John Schettler - Crescendo of Doom

Forreaders who might be dropping in without having taken the journey here from book one in the Kirov Series , this is the story of a Russian modern day battlecruiser displaced in time to the 1940s and embroiled in WWII. Their actions over the many episodes have so fractured the history, that they now find themselves in an alternate retelling of those events. In places the history is remarkably true to what it once was, in others badly cracked and markedly different. Therefore, events in this account of WWII have changed. Operations have been spawned that never happened, like the German attack on Gibraltar, and others will be cancelled and may never occur, like Operation Torch. And even if some events here do ring true as they happened before, the dates of those campaigns may be changed, and they may occur earlier or later than they did in the history you may know.

This alternate history began in Book 9 of the series, entitled Altered States , and you would do well to at least back step and begin your journey there if you are interested in the period June 1940 to January 1 1941, which is covered in books 9 through 11 in the series. That time encompasses action in the North Atlantic, the battle of Britain, German plans and decisions regarding Operations Seelöwe and Felix, the action against the French fleet at Mers-el-Kebir and Dakar, and other events in Siberia that serve as foundations for things that will occur later in the series.

To faithful crew members, my readers who have been with me from the first book, this volume concludes Grand Alliance trilogy the fourth trilogy in the series. It begins right where I left you at the end of Hammer of God , with the machinations and ambitions of one Vladimir Karpov. Fedorov still tries to find that all important “mission” for Troyak and his Marines, Rommel returns and Brigadier Kinlan is again called to arms. Lots of action here, and this novel will soon be followed by the trilogy sequel in the 16th book of the series, Paradox Hour.

Karpovstood in the dining hall, the light of the newly lit fire warm and ruddy on his drawn features, a look if profound realization in his eye. The words of Tyrenkov still resonated in his mind, like the clarion call of an alarm that summoned him to action … “You see, we no longer have to waste days, weeks and months trying to find Volkov here in 1909, because now we know exactly where he is, and before he even traveled to the past! So I wanted every second possible available to me. I’ll need all the time there I can get…”

All the time he can get… Yes, every second that passed for him there was one second he could not use to carry out the plan that now exploded in Karpov’s mind like a well aimed Moskit-II. From here he could change everything again, rearrange all the chess pieces on the board with one brilliant fianchetto of doom. He could see it all in his mind, smell it, hear the rising crescendo of calamity and change, like the sound of his own pulse quickening at his temples.

He decided.

“Yes!” he said jubilantly. “If that was Volkov, then what you say is correct, Tyrenkov! We have him—right by the scruff of his neck. We have the moment of his demise in the palm of our hand, and not a second to waste there at the top of those stairs. Your decision to get back here with this news as quickly as possible was the very reason I sent you there. I needed a man who could think on his feet, not some dullard of a corporal who would not have had the slightest idea of what he was looking at.”

“Then we must hurry, sir. I’ll call Sergeant Konev and have him fetch a sniper rifle. We have no time to lose. It appeared he was lingering near the train with his security men, but that could change quickly.”

“Don’t worry, Tyrenkov, we have all the time in the world. Don’t you see? We could sit here and have a long brandy by the fire, sleep the night away, rise tomorrow to a hearty breakfast, and then even go hunting in the forest to the north for our pleasure. We could do this for a month if we so desired. Don’t make the mistake of thinking time passing here is also running out there in the future. You could go back up those stairs a month from now and find yourself exactly where you left things, in that moment of supreme opportunity. At least that is what I’m counting on now. So we need not be hasty. We must think this through carefully.”

Tyrenkov gave him a knowing look. Karpov was not stupid. He understood that time might move with a different gait at both ends of the stairs. He realized that he must never underestimate the Admiral, and he could see that this news had precipitated a decision in his mind. He would wait to learn what Karpov intended.

“What is that you have there?” Karpov had noticed the book in Tyrenkov’s hand for the first time.

“It was on the table by the window on the upper landing.” He handed the slim book to Karpov. “There were a few oddments with it… a candle, and one other thing that looked quite familiar.”

“Oh? What was it?” Karpov was curious.

“Well sir, I only just glanced at it, but now I recall that it looked to be a compass, very much like the one Bogrov squints at all the time on the bridge.”

“A ship’s compass? Very strange.”

“It was quite old, sir, and obviously damaged and worn by time. The glass was all soiled, and cracked. I picked up this book, then I heard the train coming into the station and my attention was drawn there. It was then that I saw the man I believe we are looking for—Volkov. We can settle everything now, sir. The next time I take a good sniper rifle with me.”

“All in good time, Tyrenkov.” Karpov’s attention was on the book now, a plain hard bound volume that was obviously meant to be a showpiece. He opened the cover, his eyes narrowing when he read the title: When Giants Fell. The End of the Siberian Air Fleet , by Yuri Rudkin. What was this? He began to read, eyes darkening with each passing second, until a light of anger kindled there.

“Sukin Sim!” he breathed.

“What is it, Admiral?”

“Volkov! That bastard didn’t get enough of a lesson the first time. So he tries again!”

“What do you mean?”

Now there was an odd look on the Admiral’s face, and he held up a hand, quieting his security chief as he continued to read. “Very strange,” he said at last. “This is a fiction—the author says as much right here in the introduction. Yet how could this be?” He read aloud now, his eyes flashing quickly over the pages of the old book.

“It was April when the rain fell, a hard spring rain in Siberia, but that did not stop him. Nothing would stop him. He was driven, compulsive, and determined to win the day at last. And he was more than that, Admiral of the greatest fleet that had ever darkened the skies, Ivan Volkov, Air Commandant, Supreme Leader, the Eagle of the East. And today he would put an end to the last of the Siberian Fleet, now that its Admiral had gone missing in that terrible storm. Yes, his old nemesis, Vladimir Karpov, was dead and gone from this world, and the fleet he had built was doomed without him—no more than a headless snake. Now there was nothing to stop him—nothing but these last three airships that gathered in the grey skies above the endless taiga, hanging in the heavy clouds like the great beasts they were…” He stopped, clearly shocked by what he was reading, then looked at Tyrenkov, as if waiting for his intelligence chief to explain everything. “What in God’s name?”