Kirov Saga: Hinge Of Fate: Altered States Volume III (Kirov Series) Page 11

  “A chance to put my Bizon-2 SMG back to work,” said Zykov naming his weapon as he checked the gun mechanism. “High impulse Makarov rounds in a helical sixty-four round magazine. Very good in a firefight, particularly at close quarters.” He never tired of saying that about his weapon.

  “I’ll stick with my Bullpup,” said Chenko. “It combines the firepower of a good heavy machine gun and the mobility of an LMG. Superb accuracy, excellent durability, and with the night vision sight I can hit targets at 1500 meters with this little boy.”

  Kolnov was checking ammo on his GM-94 multi-shot grenade launcher. It had pump action, with a three round tube magazine of 43mm grenades, and could be hand fired for close quarters action, which is what it was designed for. That was his fallback. His primary role was fire support with the AGS-30, a belt fed automatic grenade launcher with a high fire rate 30 round drum. It had an adjustable day or night sight, and could range out 2100 meters.

  Another man carried an RPG-30 Kryuk, or “Hook,” which was a man portable 105mm anti-tank weapon, with rounds that could defeat 650 mm of rolled homogenous armor, or blast through 1500mm of reinforced concrete and 2000mm of brick. That was almost eighty inches! The Sergeant considered whether or not to take a mortar, but with light, powerful weapons like this at his disposal, he decided against it.

  The fighting man had a kind of love affair with his weapon. He lived with it, day in and day out, and would die without it in combat. The other Marines were carrying more standard AK-12 Kalashnikov assault rifles, all with night sights, muzzle fired grenade packs, and plenty of ammo. By WWII standards the three squads would make up a platoon with the firepower of a full company. The typical Russian WWII infantry squad might have two sub-machine guns and eight carbines. Troyak’s squads had the equivalent of seven machine guns, and with much more support fire from the RPGs, and other hand held anti-tank and SAM weapons they were packing. The Black Death was ready to rumble.

  Now all Troyak had to do was convince Captain Selikov to get them a bit closer. “There’s a fight going on down there,” he said. “I’d like to get my men into it fresh, and not after an eighteen hour hike.”

  “You mean to go down anyway?”

  “I have my orders.”

  Selikov naturally looked to Orlov, who was standing with arms folded, brooding on the matter. The Chief said nothing, still wondering what was so damn important about this mission—Fedorov’s mission. It had something to do with all this time travel nonsense, but he was not exactly sure what was going down here. Beyond that, he was still steamed up with the thought that he had not been properly briefed.

  “What is your mission, Troyak? What’s the objective?”

  “As I said, we deploy to Ilanskiy, take and hold the railway inn and make contact with the ship to report our status.”

  “Well that isn’t going to happen. We can’t get through.”

  “Then my orders were clear,” said Troyak. “I was to destroy the facility.”

  “Destroy it? We came all this way to blow up a railway inn? What in god’s name for?”

  Troyak just shrugged. “I don’t ask things like that when I get an order, Chief. They want it destroyed—that I can do.”

  “And you say there’s a fight underway down there?”

  “We’ve heard the combat radio traffic. Some of those airships must have put men down too.”

  “For the damn railway inn?”

  “Who knows, Orlov? They have their orders—I have mine.”

  The best laid plans of mice and men have often gone awry.

  Selikov smiled. “That’s this whole damn war in a nutshell, isn’t it. Alright, Sergeant. I can get you closer. We’ll have to drop down low, and it will be damn risky if another airship gets elevation on us. Narva is a big ship, but we don’t climb fast. If someone catches me hovering to put your men down we could be in real trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Captain. We brought along a few things that can get you out of the stew if that situation arises.”

  Orlov grinned at that. “Alright then, how many men are you taking—just the two squads as planned?”

  Troyak hesitated a moment. He wanted all his men with him now, but how could he convince Orlov to stay aboard the airship as the Admiral and Fedorov wanted?

  “I’ll need twenty men,” he said.

  “All three squads then?”

  “Correct, but I have a problem, Chief.”

  “What problem?”

  “We need someone who knows what they’re doing here on overwatch. I need a man here on our radio set, and someone who can handle a needle and thread.”

  “Needle and thread?”

  Troyak nodded his head to a nearby weapons cache where two of the Ilga, “needle” SAM missiles, were leaning against a bulkhead wall. “If what the Captain warns about should happen, I need a man who will know what to do about it. Can you man that post, Chief?”

  “Me?”

  “This airship has some good recoilless rifles mounted,” said Troyak, “and we may also need fire support. I’d like you to coordinate all that with the Captain here, protect the ship, and read our signals for the extraction.”

  “Then assign a private, Troyak. I was figuring to get on the ground.”

  “Are you ready for combat? All my men are. That’s all we train for. Once we get down there we’re going to be moving fast and humping a lot of equipment and firepower. It’s going to be tough work, and we may have to engage anyone that gets in our way. Besides, I can’t hand off ship overwatch and extraction to a private here, or even a corporal.” A little Lozh now, and some butter on Orlov’s bread was in order.

  “You’re senior officer,” Troyak finished. “You’re the only man who can hold this thing together on this end. You command from here.”

  It was probably more than Troyak had said at any given one time for months. He was a man of few words, and hard actions, but he knew he had been ordered to make sure Orlov stayed on the airship, and he did his best to convince him here. Then, seeing Orlov hesitate, he said one last thing, and in a tone that Orlov instinctively could hear and understand.

  “Those are my orders, direct from Admiral Volsky. You are to coordinate with Selikov, manage the defense of the airship, and oversee the extraction on overwatch. I am to handle the ground operation with my Marines.”

  Orlov also heard something more there—my Marines. Even though Orlov had once been busted and placed in Troyak’s detail he knew he was never a member of the club. He was a ship’s officer, not a ground pounder, and Troyak was also correct to point out this would be a combat mission, and Orlov had never been trained for that. He knew that trying to buck the gritty Sergeant would lead to nothing more than a needless confrontation, so he relented.

  “Alright, Troyak. Take your men in. I’ve got your back.”

  Troyak walked over and clasped him by the arm. “We’ll be counting on you, Chief.”

  Part V

  Paradox Dreams

  “Is all that we see or seem

  But a dream within a dream?”

  —Edgar Allan Poe

  Chapter 13

  Narva hovered in a wide clearing between two stands of pine and was slowly retracting the cargo basket after delivering the last of Troyak’s Marines. Captain Selikov had taken a risk to get the men closer to their objective, particularly when they saw the zeppelin duel to the south was slowly migrating north of Ilanskiy. He swung the airship a bit east, away from that action, and then turned south to approach Ilanskiy from the northeast, getting to within about 20 kilometers before Orlov, who was monitoring the Oko radar panel, reported that an airship had taken notice of them and was now heading in their direction.

  “Then up we go,” said Selikov. “And we must be quick about it. We’re twenty men light, so that’s a lot of weight gone. We should be able to get up beyond 2000 meters in no time, but I would expect that contact is much higher.”

  “I make it 4500 meters,” said Orlov.


  “Then we go up as well. I can’t take the chance that they will get elevation on me. We’ve a lot of lift now, and I don’t think they can match us if it comes to a reach for altitude. Fifteen degree up-bubble and all engines ahead full. God speed to your Marines, Orlov. I don’t like the looks of this situation.”

  “Nor do I,” said Orlov.

  They made a rapid ascent, passing through 4000 meters in just ten minutes and still climbing. The other airship they had been monitoring was circling now, and Orlov wondered if they might also have them on some form of rudimentary radar. It can’t be seeing anything very well with this interference, he thought. My Oko panel is still only able to give me 50 kilometers coverage—very strange. That’s a third of its range and it is very resistant to jamming. What could be jamming us here in any case? Certainly nothing from this era.

  Down on the ground Troyak called in on the radio. His voice was cloudy, but their modern equipment had the power to push through the static and maintain contact at this close range. The Marines were assembled and already moving out to the south. They had set down near a small logging hamlet, then skirted a high tree line that screened that place and started off, soon coming to a thin wagon trail, which they followed south.

  The terrain was not bad, and there was a lot of open ground that had firmed up over the cold nights, which made for easy walking. Troyak took in the smell of the land, the trees and fauna, and was reminded of home. All the men felt it as well. They had finally set foot on Mother Russia again, after what seemed like an eternity aboard the ship. It gave them an eager feeling of completion, though the thought that they might be marching into a combat situation was somewhat distressing. They were no strangers to combat, veterans all, but these were not Germans like they had fought in the Caspian. They were their fellow Russians.

  They made an easy six kilometers per hour and were coming up on another small settlement noted as Tamara on Troyak’s map. It was then that they heard the distant sound of small arms fire, and the mood of the men suddenly shifted to the purpose of their mission. Their senses keened up. Marines hefted their weapons, and Troyak moved from line of march to a two up, one back, deployment of his three squads. Zykov was on his left as he led the detachment forward into thick woods just south of the settlement.

  This is good ground, he thought. We’ll easily skirt that hamlet and move through these woods like fish in water. An hour later the woods began to thin and break up into wide clearings, and the sound of a ground battle was more evident. Troyak saw that the trees thickened east of Ilanskiy where the rail line approached. There was a small stream that ran just north, and parallel to the rail, and it was well wooded, offering his men a perfect avenue to approach the town unseen. When they reached the end of this feature the ground opened again where segments of the woodland had been logged and cleared.

  The Sergeant was in constant communication with Zykov and Chenko, who was leading the number three platoon behind him. He knelt, raising a silent fist as a signal to his own squad, which crouched low, waiting. Then he spoke through his collar microphone to Zykov.

  “There’s fire on my right coming from that thicker woodland,” said Zykov.

  There’s a flooded march just beyond it, and a causeway from the settlement north of that area leading right into town behind the railway inn.” Troyak was consulting his map. “So we’ll have to follow the rail line in. It will swing down and approach the inn from the southeast. I’ll lead. Bring your men up on my signal.”

  Troyak checked his weapon, then waved his men on. They crouched low, moving like black shadows, out from the trees and along a narrow footpath that was leading them to the rail line. As they approached, Troyak suddenly heard men shouting in a dialect he recognized. They were reaching a culvert near a short stone rail bridge when a light machine gun opened up on them. Thankfully, the fire was not well aimed, but it sent his men to ground.

  Troyak listened, recognizing some words from the Khanty dialect, one of 36 indigenous languages in the Siberian region. Troyak knew several, and many words from others, and this one was common along the Ob River valley. So he decided to try something, and raised his voice.

  “Hey, watch out! Who are you shooting at?” He spoke in the same dialect.

  Silence. The gun stopped. Then a hard voice spoke. “Who are you? State your unit.”

  Troyak decided any designation would do, and he knew his map, so he extended the ruse further. “7th platoon,” he called out keeping that well open to interpretation. “We just came up from Nizhniy Ingash! What’s going on here?”

  “What are your orders?” The voice was still hesitant.

  “We need to get to that damn railway inn!” The truth served the Gunnery Sergeant well enough, and he just let it stand there.

  “Anyone on your right?”

  “Don’t worry, Sergeant.” Troyak knew who he was talking to now, another NCO in charge of this squad he was facing, and he had sized up the situation to understand that this was a reserve unit positioned behind the tree line to the north to watch these roads. He needed to convince this man he was a friend.

  “Your flank is clear. We scouted the rail line the whole way in. Come on, you’re wasting time. We’ve got the heavy weapons.”

  The other voice did not respond for a time, and then finally called back.

  “Come up to the rail bridge!”

  Troyak did not want to risk his men, so he decided to go alone. He signaled that they should remain in place, and moved up quietly to a small stand of trees just below the bridge. He saw movement ahead, through the bridged culvert, and surmised the other sergeant was there. Then he could see him, raising his fist in salutation.

  “How many are you?” The other Sergeant still had a guarded edge to his voice. The sound of gunfire increased off to the north.

  “I have three heavy squads,” Troyak said quickly.

  “Come ahead then. The rail line is clear all the way to the town center.”

  Then came the sound of heavy weapons fire, and Troyak looked up to see an amazing and unexpected sight. A huge steel grey zeppelin had descended from above the town, a vast shadow from above, and its black gondolas were spiked with gun barrels that were now pouring heavy rounds on the town’s defensive positions.

  The battle that Troyak had crept up on was bigger than it sounded. West and north of the town, two companies of the Grey Legion 22nd Air Mobile, off the Oskemen, were attacking a single company of Karpov’s 18th Siberian Rifles. The remaining two Siberian companies had broken into six platoons stretched along the town’s northern edge, with good fields of fire over the lower wetlands to the north. But at least three more full companies of the 22nd were deployed to this sector. One was pushing in between the action farther west, and attempting to flank the extreme left of the Siberian line. Two others were trying to fight their way across a small causeway that Troyak had identified on his map earlier. If they won through they would soon swarm through the town center and easily overrun the railway inn. Troyak’s Marines had approached from the far right, where the Siberian line hooked south through a woodland area to the rail line.

  Small arms and machine gun fire was already thick at the causeway, but the line had held, the stubborn Siberians holding tenaciously until the sudden appearance of the airship. Now it was blasting the Siberian positions from above with 76mm recoilless rifle fire from its main gondola, and a heavier gun up front on the bridge gondola.

  Oskemen was back.

  The crafty Petrov had swung south below the cloud deck while the Angara was struggling to descend and take up the chase as Karpov had ordered. He hid there until Angara came down after him, and once the two airships were feeling their way through the clouds at about 1000 meters, he fired flare rockets off his starboard side, then turned hard to port and dropped ballast for a fast climb. Oskemen broke into clear air, but when the Captain on the Angara spotted the flares slowly descending on parachutes, he took them for the running lights of his enemy, and maneuvered to gai
n position on them. When he fired his forward gun off the bridge gondola, Oskemen’s sharp eyed watchmen made out his position, and Petrov maneuvered off his tail.

  Minutes later the Oskemen nosed down again into the soup, all guns blazing on the big fins and elevators of the Angara, returning the insult it had endured when first ambushed at the outset of the engagement. Yet Petrov’s gunners were very good, and they put three 105mm rounds into the big vertical rudder that completely jammed its useful operation. Angara could not maneuver, and could do nothing more than to climb into the thickening clouds and try to hide from the other ship, but Petrov had other business. He immediately turned south, racing to support the troops he had put onto the ground, and now he arrived in the thick of the assault on Ilanskiy, his heavy guns lending much needed fire support to the Grey Legionnaires.

  Troyak had no idea which side he might support in this fight, but he was talking to this one, a fellow Siberian, and so he decided that he could do one thing to easily convince this cautious Sergeant that he was a friendly force.

  “Hold on!” he called to the other man at the far end of the railroad bridge, still crouching low, suspicious of this sudden incursion on his flank in the midst of a firefight.

  Troyak pinched his collar mike and delivered a quick order to Zykov. “Put a needle right through the main gondola on that airship!”

  Zykov barked back the order and his SAM team of two men quickly off shouldered the hand held weapon, which looked like an old style bazooka, and was fired in much the same way. Seconds later the SAM streaked up at the big target above, boring right in on the main gondola as Troyak had ordered, and blasting through the thin shell with a bright orange explosion. One of the three 76mm guns there was destroyed completely, the other two pods riddled with shrapnel, and there was a fire amidships on the gondola that quickly involved the number three engine.

  The Russians defending the town hooted jubilantly, their voices obviously surprised and delighted with what had happened. “Good enough, Sergeant?” Troyak shouted to the shadow by the bridge. “Come on! I need to get my weapons teams up and we’ll finish the job.”