John Schettler - 9 Days Falling, Volume I

“Where have we ended up this time? Is this the future we saw before, or the past?”

One thing was certain, the present was gone, the war itself went up in cinders the moment the Demon vented its wrath. The eruption made the petty quarrels of humans seem totally insignificant. Yet now they had all been dragged into an old and all too familiar nightmare again… somewhere… somewhere in time…

Hewent to Zolkin, the man who was ever his foil and a prickling barb of conscience on the ship. He was the man who mended the crew’s woes, both physical and mental, bandaging up their souls as much as anything else. The Doctor had every intention of leaving the ship for private practice in Vladivostok, but when duty called and the fleet sailed he knew his place was aboard Kirov . Now Karpov sat with him in the sick bay, so many questions on his mind, though Zolkin had a few of his own.

“How did it happen this time? I thought they took that wizard’s brew off the ship.”

“They did, but the detonation of that volcano north of our position seems to have blown us half way through the last century again.”

“What year is it? Have you found that out yet?”

“I went down to Fedorov’s quarters and fetched a copy of that book he often referred to—the Chronology of the Naval War at Sea. We’ve learned the US fleet has been attacking the Japanese home islands the last several days, so I looked that up and compared the narrative to information we’ve picked up on radio. I believe it may be the 15th of August, 1945. We must be somewhere in that timeframe, or so I reckon it.”

“Good then, the war is nearly over. The surrender of Japan was accepted in Tokyo Bay about that time, was it not?”

“August 27th, in Sagami Bay, if Fedorov’s book is accurate.”

“I thought everything was different because of our meddling.”

“Not exactly. Fedorov tried to explain it to me once. He said it was like a cracked mirror—the changes we make in the history. The rest of the mirror is perfect, and reflects events down to the finest detail, but wherever there is a crack the image is distorted. I have no idea how badly cracked that mirror is now, Doctor. Each time we do something the cracks spread further, but the portion I am peering into at the moment seems to be accurate. We’ve heard the names of many vessels listed in US fleet units.”

“Well, with the war over I hope they’ll be going home soon and perhaps we’ll be left in peace.”

“Perhaps…” Karpov had a distant look in his eye, one part loneliness, one part despair, and yet behind it was a flicker of dark energy that always seemed to animate his mind. Zolkin noticed it at once.

“What’s on your mind, Captain?”

“I’ll put it as simply as I can, Doctor. I don’t think we can count on that volcano on Iturup Island blowing its top any time soon. For all I know Volsky must think that Demon wiped us off the map. That it did, but it sent us to this private little purgatory again, perhaps to atone for our sins.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“The point is—we can’t get back this time. We have no magic wand. Dobrynin took Rod-25 to the Caspian to look for Fedorov in 1942. We’re stranded here.”

“Not necessarily,” Zolkin finished cleaning some oxygen dispensers with alcohol and was drying his hands with a towel as he spoke. “Suppose they found Fedorov, went home with Orlov and all the rest, then they would have that control rod to come back for us.”

“And suppose Fedorov and all the rest have been blown to hell already in 2021,” Karpov put in quickly. “That was no picnic I was invited to when I took the fleet to sea.”

“I understand you had quite an engagement with the Americans—yes, I heard the missiles going off, and saw the Varyag when they fired. Who knows how many were killed in that little argument.”

“Who knows,” said Karpov dryly, detecting just the hint of criticism in the Doctor’s voice. “The fact is we don’t know much at all. We can speculate, but there is no way of knowing what happened to Fedorov or Orlov now, and no way of knowing what happened to Volsky in 2021. Yes, I think I gave the Americans a bit of a black eye in that engagement. It was either that or they put us at the bottom of the sea, and in that equation morality has little room, Doctor. I’m willing to bet the Americans will want their pound of flesh in reprisal. Volsky’s position at Fokino is somewhat precarious. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Americans don’t have their B-2s in the air with bellies full of missiles to take those facilities out. That’s what I would have done.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

Karpov sat quietly for a moment, thinking to himself. “I suppose we should at least try to signal Volsky as to what happened.”

“And just how do you propose to do that?

“The same way Fedorov planned it. He was to write us a letter and slip it into an old locker in the Naval Logistics Building. I can ease over toward Vladivostok and get men ashore there to do the same thing.”

Zolkin had not heard any of this before. “And this locker remains undisturbed for almost eighty years?”

“That’s what Fedorov claims. If I can get a message into that locker, then Volsky has men there waiting to check it every night.”

“Amazing!” Zolkin shook his head. “That young Fedorov is ingenious.”

“A fine officer,” said Karpov. “But beyond letting Volsky know we’re alive, I don’t know what good my plan will do. There’s a war on, and we were the heart of the fleet. Now we’re gone. I managed to hurt one of the American carrier task forces but they have two more unfought, and another two in their Third Fleet on the West coast. All Volsky has left without us is the Varyag , a couple Udaloys , Admiral Kuznetsov and a few subs. They won’t last another week.”

“I hate to break it to you but adding this ship and the other two here to that mix would not amount to much either. Kirov is a good ship, but the US Navy is something more, I fear.”

“You are probably correct. It was a futile show of force, but Moscow ordered it and so…”

“I know that drill only too well,” Zolkin wagged a finger at him. “You must have learned enough by now to use you head, Karpov. What Moscow wants is seldom for the general good—at least that’s been my experience in recent decades, not to mention in this war ending right here.”

“We had hoped to find a way to prevent it,” said Karpov, the frustration evident in his voice. “I’m not sure why Fedorov was so damn set on this Orlov business. Well, either he succeeded, or he failed. The point is—we may never know either way.”

“What then?” Zolkin held out a hand. “What are you going to do, Captain, look for an island as Volsky planned? You say it’s August? I hear the weather isn’t too bad up on Sakhalin this time of year.”

Karpov gave him a wan smile. “There’s another consideration, Doctor.” His tone indicated that he was finally getting round to business—to the reason why he had come here in the first place.

“You have another idea?”

“Consider this,” Karpov began. “In just a few days virtually the entire American Fleet is going to be anchored in Sagami Bay; the British Pacific Fleet as well. Now the way I see things is that this volcano upset the porridge bowl. The fact that my ships were sent here was completely random, and it occurred only because of the decisions Admiral Volsky and I made to sortie with the fleet. So we’ve done it again.”

“Done what?”

“We’ve changed things, shuffled the deck. Kirov’s presence here is going to cause another major alteration to the history from this day forward. So since we have already changed the course of events, then we may as well finish the job.”