John Schettler - Kirov

“I can't believe I am hearing this!” Karpov exclaimed. “We have enough to worry about given the situation in Europe and Asia now, let alone this nonsense about having to refight the Second World War.”

“True,” said the Admiral. “But assuming these facts present us with an impossible truth, we would be well advised to study the tactical situation we may now find ourselves in. Consider it an exercise, if you will. If events soon prove otherwise, you can have a good laugh about it. If however…”

Karpov shook his head, pinching his nose, his eyes tightly closed. “We should return to Severomorsk at once and put an end to this fantasy,” he said.

“You advise we withdraw to the bosom of Mother Russia?” Volsky leaned heavily back in his chair. “That would be an easy course to take. In a few days we would either be sitting on base with cold beer and a horse laugh or two while Mister Samsonov there entertains us with his balalaika.”

Samsonov smiled, nodding his head. “And if all this is nonsense,” the Admiral continued, “then we can return to our humdrum existence there in the cold, gray north, hoping the country can perhaps deliver another frigate or two, or maybe even a new destroyer and few more modern submarines before the end of what promises to be the most threatening period in our history since the conflict Mister Fedorov is so well schooled in.”

Orlov had a sallow look on his face. “And we’ll all end up sleeping with some old babushka and wishing we were young again to have a little fun,” he said.

“Very true,” said the Admiral. “On the other hand…We could do some snooping around while we are out here. We will also have to account for the loss of Orel and Slava. There will be questions, very many questions, I’m afraid, and as yet we have no firm answers. What is this surface contact up to? Where is it going? What about that submarine contact? If these are NATO forces then we are the only countervailing military force in theater at the moment. So no matter the date, we must carry out our mission, which is to secure and defend our nation against all harm.”

“One way or another you are going to bump into the reality of the situation,” said Zolkin, even as he had advised earlier in the sick bay. “You must act, and the truth will become obvious.”

“I thought that was what I was doing by sending this detachment to Jan Mayen,” said the Admiral. “Yet we are left in much the same uncertainty as before. We see the evidence, it leads us to an obvious conclusion, yet we are unwilling to believe it.”

“Alright, alright,” said Orlov gruffly. “Let’s assume the worst. Assume something happened to the ship. I’ve been to Jan Mayen myself,” he said to Karpov now, “and believe me, Captain, that was not the same island. It was completely empty! No roads, no buildings, no airfield.”

“Very well,” said Karpov sharply. “Let us indulge ourselves in the fantasy. We have two contacts approaching us from the south. Let us go and have a look at them, up close and personal. No long range video feed that could give us any reason to doubt what we see. Will that settle the matter?”

“You will see the light cruiser, Adventure and a single destroyer, the Anthony,” said Fedorov. “At least this is my best guess given the history. One of the British carriers we saw earlier was supposed to join this group, but…something has changed…”

“Indeed,” said Admiral Volsky. “Did we change it? We have done nothing of any consequence as yet.”

“We’re here, sir,” said Fedorov. “We’re here and we shouldn’t be, and the British forces operating in the Arctic waters have discovered our presence and already made decisions that were clearly not made historically. So far the variation seems insignificant. HMS Furious was supposed to accompany these other two ships for a time, and instead it remains with the main body that Rodenko has been tracking. A small change. Nothing momentous. But the Admiral commanding those ships out there knows an unknown ship of considerable size is at large, and he’ll be wondering about us. It could be he’s decided to keep his two carriers together as a precaution until he can learn more. And these two ships approaching us may have been sent out as a reconnaissance group. If we proceed as you suggest, understand that we may begin to make a few more ripples in the waters of history, and the changes might be very significant.“

“Yet one question remains,” said the Admiral. “The good doctor here put it to me when I first raised this problem with him in the sick bay. If these are found to be British ships, old British ships that should have been broken up for scrap metal decades ago, then it is a question we must surely answer, and it is this: Who’s side are we on in this war?”

It was some time before anyone spoke, and Doctor Zolkin took a keen interest in the reactions of every man present. Karpov was still sulking, but behind that storm front in his mind he was already thinking, planning, looking far ahead at some distant outcome. Orlov seemed torn between anger, confusion and irritation over the matter. The junior officers, Rodenko, Nikolin, Tasarov and Samsonov fidgeted uncomfortably, waiting. Fedorov seemed energetically alive, his mind also forward looking as to possible consequences. It was clear he had more to say, though he politely waited for the response of the senior officers first. The Admiral was leaning back in his chair, his hands folded on the table as he regarded the others, his glance often on Karpov. It was he who broke the silence first.

“Who is our enemy here?” asked the Admiral. “In 1941 Great Britain and the Soviet Union were allies, perhaps strange bedfellows, but allies nonetheless. It has been said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Perhaps so. The West delivered more than half of the trucks Soviet armies would use in this war, and considerable amounts of raw materials, aircraft, and other supplies. We are here, right astride the convoy route to Murmansk that became so contested in the months and years ahead. We could smash what remains of the German surface fleet in a heartbeat, and completely neutralize the air threat to these convoys as well.”

Karpov cleared his throat. “I still find this whole discussion ridiculous,” he began, “but for the sake of argument consider this…Germany loses the war, even without any assistance to the allies we might render. Now…we all know the world that emerged after that, the long cold war, the fall of the Berlin Wall and so called ‘iron curtain,’ the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the ever more encroaching influence of the Unites States and NATO in the world’s key energy sectors. They pay us lip service at the UN, but we all know here that Russia has been consistently disrespected, marginalized, and viewed with suspicion and veiled hostility ever since the war ended. The only thing that enables us to compete on the world stage in any way is our considerable nuclear arsenal and the resources we have, particularly oil, metals and timber. Yet they deal with us because they must. Let us not fool ourselves here. Look at what the Americans have done in the Middle East!”

“You are suggesting our real enemy is the West,” said Volsky, “and I suppose it is a strong argument.”

“Of course,” said Karpov. “Germany was our enemy for four years. NATO had been our nemesis ever since. The Soviet Union was going to eventually defeat Germany, with or without Western assistance. It was only a matter of time.”

“What does our resident historian think?” The Admiral invited Fedorov to speak.

“Well, sir, the Captain makes a good point. Of approximately 330 German divisions, about 270 were facing us on the eastern front at any given time. The rest were garrisons in France, Italy, the Low Countries and Norway, and these postings were largely to rebuild and reconstitute divisions we destroyed as the war progressed, at least until the landings at Normandy. The Allied strategic bombing campaign had considerable impact, however. It should not be underestimated. And they single handedly contained the Kriegsmarine and Italian Navy as well, controlling the Mediterranean, North Africa, and knocking Italy out of the war. We could never have accomplished that. Our campaign would have been a long, grinding advance on Berlin, as it was historically. Yes, I believe we would have prevailed, but the war might drag on another several years, taking the lives of countless millions more without a second front in the west.”