Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) (22 page)

He watched, astounded, as the first wave reached them, lightly
rolling the trawler, then another and another, a miniature tsunami disturbing
the placid sea. The mist thickened, becoming a fog that now enveloped them and
became so dense that they could no longer see but a few feet beyond the
gunwales of the boat. A thrumming vibration was felt, a trembling quiver in the
air and sea.

He looked over to check on Haselden, still worried about the
Captain, and was given the shock of his young life. The man was there…but
not
there! He seemed to be wavering in the odd mist about the ship, a look of
profound fear on his face, and absolute astonishment and alarm! Then, with a
strange hiss, Haselden was gone! The man simply vanished into the mist, as if
he was a ghost—as if he had never been there at all!

Then all was calm.

Sutherland stepped back, eyes wide, heart pounding with fright.

“Jock?” His rational mind forced him to lurch over the edge of the
trawler, thinking Haselden might have fallen into the sea, but there wasn’t the
slightest sign of that in the water. The odd ripples in the calm sea remained
completely undisturbed.

“What’s up with those Russians, Lieutenant?” It was Sergeant Terry
calling to him from within the cabin of the boat. “Can’t see a thing in this
mist.”

Neither could Sutherland, but he was still shaken by what he
had
seen—what he knew he had seen—but what he also knew was quite impossible. What
happened just now? Where was the Captain?

“My God…” He let out a long breath, staring at Sergeant Terry, his
face ashen white.

“What’s gotten in to you, Lieutenant?”

“It’s Jock…He was there. Right there next to me, Sergeant. And
when that bloody fog rolled in, he…why he just vanished!”

“Man overboard?”

“No! I was looking right at him and he simply disappeared!”

Sergeant Terry narrowed his eyes, giving Sutherland a stern look.
He had seen men go daffy under pressure, but Sutherland seemed to have the
situation well in hand up until now. What was the Lieutenant talking about? Was
there an explosion or accident of some kind on that odd looking ship? That
rolling fog and the ripples in the sea had originated from the ship, and caught
them like a bad storm front. He peered into the mist, a strange feeling in his
gut that they had lost their way and were now adrift on an endless sea of
oblivion.

*
* *

Inside
the cabin Orlov could feel it too. Another trawler, he had
thought at first. Good! It beats walking, or even bouncing about in a truck on
those muddy roads. If they had stayed ashore they would certainly have been
caught up in the fighting that was closing in on the city. The roads south were
probably cut already by the Germans.

When he saw where these men were heading, he was relieved. Another
little trip by sea would be just the perfect way out of this mess, unless those
Marines on the hovercraft get nosey. Who were these men? They had gunned down
his Marine captors without a moment’s hesitation, as if they had been lying in
wait all along, ready to spring their little trap.

When the leader spoke to him in English he did not know what he
was saying, but gave the man a subtle grin nonetheless. From their looks, and
the uniforms they had on under their trench coats, he reasoned they were
British soldiers. What in the world were they doing here? Could those men at
Gibraltar have followed his trail all the way here? He found that prospect hard
to believe, but considered it a possibility. If that were the case, then they
would be trying to get me safely out of this region to an area controlled by
the British in WWII.

Now he wished he had held on to his computer jacket. Svetlana
would have given him all the information he needed about British operations and
bases close to the Caspian. On second thought, the sight of the jacket stuffed
down the throat of Commissar Molla and dangling like a bizarre beard from the
man’s chin gave him another moment’s amusement. The Marines found him even
without his jacket. If it were not for these three men he would probably be
aboard that ship out there with the rest of the Russians.

He looked out the cabin window at the ship, thinking it looked odd
and squarish to be a sea going vessel. What was it? It clearly was not a
carrier, or even an
Ivan Rogov
class transport ship. Look how they had
to moor the hovercraft by its side like that. And look at that monster of a
helo on the top! Now he knew what he had heard before in the truck as they
arrived here—that was an Mi-26! Someone went to some very elaborate ends to
plan and launch this mission. They must want me very badly.

As he watched the Marines on the deck he passed a moment of
regret, a feeling that he should be there with them, his true countrymen from
the future world of 2021. They were brave to come after him this way and fight
off the Germans in the bargain. Fedorov undoubtedly planned this whole thing,
and he most likely talked Volsky into providing all this equipment. My God,
they built a whole reinforced amphibious assault company to come after me! He
was almost sorry he had to disappoint them.

Then he heard that same descending vroom, felt the deep vibration
as it fell into a black hole below the threshold of all sound. He sensed the
charged quality of the air, and saw the eerie sheen wavering between the
trawler and the Russian ship. He had felt all these things before, and each
time it was an occasion when
Kirov
displaced in time. But that wasn’t
Kirov
out there. It was some kind of floating facility—probably a power plant like
they use in the arctic at times, or up near Kamchatka. How could it move in
time?

He stared until the grey mist rolled out to
envelop them, with a sinking feeling that his comrades from the future were now
long gone. He was alone again, marooned again, trapped here in the middle of
the Second World War without even Svetlana to help him find his way.

I still know what happens, he thought, consoling himself. I may
not know all the little details, but I’ll know the big things. I know how the
war goes, and how it all ends. I know about Khrushchev and the Cuban Missile
Crisis and the Berlin Wall and when it all goes to hell and comes falling down.
I’ll know enough to make a lot of money. But first I’ll need to deal with these
three here, and this burley Sergeant sitting in front of me will be no small
task.

Three men? He looked again, seeing there were only two now. The
older man, apparently their commanding officer, was no longer there. Perhaps he
was on the other side of the boat, he thought, thinking what he might do next. Bide
your time, he told himself. Time was one thing he had in abundance now…All the
time in the world.

Part VII

Tatsu Maru

“The two most important requirements for major success are: first,
being in the right place at the right time, and second, doing something about
it.”

—
Ray Kroc

Chapter 19

Karpov
wasted no time getting the ship out to sea again, much to the
chagrin of the crew. They had hoped to debark and spend time in the city, but
the Captain thought it would be too dangerous at this early stage, and Rodenko
agreed.

“At the moment we are the great unknown, a great surprise and
novelty. They will spend the next week trying to get news from St. Petersburg
about us, and in that time I plan to make a few headlines myself. Once we
establish dominance here, there will be ample time for the crew to take some
much needed shore leave. But for now, we have business to attend to.”

They slipped out of the harbor, and many watched the ship go,
waving from the wharves and quays as
Kirov
sailed off. Karpov sounded
the ship’s horn in farewell, and soon they were clear of the barrier islands
and out into the Sea of Japan. He set course for the Tsugaru Strait, intending
to take the most direct route to the principal Japanese ports near Tokyo. It
wasn’t long before they ran into commercial traffic, outbound to the Sea of
Japan.

Karpov
paced on the bridge, pausing from time to time to
peer at the distant steamers through his field glasses. They had seen the ships
on radar long ago, cruising sedately off the coast of Japan in the Tsugaru
Straits just south of Hokkaido.
Kirov
was approaching from the west, having
sailed from Vladivostok the previous day.

How ironic, he thought. I believed I could get to Sagami Bay in
1945 to lay down a strong position for Russia. Now I sail there in 1908, and
this time the Americans can do nothing about it whatsoever. The sea is mine! I
am the sole authority in these waters now. No ship can darken my horizon
without my knowing about it, and nothing can follow in my wake to ever overtake
me. I go where I please; do what I please. Now I truly am the king of these seas,
and I will soon issue the first of my edicts here.

He had scoured the ship’s crew to find someone who could speak
Japanese. There were three men in all, and Chekov, a young
mishman
in
the missile section, was ordered to the bridge. He was sitting next to Nikolin
at the communications station, a headset covering his ears as he was being
trained by the more experienced officer there, learning how all the systems
worked. They would not need voice communications yet, as most ships of that day
did not have radio sets, particularly old steamers like those they were
approaching now. Instead they might tap out communications in International
Morse code.

“Mister Nikolin,” Karpov turned to the two men. “Signal that ship
and find out where they are heading and what cargo they carry.”

“Very good, sir.”

Nikolin began in International Morse, but he had Chekov at hand in
case the Japanese used Wabun or Kana code, a special extension of the code that
allowed for the sending of Kana characters and their Latin letter equivalents.
Should they be received, Chekov would assist in translating.

Sure enough, Nikolin received a dash, two dots and three dashes as
the prefix signal indicating Wabun code. He wrote down what they received and Chekov
slowly translated the syllables.

“O-ha-yo-u-go-za-i-ma-su,” he said at last. “They are saying good
morning, sir.”

“Yes, well have them answer my question, and be quick about it.”

The seconds passed as Chekov first told Nikolin what to send in
characters, and it was tapped out on the telegraph set.

“They say they are the
Tatsu Maru
and behind them is
Kanto
Maru
, both bound for Dalian and carrying rice and soy, sir.”

“Dalian? Isn’t that on the coast of the Yellow Sea?” Karpov went
to his Plexiglas map and noted the position, seeing that it was just north of the
old Port Arthur. “So this is a supply ship bound for territories lately seized
by the Japanese—territories that were formerly controlled by Russia, I might
add. How very interesting. Well, tell them they are to reverse course and make
for the nearest Japanese port. No Japanese ship is authorized to enter the
Yellow Sea from this day forward.”

Nikolin gave the Captain a wide eyed look, but then quickly began
to piece together a message with Chekov. It was some time before they got a
response. “They want to know who we are, sir?” Nikolin adjusted his headset, a
little nervous now, as he could almost predict how these events would
transpire.

“Send that we are the Russian battlecruiser
Kirov
. Send it
in International Morse code and they are to respond in kind.”

Again there was a very long pause, and Nikolin could hear that the
ship was also tapping another signal to any nearby shore station to indicate
they were in contact with a Russian vessel.

They can see us now, thought Karpov. Good… Let them have a good
long look. He even came a few points to starboard to present the full profile
of the ship, and display its massive silhouette. Nikolin reported what the Japanese
were saying to shore:
Large ship sighted. Russian colors. Ship of war.

“Well?” Karpov’s impatience was obvious now. “What do they reply?”

“Still waiting, Captain.”

Karpov could see the steamer making a turn, away from
Kirov
but still obviously heading for the Sea of Japan. “Tell them they are to assume
a course of 090 degrees east and return to Japan at once.”

Even as Nikolin sent that instruction, Chekov was translating the
last signal from the Japanese, still truculently in Kana code in spite of
Karpov’s order to the contrary. He passed the information to Nikolin as he
finished sending. They received only four characters, which Chekov had
translated as: “sa-yo-na-ra.”

“They say goodbye, sir. That is all.”

Karpov just looked at him, somewhat perturbed. “Goodbye? Nothing
more?”

“Still waiting, Captain.”

“Well, perhaps I can hurry them along,” said Karpov, this time
turning to Samsonov. “Activate the 100mm bow gun,” he said tersely.