an inward sigh of relief.
The Admiral had spent the last hour and a half in his cabin reading from Fedorov’s book. As eager as he was to resolve the confounding riddles he had been dealing with these last hours, the lure of the information presented in the volume seemed too compelling. It was as if he had already determined what the most likely outcome of his mission to the isolated island outpost would be, a feeling that he was now actually facing the impossible notion that the world was off its kilter, and that he and his ship had slipped through some gaping crack into another time. If that were so, he wanted to know what the days ahead might hold for him, and Fedorov’s volume was quite enlightening. Finally, his need for certainty outweighed the fanciful thoughts that danced in his mind and he roused himself, returning to the bridge.
“Admiral on the bridge,” said a mishman at the watch.
“As you were, gentlemen,” said Volsky.
Captain Karpov straightened himself and turned to acknowledge the Admiral, leaving his conference with Rodenko.
“We’re twelve hours northeast of Jan Mayen,” said Karpov. “I’ve come to a heading of 250, but Rodenko reports two ships have broken off from the main group and are heading north on an intercept course at 22 knots.”
“They are heading for the island?” asked Volsky.
“Apparently so,” said Karpov. The Admiral seemed surprised by something, though he could not think what it might be. This seemed a predictable tactic in the Captain’s mind and he said as much. “These are most likely radar pickets to screen the main body, sir. We’ll have to be ready to deal with them.”
Volsky glanced up at Karpov beneath his heavy brows. The man was still convinced this was a NATO maneuver, and his thoughts and actions ran entirely along that track. Yet the aggressive undertone in his remark did not go unnoticed. Karpov was plotting out the best way to kill these ships and defend Kirov from any possible attack. That was admirable in one respect, but he knew he would have to keep a firm rein on his Captain if events led them onto a difficult situation.
“I want to get there first,” said Volsky. “Is the KA-226 refueled and ready for operations?”
“Sir? Well, yes, I believe so, Admiral.”
“Very good. I had a chat with Mister Fedorov earlier. Both his GPS and Loran-C navigation links are down and he believes he might be able to re-sync with the facility on Jan Mayen. Captain, please order the KA-226 to be ready for liftoff in fifteen minutes. I’m sending Mister Fedorov over to coordinate…” He allowed a deliberate pause, then leaned in a little closer to the Captain, lowering his voice. “The fresh air may do him some good. But as Norway is a NATO member, I think it wise that we include an armed detachment of Marines with this visit. Do you concur?”
Karpov brightened at that suggestion. “Good idea, Admiral. I’ll have Orlov select the men.” It seemed the Admiral was finding his backbone, he thought. He had considered the possibility that a NATO force could have been operating on the island, complicit in the operation they were dealing with.
“Speaking of the devil…” Admiral Volsky looked for his dour Chief and found him with Samsonov. “Mister Orlov, would you kindly join us?”
“Right away, sir.” Orlov gave Samsonov a reassuring tap on the shoulder and walked briskly over to the Admiral. “How is the headache, sir?”
“Still there, Orlov, but I’m going to see if you can help clear things up for me.”
“Sir?”
“I want you to select a marine rifle squad and pay a visit to the weather station out on Jan Mayen. I’m sending Mister Fedorov along as well. We want to see why our Loran-C navigation feeds are down. Land at the station and secure the complex with your marines. Mister Fedorov will then report directly to me by radio, and if, for any reason, communications are not possible, then Mister Fedorov will document activities there and you will return to the ship as quickly as possible. Is that clear?”
“I’ll see to it, sir. But what are we looking for?”
“Fedorov will handle that. He will direct the initial over-flight and select the landing spot. Understood? And he is to have free reign to make any investigation deemed necessary there. You are to support and secure his effort and make a safe return.” The Admiral gave him the hint of a smile. “One more thing… as the island is officially Norwegian territory, please be polite, Mister Orlov. Firm, but polite, yes?”
Jan Mayen was a bleak Arctic island, shaped a bit like a turkey leg and stretching some 32 kilometers from end to end. The thicker, northern segment was dominated by the Beerenberg Volcano, an imposing 8,000 foot high cone that was entirely covered with ice and snow year round. At the narrow handle of the leg there were flat, featureless lowlands, and it was here that a few hardy souls would hold forth in a small number of scientific and communications facilities.
Once the Vikings had landed here during their wandering exploration of the region. In the 1600’s whalers thought to set up a commercial center there with over a thousand men, and Denmark and Norway haggled over possession of the island until it was eventually abandoned after 1650, left a deserted and desolate frozen rock in the Arctic sea until a weather station was set up there in 1921. When WWII broke out it was home to no more than four Norwegian meteorologists, and their buildings were burned in 1940 when they abandoned the post in fear of imminent German occupation. Deemed “Island X” by wartime planners, Jan Mayen was considered an important Arctic outpost, and by March of 1941 a few meteorologists and Norwegian troops returned to set up a radio relay station and weather outpost again. The Germans bombed the place and occasionally tried to slip a few men ashore by U-boat, but it largely remained in Allied hands throughout the war, the only free Norwegian soil until Germany capitulated in 1945.
The radio soundings and pressure, temperature, and humidity checks made by the station offered a vital early appraisal of the weather, and figured heavily in some of the most momentous decisions of the war, particularly Eisenhower’s choice as to the timing of the D-Day invasion. By 1959 NATO set up a large 200 foot Loran-C antenna for Long Range Radio Navigation which eventually saw a few more buildings set up at facility called Olonkin. In modern times the meteorological station was a sturdy pre-fabricated all weather building with aluminum siding painted olive drab green, and a rust colored burgundy roof that blended in with the loamy russet soil there. Compared to earlier facilities, it would seem like a luxurious lodge. In WWII the station was built on the old burned out ruins of the 1921 facility, with a few salvageable beams of wood forming a lean-to against the biting arctic wind, and a trench dug into the stony cold ground there. Yet by 2021 it was a comfortable, modern facility, with a sitting room mounting the hide of a great polar bear on its wall, a library, full kitchen, and offices equipped with computers and satellite phones.
Fedorov planned to head for this location first. If the building was not there it would tell him everything he needed to know. He was seated up front, sandwiched between the pilot and Orlov, and feeling a bit uncomfortable next to the sour faced Chief. Orlov was a temperamental man. One moment he could chat with you as if you were an old friend, and the next minute he would berate you for the slightest lapse of duty. It was clear that he was not happy to be put into a support role on this mission.
“What were you doing in the sick bay, Fedorov? The Admiral seems overly fond of you all of a sudden.”
Fedorov noted the implication, but dared say nothing in return. He sat silently, uncomfortably, and pretended to be scanning ahead for the island. A squad of six Marines were seated on the two back benches, led by the ruthlessly efficient Sergeant Kandemir Troyak, the stony, iron man of the ship’s twenty man marine detachment. Fedorov was not a fighting man. His skill as a navigator and pathfinder were well proven, but he felt ill at ease with the gruff and dour faced marines.
It was not long before they spotted the high icy cone of the volcano ahead, and Orlov needled Fedorov as they approached the bleak island. “What have you been digging up this time, Fedorov? Got on the Admiral’s good side, did you? Are you thinking to get your hands on some vodka or perhaps a box of those wonderful Cuban cigars?”
The Admiral’s generosity was well known with those that had gained his favor, but Fedorov merely smiled. Volsky had pulled him aside and told him to say nothing of their discussion with the doctor, and keep his wits about him at all times, particularly with Orlov and Troyak aboard.
“Make for the panhandle, that narrow low-lying neck there,” Fedorov pointed as they drew closer. “I want to over-fly the Meteorological station first.”
