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

“Forgiveme, Admiral. I know you are a very busy man these days, and I hate to impose on your time.” Kamenski settled into a chair, cradling the thick volume under his arm.

“That time may be running out,” said Volsky. “As you can see, the accommodations here are not nearly so plush as our offices above ground. I’m afraid Moscow continues to dig itself into a hole insofar as these hostilities are concerned. So we dig too.”

“Is it really that bad?”

Volsky gave the old man a long look. “I have seen it, Mister Kamenski; seen it with my own eyes. The past was not able to hold us long, it seemed. We kept bouncing back and forth from some distant future, well after the war was fought, and then into the hell of that last war again—out of the frying pan, into the fire. In those strange intervals we learned the war was to begin here in the Pacific, and so it has, in spite of our effort to prevent it. Perhaps it is not so easy to change time and fate after all. We have also seen what was left of the world after this current little disagreement was fought, and there was very little to speak of.”

“I understand,” said Kamenski. “As much as any man could, I suppose. Can we do anything more?”

“I have asked myself that a thousand times, but it is very frustrating. I still have Marines at the Naval Logistics Building, you know. Perhaps, I thought, we will get another letter.”

“I see… Then you are still hoping Fedorov will appear from the ether and pronounce that all is well.”

“Of course! But that’s a fool’s wish now, isn’t it? We never knew how to control things—these odd time displacements. I’m still not sure how we ever managed to get home. Suppose Fedorov completes his mission, and he returns, but not until the year 2022, or 2025. This possibility crossed my mind. It would mean we wait here in suspense, if we can dig a hole deep enough to survive what I know is coming next. Well, we don’t have two or three years to wait. I would be willing to bet that we may not have more than a few days left now before things get out of hand. And what would I do, I asked myself, if these were the last three days in the world we know? What would you do, Mister Kamenski?”

“Me? Why, I think I would take a little trip. In fact, that’s exactly what I am planning to do. If you could remove yourself from your duties here I would ask you to come with me.”

Volsky smiled, then the warmth fled from his eyes and he seemed to stare vacantly ahead. “Mister Kamenski, I don’t think there is any place we can go to hide from what is coming.”

“Don’t be so gloomy, Admiral. One must have faith.” He was fingering something with his left hand in his pocket as he spoke. The other still clung to a thick book beneath his arm.

Yes, he thought, a little trip. He really wished the Admiral could come with him. He was already guilty enough with the thought of stealing away on his own, but something had to be done, and it was clear to him that the Admiral, and all the other men in their nice pressed military uniforms, seemed powerless to change the fate they were shaping with their very own hands. It was as if they thought the war was something that was going to happen to them, something that was coming like a bad storm, as the Admiral seemed to believe…something inevitable. In the end they will realize that it was all their doing. They were the war. That was the hard truth they hid from behind those gold stripes and gilded caps, and all the decorations on their chest. He sighed, feeling the weight of the key in his pocket now. It seemed such a small and insignificant thing, but the doors it could open…

“Well Admiral, we may not have to wait all that time for Fedorov to appear. In all our plans and discussions it occurred to me that the end of those operations would soon be apparent to us here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our plan… Fedorov’s plan, the whole business with Orlov and these control rods and the helicopter. It still astounds me when I think that this was all we could consider doing with the power we had in hand when Kapustin turned up those other two rods.”

“We still don’t know if they will even work. The one rod was proven—Rod-25—the others have yet to meet the test. Dobrynin only just launched his mission.”

“Oh, but they have met the test,” Kamenski said quickly. “That is if they were ever put to use. You see, I shared this with the Inspector General, but never took the time to share it with you, Admiral. We were so busy, but when things settled down I decided to check up on the history.” Now he shifted the volume from under his arm and placed it on the Admiral’s desk.

Volsky looked at it, squinting to see the text on the spine. “The Chronology of the Naval War at Sea. Fedorov’s book?”

“Not the same he owned, but the same volume. A very curious book, Admiral. I was doing some reading in the period relating to late 1945, just as the war ended. You see, it occurred to me that if your Marines and Engineers did actually manage to get those control rods to the Pacific, and contact your missing ships, then we might soon know about it.”

“How is that?”

“It would be right there in that book, Admiral. It would all be history by now.”

“You mean to say you think the book would… would change?”

“Precisely. And I would not say as much if I had not already experienced that very thing happening before. It does change. I’ve already seen it happen several times.”

“Your book changed? This is what Fedorov told me as well. How is it possible.”

“I really don’t know. All I do know is that the information I read on the closing days of the war, and what happened in the Kuriles, is not the same now—not as it was just a few days ago when I last consulted this book.”

“You are certain of this?”

“As certain as this old man can be. Yes, I know you will think I may have simply forgotten what I read days ago. This is all very subjective. But I assure you, the history has changed. When you see what I have discovered you will realize that as well.”

“Then you know what happened? You know the fate of Karpov and Kirov?”

“See for yourself, Admiral.” He opened the book, sliding the big volume so the Admiral could read it more easily. “Turn the page, please. Yes…right there in the right hand column. See for yourself…”

Dear Readers,

I come now to the last volume planned for the Kirov Series , and I thank you all for staying with the story, making it what it has become with your interest and continued support. If you had not raised Kirov up on your shoulders, I might not have ever written the books that followed it. You have given me countless hours of delight and satisfaction as I do the one thing I have most loved—my writing.

Now, as I work on the final volume, laboring in the Devil’s Garden, I invite you to sound off and speak your mind on the story. If there was anything that you did not understand or some question you want answered, some loose end tied off, just drop me an email. Anywhere you would love to see the story go? Any stone you think has been left unturned or unexplained? If so, throw your two cents in the hat and let me know what it is, and I’ll make sure every question gets an answer in the final volume, Devil’s Garden.

With deep appreciation,

john@writingshop.ws

Below: the Standoff between the major leaguers in the pacific as the Red Banner Fleet sorties from its bases and is attacked by CVBG 5 of the US 7th Fleet