Pacific Storm

Chapter 1

A car drove quickly up the lane towards a stately estate, its buildings clustered one against another in an odd mingling of architectural styles. Bletchley Park, or ‘Station X’ as it was called, was one of ten special operations facilities set up by MI6, where ‘Captain Ridley’s Shooting Party’ was supposed to be enjoying afternoons on the adjoining sixty acre estate, with shotguns and hounds to hunt down quail. Yet its real purpose was derived from the feverish activity of the Government Code and Cypher School, England’s code breakers, a collection of brilliant and dedicated men and women who would generate the vital intelligence information needed to prosecute the war.

Here there were walls of colored code wheels, strange devices like the Enigma machines and odd looking equipment fed by long coiled paper tape, dimpled with a series of small black dots of varying sizes. The minds of Bletchley Park were already in the first stages of digitizing the analog world into forms their nascent computing machines could digest and ruminate upon. A year later the estate would see the installation of the first “Colossus” machine, a rudimentary computer housing all of 1500 vacuum tubes to power its mechanical brain.

The car stopped, its door opening quickly as Admiral Tovey stepped out, a thick parcel under his right arm. He did not approach the styled mansions up the main walkway, but veered left towards a green sided extension—Hut 4, the heart of naval intelligence. A year ago the men who worked there had been reveling in their first breakthrough, the deciphering of the German Enigma code. Then came the unaccountable appearance of a strange ship in the Norwegian Sea, and it set the whole community back on its heels.

Tovey walked past the row of white trimmed windows and entered through a plain unsigned door. He was immediately greeted by a Marine guard, who saluted crisply and led him down the narrow hall to the office of Alan Turing, who had been reading a volume of Byron’s poetry as he waited for the Admiral.

“Good day, Doctor,” said Tovey as he walked briskly in, his hand extended. Turing set his poetry down and rose to greet him, his dark eyes alight with a smile.

“Call me ‘Professor,’ Admiral. Everyone else does here, though I haven’t been given a formal chair as yet. The word doctor always seemed a tad sterile for me.”

“Very good, Professor. I’ve brought you a little something more for your file boxes,” said Tovey.

“Ah,” said Turing, “The photography!”

“Indeed. Two reels of film here with photos, and a full report. I’ve collected the logs of all ships involved, so you’ll have a good time sorting it all through before it gets filed away with everything else on this Geronimo business.”

“Very good, sir,” said Turing, his curiosity immediately aroused. “I wonder, Admiral. Might I persuade you to allow me to fly out to St. Helena one of these days and have a look for myself?”

Tovey raised an eyebrow, his face suddenly serious, and seated himself, his eye falling on the open volume of Byron’s poetry. He scanned the lines, reading inwardly:

With a heavy sigh he looked at Turing, and all the unanswered questions in his mind took a seat there with him, waiting to have their say. “I’m afraid I have some rather interesting news for you, Professor,” he said quietly. “And I think it’s high time that you and I have a very frank chat.”

“News, sir?” Turing received most information that might be considered news well before anyone else, so it was unusual, and even interesting to hear something he might not know.

“This ship—Geronimo—well it’s vanished again.”

“Vanished?” The word got Turing’s attention immediately, and he leaned forward, waiting to hear more.

“Indeed, and just as the escort reached St. Helena.”

“Are you saying it sunk, sir?”

“No, Professor, I am saying it simply vanished—sailed into a bank of fog and disappeared. Oh, we put divers down and scoured the sea floor. There was not a trace. We had two cruisers and three search planes look in every direction, and there was no sign of this ship whatsoever. There was no visible or audible explosion, so we have ruled out accident or deliberate scuttling as well. By God, some magician pulled this rabbit out of his hat, and then just waved his hand and made it disappear again! It sounds impossible, but what else are we to conclude? The ship is gone, or at least that is what we thought….Until this came in today.”

Tovey handed him another plain Manila envelope, much smaller than the first, a raised eyebrow betraying his obvious excitement. “Sorry to tell you that any photographic evidence related to this Geronimo business has been re-routed to Admiralty first. Admiral Pound was none too happy with the decision I made to parley with the Admiral of this rogue ship, and even less amused when it pulled this incredible disappearing act. I daresay the Prime Minister was rather teed off as well. Neither man can accept the ship has vanished without a trace. That said, I managed to keep my head on my shoulders, though if Admiralty knew what I have for you in this second envelope it the gallows might be waiting for me soon.”

“I see,” said Turing, his own excitement rising as he opened the envelope and slipped out five badly exposed photos, clearly not proper gun camera shots, or even military formatted photos. “You must tell me about this man—the Admiral you parlayed with.”

“In due course, Turing. First have a look at those photos. No one else in the Kingdom has seen them outside of Admiralty Headquarters. They were taken by a pair of eagle eyed coastwatchers on the Melville Island group north of Darwin three days ago.” Tovey crossed his arms, watching Turing closely. He noted how he immediately took up a magnifying glass and stared intently at the images, moving from one to another, then back again. When he looked at Tovey it was evident that he was deeply concerned.

“It’s Geronimo,” he said quietly. “There’s no question about it. The silhouette is unmistakable. And those other ships are Japanese cruisers.”

“Indeed,” said Tovey. “Those photos were taken August 24th. Now Professor, might you tell me how this ship, which was a thousand yards off the Island of St. Helena on the morning of August 23rd, could suddenly vanish, and then reappear off Melville Island, a distance of 7,800 nautical miles away in a period of twenty-four hours? That is ten days sailing time at a high speed of thirty knots, and even if this ship could fly it would be hard pressed to cover that distance in the time allotted.”

Now it was Turing’s turn to raise eyebrows, both of them. He studied the photos, his eyes moving from the images to Tovey and back again. Then he took a deep breath, and blinked, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment. When he opened them there was a quiet determination in them, and a light of fire.

“Well, Admiral,” he began. “As you so ably point out, no ship would cover that distance in a single day. It’s quite impossible. Then again, no ship that I know of is like to up and vanish without a trace as you claim this one did. Oh, there have been hundreds of lost ships, sir, accidents, storms at sea, but as you describe it, Geronimo disappeared right under the noses of some very experienced naval personnel sent to St. Helena to keep watch on her. Yes, I heard something unusual had happened through channels…some rather dark channels, and I’ve been trying to come to grips with it for these last three days. Admiralty may sit on all the photography they want, but things have a way of getting round to the people who can do anything useful with them, as your presence here proves quite plainly.”

“Yes, well I went out on a limb to bring you this material, Turing, because I believe exactly that. Now what do you make of it all?”

Turing looked at the photos in his hand again. “Unless I am completely mistaken as to my interpretation of these photos, then we are faced with yet another profound mystery here, sir.”

“Could you be mistaken, Professor?”

Turing smiled. “Not today…”

“Of course. Then how does a ship move that distance in a single day? After I spoke with you at the Admiralty I gave considerable thought to what you were telling me about these wonder weapons used by this ship. Yes, they were at least graspable. We’ve known about rocketry and such for centuries. Yet both you and I know that the rockets we saw used in the North Atlantic and the Med were clearly a cut above anything we have in development now.”

“Clearly.”

“Yes…well the rockets I can live with, Professor. But a ship that can move about willy nilly and travel such distances is something else entirely—an impossibility I am not able to grasp in any wise.”

“I’ll agree with you on that, sir,” said Turing. “No ship could move that distance in space in a single day. No ship could vanish from the North Atlantic and appear in the Med a year later, only to vanish yet again. These things are all impossibilities, but if these photos are indeed Geronimo then it moved there some other way, sir, and there is only one explanation I can now offer you, strange as it may sound.”

“I’ve become more willing to entertain the impossible since all this business began, professor. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Well sir, the ship would have to move in time. It’s the only thing that might account for this sudden disappearance and reappearance half a world away.” He stared at Tovey, the two men locking eyes for some time until it was clear to them both that they had hold of the same elephant now.

“You’ve held this view earlier, but said nothing about it.”

“I had my suspicions, sir,” said Turing, “but it didn’t seem as though I might have any luck conveying an idea like this to Admiral Pound.”

“You were trying to put me on to it, weren’t you—in that last conversation we had after the meeting at the Admiralty.”

“I was, sir. Without coming right out with it. You see they pay us to reach for certainty here, not fanciful speculation. They listen to us because they want facts, not imagination. I had very grave doubts about this ship from the moment I first set eyes on it. We’ve gone round and round on it, eliminating it from one navy after another. The conclusion I was coming to was not likely to be well received, and I must say, Admiral Tovey, that I am already shunned in many circles as it is. Somewhat of a dreamer, they say of me. Somewhat of a peculiar odd fool is perhaps what they really mean. Well they can say what they will. When they can crack the Enigma code on their own let them play me for a fool. Our own Sherlock Holmes would give me some comfort when he said that once you have eliminated every other possible option, what you are left with must be the truth, as impossible as it may seem. Things move in two ways, Admiral. They move in space and they move in time. Now, while we’re accustomed to moving there and back again in space, travel in time has been stubbornly in one direction—forward—until this ship appeared in the Norwegian Sea a year ago. Not a German ship, as we now know. Not an Italian or French ship, and now it’s half a world away fighting with the Japanese!”

“Moving in time? Well I have to say that the notion did cross my mind—one for the likes of Jules Verne or H. G. Wells, eh? Yet how can I believe this, Turing? It’s astounding!”

“Can you explain it any other way, sir?”

At this Tovey frowned, clearly perplexed. “They hit us at Darwin,” he said, steering a new compass heading for the moment and hoping to find safer waters.

“Yes, sir. I did hear that as well.”

“Then let me share a little more, Professor,” Tovey smiled, hoping to give the young man the comfort of confederacy. “You see, I had the opportunity to have a little chat with the Admiral commanding this phantom ship, and it was most enlightening. First off, your suspicions expressed earlier were correct. The man was Russian. His crew was Russian, and I am led to believe that his ship was Russian built as well.”

“Another impossibility,” said Turing, “at least at present. The existing Soviet Union could not build anything like that ship.”

“Quite so, but no more confounding than what you have just suggested, Professor. A ship moving in time? Funny thing is this…The man disavowed any affiliation with Stalin and the Soviet Union. In fact he was quite pointed about it—claimed Stalin would not have the slightest inkling that his ship even existed. Yet he knew of Churchill’s meeting, at that very moment, in the Kremlin. That was most revealing. Very few people knew of that arrangement, even in the highest circles here, yet he spoke about it as if… well as if it were—”

“As if it were history,” Turing cut in, a gleam in his eye.

“Exactly!” Tovey had hold of the teacup now, and there was nothing more to do with it but drink. “In fact he spoke of the war, our ‘world war’ as he called it, as if it were history as well. When I pressed him with the fact that Russia was our ally and asked him to throw in with us, he said something very odd—that Russia was our ally for the moment. He told me things change, hinting that arrangement might not be stable. At first I took that as a warning that Stalin may be ready to switch sides and join Hitler. Perhaps this man and his ship were the vanguard of that decision. But Churchill has come to some very different conclusions after his meeting in Moscow.”

“I think we can safely keep Russia on our side of the fence for the time being,” said Turing. “But who knows how this war ends, sir? Who knows what the world will look like ten years from now, twenty years, fifty?”

“This man seemed to think he knew,” said Tovey. “I pressed him on his port of origin, yet he would say nothing, even suggesting the question was dangerous to ask. At one point he gestured to the fortifications above us on the cliff and asked me how I might explain my battle fleet to the Moors that built them. Then he said he could no more explain his presence here in a way I could comprehend, and that he was just trying to get his ship home again, wherever that was. Believe me, all I could think of at that point was this Captain Nemo.”

Turing smiled. “There was more to that than you might think, sir. Nemo may be a good image for this man, though it doesn’t sound as though he was vengeful.”

“Quite the contrary,” said Tovey, scratching the back of his head. “He seemed most accommodating, very sincere. I wanted to believe everything he told me. Well, that bit about the Moors… I thought about it for some time. It was as if the man was suggesting he had come from some far future.”

Turing sighed, greatly relieved. “That is, in point of fact, what I am now suggesting,” he said with confidence. “Consider it, Admiral. His ship is a marvel of engineering, highly advanced, so powerful that it held the whole Royal Navy at bay in the Atlantic, not to mention the American fleet as well. It sees us before we know it is even there, and it flings weapons at us we won’t be able to manufacture or deploy for decades—yes, decades. It used a working atomic weapon of enormous power, something we all know is in development, but not nearly ready for deployment. Yes, that’s very hush, hush, but things do get around in the circles I frequent. The real point is this: something like that would take the resources of a major power to design and build, and yet if any nation tried it, we would surely know about it. I was very pointed in telling you that earlier, hoping to jog your thinking along these very lines. You see… none of this made sense when we assumed this ship came from our world, from the here and now reality of this war. Yet it paints an entirely different picture when we make a different assumption—that this ship was built in the future—yes, built by the Russians I suppose, but not by any Russian engineer alive in 1942, that I can assure you.”

“But why, Turing? What are they here for? Was this ship sent here deliberately? How could it possibly happen? Time travel is a thing for fanciful writers to bandy about.”

“We may probably never know the how or why of it all. But we do know the facts we have witnessed, Admiral. The ship was here, then it vanished and appeared in the Med a year later. That’s why we never saw it waving at us in the Straits of Gibraltar or Suez. It was somewhere else, moving in time, Admiral. Then it vanishes at St. Helena and re-appears 7,800 miles away overnight! Again, it could only do so by moving in time, or possibly through some higher dimension. We may never know this either.”

“Have they come here for a purpose? This is a warship. Were they sent here with some mission? After all, the history of this period is fairly critical, and as I think on it now, this ship was making a beeline right for the conference between Churchill and Roosevelt at Argentia Bay, and it bloody well blasted anything that tried to stop it, the American Task Force 16 getting the worst of it.”

“What you say makes a great deal of sense, Admiral,” said Turing. “Can you imagine that atomic weapon falling at Argentia Bay and killing both the Prime Minister and the American President in one fell swoop?”

“Believe me, I’ve had nightmares about it, Turing. The Government has had nightmares about it ever since, though now I think we can safely say that the Germans don’t have these weapons after all—not the naval rockets or the warhead that was so terrible to behold. You should have seen it, Professor. It was rather chilling.”

“And again, now this question of why we have seen no other deployment of these rockets by the Germans in a long year makes perfect sense. They never had them! Oh they’re working on designs of their own now, but not like the rockets that have been pounding the fleet, eh?”

Tovey sighed, his eyes searching, concerned. “I had a perfect opportunity to see just how many rockets this ship had left, Turing, and I let this devil go. Had it by the tail and let it slip away.”

“That may have been the wisest course, sir,” said Turing earnestly. “If you had fought your battle, and lived through it, then we might not have come to this conclusion here today.”

“It’s just that the man claimed to want nothing more to do with our war, as he put it—this Captain Nemo. He said he was only trying to get his ship and crew home. I wonder if this whole affair is some kind of macabre accident?”

“That may, in fact, be the simple truth of the matter,” Turing suggested. “Perhaps they are as bewildered about all this as we are. Perhaps the ship does find itself here by accident, and has not been sent here for some darker purpose. But one thing now looms as a most grave and dire threat either way. The presence of this ship has surely changed the course of events, sir. That engagement in the North Atlantic, the use of precision rocketry, atomic weapons…I’m afraid this ship has opened Pandora’s Box, Admiral Tovey. I am aware, as you may now be, that His Majesty’s government has undertaken to disperse its leadership assets all across the Kingdom, and has intensified several projects involving high level physics… It’s as if they were preparing for something they fear might come—something to do with these weapons this ship has so ably demonstrated.”

“I can’t say I find that prospect comforting,” said Tovey.

“Yes, and consider this…Surely these engagements would have never been fought in the Atlantic or the Med were it not for the strange presence of this ship. Why, we’ve canceled the planned air raid on Kirkenes and Petsamo, pulled Force Z off Operation Pedestal early, canceled Operation Jubilee, delayed the Torch landings. Those decisions must have had some impact on the course of the war. Beyond that, the Americans declared war because of the actions of this single ship and, were it not here, how long might it have been before that country really got involved in this conflict? Now the Japanese are in for it! This ship is a rock in the stew they have planned for the Americans.”

“Indeed,” said Tovey. “There’s a big operation underway in the Pacific. The Japanese are definitely coming south. FRUMEL HQ is all up in arms about it in Melbourne. This Darwin business is perhaps only the tip of the sword.”

“Think about it from another perspective, sir. We’ve fought with this ship. Men are dead now who might have lived out this war, and others may be alive that might have been killed. Surely you realize that could change everything from this day forward.”

“I see…” said Tovey, considering this for the first time.

“Well I can’t imagine the Americans would have come to the fight as soon as they did, in spite of Churchill’s hopes to the contrary. This ship made that certain when it attacked Task Force 16 and sunk the Wasp. It might have done that intentionally, as you proposed, though I can’t imagine why. Surely they must have realized that such an act would have dramatic consequences.”

“Perhaps, Turing, though this Captain Nemo did hint that there was some disagreement aboard Geronimo as to how they should act, and that he was indisposed when that action was fought. I came to the conclusion that there may have been a wolf in their fold, a hard liner in command at that time. This Admiral seems to be a good measure more sensible.”

“It’s chilling to think about in any wise, Admiral. Consider it… if this ship is from the future, then they have tremendous knowledge. They know everything that happens from our day to theirs!”

“And where to stick a crowbar in the corners of history, if they ever had a mind to.”

“Precisely, sir.”

Tovey rubbed his forehead, still bewildered by it all, and half way shaking his head at the notions they had discussed here. “Well, Professor Turing, those photos were taken three days ago. I’ve had my ear to the ground on these events ever since I received them. We’ve already sent word to FRUMEL to keep an eye out for this ship, and I suppose we’ll have to tell the Americans about this as well. Whether they’ll believe what we’ve just discussed here is another matter entirely, but we’ll have to tell them. I’ve got a man in mind for the job, but I’m afraid a great deal has happened in the Pacific since these photographs were taken. You may have heard about it through these dark channels you mentioned earlier, but it’s quite a story indeed.”

“I’m all ears, sir,” Turing smiled. “And I have all afternoon if you’d care to join me for lunch.”

Chapter 2

Minutes after they arrived at the distant island outpost of St. Helena, Rodenko knew something was wrong. He had been tracking three aircraft, and the two British cruisers, Norfolk and Sheffield. The planes were orbiting at intervals to cover the seas around the island, while the two cruisers had maneuvered to skirt each side, one sailing down past the small harbor at Jamestown and the other bearing along the northeastern shore. They were to meet at Sandy Bay to watch Kirov drop anchor, but minutes after the big battlecruiser slipped into the thick gray fog north of the island, Rodenko glanced at his screen and saw that all his contacts had vanished. All the drama and struggle of the world they had been sailing in vanished with them, and in time it became clear to them all that they were again lost on an empty sea, in a forsaken world.

Admiral Volsky circled round to the north cape and when they saw the complete destruction of Jamestown harbor, they knew they had slipped into that nightmare world again, perhaps of their own making, where every shore was blackened with the fire of a war they could scarcely imagine.

They were days at sea before they saw land again. St. Helena was as isolated as any island in the world, a thousand miles east of Angola, Africa in the South Atlantic. The route south was even more barren, if the sea could be described as such, empty of life or any sign of human activity whatsoever. They sailed around Cape Town, finding it, too, had been the recipient of a multi-megaton payload of death. What the continent looked like inland they could not say, but no man wanted to go ashore to find out.

They soon found themselves in the Indian Ocean, sailing well south of Madagascar and heading east. There would be nothing to see for days on end, but in time they reached the distant shores of Australia, angling along the northwest coast of that continent, past Barrow Island and into a dappled archipelagos stretching west of Dampier off the coast of the Northern Territories. The seas were calm and cobalt blue, beneath a cloudless azure sky, and the temperatures were warm and balmy, much to the delight of the crew. When they caught a glimpse of Malus Island, saw the pristine white sand beaches and unspoiled reefs, they all took heart. Crewmen spotted manta rays and schools of fish in the clear waters, and the stony cliffs were circled by terns, ospreys and sea eagles. Farther out in the Indian Ocean to the north they spotted squadrons of blue nose dolphins leaping in the ocean spray. The place was actually a series of small islets, connected by sandy tails that were more prominent at low tide so that one could walk along them from one to another. Compared to the charred shores they had visited earlier, it seemed a paradise.

Admiral Volsky decided to drop anchor briefly here, at a location Fedorov named Whaler’s Bay, and they put men ashore to check on the general condition of the island and take water and soil samples. The main island to the northeast was empty, but they were elated to find eight intact dwellings along the southern shore of the western islet, dubbed Rosemary Island. There were also the remains of old whaling and pearling stations that operated on Malus Island in the late 1800s. No sign of recent human habitation was seen, though the homes were all in good condition, summer dwellings and vacation spots that had survived the war.

“This gives me some hope, at least,” the Admiral said to his young first officer, and Fedorov nodded.

“It seems there was nothing here to merit a missile.”

“Thank God for that. With any luck we may even find people alive on this coast. Perhaps not in the major cities or ports, but in scattered enclaves like this.”

“It was largely uninhabited,” said Fedorov, “even in our time. We might find something more at Port Hedland, about a hundred miles up the coast. Then again, that was a major industrial port, one of the largest tonnage wise in Australia, even though the town there is relatively small. It might have been targeted. Beyond that lies Broome, then Derby on King’s Bay, Wyndham, and then Port Darwin. Yet it is a thousand miles to Darwin from our present location. Australia is a very big place.”

They would spend six hours there, largely because there was water to be found that tested safe, and they wanted to set up a brigade to haul it to the ship and replenish their stocks. Several men had rigged out makeshift poles for fishing from the gunwales, and the mood of the crew was better than it had been for many long weeks. The place seemed a fisherman’s paradise, and the men hauled in nets with coral trout, red emperor, scarlet sea perch, snapper and other specimens they could not name.

On the bridge, Captain Karpov walked over to the Admiral’s chair, a smile on his drawn face. “Have we finally found your island, Admiral?”

Volsky laughed. “I’m not so sure. This one doesn’t seem large enough for the crew, and I don’t see any palm trees—or pretty young girls. Perhaps we will keep looking, but I think we have finally reached the edge of paradise at long last. The world north may be blighted by the insanity of war, but there is no sign of it here. If our luck holds we may find my island in due course. Anything on the map that looks promising, Fedorov?” He craned his neck, looking for his Starpom, the ex-navigator who had proved such an invaluable pillar during their last ordeal in the Mediterranean Sea. He found him staring up at the ship’s chronometer, a worried expression on his face.

“Fedorov, what are you doing there? A watched clock never chimes.”

“This one will,” said Fedorov. “We’ve been sailing eleven days and eighteen hours since we left St. Helena.”

“Yes, and all we have had these last days at sea are endless empty hours. Why are you counting them?”

Fedorov said nothing for a moment, though he wore a look of obvious concern. “Will the shore parties be long?”

“What? The shore parties? Oh, I would think they will finish up in a few hours. Would you like to go ashore yourself?”

“Me sir? No, I think it best to stay on the ship just now. In fact, I think it would be wise to make certain we get all the men back aboard as soon as possible.”

The Admiral frowned, his eyes admonishing beneath his heavy brows. “What is it now, Fedorov? What are you worried about?”

“The time, sir. We’re nearly at the twelve day mark, and… well every twelve days we have moved in time. We may still be moving for that matter. It could be that we have not yet settled in the here and now, if you follow me, sir. If that is the case, I would like to make sure we have everyone aboard well before midnight. And I think we had better tell Dobrynin in engineering to keep a good ear on the reactors. They act up every time we have moved into the past.”

Volsky’s expression faded. “Dobrynin is running a maintenance operation now. Don’t worry about the reactors. As for the men, there will be many who might prefer to stay right here,” he mused. “If given the choice of this island or another ride on this ship, I might be sorely tempted as well. But let us suppose you are correct.” He turned, leaning towards the communications station. “Nikolin!”

“Sir?”

“Radio Sergeant Troyak and have him wind up his detail as soon as possible. I would like every man aboard by 20:00 hours. It will be getting too dark for safe operations ashore in any case.”

“Yes,” said Karpov. “If any man is tempted to drop anchor here we had better be wary. Let us not forget Orlov.”

“Agreed,” said Volsky. “Mr. Karpov, can you signal those men fishing from the foredeck and see if anyone knows how to snorkel?”

“Sir?”

“Yes, see if they can find us a few nice fat lobsters, or even crabs. I’m tired of galley food and the taste of something fresh would do us all some good. Anyone care to join me for dinner?”

Rodenko, Tasarov and Samsonov were quick to make their reservations, and though they would enjoy their seafood fest that night, time had other plans for them.

It would be many long hours before they realized what had happened. Troyak’s men searched the island for anything else of use, skirting along the white strands to more rocky shores where they saw images of strange creatures carved in the red stone. They searched every building, finding some magazines and newspapers, all in English, and they brought them back to the bridge for the officers to review. Fedorov found them of particular interest.

“At last!” he said enthusiastically when the Marine corporal brought them in. “Now we find out what happened!” He took them eagerly. There was a copy of the NT News out of Darwin and his eye immediately ran to the date: 15 September, 2021, and the headline was dark and ominous. Fedorov knew just enough English to know what it meant:

“Nikolin,” Fedorov said excitedly. “Read this and translate, will you?”

Nikolin took up the paper and read, his eyes dark and serious as he translated. “Hostilities escalated today in the South China Sea with a nuclear ballistic missile attack on the US Carrier task force Eisenhower. It was reported that up to ten missiles, were used in the strike, at least two with nuclear warheads, and five ships were sunk in the attack: Eisenhower and four escorts, including RAN escort frigate Darwin which was operating as part of a combined fleet security force. United Nations Security Council was quick to condemn the action as a flagrant escalation, though any formal resolution was vetoed by both China and Russia.”

Fedorov’s face registered real surprise, and both Karpov and Admiral Volsky drew near, looking at the newsprint with obvious misgiving.

“People are still firing nuclear missiles at battle fleets,” said Volsky…No offence meant, Karpov.”

Karpov nodded. “None taken, sir. But it does feel somewhat odd to realize I was the first man with his finger on the trigger like that—and just a matter of seven weeks ago in the actual time we have lived out here on the ship, yet it seems another life to me now.”

“It is another life, Karpov,” said Volsky. “You’re another man now, and better off for it.”

“Aye, sir.”

“There’s more, Admiral,” said Nikolin, continuing. “SinoPac representatives claimed the US task force was violating territorial waters, which American representatives immediately denied. Ambassador Stevenson stated categorically that the fleet was sailing in international waters and vowed the strongest possible measures would be taken in reprisal. The attack followed the controversial sinking of the sole Chinese aircraft carrier Liaoning on September 7th, presumably by torpedo attack from an American submarine as the carrier embarked from Dalian and entered the East China Sea south of the 38th parallel. Analysts believe the attack may have been a reprisal for the sinking of the American attack submarine USS Key West by a Russian cruiser August 28th in the Pacific, as well as a warning to the Chinese not to press their demands for full integration of Taiwan into the People’s Republic of China. Tensions between SinoPac and the West have been high since the loss of a Russian ship in the Arctic Sea in July and several incidents involving both Russian and British planes in the waters around Iceland.”

“Nothing seems to change,” said the Admiral. “Our pilots have been thumbing their noses at the Americans for decades, and they have done the same with us. What else, Nikolin?”

The young Lieutenant continued. “It was also learned that US Naval forces have now put to sea on full war alert, sailing from ports on the east and west coast of the United Sates and that the US was now on a full wartime footing. Meanwhile, missile attacks continue on the beleaguered isle of Taiwan after hostilities began there earlier this week, further ramping up the tension. No use of nuclear weapons has been reported. NATO representatives in Europe have also detected a large Russian buildup along the German border, and increased activity at bases in Poland.”

“So it began in Asia,” said Karpov. “The Chinese patience ran out with Taiwan and the Americans sunk that old relic we sold them after they lost that sub.” The Liaoning had been originally built by the Russians, laid down as the Riga on December 6, 1985 and eventually launched as the Varyag, The ship was never really completed, lacking electronics, weapon systems and other key components. When the old Soviet Union broke up it was given to Ukraine and began to rust away, eventually stripped of most useful equipment before it was put up for auction. An enterprising Chinese businessman bought the hulk under the pretense he was hoping to create a floating theme park with it at Macao, and it was summarily turned over to the Chinese authorities, refitted and completing sea trials in 2012.

“That ship was built at Nikolayev South,” said Fedorov. “Shipyard 444. That’s a very unlucky number for the Chinese. It looks like it was ill fated after all. I wonder why the US targeted that ship for reprisal.”

“I was slated to serve on that ship,” said Volsky. “Better to die in battle than sit there as an amusement park like Minsk and Kiev.”

The Chinese had also acquired those aging Russian carriers. Minsk, once the heart of the Russian Pacific Fleet, had been docked at Shenzhen to create a theme park called “Minsk World” for Chinese tourists, and Kiev was now the centerpiece of the Binhai Aircraft Theme Park at Tianjin. The Russian Navy had become a laughing stock, their once proud ships now places for Chinese tourists to amuse themselves… Until the new Kirov was launched.

“This could have been one of a number of incidents that preceded a general war,” said Fedorov. “So it didn’t happen during the first cold war. The future we saw was the result of a war fought in our day, and just after we displaced in time. It looks like Russia and China squared off against the West and it came to more than harsh words in the Security Council.”

“So nothing really changed,” said Karpov. “It was still old unfinished business where Russia and the West are concerned. As for China, this attack against Taiwan was inevitable. I have no doubt that the Americans were moving that carrier group up as a show of force. The Chinese taught them a lesson. Good for them. Is there any further news?”

“That looks to be the latest paper. Apparently whoever owned those homesteads on the island took off for the mainland soon after this date. I suppose if we investigate the other towns to the north we may find more news sources like this.”

“I think we must do this,” said Volsky. “As much as I hate to discover more ruined cities, for the sake of the men, I think we must discover what really happened—how this business ended.”

“We have already seen how it ended,” said Karpov, “and thinking I was the man who started it has not been an easy thing to carry.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Captain,” said Volsky. “The choice to use nuclear weapons in war was not ours this time, not yours either. What chills me now is the thought that we can never get back to our old lives again. This is our world now. This is home, gentlemen, all that’s left of the world after the war that began in 2021. We slipped out the door just before it happened, like a thief in the night, but now we live with what remains—if anything does remain.”

“So much for our visit to paradise,” said Karpov.

Chapter 3

Kirov sailed north that night, passing Port Hedland just before dawn, but seeing no sign of life there. They were well out to sea again, some fifty miles off the Australian coast and heading north for the small port of Broome at about 18:00 hrs when Fedorov saw the ship’s chronometer finally pass through the twelfth full day. It was a tense moment for him, though the other officers were not aware of it and many were below decks at the time on rest shifts. He wanted to be on the bridge when the second hand swept out the last of the twelve day interval, and was peering keenly through the viewports for any sign of a discoloration or disturbance in the sea. Yet he saw nothing, and a call to engineering also reported no fluctuations or odd vibrations from the reactors. All seemed as it was before, and he watched the sun rise on August 24, year still unknown, without realizing that the ship was about to cruise through an unseen barrier, completely imperceptible, through the reefs and shoals of nowhere to a place where the rising sun they would next see would be something quite unexpected.

They moved northeast, bypassing Derby as it was deep within King Sound, and soon they were entering the calm waters of the Timor Sea, skirting the sculpted red rock and terraced hills of the Kimberly Coast, near the famous Montgomery Reef off Doubtful Bay, which just seemed to emerge from the sea at low tide, revealing opalescent strands of pearly white and aquamarine tide pools fringing the green islands. Night fell, and it was just near dawn again on August 25 after they navigated the Bonaparte Archipelago, and rounded the capes at Bougainville and Londonderry north of Wyndham. As the sun rose, Rodenko began to see some odd signal returns to the northwest, about a hundred and fifty kilometers off the coast of Timor Island.

“It comes and goes, sir,” Rodenko explained. “I think I’m seeing something at about 250 to 300 kilometers out near maximum range on the Fregat-MAE-7 system, then I lose it, and I can get no clear signal processing on the POYMA data unit.”

“A signal return at that range would have to be an aircraft, yes?” Admiral Volsky was back on the bridge and and sitting squarely in his chair watching the distant Australian coast shrouded by haze, his island reverie interrupted by Rodenko’s report.

“Yes, sir. I can only see surface contacts out to about 120 kilometers.”

Volsky thought for a moment, wondering, and thinking discretion would be advised, no matter what their present circumstances might indicate—that they were still adrift on an empty sea in an equally empty world. “Perhaps we should investigate this further with the KA-40. What does my Starpom think?”

“I don’t like it, sir—the signal fading in and out like that. It leads me to suggest we keep everyone, and everything, aboard and simply await further developments.”

“I see…” Volsky gave his First Officer a long look, then nodded his approval. “Very well, we will keep all our eggs in one basket for the moment. But I was climbing a ladder a few weeks ago and got a very rude awakening. Let us bring the ship to condition three alert, and I think we should make an announcement. The crew has had a good long rest on the voyage from St. Helena. You may do the honors, Mister Fedorov.”

“Aye, sir. If you wish.”

Fedorov made a short statement over the ship’s PA system, announcing that they were receiving some unusual traffic on the radar and a precautionary drill to battle stations was in order. They could almost hear the collective groan from the crew, and initial response was sluggish, but in time midshipman and warrant officers were reporting to the bridge as one station after another was cleared for action, and the crew stood its level three watch on all systems. Fedorov saw Samsonov activating panels in the Combat Information Center.

“What are you doing, Samsonov? We have no hostile contacts for the moment.”

“Correct, sir, but a level three alert requires me to key and initiate all systems and report general readiness for action.” The big man continued working even as he spoke, his arms moving as if in unison with the ship’s systems, human servomechanisms opening toggle guards and flipping switches to feed life to his CIC panels. A few seconds later he finished, finally swiveling his chair to face Fedorov and make his report.

“Sir, I report all systems nominal, and our current missile inventory now reads as follows: Moskit II, nine missiles; MOS-III, nine missiles; P-900 cruise missile system, eight missiles; S-300 SAM system, thirty-five missiles; Klinok SAM system, thirty-seven missiles; Kashtan system has not been used and is at full load-out; Shkval torpedo System, six available; Vodopad tubes with UGST Torpedo System, fifteen available; 152mm deck guns, eighty-six percent; 100mm deck gun, ninety-eight percent; close in defense systems, ninety-four percent.”

“Thank you, Mister Samsonov.”

Admiral Volsky looked at his First Officer, frowning. “Running a bit thin on SSMs.”

“We’re lucky to have even those available, sir. But it’s the SAM systems I am more concerned about for the moment. Seventy-two missiles is a fairly weak air defense umbrella.”

“We still have good munitions for close in defense,” said Volsky. Both the Gatling guns and the Kashtan-2 system seem to be well provisioned.”

The Admiral looked out the forward view panes, taking in the glorious seascape and the distant silhouette of the Australian coast, broken by green archipelagos of sandstone islands circled by reefs in the clear blue waters of the Timor Sea. “I must tell you that I was very tempted to drop anchor permanently when I got a look at that Montgomery Island, Fedorov. Aside from the missing native girls, it was as close to paradise as any man is likely to get on this ship. And now here we are squinting at the radar screens, flipping switches and rattling off missile inventories.” As he spoke he quietly gestured to Fedorov to come closer, and when the young officer was at his side he leaned heavily on one elbow, inclining his head and speaking in a lowered voice. “Alright Fedorov…What are you worried about. Out with it, but quietly please.”

Fedorov blinked, then clasped his arms behind his back and spoke just above a whisper. “The interval, sir. We are well into our thirteenth day now, and all seems well…but it does not feel well, if that makes any sense. I don’t like that signal fading in and out like that. And I would not be surprised to find that the ship is not yet stable, or confident that we still remain in a time beyond the year listed in that newspaper, 2021.”

“Explain this interval business to me again.”

“Well, sir, the initial accident that shifted our position in time occurred on 28 July and just as we rolled into 9 August, the detonation of the warhead Karpov fired shifted us forward in time again, or so we believe. Twelve days later we were in the Med, and shifted backwards, only a year later. Twelve days after that we disappeared just as we reached St. Helena.”

“And with no nuclear detonation to help us on our way,” said Volsky.

“That is what bothers me, sir. The shift was not accompanied by those strange effects as before. It was almost imperceptible, and the only way we realized it was when Rodenko’s radar began to malfunction. That same interval was reached again as we left Malus Island, and we have been cruising for some time with no signs of any further shift. Everything seems the same—the sea is naturally this color, and not altered by the strange effects we experienced before, but it does not feel the same. I can’t explain it, Admiral. I’m just worried about it.”

“We’ve seen nothing on radar—until this report Rodenko made a moment ago.”

“True sir, but these waters would not be much traveled, even in nineteen—” he caught himself, but Volsky realized what he was thinking.

“You believe the ship is trying to settle into some proper time, but it is a time in the past?”

“I do, sir. I explained it once like a rock skipping over water. We were thrown back to 1941, then skipped forward, arcing up through that bleak future time, and landed again, only this time in 1942. In the meantime we are able to move freely in space, and so we sailed from the Atlantic to the Med and found ourselves in quite a dilemma when we landed back in the middle of the war.”

“I understand… Yet these waters were fairly quiet, even in 1942, or even 1943 supposing your theory holds true and we skip another year forward.”

“That is one consolation,” said Fedorov, “if the history holds true, that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“In that last episode there were instances where ships were committed to battle early, and found to be in places the chronology of the real history says they should not be, Admiral. Things are changing, sir. Our presence in the past has obviously had some effect on the course of events. And then…well what about Orlov?”

“Yes, yes, what about Orlov,” Volsky repeated. “God only knows what he might be up to if he did survive as we now suspect.”

“It’s a real problem, sir. Before we had the chronology, and certain knowledge of every enemy we faced, right down to the exact ships and numbers of planes in each task force. Now I’m not so sure, and as serene as these waters may now seem, this theater of the war was a titanic naval struggle.”

“Yes, but these variations you reported from our operations in the Med—they were minor, were they not?”

“Seemingly so, sir, though they brought us within range of 15 inch guns…” He let that sink in for a moment, and Volsky nodded his understanding.

“Suppose we do return to the 1940s. Suppose we are even marooned there indefinitely. After all, this stone skips only so far on the water, Fedorov. It must land somewhere.”

“Right, sir. If the interval holds, then we might skip slightly forward again, perhaps to 1943 or even 1944. Action in this region was mostly over by May of 1942 with the conclusion of the Battle of the Coral Sea. That was the Japanese attempt to take Port Moresby on New Guinea, and it resulted in the first carrier to carrier battle of the Pacific war. The Americans lost the Lexington, a high price to pay, though they sunk a light Japanese carrier and hurt the Shokaku, one of their bigger fleet carriers as well—and they stopped the invasion. That said, sir, I can’t even be certain that battle was even fought now.”

“What do you mean? Not fought?”

“America enters the war three months early, sir. At least I assume as much. It was our destruction of their Task Force 16 in the Atlantic, and the sinking of the Wasp that most likely prompted a declaration of war against Germany. If Japan sided with the Axis powers, then they had no reason to launch the Pearl Harbor attack if war began here in the Pacific at that same time.”

“Yes, I recall our earlier discussion on this.”

“Well don’t you see how significant that is, Admiral? If there was no attack on Pearl Harbor, then the whole chronology of the war at sea in the Pacific might have been severely altered. Major battles like Coral Sea and Midway might not have occurred. These are much more significant events than the early deployment of a few Italian cruisers in the Med, or even the movement of those two battleships to La Spezia. If there was no Pearl Harbor attack, or no operation against Midway, it would change everything. It could even be the real source of the variation in the history that has led to the war we read about in those newspapers.”

Suppose this interval holds true and we land here in 1943. What lies ahead?”

“We will have some real trouble on our hands if we stay on this course, Admiral. The Americans and Japanese were still locked in a bitter struggle for the Solomons, at least in the history I know.”

“You are speaking of Guadalcanal?”

“Well by February of 1943 that island had been secured, but the action shifted northeast to New Georgia and by August there was fighting for Vella Lavella, and also action in New Guinea as MacArthur drove on the vital airfield at Lae, and then against the Bismarck Barrier.”

“Ah yes,” said Volsky. “MacArthur, Halsey, Nimitz and Yamamoto. All circling one another like a pack of great sumo wrestlers.”

“Yamamoto would have been killed in April of 1943, sir. But I can’t be sure of this any longer. The history may no longer be reliable. If any one of these major battles was not fought, then there is no telling what might be happening in this theater, and that being the case, it won’t be as easy to pinpoint our location in time.”

“I see why you have been brooding so long over this, Fedorov. Your history has been all fouled up, and you’ve lost your way—we all have lost our way. Now I’m afraid we will have to yield that god-like advantage we had of knowing the enemy’s every move. It evens things out somewhat, yes? Something tells me that both the Japanese and Americans will prove determined and dangerous foes in this theater, and we would be wise to avoid them and look for our island somewhere else. Perhaps we should reverse our course now and seek out safer waters.”

“That might be wise, Admiral. Ahead lies the Torres Strait, the Coral Sea and the Solomons. Those were all violent war theaters in 1942 and 1943.”

“Maybe we should have sailed south of the Australian continent.”

“Indeed, sir. But who can say? We are still not sure where we are—in time that is.”

“Yes, but you have that inner misgiving gnawing at you, Fedorov. It is just like my tooth when we get up north in the Arctic Sea. I’ve learned to pay attention to it, and so I take your warning here to heart. We will reverse course.”

It was a sound and wise decision, they both knew, but one that would never come to pass. Rodenko was suddenly alert, his eyes fixed on his primary long range radar screen, and very intent.

“Signal returns again,” he said quickly.

Both Volsky and Fedorov came to his side, their eyes searching the screen. “Where?” asked Volsky, squinting at the milky green readout of the radar.

“Here,” Rodenko pointed. “About 175 miles northwest of our position. It looks like a weather front developing, but then I lose it and everything is clear—no signal and no weather front.”

Volsky walked slowly to the starboard side of the bridge and peered through the viewport. The day was clear and warm, the pristine waters of the sun dappled Timor Sea stretching out behind them to an empty horizon. He watched for some time, thinking he saw the barest glimpse of white cloud there, but all seemed well.

“Here, sir,” said Fedorov. “We have another signal.”

The Admiral hastened back in time to see the cloudy returns of something building on the northwest edge of their radar scope. He craned his neck toward the viewport again, thinking to see telltale signs of a weather front.

“There, Admiral,” Rodenko pointed. “Do you see them. That’s a formation of aircraft. Look at the structure. It can be nothing else.” The signal quavered, clouded over, and then was gone again.

“We’re pulsing,” said Fedorov in a low voice, “shifting in and out of some more definite time frame.”

“If we only had some point of clear reference we might spot changes in the environment around us,” said Volsky, “but we are too far off shore. The ocean looks the same in every direction, and that distant coastline is lost in haze at this hour.”

“That’s Melville Island up ahead, Admiral,” said Fedorov. “We’re just west of the Beagle Gulf that would take us into Darwin.”

“What about the weather front?” said Rodenko. “It was the same way the first time. The weather changed abruptly.”

“Are you sure your equipment is sound?”

“All systems report green and nominal, Admiral. We had everything checked very thoroughly over the last eight days and we’ve even replaced the systems that were damaged by the first strafing run that caught us by surprise in the Med. No. My radar is not malfunctioning.”

“It’s not the weather I’m worried about,” said Fedorov, “though that is reason enough for concern. We have cloudless skies now, and nothing on the horizon, but you say the reading appears to be a formation of planes—multiple contacts, yes? That is not common in peace time.”

“Agreed,” Volsky said quickly. “I think it best that we move to level two alert, and if there is no objection I will come about and begin a graceful withdrawal from this sector. We’ll head west again.”

Fedorov thought for a moment. “I suggest we wait for a moment, sir. I think—”

“Level two alert, Mister Fedorov,” Volsky scolded. “A good Starpom immediately seconds a command level order, particularly one involving ship’s security.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Fedorov turned to a watch stander and repeated the order. “Signal alert level two—ship wide alarm.”

“Aye, sir.”

The claxon was now clearly audible, and Volsky nodded his head, satisfied. “Now,” he said. “You have an opinion on our course?”

“If we assume the worst, that we are again settling into another time, and supposing it is still the 1940s, then those planes would either have to be flying from bases at Kupang on Timor Island, or else they are off carriers.”

“Could you get a read on their heading, Rodenko?” The Admiral wanted more information.

“The signal returns were too brief to process, but I did note the range was decreasing, not increasing.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” said Volsky. “If these were planes from a carrier group, where would they be headed, Mister Fedorov?”

“There were no major naval actions in this region, sir, except perhaps the raid on Darwin in February of 1942.”

“Could this be what we are seeing then?”

“Perhaps, sir. But it would mean we have slipped farther back. Thus far the interval has always seen us move forward in time, never appearing earlier than our first displacement.”

“Yes,” said Volsky, “and I suppose the good Admiral Tovey might have mentioned it if we did appear in February of 1942, and that becomes quite a puzzle if it is the case. We are missing weapons we would not have expended for another six months when we appeared in the Med!”

“I agree, sir,” said Fedorov. “A bit of a paradox when viewed from any perspective other than our own.”

“Then let us pretend Mother Time does not like her skirts ruffled too much, even if she has shown us a little leg. We already have a hand on her knee—our presence in 1941 has clearly caused a great deal of trouble. Perhaps she will not let us go any further with such a thing as you describe—this paradox business.”

“Then I can think of no major carrier action here in 1943, or later. But as I have said, I cannot be sure of anything now. The course of events in the Pacific could all be radically different.”

“There it is again!” said Rodenko. “Much closer now! It looks like 150 kilometers and closing. Something coming out of a nice fat thunderstorm about fifty klicks behind it. …now it’s gone again, sir.”

The Admiral looked at Fedorov. “You are thinking a turn west would bring us into contact with a hostile carrier task force?”

“I can think of nothing else, sir.”

“Very well. Let us turn north for a time and see if we can get more information. But something tells me no matter which direction we head now, we are likely to find trouble. Helm come about to course zero, zero, zero. Speed twenty.”