Crescendo of Doom

Chapter 31

Elena Fairchild was not satisfied. The conversation she had with Admiral Tovey had done nothing but deepen the mystery, and the dilemma she now found herself in. It was not simply the shock and amazement over what had happened to the ship, or even the deep, residual guilt she felt when she left those oil tankers adrift in that uncertain future.

The moment she received that fleet order on the Red Phone, the thrum of anxiety had redoubled. Her nerves had been jangled by the imminent outbreak of war, and their hurried mission to close a deal with Salase and complete that oil shipment would have been enough for anyone to cope with. When that order came, however, directing her to Delphi, she had been very perplexed. It was blunt and simple: Keyholder Alpha to designated mission point. Godspeed.

It was one of those things that had always been lurking in the background, and something she never quite grasped in its entirety. The duty had been handed to her, officially, just six months before she met Salase, when she was in home port, anchored off her corporate headquarters facility at Port Erin on the Isle of Man. She had gone ashore that day, thinking to have a bite of fish and chips at a favorite little restaurant near the old railway station and museum. The Port Erin Diner was a simple place, in an eggshell yellow building with the familiar green sign. Right next door was “The Station,” serving pure brewed traditional ales, and she would have a pint herself after lunch.

But the dark, official looking car that pulled up outside, and the man in a naval uniform with that briefcase, spelled trouble from the moment she saw them. Instead she was sought out by the young officer, a special courier, and told that she was to take delivery of the briefcase and its contents, and that he was not to leave her presence until he was satisfied that a security team was present to escort her safely back to the ship.

Once aboard Argos Fire she sat in her secure office, staring at that briefcase for some time before she mustered the determination to get on with it and open the damn thing. Inside she found a small manila envelope, and equally terse instructions.

Now designated Keyholder Alpha. Contents to be worn on person at all times. Mission point briefing to follow. The briefing had designated Delphi, and specifically the shrine itself, as her mission point, and gave instructions on how she was to excavate the site should she ever be called to carry out this mission. No further explanation was given, and for some time nothing more came of the matter.

It was just another of the many riddles and mysteries surrounding her induction into the Watch. The things she had learned had been deeply shocking, and her life was never quite the same afterwards. Once she had tried to unburden herself to Captain MacRae, Gordon, the man who had become much more than her able ship’s commander in recent weeks. She had always admired him, and knew that behind that admiration, another feeling lurked in the background, an attraction that she found impossible to dismiss. She had kept it hidden behind the protocols of running the ship, and conducting company business, but she could feel, with that intuition women are famous for, that there was something in his gaze at times, something in the tone of his voice, that was more than simple ship’s business.

At first she hesitated to say anything at all about her role—the secret office, the Red Phone, the Watch, the mission that she had been sent on as they were harried from the Black Sea on the eve of war. Then she knew that Gordon would inevitably be at the center of anything that happened, and to be effective, he would need to know more. But how to reveal the truth, the life changing truth that the world they were living in was something quite different than any of them ever imagined? How to explain it, that this moment was never lost on its endless movement forward in time? It was connected, always, to every other moment of the past, and every moment yet to unfold from an unknown future.

But why here, she thought. Clearly that device I retrieved from Delphi had but one purpose, and that was to somehow move this ship to this point in time. She had long known that such displacement in time was possible. She was one of the very few that knew this, a burden that seemed almost impossible to carry at times. Information had come to them long ago—information from the future. It had first served to persuade them as to its authenticity, quoting events that were yet to happen, chapter and verse. And then it had become a warning, of a ship, the very ship the Watch itself had been determined to wait for, and find—Geronimo.

Now it was here, steaming a thousand meters off their port quarter. But why was she here? What was she supposed to accomplish in this time? Was Argos Fire merely called to arms in this hour of need. Was she sent here to try and somehow save this strangely altered world she now found herself in? To find that they had moved, slipping from one of those cross-stitched moments in time to another, was amazing enough. But why this moment? And what about that note she had found, signed by Admiral Tovey himself?

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 Admiralty 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 being 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.

Volsky gave him a long look, almost as if he was trying to read the other man’s thoughts. “What now, Fedorov, another of your mysterious plans? What alternative?”

“No sir… It won’t be my doing. The third alternative would be the hand of fate, and I guess that is why I feel somewhat anxious now. Yes, we have the missiles to defend ourselves here, but there is one other way we could leave this time period before July 28th, and it is not very pleasant to consider.”

“The hand of fate? I see what you are getting at now. You are thinking our luck may run out one day. Well, I am the first to admit that I worry about that as well. Yes, every time we go into battle like this. There have been numerous close calls, and the sight of those big shells hitting the water near us is enough to give any man at sea the cold chill of death. The British were good, were they not? They were good enough to force Karpov to use a special warhead. And as for the Japanese, every time I walk past the battle bridge aft, I realize how close we came to that moment you fear. Every time I see that fresh paint over the scars of battle on this ship, I wonder about it. Yes, we have been very lucky. We have been at large here for a good long while, with the power to have our way, to go where we please and do what we like. Those men out there on the planes heading our way do not know what is about to befall them, and the odds are heavily in our favor that we will prevail here easily enough. Still… that gives me no solace, and this is what is really bothering you. Yes? You are thinking our lease is running out here, and that if we cannot reach into our bag of tricks and find a way to move the ship safely somewhere else, that Mother Time will have no recourse but to take the matter into her own hands.”

Fedorov nodded, for this was truly the heart of his worry. “Yes sir, you have scored a direct hit. That is what I’m concerned about, because that may be all it would take to finish us, and make certain we are not in the way to create this insoluble paradox come late July. So yes, when we go into battle like this, I feel that nerve pulse somewhere inside—a little fear and anxiety is normal, but this is something more. The thought that our doom may be inevitable is most unsettling.”

“So you are thinking one of these planes may get through our defenses here? While that may be possible, I do not think it is likely. If need be we could destroy each and every contact well before they get into firing range. You said yourself that this will most likely be a low level torpedo attack, and the weapons of this day do not have a very long range.”

“They will have to get inside 3000 meters,” said Fedorov, the reflexive retrieval of that fact a small comfort to them both.

“Well then,” said Volsky with an air of finality. “This is really nothing special at all. The day you stop feeling that twist in your chest when you go into combat, is the day you should really be worried. Fight your battle, Mister Fedorov. We do what we must, and leave the rest to time and fate.”

Samsonov was ready for action, and this time Kirov would not be sorely tested, though the killing gave Fedorov little comfort. When the missiles came, the more experienced squadron leaders called out for their sub-flights to dive to attack elevation, hoping to evade the high flying rockets, but to no avail. The fiery lances swooped and dived, falling on the formation of SM-79s and lighting up the horizon with bright red-yellow explosions, each one the death of one plane and its unlucky crew, the souls tapped by Samsonov as he heedlessly made his target selections. Shocked by the attack, the Italian pilots craned their necks, thinking they may have miscalculated the range and flown right over an enemy ship. Others knew better, having seen the missile contrails that led back over the horizon. Yet knowing where the attackers were imparted no advantage to them. The fact remained that they would be seen, targeted, and killed long before they ever would get the chance to do the same to their enemy.

All twelve Klinok missiles scored hits, thinning the ranks to 22 Sparrowhawks and 16 Kingfishers. There came a brief interval of calm. Then, ten minutes later, the sky was scored by the vapor trails of more missiles, this time the Aster-15s rising to challenge the enemy as they reached the 30 kilometer range line. Argos Fire had eighty of these left, and had fired an initial barrage of ten. By the time ten more planes and crews had died, the incoming attack had sustained nearly 50% casualties, and it was going to take some very brave men to press on against targets they had not even spotted.

The squadron leader had had enough. Citing darkness and poor visibility, and facing an enemy that had such lethal accuracy, he broke off his attack and turned back. The first trip wire of enemy air defenses would therefore be passed for the expense of 22 missiles. The last twelve pilots in the Kingfishers dropped their torpedoes, if only to say they had at least delivered some potential reprisal to the unseen enemy. None of the 60 torpedoes carried by the Sparrowhawks ever tasted water, except those that fell in those fiery wrecks.

Back at their bases, disheartened and defeated, the Air Commander had no harsh words for them. “Let the Navy handle this,” he said. “I will send no more of my men to their death against ships that can kill us before we even see them! Let the submarines deal with these ships!”

It was as if he had announced act two of the play that was now unfolding, for far beneath the sea, well out in the van of the British formation, Chernov was listening intently on his sonar headphones, and suddenly smiled.

“Con, Sonar. Contacts ahead, enemy submarines, confidence high.”

On the bridge of Kazan, Gromyko reached up, ever so slowly, and did what every man there expected him to do— he scratched the back of his head. The Matador was about to unfurl his cape.

Chapter 33

Mack Morgan had his answer from Tovey, that Rodney had been recalled for maintenance problems, and would be bound for Boston soon. It seemed simple enough, but just to be thorough, he decided to check ship’s records to see what he could find on the incident. Now he was in Elena Fairchild’s stateroom, making his intelligence report.

“A bit of a mixed bag here, Mum. On the one hand, Tovey’s information jives with our own historical records on movements for this ship, on the other, I don’t think he’s given us the whole story.”

“Oh? Please explain.”

“Well, I decided to dig a little deeper, and went over the log of that ship’s movements in some detail. It seems it was given a special mission, very secret, transporting bullion and other valuables to the United States for safe keeping.”

Elena did not tell Mack that she already knew that. It was in the historical record, and she knew all the details given her position in the Watch.

“Thing is this, Mum. That’s our history, from the world we were sailing in before that trip we took to Delphi, and before we pulled this duty. As we’ve seen, this world is more than a wee bit different. That British ship out there never existed in our world, nor the ship we’re out after now, the Hindenburg. So I find it odd that these little details still seem to hold some coherent shape. I mean, Rodney was detailed to Force H just before this assignment, not on convoy duty out of Halifax, as in our history. But when it comes to this little secret mission, it’s as if the event has a kind of magnetism. I’ve had my people listening in on Admiralty message traffic—got to keep the black line boys busy. And we went over those message logs as well. Rodney was ordered back to the Clyde, and was to refuel for immediate duty thereafter. Needless to say, that’s very strange for a ship with dodgy boilers and a bad turbine.”

“King’s business, at least in this world,” said Elena. “Any movement of bullion and other valuables would have that designation.”

“Fair enough, no argument there. But I read a little further, and it seems Rodney had a collision a few weeks ago. The ship ran into a trawler in a night passage as she was returning to the Clyde. Oh, it’s right there in our own historical logs, but why should it also be the case here in this world? We’ve got Russia broken into three pieces, strange ships at sea, Gibraltar taken by the Germans, not to mention Malta! With all these major changes, why would something of such insignificance hold true in both worlds like that? But that’s the case. I just read the Admiralty message on that collision. Found it in the signals archive we’ve been building since we got here. There it was—same ship, and same bloody day. It happened on the 20th of April.”

“Same day? That is strange,” said Elena. “And where is Rodney at this moment?”

“Scapa Flow,” said Morgan. “She was escorted there by three destroyers, and arrived the 23rd of April. She’s been there ever since. The cover story is maintenance on those turbines, but then we have this King’s business you mention. According to our history, she’ll soon be sent to the Clyde again to load boiler tubes and a few other little niceties.”

“The Elgin Marbles,” said Elena.

“Aye, pilfered by our very own Lord Elgin.”

“Rescued by Lord Elgin,” said Elena, and Mack gave her a wink.

“You have an interest in this, Mum?”

“Somewhat,” said Elena, thinking. “Thanks Mack. Stay on top of this, will you? I want to be informed the instant that ship puts to sea, and if you can give me heading, course and speed, all the better. Don’t you just love tall orders like that?”

“Well,” said Mack, “I’ll have to earn my keep somehow. I’ll have my ear to the ground on this one for you because, with this little foot race we’re in here, I’ve a notion that things are going to heat up for us fairly soon. We expended ten Aster-15s to repel that incoming air strike, but that was the end of it. The Russians threw twelve missiles at it themselves, and there will be more than a few empty chairs in the squadron briefing room tomorrow. So I think we’ll get through the Sicilian narrows tonight as planned. After that, things should settle down until we get closer to Gibraltar.”

“Good enough, Mack. Keep me informed.” She thought for a moment. “Oh Mack, one other thing. Get another message off to Admiral Tovey. Ask if we can come alongside tonight. I’d like to have a little chat with him.”

That night the weather was fair, with calm seas, and it made the ride across to HMS Invincible a little easier for Elena. She had sea legs for the big boats, but never felt comfortable on the small ones. She was piped aboard, glad to be up the ladder and on a firm and steady deck again, and enduring the curious glances from the young officers, unaccustomed as they were to ever seeing a woman aboard ship.

Some minutes later she was escorted into Admiral Tovey’s stateroom, and there she was surprised to see that the young Russian Captain was also there with his interpreter.

“Good evening, Miss Fairchild,” said Tovey. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited another guest for tea.”

Elena gave Fedorov a quick glance, smiling and extending a hand, but thought better of saying that she had hoped this might be a private meeting. The Russian Captain was most likely here to discuss the route ahead, and coordinate plans, so she would get through ship’s business first, as always, before turning to the questions she had been ruminating on of late.

“The Captain and I have just been informed that a pair of Italian submarines are waiting for us up ahead off the Skerki Banks. Good place for an ambush, I suppose. We call those narrows ‘Bomb Alley,’ at least we did before we lost Malta. Our convoys have no business there now, and the Italians are probably wondering just what business we have at the moment. But don’t worry, Mister Fedorov here tells me his people are handling the matter.”

“I’m sure they are.” She gave Fedorov a quick glance, listening to Nikolin translate, but it was the tone of her voice that carried most of the message, with just enough of the edge of suspicion to be discernible.

“Well,” said Tovey. “First things first. We should coordinate our plans for Gibraltar. We’ve been lucky thus far. If that is all the Italians have to throw at us, I’ll be quite satisfied on our chances of slipping through at Gibraltar.”

“What about the Germans,” asked Elena. “Won’t they have planes at Tunis?”

“Possibly, though from what we have been able to learn, most of those squadrons have forward deployed to support Rommel’s move east. It seems we could not have picked a better time to try and slip out. The Germans will likely have something based at Gibraltar, and we should also expect threats from mines, shore batteries on both sides of that passage, and enemy U-Boats. As to the shore batteries, RAF has had a look at that for us. They say the Germans have what look to be a few artillery installations in the works near Ceuta on the Peninsula de Santa Catalina. I could pound them with those nice big 16-inch guns out there, but that does get a bit untidy. Any thoughts?”

“We will not want to waste any missiles on them,” said Fedorov after he had heard the translation. “Our own deck guns are a good deal more accurate than your main batteries, Admiral. They can engage that artillery long before we ever come inside their range, but again, that will be like ringing the doorbell, and serve to alert any other defenses the enemy may have in place. The preferred strategy would be to engage the batteries just as we make ready to run through the straits. It would mean waiting until we are very near their firing range, yet it will be dark, and we’ll be running black. I think the risk is acceptable.”

“We could also use my X-3s,” said Elena, when Nikolin had finished. “They could hover on overwatch, and engage those guns spot on, and only if we are discovered and it appears they are making ready to engage us.”

“A good plan,” said Tovey.

“Yet I’m more worried about the U-boat threat,” said Elena.

“That will not be a problem,” said Tovey. “At least that is what I am told by Captain Fedorov.” Tovey looked at Fedorov now, and received a confirming nod of the head.

“Miss Fairchild,” said the Admiral. “At a meeting with Admiral Cunningham, myself, and the Russian Admiral Volsky, something else was confided to us. It was being held secret, as so much of this business is, but as you and your ship are in the thick of it here with us, you must know what I am now about to tell you. The Russian battlecruiser is not the only vessel from their time that is present here in 1941. There is another boat, a submarine, and it is out in front of our task force clearing the way insofar as the undersea threat is concerned.”

“A submarine?” Elena was quite surprised, restraining a flash of anger at the same time. “Why wasn’t I told this before?”

“My apologies,” said Tovey. “You were not at that meeting, and the matter slipped my mind, though I had every intention of briefing you, for obvious reasons. I am told the radars and sonar systems on your ship are very good, and was worried you might discover this submarine on your own and deem it a threat. I put that aside, being told that this vessel was not near us at the time, but now, with this mission, you need to know.”

“I see… So things are being handled on a need to know only basis here. I cannot say I am happy with this arrangement, Admiral.”

“I apologize again, but please understand that we meant you no disrespect.”

“The submarine in question is our Yasen Class boat, Kazan.” Fedorov was forthcoming, seeing himself that Fairchild was not happy the information was withheld. “It is a very long story as to how it comes to be here with us, but I would be happy to brief you in full. It is not our wish to withhold information, and frankly, I do have many questions myself, chiefly concerning the matter of how your own ship arrived here.”

Elena folded her arms, looking the young Russian over and trying to size him up. She had a knack for getting a sense of someone, born from long hours negotiating business arrangements across boardroom tables, and with some very shady characters over the years. She could hear the obvious sincerity in the man’s voice, even with the language barrier. It was a struggle for her, at first, as she had only just come from a hot engagement with the Russian Black Sea fleet, losing a fleet tanker and a lot of her people there. Now here she was, wrapped up in this strange alliance with this Russian ship and crew, in another world, another time. It was still taking her some time to tamp down her old instincts and reflexes where the Russians were concerned, and now she had questions of her own.

“Alright,” she said finally. “I accept your apology, Admiral, and I’m not naive enough to think I will be privy to everything, but there are some things I should know, and yes, Captain Fedorov, the first is how this submarine came to be here.”

So Fedorov started to explain, trying to be brief, but fair and complete enough to satisfy this woman. Yet the moment he tried, he realized how tangled all of this was. Kazan was here because of Rod-25. That was the simple explanation as to how the sub had appeared. Revealing why it had been sent on this mission was another matter. It meant that he would have to explain a good deal about what had happened to them aboard Kirov, information concerning Captain Karpov, the mutiny, and his redemption. He told that story faithfully, and then spoke of the clues they had found in the Pacific as to how the war would begin in 2021. It was a little more difficult when it came to Karpov’s assignment in leading out the Red Banner Pacific Fleet, and his subsequent disappearance, wayward fall from grace, and mysterious re-appearance here in WWII. It was a lot to convey, and Nikolin was kept quite busy for a while, but Elena was spellbound.

“Amazing,” she said at last. “He ended up in 1908? Your ship was actually engaging Admiral Togo’s fleet there?”

“Our Captain Karpov was a very determined man,” said Fedorov. “When he found himself in that time, by chance we believed at first, he saw it as an opportunity to reverse Russia’s defeat at the hands of the Japanese Navy in 1905. In fact, it was always a struggle with Karpov, even while he served aboard our ship. He saw these events as presenting us with a definitive opportunity to change the history in a way that favors Russia.”

“Then he was trying to deliberately change the history? This wasn’t all an accident as I was told earlier?”

“Let me be clear,” said Fedorov. “Our initial displacement in time was the accident. Decisions this man made after that were willful, and though we must take responsibility for what we have done, we did not agree with Karpov, and were trying to stop him. We found ourselves here, bewildered, and soon pulled into the fire of this war. Much of what we did was simply to defend ourselves, as Admiral Tovey and his Royal Navy proved to be quite a formidable opponent! But yes, Karpov took deliberate action, and it was aimed at bettering Russia’s future, yet it failed. We later saw the terrible consequences of our meddling here. Ever since then, it had been our effort to try and prevent those consequences, one of which is that war we were starting in 2021.”

“And this Karpov took the fight all the way to 1908?” Elena shook her head, astounded to learn all of this, and inwardly nagged by a great unanswered question about it all.

“I was not surprised to see what Karpov planned to do when he found himself in 1908,” said Fedorov. “At one point, I thought we had seen him come to his senses, and take a more reasonable view. In fact, I came to like the man very much, and admire his skill at the helm. I learned a very great deal from him, and believe me, it was not easy for me to raise my hand against him. But it was absolutely necessary. Kazan was our only means of doing so, a threat so powerful that Karpov could not dismiss it. We removed the control Rod from Kirov before the ship sortied from Vladivostok in 2021, and the reason why is another long story I will confide to you later. Yet that allowed us to use this rod on Kazan, and to eventually stop Karpov in 1908.”

“You went that far back? I wonder why? All your other displacements only brought you to the 1940s, or so you’ve explained.”

“Very true, and that was somewhat of a mystery at first, but I have come to some understanding about it, which I will share with you if you care to hear it. It gets at the heart of why all of this is happening, and might possibly help us untie this Gordian knot we’ve got on our hands now.”

“I see,” said Elena. “Do go on, Captain. I’m all ears.”