” MacRae told her. “Delphi isn’t very far away.”
Yes, she could get up there with the X-3s again and have a look. What would she find? Was that hidden chamber there, buried beneath the shrine? Something told her now that she would be disappointed if she tried that. What would she possibly find there, the box that she already had in her possession at that very moment? No, that would be impossible. Then she remembered the question Gordon had asked her that day.
“What about the other key? What was it to be used for?”
Yes! The other key! She could hear her own voice to Gordon in reply. “The key that was found in the Elgin Marbles? We never discovered that, because it was lost, in May of 1941, the 27th of May, to be precise.”
It was aboard HMS Rodney, bound for Boston to have those dodgy boiler tubes replaced. It was there when the ship sailed, but missing when it finally reached Boston. Somewhere on that journey, and through the fire of that engagement with Bismarck, that key was lost.
That thought struck her like a hammer. 27 May, 1941. Why, here she was in that very same month! Yes! I told Gordon we knew the exact day that other key was lost, because it was aboard HMS Rodney, meant to be shipped secretly to Boston, along with all that gold bullion hidden in the battleship’s belly. That was right in the middle of the hunt for the Bismarck. The Admiralty was pulling every ship they could get their hands on into that action, but things are very different now. In that history the Bismarck was trying to run the Denmark Strait off Iceland, yet now it is right here… in the Med… running west for Gibraltar with a very big friend in the Hindenburg, and by god, yes, that’s where Argos Fire is too!
Could this be the reason we were sent here? Does it have something to do with that last remaining key? It suddenly occurred to her that the key could be out there at this very moment. It was in the Selene Horse! The custodians at the British Museum always knew that the key existed. It had been a mystery for some time, though it was known only to a very few. Yet it was thought to be an oddity, and never explained, until we started receiving those messages from the future, years later…. The keys were very important, they were essential, critical, and they must all be found and accounted for…
One thought tumbled on another in her mind now. This is my mission! This is what I’m here for. HMS Rodney is out there somewhere, and if anything in this topsy-turvy world holds true to the history I know, then her hold is bloated with gold bullion, and the Elgin Marbles are there. The key is right there with them, in the base of the Selene Horse.
She suddenly realized she needed to know everything possible about the whereabouts of Rodney, and who better to ask but Mack Morgan. In a heartbeat she pressed her intercom, buzzing Morgan’s office two decks above.
“Mack? I want some information. Contact Admiral Tovey on the Invincible if you need to do so, but be discrete. I want to know where the battleship Rodney is at this moment, as quickly as possible, but get it right.”
“Aye, Mum. I can’t say as I’m privy to Admiralty ship schedules, but I’ll see what Tovey knows.”
“Good. Find out what we’re looking at in a few days, will you?”
“Right now we’re looking at a significant airborne contact off Sicily. I was just about to beat the crew to quarters.”
“We’re under attack?”
“Not just yet. The Sampson radar has a good long range, but I’ve about fifty contacts out there that don’t look like a welcoming committee.”
“Very well. Inform the bridge. Then get me that information on the Rodney—as soon as you can.”
***
Where was Rodney? Tovey had been wondering that himself, particularly when Somerville had informed him the ship was recalled to Home Fleet. So he had taken Nelson and Valiant, promising two ships to Somerville in return, and he thought little more about it until Mack Morgan’s request came in, edged with just a note or two of urgency.
He went down to the W/T Room to catch up on signals traffic from Admiralty, and it wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for. There was an old message there that he had taken no notice of. It was orders for Rodney: ‘On arrival in the Clyde refuel with all dispatch and prepare to leave harbor again’.
That was interesting. Admiralty seemed to have some urgent business for the old lady, so he dug a little deeper. Rodney had been rushed home, then managed to blunder into a small ASW trawler, Topaze, off the mouth of the Clyde. She had sustained little damage, but the Topaze was a total loss, along with her entire crew of eighteen men. That will be weighing on the big Scot, thought Tovey.
He was referring to Captain Frederick Dalrymple-Hamilton, assigned to that ship at the moment, and a big Scot he was indeed. He had been nursing Rodney along, as all capital ships had been pulling extended duty given these trying circumstances. But Rodney was having a number of problems with her turbines, and her boilers were also badly in need of an overhaul. He had assumed that the Admira
lty pulled the ship from duty with Force H precisely for those reasons, but now he learned there was something more.
Rodney is to proceed to Scapa Flow with dispatch and prepare to take shipment as per private order. Take shipment? Most likely the boiler tubes for this overhaul, thought Tovey. They’ll probably have the damn things stacked all over the deck. But he soon learned that that private order was officially “King’s business,” and that made it very much more than a maintenance issue. Tovey also knew enough to realize the mission, whatever it was, would be given a very high priority. Only the urgency imposed by unexpected enemy action might alter the ship’s intended course now, so there was no hope wrangling Rodney away for use by Somerville. He would just have to stick to his previous plan, and send Force H the two battlecruisers, Renown and Repulse. In the meantime, he had more than enough to worry about getting Invincible safely out west, and into the Atlantic.
As he was thinking this, the alarm sounded and he immediately knew they would soon be under threat of air attack. It was to be expected, he realized. We’re heading for the Sicilian Narrows now, and it is about time the Eye-Ties did something about it. Let us hope they aren’t to ardent today.
Chapter 32
Rodenko was the bringer of bad news that day, as Kirov approached the Island of Pantelleria near dusk on May 3. He had been hovering near his familiar post when the radar operator saw the contacts emerging. One was a small group up from airfields on the island itself, the second much larger, a storm of crows gathering off the coast of Sicily.
“Con, radar contacts, bearing 085, range 200 kilometers. I’m reading fifty aircraft inbound at about 300kph.”
Admiral Volsky was on the bridge, but he turned to his Captain now, a glint in his eye. “What do you expect, Mister Fedorov?”
“Most likely Italian medium bombers, sir. I would guess these are SM-79s out of fields near Catania. If I’m correct, this will become a low altitude torpedo attack.”
“We have faced these planes twice before.”
“Yes sir, and with good results. I suppose that goes for any aircraft of this era. It is only a question of how many missiles we wish to trade for enemy planes.”
“Fedorov, you will fight this engagement. You have been trying to be a Marine Captain of late. It is time you take your proper role as Captain of the battlecruiser Kirov.”
“Very well sir. Mister Samsonov, sound air alert one. State current SAM inventory, if you please.”
“Sir, air alert one. My board reads fourteen S-400 long range SAMs, sixty-two Klinok medium range, and fifty missiles remaining on the close in Kashtan system.”
“Mister Nikolin, please signal Argos Fire. Tell them we are going to fire a barrage of 12 medium range missiles at the 80 kilometer mark to see if we can discourage this strike wave. Ask if they plan to engage.”
Nikolin soon had a message back that they were standing ready on their Aster-15 system to take up fleet defense at the 30 kilometer range mark.
“Very well,” said Fedorov. “Mark your targets and you may engage at the appropriate range, Samsonov. Let’s see how much stomach they have for a fight here. I’m assuming they now see our sortie as an attempt to interdict shipping in the Sicilian narrows. At this point, I cannot imagine they expect us to run the straits. Rodenko, what about those planes over Pantelleria?”
“A small formation, sir. Five contacts.”
“Most likely fighters on a reconnaissance sweep. They may want a better look at what they are facing.” Fedorov then realized that he had failed to inform Admiral Tovey on the Invincible. They were steaming in Kirov’s wake, about a thousand meters off the stern quarter.
“Tovey will not be aware that we are presently under attack. Mister Nikolin, please inform HMS Invincible of this impending action.” He then turned to Admiral Volsky and asked if he had any further recommendations.
“No Captain, I believe you have the situation well in hand. Please proceed as planned.”
Fedorov’s guess as to what they were facing was fairly accurate. There was a formation of thirty SM-79 Sparrowhawks up that day, the old tri-engine “hunchbacks” they had faced so long ago in the Tyrrhenian Sea. With them was another tri-engine plane, a flight of twenty CANT-Z 1007 Alcione “Kingfisher” medium bombers, each carrying two 1800 pound torpedoes, as were the SM-79s. This meant that a hundred enemy torpedoes were now inbound. Some traveled at 40 knots, and would have a range of about 3000 meters, which was going to mean an attack would require the pilots to come within Gatling gun range to have any chance of a hit—those that survived the missile gauntlet.
The Kingfishers were carrying something different, a new Italian slow speed torpedo that had a very long range of about 15,000 meters. It was also deployed in a novel way, dropped by parachute into the sea near the target, whereupon it would begin circling like a shark, hoping to blunder into an enemy ship. This unaimed weapon was developed for use against enemy convoys, and was about to get its first wartime test. As the attack came in, the Kingfishers planned to break off, and fly to a position well ahead of the British ships to deploy their school of fish. At the same time, the Sparrowhawks would make a high speed, low level attack from the east, where they could see the targets silhouetted by the setting sun, and remain difficult to spot in the gloaming shadows of dusk.
But all this assumed that their defenders needed human eyes to see and target the incoming threat, which was also wrong. And the Kingfishers assumed they would be safely out of flak range when they deployed their weapons, which was also not the case. The Italian pilots were not expecting any flak threat for some time. Many were new, sent down from the mainland in recent weeks to flesh out the squadrons. They had been warned by their mates about the guided rockets that had so devastated earlier attacks against the British fleet, but most had not seen this happen, and would therefore have to endure the initial shock and horror of the SAM attack.
Volsky was watching Fedorov closely. The young man seemed to be well in charge of the situation, and he had become a very good officer in his brief, yet trying, time as Captain. Yet he had come to know Fedorov very well in these many long months, and he could also see that something was troubling him. He was covering it well, but it was there, just beneath the surface of his self-imposed calm. He eased over to his Captain, leaning his way and speaking in a quiet tone of voice, so the other members of the crew would not hear them.
“Something troubling you, Mister Fedorov?”
“Sir?” Fedorov did not quite know what was eating at him, but now he realized that it must be obvious if Volsky had seen it so plainly. He said the obvious thing, telling Volsky that he never really felt at ease in a combat situation.
“Ah,” said Volsky. “This is nothing unusual, Fedorov. I have over 30 years at sea, and I still get that twinge of anxiety when the missiles fly. It is not only the risk to the ship and crew. Lord knows we have seen some most unexpected things happen in battle of late. Half the time we end up somewhere else when things settle down.”
Fedorov gave him a thin smile. “I think we’ll be staying put this time, sir. But in some ways, that is what is bothering me.”
“Oh? Tell me.”
“Staying put. Dobrynin has removed those new control rods and put them in rad-safe containers. Rod-25 is still aboard Kazan, and I do not think we will be setting off a special warhead in this scenario. So I think we’ll stay put. Yet it is already May, Admiral. Now we have less than 60 days to spend here before we face that big, unanswered question.”
“I see… So you are worried about this paradox business again, and thinking we must be somewhere else come July 28.”
Fedorov nodded, glancing at Rodenko, who seemed absorbed with his radarman at the moment. Samsonov was receiving his targeting data, and keying his missiles to specific planes in the formation to make sure each missile found a unique target. In doing so, he was the unseen hand of death, passing casual and thoughtless judgment on the men now flying those planes, not knowing their fate was be
ing decided by a tap of his finger on the digital display. He tapped away, consigning one soul after another to oblivion, until all twelve missiles were targeted.
“Well,” said Volsky. “Dobrynin can always re-install those control rods. For that matter, we could also try to move again the same way we got here. Kazan could hover right beneath us and use Rod-25.”
“I’ve considered that,” said Fedorov.
“But yet you take no comfort from those alternatives. You remain uncertain. Yes?”
“I do, sir. We already know that one of those two new rods moved us in space. It was able to take us slightly out of phase, but did not really open a breach in time. Yes, we vanished, but then re-appeared in this same time period. I think it was only the earth’s rotation during that interval that saw us manifest in a different location. And as for Rod-25, I’m worried about what Dobrynin tells me. He says that it is showing signs of wear and soon may reach a point where he would normally remove it from service for disposal.”
“Just like all the rest of us,” said Volsky. “Captains and Kings, Admirals and Emperors, we all get old one day, and then the world will find a way to dispose of us as well.”
That remark hit a deeper vein in Fedorov than Volsky may have intended. He had hoped to lighten the mood a bit, with the self-deprecating humor he often used, bemoaning the extra weight he carried in later years, the labor of getting up ship’s ladders and stairs, the inevitable loss of vitality that came with age. But Fedorov heard something more there, and it finally hit the real nub of the worry within him.
“There is one more alternative,” he said quietly.
Crescendo Of Doom (Kirov Series Book 15) Page 27
