Commissar Molla was one of Beria’s men, working in the Caucasus regional commiserate. From what Fedorov had told him he had learned that whole area was now controlled by someone else, a man named Volkov. Would Molla still be up to no good there? Stalin was gone, killed long ago, so was Beria working for this Volkov figure now? He didn’t learn much about him, but it was clear that Fedorov was very upset about that man. He could see it in the young officer’s eyes, hear it in his voice.
If Molla was still alive, would things happen as his grandfather had told him? Would he still find his grandmother and do what he did before? If that is so, he thought grimly, then I am going to have to enjoy choking him again. He smiled at that, still seeing the Commissar’s red face turn slowly purple, his eyes bugging out and his smart ass mouth shut once and for all. He finished what he came to do, then walked calmly out of that prison to freedom-until the Russian Marines found him.
Damn Fedorov had the balls to come all the way across the continent just to bring me home. He scouted on ahead for 2000 miles to sniff out my trail and then brought in the Marines! And all of that coming from the year 2021, or so he knew now. Pretty damn ballsy, eh? Fedorov was a hard-nosed boss when he had to be. He got things done too.
Orlov shook his head, but he could not help but admire Fedorov. The man had trail blazed a path all through his own damn history books to find me, and then to get after Karpov when he learned he had the ship way back in 1908. The men had told him all about it.
“Hey Orlov,” they said, “you missed all the fun. Karpov was kicking every ass we ran into, throwing missiles everywhere-nukes too! But this damn ship just wouldn’t stay put. We kept slipping farther and farther back. Can you believe it? 1908?”
No, he still couldn’t believe it. The whole thing was too confounding and mind boggling to contemplate. Orlov believed in very few things to a certainty-a good steak, vodka, a nice piece of ass when he could find one, and a hard fist when he was real pissed off. Those were the bounds of his reality. All this business about traveling through time was more than he could think about or comprehend. He never understood why all this happened, but he had come to accept it, because there was still vodka in this world, good food, and there were still women there too worth the trouble. 1940 wasn’t so bad. He would get on quite well here, but look at me now, he thought. Here I am floating over the Barents sea in a blimp! What are we really after this time? Why is Troyak here with all his men?
He had been in on the main briefing, but Fedorov seemed deliberately vague about what they were doing this time. They were to go east to Port Dikson, a place Orlov had visited only once in his day, then from there they would turn south and vanish into the endless taiga wilderness of Siberia. What was the name of the place? Ilanskiy. Orlov had never heard of that town, just another desolate hamlet on the edge of nowhere, like so many lost and forgotten settlements in Siberian Russia.
We go there, Troyak and Zykov go in to scout the place out and take down the objective. They brought enough explosives with them to leave a crater ten feet deep! I asked why they were doing this, but Fedorov just said it was classified. What the hell was that? Well I’ll classify this whole situation in two seconds. It’s got something to do with this time travel crap. Fedorov wouldn’t say anything else, but that’s what I think. What could it be?
In once sense it did not matter. Orlov knew he was just along for the ride. He was given command of the reserve squad, and it was to stay aboard the zeppelin unless Troyak and Zykov got into trouble down there.
Trouble… Yes, that was going to be his only ticket off this blimp this time. Trouble. Well, if there was one thing Orlov was good at, that was high on the list. I’ll find some way off this ship, he thought, just like I found a way off Kirov. I jumped ship before and I can do the same now if I want to. And this time I’ll be a little more careful and no one will ever find me.
Russia is a very big place
Part XI
“Life's a forge. Yes, and hammer and anvil, too.
You'll be roasted, smelted, and pounded, and you'll scarce know what's happening to you.
But stand proudly to it. Metal is worthless till it is shaped and tempered.
More labor than luck.
Face the pounding, don't fear the proving; and you'll stand well against any hammer and anvil.”
Chapter 31
When Lieutenant Commander Wells got the news he had been nominated for a promotion and appointment to his first ship he was elated. Then he learned he was to be reassigned to HMS Glorious and his mood dampened. He had his hopes set on a fast cruiser, and might even have been more pleased to Captain a destroyer. He knew they would never give him anything bigger, and was very surprised when he learned he would now be commanding his old carrier.
At least Woody will be there, he thought. Old Woodfield. What will he say now that I’m sitting in Captain D’Oyly Hughes chair? Well I can start changing things right off, the minute I set foot on the ship. I’ll coordinate well with the Air Wing Commander. I hear Heath was exonerated and returned to the ship after Lieutenant Commander
Stevens went down in that brave attack against the Twins. My Executive Officer is a good man, Alfred Lovell, and then there is Mister Barker to be relied upon, as good a Lieutenant Commander as they come.
So he thanked Admiral Tovey for the internship aboard HMS Invincible, and even more for his faith in him at the helm of Glorious.
“You’ll have a tough job ahead down there, Wells,” said Tovey. “Somerville is a no nonsense admiral, professional through and through, but with a good heart and outstanding character. I’m sure you will learn much more from him than I could ever teach you here.”
“Yet one day I might be glad to be back aboard a battlecruiser, sir,” Wells smiled, shook the Admiral’s hand and he was on his way.
Once he found himself in the Captain’s chair he became a no nonsense Captain as well. They had sailed south with two venerable old battleships, Rodney and Nelson, and a pack of destroyers. Wells made sure he had planes up in every direction, mostly on U-boat watch for he knew the German capital ships were all up north at the time. Yet he would certainly not ever allow himself to be caught flat footed, and always had a good watch posted on the mainmast and a second squadron spotted on deck at all times.
It wasn’t the Germans he had to worry about for the moment, he thought. Strange to think it was the French now! That navy has some fine ships in it. What if they fight? Will it come to that? One look at those two fat battleships out there told him all he needed to know about what might happen. So now he set his mind on planning what his role would be in these operations.
Soon they reached Gibraltar, the men glad to feel the warm July breeze of the Mediterranean as the ship pulled into the harbor. It was not long before he was summoned to present himself to Admiral Somerville, who now set his flag on HMS Nelson.
“Mers — el-Kebir, gentlemen,” said Somerville. “That is the primary French base in French Algeria, Oran, and I am now in receipt of a message from the Admiralty directing me to take immediate and drastic action against French ships remaining in Oran. “
The Flag Officers and senior Captains were all meeting on HMS Nelson for the final briefing prior to the launch of what was now being called “Operation Catapult.” Somerville opened with a brief rundown of what Force H might encounter.