Paradox Hour

Chapter 25

Admiral Volsky was on the bridge when Fedorov came up, his heart heavy as he had just lain yet another man to rest, where he would stand his watch for eternity in the deep sea. How many had died? The fact that he did not know the number was equally disturbing. When you start losing count, then you know the bill is too high, he thought. And how many more will die before this is over, if it will ever be over?

Fedorov came onto the bridge, announced by Rodenko, and he saluted with that hand, giving it a sidelong glance as he did so, and flexing his fingers after Volsky returned his salute.

“Welcome Fedorov, something wrong with that hand?”

“Not at the moment,” said Fedorov, “as long as the damn thing stays put.”

“I don’t understand,” said Volsky, and Fedorov stepped closer, lowering his voice as he told the Admiral what had happened after he threw the Devil’s Teardrop overboard.

“That is most disturbing,” said Volsky. “And this is why you do not have on your leather gloves. Yes? Have you seen Doctor Zolkin?”

“I doubt there is any pill he can give me for that, sir. But this reinforces my belief that the object may have been responsible for destabilizing the ship’s position in time.”

“I am glad that thing is off the ship. Will you be alright now?”

“I hope as much,” said Fedorov. “It may be just a temporary effect from handling the object those few moments. It happened so quickly that I thought I might be seeing things.”

“Let me know if you have any further trouble.”

“I will, sir.”

“Now then,” Volsky adjusted his officer’s coat. “Mister Rodenko has our situation report.” He looked over his shoulder for Rodenko, and the Starpom was ready at hand.

“The KA-40 was up just after sunset,” he said. “We could fly any time, but why waste the air defense missiles if those German fighters are about. In any case, we’ve had a good look forward, and can now report the locations of both German battlegroups. One is here, about 280 miles northwest, and the other due north of that position, about here. They have turned on these new headings to effect a rendezvous. This contact here is a British battlegroup composed of two ships, and there are another two here, due east of the predicted German rendezvous point.”

“The first group will be King George V and Prince of Wales,” said Fedorov. “The second group are the battlecruisers Renown and Repulse.”

“A lot of power there,” said Volsky.

“Perhaps,” said Fedorov, “but this single German group to the north could match all those ships. My enigma decrypts show the Tirpitz, with two battlecruisers, another heavy cruiser, two destroyers and the wild card, Graf Zeppelin. The situation is not favorable. As the Germans come east for Rodney, the two British battlecruisers will not be able to stop them, and the remainder of the British heavy ships will arrive piecemeal, behind the action from the west. Admiral Tovey tells me that they are also bringing Duke of York and Hood down from the Denmark Strait, and they would be the last to arrive.”

“Then we must give the Germans something to think about if they continue to move east.” Volsky tapped the enemy contacts on the Plexiglas screen. “We are in missile range now with the weapons we received from Kazan. They range out over 600 kilometers. Unfortunately, they are not our heaviest warheads, only 200 kilograms, and firing at this range will also expend most of their fuel, so the fires will not be as much of a factor. You know these enemy ships, Fedorov. How do you suggest we proceed?”

Fedorov took a deep breath, realizing he was now about to plan their battle action, and sign the death warrants of many men with each word he spoke. Yet it could not be helped. They had committed themselves to this course, to this battle, and now it had to be fought. It was either that or they would surely see the British take heavy losses. The Rodney alone, even with the two battlecruisers in support, could not stand against the German fleet. They had to act.

“Given the situation,” he began, “I see the main threat at the outset to be the German aircraft carrier, Graf Zeppelin. I believe they will be launching Stukas at dawn, and so we must strike them tonight, and attempt to either sink that ship or take it out of the action. The Stukas are a grave threat.”

“And the battleships?”

“They won’t reach the scene until later tomorrow, and as they approach, they will come within range of our heavier Moskit-II and MOS III missiles, so we have plenty of time to plan for them.”

“Agreed,” said Volsky. “Always get the carrier first. That is a rule that will stand even to our time in 2021. But there are seven ships in that German battlegroup, can we identify that target?”

“They will come into range of the Fregat system radar in three or four hours,” said Rodenko. “With that I think I can select out the carrier. We will see the radar returns of any planes it launches or recovers, and I can designate it as the primary target for any salvo you fire.”

Volsky looked at his watch. “They are not likely to fly off much tonight. Let us wait until the pre-dawn hours. Then, when you identify your target, we’ll give them a rude awakening with the Onyx missiles we stole from Kazan. They will do the job, yes, Fedorov?”

“Graf Zeppelin has armor, but not anywhere near the protection of the battleships. Yes sir, they will do the job.” Fedorov rubbed his forehead, a worried look on his face.

“I know what you are feeling, Fedorov,” said the Admiral. “Legendary ships out there, commanded by men you have read about, and perhaps idolized in your mind these many years. But you must kill them.”

“Correct, sir. Once, after Yamato, Karpov told me it would get easier in time, but I have not found this to be the case.”

“That is because your conscience is still intact. Killing is never an easy thing to do for a man of conscience. Karpov sees things otherwise, because his soul is darkened. He is an efficient and deadly man at the helm of any ship he commands, but he kills wantonly, and without regret. So be thankful that you feel some of the pain our missiles may inflict on these men and ships out there. Yes, I say ships as well, for we live with them, bond with them, whenever we take to the sea. They are the raft of life itself for us here. Without them we are like Lenkov, sinking into the depths of oblivion. So when we sink one, we know what it is to put men into the cold sea, and know we cannot save them. Never forget that, but also never let it prevent you from doing what is necessary to win the day.”

“I understand sir, but this does not make it any easier.”

Volsky nodded. “Once I relied on you to do what we should do in these situations, and on Karpov to do what we must. Now I’m afraid that you must wear both hats, Fedorov. You are Captain of this ship, and I may not always be standing at your side here.”

“I will do my best, Admiral.”

“Then we attack near dawn. They will see the missiles fire, and know we are here. It will be another red day, Fedorov, and when we are done, Lenkov will have more than a few friends, but it must be done.”

“I will see that Admiral Tovey is informed, sir,” said Fedorov. “Nikolin will be here soon. And sir, why don’t you get some rest now. I can relieve you for the night shift.”

“As long as you are fresh for the morning, my young man. Very well, I will see if I can get some sleep.” He lowered his voice. “But let me know if you have any further problems with that hand…”

The flight deck of the carrier Graf Zeppelin was still and calm, with the first of the morning fighter contingent still below decks being armed. Six fighters were scheduled for launch at 06:00, to be followed soon after by the first squadron of Stukas. The carrier had sortied streikschwere, with a strike-heavy compliment primarily composed of modified Stuka dive bombers. There were two Stuka squadrons aboard, a baker’s dozen in each, for a total of 26 strike aircraft, and another six BF-109Ts in reserve, with four Arado seaplanes to make 42 planes in all.

The former first officer of the Admiral Scheer, Kapitan zur See Kurt Böhmer, was still in command of the carrier, arriving on the bridge early that day to oversee the morning launch.

We are missing Marco Ritter these days, he thought. I was thinking to see him down on the flight deck with that red scarf flapping in the wind. But he’ll be out there. Word is that the Goeben did very well in the Med as a scout ship, and Ritter cherry picked the best Stuka pilots from my flight crews here to look after Hindenburg. That said, they could not stop those rocket attacks. Nothing we have can stop them. So the only thing we can do when the sky lights up with those missile trails is put up a good shieldwall.

Brinkmann is in Prinz Eugen out in front, and I have the new destroyers Loki and Thor to either side. After what happened to Sigfrid, we must have a destroyer abreast of us at all times, and that failing, one of the heavier ships must stand in for that duty. We can take no chances that those rockets will find us again. Yet for now, the sea is empty, and we will pluck out the eyes of any aircraft that come looking for us. The British carriers are well to the south and west in any case, so we should rule the day here. Now to get our boys up and after the British. If I can sink that old battleship we’re looking for, I can save Lütjens and Topp the trouble. Then they can turn and slug it out with the battleships.

The Schweregruppe of the task force was out ahead of Prinz Eugen. He could not see the tall main masts and superstructure of Tirpitz in the darkness, but he could feel the ship’s presence, the cold hard Wotan Hart steel plying through the waters like a great shark. Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were cruising to either side, guarding the battleship as the destroyers stood watch over his carrier. Once bitten, twice shy. Now that the Germans had faced the British rocket weapons, they sailed in shieldwall formation, with one ship protecting another from the deadly sea skimming missiles.

Kurt Böhmer looked at his watch, seeing the elevator bringing up another two fighters, wings still folded as they rose to the main flight deck. It was then that he saw what he had feared since that first astounding attack near Iceland. There were lights in the sky, high up, rising like shooting stars fleeing the earth and seeking the darkness of the night again. But they would not stay high for long. The watchmen had seen them as well, and alarms were ringing all over the ship. He looked to see men running to battle stations, and reached for his field glasses, his heart beating faster.

One… three… four rockets were in the sky now, climbing, then appearing to hang in the darkness like a line of cold steel stars. Then they fell, one by one, as if they were a formation of precision fighters peeling off to attack a target at lower altitude. Down they came, as the men shouted and footsteps rattled the decks. Guns were turning and training, barrels elevating, and then he heard a gunnery officer shouting at his men.

“Not there!” he pointed with a baton. “Lower your guns. They will come in right over the wave tops!”

It was something his men had been oblivious of in that first attack, but forewarned was now fore armed. The Germans knew what to expect. According to plan, they tightened up their sailing order, like a school of fish seeking safety in a group of closely packed ships—like a group of Viking warriors crouching behind their shields. Graf Zeppelin held Loki on the right arm, Thor on the left. Now the guns began firing, for the director had been correct, and the missiles were diving for the sea.

Böhmer knew what to expect, that dizzying dance over the wave tops, as if the rockets were deliberately taunting the gunners to try to hit them. The roar of the AA guns now became deafening, the bright fire of the exploding rounds lighting of the sable sky and glowing on the dark waters below. He watched, spellbound again, thinking they must surely miss. How could the British even know where his ships were to target them? Did they have a U-boat nearby to give away his position? They could never find him with a random shot like this. He was thinking of them as a spread of torpedoes, dangerous, but something that might be avoided by maneuver. Yet nothing would stay these lethal weapons from their appointed round…

On they came, low on the sea, the bright fire from their tails now suddenly visible. They were so fast that it was impossible for the gunners to adjust for the oncoming range. Böhmer would see them come right at his ships again, unerringly, as if they had night eyes, bat like things, creatures of the night that flew with senses unknown to man, vampires. To his utter amazement, the first of five came boring in right towards his formation.

“Hard to port! All ahead full! All ships to match speed and turn!”

He scarcely had time to shout out the order when the first lance struck his shield on the starboard side. Loki was hit just forward of the bridge, smashing right into a 4.7-inch dual purpose gun turret as it fired in futile reprisal. The turret exploded, completely obliterated by the 200kg warhead, and bright orange fire lit up the scene with its angry light.

Then the second missile pummeled Loki amidships, the small 6800 ton destroyer rolling with the heavy punch. It was just the size and type of ship the missile had been designed to kill, and it would do exactly that, just as Sigfrid had died in this same way a year earlier.

Then, to Böhmer’s amazement, he watched the next two missiles alter their course. They were not simply well aimed lances thrown from beyond the horizon, a feat that was astounding enough. They maneuvered, making lightning quick turns that not even the most agile fighter could have achieved. They maneuvered—right into the gap between Prinz Eugen and his own ship, but it was not the veteran Prince they were after that morning.

Graf Zeppelin was struck on her starboard side, about 200 meters forward of the main elevators. There were two 15cm guns there in twin-gun Dopp MPL C/36 casemate mountings, with 1.2 inches of armor. It was not enough to stop those 200kg warheads, and the turrets fared little better than the smaller guns on Loki. The fury of the fireball glowed orange and red on the grey hull of the ship, and then the second missile smashed right behind the heavy anchors suspended on the bow, piercing the thin armor and blowing clean through the ship and out the port side.

The last thing to strike the bow of the ship had been a bottle of champagne during the launch, but now it was a blackened wreck, with heavy fire and smoke coiling up from the wound.

Böhmer soon learned that neither rocket had penetrated to the arming deck, where the Stukas were sitting like a flock of densely packed black crows, with heavy bombs mounted beneath the stubby, folded wings. How in god’s name could they move like that, he thought? These are precision guided weapons! Nothing on earth could fly so fast, and turn so smartly to find his ship in the middle of the formation like this. It was almost like magic!

And it was only the beginning.

Chapter 26

Aboard Kirov, Volsky was standing by the Captain’s chair, where he had insisted Fedorov take his seat to lead the opening action against the German fleet. He was watching his young Captain closely, as if he thought Fedorov might wince when Rodenko reported that all five missiles launched had found targets. That was no surprise. Karpov had said it many times before—what we target, we hit, and what we hit we can destroy.

Yet Fedorov did not feel like Karpov that day. Yes, he was bothered by the thought that each order he gave here was sending men to their death, and burning their ships, still unseen over the far horizon. At least it was not as bad as that day when they had faced off against the great battleship Yamato, its mighty guns flinging massive shells at Kirov, coming within a hair’s breadth of striking the ship at one point, and sweeping away the top radar mast as it passed overhead like a merciless hammer of doom, striking the sea with a thunderous roar.

Thankfully, they had replaced that system when they returned to Vladivostok, and now it spun rapidly on that same mast overhead, its electronic fingers seeking out the German task force in the early pre-dawn hours.

“They had another ship in tight on the primary,” said Rodenko. “It looks like it absorbed two hits, and I think we will sink that ship. Two more missiles struck the primary. They have made a hard turn to port and are coming around 180 degrees.”

Fedorov looked at Volsky. “Two hit’s sir.”

“What is your assessment, Fedorov?” said the Admiral. “Will they be enough to put that ship out of action?”

“We will not know that unless we get the KA-40 back up for battle damage assessment, or unless they begin launching planes. In that instance, I believe we must fire again.”

“Agreed,” said Volsky. “This is an armored ship?”

“No more than 100mm on the belt,” said Fedorov. “45 to 60mm on the flight deck.”

“Then it is vulnerable to plunging fire as well.” The Admiral folded his arms. “We might do more damage that way if it becomes necessary.”

They had decided to strike in the early pre-dawn hours, thinking to pre-empt any air strike that may be launched by the German carrier. Now they sat like a dark spider at the center of an electronic web spun out by the ship’s powerful radar systems. All about them, their adversaries were creeping into that web, unaware of the danger that lurked over their horizon… until those first missiles broke the stillness of the dawn, and the battle began.

Fedorov knew it was to be a one sided affair. Their enemy could not even see them, let alone strike at them in reprisal. With their speed, they could stay well beyond the range of the massive guns on the German battleships, so it would be a simple and merciless equation as he saw things. It would be a contest of fire and shock against German steel. How much of a pounding could their ships take before the steel broke in the wills of the Admirals and Captains who commanded them.

Before the action he had discussed the situation with Admiral Volsky, and came down to a grim conclusion. Fedorov had pointed out that they had only 28 anti-ship missiles, still more than a normal combat load, due to the fact that they had pirated missiles from the submarine Kazan.

“This is the heart of the German fleet, is it not, Fedorov?”

“It appears so,” said Fedorov. “We’ve identified all three battleships, the two battlecruisers, the carrier Graf Zeppelin and the light escort carrier that was with Hindenburg.”

“Then if we use the power we now have, we can literally take the German fleet out of the war. Yes? I am not speaking of a nuclear option here. Yet my question to you is this—can we cripple the German navy for good here by using the conventional warheads we still have?”

“Very likely,” said Fedorov. “That will depend on how we hit them.”

“Hard, Fedorov. We must hit them very hard. A carrier must be saturated to achieve a certain kill. I know this is our tactic in modern times, but will it apply here?”

“The Graf Zeppelin has only a third the displacement of a typical Nimitz Class carrier, sir. And the Nimitz could sustain three times the damage of even the best built carrier in WWII. We may be able to mission kill this German carrier with two or three hits.”

“Yet that would allow it to survive, would it not? Now I begin to sound like Karpov, but would that mean we must fight this same battle all over again, and without the missiles we fire here today? No. I think we must take a hard line here. If we engage, then we must do so with the intent of killing these ships, not just putting damage on them to discourage them. Do you agree, Fedorov?”

After a deep breath, Fedorov nodded his assent.

“But you still have reservations,” said Volsky. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“It’s not that, sir,” said Fedorov.

“That hand again? Is all well there?”

“Yes sir, my hand seems to be fit and staying put now. I think that was a temporary effect, or at least I hope as much.”

“Then what? Tell me why you hesitate?”

“It isn’t the tactics, Admiral. I agree. If we fight here now, and with a limited missile inventory, then we should seek a decisive engagement. Yes, I know I also sound like Karpov now, but we both admit that in many ways he was correct when it came to battle. I was thinking about something else—how the Germans could have learned about Rodney.”

“Volkov? Might he have tipped them off?”

“I’ve wondered about that, but cannot see how he would be privy to that information Miss Fairchild disclosed. Yes, he might be able to look up the service record and see that Rodney did have that gold bullion aboard, and the Elgin Marbles, but that would be of little consequence. It would not be anything that would compel the Germans to maneuver as they have here, and seek out that single ship.”

“Could we be reading more into their maneuvers than they really know, Fedorov? After all, both task groups now appear on a course to rendezvous by mid-day, and they are merely heading away from the British battleships behind them.”

“Yes, and directly towards us. I think they must know we have followed them through the straits of Gibraltar, sir. Yet that northern group is not bearing on our position. It is on a course to intercept Rodney. So is the Hindenburg group.”

“Mere coincidence,” Volsky suggested.

“No sir, they know the position of Rodney well enough. The U-boat that torpedoed it will have reported this information.”

“Then they are obviously out to pick off the wounded water buffalo, and thin out the herd,” said Volsky.

“Possibly, but I would think they would not perceive Rodney as a threat here, given the speed advantage they have over that ship. The Invincible is a real threat to them, and yet they are not maneuvering to intercept us at this time, even though they had a fix on our position yesterday with that seaplane.”

“It does seem odd,” Volsky agreed.

“And don’t forget that we have that previous message intercept. It appeared Lütjens was ordered to take this course—ordered to seek out Rodney.”

It was then that Nikolin turned with a report that deepened the mystery. He had picked up another signal using the German naval code, and was translating it with the application Fedorov had in his pad device. When he finished, it soon appeared that there was now some confusion on the German side. Wilhelmshaven was asking what orders needed confirmation.

“Repeat order needing confirmation. Objective is as per original orders in Fall Rheinübung …” Fedorov’s eyes narrowed. That was the first time they had picked up the actual name of the operation now underway, and it was identical to the one put forward by the Germans at this same time in the history he knew. It was an oddity, as the history here was vastly altered. And now it also seemed that the intent of the German battle strategy was no longer clear. Fedorov did not have the original orders, as they must have been given by other means than coded signals, possibly transmitted to Lütjens before he left Toulon. The sudden turnabout made by the Hindenburg group appeared to be in response to a direct order from Wilhelmshaven, but now this directive seemed to contradict that and re-affirm the original plan. What was going on here?

“Confusion in battle is commonplace,” said Volsky.

“Yet we have the decoded message received earlier, Admiral. It was a clear order to find and sink Rodney. Lütjens requested confirmation, and now we have this? Wilhelmshaven seems to know nothing about that earlier order.”

“Very strange,” Volsky agreed. “Yet I do not see how this impacts our decision here on how to proceed. I believe we must eliminate the German carrier as our opening move in this chess game. Correct Fedorov?”

The Captain nodded, again with some sense of misgiving obvious on his face. Minutes later they began their attack, and now the next move was plotted in this uneven chess game, where the Russian ship could move to develop all its pieces before the enemy could lay a finger on a single pawn.

“Twenty four missiles remaining,” said Volsky. “Two must have struck a smaller escort ship.”

“They are learning, Admiral,” said Fedorov. “They are trying to steam in tight formations around the carrier to protect it.”

“Correct,” said Rodenko. “I can now read two ships in close proximity to the primary. They must have redeployed the cruiser escort to replace the ship we hit with those first two missiles.”

“All the more reason to change our angle of attack,” said Volsky. “I was told we still have several Moskit-IIs programmed for vertical strike profiles—is this so, Mister Samsonov?”

“Correct Admiral. I have three of nine missiles in that system programmed for vertical strike.”

“Then I think this is the next move, Fedorov,” said Volsky. “A knight leaping from above, and not the slashing, sea-skimming attack of the Bishop.”

“I’m seeing air activity over the primary,” said Rodenko. “I think they’re launching.”

“So out first strike was not enough,” said Volsky.

Fedorov hesitated, just long enough for Volsky to turn his head from Nikolin to regard him more closely. Then the young Captain swallowed, nodded, and turned to Samsonov.

“How many Moskit-II missiles remain?”

“Nine missiles loaded and ready—one in the number ten bay.” Samsonov was reminding Fedorov that one of the nine was mounted in the special weapons bay, where a nuclear warhead could be loaded onto the missile if so ordered. That was not to be the case today, but Fedorov took note of that. They still had three special warheads, and if they ever had to use them, they would need missiles. So instead of 24 missiles available, he really had no more than 21 now if he wished to retain three for those special warheads. It was time to do some heavier hitting.

“Ready one Moskit-II for immediate launch,” he said. “Vertical attack profile. Target the primary, carrier Graf Zeppelin.”

With over twice the warhead weight of the missiles they had received from Kazan, this was the ship’s premier ship killer. It was normally programmed to be a fast supersonic sea-skimmer, but they had found that the heavy side armor of the battleships of this era had been able to survive hits at the water line. So it was decided to reprogram missiles to pop up and hit the superstructure, or simply strike from high above, where the thinner deck armor could easily be penetrated by the big 450kg warhead moving at the blistering speed of Mach three.

“Very well,” said Fedorov. “Mark your target and fire.”

Two of three fighters on deck had been damaged by shrapnel hits from the missile strike that struck Graf Zeppelin near the bow. This had prompted Kapitan Böhmer to urge his flight engineers to get as many Stukas up on the deck as possible. He was determined to launch, even if it meant his planes would have to storm right through the smoke forward, blinded by the dark smoke now rolling right down the flight deck when he turned into the wind, and licked by flames as they took off over the bow. The British had done the very same thing with those fluttering moths of theirs. So he urged his crews and pilots on.

While Fedorov and Volsky had discussed how to proceed, sorting through the contradiction in German orders, the Germans got up a flight of six Stukas and had them all airborne.

And then it came…

It was the same as before when Böhmer saw it, a bright light ascending from the purple edge of the coming dawn, climbing, climbing. Then it arced over and began to fall, a fiery comet that seemed to grow larger and brighter with each passing second. Down it came, swift and silent, as it was moving three times faster than the roar of its own engines. The eerie silence of its coming was deceptive, and then it thundered down on his ship, plunging right through the armored deck amidships with a shattering explosion.

Graf Zeppelin rocked with the blow, the orange fire erupting from the guts of the ship in a broiling mass. It was as if the carrier had been struck by a swift kamikaze, but one weighing over 4500 kilograms, and with a 450kg warhead. The rest was the great fuel laden mass of the rocket itself, which penetrated the deck, exploded with torrential fire and shock below, and plunged right through the maintenance deck where another twenty Stukas were still being armed. The explosion erupted from the machinery spaces below, and set off 500 pound bombs, one after another, in a terrible sequence of death and destruction. Planes and flight crews were immolated, bulkheads blown apart, fuel set fire in a raging inferno. The damage extended all the way down to one of the two propulsion shafts, severing it, and then the shock of the attack blew completely through the hull.

Graf Zeppelin keeled over to one side as the hull was breached below the water line. But it was the raging inferno within that would consume the ship, the fires reaching one plane after another, the ordnance and aviation fuel feeding the conflagration. The ship was doomed. Germany’s first aircraft carrier, famous even though it never steamed on the high seas or saw combat in the war Fedorov knew, would not survive the hour.

High above, the six lucky Stuka pilots who bravely took off through the deck smoke, now saw the volcanic eruption below, and gasped at the fireball that now consumed the ship. The destroyer Thor, steaming off the port side, had to make an emergency turn away from the carrier to avoid the holocaust. Even so, the sides and superstructure of the smaller ship were lacerated with shrapnel. Prinz Eugen had fallen off to take up a position to the starboard side of the carrier when it turned after the initial missile strike. Now the men aboard the heavy cruiser gaped in awe at the scene unfolding.

The carrier was soon in a heavy list, still burning fiercely when it began to keel over, the hot fires hissing into the sea. All the remaining fighters and Stukas, and the elite pilots that had trained to fly them off the carrier, would die in those desperate, violent minutes, along with nearly 1,700 officers and crew of every rank.

There would be twenty two survivors.

Chapter 27

Numbers…. Facts that Fedorov could call up from the library of his mind, or look up if he ever forgot them. Carrier Graf Zeppelin, 33,550 tons displacement, 262 meters in length, four geared turbines producing 200,000 shaft horsepower. Aircraft carried: 42. Ship’s Compliment: 1,720.

It had taken just one missile, angled at the right attack, and falling into what amounted to a readymade explosive mass of 500 pound bombs and volatile aviation fuel. The damage was violent, catastrophic and final, and this was a ship they would never have to face or fight again, thought Fedorov. The legend was gone—killed by me. All those lives… I’m responsible…

Admiral Volsky was watching him closely again, understanding what he was feeling. He knew that he could never reason away the emotion, and the heavy burden of having to kill. It was not even as if the ship itself were in any danger. They struck down their enemy before they even knew they were in harm’s way.

“It had to be done, Mister Fedorov,” said the Admiral.

“I understand, sir.”

“Yes,” said Volsky. “I know it was a hard blow to those men out there. Yet we must be prepared to do more here. This was a ship that was never even supposed to be at sea in this war.”

“Another interloper,” said Fedorov, “as we are, sir.”

“Very well,” Volsky nodded. “Now we must consider the battleships. There will be time enough later to think about what we have done here. At the moment, the enemy is approaching our horizon. One missile—one ship.” Volsky shook his head with as much amazement as he had regret.

“I’m afraid that the battleships may not die so easily,” said Fedorov. “When Tovey caught the Bismarck in our history with three British battleships, Rodney included, they put 2,878 rounds of all calibers into that ship, and Bismarck was still afloat. It took three more torpedoes, and some say deliberate scuttling, before the great ship went down.”

“Nothing is unsinkable,” said Volsky.

“Yes sir, that we know all too well. Oh, we’ll hurt what we fire at, but it will take a good deal to sink these ships.”

“Then our intention will be to disable them, mission kill them, and leave the rest to the Royal Navy.”

“In that case, we may wish to program more of these high angle attack profiles. And I would also suggest we use the Vodopads”

“Torpedoes?” said Volsky. “I see. That was how we bested that big Japanese battleship.”

“Yes sir. Our missiles hurt the enemy, but have not really killed any battleship we engaged. Yet a torpedo hit, particularly one designed to break a ship’s back, or follow its wake to the rudder, is a very dangerous weapon, for any ship.”

“Agreed. We are in range of this same task group now. The Vodopads rocket assisted approach can take it out 120 kilometers. How many rounds do we have remaining on that system?” Admiral Volsky looked to Tasarov, who seemed lost beneath his headset, his eyes closed, listening very intently to something.

“Mister Tasarov?”

“I’m sorry sir…”

“An undersea contact?” Volsky moved to the young Lieutenant’s station now.

“No sir… I do not think so…”

Volsky took one look at Tasarov, and he could see that something was very wrong. The man looked like he had not slept in days, with dark circles under his eyes, and a haggard expression on his face.

“Mister Tasarov, when was the last time you took leave?”

“I was off during the night shift, sir. But I could not sleep.”

“Oh? Have you seen the Doctor?”

“No sir…. I’m not sick. It is just that I cannot shake off that sound.”

“Sound?”

Now Rodenko looked at Fedorov, and the two men shared a knowing glance. “He’s been trying to process a sound, Admiral,” he explained. “Tasarov reported it some time ago.”

“The same sound Dobrynin reported,” said Fedorov. “They both still hear something, but cannot seem to localize it, even though I disposed of that object Orlov found some hours ago.”

“You still hear this sound, Tasarov? You can hear it now?”

“Yes sir, very deep sound. I hear it with or without my system acoustics. I hear it even in my sleep.”

“I see…” Volsky could see the man needed some help. “Go and see the Doctor, whether you are sick or not. Tell him what you have told us here, and see if he can give you something to help you rest. Then after that, go to the officer’s mess and eat well. This is an order. Tell the Chef this comes directly from me, and he is to prepare any meal you request. Understood?”

“Yes sir… Thank you sir…” Tasarov saluted, and started to stand up, but his legs would simply not hold him. He collapsed.

Rodenko and Fedorov were quick to his side, and Fedorov told Nikolin to send for a stretcher team. “And get Velichko up here to take the sonar station.”

“Now I find myself hoping his ears are not as good as Tasarov’s,” said Volsky. “Yet that would do us very little good on sonar.”

“Velichko is competent, sir. We’ll be alright.”

“This is getting serious, Fedorov,” said Volsky. “It would be my guess that many others are in the same shape as Tasarov, or they may be soon if we do not solve this riddle. So this sound, whatever it may be, was not being caused by that thing Orlov had?”

“Apparently not. We are hours and miles away from the Peake Deep now. There is no way Tasarov could be hearing that sound if the object caused it.”

“Get Dobrynin on the intercom. See if he can still hear this noise.”

Nikolin put in the call, but soon reported that the Engineering Chief had also reported to sick bay that morning, and so they got Doctor Zolkin on the line.

“He’s sleeping now,” said Zolkin. “I had to give him a sedative. The same problem many others have reported. Some kind of sound that nobody seems to be able to describe. I cannot hear it, but they certainly perceive something.”

“Very well, Doctor. Carry on.”

Volsky folded his arms, clearly not happy to have these officers disabled and unfit for duty in the midst of combat. He realized again what a temperamental thing a ship could be at sea. At the moment, everything seemed in order, at least mechanically, and they had no reports of flux in the reactors, but these events, particularly Lenkov, had caused a great deal of alarm. He could feel it in himself, a rising sense of dread, as if some great danger was upon them, though he could not see what it was.

“Fedorov? Any thoughts?

“We can proceed with the torpedo launch as soon as Velichko arrives.”

“Not that—this sound. What is going on?”

Fedorov pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not know sir, but it may be as I have explained it earlier—we simply do not belong here, and these effects may be related to the strange phasing events we’ve seen. I can speak of that with firsthand experience.” He smiled, looking at his right hand to be certain it was still there, then became serious again.

“Admiral,” he continued. “Up until now we have assumed that these effects were directed at us, coming to us like bad weather. Yet now I suggest another alternative—that we are the source. The ship itself may be causing these effects.”

“How so?”

“I can give you no technical explanation,” said Fedorov, “but we do have those two control rods aboard, and we know they contain material mined near Tunguska. They were also stored very near that thing Orlov found, and so one may have affected the other. This is all speculation, but if I am correct, then we could be having an effect on the space-time continuum. We are an entity capable of displacing in time, a slippery fish, as Director Kamenski might describe it. Everything else around us is native to this time, but we are not, and we are capable of moving… elsewhere.”

“That doesn’t sound very comforting,” said Volsky. “They may not make good Vodka elsewhere.”

Again the edge of a smile tugged at Fedorov’s lips, but the situation was too grave to take any solace from humor.

“Yet we are not the only slippery fish here,” said Volsky. “What about Gromyko on Kazan? What about the Argos Fire? We should contact them to see if they also report any odd effects.”

“Yes,” said Fedorov. “Why didn’t I think of that earlier? I’m sorry sir… This situation with Lenkov…”

“We’ll have Nikolin put in the call,” said the Admiral. “But what does this mean, Fedorov? We are affecting space and time? Could this be why men in the future gave warning of our ship?”

“I have considered that, sir. We thought all this was accidental in the beginning, until we discovered what Rod-25 was doing. Then our own experience confirmed that we could initiate a time shift at will. Rod-25 was very consistent in selecting out this era when we moved. It did so even when we used it in the test reactor at Vladivostok, and aboard the floating reactor we used to find Orlov.”

“And with Kazan,” said Volsky. “Yet Dobrynin’s skill was required to manage that. Those ears of his were needed to control everything. With our Chief Engineer disabled, and now Tasarov, this situation is becoming serious. I have considered what you fear may happen come July. Could these be foreshocks to that event?”

“Possibly,” said Fedorov. “Time knows we cannot remain here if that other ship must arrive. Yet I suppose that all depends on what is really happening, on what time really is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, Admiral. Kamenski said time may not be what we think it is, and that got me wondering in light of all these odd occurrences.”

“Well, did the man explain himself? If he knows something more, then we should hear it. And this business concerning these keys is very shady. You say he has such a key, and we also have those two other control rods aboard. So we have not taken out all the trash, Fedorov. These things may be responsible for what we have been experiencing.”

“Or the ship itself may be responsible,” said Fedorov. “Kirov has been unstable in any time we sailed.”

“Yet we stayed put for nearly a year here.”

“Correct, sir. But I am thinking along these lines. Certain metals can take on magnetic properties. When exposed to magnetic fields, even something as simple as a paperclip can become magnetic. What if that applies to our movement through time. I was thinking we may take on some kind of quantum temporal energy, and if that is so, then the ship might be affecting space-time as it moves, perhaps like an ice skater leaving a mark on the ice as they go along. We could be doing that—creating marks and scratches in space-time. We could be causing damage here by our very presence.”

“That much is certain,” said Volsky. “The men on Graf Zeppelin know it well enough. Here we were plotting how to sink these German battleships, and now this time business again! Then if I follow your logic, you are suggesting that we are making this sound, because of some strange energy the ship acquired while displacing in time?”

“Yes sir. Think of it like the ship’s hull acquiring a magnetic field as we sail. We have degaussed the hull before to mitigate that. Suppose we are picking up some other kind of energy, on a quantum level. It may have built up over our many shifts in time.”

“Well, all this is speculation, Fedorov. Degaussing of the ship’s hull is something I can order the next time we make port. Degaussing for this other energy you speak of is something else! We may never grasp what is really happening to us. In the meantime, let us not forget that we have a battle to fight here.”

Kalinichev interrupted with a sudden report.

“System malfunction,” he said, and Rodenko was soon at his side at the radar station.

“What is the problem?”

“I get no returns on the Fregat system, sir. All contact tracks are void. I can’t even read Invincible on our wake, yet I have no red light. My system still reads green.”

“Switch to phased array and reboot the Fregat system.”

“Aye sir. Initializing phased array now.”

There was no difference. Both systems now reported no contacts around them at all, which immediately drew Volsky and Fedorov to the radar station to see what was happening.

“Is this a local ship’s problem?” said Volsky. “Is it confined to the electronics?”

“Mister Nikolin,” said Fedorov. “Activate the aft Tin Man and feed the camera optics to the main viewing screen.”

“Aye sir. Tin Man active.”

They all looked up at the screen, expecting to see the tall mainmast and superstructure of Invincible in their wake, half a kilometer behind them. The weather was good, and there was nothing that should have been able to fool the optics of that hi-res camera system.

But the sea was clear and calm. They had been calmly planning the destruction of the entire German fleet, a feat they might have easily accomplished, until Maxim 17 exerted its unseen hand.

Fedorov looked at Volsky, and then moved immediately to the weather bridge hatch, intending to have a look with his own eyes. He knew it was a foolish thing to do, as the Tin Man signal was clearly showing the empty sea, but something in him just wanted the confirmation of his own senses, with no digital interface.

HMS Invincible was gone, and all around the ship, a thick grey haze began to fall like a shroud.