“The cleverest of all, in my opinion, is the man who calls himself a fool at least once a month.”
Chapter 10
Admiral Volsky had assembled all his key officers in the wardroom, with the bridge being manned by substitute watch standers. He sat at the head of the briefing table, his eyes on the video monitor, watching the playback that had been recorded during the overflight of the island. From time to time he would stop, and ask Orlov if this footage was indeed what he had seen. The chief nodded grimly in the affirmative.
As the video concluded, the Admiral closed his eyes briefly, rubbing a spot at his temple, then looked up at his officers and spoke in a quiet, firm voice.
“Gentlemen, from this footage it is clear to me that the meteorological station on the island is obviously missing. There is no evidence of the station facilities at any of the locations investigated, and the Loran-C antennas are missing as well.”
“Yet we did see signs of impact craters on the ground there, sir,” said Orlov. “It looked to me as if the site had been bombed or shelled. Perhaps we are at war and we have put in an air strike on NATO installations there- wiped them out!”
“These were fairly large facilities,” said the Admiral. “Did you see any evidence of wreckage? Even if these facilities had been destroyed, there would be some sign of wreckage or debris.”
“Nothing other than the impact craters we noted, sir. But the site itself seemed reconstructed from damaged metal beams and scorched wood planks.”
“Fedorov tells me this is exactly what the weather station looked like in 1941. And there was no sign of the roads that were constructed on the island after the war, nor the airfield.” The admiral tapped at one of Fedorov’s maps of the island clearly indicating these major features. “Where did they go?”
The silence around the table was profound. The men looked at one another, some wearing confused expressions, others noting the reaction of key officers, particularly Karpov and Orlov. The Admiral could clearly see that only Karpov seemed to fidget uncomfortably, the man’s restless eyes clearly revealing that he was unwilling to grasp the obvious facts they were now reviewing.
“Now,” said Volsky, “please note this photograph Mister Fedorov was kind enough to retrieve from one of his history books.” He smiled, passing a photocopy of the image around the table for the officers to review. It clearly showed the ragged bare metal beamed roof and lean-to where the helicopter had set down, as well as the piles of black volcanic rock that had been stacked into a makeshift wall at one end of the site. Then he pointed to the screen again where an image was displaying that had been taken by Fedorov's digital camera, just minutes ago. The two images were remarkably similar.
“If my eyes do not deceive me, gentlemen,” said the Admiral, “then what we are seeing in that digital photograph is a near replica of the weather station on this island as it appeared in April of 1941. As to the effects confiscated from the three Norwegians present, Mister Fedorov was able to identify one of these men. The Admiral nodded to his navigator.
“Ernst Ullring,” said Fedorov. “This man was a leader of a twelve man team from Norway which landed on March 10, 1941. Now I will read from one of my history volumes, Great World War II battles in the Arctic, by Mark Llewellyn Evans. He clearly states: ‘Once they were set up, they began sending regular weather reports every three hours, which the Germans quickly intercepted. The Luftwaffe decided to obliterate the island and launched a raid from their airfields in Norway. The German bombers streaked in low and pounded the weather station but did nothing but stir up a little lava dust. Neither the station nor the men were even scratched. Unknown to the Germans, the weathermen relied on a very sophisticated early warning system: their Norwegian huskies heard the approaching Luftwaffe engines long before their masters did, and the dogs’ barking alerted the men in time to reach shelter.’ This explains the impact craters we observed, and the dog.”
“Yes, there was a dog,” said Orlov. “A rather of obnoxious dog as well. Barked its fool head off.”
“You have further information concerning this man, Fedorov?”
“Yes, sir. His identity card states his date of birth as 18 June 1894. He was an officer in the Norwegian Navy, receiving the war cross with sword for his efforts in maintaining these Arctic weather stations, a very high distinction. He oversaw operations on this island as well as Svalbard.”
“Born in June of 1894?” said Karpov. “The man would be 127 years old! This is clearly impossible.”
“If I may, sir,” said Fedorov, “in 1941 he would be just 47 years old, about the age of the man we saw at the site, the very same man Sergeant Troyak took this identity card from.”
“Perhaps it was his father's, then,” said Karpov sourly.
“Considering the other evidence, that seems unlikely, sir. The man also had this notebook, in which he has been making meteorological notations on a daily basis.” He passed the notebook to Karpov. “You will note the date of the most recent entry, July 28, 1941. And sir, I also found this.” He pushed the newspaper he had found in the dugout across the briefing table, and Karpov glanced at it briefly, being more interested in the notebook for the time being.
“Now that is an old newspaper, to be sure,” said Fedorov. “It dates back to March of 1941, so I can only assume these men brought it with them when they landed at that time, as the history clearly indicates. But if it were authentic it would be far more weathered than it is now, yes?”
There was silence around the table until Volsky spoke. “We must also reconsider the evidence we obtained on the surface contact Rodenko has been tracking. The video feed showed ships that Mister Fedorov here has identified as WWII class vessels. We suspected this feed may have been tampered with, but seen in this light, the whole situation begins to paint a rather convincing picture, even if it must seem impossible to us all.” The Admiral stared at them, his dark eyes fixed and steady. “Gentlemen, it appears that we are not where we belong. Appearances can be deceiving, but all the evidence indicates the present year is 1941. This means that somehow, possibly as a result of that strange undersea explosion, we have shifted seventy years into the past!”
His expression was one of clear amazement. “Believe me, I have given consideration to every other possible explanation, but the evidence of our own eyes speaks volumes. We cannot contact Severomorsk on our normal coded radio channels because they did not exist in 1941. We hear nothing but old signals broadcasting WWII documentaries on the shortwave, no matter what station we tune in. We have images of obsolete ships on video, and were overflown by a plane that exists only in a museum just hours ago. And now all this…” he gestured broadly at the accumulation of evidence on the table.
“Yet if this is a psychological operation perpetrated by NATO this is exactly what they would want us to believe,” argued Karpov.
“Doctor?” The Admiral had invited the ship’s physician to the meeting as well. “Are we all losing our minds here or do we have good reason to reach these conclusions, as preposterous as they may seem.”
“Well… I am finding it difficult to assume NATO has removed all these vital installations and facilities simply for the sake of playing a psychological game on us here. Who would have dreamt up such a thing-to try and convince the flagship of the Northern Fleet that she has moved in time? The whole idea is absurd. Do you think they staged all of this, the ships, the plane, the island, just for theater? Consider the cost and requirements of such an endeavor, and could they do such a thing right here in our own back yard, as it were, without us knowing about it? Hundreds of people rely on the daily weather data transmitted from the Met station on Jan Mayen. Yet we hear nothing now. Where are the facilities that should be on the island? Fifteen or twenty buildings do not simply vanish overnight. And you cannot obliterate an airfield. If it were there, and attacked as Orlov suggests, then you would have seen obvious signs.”
“That is no more preposterous than the notion that this ship has suddenly become a time machine and the
