John Schettler - Devil's Garden

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Insidethe cabin Orlov could feel it too. Another trawler, he had thought at first. Good! It beats walking, or even bouncing about in a truck on those muddy roads. If they had stayed ashore they would certainly have been caught up in the fighting that was closing in on the city. The roads south were probably cut already by the Germans.

When he saw where these men were heading, he was relieved. Another little trip by sea would be just the perfect way out of this mess, unless those Marines on the hovercraft get nosey. Who were these men? They had gunned down his Marine captors without a moment’s hesitation, as if they had been lying in wait all along, ready to spring their little trap.

When the leader spoke to him in English he did not know what he was saying, but gave the man a subtle grin nonetheless. From their looks, and the uniforms they had on under their trench coats, he reasoned they were British soldiers. What in the world were they doing here? Could those men at Gibraltar have followed his trail all the way here? He found that prospect hard to believe, but considered it a possibility. If that were the case, then they would be trying to get me safely out of this region to an area controlled by the British in WWII.

Now he wished he had held on to his computer jacket. Svetlana would have given him all the information he needed about British operations and bases close to the Caspian. On second thought, the sight of the jacket stuffed down the throat of Commissar Molla and dangling like a bizarre beard from the man’s chin gave him another moment’s amusement. The Marines found him even without his jacket. If it were not for these three men he would probably be aboard that ship out there with the rest of the Russians.

He looked out the cabin window at the ship, thinking it looked odd and squarish to be a sea going vessel. What was it? It clearly was not a carrier, or even an Ivan Rogov class transport ship. Look how they had to moor the hovercraft by its side like that. And look at that monster of a helo on the top! Now he knew what he had heard before in the truck as they arrived here-that was an Mi-26! Someone went to some very elaborate ends to plan and launch this mission. They must want me very badly.

As he watched the Marines on the deck he passed a moment of regret, a feeling that he should be there with them, his true countrymen from the future world of 2021. They were brave to come after him this way and fight off the Germans in the bargain. Fedorov undoubtedly planned this whole thing, and he most likely talked Volsky into providing all this equipment. My God, they built a whole reinforced amphibious assault company to come after me! He was almost sorry he had to disappoint them.

Then he heard that same descending vroom, felt the deep vibration as it fell into a black hole below the threshold of all sound. He sensed the charged quality of the air, and saw the eerie sheen wavering between the trawler and the Russian ship. He had felt all these things before, and each time it was an occasion when Kirov displaced in time. But that wasn’t Kirov out there. It was some kind of floating facility-probably a power plant like they use in the arctic at times, or up near Kamchatka. How could it move in time?

He stared until the grey mist rolled out to envelop them, with a sinking feeling that his comrades from the future were now long gone. He was alone again, marooned again, trapped here in the middle of the Second World War without even Svetlana to help him find his way.

I still know what happens, he thought, consoling himself. I may not know all the little details, but I’ll know the big things. I know how the war goes, and how it all ends. I know about Khrushchev and the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Berlin Wall and when it all goes to hell and comes falling down. I’ll know enough to make a lot of money. But first I’ll need to deal with these three here, and this burley Sergeant sitting in front of me will be no small task.

Three men? He looked again, seeing there were only two now. The older man, apparently their commanding officer, was no longer there. Perhaps he was on the other side of the boat, he thought, thinking what he might do next. Bide your time, he told himself. Time was one thing he had in abundance now…All the time in the world.

Karpovwasted no time getting the ship out to sea again, much to the chagrin of the crew. They had hoped to debark and spend time in the city, but the Captain thought it would be too dangerous at this early stage, and Rodenko agreed.

“At the moment we are the great unknown, a great surprise and novelty. They will spend the next week trying to get news from St. Petersburg about us, and in that time I plan to make a few headlines myself. Once we establish dominance here, there will be ample time for the crew to take some much needed shore leave. But for now, we have business to attend to.”

They slipped out of the harbor, and many watched the ship go, waving from the wharves and quays as Kirov sailed off. Karpov sounded the ship’s horn in farewell, and soon they were clear of the barrier islands and out into the Sea of Japan. He set course for the Tsugaru Strait, intending to take the most direct route to the principal Japanese ports near Tokyo. It wasn’t long before they ran into commercial traffic, outbound to the Sea of Japan.

Karpov paced on the bridge, pausing from time to time to peer at the distant steamers through his field glasses. They had seen the ships on radar long ago, cruising sedately off the coast of Japan in the Tsugaru Straits just south of Hokkaido. Kirov was approaching from the west, having sailed from Vladivostok the previous day.

How ironic, he thought. I believed I could get to Sagami Bay in 1945 to lay down a strong position for Russia. Now I sail there in 1908, and this time the Americans can do nothing about it whatsoever. The sea is mine! I am the sole authority in these waters now. No ship can darken my horizon without my knowing about it, and nothing can follow in my wake to ever overtake me. I go where I please; do what I please. Now I truly am the king of these seas, and I will soon issue the first of my edicts here.

He had scoured the ship’s crew to find someone who could speak Japanese. There were three men in all, and Chekov, a young mishman in the missile section, was ordered to the bridge. He was sitting next to Nikolin at the communications station, a headset covering his ears as he was being trained by the more experienced officer there, learning how all the systems worked. They would not need voice communications yet, as most ships of that day did not have radio sets, particularly old steamers like those they were approaching now. Instead they might tap out communications in International Morse code.

“Mister Nikolin,” Karpov turned to the two men. “Signal that ship and find out where they are heading and what cargo they carry.”

“Very good, sir.”

Nikolin began in International Morse, but he had Chekov at hand in case the Japanese used Wabun or Kana code, a special extension of the code that allowed for the sending of Kana characters and their Latin letter equivalents. Should they be received, Chekov would assist in translating.

Sure enough, Nikolin received a dash, two dots and three dashes as the prefix signal indicating Wabun code. He wrote down what they received and Chekov slowly translated the syllables.

“O-ha-yo-u-go-za-i-ma-su,” he said at last. “They are saying good morning, sir.”