“The KA-40 doesn’t have the range to get me to Ilanskiy,” he said. “This was as far inland as we could go, and Lake Tokko here was an easy landmark for this rendezvous. But now I need that airship.”
“Sir?” Troyak looked up at the massive shape in the sky, growing larger with each moment as it descended, its shadow deepening on the ground around them.
“I want to take that airship. Can you disarm any men they send down in that basket?”
Troyak nodded.
“Good…” Fedorov was thinking all this through on the fly. He stared up. “Those guns look somewhat threatening. If we take action down here, those gunners will certainly see it. So I want you and your men to stow your weapons in that duffel bag. We’ll let them take us up to the airship. Then, on my signal, I want you and the Marines to take the situation in hand. Is that possible?”
“I understand sir. We’ll handle it.”
“And we can’t have anyone at the receiving end sending a warning to their bridge. So if you can overpower those men, disarm them, we can then have your men suit up in their uniforms. Then we find our way to the bridge, but make it look like you are escorting me and Orlov there as prisoners. I know this is chancy, but it’s the only thing I can think of now.”
“Damn,” said Orlov with a smile. “You’ve got some balls Fedorov. Sookin Sym!”
That was what they did, and it was an almost comical moment when Sergeant Klykov off the Irkutsk found himself staring at the likes of these tough strange men, off that equally strange aircraft. One looked to be a Siberian, rough hewn, all muscle, and with an aspect that was so threatening that Klykov instinctively stepped back when he drew close, reaching for his pistol. But the big man simply smiled, and all the others seemed to be cooperating. So they herded everyone into the cargo basket, including three duffel bags, which he checked, seeing it was all the weapons these men must have had with them. He reached for the crank on the field phone, one eye still on Troyak, who stood there, brawny arms folded over his broad chest. Orlov was chewing on something, eyeing Klykov and his men with unfriendly glances.
“The party has surrendered their weapons and we are ready to come up,” said Klykov. Seconds later the basket creaked and swayed as it slowly lifted off the ground. As for Sherenski and one other crewmen, they kept their heads down, remaining unseen in the KA-40 as Fedorov had ordered, and thankfully, this Marine Sergeant had no compulsion to search the helo.
Up they went, and unexpectedly, Troyak began speaking to the Sergeant in a Siberian dialect. “You are a Khabarovski,” he said. “I can see it in the cut of your chin. Where are you from?”
“Chumikan on the coast,” said Krykov. “And you are from this region as well?”
“Chiukchi Province. Good fishing at Chumikan. I used to fish the mouth of the Uda River as a boy there.”
Krykov gave him a nod and wan smile. The basket was up, and Troyak looked over the landing area, seeing a hatch or opening above in the outer shell of the airship, and a ladder up. Two other men off Irkutsk secured the basket and then Troyak spoke again in the same dialect.
“Sergeant,” he said. “May I have your pistol, please?”
“What?”
“No questions. Just your pistol, and if your men will hand over their rifles, then we can all get up that ladder and warm up.”
“Just a moment here,” Krykov’s eyes narrowed, and he reached for his sidearm, which was then snatched so quickly by Troyak’s sudden move that Krykov looked down at his hand, stunned to see it empty. The other men started to brandish their rifles, but that got them nowhere. Troyak’s Marines just stared them down, cold merciless stares from the Black Death.
“You might want to chamber a round before you point that at someone,” said Troyak, snatching the first rifle away as Zykov suddenly produced a pistol and leveled it at their faces.
“And you might take the time to search a man you plan to take as a prisoner,” said Zykov with a cold smile.
“Now then,” said Troyak. “We will also require your uniforms….”
“What’s taking them so long to get forward?” said Symenko, still on the bridge of the Irkutsk. “Alright, Helmsman, take us up to 2000 meters, and set course for home. Ahead two thirds when you reach elevation. I’ll be in my stateroom above,” he finished.
He took the ladder up, entering the vast interior of the airship, and then saw a clump of men on the main central walkway along the spine of the ship, coming forward from the tail section where the cargo basket had been lowered. He could see the uniforms of his Marines, and two other men being herded along. In the darkness he could not get a head count, and he just growled over his shoulder.
“You men follow me to the stateroom, and step lively.”
That was exactly what Troyak and the others did, with himself, Zykov, Chenko and Durbin all decked out in the other men’s uniforms, the last carrying their own digs in a small duffel bag, along with their weapons. At the moment, they simply used the rifles they had taken from Krykov’s men to look as authentic as possible to anyone who might have seen them. Zykov looked up into the massive overhead interior of the airship, impressed by the huge airbags, and seeing men on the riggings above, some on ladders, others walking on horizontal metal walkways between them.
They reached the door to the Captain’s stateroom, seeing Symenko tramp in without so much as a casual glance behind him. He walked straight to the far wall, flipped a switch to start a small heater, and then slowly began pulling off his gloves, his back still turned to the party as he warmed his hands.
“I’ll never get used to this cold out here,” he muttered. “Alright Sergeant Krykov. Make your report.”
“The Sergeant is otherwise disposed,” said Fedorov, which prompted Symenko to turn, a startled look on his face. He saw the group of strangers, the tough looking men in ill fitting uniforms, and tumblers clicked in his mind, unlocking his pent up anger.
“God almighty, what the hell is this about?” He looked them over, his suspicions growing. “If that bastard Karpov has double crossed me again… Where are my men?”
“Safe in that cargo basket, though I daresay they might need some blankets. You are Captain of this ship?”
“Damn right I’m the Captain, but who the hell are you. Karpov sent you to do this? Well, he might have saved himself the trouble if he wanted me relieved. Damn that man—yes, I’ll say it right here to your faces. Who the hell are you?”
He could see that Fedorov clearly wore a naval uniform, as did the big man behind him. As for Fedorov, his mind was lightning quick. “Captain, I’m sorry to say that I will be relieving you—at least for the time being. But I’ll need your cooperation.”
“Cooperation?”
“Correct. I need to get to Ilanskiy, and as quickly as possible. Isn’t that where you were bound from here?”
“We’re making for Irkutsk, on orders from his highness.”
“I’m countermanding those orders?”
“You? Well I can’t say Karpov will take a liking to that.”
“Nor I, but it’s imperative that I get to Ilanskiy.”
“Karpov’s there—or at least I’m told he will be. I hope you’re prepared to deal with that when you get there. Was this his doing? To pull me about by the nose like this, and then relieve me? I never thought the bastard really trusted me. Once a Volkov man, always a Volkov man, or so I’ve heard him mutter at times. I should have known better when he gave me this ship. He’s pulled the same thing that Volkov did, just using me for his devices and then, here you come, in that nice new uniform, to take it all away.”