Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) (19 page)

―
Amy Plum

Chapter 16

Orlov
ran down the stairs, hearing the
sounds of battle outside, pistol in hand. He had done what he came here to do,
and now it was time to get free of this place and find a life for himself. But
what to do? He knew that men from the ship were looking for him. The sound of
the helicopter he had heard was unmistakable, though it sounded deeper and more
powerful than he ever remembered a KA-40. If they were here then they must have
flown all the way in from the Black Sea, he reasoned. They must have lingered
near Spain, searching for him, and then tracked the signal from his jacket all
the way here.

Yet
something did not quite add up in that equation. He kept his jacket computer off
most of the time, and knew it would only broadcast its IFF signal five
kilometers in that state. The journey he had taken across the Med was on a slow
Turkish steamer.
Kirov
would have had ample time to find and intercept
that ship, yet it sailed merrily across the Med and through the Aegean to
Istanbul before he transferred to that trawler. And if a ship like
Kirov
had entered the Black Sea, forcing the Bosporus and Dardanelles, he would
certainly have heard something about it.

He
knew he had been using the jacket computer in active mode on the journey across
the Black Sea in that trawler. That would have extended the range of the signal
to fifty kilometers, yet the only thing that had bothered them there was that
stupid German submarine. If they tracked him here, then they would have had to
be within 50 kilometers of the Black Sea Coast when he made port there with his
NKVD handlers. Why didn’t they come for him before he started his train ride
east through Georgia to his Grandmother’s farm? It just did not make any sense.

Then
he remembered something…that letter he had written in the journal, the note to
Fedorov! He had lamented his fate at Kizlyar, and addressed Fedorov by name.
Was it possible? Could that letter have survived the war and the long decades
afterward to be discovered by Fedorov in the future? If that were true, then
the ship made it home safely. If that were true then they must have had a real
reason to try and come back for him in the Caspian. But how did they accomplish
that? No one knew why the ship was marooned in time, or how it moved back and
forth through the centuries—at least not at the time he jumped ship.

Fedorov,
he thought. That little weasel would be the only one who could figure all this
out. Fedorov… For some reason that man wanted to find him, and badly. The more
he thought about things the more this search by
Kirov
seemed desperate.
Why?

They
know I have the computer jacket, he thought all this while he was sitting there
in the Commissar’s office listening to the man trying to intimidate him with
his pistol and stupid questions. Yes, Fedorov would know that jacket would give
me tremendous power here. That’s why they came back. It’s not me they want—it’s
the stupid jacket! They’re afraid I’ll use that power. They’re afraid of
something I might do.

Then
his brain fell through to yet another level of the problem and he realized that
if the ship did move forward in time again, and they found his letter, then they
might also know everything of major import that he
did
do in the years
ahead. It would all be history to them. They could look it up!

So…that’s
why they are so desperate to find me—maybe I do something big with that jacket,
something spectacular, something that upsets Fedorov’s history books and causes
trouble. Orlov smiled. The whole world is my garden now, he realized. I can sew
and reap whatever I choose here, and I’m going to do something really big.

Now
he breathed deeply knowing that he was a fated man, an important man with a
destiny he was eager to find. If they wanted the damn computer jacket, then he
would leave it here. He’d get on well enough without it. Commissar Molla and
his pistol meant nothing now. He was going to slap it aside, choke the life out
of that miserable man, and then stuff his damn computer jacket down his throat.

And
that is exactly what he did.

Now
he was running down the steps to reach the lower entry. Just outside he could
hear shouts, gunfire. Someone yelled that the Germans were attacking. He could
hear the growl of armored fighting vehicles getting closer.

He
slipped into the outer yard, catching a glimpse of a tank slowly withdrawing
towards the coast—but not just any tank—a PT-76! They brought tanks with them?
How was this possible? There was no way they could have carried those vehicles
aboard
Kirov
, and now he was amazed to also see two PT-60 armored
personnel carriers loaded with modern day Russian Marines. He could hear them
shouting to one another, the squad sergeants barking out orders.

Then,
just as he made ready to turn and head for a side entrance in the outer wall,
he heard a sharp voice behind him. “Stand where you are!”

Orlov
turned and saw a Russian Marine, AK-74 leveled at him, face grim with the heat
of recent battle. “Gennadi Orlov?”

The
big Chief smiled. “Comrade!” He walked slowly toward the Marine. “Thank God you’ve
found me. I was afraid the Germans would get to me first…”

* * *

Troyak
was conducting an expert retreat,
peeling off one squad at a time and moving them back under the covering fire of
his remaining troops in place. All the while the last of his 82mm mortar teams
popped off rounds at the oil tank farm, where German infantry had been
infiltrating to see if they could put flanking fire on the main railway
warehouse he had defended so stubbornly.

The
Germans had learned the hard way that the Russian anti-tank defense was too
good to be overcome. They no longer attempted to get AFVs up close to
participate in the action. Instead, they were relying on the skill and sheer
mass of their infantry. Troyak was impressed with both their tactics and
bravery and knew he was dealing with a real professional force here,
disciplined, experienced and well trained men. They were slowly using the
weight of their superior numbers to infiltrate forward, pausing when the
Russian suppressive fire was too hot, advancing doggedly when it slackened for
any reason. All the while 105mm rounds continue to fall in and around the
Russian position.

At
one point the withdrawal seemed to spur the Germans on, and they rolled forward
more quickly. Troyak was forced to put together an assault squad to stem the
tide. He had his men lay down a barrage of rifle grenades, then the Marines
moved forward in a counterattack, moving, firing, moving , and all with the
weight of the tremendous volume of fire their AK-74s could put out. They
stopped the Germans again, set radio controlled charges in the building they
had just cleared and retaken, then with a whistle from Troyak they began a
stealthy retreat.

Troyak
ordered the men back to his newly established main line of resistance, and
watched intently through his infrared night vision goggles as the Germans
regrouped and rushed forward again. They were plastering the building with
suppressive fire from an MG-42, and the infantry stormed in, taking it back and
unaware that the Russians had left them a nasty surprise.

The
gritty Sergeant raised his fist and pulled down hard to give the order to
detonate the charges. The radioman gave the signal and the building erupted
with a series of six well staggered explosions, gutting the interior, and
anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.

That
will teach them to be more cautious, Troyak thought with an evil grin. Then he
was all business again, whistling to order his number one squad to peel off and
fall back to the next line of withdrawal. In this way the Marines displaced,
adopted new firing positions, launched occasional sharp counterattacks, and
skillfully fell back again, leaving booby-trapped positions behind them each
time.

There
was a brief lull in the fighting as the Germans assessed their situation, and
Troyak heard the rumble of trucks from the far side of the main rail yard. He
knew more reinforcements were coming up, and one look through his IR binoculars
told him the Germans were bringing un an engineer company with flame throwers
and satchel charges.

It
wasn’t until the NKVD units on the high hill to the west of the city fell that
Troyak knew it was time to tell Fedorov they should complete their withdrawal.
The sudden appearance of the young officer, riding in the ZSU-23, had provided
just the firepower he needed to stop the last German attack.

“If
you want to get all these troops and equipment safely back to the
Anatoly
Alexandrov
, then we need to move now, Colonel,” said Troyak, still
referring to Fedorov by the NKVD Colonel rank he had assumed for their mission.
“The Germans are bringing up assault engineers.”

“But
we don’t have Orlov yet! That was the whole reason we landed here!” Fedorov had
a determined look on his face, but he could see the concern in Troyak’s eyes
and knew that they could be at great risk here. “Start your withdrawal,
Sergeant. Perhaps Zykov can locate him before we have to pull his team out.”

“Very
well, sir. We should need half an hour. I’ll buy you as much time as I can
beyond that. I think we can hold them off and continue a good fighting
withdrawal. As for that,” he pointed at the ZSU-
Shilka
, “you had better
get it back to the
Aist
hovercraft near the main harbor at once. It’s
not amphibious, and could take much longer to load. The other vehicles can swim
off shore and we can load them there, if need be.”

Fedorov
nodded, and ordered the driver to get them back, but his heart was heavy. What
was Orlov doing? He had to know we were here to rescue him. He did not have
long to wait for an answer. Zykov called him on his jacket microphone and had
good news.

“Fedorov!
My men picked up Orlov five minutes ago, we’re heading for the coast now!”

“Great
news, Corporal. Get him to the
Anatoly Alexandrov!”

At
last! They had found him! Now it was just a matter of getting everyone else off
shore as quickly as possible. He radioed Troyak and gave him the go sign for a
full and speedy withdrawal, elated now that the long mission offered them
prospects of success.

What
next, he thought? Now we get to the
Anatoly Alexandrov
and take
inventory. It would be stupid to leave and then find we’re still missing a man
or two. He radioed ahead to Dobrynin and told him they were beginning their
withdrawal, and to have everything ready to utilize Rod-25 at his command. The
desperate shift back from the Primorskiy Engineering center had worked! They
got their man, and more—the mission had paid him a mysterious dividend with the
discovery of the strange effects he had experienced on the back stairs of
Ilanskiy. He knew that if they made it safely back to 2021, one of the first
things they would need to do is get men to secure that inn.

Yet
a thousand miles away, another man was already on the job there—Captain Ivan
Volkov where he sat being interrogated by the NKVD Colonel and Lieutenant
Surinov, and events were about to take yet another twist in a strange new
direction.

* * *

Volkov
had given the man his last warning.
He didn’t know what these idiots thought they were doing, masquerading in these
old uniforms and holding a Russian Naval officer at gunpoint like this. He
looked the Colonel right in the eye…

There
were three other men in the room, one holding a weapon loosely aimed at him,
the other with his rifle shouldered on a strap. The last was the Lieutenant
that had fingered him as somehow having something to do with Fedorov. That man,
Lieutenant Surinov, was fidgeting with his glasses, trying to clean one of the
lenses as Colonel Lysenko conducted the interrogation. Clearly none of the men
expected any real resistance from their captive, as irascible and uncooperative
as Volkov was. Yet that worked in the Captain’s favor. The NKVD men were not
prepared for what happened next.

Just
as Orlov had swiped the pistol from Commissar Molla’s hand, Volkov lashed out
again, doing the same to Lysenko. The weapon went flying across the room, and
Volkov kicked hard at the knee of the one NKVD guard who had his weapon at the
ready, toppling the man while the Captain wrenched at his sub machine gun. The
safety was off, and he squeezed off a burst of fire, killing the other guard.

Surinov
staggered backwards, but a quick step and Volkov was able to use the butt of
his weapon to deliver a sharp blow to his head, dropping him unconscious as his
spectacles clattered to the hard wood floor. There were shouts and hard
footfalls when the last two guards came running into the room. Another burst of
well aimed fire was enough to end their rush. Now it was Volkov and Lysenko.

Lysenko
dove to retrieve the pistol, but not fast enough. Bullets from a PPSh-41 are
much faster, and the Colonel joined his guards splayed out on the floor of the
dining hall for a long, eternal sleep. The arrogance of power and the brutality
with which he would treat countless innocent men and women in all the days
ahead died with him. Volkov’s single act of violence had done a great deal to
ease the suffering of many, just as Orlov’s hands had choked a good measure of
despair and degradation to death when the Commissar died, though neither man
knew this.