John Schettler - Devil's Garden

“Not yet,” said Zolkin, reaching out to remove the IV drip and apply a bandage to Karpov’s arm. “But we do have something on the radar now. That’s why they called for you, some time ago.”

“And you let me sleep here?”

“The world will get on without Vladimir Karpov to watch over it for a few hours. You needed the rest-Doctor’s orders. I told Rodenko that they should simply monitor the contact and report if anything seemed dangerous.”

“What type of contact, airborne?”

“No, it appears to be a ship. Rodenko sent the helicopter to have a look around. It saw a ship on radar northeast of our position, about 150 kilometers out. We have been making a gradual approach for the last three or four hours. So I thought I would check in on you again to wake you. You should see the sky behind us, quite beautiful this morning.”

Karpov leaned forward, still feeling tired but much better now. “I think a good meal will work wonders for me now, Doctor. Tell Rodenko I’ll relieve him in an hour.”

“Very well, but don’t push yourself too hard, Captain. It’s not every man who gets to fight the American Navy in two different centuries in the span of forty-eight hours.” Zolkin stood up, closing his medical bag and setting a small container with medication on the night stand. “That’s for those times you may think you need more vodka, he said calmly. And I have personally found that one before bed is very handy. It will give you a good night’s rest.” Zolkin started for the door.

“Doctor…” Karpov swung his legs out of bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he looked up at Zolkin.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Thank you… for your attendance here…”

“All in a day’s work, Mister Karpov. All in a day’s work.”

* * *

Thefood tasted better than he could remember for a very long time, and the Captain ate with real appetite now, feeling much more himself when he had finished. He wasted little time getting back up to the bridge, where he planned to make crew rotations and see about this ship on their horizon. The answer to many of the questions he took to his quarters could easily be on that ship.

Out on a weather deck for some fresh air, he looked at the sky for the first time. Zolkin was correct, it was strikingly beautiful behind them to the west, a ruddy orange glow there on the horizon, as if a second sun were rising in opposition to the eastern sun, which was slowly climbing. Very odd, he thought, wondering what caused the strange effect. The thought that it was a residual effect from the warhead he fired crossed his mind. Could they have fallen back into the waters of 1945 while he slept? This thought set him hastening to the bridge.

Along the way he stopped to talk with the men in the corridors and compartments below. He could see the questions in their eyes, wondering what was happening, and how the battle turned out. He told them not to worry, that all was in hand and that he would make a general announcement to the crew shortly.

“Are the Americans still after us, sir? Did we beat them?”

“I think we gave them much more than they wanted,” said Karpov. “They’ll learn not to tangle with the crew of this ship, eh?” He pointed to the deck as he said that, and the young seaman smiled.

Some minutes later he was back on the bridge in a new uniform, but he made a point of taking his service cap, no matter how ridiculous he thought he looked with it. They were up in the northern latitudes, and so he thought he might soon get back to his fur lined Ushanka. That was a hat!

“Captain on the bridge!”

“As you were, gentlemen,” he said briskly. “Anything to report, Mister Rodenko?”

“Surface contact, sir. We picked it up with the AEW Helo four hours ago. I thought it prudent to have a look around after you went below.”

“Well done. What did you find?”

“We have it on the Fregat system now, sir. It’s certainly a surface ship, making about 16 knots on a heading of 275 west.” He walked to the Plexiglas screen, which triggered a bitter memory of the American fleet surging north at them just hours ago, the screen alight with hundreds of air/sea contacts. This time it was completely empty. There was not a single airborne contact reported, and only this one surface ship in the vicinity.

“What are those land formations to the north?”

“That would be the Aleutian Island chain, sir, Amchitka Island. The contact heading has been steady the last few hours and back traces to Dutch Harbor.”

“Then this is an American ship?”

“Possibly, sir.”

Karpov’s eyes narrowed. “How soon before we have them on our horizon?”

“Not long now. I would say another thirty minutes. We’re presently at 20 knots.”

“Helm. Go to thirty knots.” Karpov immediately ordered a speed change.

“Sir, Aye, ahead 30.”

“Getting curious, Captain?”

“This ship holds the answer to some very important questions, Rodenko. I intended to relieve you so you could get some rest, but can you carry on for another hour?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Good… Then let’s see what is darkening our horizon this time.”

Theysaw it twenty minutes later, barely visible on the horizon until Karpov ordered the Tin Man opticals to zoom in. Now they were looking at what appeared to be an elegant clipper ship steamer, hull painted white, with a fine swept bow, two stacks amidships and what looked to be three tall masts at intervals along the deck.

“That is commercial traffic,” said Karpov. “What would you say its displacement is?”

“Not more than five or six thousand tons, sir,” said Rodenko. They overlaid a metric display on the HD video feed, and the ship’s length appeared to be about 450 feet. Five lifeboats were prominently mounted along the main superstructure, but there were no visible gun turrets. It looked like an old steamer from a bygone era, but in remarkably good condition.

“Well what have we here?” said Karpov. “Let’s get closer. Continue on intercept course. The ship will come to level two action stations. Mister Samsonov, please activate the forward deck gun.”

“Aye, sir. Forward gun ready.”

The Captain was taking no chances, but as they closed the range it was apparent that the ship posed no military threat. Three minutes later Nikolin’s eyes brightened. “Sir, I’m picking up some Morse code.”

“Morse code? From that ship?”

“Possibly, sir. It is using a call sign of MPG. Very odd, sir.” He listened intently, jotting down something on his notepad. “It reads CQ, CQ, CQ, GZXW — MPG Calling ship off our port bow — requesting identification, KW — Back to you.”

“MPG?”

“Apparently a ship identifier call sign, sir.”

“Can we look that up, Mister Nikolin?”

“I will try, sir. But should I return this signal?”

“Use the radio and transmit in English. Ask them to identify themselves as well.”

Nikolin sent a standard hail, but the only reply they received was a continued stream of Morse code, nothing on voice radio. He used the ship’s computers to try and look up the call signs he was receiving, and found a reference.

“I have a record in the ship registry, sir, but there are two references. One is for GZXW as the Canadian Pacific Steamships Company. The MPG designates this ship as the Empress Of China . I have looked it up in the ship database, and there is no current listing for a ship by that name.”

“Use the historical index,” said Karpov. “Find out if there were ships using that name in the past.”

“Right, sir. I have three references. They were all ocean steamship liners belonging to that same company, yet our image database would seem to match the first one: Empress of China , built by Naval Construction amp; Armament Co., Barrow, England for Canadian Pacific Steamships, LTD. The ship was making regular runs as a British Royal Mail Ship out of Vancouver BC to ports east, including Japan and sometimes even Vladivostok. Yokohama is listed as her most frequent Eastern Pacific terminal port.”