Kirov Saga: Hinge Of Fate: Altered States Volume III (Kirov Series) Read online

  Kirov Saga:

  Hinge Of Fate

  Altered States

  Volume III

  By

  John Schettler

  A publication of: The Writing Shop Press

  Kirov Saga: Hinge Of Fate, Copyright©2014, John A. Schettler

  Discover other titles by John Schettler:

  The Kirov Saga: (Military Fiction)

  Kirov - Kirov Series - Volume I

  Cauldron Of Fire - Kirov Series - Volume II

  Pacific Storm - Kirov Series - Volume III

  Men Of War - Kirov Series - Volume IV

  Nine Days Falling - Kirov Series - Volume V

  Fallen Angels - Kirov Series - Volume VI

  Devil’s Garden - Kirov Series - Volume VII

  Armageddon – Kirov Series – Volume VIII

  Altered States– Kirov Series – Volume IX

  Darkest Hour– Kirov Series – Volume X

  Hinge Of Fate– Kirov Series – Volume XI

  Three Kings – Kirov Series – Volume XII

  Award Winning Science Fiction:

  Meridian - Meridian Series - Volume I

  Nexus Point - Meridian Series - Volume II

  Touchstone - Meridian Series - Volume III

  Anvil of Fate - Meridian Series - Volume IV

  Golem 7 - Meridian Series - Volume V

  Classic Science Fiction:

  Wild Zone - Dharman Series - Volume I

  Mother Heart - Dharman Series - Volume II

  Historical Fiction:

  Taklamakan - Silk Road Series - Volume I

  Khan Tengri - Silk Road Series - Volume II

  Dream Reaper – Mythic Horror Mystery

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  Kirov Saga:

  Hinge of Fate

  Altered States

  Volume III

  By

  John Schettler

  “Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.”

  ― Lemony Snicket

  About: Altered States: Volume III ~ Hinge of Fate

  As Alan Turing pursues the baffling discovery of the strange cache of information code named Geronimo, Admiral Volsky sails to meet with the British on the Faeroes, bearing an offer of formal alliance between Soviet Russia and Great Britain. There Tovey learns the startling truth behind the mysterious ship that has haunted him all his life.

  Sergeant Troyak’s mission aboard airship Narva faces danger and mystery on the Stony Tunguska, even while elements of two other airship fleets converge on the inn at Ilanskiy—the hinge of fate.

  Meanwhile, Hitler hopes to secure another vital ally so that he can breathe life into Admiral Raeder’s long advocated Mediterranean strategy. It will begin with Operation Felix the assault on Gibraltar. As Britain steels itself for possible invasion, the Royal Navy must now rally to the defense of the embattled garrison at Gibraltar, England’s Rock in the Med, another hinge of fate that could turn the entire course of the war should it fall. Opposing them are the three elite regiments of the German Army, and a resurgent Kriegsmarine led by a fearsome new gladiator, the Hindenburg.

  Action, mystery and intrigue pulse through this compelling continuation of the amazing Kirov Saga!

  Kirov Saga:

  Hinge of Fate

  Altered States – Vol III

  By

  John Schettler

  Part I – Revelations

  Part II – Confrontation

  Part III – Tunguska

  Part IV – Best Laid Plans

  Part V – Paradox Dreams

  Part VI – The Operation

  Part VII – Dakar

  Part VIII – One Fine Morning

  Part IX – Fimbulwinter

  Part X – Wolves

  Part XI – The Rock

  Part XII – Valiant

  Epilogue

  “It is the past that tells us who we are.

  Without it, we lose our identity.”

  —Steven Hawking

  Part I

  Revelations

  “Nothing in this world is hidden forever. The gold which has lain for centuries unsuspected in the ground, reveals itself one day on the surface. Sand turns traitor, and betrays the footstep that has passed over it. Fire itself leaves the confession, in ashes, of the substance consumed in it… Look where we will, the inevitable law of revelation is one of the laws of nature: the lasting preservation of a secret is a miracle which the world has never yet seen.”

  ― Wilkie Collins

  Chapter 1

  The Faroe Islands was a lonesome outpost on the wild and windy frontier that marked the boundary between the Norwegian Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. A place that aspired to be nothing more than a quiet backwater settlement of fishermen and sheep herders, it had become a vital watch on those contested waters, a border outpost in a sea of war that would soon prove to be a hinge of fate.

  Presently under the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Denmark, the small island group had been chosen as the meeting place between two nations that now stood in the darkening shadows of war. The tall brown cliffs of the islands were crowned with broad green pastures, where sheep grazed in unknowing bliss. At places, soaring spires of rock rose like stony sails along the ragged coast, and pristine falls of water plummeted to the sea in pearly white columns. Small hamlets crowded the coastline in sheltered bays, the bright red and blue rooftops of the buildings adding a splash of color to the pastoral scene.

  Some said the hardy folk that lived there had first come from the Viking outposts in the seas around Ireland, while others claimed that the settlers first came from Norway and Scandinavia. They were called the Eyja-Skeggjar, the Island-Beards of old, doughty, dour faced men with hands as hard as stone. Following the invasion of Denmark by Nazi Germany, the Faroe Islands were occupied by British troops in Operation Valentine, on April 12, 1940.

  Two destroyers, Halvant and Hesperus, formed the vanguard of British occupation, politely arranging a meeting with the Danish Prefect, Carl Aage Hilbert. The next day the Royal Navy cruiser HMS Suffolk arrived at Tórshavn, the seat of authority on the island archipelago, bringing Frederick Mason, the appointed British Consul, along with 250 Royal Marines. A passing protest was duly filed, but then the locals welcomed the British, realizing that their fate could be a good deal worse if German Falschirmjaegers were landing that day in place of the British troops.

  Churchill made the announcement to the House of Commons just as the operation was getting underway: “We are also at this moment occupying the Faroe Islands, which belong to Denmark and which are a strategic point of high importance, and whose people showed every disposition to receive us with warm regard. We shall shield the Faroe Islands from all the severities of war and establish ourselves there conveniently by sea and air until the moment comes when they will be handed back to Denmark, liberated from the foul thralldom into which they have been plunged by German aggression.”

  The British quickly set up a naval base at Skálafjørður, a craggy outpost just south of the main Faroe Island near Torshavn, where they established their headquarters in the old fortress of Havnar Skansin. Naval guns were emplaced there for defense. The garrison was beefed up when the Royal Marines were replaced by 500 Lovat Scouts from Scotland, landing from the transport ship Ulster Prince. Just west of the main island, an airfield was constructed on Vagar Island, and heavily fortified. While the base was under construction, a long lake adjacent
to the site served as a kind of water aerodrome, where seaplanes could land to deliver supplies and personnel. The base would allow the British to keep watchful eyes in the air over the vital passage to the Atlantic, a windy frontier outpost that was ever vigilant against the rising threat of the Kriegsmarine.

  It was here, at the fledgling R.A.F. Vagar, that the meeting between Admiral Tovey and the Russians would be held. Tovey had been wise enough to say nothing to Dudley Pound of the startling revelations discovered by Alan Turing in the dusty archives of Bletchley Park. Instead he focused on the necessity of establishing a high level friendship and understanding of cooperation between the Russians and England, and he made his appeal directly to the Admiralty, saying he was in receipt of a message pointedly requesting his presence, and his alone, at the meeting to be arranged on the Faroe Islands.

  Admiral Pound fluttered that British Admirals were not negotiators and diplomats, but men of war, and the prospect seemed in doubt due to his opposition, until a quiet knock on the door delivered a message from Churchill himself. Sergie Kirov had communicated directly with the Prime Minister, and asked, in no uncertain terms, that Tovey and Volsky make the first official contact concerning the matter. It was said that Admiral Volsky was now carrying a most important message, and Tovey was specifically named as the recipient.

  Kirov anchored off the small islet of Gasholmur, seeing the proud silhouette of HMS Invincible and three destroyers waiting just south of the sheer rocky outcrop known as Tinholmur, rising over 200 meters above the sea. Admiral Volsky, Fedorov, and Nikolin took the Admiral’s launch up a long, narrow fiord that led them to a muddy landing where a small concrete quay protected a tiny harbor. They stepped ashore, greeted by an honor guard of Royal Marines to escort them to the meeting site at a simple home near the airfield. It was a warm, comfortable place, with chairs arranged around a hearth where the glow of a fire cast its welcoming heat and light on all present.

  Tovey was there with his translator and a few other officers, and they all stood to offer a cordial greeting as the Russians came in. “I have the very great pleasure to meet with you again,” said Tovey, shaking Volsky’s hand.

  After smiles, handshakes, and an offering of hot tea, the men seated themselves, whereupon Tovey turned and asked every other man in his party to leave the room. “I shall be happy to rely on the translation provided by your mister Nikolin,” he said, “as I have no doubt that he will faithfully communicate the essence of what we must now discuss with one another.”

  Volsky smiled, appreciating the candor and gesture of good will on Tovey’s part, but also perceiving something more in the dismissal of the other men. Better this way, he thought. This British Admiral wants to get down to business, and so shall we.

  “Well Admiral Volsky, the last time we met under rather trying circumstances, and though we were not quick to accept your offer of support at that time, the actions you took during the engagement in the Denmark Strait did not go unnoticed, or unappreciated by the British government.”

  “We were pleased to offer any assistance we could,” said Volsky as Nikolin translated. “I only wish we could have done more, but we remained uncertain at that time as to how much intervention would be wise, given the fact that I was flying the colors of a neutral state. While the weapons we employed could certainly not have been overlooked by anyone present, particularly the unfortunate German sailors we were forced to fire upon, we believe our ship was never properly identified by the German navy during that engagement.”

  “All the better if that is the case.” Tovey rubbed his hands. “As to those weapons you speak of, they proved most startling. We have never seen such advanced application of rocketry, both in the role of an anti-ship weapon as well as air defense. It was truly astounding.”

  “These weapons are, in fact, the primary armament of my ship, Admiral. The deck guns you noted in our first meeting being nothing more than secondary weapons systems, as you surmised. Yet we find them very useful at times, and they are every bit as accurate as the rocketry you observed.”

  “May I ask how you achieve this?”

  “I’m afraid that would be a very long discussion. Let us simply say that we have developed a means of directing this fire by radar. You are aware of this technology?”

  “Of course, though it is a relatively new development. Your systems must be very powerful to achieve this level of accuracy. If I am not being presumptuous, our government would be very much interested in learning more about this achievement. Is it common to all naval ships now deployed by Soviet Russia?”

  “It is not. Our ship is unique in that respect. We were a secret project, a prototype.” Volsky adopted the cover Sergie Kirov had given him on the matter, thinking it a convenient way to avoid an explanation that might never be understood or accepted by Tovey. He was still having enough trouble understanding and accepting it himself.

  “I see,” said Tovey. “Then this technology is in trials. Well, I should think you would be rather pleased with the results, and we would be eager to discuss these weapons further with you, if you would ever be so inclined. Great Britain is prepared to offer much in exchange for the friendship I hope you have brought here today.”

  “And we would be pleased to offer much in return,” said Volsky. “That is exactly what I am now empowered to offer you, Admiral Tovey. I have met with Sergei Kirov in person, and I am also aware that back channel negotiations are now underway between his government and your own. But I am pleased and honored to be the first to formally confirm that Soviet Russia will now propose a general alliance and eternal friendship with Great Britain.”

  Tovey beamed at that, as it was exactly what he hoped to secure here. “Admiral, I am grateful to be the man that receives this news, and I have no doubt that my government will eagerly embrace this offer. England stands alone in the West, yet Soviet Russia stands alone in the East. Between us lies a darkness spinning out a deadly gyre of war that now threatens to devour us both. It is my firm belief, and that of my government, that only by joining arms together can either of us have any hope to survive.”

  “Agreed, Admiral Tovey. And I will also say that together we can, and must, prevail.”

  Tovey proposed a brief toast to the alliance, which would be formalized within days in London where Soviet negotiators were waiting on the outcome of this initial meeting. As the brandy warmed all present, Tovey looked at the Russians, the clear light of another matter now glowing in his eyes.

  “Admiral Volsky,” he said quietly. “When I first met with you I had the distinct feeling that I had done so once before. Of course I dismissed it as the empty headedness of an old man, but I must confess that I remain somewhat haunted by this. I must now share with you a discovery that was made by our intelligence services. Frankly, I did not know what to make of it when it was first revealed to me. I found it quite shocking. If you will pardon the mystery for a moment, perhaps the best way I might proceed here would be to hand you this envelope.”

  Tovey reached over to a side table where he had placed his briefcase, opening it to produce a plain Manila envelope. He stood, with some sense of gravity apparent in his features, and slowly handed it to Admiral Volsky.

  Tovey had received the envelope from Alan Turing, as he had requested, and it contained five startling photographs of the Russian battlecruiser, all with those mysterious labels affixed to the back, all misdated one or two years hence. He sat down watching closely to gauge Volsky’s initial reaction as he opened the envelope. Just as he expected, the Russian Admiral’s eyes widened with great surprise. Then a look of bewilderment passed over his heavy features, and he looked immediately to his attending Captain, the man named Fedorov, who was equally astonished as he took the photographs, slowly flipping from one to the next. The Russians spoke to one another, an urgent energy in their voices. Nikolin did not know whether he should translate, but Volsky quickly told him to ask where the photographs had come from. The answer he received was equally perplexing.


  “You may immediately come to believe that those photographs were taken in the course of our earlier meeting, but I assure you, they were not. I must also be frank in saying that the authenticity of these images has been questioned, though they would have to be the work of a real expert if they are fraudulent. Is there any light you might possibly shed on that question?” There, Tovey had tossed the hot potato to the Russians and watched them pass it back and forth, with much discussion between Fedorov and Volsky that went untranslated until the Admiral apologized.

  “My Admiral asks you to forgive him for a very brief moment, sir,” said Nikolin. “He needs to discuss something with Mister Fedorov.”

  “Well Fedorov?” said Volsky. “What do you make of all this? We both know what those photos show. This one is that attack we suffered in the Tyrrhenian Sea, the very same one that sent me plummeting from that ladder and into a lengthy stay with Doctor Zolkin. I am certain of it. And this one here is clearly the moment of our departure from the Straits of Gibraltar, under the flag of truce I negotiated with this very same man! How could this be? That was in 1942!”

  “I’m as shocked to see these as you are, sir,” said Fedorov. “But even more shocking is the notion that these could have been forged. That could not happen. How could anyone of this day and time, of this world, be privy to knowledge of those specific events to create something like this? Those landforms are very telling. That is Cape Spartel west of Tangier. And look at this one, sir! It was obviously taken from the shore, and note the ships in the background. Those are King George V class battleships, and I count four!”

  Volsky raised a hand. “Forgive us, Admiral Tovey. Just a moment more.” He nodded to Nikolin to translate that. Then to Fedorov he said, “You are correct Fedorov. No one in this world could think to create such photographs as a forgery. And I must tell you that last image of the British fleet in the Western approaches is stunning. It is my very own recollection of that moment, made real in this photograph. I must conclude that these images are authentic, but how?”