“Let’s hope the damn ship’s compass settles down,” said Zykov. “How do you know you can keep us heading south? What if we get lost again?”
“I think I know where we are on the chart now. The river splits here, and one branch leads south for a while. There should be a little Evenik village called Kuyumba soon. Then it will begin to jog east again, and If you think you have seen the real nightmare in Siberia, let me tell you that you have seen nothing yet. That way leads to hell on earth. There’s a place there where every tree has been blown to the ground, for hundreds of kilometers in every direction. I think you know of what I speak.”
Selikov folded his arms, considering. “Shall we try to get south from here?”
No one objected.
Chapter 9
They eventually found the small village Selikov had mentioned, no more than a few log cabins and wood sheds by the winding Tunguska River. Even though their compass was still quivering, the effects were less pronounced, and the Captain was confident that he had the nose of the airship pointed south. So they left the river, vanishing over the green wilderness, where small rivulets formed a web that wandered through the taiga forest, aimless waterways to nowhere. It was another three hours at about 80KPH before Selikov was heartened to see what looked to be a substantial river, running perpendicular to his present course, just as he had hoped.
“There is the Angara,” he said jubilantly. “With steady weather and a nudge in the right direction I can still navigate without a compass. Look,” he pointed for Orlov to see. “The needle still can’t seem to find its way north.”
“So how do we find Ilanskiy?”
“It should be about another 275 kilometers, due south on our present heading. Look there,” he pointed at the river below. “That’s the village of Boguchany on the Angara River. Another three hours should do it. The only problem is that we still have this odd interference on many of the ship’s systems, including our RUS-1 radar. What about that thing you mounted on the gondola?”
“The Oko panel? That is our radar,” said Orlov. “But Troyak says it suffers the same effects. We’re getting a signal but not at the ranges we would expect. It’s very strange. That is a heavily shielded system, very resistant to jamming or any other disturbances. All the radio equipment is cloudy as well. I thought it would abate when we got farther south, but it persists.”
“Well I don’t like going in blind like this,” Selikov warned.
“Don’t worry,” Orlov admonished. “This place is still out in the middle of nowhere-just a backwater stop along the Trans-Siberian rail, and I’m told there are very few trains these days. This should be a quick in and out. Troyak is very efficient.”
Selikov shook his head. He didn’t even really know why he was on this mission, or why Ilanskiy was in any way important. He had simply been told to ferry the Marines to the location, set them down, and provide air cover while they were on the ground. Once they were recovered, then he was to bring them home. A little over an hour later, however, they were about to find out that there was more going on at Ilanskiy than any of them could have believed.
The Oko panel radar finally began to pick up a number of airborne contacts to the south, one at very close range. It was clearly an aircraft, though it did not approach. Zykov was monitoring the system with his mobile equipment pack, and reported.
“That plane was probably close enough to spot us,” he said. “As for the other contacts, they have to be airships. There is no movement. I believe they are hovering in place.”
“How many?” Captain Selikov turned his head as Zykov reported.
“I count four main contacts, and there appear to be a few aircraft up as well.”
Selikov was not happy to hear this, and quickly convened a meeting with Troyak and Orlov. “Well gentlemen,” he said. “Either someone has wind of this little mission or they have just decided to throw a party out here in the middle of nowhere. Your man here says there are four airships to the south, and if we can see them, then they will certainly see us if we continue.”
“Four airships? Sookin Syn! What have we gotten ourselves into here? Could they have been sent here to stop us?”
“I doubt anyone knew of this mission. Spies could have seen us depart from Severomorsk, or even Port Dikson, but after that we’ve been lost in Siberia, and there would be no way anyone could predict our final destination like this. No. This has to be something more, but I certainly did not expect this here at a small rail depot like Ilanskiy. What do we do?”
Orlov thought for a moment. “Can we get through to Kirov on your military radio now, Troyak?”
“Interference is still clouding over the signals, but I will try.”
“You can’t count on getting through,” said Selikov. “You have to decide whether to push this mission forward, or abort. If they are on to us, those four airships will make an end of us in short order. I’m hovering in place. Moving south now would be suicide. You want to go on with this, then you will have to do it on the ground.”
“On the ground? How far are we from Ilanskiy?
“Well over 120 kilometers! It will have to be a very long walk if you go, and there is no way I can get you out in that event, not with four goddamn airships south. We should turn tail and head north again at once.”
Karpov sat across from Air Commandant Symenko, a self satisfied look on his face as he poured them both a glass of brandy.
“Just something to warm you up,” he said. “I regret that caution dictated I take a fairly hard line with you, Captain. But you will see that I am not uncouth, or even spiteful. Forgive my remarks concerning Omsk. They were uncalled for, but understand that city was never Volkov’s to take or give away. It was ours, the Free Siberian State, and now the border is back where it belongs, west of Isilkul.”
Symenko accepted the apology, such as it was, and took a lingering sip of the brandy, finding it very good, particularly with the fresh summer sausage and a bit of aged cheese and crackers to go along with it.
“You have a delivery to make?”
“That I do.”
“What was so important that it could not be handed off to a Lieutenant. There was no need for you to come up in that drafty spy basket.”
“Orders are orders,” Symenko said flatly, and he hefted the diplomatic pouch up onto the table.
Karpov gave it a long look, curious, but waiting. What was there? He summoned a Lieutenant, telling him to open the brief while he continued to eat his cold cuts, seemingly unconcerned, in spite of his curiosity. The man undid the leather straps, and pulled out a plain oversized envelope, placing it on the table near Karpov’s left arm. Then he saluted and withdrew.
Karpov gave it a sideward’s glance, finishing a morsel and taking another sip of brandy. “You were ordered to bring both airships, Symenko, or was that your idea?”
“Orders, plain and simple.”
“Then I suppose this must be important.” Karpov sighed, taking up the envelope and opening it to find a letter, addressed to him and signed by Ivan Volkov. As he read it silently, it was all he could do to keep the emotion from his face in front of Symenko.
It was information he had long wondered about, and now Volkov’s intelligence network had finally answered the question that had lingered in his mind for some time. They had found the ship- Kirov — his ship. It was spotted at Murmansk, but what were they doing there?
A moment’s thought answered that question. They obviously shifted, dragging him along with them as he suspected, but they would have found themselves in the Pacific. Knowing Fedorov, he would have quickly learned what had happened politically here. They certainly could not return to Vladivostok under these conditions, so they must have sailed home to Murmansk. My god, that will mean Sergei Kirov might have learned about the ship that bears his name. This opened door after door in his mind, dark yawning possibilities, and each portal filled with yet more questions.