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“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said. “My ship can finish up repairs and be ready to leave within the hour.”

Golovko raised his eyebrows, for this is what he had come to ask, and it had been offered. Yet his own misgivings about the lack of firepower on the ship he had seen still nagged at him.

“I would hate to ask this of you, and put your ship and crew at risk. After all, Kalinin was a very capable ship-nine 180mm guns, good speed, torpedoes. I am told that your ship is very powerful, and forgive me now Admiral, but you do not seem very well equipped. Those guns you have cannot be more than 152mm.”

Volsky smiled. “The British thought the same,” he said quietly. “But I assure you, Golovko, they were quite happy when we helped prevent three or four German battleships from breaking out into the Atlantic. We are more than capable, and yes, we will help you restore the honor of the Red Banner Fleet. Wait and see.”

Volsky stood up, decisively. “Mister Fedorov, have the men prepare my launch. We are returning to Kirov at once and the ship will sortie in sixty minutes.”

“Aye sir.” Fedorov said nothing more and went to see to those orders.

Admiral Golovko gave Volsky a smile and a handshake in thanks. “Go with God,” he said, wishing the Admiral well.

“I’m afraid God will have nothing to do with it,” said Volsky. “It appears the war has started. Yes? If so, then this is work for the devil.”

An hour later, Kirov hoisted anchor and slowly slipped out of the long inlet, heading for the Barents Sea. Admiral Golovko watched it turn, again feeling something was very strange about this ship, ominous and threatening.

Other eyes were watching the ship as well, from a small trawler that was moored to the quay, an inconspicuous commercial fishing boat. There, a man sat quietly in the darkened cabin, the barest light of an oil lamp illuminating his work as he tapped slowly on a telegraph key. It was a coded message that would be heard by a relay station well ashore in an old hunting lodge in the hills. There another man would tap his wireless telegraph key, and hand off the signal to another relay station. The message would hop east, over the White Sea and into the wilderness until it reached another logging cabin on the foothills of the Urals. There it would be handed off to the Airship Sarkand, hovering over the icy peaks of the mountains on a standing patrol for just this reason. Soon it would come to the attention of Ivan Volkov himself. The ship-Karpov’s ship-had finally been found!

Yet Admiral Golovko knew nothing of this as he turned and got back into his waiting car, wondering how long it would be before he received news that yet another Russian ship had been sunk.

Kirov must learn not to put his name on these ships until they can fight, he thought. But he did not know just how very wrong he was.

Chapter 20

On the bridge of his fighting ship, Admiral Volsky explained his urgency to Fedorov when they were underway. “Golovko says he will radio the position of the German flotilla,” he said.

“We will most likely have them on long range radar as soon as we leave the Kola Bay,” said Fedorov. “What is your intention, sir?”

Volsky gave him a long look. “Someone has just broken into our neighbor’s house, Fedorov. No. That was our brother’s house. It will not go unpunished. Beyond that, I was alarmed to hear the name of that man taken as prisoner-Zolotov.”

“Who is he, Admiral?”

“You saw my surprise, yes? Well my father knew the man. Yes. Old Sasha. He told me stories of that ship when I was a boy. I used to imagine it pushing its way through the ice on the cold sea voyage east, a real pioneer ship. I often imagined I was there on the bridge, watching the ice crack under the ship’s bow. Zolotov was a friend of my father, and so you see, it cuts a bit close to the bone to hear what happened to him. I can still remember the look in my father’s eyes when he told me the Germans got him.”

“They captured him?”

“You can probably look it up in your old history books, Fedorov.”

“I did check on this operation, sir. It wasn’t supposed to happen until August of 1942! It is very odd that it should occur so soon in this new time line, or even reoccur at all.”

“Tell me about it. What ships were involved?”

“Just one, sir. The heavy cruiser Admiral Scheer. It did everything Admiral Golovko described-even the sinking of that icebreaker you mentioned. It’s very strange how the history seems to echo the events of the world we came from, yet things have shifted, slipped. This time there is a second German ship, and that is a new variation.”

“Just a piece of your cracked mirror that has moved out of place, Fedorov. Well, you will forgive me for what I am now going to do, and it may seem petty, but suddenly this little war has become personal for me. I will not allow this insult to stand. Do you understand?”

“Well sir,” Fedorov thought for a moment. “If the Germans think they can come to our home waters and attack Russian ships with impunity, they will likely come to believe that they can easily close these ports and isolate Soviet Russia from any outside assistance. This may have been a reason for this operation, to test Russian resolve and measure our capabilities.”

“They are going to need a very long measuring tape,” said Volsky grimly.

Sometime later Rodenko reported to the Admiral where he sat in his ready room off the main bridge. They had just cleared the bay and were now entering the Barents Sea.

“Nikolin has received word on the German location, sir. They were hovering up near Franz-Joseph and Alexandria Islands. Now they are headed west towards Spitzbergen.”

“That will put them some 400 kilometers northeast of us,” said Fedorov. “If we steer due north we should be on a good intercept course.”

“Make it so, Mister Fedorov. When do you anticipate contact?”

“We can be well within missile range in ten hours at 24 knots. Increase that a bit and I can put you on their horizon in that same timeframe.”

“Do so, and inform me when we get within fifty kilometers. I think we will have a little chat with the German Captain and ask him to apologize for what he has done. Of course he will laugh that off. Then we will show him the error of his ways.”

“It looks like they want to pass well north of Bear Island.”

“Cold desolate waters there,” said Volsky. “But it is July, and so there should still be plenty of sea room.”

It was a time when much of the sea ice was broken into drifts, with occasional larger ice bergs leaving trails of open water behind them as they forged a path through the smaller floes, like ghostly frozen ships.

The senior officers rested, but were back on the bridge for planned operations at 18:00 on the 11th of July. By that time Kirov was well north, and had now turned west on an intercept course as the German flotilla approached Spitzbergen. Fedorov had increased speed to 30 knots to begin closing the range, and Kirov ran easily, the time at Severomorsk being well spent by Chief Byko to get much needed repairs completed on the ship’s bow. Admiral Volsky was informed that the contact was being tracked on their Fregat radar, and he returned to the bridge, his manner serious.

“Very well,” he said gruffly. “Mister Nikolin, you will begin hailing the Germans on an open channel. Tell them that they have violated Soviet territorial waters and neutrality, and that they are now holding our nationals as prisoners. They must stop. These men must be returned, or they will suffer the consequences.”

“Do I send this in Russian, sir?”

“Yes. Fedorov tells me there is a good chance they have a team aboard that will understand you. Continue your hail and report any response.”

When the message was heard on the Admiral Scheer it caused a moment of levity on the bridge. Kranke looked at the signalman with incredulity, then broke into a broad smile.