John Schettler - Stormtide Rising

“Not feeling so glib and confident?” asked Fedorov.

“Let’s just say that death is in the cards now, rude and untimely death. Who wants that? Certainly not me. I only narrowly averted it during that last engagement. I’d prefer not to have to refight that battle, not unless I can even the odds using Kazan as I’ve said earlier. Face it, we’re wasting our time here, quite literally. 1908, Fedorov! We’ve got to go back there if we want to do this thing—all of us.”

Fedorov was silent for some time. He knew that everything Karpov had just said was true. They couldn’t change things from here, and they were fools to ever think they could. If they had the balls to try here, then they would have to see reason and do exactly what Karpov was suggesting. They would have to go back to the source—to 1908.

He looked up, seeing the coldness, unremitting, in Karpov’s eyes, but he could do nothing else but agree. “Alright,” he said. “You’re correct. The key lever point is 1908. We both know that, but each time we entertained a decisive intervention there, we lost our nerve. Yet that is why you persisted in rebuilding that back stairway at Ilanskiy, isn’t it? You knew all along that you always had one last resort—a way to get back to 1908 and settle affairs there.”

“True again,” said Karpov.

“How would we get back there? Are you suggesting we go to Ilanskiy and use those stairs; kill Sergei Kirov like we planned before?”

“That would be a start,” said Karpov. “And from there, we will have at least a sporting chance of getting Ivan Volkov out of the equation as well. Nukes or no nukes, we weren’t going to do that here.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Fedorov. “You’re probably correct to say that we might not be able to eliminate Volkov from here. The idea about using a nuclear threat was ill-conceived. A good sniper would be the way to go.”

“I’ve already put Tyrenkov on that assignment.”

“What? You took out a contract on Volkov?”

“Why not? We need him gone, and if my people can get to him, all the better. Don’t put much faith in his sudden peace overture. That man is a skunk, through and through. He’ll use us while he can, and then just as easily stab us in the back if he gets the chance. But even if we could assassinate him here, it won’t eliminate his Orenburg Federation. Someone else will just be waiting in the wings to take power there. So the only way to eliminate that contamination would be to nip it in the bud—or rather pull the weed before it can really take root and spread.”

“You mean in 1908?”

“Correct. Do we play the real game, where we have every chance of winning, or do we stick it out here in 1943 with all these half measures, taking our chances against those stealth jets, and God only knows what else. You said yourself that the continuum is fragile, and I’ve already seen what’s been happening in 2021. The nukes are flying. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. So what else might get blasted into the past. We already know that this war seems to act like a net for all those fish. I wonder why?”

“Probably because there were so many nexus points and crossing lines of fate here,” said Fedorov. “That’s the way that American physics professor would put things. This war was one crucial moment of potential change after another. On any given day, decisions are made, engagements fought, and they could all send the entire history off on a new direction. Look what’s just happened with the German return to a strategy in the Middle East. We had Kinlan’s Brigade here to stop them the first time with Operation Scimitar, but he’s gone—another incident where something broke through to this time frame from the future. Kinlan got here thanks to one of our nukes aimed at Sultan Apache, and he probably died when we took another shot at the modern day port of Tobruk. So yes, we could see more of this sort of fallout, with every nuke that gets thrown in 2021 having the potential to send something our way.”

“Could there be some method to that madness?” asked Karpov. “After all, with every contamination here, things get more and more skewed in this history. This situation here is a perfect example. Unless we find a way to stop them, the Japanese now have an Ace in the hole against the Americans, and this time it’s a war winner. 1943 was a tipping point. If they do get to those Essex Class fleet carriers, the US will see its war aims set back a full year here. All these changes may have yet one more effect—not only on this present time, but also on the outcome of the war, and the entire future built after that. Now I’ll tell you another of my dark thoughts. That could be exactly what time intends.”

That statement felt like a cold finger on the back of Fedorov’s neck. It had a sinister, chilling implication about it, and he looked at Karpov, wanting to hear what he thought. “Explain,” he said.

“She intends to so warp this present, that the future that built this ship cannot take shape. When we first came here, we had that future as some justification for our existence. You said it yourself, Fedorov, knock down some key pillar here and this ship never gets built. The reason for our existence is eliminated, which opens a very dark black hole beneath us no matter where we sail. You talk about Paradox? How can we persist here if Mother Time arranges it so that Kirov was never even built?”

“I’m not sure,” said Fedorov. “Kamenski might have something to say about it.”

“Kamenski? He was dead set on killing this ship himself! That’s why he sent Gromyko and Kazan back here. Alright, we changed that agenda, and put bigger fish in the frying pan. Now we realize that can’t be accomplished here. But in 1908, all things are possible. From there, we reign supreme.”

“You mean to reinstate the mission to kill Sergei Kirov?”

“One of them has to die, Fedorov, either the man, or the ship that was named after him. And that’s just for starters. We go back, and we collar Volkov as well, and that puts the entire Orenburg Federation in the bag. And if I take this ship back, as before, I can assure that the Japanese never occupy our territory”

“I see,” said Fedorov. “The odds are thickening up here, and you want to go back to a time when you’re invulnerable again.”

“It does make sense, Fedorov. Wouldn’t you agree? We go there, do all these things, and then there’s only one thing left to do in our plan—removing ourselves from the time line.”

“And what do you propose?” asked Fedorov. “You plan on scuttling the ship— Kazan too if we can get that boat back there with us somehow?”

“That would be an option, but we could also try one other thing—we could just go home.”

“To 2021?”

“Where else? That’s the war we belong in, my friend—not this one.”

“Assuming we tried all this, how do we get Kirov back there again?”

“Rod-25.”

“How do you know that would work? It could send us anywhere, forward, back a few years as it happened once before. If we end up in 1940, for example, then we get the whole Paradox scenario again.”

“Time has already played that game,” said Karpov. “No, I don’t think she’ll want to play it again. Now I’ll say something that has been ripening in my own mind for some time. We aren’t just anybody here Fedorov. We matter—and a very great deal. Here we sit, discussing the prospect of changing all the history since 1908, and we could do it! That’s what makes us special. When you and I decide something, say we’re going to do something, it’s no idle boast. We’re important, and therefore the things that we intend have weight—they have power. Our will has real and tangible power.”