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

  “These damn airships, they carry troops like we can?”

  “More than likely,” said Selikov. “They could have a full regiment there now with four airships. That’s half the entire Siberian Aero Corps! You don’t get a concentration like that without some muscle behind it. I tell you something is going on there. Either they are expecting us, and our cover was blown somehow, or this is happenstance, but your best play would be to wait here on the ship. I can get us north, and hopefully those airships will stay put where they are.”

  “You want to get us lost again, Selikov?” Orlov grinned.

  “Better than the alternative, which would most likely see us blown out of the sky if we try to go south. Narva is a good ship, well gunned. I can probably beat any ship they put against me, but not four damn airships in one throw.”

  “My orders are to go at any cost,” said Troyak.

  “What were your orders, Troyak?” Orlov frowned, folding his arms. He felt as though he had not been fully briefed, in spite of being the ranking officer aboard from Kirov.

  Troyak hesitated briefly, remembering those last moments with Fedorov when he had asked the one question no one seemed to want to deal with: “And what if we encounter Karpov in one of his zeppelins?”

  “You will have to use your best judgment, Troyak. The Admiral hopes to avoid engagement. We do not want to let Karpov know we are here just yet. Admiral Volsky is considering the matter. But you must protect the airship, and your men. This mission is very important. Coordinate with Captain Selikov. He knows how to fight the airship. You handle ground operations with your Marines. For the moment it is Volkov that we are worried about. If the situation allows you to reconnoiter down those steps and find him, report back. Admiral Volsky will give the final order. And Sergeant, no one needs to know about Karpov for the moment, particularly Orlov.”

  “We were to secure the objective, then report our status to the ship,” said Troyak. “On the Admiral’s word, the mission would then proceed.”

  “Well that’s it, then. They were not even sure if they could make a go of it, Troyak. We need to contact the goddamn ship and report this situation. So you do everything you possibly can to get the that radio working. Then we decide what to do.”

  “And what if your radio will not work?” Selikov continued to play the devil’s advocate. “For that matter what if your compass remains fouled up on the ground? Then how will you find your way?”

  Troyak simply smiled. “I could get there blind folded,” he said gruffly. “But what you say about the radio makes a good point. If we can’t raise the ship up here, it will be no different down there on the ground.”

  He had his field map open, downloaded from the ship’s library and printed just for this mission. There was a village very near their position, labeled Aban. The word meant “backwater” and the place was well named, a forgotten outpost in the vast wilderness they had been drifting over. From there he saw makeshift roads and trails south towards the rail line. It would not be a difficult march.

  “I will try some alternate bands on the radio, Captain. See if you can get me north of this village.”

  * * *

  Symenko thought quickly. Join him? Why not? It was either that or a bullet to the head. Isn’t that why Volkov sent me here in the first place? Then again, this could be my fire test. Volkov was fond of leaning heavily on an officer to test his mettle. Suppose I kill both birds with one stone. Let Karpov think I’m amenable to his proposal. Once I get back to my ship it will then be a simple matter to get to a better position and then stick it to Karpov here. But first, the theater. What about Captain Petrov aboard the Oskemen? He certainly won’t go along with this. Petrov is a straight shooter. In fact, he was probably sent along on this little foray to send back reports.

  “That is not our airship,” he said quickly. “As far as I know we were sent alone. I know nothing about a third ship.”

  “You don’t sound convincing.” Karpov was adamant. “In two minutes I’m going to blow your ships to pieces, Captain, but of course you won’t be alive to worry about that.”

  “No! Wait! What you say makes sense to me. This is all Volkov’s doing. I swear it! I was told nothing of this—only to come here and deliver that pouch. But Volkov, damn his soul, he knew what would happen if we were caught here when he crossed the border. You are correct, Karpov. I have been thrown to the wolves. So why not join them? Yes? And why should you open fire on our ships when they might make a nice addition to your Aero Corps?”

  “That sounds a little better, Symenko. You are starting to think now, but how can you be trusted? If you are willing to turn colors so easily, might you not do so again?”

  “What would you do in my place, take a bullet in the head, or live to get a chance to stick it to Volkov for everything he has done? And to me, he has done more than you know. Yes, I was promised the governorate at Omsk. Why do you think my ship was renamed? That is the least of it. My trouble with Volkov goes back years. I opposed him when Denikin was still alive, and he knows that. He could not purge the ranks completely, but that is what he has been doing—rooting out all Denikin’s old followers one by one. I was one of the last, and always wondered how he would try to get rid of me.” That should sound convincing, thought Symenko.

  “Now you need not wonder any longer…” Karpov lowered his revolver, eyes tight, thinking. “You will surrender your airships?”

  “I would order it, but I cannot speak for what Petrov might do.”

  “Petrov?”

  “He’s Captain of the Oskemen, and one of Volkov’s boys. I’ve little doubt that he was sent here with me to prevent what we are now discussing, though I do not think he foresaw that you would haul me up here in a basket. We anticipated docking and meeting on the ground.”

  “You have troops aboard?”

  “Of course, two light battalions.”

  “Why, Symenko? If this was simply a delivery run then why bring two battalions along?”

  “You’ll have to ask Volkov that.”

  “You had no orders to debark and operate on the ground?”

  “Of course not. What would we do here?” A lie was best at this point, thought Symenko.

  “You might try tearing up the rail line for a start.”

  “Look, Karpov, if we wanted to do that then we would have done so between Krasnoyarsk and Novosibirsk. We know you have the 91st Division in reserve at Krasnoyarsk, and by god we knew you had airships right here! So why come here for a rail sabotage operation? No. It is just as I have told you. I was to come here, deliver that pouch and be done with it.”

  That bit about hitting the rail line west of Krasnoyarsk made sense, thought Karpov. That would prevent the 91st from getting to the main front quickly, but yet, Symenko is here, red faced, big eyed and now ready to talk business. Let me see what he knows.

  “Suppose I spare your life here—assuming you can deliver your airship intact. As for Petrov and the Oskemen, leave them to me. But what else do you know, Symenko? Are you telling me you had no idea this offensive was being planned? There would have been orders cut, munitions to be moved forward, and supplies. The roads would have been prepped and cleared. Sapper teams would have been training for cross border action for weeks. Beyond that, Volkov would need airship support. Your division would not have been enough. He would have had to cut orders and bring up units from the southern divisions. You heard nothing?”

  Symenko stopped at that, thinking, remembering, his eyes suddenly registering recollection. “Yes! Pavlodar was detached south last week—right in the middle of your conference.”

  “Pavlodar?”

  “That’s ship number three in my division… But I had orders to take my ship up to Perm before this little venture was sprung on me.”

  “Perm? What were you to do there?”

  “We never know. Volkov moves us around like chess pieces. More often than not my ships are used for reconnaissance, but we never get operational orders until we ar
rive at our assigned patrol station.”

  That was useful information, thought Karpov. He might want to keep Symenko alive for a while, just to see what else he could learn.

  “Then what about Pavlodar?”

  “It was sent south to operate with one of the southern divisions.”

  “What ships?”

  “Sarkand, Tashkent, Samarkand, Kazan—big ships, all 150,000 cubic meter lift, and high climbers too.”

  “Why would one of your ships be detached south right before a major operation? We were watching your division—all four ships—and they were being well dispersed as per the agreement we made with Volkov at Omsk.”

  “Yes,” said Symenko. “I was taking my ship to Perm. Astana was pulled west, and only Oskemen was left on the line. Then I got these orders to rendezvous with Captain Petrov at Tyumen, and we were to sneak in here well north of the rail line and, well, here we are.”

  “Yes… Here you are. Volkov could have sent me a cable to tell me anything he wrote in that letter. He could have also told me to expect you, so as to avoid any unpleasantries. But that isn’t what he had planned, was it? He wanted to make sure things would get edgy here. That’s why he ordered you to swing well north and approach this place unseen. Well, I have news for you, Symenko, Pavlodar is back, only now we’ve identified at least three other airships coming up from the south. Volkov dispersed your division, showing me the open hand near Omsk, but all the while he was clenching another fist behind his back. I have little doubt that those ships you just mentioned will be crossing the southern border zone even as we speak.”

  Symenko held up a finger, thinking, playing the act out as best he could. “And now I recall orders for the 8th Kazakh light armor to move! Yes, I signed transfer papers for a young Lieutenant last week. He was tired of freezing his ass off in the Aero Corps and had been wanting a posting to a ground division for some months now. When I sent him off we talked about how bad the food was down south—he was posting to Karaganda—but he said his division wouldn’t be there long. Those were his exact words.”

  “What other divisions were on that border zone?”

  “15th Rifles, way down at Oskemen, and the 22nd just arrived to replace a worn out unit at Pavlodar.”

  “Yes, we saw them pull out, the old 19th. They were good for nothing, but it looked as though Volkov was lightening up his deployments on the line, so we were glad to see them go.”

  “Don’t be so happy. The 22nd is a specially trained unit, Karpov. It’s air mobile! Damn thing operates with that very same airship division coming up from the south. Why… They’re going to swing in over the mountains down there! That’s what they’re up to! There’s a big hole in your line there. I’ve scouted it many times and wet my beak in the high lakes of the Altay Mountains. With that many airships Volkov could lift a full brigade and drop it right on the city your ship is named for.” Symenko smiled. There, he had just thrown the bear a nice fish.

  “Abakan?”

  “You have nothing there, eh?” Symenko pressed his argument while he had Karpov nibbling. “Don’t you see? Volkov could take Abakan and cut the road all the way south to Mongolia—cut off your 107th division down there and leave them to the Japanese.”

  Karpov frowned. “You know a good deal more than you let on, Symenko. Keep talking and I just may find a place for you in my command staff. But first we have a situation here to resolve. What do we do about this Captain Petrov?”

  “He won’t surrender his ship, not Petrov. That man is a stiff prick, if ever there was one. He’ll fight.”

  “But not long. I have Angara sitting off his hind end.”

  “He’ll drop ballast and come up shooting.”

  “And he’ll go down the same way. Leave that ship to me. The question now is what to do about your ship? Who is your Executive Officer?”

  “Barmenko—a good man, but he’s with me. In fact, most of my officers were with Denikin. Others transferred in.”

  “Sounds like Volkov was getting all his rats onto the same ship, but no offense meant, Symenko.”

  “None taken, Karpov. Well, I can tell Barmenko we’ve permission to dock at Kansk. We could ease my ship over there, and I could order Petrov to stay put where he is. Then you settle affairs with him any way you wish.”

  Karpov smiled. “You see, Captain. The things they say about you have been very much exaggerated.”

  “Oh? What have you heard?”

  “That you are a hot headed old fart, too quick to anger and without a reasonable bone in your body. But I find you quite reasonable, wouldn’t you say?” Now Karpov raised the revolver, pointing it right at Symenko’s head again, and this time he pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 11

  There was a dry clink, and Symenko jumped as the hammer of Karpov’s revolver snapped down on an empty chamber. Karpov smiled, seeing the look of real fear on Symenko’s face now.

  “The other five chambers all have bullets,” he said as he fixed Symenko with that same evil grin. He knew damn well that Volkov would have never sent a rabid dog like Symenko out as a courier boy. No. And all that talk about losing his appointment to the Governorate was a nice little sob story. He had his suspicions about Pavlodar moving south like that, and Symenko had just confirmed them, along with a good hint at what was soon to transpire on the southern border zone. Could he be believed?

  The Lieutenant rushed in when he heard the gun clink, his eyes wide. He saw Symenko slouched in the chair, breathing hard, a look on his face like a trapped animal.

  “Get him to the brig,” said Karpov. This man was too useful to kill just now. “Then get the spy basket ready and signal the Alexandra that their Captain is returning.”

  What happened next was planned from the very moment Karpov had news of these air contacts. He knew he had to act quickly, because a third contact had been spotted and it could be here within the hour, changing the odds considerably. For the moment, he had the advantages of both position and surprise, and he was going to use them while he could.

  “A pity you won’t be able to see what I’m about to do to your airship,” said Karpov. “Good day, Symenko—at least for me.”

  He was up and out of the briefing room, his footsteps hard on the metal grid of the keelway as he hastened forward to the main bridge. He was down the ladder quickly and ready to fight.

  “Admiral on the bridge!”

  “All guns manned and ready, Bogrov?”

  “Aye sir. Shells chambered and guns trained on the targets. We couldn’t miss if we tried.”

  “Very good. In a few minutes we will begin lowering the spy basket to return Captain Symenko to his ship. He’s in the brig, but no one down there will know that. Lower it right down on that open gun platform so it blocks their line of fire. The moment that basket comes in reach of their crew, we open fire. Signal the gun crews. All batteries fire on code red! Be ready on that signal flare.”

  “Aye sir! Code red.” Bogrov nodded to a Lieutenant, and the order was quickly piped down to the gun pods beneath the gondolas. He had his ship hovering perpendicular to the Alexandra so he could bring every gondola gun to bear on the target. He had a big 105mm recoilless beneath the bridge gondola, three 76mm guns under the main gondola amidships, and two more of those on the aft gondola. Six rounds were going to be a most unpleasant advantage in the opening salvo, and Bogrov was correct, at no more than 200 meters range they could not miss.

  Down went the spy basket, even as word was passed via field phone to the upper gun platform on top of the ship: Ready on signal flare one. A young mishman was fitting the red tipped round to his flare gun, waiting for the order, and then the phone rang again. He looked smartly to the gun master, who nodded. “Red, red, red!”

  The sound of Abakan’s broadside split the silence with a loud roar. Six rounds blasted into the cotton canopy stretched over the duralumin airframe of Alexandra, penetrating easily and exploding deep within the ship. Not even the Vulcanized gas bags could close a woun
d from a high explosive shell in that caliber. Alexandra shuddered under the blow, sheets of her envelope fabric torn and set afire, gas bags penetrated and venting their precious helium, shrapnel cutting men down on ladders and lacerating the interior ballonets with a hundred tiny cuts.

  “Drop ballast!” Karpov shouted over the action of the guns. “Full retraction on that spy basket. Fire for effect!”

  Now both ships seemed to belch white falls of water from the ballast tanks on the undersides, which fell in a grey rain seeding the clouds below. Abakan immediately began to rise, intending to stay well above her adversary, even as the open top gun deck on the Alexandra desperately trained and returned fire with the two 76mm recoilless rifles there. With the spy basket now clear, the second volley from Abakan struck her foe again, and two guns hit that platform, killing every man there and silencing Alexandra’s only reprisal unless she could gain parity in altitude.

  But that would not happen. Karpov smiled as he watched the gun duel through his field glasses. There was a moment when the aft 20mm AA gun on the enemy ship was able to rake his central gondola with a burst of fire, but then the big 105mm gun under the bridge scored another direct hit on the brow of the enemy ship.

  “That’s the way!” Karpov shouted. “That’s my big bag buster!” He could see that there was now severe damage forward on the Alexandra where the 105 had ruptured at least two main gas bags with that last shot. Even though the elevator controls were desperately trying to get the ship’s nose up, and Alexandra was bleeding more ballast forward, the ship’s tail was much lighter. The airship’s nose tipped downward, and the tail rotated wildly off axis as it careened up, riddled by continuing gunfire.

  They put fifteen holes in the outer canvas in the first three minutes. Smoke bled from the nose of the ship, and her big tail fins seemed to jut obscenely up, the rudder moving to try and control the airship’s wild turn. Then one of Abakan’s 76mm guns put a round right into the aft port engine near the tail, and it exploded in angry red and yellow fire. Karpov clenched his fist when he saw the propeller blown clean away, still spinning wildly as it plummeted down and away from the ship.