Steel Reign

Chapter 10

Karpov was restless. The long hiatus imposed by the harsh Siberian winter had left him chafing for action. Yet ice in the Sea of Okhotsk was particularly severe that winter, one of the coldest in memory, and so he had taken Kirov down through the Kuriles as Fedorov advised, and out into the North Atlantic. They moved at night, through thick weather, with excellent charts of these waters, and passed quietly through the Nadezhdy Strait, a 20 mile gap between two small rocky islands. Radar returns from the high volcanic peak of Sarychev Mountain on the northern isle of Matua guided them through, and the Admiral mused on the fickle nature of the earth itself.

So Krakatoa has blown its top down south, he thought, and right in the middle of the Japanese landings on Java. From all reports the entire western segment of that island is largely uninhabitable now. That must have cost the Japanese a good deal in men and ships if they landed where Fedorov predicted they would. The British pulled out, having no stomach for the fight after that, though it was probably a simple case of logistics that forced their withdrawal.

That’s my problem now, isn’t it—logistics. I have good divisions waiting at Magadan for this damn ice field to thin out, but Fedorov tells me winter may hang on longer than normal now. That damn volcano has sent up so much silt and ash that it’s literally blocking sunlight from reaching the earth. It wasn’t even supposed to happen this year. The eruption was supposed to occur in 1883, but Mother Nature can be a headstrong lady. Look what she did to us right in the middle of that fight with Tanner and his 7th Fleet in 2021.

Yes, it was that demon of a volcano that sent me here, and I had a real good look at what the US Navy is going to look like by 1945. A pity I was on the wrong side back then, and still hot headed from that engagement with Tanner. All I could see was red when it came to the Americans, and I picked a fight there without properly thinking the situation through. Orlan paid the price for that, and everyone aboard. I never really did think to look in the history books to see how that little farce was written up, but then again, what does it matter? It’s 1942 here now, and everything is different. My little sortie to 1908 took care of that, but it also gave rise to the dragon I am now dueling with up here—Imperial Japan. None of those events I lived through in 1945 are ever likely to happen now, particularly since the Americans will be on my side this time around.

Hell, they were unbeatable without me, but with Kirov at my disposal, the outcome of this war is certain now. I’ve already shown the Japanese that I’m not to be trifled with. Fedorov tells me they were worried about the opening of a northern front all through these early months of the war. Well, now I’ve given them one. The loss of Kamchatka must have reddened quite a few faces in Army and Navy circles in Japan. The loss of that aircraft carrier and the other ships I pummeled also clearly demonstrated what I can do to them if they dare to oppose me.

Yet Fedorov tells me they’ll keep fighting. He says the Japanese Empire will simply not quit. In fact, that little tidbit he shared the other day was quite revealing. They have no word in their language to describe what we would call a military retreat. The word they use simply means “advance in a new direction.” And any withdrawal they make is simply viewed as a consolidation aimed at preparing for a new offensive.

So I must not underestimate my enemy here. I must think this through from a strategic standpoint, and in doing that, Fedorov has been most useful. He tells me that our occupation of Petropavlovsk may not be as important from a strategic standpoint as I had planned. I wanted to immediately offer those airfields to the Americans, but Fedorov says it is all of 1500 miles from that place to Tokyo, well outside the combat radius of their B-17 bombers, which is under 900 nautical miles with a basic bomb load, and under 700 nautical miles with a maximum bomb load. They could barely reach the northern tip of Hokkaido from there. How inconvenient. Beyond that, we both know weather conditions at Petropavlovsk are miserable most of the time. It’s one of the foggiest regions of the world.

If I wanted to hit Tokyo, I would have to possess bases in Southern Sakhalin, Karafuto to the Japanese, at least until the Americans produce their B-29 bomber, but that is some years off. Fedorov says that the ranges to any targets of value would require a very direct route, and it would force the bombers to fly right over Japanese held territory in Hokkaido, where they would most likely sustain very heavy losses. If I wanted to approach from the sea, then it would mean I have to hold islands in the southern Kuriles, as far south as Ostrov Iturup, which the Japanese call Etorofu, and that’s where my friend the Demon lives. Might it awaken one day here like that monster in the Sunda Strait? Not likely, but always something to think about. I can’t take anything for granted now, not in these Altered States.

So I need that island as an end point of my planned offensive, and I need to drive the Japanese completely off Sakhalin Island. I already have a toe hold in the north with troops I’ve moved in by airship, but that force isn’t big enough to conduct a real offensive south. It will take strong reinforcements, one or two more divisions from Magadan, and I can’t lift them until mid-May, when ice conditions ease up. Even so, the Japanese will reinforce from Hokkaido, so that is likely to be a very bitter fight when we get down south on Sakhalin Island.

As for the Kuriles, my amphibious landing capability is very limited. I have a small transport fleet, and I must protect those ships using Kirov’s AA defense shield at all costs. I thought the Americans could help out with additional shipping, but Fedorov tells me resources were very thin at this time in the war. I’ll prosecute these campaigns, and also have my younger self apply pressure on Northern Manchuria, but so much of our combat power has been sent to Sergei Kirov that we will have real limitations in this theater.

For the moment, I still have Kirov, and we’ll operate from Petropavlovsk, a nice Northern Pacific outpost. I know what the Japanese will be up to soon—Midway and their Aleutian Islands Operation. Perhaps the best way I can hurt them now is to insure that battle becomes the naval disaster it was for them, and help the American fleet get up a good head of steam here. They pulled off their Doolittle Raid, right on schedule. It’s amazing to see how the history walks in its own shadow. So Midway will be the next operation, or perhaps that preliminary carrier duel in the Coral Sea.

I’ve had Nikolin intercepting Japanese military signals for some time now, and Fedorov produced a nifty little program that decodes everything. It looks like Volkov didn’t even have the presence of mind to tell the Japanese the Americans were reading their code. Very well… How to best position Kirov to ambush the Japanese carriers? I thought they would react much more violently to our Kamchatka operation, as did Fedorov, but they’ve been very cagey. It appears they have learned to fear and respect the naval threat I now represent.

As soon as Nikolin informs me that signals traffic for the Japanese Midway operation picks up, I’ll take Kirov southeast from Petropavlovsk. About 1200 nautical miles should do the trick. That will put me a little north of the historical route of approach of their vaunted Kido Butai. This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. I can spare the Americans a lot of hand wrenching, take out all four carriers for them in one coordinated missile barrage, and then simply radio the US fleet the position of Yamamoto’s group and the invasion fleet approaching Midway. I’ll let the American carriers finish the job, and that will be that.

Yes, after Midway, Japanese naval power will be a shattered sword. I’ll see to that. Then perhaps they’ll pay just a little more attention when I renew my demands for the return of Vladivostok and Primorskiy Province. Fedorov thinks they’ll just dig their heels in as they did historically, but perhaps I can get them to consider a negotiated settlement with me. Can I afford to consider a separate peace here? How would the Americans view that?

After I win the Battle of Midway for them, they will most likely be very inclined to treat with me as an equal. At the moment, they are open to my proposal to provide airfields on Siberian territory, though Fedorov tells me they are doing so more as a means of opening a new Lend Lease route by air to Soviet Russia. I think I had better watch that closely. I should demand the lion’s share of any supplies that come over Siberian territory. After all, my support for Sergei Kirov has been more than generous.

Alright, it now looks like I can expect the decisive turning point in all this within 30 days or so—Midway. After that it is merely a matter of holding Japan’s feet to the fire until they yelp with so much pain that they will make the concessions I demand of them. After they lose their precious carrier fleet, they may not be so eager to have me as an active belligerent on their northern flank. If I get what I want, then the Americans can handle the rest, and I’ll focus my energy on resettling Primorskiy Province and supporting the Soviets. And I mustn’t forget Ivan Volkov.

He smiled now, thinking of the recent forced withdrawal Volkov made from his Trans-Volga bridgehead. Strange, he thought. This time the Germans got into Moscow, and even took most of that city, but the Soviets still pulled off that amazing Winter Counteroffensive—thanks to the three Siberian Shock Armies I sent to Georgie Zhukov. If I had them here, and had adequate shipping, I could retake Sakhalin Island and the Kuriles in a heartbeat.

So where is the Eastern Front likely to go now? Fedorov thinks the Germans will operate in the south. They already have the Crimea, though the Soviets are still holed up in Sevastopol. Fedorov thinks they will plan and execute an offensive something like their Fall Blau, Operation Blue. That was the drive that took them all the way to Stalingrad—Volgograd now. Sergei Kirov will not give that city up without a major battle, so that is where the real action will be as soon as the weather and ground conditions permit.

I’m told the Germans are introducing new tank designs, and much earlier than they did in the real history. I wonder if Volkov is behind all that? Tyrenkov tells me that the British have a new heavy tank in North Africa as well. It also fought in Syria, and stopped the German intervention there cold, so it must be very good. Yet my intelligence Chief has been unable to get me any real hard information on this development. I must light a fire under him about that.

One day I will need to consider the mechanization of my own forces. Kirov has been true to his word in allowing me to wet my beak as his new T-34s come off the assembly lines. I’ve been able to put together a few tank brigades for my forces around Irkutsk, but they are nothing approaching the tank army strength I will need if I have to really get serious with the Japanese and invade northern Manchuria. Beyond that, I wonder if the Soviets are also working on new designs. I’ve given Sergei Kirov a lot of friendly advice, but suppose I deliver the blueprints for the Josef Stalin Tank? It will have to be called something else of course. Yes, the JS-1 will be rightfully relabeled the VK-1, and they’ll call it “Vlad” for short.

That prompted another smile, though he knew the tank would likely be named the SK-1 if it was ever designed and produced. Sergei Kirov will want his name on a few more things than cities and towns. But if the Germans are building new tanks, we must do the same. Perhaps I can trade those blueprints for a commitment to bolster my air force. My Zeppelin fleet is very useful, but I need fighters and better bombers as well. I can’t build them here, but the Soviets can, and the Americans. And I have things to trade both parties for the toys I need. For now, however, I must finish up arrangements for Operation Midway. The Japanese are about to get the surprise of their lives!

At that moment, Tyrenkov came in. He had come over from Tunguska to make his monthly report to the Siberian Karpov, relating details of the operations now being coordinated by his younger self.

“Has Baikal shaken the dust off and worked into the fleet yet?” Karpov wanted to know about the latest T-Class airship that had just been commissioned.

“Yes sir, and the Admiral was very pleased with it. He took it out for a shakedown cruise, and it performed as expected. On that note, he has asked if an additional Oko radar panel and radio sets could be sent over, and any light AA missiles that may still be available would be most useful.”

“Yes,” said Karpov. “Every T-Class ship will get Oko Panels.” He had been taking the light SAMs that were in inventory for his KA-40s and sending them to equip Tunguska with a formidable air defensive shield for his Zeppelins. The airships were quite durable with their amazing self sealing gas bags and the inert helium lifting gas making them less vulnerable to incendiary rounds. They could hold their own against most fighter attacks, and dish out a great deal of firepower on defense. With the missiles, and the Oko panel radar sets to see the enemy coming, he could rest assured that his Zeppelin fleet would remain a viable force. Its only real vulnerability in the operations he had been conducting was to ground based heavy flak guns. A 90mm AA gun could wreak havoc on one of those easy targets.

His brother self had been busy coordinating the airlift of troops and supplies to the northern Sakhalin bridgehead. He had a Marine battalion on defense there, and was bringing in additional air mobile troops with supporting heavy weapons by air, mostly flying during heavy overcast days to minimize the threat of enemy air interception.

“The Japanese are bringing in reinforcements from Hokkaido,” said Tyrenkov.

“As we expected.”

“It isn’t much, just one more additional regiment.”

“That should not prove difficult to overcome, but I’ll want a full division in Northern Sakhalin before we make our push. And don’t forget that we have to seize Lazarev on the mainland, and the mouth of the Amur River. That waterway is our route inland in the north. In the south, I’m still pinning my hopes on the planning for the Chikhacheva Bay operation. Once we push as far south as Aleksandrovsk, the time will be ripe for that. It will be quite easy to move west into Primorskiy Province from there, and then we can follow the Amur River for the real offensive push to Khabarovsk. I want to try and get there by July, and clear all of Sakhalin Island as well. Then we plan the Vladivostok operation. For now, I must turn my attention to breaking the back of the Japanese Navy, which should be accomplished in due course.”

Karpov was very pleased with himself, a smug confidence being the outward cloak his darkened soul wore each day. His muse seemed very well reasoned, very logical and precise. But he was very wrong, at least about the battle of Midway. And he would soon find out that the artful stratagem of surprise could be used against him as well.

Chapter 11

Orlov looked at Fedorov, his eyes wide with shock and surprise. The flood of memories now burst through that broken window and threatened to drown him. It all came back, like one dream after another in an endless cascade of recollection. It was as if some heavy concealing fog had suddenly lifted over that stormy sea, and he could now see and know everything he had lived through in the long saga he had endured with the ship.

Just like Fedorov.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” he breathed. “The helicopter. That was how I found myself in the sky, and I jumped, to save my ass because the goddamn ship was firing at me! Karpov! That bastard tried to kill me. Yes, I put my fist in his belly for the bullshit he pulled when he tried to take the ship. He worked it so the whole damn thing would rest on my decision. I can still see that shit eating grin on his face.”

“My god,” said Fedorov. “Then you remember that? You remember it all now Chief?”

“Like that French Cologne,” said Orlov. “Yes…” He looked around him, feeling like an entirely new man. Yet there was the same old familiar ship, and he also possessed the recent memory of the experience they had lived through these last months. “This is crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “This is just goddamned crazy. I must be losing my mind.”

“No Chief,” said Fedorov quickly. “Hold on a second. The same thing happened to me. That’s why I was so shocked when I first saw you on the bridge. That’s why I flat out keeled over when I saw Karpov. I knew there was no way he could be on this ship. Chief! Stay with me. You remember now, don’t you. You remember everything.”

Orlov was so stunned that he reached for the nearest chair and sat down, a confused look on his face, a mix of anger, frustration and profound surprise and awareness. It was too much for him at the beginning, and he closed his eyes, breathing hard.

“Easy does it, Chief. It happened to me as well, but as far as I know, you and I are the only two men on this ship that remember anything of the past. Zolkin showed a few signs of waking up, but he hasn’t really broken through the fog yet. Take it easy. Give yourself a few moments. I’ll help you get through this.”

“Then they weren’t dreams,” said Orlov. “We fought—busted up the British, and then went to the Med. That’s where I got pissed off and jumped ship. Yes, I lied about that, Fedorov. I told you it was all an accident, but I just gave you a shovel full of good bullshit. I jumped ship—had every intention of getting to Spain, and I eventually did, no thanks to that bastard Karpov. He tried to shoot me right out of the sky. I swear, I’ll kill that fucker if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Hold on, Chief—wait a second.” Fedorov could see Orlov was still very agitated, and he knew this was a critical moment. He had to calm him down, reign him in, for he could become a runaway wild steed here, and do anything. “It wasn’t Karpov,” he said at last. “Since we’re telling the truth here now, I gave the order to fire those missiles.”

“What? You?”

“I was Captain. Remember? I was on the bridge and Karpov was second fiddle at that time. He was still trying to atone for his failed mutiny—and yes, we knew he was the one that put you up to it Chief. Volsky and I knew Karpov was behind it all along.”

“Then why the fuck did you want me dead?”

“I had no choice. I was thinking that if you got that helo to the Spanish coast and it was ever found, then all hell would break loose here. They would have all that modern technology. So I did the only thing I could think of. Yes, Karpov pushed for it, but I was the one who gave the order to fire. I’m sorry Chief… Sorry for everything…”

Orlov closed his eyes, hand heavy on his forehead, becoming a fist which he beat slowly on his brow. “Crazy bullshit,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry Chief. I was wrong to do what I did, and I tried to make it up to you. When we learned you were alive, I did everything possible to come after you. I knew we had to find you and get you safely back to the ship. And then I stood on your side of things with Volsky, got you reinstated to your post as Chief of Operations. I knew I was guilty as hell for what I did, and I was trying to fix it. Hell, that’s all I’ve been trying to do here from the first moment this happened to us—trying to fix everything, set it all right again, but we can’t do that any longer. It’s too late now. We’ve ripped the history I knew to shreds, and I’m mostly responsible for that. All I’ve been doing is trying to live it through, like a man riding a wild bull, and half the time I just wind up falling on my ass.”

He was pleased to see Orlov offer a grin as he said that. “Alright Fedorov,” said the Chief. “Don’t worry about it. What was done, was done. I understand what you did, but Karpov… That bastard is something else. Are you telling me he doesn’t remember anything?”

Fedorov hesitated briefly… “Not quite,” he said. “I mean… Yes, Karpov remembers. In fact, he’s the only other man on the ship that does. Everyone else is completely in the dark, except perhaps Zolkin. He’s showing signs of coming around. It’s very strange.”

“No shit! Then Karpov knows everything?”

“In fact,” said Fedorov, “he’s the same man that sailed with us from Severomorsk. Yes, he’s the same man who tried to take the ship, and the man we went after on Kazan. Then we thought he was dead for a time, until I got information that he was in Siberia.”

“Then it’s all true? The airship? That thing I found—that’s what you took from me, that thing I found in Siberia? Everything is true? We found those British troops in the desert?”

“Right, all true. It all happened, and I thought I was the only one who remembered it. I took that thing you found—Troyak called it the Devil’s Teardrop, remember? Well I threw the damn thing right off the ship, and into the deepest part of the Atlantic we could get to at that time. Who knows, it may have had something to do with what happened to Kazan. Then we tried that final shift, but things were very weird on the ship before that. We were running right up on the arrival date for this ship—a paradox. Things were very strange on the ship. Remember Lenkov? Then people started disappearing, and by God, you were one of them, Chief. You had been checking the ship to look for other signs of damage from the shift, you know, dented bulkheads, missing ladders. Remember how my shoes got stuck on the deck of the bridge? I almost suffered Lenkov’s fate. Well, you pulled this out of your pocket and gave it to me.”

Orlov stared at the thing Fedorov held out in the palm of his hand. “My compass… yes… I remember giving it to you. Damn thing was useless….”

“Then what, Chief? Do you remember anything else happening?”

Orlov furrowed his brow, trying to recall, but that veil of unknowing was there, like a heavy fog and the more he strained to see through it, the thicker it became.

“Then I was here… On this ship. But I didn’t know anything—none of this shit. It was as if everything was starting over again, only you were acting all strange. And then, after we put into Severomorsk, I saw how different everything was. You told us we had gone to the past—right into the middle of WWII! Who could believe that? But that’s when the dreams started. Only they weren’t dreams, were they Fedorov. They were memories. I was remembering all this crap, only it started in my sleep. Now I’ve got on that goddamned French Cologne!”

Fedorov smiled. “You mean Déjà vu? Yes, I suppose you do. Don’t worry Chief, you still smell like a pig.”

The big Chief gave him a wide grin. “You’re all right, Fedorov. I don’t know why I was so pissed at you. Karpov was the one who put me up to that again. He said I was supposed to spy on you—see what you were up to. You mean to say that he’s the same Karpov we sailed with in the beginning?”

“Right.” Fedorov didn’t want to get into the doppelganger thing with Orlov now. It was enough that he was slowly getting a grip on himself, and settling down.

“Then Karpov took the ship after all. Is that what happened when you went ashore at Severomorsk? He left the ship, but came back all strange. That bastard got rid of Volsky, didn’t he.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. But the Admiral got away on a British sub. He was with Admiral Tovey on Invincible… before he died.”

“Right,” said Orlov, suddenly missing the Admiral. “Fedorov… It’s been you and Volsky against Karpov all along, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” said Fedorov sullenly.

“But how is it you remembered things—hell—how can I be remembering all this shit, but no one else does?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that those memories are real. They happened. Frankly, I thought I was going crazy myself, but now that you remember it all, I know I’m still sane. Were together in all this, you and I. Thank god someone else remembers everything.”

“Karpov too,” Orlov said darkly. “What do we do with him?”

“Nothing—at least for now.”

“What? You going to let him ride roughshod over the whole ship and crew like this? What’s he doing here now? He’s fighting his little war, just like he wanted to in the Atlantic. The next thing you know he’ll be firing off a nuke.”

“Not if I can help it. Look Orlov, you mustn’t let Karpov know you remember any of this. Understand? He’d put all his security men on you, or worse. He’d have Grilikov on your ass every minute of the day. No. You have to lay low on this now. I had the same choice to make in the beginning. I laid low, and tried to figure out what to do. I was looking for allies, trying to figure who I could get to support my position. But Karpov found me out, so I decided to play along. He offered me Starpom to cooperate with him. I figured it was better than the brig. What could I do there? At least this way I have some say on what happens. He listens to me, seeks my advice.”

“Right, the two of you have been thick as thieves on the bridge. Look Fedorov. I can keep my mouth shut, but if Karpov figured out you knew things, he’ll be on to me in no time. Hell, you’re one clever little bastard yourself. He saw through your act, so what chance does that give me?”

“I know, I know,” Fedorov held up a hand. “But at least you need to play it that way for now. If he finds out you know everything, I’ll stand with you, Orlov. I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

Orlov gave him a good long look. “You’re a good man, Fedorov. I always thought that, even when I was busting your balls. Alright, so what happens when Karpov figures this all out?”

“We’ll deal with that later.”

“Yes? Well maybe we should get to the bastard before he learns anything more.”

“I don’t think that would be wise. It was the same problem I faced when I thought I was alone on the ship—the only man who remembered anything. I realized that I might work quietly, behind the scenes, find allies like Zolkin, or Nikolin—men I knew who stood with me before.”

“Troyak,” said Orlov gruffly. “That’s who we need. Troyak and that clown Zykov and all the Marines.”

“I thought that at first too, but listen. Karpov brought on all those security men—his personal guard from Siberia. I knew the last thing I wanted was a nice little civil war here on the ship. Can you imagine it? It would eventually come to gun play, and a lot of blood spilled. I couldn’t allow that, Chief. These men are all my brothers. I couldn’t set one side against another like that.”

“Well shit, we could at least figure a way to get Grilikov and those black coated bastards off the ship.”

“Yes, but that may take some doing, and I don’t think violence is our answer. We’ve got to play this very carefully, Chief. If Karpov finds out what you know, you need to let me handle that with him. Understand? I know you carry a pretty heavy grudge with that man, but you’ve got to step up now, and get beyond that. I need you to find another man in you now. You are still Chief of the Boat. You need to become that man, and not the surly disciplinarian who delighted in knocking heads together below decks. All those men are our brothers. They fought with us, endured everything we went through, lost everything we lost when all this happened. We’ve got to take care of them. Who knows, one day they may remember things that happened before, just like you did here. But for now, don’t say anything to anyone about this. Keep it entirely between you and I. If Karpov finds out, let me handle it. Then we’ll take things from there.”

Orlov nodded. “Alright Fedorov. I’m with you on this one. Now I’m your spy!” He grinned.

“Good for you. But don’t get careless. Go about your regular routine, make your reports as always, fart out loud like you do in the mess hall. Just be your old self. Remember, we’re still here in the middle of WWII. In some ways, Karpov is not the monster you think he is. Yes, he’s ruthless, determined, but he’s working a plan to undo the damage he caused when he took the ship back to 1908. We just took Kamchatka, and now he’s trying to get back Sakhalin Island, Primorskiy Province, and even Vladivostok.”

“Right, this is some real strange doings here now, eh Fedorov? How’d the Japanese get their hands on Vladivostok?”

“That’s a real long story, but Karpov had a lot to do with it, and now he’s trying to set things right. That was one other reason I decided to handle things the way I did.”

“Still trying to fix everything?”

“You might say so. It may be futile in the end, but I can still try. The way I see it now is that I at least have some input on what happens—some pull. But god knows I wish we still had Admiral Volsky here with us.”

“Right,” said Orlov. “I suppose he’s the only one who does know what’s going on in this crazy world.”

“Volsky?”

“God…”

Fedorov nodded silently.

Chapter 12

Chief Dobrynin was listening to the reactors, as he often did. The hum and vibration all held meaning, carried a message, told him much of the inner workings of the system. It had been months now since he ran his regular rod maintenance rotation. He didn’t quite know why, but orders had come down that the procedure should be discontinued, and that the spare control rod, Number 25, should be removed from the reactor assembly and stored in a radiation safe container.

That procedure was largely automated by 2021. All he had to do was retract the rod upwards into a long metal tube that opened on one side to admit the container. The rod would slide up, a servo mechanism would close the lower container hatch, and then it would be safe for maintenance crews to remove the container, store the rod, or mount another in its place.

He thought about that order, wondering why it had been given, and feeling just a little odd about it. All the equipment under his watch was like a family for him. He counted his monitors, gauges and tools like an old man might count his grand children. It was as if he had some long affiliation with Number 25, which had fit quietly into the matrix of his complex life in the engineering plant until that fateful day—yes, the day he ran the routine just before those live fire exercises. That was when they had the trouble with K-266, the Orel. The submarine had been scheduled to test fire a small missile barrage, but something went terribly wrong.

After that, the chaos of everything that had happened to them was still difficult to believe. Yet he dealt with it, like all the other men on the ship, and being a senior officer, he saw it as his duty to set an example for those under him. So he simply returned to the work he had been trained for, the job he did so very well there as Chief Engineer. He kept to his routine, kept the men working as always, and still quietly listened to his equipment.

Everything seemed normal, as it always did, for he ran a very tight watch—until he heard something one day, an odd sub-harmony in one of the reactors. He had been listening, eyes closed, his mind taking the errant vibrations and whirring thrums and weaving them into some kind of inner symphony. There he sat, just like a conductor, a man who knew exactly what he was supposed to be hearing in the score being played. He knew, with each sound, what should come next, be it the deep murmur of a water flow pump, or the lilting whine of a steam rotor. Each sound should be followed by another, just like the notes in the score, but here was a note, a line of music, that he had never heard before.

Dobrynin inclined his head, suddenly more alert, listening… listening… Something in the sound seemed to pull at him, triggering some deep inner sense, a sixth sense that was a strange collaboration of touch, smell, and sound. Together they combined to produce a new sensory suite in him, and it was there, in that intersection of the three senses, that he sensed something different playing in the orchestra that he did not expect, yet something he was inwardly certain he had heard before. It was a sound, a feeling, a vague yet palpable presence in the system, and now he opened his eyes, seeing out the nearest monitor to add sight to the mix of senses he was using.

“Mister Markov,” he said quietly. “Kindly bring up the flow channel report on monitor number two please.”

“Aye, Chief. Number two.”

Dobrynin shifted his weight in his chair, leaning to one side, closing his eyes again briefly and listening. As if aware that it had been discovered, the errant sound had fled. He waited, thinking it would return again in the very next phrase, the next bar in the score, but nothing was heard. Yet the recollection of that sound was clear in his mind, and it touched a very deep chord somewhere within him. He had heard this before, many times, and it never promised good things when it came.

Yes, he had heard that sound before, and it stood now in his mind like a harbinger of something more profound that was yet to come, a quiet precursor, a little foreshock, a warning.

“Mister Markov. I want to print a reading on the entire system for the last ten minutes.”

“A reading? You mean a diagnostic report?”

“That is correct.”

“The entire system, sir?”

“Full diagnostic. Get started please. Call in Mister Garin as well if you need some help. I want it done as soon as possible.”

“Very good, sir.”

Dobrynin smiled, seeing Markov swivel in his seat, looking for a clipboard, lists of things he would need to get printed reports on for the diagnostic. He was a good man, a competent technician, yet as Dobrynin looked at him, a strange feeling came over him. Markov… missing… Gone….

He shook his head, not knowing why he thought that. It was just another of those strange inner hunches that he was prone to, but the Chief had learned to pay attention to such things, quiet little upwellings of his unconscious mind. Pay attention, he told himself. Keep a good eye and ear on things. Something isn’t quite right here, and you know it. It may be nothing serious, like a loose shoestring in the system as a whole, but then again….

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and listened….

Another man was listening, sitting in a cellar deep beneath the administration room at Pearl Harbor. The building above had been gutted by fire, but the cellar housing Station HYPO had survived. In the last three months the rubble had been cleared, new construction started, and it was nearly complete. Yet all the while, the station, a branch of OP-20-G Naval Intelligence section in Washington DC, had continued to operate. Their mission was signals intelligence and decryption, and they had some very talented minds there, including one Lieutenant Commander Joseph Rochefort, who had joined the Navy while still in high school in 1918. A man with a complex mind, much like Alan Turing, Rochefort delighted in solving crossword puzzles, or analyzing the possibilities of card games, particularly bridge. It was the kind of mind that was tailor made for code breaking, and that is what Rochefort did.

Station HYPO, sometimes called Fleet Radio Unit Pacific (FRUPAC), had a sister station labeled FRUMEL in Melbourne, and together they had been listening… listening…. All the real decryption work was piling up at those two sites now, as Hong Kong was gone, along with Batavia, and Corregidor. They took the burden, and worked hard, and had some real success in breaking the Japanese JN-25B naval code. Now it was telling them some very dangerous things.

Orders were afoot, signals traffic up all across the bands, and ships were on the move. This made for late hours and long shifts at HYPO, but slowly, a rather ominous picture was being painted by the signals traffic. Lieutenant Commander Jasper Holmes had been very methodical, working from the assumption that something was up for the Central Pacific. The Americans had learned that the movement and deployment of the Japanese carriers was the first thing to look for, and they had clearly identified a carrier with a name ending in “kaku” ordered to Truk. Only two ships had that suffix, and they were both in the same Carrier Division, Number 5, Japan’s newest and most modern carriers.

Holmes came up to Rochefort’s desk, the green eye shades the men used to protect their eyes from the endless overhead fluorescent lighting now perched high on his forehead. He had caught a few hours sleep on a cot by the wall, then was up early to see if anything new had come in. He was very pleasantly surprised. Rochefort was sitting behind a wall of stacked file folders and reports, half way through a cup of coffee. A veil of pipe smoke always seemed to surround his desk, like fog hugging the ragged shore of some isolated Pacific island.

“If Div Five has moved to Truk,” said Rochefort, “what makes you think they’re heading for the Central Pacific?”

“Truk is the center of the wheel,” said Holmes. “From there they could head south into the Solomons, or southwest towards the Coral Sea. There are good objectives there. We know they want Port Moresby. That’s why Fletcher has Saratoga and Yorktown off Fiji right now, ready to move west into the Coral Sea. They could save him the trouble and also head right for Fiji from Truk, and that has a lot of folks worried. So I decided to play a little game.”

“A game?”

“Right. We know the call names of several objectives, so I put out some traffic on the radio last week, just an innocuous little laundry list of maintenance trouble, and I sent it in the clear. I had the report say they had trouble with the water condenser on Midway, and needed lubricating oil for a crane at Suva Bay—two nice fat objectives the Japs might be eyeing now. And guess what. We picked up a message just yesterday. The Japs took my bait, hook, line, and sinker!” His smile drove the weariness from the lines of his face.

“What do you mean?”

“A.F. sir, that was one of the call signs attached to an objective point. We picked up a message repeating that A.F. had trouble with its water condenser. I decoded it myself. So A.F. has to be Midway, and by elimination, we figured out what Fiji must be. No action there, but everything else seems to be pointing to Midway. We even picked up movement order for fleet unit 8 O K.I. We know what that is sir, because the Japs always pair sister ships, and 9 O K.I. was clearly ordered to Kwajalein right after the attack on Pearl. That was Kaga, the ship Halsey busted up in that first engagement. So 8 O K.I. has to be the Akagi, and they want it ready for a move to support the operations for A.F—for Midway.” He folded his arms, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

“Midway,” said Rochefort. “Why the Central Pacific?”

“Unfinished business,” said Holmes. “If they can knock off Midway, then we lose that important watch on all that turf out there.”

“Or maybe something else,” said Rochefort. “Know thine enemy, Holmes. We know Yamamoto has been wanting to lock horns with our carriers for some time. That’s his guiding principle—seek out a decisive engagement. That’s why he hit us at Pearl.”

“Right. Well I think they’re going to sortie into the central Pacific, and take a pot shot at Midway. They know Halsey has been nipping at the Marianas, and that stunt Doolittle pulled off must have reddened quite a few faces in the navy over there. If they had Midway, they could put seaplanes there and we would have never been able to pull that raid off. It’s a big blind spot for them out there, and possession of Midway solves that problem nicely.”

“How sure are you about this?”

“Well, we’ve also got Nagumo’s call sign—that was 8 E YU, before they changed it to 8 YU NA. We have sixteen readings where that call sign is paired with the 8 O K.I. for the Akagi. So that has to be the flagship for this operation, and they’re moving it to Truk to link up with Carrier Division 5. That’ll give them at least three big flattops ready to move in five days. And there’s more, we’ve got the handle for one of their fleet replenishment ships, Kyukuto Maru. It’s the flagship for the tanker fleet. It’s got orders to proceed to support this operation A.F. too.”

“Have you run this by anyone else?”

“Rear Admiral Layton, and he thinks it’s good. He wanted me to get this to you right away.”

“What about Tommy Dyer?”

“I’ll get to him next. I wanted you to see this first hand.”

Rochefort thought for a moment. “Let me look over those traffic decrypts. A lot is riding on this, and we need to get our ducks lined up perfectly. Did you put these latest ship movements up on the big board yet?”

Holmes was in charge of tracking all ship movements, and he had rigged out a large plotting board on the wall where he would update positions on all the key players in this complex game of chess in the Pacific.

“Find anything else we’ve got on A.F. See if you can cross reference anything. I think the file is under that box there.” Rochefort pointed to a clutter of boxes and stacks of paperwork surrounding one of the other desks like a coral reef. Each man sat on his private little island, with mountains of file folders and jungles of paperwork. They never did set up any proper filing system, but there was a hidden order to the apparent chaos, and just like that, Rochefort could point to a box on the floor and know the A.F. ship track file was tucked away beneath it. Many of the men there had near photographic memory for things like that. To them the clutter was like a road map or navigation chart, and they could read it unerringly.

“So you figure this is what they called off the Indian Ocean thing for?” Rochefort scratched his head.

“They had 5th Carrier Division all set to move that way after Java, but then that volcano popped off and that was that.”

“I don’t blame them,” said Rochefort. He leaned back, taking a short drag on his pipe.

“Sir,” said Holmes. “We know what they want. It’s either Milne Bay and Moresby in the Coral Sea, the lower Solomons—probably the anchorage at Tulagi, and then something big has been in the works after that, and for a good long while.”

“Right,” said Rochefort. “Marines are already working up plans for Tulagi. But these carrier movements are another thing altogether. You figure they’d move with only three?”

“I’m watching the light stuff too, sir. I’ve got a line on Zuiho, Shoho, and Ryujo—that’s the CVE they used in the Sumatra-Java invasion. They pulled that ship east to Rabaul, and whatever was left of that covering force off Java. Everything is shifting that way, and the buildup at Truk is looking pretty mean.”

“Nothing on Fiji?”

“Not a peep. Not a whisper. That would be a third of fourth down objective for any drive they run now.”

“Alright. Get me the intercepts. I want to look things over before we go to Nimitz with this, but we’ll have to move soon. Enterprise and Hornet made it back to Pearl, and they’ll have to get to sea fast if you’re right about this.”

“Leave it to me sir!” Holmes snapped off a quick salute and then hurried off through the archipelago of desks and file boxes, destination unknown.

Rochefort settled back in his chair, his eye on a map. Big Five was already at Truk with Zuikaku and Shokaku. Now Nagumo was shipping in on the Akagi, and with the number one fleet tanker in the mix. Yamato was at Davao, and coast watchers there said there was quite a show put on there—something about rockets being fired off. Probably flares or signal rockets, he thought. You had to be careful with some of these native coastwatcher types. You’d get in a report that sounded crazy at first—a large bird reportedly landing on a ship at sea, which immediately sunk from the heavy weight. That nonsense soon became the landing of a seaplane rendezvousing with a Japanese submarine, which then submerged.

Well, we thought Yamato was heading home, but that ship turned for Truk last week as well. Holmes says the Japs fell for his little ruse hook, line and sinker, but who’s the real fisherman here? Yamamoto doesn’t fool around when it comes to big ship movements like this. I’ll tell you what, there are two types of fisherman—those who fish for sport, and those who fish for fish. Yamamoto is looking to land something real big here. Yes, something is up… something real big.