Джон Шеттлер: Condition Zebra: The Next War - 2025

“Myanmar? No, it’s still called Burma here in this history, but yes, the Chinese do have oil terminals there, and then rail and pipeline routes into China. The old Burma Road is an oil road now.”

“See my point? Europe and the US lose the sea lane to the Middle East through Suez, but it doesn’t really bother China. Their problem now is how to control the Indian Ocean. To do that they have to stop the Royal Navy incursion, and the Americans as well. What are they up to, Fedorov?”

“The Americans? At the moment, Tyrenkov says they are mustering at the port of Darwin—moving troops and equipment there by sea.”

“Bound for Saudi Arabia,” said Karpov. “Well, I’ll say this much. Job one for China is the Strait of Malacca. They have to gain control there, and it won’t be easy. Does Tyrenkov have a line on Chinese Naval strength in the Indian Ocean theater?”

“After being reinforced from the Med, about 40 ships and subs, not counting patrol craft, and they will be backed by Pakistan’s navy at Karachi—another twenty ships, mostly frigates, corvettes, and patrol craft, but they have a number of very capable diesel subs.”

“That’s a formidable force.”

“Almost as big as the entire Royal Navy in this region,” said Fedorov. “But the British can count on support from Singapore. They have 30 ships, mostly patrol craft, but several good frigates. Then there’s the Americans at Darwin.”

“So it’s going to be a real fight,” said Karpov. “It will start with sea control operations. That’s what the British and Americans have to do—clear a way to Saudi Arabia for the US Navy to get troops in there. And here we sit in a Japanese port, when all the action will be down south.”

“You could use the rest,” said Fedorov, though he could see how the mere discussion of these impending naval battles had breathed life into Karpov. His eyes had that glitter of fire in them again, and he was sitting up in the bunk. “Let’s not plan on conquering the world here just yet.”

“I’d still like to get down there. We should probably get face to face with the Fairchild Group and plan overall strategy.”

“In good time,” said Fedorov. “Rest, rest, there will be war enough left here for us when you feel ready to take the helm again.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll recover. In fact I have come to think my brother has not really left me. No, he came to me in that terrible moment, reaching, and now I have him safe within my very own mind, and I know him in a way I never could if he was standing here face to face with me at this moment. We sit in these shells, Fedorov. We put on uniforms and take up our roles, but we’re all old souls by now. We’ve seen this world from 1908 to this moment, a time spanning over 100 years. I’ll take your advice and rest here a few more days, but we should be ready for operations again soon. Has the crew had shore leave?”

“A good deal of it. They find the Japanese quite hospitable.”

“Good. They need the rest as well.”

They lapsed into silence for a time. Fedorov thought to leave it there, but wanted to know what he should be planning for.

“So are you serious about going south? Shouldn’t we stay up here near Vladivostok?”

“No, we have no business there. It will be a month before they can get that port cleared of mines, and rebuilt, and even then, using it would be too dangerous for Kirov . Once the Chinese found out we were there, they could lob ballistic missiles all day and night. That’s the first hard lesson for Russia in this war—once China becomes a hostile power, then we truly have no port on the Pacific with Vladivostok. We’ll have to rely on Sakhalin Island, Magadan and Petropavlovsk, and speaking of that, we should get some kind of a seaborne munitions carrier to move ordnance south. Yes, that is where we must go. If we stay up here, we’ll be on the fringes of the action, unless the Americans get serious about the Ryukyus, and that could take a good long while. Right now, the strategists in the UK and US have but one thing on their mind… The House of Saud.”

“Very well. Should I notify Captain Gromyko?”

“That would be wise. I’m not sure if Captain Rose and his battlecruiser will be accompanying us, but we will have to get some support from the Americans. It’s 2000 nautical miles from Sendai to the Surigao Strait in the Philippines. Kirov can sail there with no refueling needs, but Kursk will need support.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Fedorov.

Karpov nodded. “The Philippine Sea,” he said. “I want to be there in ten days.”

“That’s three or four sea days,” said Fedorov, “depending on our speed. That gives you a good long week to rest while we think this through and make the logistical arrangements. In the meantime. I’ll ask Tyrenkov to come see you here. I hope he can see this as an opportunity to change for the good. We have to stick together if we want to prevail here and shape the future beyond this conflict, and we’ve also got to keep a lid on things—no nukes, correct?”

“Don’t worry, my friend. We’ve learned a few things together on this long journey, haven’t we?”

The door opened, and a man in a dark overcoat walked into the sick bay where Karpov was still resting quietly on his cot. Seeing him, Doctor Zolkin offered a brief greeting, and then excused himself, as per Karpov’s earlier request.

“Still cold, Tyrenkov?” said Karpov noting the overcoat.

“Something about the sea,” said Tyrenkov, smiling.

“The sea…” Karpov closed his eyes for a moment. He had spent the last day in a quiet slumber, dreaming the life of the Siberian, slowly playing the memories that had come to him so suddenly. It was as if he had been given a great sea chest, finding stacks of letters, photographs, and journals recounting that life. It was at once revealing of all the Siberian had lived and done, while also standing as a testament to his life. It was also ashes work, as Karpov also came to terms with his sudden demise. He was reliving it all, the triumph, the tragedy, the dreams become nightmares. They were one and the same.

“Yes, the sea,” he said again. “I never wanted to be anywhere else, Tyrenkov. Oh, I passed my time in Siberia during the war, doing what I had to there to consolidate power. I reveled in those wonderful old airships, the closest thing I could find to do that resembled my days aboard Kirov . Yes, I was Admiral of the Fleet. Then, when I learned Kirov had returned, the only thing on my mind was getting back to that ship, and I was willing to take it, by force or deception, from both Volsky and Fedorov at that time. I never once thought that I, myself, might already be there. You recall the night you came to me and told me that was so?”

“Indeed,” said Tyrenkov. “It was most remarkable.”

“Quite an understatement,” said Karpov. “There I was, fresh off the boat, if you will. There I was. I stood there looking at my very own self. He seemed just a little younger, raw, unfinished, yet full of potential. There was so much he did not yet know, and at that moment, I came to feel like his older brother. I had taken the first long loop through time aboard Kirov , but he had only just arrived, bewildered, and perhaps still struggling to comprehend and believe what had just happened to his ship and crew. Strangely, Fedorov was the only man on his ship that knew anything, because the soul that served with me aboard Kirov in that amazing first loop had somehow found its way into the mind and heart of the young Navigator serving aboard my brother’s ship. Understand?”

“I grasp what you are saying, but how could I ever really understand?” said Tyrenkov.