by Simon Hawke
Every soldier of the First Division had been issued an “Eyes Only” Top Secret manual to scan, or rather, they had been given access to the data under top security conditions. Lucas had studied his while actually under armed guard. It did not escape his notice, or anyone else’s for that matter, that the research scientist in Ordnance who had started the whole thing was never named. All attempts at discovering his or her identity were summarily discouraged in no uncertain terms. Finn had made a comment that the poor bastard was probably hiding under a rock somewhere, terrified out of his wits. The comment had been flippant, but it brought to mind immediately the fate of Albrecht Mensinger, who committed suicide when he realized the full implications of his work in refining the chronoplate.
Now, those same implications were forcibly driven home to each and every soldier in that room. The theft of five thousand temporal transponders was unsettling in the extreme. Lucas realized his mouth had gone completely dry and no one had paid any attention whatsoever to his shout of “As you were!” They were all talking at once, shouting and creating a din that drowned him out. How in hell had the theft been accomplished? Amalgamated Techtronics was a Top Security plant — the Top Security plant. Whoever accomplished the daring theft would still need an ERG, properly modified, for the transponders to be keyed to. But if they were able to hijack a shipment from Amalgamated Techtronics, right from under the very noses of crack troops, how difficult would it be for them to obtain the necessary plans to adapt an industrial ERG for temporal translocation? The very fact the warp discs had been stolen suggested that whoever had them also had the means or the means to get the means of using them. The transponders that were stolen varied in classification from P-1 to V-20. V-20! Lucas shuddered. Just one of those was big enough, at a diameter of about twelve inches, to transport something the size of, no, bigger than the Washington Monument!
“They must have stolen them for ransom,” Finn said, standing beside Lucas. “They couldn’t possibly use them.” He licked his lips and glanced at Lucas. “Could they?” Forrester waited patiently for them all to become quiet. It was hardly the sort of news he could expect them to take calmly. When the noise died down at last, he continued. “I don’t need to tell you people the potential for danger this situation represents,” he said gravely. “If any word of it should happen to leak out, the media is going to play it up for all it’s worth and we’ll have a disaster on our hands. And that’s not even counting the disaster we’re already faced with in terms of the potential for temporal contamination. The entire Observer Corps has been placed on the alert for temporal anomalies and the TIA has been working around the clock, correlating all the data from field stations reporting in.” He paused significantly.
“I realize it’s going to be difficult, people, but I’ll expect you to restrain yourselves when I report their conclusions. No computer data this time. Word of mouth only. We’ve got some very frightened people on this and the levels of paranoia have reached new heights. So listen carefully and I’ll open up the floor to questions when I’m through. I want no further outbursts. I trust I’ve made myself quite clear.”
Forrester waited a moment while they watched him with tense anticipation. He took a deep breath.
“On November 12, 1993, the Soviet Union reported the disappearance of their new Typhoon-class ballistic missile nuclear submarine, Vostochnaya Slava, off Jan Mayan Island in the Arctic Ocean-”
Lucas felt Finn Delaney’s hand grasping his forearm in a viselike grip. He glanced at Finn, seated beside him, and saw that all the color had suddenly drained from his face. They exchanged quick glances and Lucas saw the fear in Finn Delaney’s eyes. He tried to swallow and found himself unable to. His throat felt constricted. The realization struck them both at the same time.
Whoever had stolen the warp discs had used them to hijack a Soviet nuclear submarine, a mobile, submerged and therefore practically undetectable strategic missile base. And with a V-20 warp disc, the Russian sub could be equipped for time travel and teleportation.
1
“Apparently,” said Forrester, “no one knows exactly when the Soviet sub disappeared. Its disappearance was officially reported on November 12, but the Kremlin was aware of it as early as two weeks prior to that date. The head of the Observer Corps outpost in that time period and location is Lieutenant Colonel Powers, whose cover is that of an agent for United States Central Intelligence functioning as a mole within the KGB headquarters in Moscow. From him, we have the following:
“Jan Mayan Island is a small spit of rock of about 145 square miles located in the Arctic Ocean between the northern part of Norway and Greenland. The island is owned by Norway and its remote location, as well as the savage climate, in which temperatures fall between 40 and 50 degrees below zero with a windchill factor of over 100 below, make it an ideal place for submarines keeping an eye on the passage from beneath the Arctic icecap. There is no sloping continental shelf, just vertical cliffs rising up out of the sea and dropping off rapidly to great depths, making it ideal for a large submarine to lie close in, completely undetected. A perfect location for a hidden missile base. There was nothing on Jan Mayan at the time except for a small meteorological station. The last coded radio transmission from the Vostochnaya Slava was a routine message on October 28, and then the submarine disappeared without a trace. The United States denied any involvement in the disappearance of the sub. This information was backed up by CIA reports to which Powers, of course, had access.
“Subsequently, the TIA compiled data from other stations in other time periods, among which were the following reports. In July of 1783, the British man-of-war Avenger picked up the sole survivor of another British man-of-war, the Covenant. The shipwreck victim died soon after being rescued„but not before claiming the Covenant had been sunk by a ‘sea monster’ capable of great speed which spat fire at the ship. He described it as being larger than a whale, with a fin very like a shark’s. Clearly, it could have been the sail of a nuclear submarine.
“In August of 1652, during Britain’s war with the Dutch over the First Navigation Act, the Dutch ship Amsterdam was blown out of the water and completely obliterated while in a naval engagement with the British ship, Albatross. The Albatross was destroyed in a flash burn, going up like a tinderbox. The survivors who managed to get away in boats all died of what was reported to be scurvy, although the symptoms were far more indicative of radiation sickness. Nearby ships reported the explosion of the Amsterdam as being ‘cataclysmic,’ surmising she was loaded to her gunwales with powder. However, the powder magazine’s explosion would not have accounted for the flash burn of the Albatross. An atomic torpedo would.
“Numerous sightings of a maritime phenomenon variously described as ‘an enormous thing,’ a ‘long, spindle-shaped object,’ and an ‘aquatic mammal of unknown origin’ were reported in the 19th century, beginning in the year 1866, when the steamer Governor Higginson of the Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company encountered a ‘moving mass’ five miles off the coast of Australia. On the 23rd of July of that same year, a similar sighting was reported in the Pacific Ocean by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam Navigation Company. At the time, it was noted that these two sightings were separated by a period of three days and a distance of over seven hundred nautical leagues. About two weeks later, the Helvetia, of the Compagnie-Nationale and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship Company, both sighted a ‘monster’ in the Atlantic between the United States and Europe, estimating its length at over five hundred feet, which would either have made it a whale of unprecedented size, a sea monster of some sort, or a submarine. Several of these sightings also reported the ‘creature’ was capable of astonishing speed, others reported that it submerged immediately.
“Finally, the most telling piece of evidence was uncovered on Jan Mayan Island, when a TIA surveillance team, clocked back to the site of the Soviet sub’s disappearance, found an abandoned Spatial Anomaly Displacement Detector. Needless to say, t
hey did not have SADD’s in the 20th century. Temporal Intelligence fed all available data into their computers and, given the available evidence, they have recreated a scenario of the most likely possibility for what occurred in the Arctic on or about October 28, 1993…”
The Arctic Wind howled through the rocks of the barren, ice-encrusted island, making it next to impossible for the men to remain standing upright. They crouched behind an outcropping, huddled close together in their temperature-controlled suits, looking like slick sea lions as the spray glistened on polymer fabric, making droplets on the visors of their formfitting helmets. One man bent low over the Spatial Anomaly Displacement Detector, adjusting the directional and depth scan and watching the screen intently, his eyes locked onto the soft, green-glowing grid coordinate lines that crisscrossed the monitor. A low, deep, resonant voice spoke over the headset inside his helmet.
“Anything yet?”
“Not yet. She’s down there. It’s just a matter of time. You can’t hide something that displaces 28,000 tons from this instrument. All we need to do is-”
A softly glowing red outline in the shape of a submarine suddenly appeared upon the grid screen.
“Got her! Look at that! Isn’t she a beauty?”
“You can admire her at your leisure later,” the voice came back over his headset. “Right now, I’d appreciate having the transition coordinates. I would prefer a more hospitable environment.”
“Coming right up… Captain,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder and grinning behind his faceplate. “Stand by. We’re going down and under!”
There were fourteen men seated in the wardroom of the submarine. They were all young, ranging in age from twenty-two to thirty-five, and dressed in dark-blue, short-sleeved jumpsuits. The temperature inside the submarine was a comfortable, constant 70 degrees and the fluorescent lights were white, for day cycle. At the end of the watch, they would go to red interior light to simulate nighttime. Several of the men were eating snacks; others were drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Valentin Mikhailov watched Aleksander Muraviov’s face intently as the latter frowned down at the pieces of the chessboard, pursing his lips thoughtfully. At twenty-nine, Mikhailov was senior to the younger Muraviov by seven years. He smiled, slightly. Muraviov was going to lose again. Still, he got better every time. He had the makings of an expert player and Mikhailov knew it would not be very long before he would be giving him good matches. He picked up his package of American cigarettes, unfiltered Camels, and lit one up, drawing the smoke in deeply and exhaling it through his nostrils.
“Davaye, davaye, Sasha,” he said, addressing Muraviov by the affectionate diminutive of his first name, “ni kopaisiya.” (Come on, come on, Sasha, don’t dawdle.)
“Zatknise, Mikhailov. Uspakoisya. Ya dumaiyu.” (Shut up, Mikhailov. Calm down. I’m thinking.)
“Sleduistchi budiet mat.” (Next move will be mate.)
“Yob tebyeh, Valentin.” (Fuck you, Valentin.) Muraviov compressed his lips into a tight grimace and shook his head. “Aah, nyet smisla.” (Aah, what’s the use?) He knocked over his king.
“Istcho raz?” said Mikhailov. (One more time?)
Muraviov grinned and began to set up the pieces for a new game. Suddenly, he looked over Mikhailov’s shoulder and his eyes grew wide. “Chiyort vazmi!”
Two men dressed head-to-toe in weird-looking, shiny suits materialized in the wardroom out of thin air. In the split-second instant of shocked hesitation by the members of the submarine’s crew, both of them twisted something in their hands and gently lobbed two slender tubes onto the floor. There was a hissing noise. Mikhailov shot out of his chair, but didn’t even take two steps before his eyes rolled up and he collapsed. It took only a matter of seconds. All fourteen men were unconscious. At that same moment, the exact scene was replayed when one man materialized in the submarine’s control room, another in the engine room and one in the crew’s quarters. The invisible gas spread rapidly throughout the sub. There was never any chance of giving an alarm. The five men moved rapidly through the boat, already familiar with its layout. They released more gas, just to be safe, making certain that each member of the submarine’s crew was incapacitated. In less than five minutes, they controlled the boat.
“All right,” said their leader, over the comcircuit in their helmets. “Nicely done. Now let’s get that equipment on board.”
When Forrester had finished, one of the soldiers raised her hand.
“Sergeant Chan,” said Forrester.
She stood as she was called on. “Sir, assuming a small strike force of some sort actually did manage to overpower the crew of a Soviet submarine, how would they plan to operate it? Wouldn’t it require highly specialized training of the sort no longer offered in present time?”
Forrester nodded. “An excellent point, Sergeant Chan. We have two possible answers to that one. One, it is not beyond the realm of possibility for this to have been a long-range plan on the part of the hijackers. With access to warp discs, they could easily have clocked back to Minus Time, to the 20th century, and enlisted in the United States Navy, for example. The Navy had a nuclear-powered submarine training school in Idaho Falls and they might have obtained the necessary knowledge in that manner. However, that would have been doing it the hard way. If we are to presuppose an extremely organized, highly skilled group, then it makes more sense to assume at least one of their number was a therapist trained in re-education procedures. Getting their hands on the necessary equipment would have been child’s play after what they’ve already accomplished. Once they had overpowered the submarine’s crew, they could then condition them at their leisure to follow orders unquestioningly. Given the mentality of the Soviet military, that would not have been terribly difficult to do. The predisposition for unquestioning obedience would already have been there.”
Another soldier raised his hand. “Lieutenant Bryant?” said Forrester.
“Is there any indication of the purpose behind this act?” said Bryant.
“As of right now, no,” said Forrester. “There has been no contact, no demand for ransom, nothing. Temporal Intelligence believes the group is putting the sub through its paces, giving it a shakedown cruise while they familiarize themselves with its capabilities.”
Lucas raised his hand. “Major Priest,” said Forrester. “Just what are it’s capabilities, sir?” he said.
“The Soviet Typhoon-class subs were capable of sustained underwater cruising speeds in excess of sixty knots. Their titanium double hulls rendered magnetic detection virtually impossible and they were extremely quiet-running. They carried a full complement of ordnance, ranging from standoff missiles with a reported range of about 125 kilometers to cruise missiles, so-called “smart” missiles capable of being fired from the submarine’s torpedo tubes and flying as low as ten feet above the water, thereby defeating radar. They also carried a full range of torpedoes, from homing and wake-following to antisubmarine and conventional type. Last but not least, they were equipped with twenty ballistic missiles, capable of being launched from silos via hatches in the deck. These were of the MIRV type, or Multiple Independently Targeted Reentry Vehicle, with as many as fourteen or fifteen warheads on one missile, aimed at different targets hundreds of miles apart. These were launched when the missile reached the top of its trajectory, from the nose cone. This method was facilitated by use of an inertial guidance system. Measuring devices known as accelerometers recorded movement in every direction aboard the submarine and sent signals to the missile computers, which translated those signals into the sub’s exact position at any given time. Consequently, there was never any need to aim the missiles. If an order for launch was received, it would take only moments, if not seconds, to go through the procedure necessary to fire the missiles. One such MIRV missile could be fired every minute. No input into the ballistic computers was needed. The missiles would already know where they had to go.”
Finn expelled the breath he had been holding in a soft whoosh. He r
aised his hand. “Delaney?” said Forrester. “How deep could these things go, sir?”
“The Typhoon sub could dive to a depth of over four thousand feet,” said Forrester. “However, that is a conservative figure. We don’t know what the crush depth of the Soviet subs was and there’s every reason to believe they were capable of going deeper. Also, due to the fact the Soviets were always classification-happy, and due to the fact no one had ever succeeded in actually capturing a Soviet nuclear sub-”
“Until now,” Andre said, softly.
“-there is very little known about their actual capabilities. Without a pipeline into the KGB, we would have known even less.”
There was a profoundly uneasy silence in the room. Forrester glanced about grimly at all the tense faces.
