John Schettler - Crescendo of Doom

That thought bothered him, along with the thought that Volkov would never know he had his revenge. The Ivan Volkov of 2021 was an unknowing fool at the moment. He was nothing more than a suspicious, meddling henchman, out doing the bidding of another. He only became his own man after he went down those stairs. Yes, with his service jacket at his disposal, and the sure knowledge of all that would come, it was inevitable that he would outmaneuver Denikin and seize control of the White movement. The Orenburg Federation was the result, but the Ivan Volkov that built that little empire in the hinterlands of Kirov’s Soviet Union would never know that he would meet his end on my order. That bothered him even more.

Revenge was a dish that was best served cold. Yes, he had repeated that well worn phrase to Volkov’s face when they first met for lunch aboard Kirov , during the inspection at Vladivostok. Even then he could see that Volkov would be a problem, a nuisance, a stone in his shoe. That bastard thought he could sneak in here with a couple airships and take this place. What an arrogant fool he was.

As he flipped through the pages of the book in his hand, he could see there the unfolding of Volkov’s final revenge. Look at the way he handled things, thought Karpov. He rounded up every airship he could pull off the line and came for Ilanskiy with one thought in mind—to destroy my fleet, and by extension to destroy me personally. The title of the book goaded him, When Giants Fell…

That bastard could see an opportunity when it presented itself. The instant he realized Tunguska was lost, and I was out of the picture, he came here to wreck everything I was building. Something in him wanted to get back there and say ‘not so fast!’ Something wanted to meet Volkov eye to eye, defeat him right there in a glorious battle, and then see his face when he realized he was beaten at last. Handling things on this back stairs was the work of a submarine Captain, quiet, secret, sinister, yet in some ways the work of a coward.

Karpov hated submarines….

Tyrenkov was back, the boots of his assault squad clumping hard on the floor as they came after him, the first swelling sounds that would rise in a crescendo of doom. The light of battle was in his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed with his urgency. Karpov’s eyes narrowed as the men came in, as he looked at Tyrenkov, and an odd thought occurred to him.

He knows entirely too much now, Tyrenkov. He knows who I am, where I’ve come from. He’s even been to that world, a place I can no longer go. And now he knows about Ilanskiy, this humdrum railway inn, that back stairway. He can go up those steps any time he chooses. Lord knows, I can’t keep my eye on him 24 hours a day. Yes, he can go up those stairs and do things, and doing this thing is going to darken his shadow, and feed the fire of his own hungry soul. Perhaps he’ll be the one who pulls the trigger, just as he was the one who pulled the trigger when it came time to kill Petrov.

Karpov remembered the look on Tyrenkov’s face when he strode in and handed him that pistol, still warm from its firing. That was all I had from the Petrov incident, the warmth of that pistol in my hand. It was Tyrenkov’s finger on the trigger, and he knows that now. He knows entirely too much… He seemed just a little bigger, a deeper shade of sinister grey, when he returned. After this, his soul will deepen to charcoal black, and he’ll be as big as I am, as dark and cinder hot as I am, the man who changed everything.

And Tyrenkov was smart enough to realize that…

“Ready sir! I have five good men here, our very best. We’ll get the job done, I assure you.”

“Just a moment, Tyrenkov,” Karpov said quickly, his eyes still scanning the pages of the book, eyeing the line drawn plates where he saw the air duel that became the destruction of the Siberian Fleet, Ivan Volkov’s great victory, and the sweetness of revenge heavy on his tongue. “Just a moment… We must think carefully here… Something has occurred to me that I had not considered before. Send the men away.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me! Get them out of here. I need to think this through.”

Tyrenkov hesitated, ever so briefly, then gave Sergeant Konev a nod to send the squad off. That was something that Karpov did not fail to notice. He was no longer the coiled spring that would enact his commands without a moment’s thought. Yes, when I first told him he was the one to go up those stairs, he had the temerity to quibble the matter with me. I had to suggest I would get a Corporal to go in his place. He put his own fear and desire for self-preservation ahead of my interests, and my orders. Yes, he acquiesced in the end, and did as I ordered, but he hesitated, just as he hesitated again just now, when I told him to dismiss the men.

A moment later they were alone, and Karpov stood there, realizing Tyrenkov was holding a submachine gun, standing there by the fire with a look on his face that clearly revealed his displeasure.

“What is it sir? What have we not considered?”

“We? Don’t get too big for your britches, Tyrenkov. I’m doing the thinking here. Now put that damn machinegun away. I have things to consider, things you cannot possibly understand.”

“But sir, I thought—”

“You? Don’t think, Tyrenkov. This involves a good deal more than you may realize. I can’t expect you to grasp it all, but there are factors in play here that I must consider very carefully.”

Tyrenkov perceived a sea change in Karpov’s mood, and he knew enough of the man to realize that was dangerous. So he did what he knew he should, and assumed the role he had so carefully played out in the past, that of a dutiful servant, the Devil’s Adjutant. He was like a submarine on the surface, lined up on his target, just a witless tramp steamer named Ivan Volkov, but now he could hear the drone of aircraft over head, and he knew it was time to dive, submerge, get beneath the swelling waves of the sea and move in that muffled quiet and darkness, time to lurk. Time to renew the slow, stealthy approach, the stalking of the hunter, who works from the shadows and shuns the light.

Karpov had told him a great deal in these last few days, confided in him to a degree he never did before. Yet now, for the first time, Tyrenkov could sense that the Admiral looked on him with a wary eye. He could sense the edge of resentment in Karpov’s voice, and the tinge of suspicion. He’s just realized I’m a threat to him, thought Tyrenkov. Now he’s thinking everything through again. I must be very careful here…

“Volkov.” Karpov spat the name out, the disdain clearly evident in his tone. “So this is what he has planned, is it? He thinks he’s going to swarm in and destroy my entire fleet! In fact, that is exactly what he does, if this fiction is truly based on facts the author became aware of. Is that so, or is this simply what it appears, a story? I wonder just who this fellow is, this Yuri Rudkin. Well, he’s not collecting royalties on my account! I won’t become the fodder that fuels his pen, nor will I allow him to enshrine Ivan Volkov as he does here, making that man the proud victor who tramples the Free Siberian State beneath his boot. No! We’ll do this another way.”

“Another way sir?”

“We do it man to man. I was wrong to send you off to settle the matter of my Great Grandfather. I should have gone and handled it myself. It was a small thing, yet it was personal, but this is something quite more. It’s a very big thing, Tyrenkov, and it is also personal. This little war is a duel in heaven, between men from a world you have but barely glimpsed. I can’t expect you to understand, but I have decided that I also can’t order you to be my agent of doom in this matter. I must handle the matter myself.”