John Schettler - Devil's Garden

A voice blared over the intercom loudspeaker. “Captain Malkin to Fedorov. We have a small craft approaching off our port aft quarter.”

Fedorov grasped the handset and spoke. “How close, Captain?”

“About a thousand meters out.”

“Does it look threatening? Is it closing the range?”

“No, sir. Looks to be a fishing trawler. The crew is just giving us a wave as they pass. They must think we are a Russian cargo vessel.”

“Very well. No sense causing any more trouble here than we have to. Let it be.”

Those last three words were very fateful, though Fedorov did not know that as he spoke them. Let it be…

“Keep me posted, Chief.” He was off to find Orlov and settle accounts with the man.

* * *

“Nothere? Are you absolutely certain?” Fedorov had an anguished look on his face as Troyak reported. Zykov was standing next to him, a sheepish look on his face.

“We checked the tank. No one saw him. I’ve ordered a search of all the hovercraft and the facility itself. If he’s still aboard, we’ll find him.”

“I hope to God we do,” said Fedorov. “Zykov, what could have happened?”

“I ordered the men to get him to a PT-76,” the Corporal said apologetically. “The attack was really heating up and the withdrawal was very chaotic. I was checking every building for loose equipment and casualties. I don’t know, Colonel. I found two men down in the warehouse near the detention facility, but I assumed they were casualties from mortar fire. The rounds were pounding that area pretty bad as we pulled out. Now that I look at those bodies I see that they were not hit by shrapnel from anything like a mortar. They died from small caliber fire, two rounds per man-probably pistols. I’m sorry, Fedorov… I … I should have collared Orlov myself and dragged him home by the ear.”

Fedorov could see that Zykov was very deflated. He was given the job of finding Orlov and he had done that under very difficult circumstances. But something obviously went wrong. No plan ever plays out as it is intended. He remembered his own words to Dobrynin just moments ago.

“Damn! Well maybe he’ll turn up in the search,” he said. “I know you did your best, Zykov.”

Then he realized that the procedure was already underway. They could shift in time at any moment! If Orlov was not aboard they would lose him again, and without his service jacket there would be no way to find or track him.

“Search every compartment, every deck and storage locker. Search the air conditioning conduits-everything! Turn this place upside down if you have to. I’m going to see if we can stop the rod maintenance procedure. We can’t leave here without Orlov!”

Fedorov started away but, as he was down a ladder and heading for the entrance to the lower deck, he saw something, felt something strangely odd.

He stood on the deck, looking around and scanning the gentle swells of the Caspian Sea. There seemed to be a series of ripples emanating from the ship, and expanding out in concentric circles. Was it happening? Were they starting to displace in time?

He looked out and saw the trawler Captain Malkin had reported, a small shape on the wide expanse of the sea and sailing slowly past the facility. Two men were on deck but, as he watched, the air between the Anatoly Alexandrov and the trawler seemed to quaver and ripple with a mirage-like sheen.

My God! He exclaimed inwardly. We are moving! The shift has begun! He could feel his pulse quicken, an urgent heat rising on his neck. He could feel the whole damn mission slipping through his hands now like a loose mooring rope. It was too late to get to Dobrynin and stop it, and Orlov was gone, gone, gone!

Then he realized that if he could still see that trawler they must be in 1942. It was there, bobbing in the sea as before, though veiled with a gossamer sheen of light now. Was something wrong? Was Rod-25 failing them at long last? He had to get to Dobrynin and find out.

* * *

“Wellhave a good look at that, Jock” said Sutherland.

“I’ve been looking at it. Why in blazes did you follow those damn contraptions?”

“Just curious to see what they were up to. They’ve already bushed us off with no worries. What do you make of it?”

“Some kind of ship, eh? But it’s not moving. Those Russian Marines are docking up with the damn thing.”

“What’s that up on top? Looks like a big grasshopper!” Sutherland pointed now.

“Hell if I know. You’d best get to the pilot house again and steer clear, will you? Suppose they get curious and come over here to have a look.”

“Don’t worry, Jock. We’re just a fishing trawler to them. I’ve even been waving at them to look all nice and friendly. We’re a good thousand yards away and just sailing merrily off to look for some fish. No worries.”

But Haselden was worried. Sutherland could see it on his face, more than worry. There was a look of absolute dread in the man’s eyes, a cold fear that he had never seen before. Haselden had been through the heat of the fire in action many times before, and in situations far worse than this.

“What’s wrong, Jock? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Never seen anything like this,” he said under his breath. “What’s wrong with the bloody sea?”

Sutherland noticed it too-the odd sheen in the air, and how it quavered and rippled, as if the atmosphere had been heated all around them. Then they could hear a low hum that seemed to deepen, descending below the threshold of hearing, though it could still be felt. A veil of mist seemed to rise about the distant ship, rolling outward and rippling the sea itself, as if the ship were pulsing and creating waves.

He watched, astounded, as the first wave reached them, lightly rolling the trawler, then another and another, a miniature tsunami disturbing the placid sea. The mist thickened, becoming a fog that now enveloped them and became so dense that they could no longer see but a few feet beyond the gunwales of the boat. A thrumming vibration was felt, a trembling quiver in the air and sea.

He looked over to check on Haselden, still worried about the Captain, and was given the shock of his young life. The man was there…but not there! He seemed to be wavering in the odd mist about the ship, a look of profound fear on his face, and absolute astonishment and alarm! Then, with a strange hiss, Haselden was gone! The man simply vanished into the mist, as if he was a ghost-as if he had never been there at all!

Then all was calm.

Sutherland stepped back, eyes wide, heart pounding with fright.

“Jock?” His rational mind forced him to lurch over the edge of the trawler, thinking Haselden might have fallen into the sea, but there wasn’t the slightest sign of that in the water. The odd ripples in the calm sea remained completely undisturbed.

“What’s up with those Russians, Lieutenant?” It was Sergeant Terry calling to him from within the cabin of the boat. “Can’t see a thing in this mist.”

Neither could Sutherland, but he was still shaken by what he had seen-what he knew he had seen-but what he also knew was quite impossible. What happened just now? Where was the Captain?

“My God…” He let out a long breath, staring at Sergeant Terry, his face ashen white.

“What’s gotten in to you, Lieutenant?”

“It’s Jock…He was there. Right there next to me, Sergeant. And when that bloody fog rolled in, he…why he just vanished!”

“Man overboard?”

“No! I was looking right at him and he simply disappeared!”

Sergeant Terry narrowed his eyes, giving Sutherland a stern look. He had seen men go daffy under pressure, but Sutherland seemed to have the situation well in hand up until now. What was the Lieutenant talking about? Was there an explosion or accident of some kind on that odd looking ship? That rolling fog and the ripples in the sea had originated from the ship, and caught them like a bad storm front. He peered into the mist, a strange feeling in his gut that they had lost their way and were now adrift on an endless sea of oblivion.