Kirov II: Cauldron of Fire

weeks. Come back when you know more and we’ll all have a chance to sort it through—you, me and the Admiral.”

“Probably best,” said Fedorov. “I’ll get up to the bridge then—oh yes—do you remember that book I brought with me and gave to the Admiral? The Chronology of the War at Sea?”

“Need to do some more reading? What are you fishing out now, Fedorov?”

“I need to check some dates and times.”

Zolkin folded his arms, rubbing his thick beard as he thought. “Well I think the Admiral had that book in his quarters. After this Karpov business was finished it kept him up reading a good many nights.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be off now.” He looked at the three men lying under those sheets. “What should we do about them? I suppose a burial at sea would be appropriate.”

“I’ll handle that,” said Zolkin. “You’ve enough to worry about as things stand now. Go and find your book.”

Fedorov tipped his hat with grim nod as he left, and Zolkin shook his head after him.

Yes, there was a great deal on his shoulders now, thought Fedorov. More than he had ever tried to carry in his life. He wondered if it would break his back, or if his legs would give out from under him in a crucial moment that would cost them all much more than the lives of those three men.

As he walked on down the long corridor to the ship’s officer’s quarters a fragment of a poem came to him when he thought about the men he had seen there in sick bay.

No heroes death for those who die
in boats where none can see.
no wreaths, no flags, no bugle calls —
just peace, beneath the sea…

Part II THE OPERATION

“It will be necessary to make another attempt to run a convoy into Malta. The fate of the island is at stake, and if the effort to relieve it is worth making, it is worth making on a great scale. Strong battleship escort capable of fighting the Italian battle squadron and strong Aircraft Carrier support would seem to be required. Also at least a dozen fast supply ships, for which super-priority over all civil requirements must be given. I shall be glad to know in the course of the day what proposals can be made, as it will be right to telegraph to Lord Gort thus preventing despair in the population. He must be able to tell them: ‘The Navy will never abandon Malta.’”

~ Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill

Most Secret memo to the first lord of the Admiralty, the First Sea Lord, and his Chief of Staff, Gen. H. L. “Pug” Ismay.

Chapter 4

Fedorov flipped through the pages of his book, intent on running down Nikolin’s clues in the history. His first thought was that the ship had rebounded in time, and had returned to the year 1941, but as he read the entries for activity in the Mediterranean, he could see nothing that mated with the cryptic message his radio man had received. He was sitting in the quiet of the Admiral’s cabin, where he had found the book there on the nightstand, just as Zolkin had advised him.

“An eagle, a ship, the fifth of the war,” he muttered aloud. He was sure of his hunch now. HMS Eagle was the name of a British aircraft carrier operating in the Med during 1941 and 1942. She was found by a German U-boat that slipped inside her destroyer screen and the carrier was hit by four torpedoes broadside, keeling over and sinking in a matter of minutes. There! He had the reference now, and he had slipped in a photograph of the from page of the Daily Telegraph when the story broke in England under the glaring headline: “Fifth Aircraft Carrier Lost.” He squinted at the blurry text, reading:

“Admiralty communique this afternoon announced that the aircraft carrier H.M.S. Eagle has been sunk by a U-boat in the Mediterranean. A large number of the ship's company are safe. Next of kin will be informed as soon as details are received.

H.M.S. Eagle, 22,600 tons was commanded by Captain L. D. Mackintosh. She was begun by Armstrong Whitworth as a battleship for the Chilean Navy in 1913, but in 1917 Britain purchased her for 1,334,358 pounds and she was commissioned for trials as an aircraft carrier on April 13, 1920.

The last British aircraft carrier to be lost was Hermes, which went down last April in sight of Ceylon, sunk by Japanese bombing. Since the outbreak of war three others have been lost. The first was Courageous, torpedoed in September, 1939. Glorious was lost in 1940 after an action with the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau off Norway, and the third was Ark Royal.”

Eagle was the fifth carrier lost in the war, thought Fedorov. He had been correct! But oddly, when he checked the date of the article it read August 12, 1942, a full year after their last dreadful ordeal in the North Atlantic. Since then they had vanished into to some unknown future time where blackened cinders seemed to be all that remained of the world. They had cruised across the whole of the Atlantic and Mediterranean Sea, and their chronometer now read August 20. Yet checking his references it was clear that the Eagle had been sunk August 11, 1942 at 1:15PM, and that story in the Daily Telegraph had come out a day later. The dates did not match up, and he was suddenly confused.

The attack by that plane, clearly not a modern aircraft of any sort, and the sudden change from darkest night to mid-day sunshine convinced him that they were indeed outcasts in another time again. Was Nikolin receiving a radio story about an event that happened weeks ago? Or was the event current, happening now, and a clear signpost to their present position in time? He needed more information, and he looked to his radioman eagerly for any further news.

He stood up, feeling the urgency of the moment and nagged by the realization that he should be on the bridge. As he did so he noticed a photo of the Admiral and his wife together there on the nightstand, and the thin tracings of pen on paper. The Admiral had been writing a letter, it seemed, and Fedorov had been so intent on getting his hands on the Chronology of the War at Sea that he did not even notice it until he stood to leave. He passed a brief moment tussling with the temptation to read the letter. The clear salutation was written at the top in a firm hand, “My Darling Wife….”

He smiled to think that if the Admiral had begun this letter earlier, when they were in the heat of action in the Denmark Strait, the woman had not even been born yet! And if he composed it in recent days it was clear that she could not have survived the devastation they had seen as they cruised from one blackened shore to another.

He was touched by the moment, but his thoughts suddenly left him feeling very alone. Every man finds his comfort somewhere within, he realized. Even the Admiral needed someone to hear him out on the long, empty nights aboard ship, lost as they were in this impossible dilemma, so he wrote to his unseen wife. Every man held on to something—memories, places, people he had known and loved, all wrapped up in that nurturing inner place he called “home.”