John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

“Ruyazin… Smirnov! Get up on the main mast and into that crow’s nest. I want you up with binoculars looking for enemy planes. And sound that bell the moment you see anything. Right now!”

Smirnov was first up the ladder, Ruyazin following halfheartedly behind him. They settled into their watch like a couple of chicks in the nest, and it was not long before the bell rang that morning.

The Captain turned quickly. “Where?” he shouted, but his watch standers were not pointing at the sky, but ahead, off the bow of the ship where the mist rode lightly on the still waters of the sea. Smirnov was pointing a long arm forward, and the Captain turned, raising his field glasses to see what he was indicating.

At that moment the bell rang again, more urgent, a strident peal in the still morning air, and this time Captain Shlyupkin did not have to wonder what was coming. He could hear it, the muffled sound of aircraft engines, getting louder with each passing second. “Man the guns, All ahead full!” He shouted orders to the bridge and saw his crewmen scrambling to get the tarps off the two machine guns, his only defense.

Then he looked forward again, thinking he could finally make something out there, a formless shape on the sea. What was he seeing? They were well south, approaching the naval base at Kaspiysk. It might be trawler or other lighter out to meet us, he thought. And he hoped they had a few good more guns to join the fight that he knew would soon be underway. No… whatever it was, it was massive, like nothing he had ever seen before.

The growl of the planes was louder now, and he looked to see the dark shapes sharpen overhead as they came. Stukas! God help us, Stukas! How did they get this close?

They were flying out of makeshift bases east of Mozdok on the Terek River. The Germans had leap-frogged them closer to the front for just this purpose, so they could sink their 500kg bombs into the vulnerable tanker traffic heading south and cut the last supply route to the 58th Army. Shlyupkin saw their broad wings tip over and they started to dive. The scream of their engines sent a chill up his spine, and he heard the distant bells on the other ships ringing out the alarm, the sound of machine gun fire rattling the still morning air.

Then the first bombs began to fall with an awful wail.

“Geta move on. All you men must be down on the lower deck!”

Dobrynin shouted at the last of Bukin’s Marines as they trundled along the roof of the Anatoly Alexandrov , laden with arms and satchels. The vast bulk of the Mi-26 overshadowed them, its long rotary props drooping towards the roof deck in sweeping arcs.

The Chief was justifiably worried as the operation moved towards the last hurried stages of preparation to the launch hour. He had signaled Admiral Volsky two hours ago that the reactors were now fully operational and running safely, with Rod-25 mounted and ready to go. He immediately received the go ahead to launch his mission, and it was now well underway. The thing that worried him was the odd time delay that was sometimes noted between the conclusion of the maintenance procedure on Kirov , and the onset of the effects that resulted in time displacement. What if nothing happened? What if the magic wand that had sent them careening into the past would no longer work?

Dobrynin stood on the deck until the Marines were safely down the ladder and scrambling into the hovercraft below. There they would man the other equipment that had been crowded about the facility. A pair of Project 1206 Kalmar assault class hovercraft were moored close to port side of the floating power plant. Each one carried a single PT-76 light amphibious tank, and a contingent of 60 Marines. A third and larger “Aist” Class hovercraft, hull number 609, was moored to the starboard side. It’s carrying capacity was greater, up to 80 tons, and so it held more APCs. One was a ZSU 23-4 Shilka quad Anti Aircraft gun, and it was joined by two BTR-50 amphibious APCs. There was room left over for another 60 Marines and their supplies and equipment, bringing the land assault contingent to 180 men, all commanded by the newly promoted Lieutenant of Marines, Arseny Bukin. The three hovercraft would be collectively commanded by Captain Oleg Malkin of the 242nd division of amphibious ships, Caspian Flotilla.

What in the world are we doing, thought Dobrynin? He was a long way from his familiar old post aboard Kirov . As he stared at the big Mi-26 he wondered about the other two radiation safe containers aboard. Would they really work just like Rod-25? The whole plan was so characteristically Russian that it almost amused him. Why couldn’t they just use one rod installed at the Primorskiy Engineering Center to send the other one back, he had asked Admiral Volsky. Then they would not have to fly all the way from the Caspian to Vladivostok and the Pacific coast again.

“Two reasons,” Volsky had answered. “First, we don’t know how far back these other two rods will shift something, assuming they even work. Second, we have three ships there—two with nuclear propulsion units, Kirov and Orlan . Our plan was to get them all lined up, install one rod in the two nuclear powered ships with the Admiral Golovko sandwiched between them. Then we will try to run the maintenance procedure simultaneously and see what happens.”

“See what happens?”

“Yes, Dobrynin, I know it sounds crazy, but we could think of nothing more to do. One voice here suggested we hold these last two rods in reserve. Their obvious power would give us some amazing potential. But I refused. We must do everything possible to bring Kirov and the other ships home again. Their presence there is too much of an offense to the history. But you need not worry about that. your mission is to find Fedorov first, and hopefully Orlov as well. But make sure that helicopter gets safely on its way.”

“I understand, sir.” Yet Dobrynin did not really understand. This was the most insane exercise he had ever been involved in, and the thought that Volsky was relying on him as overall mission commander was heavy on him now.

“I’m not trained for combat operations,” he had argued when the Admiral first handed him the assignment.

“Don’t worry about that, Chief. Leave that to Bukin and his Marines. Captain Malkin has also been fully briefed. Yes, he found the situation unbelievable, as we all did at first, but he is a good officer. He will command the amphibious units and see to the defense of the Anatoly Alexandrov . You just do what you do best. Organize the mission, see to all the equipment and supplies, operate the reactors. We have even taken the precaution of mounting engines on the Anatoly Alexandrov , just in case you should need to move the platform for some reason or another. They are mounted aft, and will give you no more than 10 or 12 knots, but it would be enough in an emergency.”

“I will do my very best, sir.”

“I know you will, Dobrynin. Signal me the instant you return…And I hope to God we are all still here to greet you.”

That thought was a sobering one, and it underscored just what was at stake with this mission. It was no longer the fate of a few officers and men, or even the three ships they were foolishly trying to bring home. Something much more was on the table now, for they all knew well what the world could look like if they failed. They had seen it with their own eyes in the devastation of one port of call after another. Now they had come to tempt the dark unbottomed infinite abyss of time and fate itself.

Dobrynin sighed heavily, shook his head as he stared at the Mi-26, and then headed for the ladder down. By the time he made his way to the main operations center on the facility a young mishman rushed over with news from the radio room. The worry on his face was obvious.