Tigers East (Kirov Series Book 25)

by John Schettler

  Captain Selikov was still on the Narva, the very same man that had taken Orlov and Troyak on a similar mission, appearing right in the middle of one of Volkov’s ill-fated raids. He was in command here, coordinating the defense over Ilanskiy with his comrade, Captain Ivanov on the Riga.

  “A big fellow from the looks of it,” he said to his wheelman on the forward bridge gondola. He put his field glasses aside. “This has to be the same ship the Germans came in with earlier. Took the Andarva down, did they? Well now let’s see them try on a pair of hefty boys like the Riga and Narva. Up ten degrees and take us to 5000 meters. Signal Riga to follow.”

  The game had begun with the mandatory struggle to achieve altitude on the enemy. But there had been survivors off the Andarva, and Selikov had taken the time to speak with them. “We climbed,” they had told him. “We had good altitude, well over 7000 meters, but they still hit us. There was a nasty top mounted cannon on that thing, and it’s a real bag buster.”

  Maybe I’m going about this all wrong, thought Selikov. I heard three accounts of that battle, and they all said the Germans had a gun that could hit them well outside the range of their 105s. So if I want altitude, I want it with just enough of an edge to take their lower gondola mounted guns out of the fight. And I want it inside the range of my 105s. Normally we’d stay at least six or seven klicks out, but now it might be better to rush this beast, with all guns blazing. We’ll take hits. A ship like that has firepower, and by god we might even get blown out of the sky, one or both of us. But we’ll take that monster with us. Karpov won’t like that—trading a pair of battleships for one of the enemy. He’s enough on his hands holding off Volkov’s fleet, and every ship we have counts.

  He could feel the tension on the bridge, with his new young navigator, Yuri Babkin, craning his neck as he looked over his shoulder to try and get a look at the enemy ship.

  “Eyes on your charts, Babushka,” said Selikov, using the handle he had given the young man. “Is that weather front still prevailing from the north?”

  “Aye sir. I make it four hours or so before we see a squall line forming up, but the sun will be down by then.”

  “That’ll make for a cold night on the upper gun platforms,” said Selikov, “and likely a wet one too, unless we finish this business and find a nice tower to dock.”

  He reached for his field glasses again, his eye catching a gleam as the other ship sided them, the sun to the west playing over the taut silvery painted canvass. They’re turning, he knew immediately.

  “By god, he’s showing us his backside! Range to target?”

  “Sir, I estimate 15 kilometers,” said Babkin. Then the Captain saw the other ship’s tail wink at him, and he knew they had fired. The round exploded much closer than he expected, and Selikov raised his eyebrows.

  “That was inside two klicks,” he said aloud. “That’s the goddamn long range gun that took down Andarva, and it’s a real game changer. Why, he could stand off and pick us apart with a gun like that.”

  “Helm, ahead full and signal same to Riga.”

  Here we go, he swallowed. How fast can we close that range? He’s already nose away from us, and probably has plenty of speed up. There, he’s fired again….

  “Range to target,” he said again, his face stern, voice steady.

  “No change, sir. I’m still reading 15 K on the Topaz.”

  “Crafty bastard,” said Selikov. “All engines to one third and Riga the same. He can match our speed and I’ll be damned if I’ll sit up here and let him take pot shots at my chin while he leads us off into that squall line up north. That’s what he’s planning. He’s waiting for darkness and the storm. It’ll foul up the radars, and he’d like nothing more than for us to go gallivanting off after him like this. No sir. We stay on objective. Signal Riga to take up her normal station two klicks off the towers at Ilanskiy. Babushka, take us back there. We’ll not chase him. The bastard will have to come to us.”

  Selikov was a very smart man, for that was exactly what Hauptmann Linz was planning. He would come alright, but in a dark and cold hour of his own choosing, at the edge of a storm.

  Chapter 2

  “So what is this really all about?” asked Symenko, eased into his chair in the desk of his stateroom. “You come off that thing back there, the strangest looking flying beast I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you and your Marines pull a nice little trick getting all the way in here like this. Take me to Ilanskiy you demand, and no matter how politely you say it, all I hear is my death order.”

  “Don’t worry, Captain,” said Fedorov. “We have no intention of harming you or anyone else aboard this airship. This is just as it seems. I need a ride, and your ship is the only thing that can provide it at the moment.”

  “Well, you can all be choir boys here and it won’t make any difference for my fate,” said Symenko. “I’m a dead man as soon as Karpov gets wind of what happened here. He already knows I was a turncoat once before. Now he’ll see this as colluding with the enemy, or incompetence at best. Either way, I’m a dead man. So before I get the bullet to the head, suppose you tell me what I’m dying for.”

  “It’s too much to explain, Captain. Suffice it to say that I have business at Ilanskiy, and it’s imperative I get there as soon as possible.”

  “What business? Certainly not any business Karpov has sanctioned. I may look stupid, but I’m not as slow witted as you might think. I was to pick you all up and ferry you to Ilanskiy. Then, right out of the blue, his lordship changes his mind. Instead I’m to take you into custody and haul your asses to Irkutsk. Then you pull this hat trick on my men. If it would make any difference I should have them all shot, since I’m to take a bullet soon myself. Misery loves company. But listen here, Captain Fedorov, I can do exactly as you wish and run you up to Ilanskiy, but what happens next won’t be so pleasant.”

  “I said that once you get us their you’re free to do what you wish,” said Fedorov.

  “Oh really? Do you have any idea what your compass heading has in store for you? Volkov has tried to get his hands on that place three times. He sent me to scout the place out last year, and that was when I made the acquaintance of his lordship for the first time. He’s not your sort at all—not nice and polite and reasonable sounding. He welcomed me aboard with a nice little honor guard, but had a gun to my head a few minutes after. Hell, I knew Volkov was throwing me to the wolves when he ordered me to make that delivery.”

  “Delivery?”

  “Too long of a story to tell, just like yours. Needless to say, I was nearly a dead man then and there, until Karpov changed his spots and offered me a position in his airship fleet—in exchange for information, of course. What was I to do, die like a hero? For Volkov? To hell with that. So now you know how I come to be sitting here, but it’s you that I can’t figure yet. You say you come off a ship—battlecruiser Kirov. I’ve heard it fights for Karpov now, which means you fight for Karpov, eh Captain? Then wonder of wonders, you hijack my ship. As I said earlier, if you start your own private war with Karpov out here, good luck. He’s already none too happy with whatever you were planning—otherwise why would I get this order to apprehend you and your comrades? So what is it? You a turncoat as well? You jumping ship, Captain Fedorov?”

  There was a sting of truth to what Symenko was saying, but Fedorov didn’t quite see things that way. “Karpov and I came to an agreement. I can’t say why he’s decided to renege on that, but there isn’t time to argue the matter. I need to get to Ilanskiy, and that is that.”

  “I see….” Symenko folded his arms. “Then you’re a dead man too, just like me. You know that, don’t you? Karpov will be right there waiting for you… Then again, maybe he won’t. I got orders to take you to Irkutsk. Yes… his lordship was at Novosibirsk pounding Volkov’s line on the Ob with Riga and Narva. Come to think of it, he’ll probably be on his way to meet me at Irkutsk if he was so damn worked up about getting his hands on you again. You say you had an agreement with the man?
Doesn’t sound that way to me. But let me think out loud for a moment, if you please. This agreement of yours has to do with this mysterious business at Ilanskiy. Karpov gets very sensitive about that place. Like I said, Volkov has been after it for the last year, so he’s beefed up the defenses there three times over. He’s always got an airship on patrol there, and after what happened to the Angara, he doubled that watch as well. I was posted there with this ship and the Abakan. But something tells me you’ve hit a nerve with this little caper, and knowing his lordship as I do so well now, he’ll double that watch yet again. I’d guess he’s already ordered Riga and Narva to Ilanskiy while he swings down to Irkutsk to fetch you. That’s a pair of nice fat battleships added to the watch, and Karpov won’t bat an eyelash in ordering them to blast this ship to hell if I don’t cooperate. Right now he thinks I have you all tied up in a sack, and bound for Irkutsk. Surprise, surprise when he finds out I’m not there! Then he’ll turn the whole fleet out after us. So you see, you can’t get through to Ilanskiy, not on this airship, and not on the ground if I drop you all off and wave goodbye.”

  “We can try,” said Fedorov, his voice betraying just a little doubt. “We did it once before—my Sergeant Troyak got through. He’s a very able man.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. He strong armed my security detachment easily enough, and didn’t even have to use those fancy rifles there.” Symenko pointed to Troyak’s assault rifle, as he had never seen its like. “But that one and four others with your Marines won’t get you through the defensive perimeter at Ilanskiy. If you think that’s likely, you’re just deluding yourself. And supposing by some miracle you do get through. The guard in the city is now composed of the Black Watch—Tyrenkov’s men. He’s Karpov’s Chief of Security, and his men are very efficient. No. You won’t get through. You may cause a ruckus and kill quite a few men with those fancy rifles, but you’ll never live to conduct this business you’re so keen on, and that’s that.”

  Now Fedorov looked at Symenko with a harrowed expression on his face. The man was probably correct. Everything had happened so quickly, and he had acted on impulse, driven by the urgency of his quest. Karpov radioed to call off the mission, and he had been too bull headed to listen, too driven, so completely convinced that the fate of the world was in a sand glass of time that was quickly running out. Now, after the seamless way they took this airship, he had come to think he would stroll into Ilanskiy just as easily. Yet Symenko’s words galled him with the hard spike of reality. What he said was true. Getting to Ilanskiy they could probably do, and he had simply put his faith in Troyak working his tactical magic to get him inside the city. Now that Symenko put the challenge before him in this cold light, he was finally realizing that his mission was most likely doomed.

  But I must get through, he thought. Time is running out. I’ve got to get to that railway inn by September 30th. Doesn’t Karpov understand that? I thought I had convinced him how imperative this was, but he always had reservations. Doesn’t he realize what’s at stake?

  Behind that desperate thought, came the shadow of doubt. If he was honest with himself, Fedorov didn’t really know what would happen if he failed to get through, and now Symenko was making it fairly obvious that getting to the railway inn would not be as easy as he thought. Troyak and his men slipped through in the middle of one of Volkov’s raids, while most of the garrison there was distracted. It was just good luck that it happened that way, but this time that would not be the case.

  There would be airships on patrol overhead, just like Symenko was telling it. They would have to go to ground well before they came into contact range of those patrols, and then hump it to Ilanskiy on foot. That would take time, and all the while Karpov would very likely be tightening the cordon of steel he undoubtedly has around Ilanskiy. Now that he actually had time to think it through, the folly of his decision to try and proceed was becoming apparent. He had acted impulsively, with the edge of desperation and the urgency of his own dark fears over the consequences of failure. Yet he had been stupid to think he could succeed in all of this—in any of it, even if he did get through to the railway inn.

  Suppose I did get there, he thought. I just assume I’ll get right back to Mironov if I go down those stairs, and then, instead of having breakfast with him, I’ll have to kill him—timely cruelty. That was how I put it to Karpov when I argued all this. He wondered then whether I had that in me, the capacity for that cruelty, and believe me, I wonder now if I could ever go through with this and actually gun down Sergei Kirov. It isn’t the thunder and chaos that would likely follow that gunshot that feeds that doubt, it’s just that moment itself, me, alone, standing there with that pistol in my hands and with Mironov in front of me. There he would be, young Mironov, innocent, like a seedling just taking root in the history, and there I would be, reaching down in the garden to pluck him out before he could root and grow and bloom to become the man I have already met here—the man I so admire.

  He lowered his head, deeply troubled. Symenko had just made all his own inner doubts and fears real and palpable again. He had fled from them in the urgency of the moment, with the pulse of adrenaline still hot in his blood after that missile nearly took down the KA-40. Karpov had fired that missile in desperation as well, and with an urgency that Fedorov did not yet understand. Something had caused him to change his mind, and now he was dead set on seeing that decision through. Symenko wasn’t simply taunting him, he was correct. Karpov was going to do everything in his power to stop him now. He was on alert, most likely already tightening everything down at Ilanskiy; most likely sending those other two airships there to bolster the defense—the Riga and Narva.

  Was there any play there? The Narva was Captained by Selikov. Was he still in charge of that airship? Could he be persuaded to cooperate with me?

  That was just another desperate thought, he knew. Even if Selikov welcomed him with open arms, he would then have to get the Captain of the Riga to stand down and allow this airship to get in close—even to dock at a tower right over the city. Then what? Then Tyrenkov’s men are waiting right there at the bottom of that tower, just as Symenko tells it here. I have Troyak and the Marines, but I would be asking them to fight against very steep odds. If we do try to fight our way off that tower, then we still have to fight our way from there to the railway inn—unless I can get Symenko to put us down right on top of the place. All these thoughts and realizations passed through his mind in an instant. Then Symenko spoke again, his voice the cold argument of reality.

  “Got through once before, did you? That was then. This is now. Karpov’s all riled up about this, which is why my life isn’t worth a nickel now that you’ve come this way with your plans, whatever they may be. Oh, I’ll get you as close as I can, but it will have to be well outside the range of all those flak guns Karpov moved into Ilanskiy after that last attack Volkov pulled.”

  “Flak guns?”

  “Of course! He ringed the place with 85mm AA guns—nasty little fellows when pointed at an airship. There isn’t much the Vulcan lining in my gas bags can do about a round that big, and now Karpov has flak batteries set up at every landing site—all the airfields Volkov used in that stupid attack he made recently, and double batteries at Ilanskiy. So if his lordship is really pissed, and I think he is, then he’ll blow this ship out of the sky if I get inside that circle of fire, and the range on those gun sis ten to fifteen klicks. Just to be safe, the closest I can get you is 20 klicks. I can just drop you off and turn my 105’s on you for all the trouble you’ve brought me. Like I say, I’m a dead man after this. Might as well take you with me, and I’d likely be doing you a favor by killing you that way. His lordship would make it hurt if he got his hands on you—and he will, mark my words.”

  Flak guns, twenty kilometers on the ground, Symenko above them with all those recoilless rifles the whole time, not to mention the other airships…. Selikov was a good man, but would he buck Karpov as well and disobey the orders he most likely has now to defend
Ilanskiy against all comers? Karpov will soon realize that this ship wasn’t going to Irkutsk, and that they were also not enroute to Kirov on the helo. These were things that had never entered Fedorov’s mind in the heat and haste of his decision to proceed against Karpov’s direct order to the contrary. It was all forming up like a phalanx of steel. Symenko was correct, they would never get through to the railway inn, so what in god’s name was he doing here? He should have obeyed Karpov’s order to return to the ship, and then tried to convince Karpov to proceed as they first agreed. He needed Karpov’s compliance to get through to Ilanskiy. It was just that stark and simple.

  Three days… That was all the time they had before the 30th of September. Three days, and all time and eternity waiting on what would happen between now and then. Now, with a darkness and feeling of utter frustration that was heavy on him, Fedorov knew his mission was folly. He was going to fail. Symenko’s life was already blood on his hands, and he would likely get Troyak and the others killed if he tried to proceed; he would likely be killed himself.

  Zykov had been listening to all of this across the room while he was fiddling with the radio set he carried in a backpack. He wasn’t sure what any of it was about, but he could see that this Captain Symenko was stacking up a fairly convincing argument. What was going on between Fedorov and Karpov? They ought to just get on the secure channel and hash it out. He was going to suggest that, but then something unexpected happened, the radio set lit up with the incoming signal light, a clear amber light on the encrypted line. There came an audible tone, three solid beeps, and the light continued winking, waiting.

  “Captain,” he said. “I’ve an incoming signal on the encrypted channel.”