the Orel did have an accident, either with one of her missiles or reactor cores. There is a massive explosion, right at her plotted position, and this has some strange effect on space-time. Who knows, perhaps our reactor cores were affected as well.”
“Space-time?” Volsky frowned.
“That’s what we live in,” said Zolkin. “Four dimensions that we know of, length, breadth, height and time. Lump them together and we get space-time, unless Einstein is mistaken.” He laughed. “Alright… now, I am no Einstein, but if a massive explosion can move things in the three dimensions comprising space as we know it, why not the fourth as well?”
“You are suggesting we were literally blown into the past by the shock wave of this explosion?”
“For the sake of argument,” said Zolkin. “Let us suppose as much. If we take this view then everything we have observed would make sense in that light. The only place in which it remains confounding, and clearly impossible, is if we assume we are still in our own time, the year 2021. It is only there that these ships and planes and voices on the radio become inexplicable, correct?”
The Admiral nodded, and Fedorov shook his head as well, his eyes wide with renewed excitement. If the ship’s physician could believe these things, then he was not losing his mind after all. The doctor went on.
“And considering a few other oddities… Slava and Orel have vanished, yes? Well perhaps Orel was destroyed by this explosion, and Slava remains unaffected, still in position, only in the year 2021 where she should be. That ship was well south of Orel’s position, the shock wave may not have been enough to move her. So that would account for her disappearance. In fact, from her perspective, we are the ship that has vanished!” He laughed at that, pleased with his own circuitous reasoning. “Slava’s captain could be there thinking that both Orel and Kirov were destroyed in that explosion. What else would he conclude?”
“As to the other oddities, if this is July of 1941, Mister Fedorov would indeed have no GPS satellites to communicate with, nor would the crew be able to log on to the Internet, as they have all been complaining. Severomorsk was not a major modern naval base until well after WWII, though I believe we had air fields there in 1941. But the place wasn’t even called Severomorsk until the 1950s. It was Vaenga before that time, right?”
“Yes,” said Fedorov, “and the fleet was called the White Sea Flotilla back in 1941, not the Northern Fleet.”
“So perhaps this explains the silence from North Fleet headquarters,” Zolkin continued. “All these clues make sense if this is indeed the year 1941.” He finished, taking a sip of tea and looking at them matter of factly.
“Now then…” Zolkin cleared his voice. “On the other hand, let us take Captain Karpov’s view that this is a psychological operation staged by NATO. Let us assume the explosion was a new weapon of some kind, designed to disorient and impair mental functioning. Who knows what they have come up with? A microwave bomb? Who knows? Under this theory, we would have to assume that the video feed was fed to us, in spite of your rigorous examination of that file. And we must assume that all these radio transmissions are false. That means NATO would have to be able to control the transmission of virtually every radio station on earth, correct?”
“Nikolin has monitored, London, Moscow, Oslo, New York, even Tokyo on shortwave bands. Every single station is broadcasting old documentaries from the Second World War.” Fedorov folded his arms, waiting.
“Correct, unless NATO has some kind of electronic spoofing ship out there that is quietly jamming normal radio bands and broadcasting this misinformation on all known channels from that era. This, too, is a possibility.”
“What about the Fulmar!” Fedorov said quickly. “Did they manufacture that as well?”
“Correct,” said Zolkin. “You tell me these planes no longer exist, but what if this model was rebuilt just for this exercise. Is it not odd that only this single plane was sent against us from this British carrier task force? We have seen nothing else.”
“But why, Dmitri?” said the Admiral. “Surely this is a great deal of effort to toy with us as you suggest.”
“If they are testing a new weapon, some top secret black-ops gizmo, then in this light we have an equally compelling scenario, yes? Perhaps they wish to observe the effects of this weapon first hand, monitor our reaction. Yes, it would be real psychological warfare on a much grander scale, and we are their guinea pigs for this nefarious experiment.”
“What about Slava?” asked Fedorov. “How could they make her disappear?”
“She may have been intercepted, boarded, and escorted from the scene to reinforce our confusion,” said Zolkin.
Admiral Volsky looked at Fedorov, and back at the doctor. “Which is it, Dmitri? The situation is insane under both scenarios. Boarded? That was a Russian cruiser-old, but still armed and fully capable of defending herself. We would have seen her missiles, detected some evidence of a battle, but there was nothing-only this strange undersea explosion, and she was gone. Which am I to believe?”
“Take your pick,” said Zolkin. “You must assume one scenario or the other, and then act accordingly. Fedorov tells me the ship’s radar was amiss just after that detonation. Perhaps there was a battle, but you could not detect it. In any case, if the ship was displaced in time as a result of this explosion, and it is indeed 1941, that will soon become apparent to anyone determined to test that hypothesis with actions. If, on the other hand, this is an elaborate NATO ruse, that can be tested by bold maneuvers as well, yes? You say there is a task force out there? Then find it. Confront it. That will solve the issue one way or another.” The doctor took a last sip of his tea and folded his hands, smiling.
“It certainly would,” said the Admiral. “Yet to do so would mean we would have to sail within visual range of that surface action group. If things came to a fight, it would not put us in a very good position. We noted 12 ships in the enemy group.”
“Well, if they are old British ships from the Second World War, what have you to worry about?” Zolkin raised his hands.
“Pardon me, sir,” said Fedorov. “I would not underestimate this British fleet, whether it was from 1941 or the present. Those two carriers will have roughly thirty planes each, so we might be facing simultaneous attack by sixty aircraft. And those two heavy cruisers have eight big guns each that can range out to twelve miles. We would have to be within that range to make a certain visual contact in these weather conditions. I don't have to tell you what an eight inch diameter shell might do to some of the equipment we have on board. Only the two command citadels and reactor core areas are armored well enough to take such a hit and possibly survive intact. Suppose it were to penetrate the forward hull and ignite the missile fuel on our Moskit-IIs? Our armor there is only 80 to 100 millimeters thick, and an 8 inch shell can penetrate that easily enough. As powerful as we may be, this ship is very vulnerable at close range like that.”
“Which is why Captain Karpov wants to take the ship up behind Jan Mayen, putting the island between us and this enemy task force. From there we can fire our fast missile barrages with much greater effect. It's a much stronger defensive position.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Doctor. “Assuming this is 1941, your point is well taken, Mister Fedorov. But if it is still a late summer day in 2021, then we may find the enemy surface action group is no more than one or two NATO picket ships with these electronic spoofing devices broadcasting a false radar contact along with their dummy radio and video feeds. As I said before, bold action in either case, will settle the matter one way or the other. You have no choice, Admiral. You will eventually have to close with this task force and discover the truth.”
“That may not be necessary,” said Fedorov quietly.
The Admiral looked at him, waiting. “You have another idea Lieutenant Fedorov?”
“Well, sir, now that you mention Jan Mayen, there’s a weather station there, and we’re heading that way even as we speak. I thought about this after we lost satellite GPS, so I switched to Loran-C, as there is a big antenna on the island, or at least there was one after 1960. That was down too when I tried to get a signal. Yet there still should be a meteorological station there. It was burned down when the war started, but the Germans never occupied the island, and men were back with a small Norwegian military detachment in 1941 to restore the weather station and set up a coastal radio relay outfit there. In our day there’s a four man team there year round at Metten, or the Met as we call it. So all we have to do is send a helo with a few men to see who’s home. Surely they can’t hide all those modern prefab buildings and other facilities on the island. If we find them we will know this is 2021, as it should be. If we do not…”
The Admiral smiled broadly, looking at the doctor, who laughed, nodding his head. “There you are, Admiral,” he said. “I certify your navigator as sane and fit for duty!”
The Admiral stood up, clasping his Lieutenant on the shoulder. “Fedorov,” he said. “You’re a genius! Return
