John Schettler - Paradox Hour

IvanVolkov was waiting, feverishly pacing behind the thin screen of his small security detail, even though his Sergeant was pleading for him to get low and out of harm’s way.

“We’re well within their rifle range here sir!”

“Damn their rifles,” said Volkov. “I’ll not wallow on the ground like a common pig. Just keep them busy until Pavlodar gets here.”

The recon squad had formed a makeshift line astride the road, actually using their motorbikes for cover as they fired at the blocking force that had been left to stop their approach. Then Volkov finally saw what he had been hoping for, the looming shape of a great airship rising over the small hillock to the south. The hard crack of a recoilless rifle split the air, and shells began to fall on the road near the enemy cavalry.

“Sergeant! Show our colors!”

His men quickly deployed a flag, emblazoned with the black eagle and red V symbol of the Orenburg Federation. The Captain on the airship spied it easily enough, and at this elevation they could also make out the dark sable uniforms of the recon section below. The heavy gunfire easily dispersed the last of the Tartars blocking the road, and Volkov smiled again when he saw there were more of his men up ahead now. His two reserve companies had made short work of the more lightly armed cavalry. Bravery aside, sabres and rifles could not stand long against the heavy machineguns his men could deploy in well practiced drills.

Already he could see the men on the airship above preparing to lower a cargo basket. Down it came, the pulley wheels squeaking, engines buzzing fitfully as the basket lowered. Then the airship above revved its smaller maneuvering engines, slowing to come to a stable hover point above the scene. The movement of the basket slowed, then it came scudding along the ground, right on the road. The shadow of the great airship darkened the scene, and Volkov strode boldly forward into that shadow, making for the container.

“Carry on, Sergeant,” he said perfunctorily. Then he stepped through the open gate and into the basket, where two men saluted stiffly, their eyes wide behind their black rimmed goggles. They knew who they were saluting, and were stunned to find the General Secretary here on this lonesome road to nowhere.

“Take us up!” said Volkov sharply. “And call up on the field wire and tell the bridge to climb. Set a course west for Orenburg at once.”

As to the men he left behind on the ground, they were as far from his thought now as the capitol was. All he could think of was getting safely away from this place, and back to his gilded stateroom in Orenburg. The men he left here would hang on in the woodland. He would see about trying to pull them out later, but first things first.

I need to get back home and gather the rest of my fleet. Karpov got the best of me here, damn his soul. He was waiting there for me, hidden in that storm like he knew exactly what we were up to. It was as if he had read my entire operational plan right out of a book! Kymchek was correct. Those reports of that crash over the English Channel were a complete ruse, but he should have seen this ambush coming. If he made it to the ground, I hope he remembers what we came here to do—our little fallback plan. We shall see.

Then the weight of all that had happened that day fell on him, the sudden ambush of the enemy, savaging his Caspian Division. Then that horrific explosion when they turned to engage old Krasny , and his harrowing fall in the escape pod. The sound of Orenburg falling from the sky as a burning wreck still gored him. His jaw was tight, eyes puckered, face set and grim, smudged and soiled with the dirt and mud of this place. His trousers and overcoat were sodden and wet, and he smelled like a peasant.

But I’m so much more, he thought. I’m Ivan Volkov, and still alive, by god. And I’m going to light this whole front on fire when I get back home. It’s war at long last! The Germans are crossing the Soviet frontier even now. It’s general mobilization, and I’ll call every man who can hold a rifle to the fight, from as far away as Turkmenistan if I have to. This little skirmish here is nothing. It was ill planned, and I won’t be so stupid again.

You want war, Karpov? I’ll give you one.

The long cables slowly retracted, pulling Volkov up and up, until the Sergeant below saw the basket reach the hard duralumin under-keel of the airship. It was the last time he would ever see friendly forces again, though he did not know that just then. He blinked, staring up at the hulking shape of Pavlodar , taking heart from the sight of the guns bristling from the gondolas. Then he turned to his men, still waiting near their motor bike barricade.

“You heard the General Secretary,” he said. “Carry on. Who knows, maybe we’ll get a medal for dying here.”

Karpovwas pacing on the bridge, making everyone there more and more edgy as he did so. The Elevatorman and Rudderman were giving him sidelong glances, then watching the Air Commandant to see how he was reacting, but Bogrov stewed in silence. He was still sullen and angry over what Karpov had done, blasting Big Red like that, sending all those men to an agonizing death.

I thought he was trying to hit the Orenburg , but I could see easily enough that would be impossible. My god, it never entered my mind that he was targeting Big Red all along. That’s why he asked about those fire bombs. He was gambling that he could detonate that wizards brew of his, and do exactly what he did. Wizard’s brew? No. That came straight from hell itself, and this man is a devil if ever there was one. He didn’t hesitate one second. The men on Big Red were just an expedient to him, just a means to that terrible end he had planned for the Orenburg . He gave them no more than a minute or two to escape before firing. Maybe the gunners got out, and the bridge crew, if they had the parachutes handy in the lockers. As for the riggers and bag men, the engineers, top gunners, cargo crews…

That wasn’t all… Then he had the temerity to strike me, right here in front of the entire bridge crew! Alright, I cursed the man for what he did, and they all heard that as well. But to lay hands on me like that was wrong. He may be Admiral of the Fleet, but I’m Air Commandant, chief of all flying operations. Titles aside, I would have made him pay dearly for that little insult, and I may still find a way. Yes, I’m getting on in years, but I’m still fit, and by god I stand a head taller than that rascal. One day…

Be careful, another inner voice spoke to him. Don’t judge this man by his size or the cut of his shoulders. He’s a cold hearted beast of a man, this one. He’s dangerous. Yes, I’ve held my tongue for good reason, because with a man like Karpov, you never really know what he might do from one minute to the next. He was willing to take down Big Red like that without a second thought. This man could do anything. He has no remorse, and less concern for the men he killed today. Something tells me he killed a good many more before he ever darkened my bridge with that odd uniform and jacket of his.

The man is strange. The way he paces, the way he goes off to a corner and whispers to himself, that look in his eye when the ship goes to battle stations. So what is he up to now with this maneuver? We had damn good elevation on those three heavy cruisers, and we had the speed to close on them if he wanted to engage. Then he pulls this turn hard to port, and off we go after that second contact. What’s he up to? Volkov… Karpov thinks he’s down there, and trying to escape. That’s what this was all about from the beginning, wasn’t it?