John Schettler - Devil's Garden

Fedorov, he thought. That little weasel would be the only one who could figure all this out. Fedorov… For some reason that man wanted to find him, and badly. The more he thought about things the more this search by Kirov seemed desperate. Why?

They know I have the computer jacket, he thought all this while he was sitting there in the Commissar’s office listening to the man trying to intimidate him with his pistol and stupid questions. Yes, Fedorov would know that jacket would give me tremendous power here. That’s why they came back. It’s not me they want-it’s the stupid jacket! They’re afraid I’ll use that power. They’re afraid of something I might do.

Then his brain fell through to yet another level of the problem and he realized that if the ship did move forward in time again, and they found his letter, then they might also know everything of major import that he did do in the years ahead. It would all be history to them. They could look it up!

So…that’s why they are so desperate to find me-maybe I do something big with that jacket, something spectacular, something that upsets Fedorov’s history books and causes trouble. Orlov smiled. The whole world is my garden now, he realized. I can sew and reap whatever I choose here, and I’m going to do something really big.

Now he breathed deeply knowing that he was a fated man, an important man with a destiny he was eager to find. If they wanted the damn computer jacket, then he would leave it here. He’d get on well enough without it. Commissar Molla and his pistol meant nothing now. He was going to slap it aside, choke the life out of that miserable man, and then stuff his damn computer jacket down his throat.

And that is exactly what he did.

Now he was running down the steps to reach the lower entry. Just outside he could hear shouts, gunfire. Someone yelled that the Germans were attacking. He could hear the growl of armored fighting vehicles getting closer.

He slipped into the outer yard, catching a glimpse of a tank slowly withdrawing towards the coast-but not just any tank-a PT-76! They brought tanks with them? How was this possible? There was no way they could have carried those vehicles aboard Kirov , and now he was amazed to also see two PT-60 armored personnel carriers loaded with modern day Russian Marines. He could hear them shouting to one another, the squad sergeants barking out orders.

Then, just as he made ready to turn and head for a side entrance in the outer wall, he heard a sharp voice behind him. “Stand where you are!”

Orlov turned and saw a Russian Marine, AK-74 leveled at him, face grim with the heat of recent battle. “Gennadi Orlov?”

The big Chief smiled. “Comrade!” He walked slowly toward the Marine. “Thank God you’ve found me. I was afraid the Germans would get to me first…”

* * *

Troyakwas conducting an expert retreat, peeling off one squad at a time and moving them back under the covering fire of his remaining troops in place. All the while the last of his 82mm mortar teams popped off rounds at the oil tank farm, where German infantry had been infiltrating to see if they could put flanking fire on the main railway warehouse he had defended so stubbornly.

The Germans had learned the hard way that the Russian anti-tank defense was too good to be overcome. They no longer attempted to get AFVs up close to participate in the action. Instead, they were relying on the skill and sheer mass of their infantry. Troyak was impressed with both their tactics and bravery and knew he was dealing with a real professional force here, disciplined, experienced and well trained men. They were slowly using the weight of their superior numbers to infiltrate forward, pausing when the Russian suppressive fire was too hot, advancing doggedly when it slackened for any reason. All the while 105mm rounds continue to fall in and around the Russian position.

At one point the withdrawal seemed to spur the Germans on, and they rolled forward more quickly. Troyak was forced to put together an assault squad to stem the tide. He had his men lay down a barrage of rifle grenades, then the Marines moved forward in a counterattack, moving, firing, moving, and all with the weight of the tremendous volume of fire their AK-74s could put out. They stopped the Germans again, set radio controlled charges in the building they had just cleared and retaken, then with a whistle from Troyak they began a stealthy retreat.

Troyak ordered the men back to his newly established main line of resistance, and watched intently through his infrared night vision goggles as the Germans regrouped and rushed forward again. They were plastering the building with suppressive fire from an MG-42, and the infantry stormed in, taking it back and unaware that the Russians had left them a nasty surprise.

The gritty Sergeant raised his fist and pulled down hard to give the order to detonate the charges. The radioman gave the signal and the building erupted with a series of six well staggered explosions, gutting the interior, and anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.

That will teach them to be more cautious, Troyak thought with an evil grin. Then he was all business again, whistling to order his number one squad to peel off and fall back to the next line of withdrawal. In this way the Marines displaced, adopted new firing positions, launched occasional sharp counterattacks, and skillfully fell back again, leaving booby-trapped positions behind them each time.

There was a brief lull in the fighting as the Germans assessed their situation, and Troyak heard the rumble of trucks from the far side of the main rail yard. He knew more reinforcements were coming up, and one look through his IR binoculars told him the Germans were bringing un an engineer company with flame throwers and satchel charges.

It wasn’t until the NKVD units on the high hill to the west of the city fell that Troyak knew it was time to tell Fedorov they should complete their withdrawal. The sudden appearance of the young officer, riding in the ZSU-23, had provided just the firepower he needed to stop the last German attack.

“If you want to get all these troops and equipment safely back to the Anatoly Alexandrov , then we need to move now, Colonel,” said Troyak, still referring to Fedorov by the NKVD Colonel rank he had assumed for their mission. “The Germans are bringing up assault engineers.”

“But we don’t have Orlov yet! That was the whole reason we landed here!” Fedorov had a determined look on his face, but he could see the concern in Troyak’s eyes and knew that they could be at great risk here. “Start your withdrawal, Sergeant. Perhaps Zykov can locate him before we have to pull his team out.”

“Very well, sir. We should need half an hour. I’ll buy you as much time as I can beyond that. I think we can hold them off and continue a good fighting withdrawal. As for that,” he pointed at the ZSU- Shilka , “you had better get it back to the Aist hovercraft near the main harbor at once. It’s not amphibious, and could take much longer to load. The other vehicles can swim off shore and we can load them there, if need be.”

Fedorov nodded, and ordered the driver to get them back, but his heart was heavy. What was Orlov doing? He had to know we were here to rescue him. He did not have long to wait for an answer. Zykov called him on his jacket microphone and had good news.

“Fedorov! My men picked up Orlov five minutes ago, we’re heading for the coast now!”

“Great news, Corporal. Get him to the Anatoly Alexandrov!”

At last! They had found him! Now it was just a matter of getting everyone else off shore as quickly as possible. He radioed Troyak and gave him the go sign for a full and speedy withdrawal, elated now that the long mission offered them prospects of success.