Paradox Hour

Paradox Hour

Number XVI of
Kirov

John Schettler

The Writing Shop Press (2015)

Kirov Saga:

Paradox Hour

By

John Schettler

A publication of:
The Writing Shop Press

Paradox Hour
, Copyright©2015, John A. Schettler

Discover other titles by John Schettler:
The Kirov Saga:
(Military Fiction)

Kirov
-
Kirov Series - Volume I
Cauldron Of Fire -
Kirov Series - Volume II

Pacific Storm -
Kirov Series - Volume III

Men Of War -
Kirov Series - Volume IV
Nine Days Falling -
Kirov Series - Volume V

Fallen Angels -
Kirov Series - Volume VI

Devil’s Garden -
Kirov Series - Volume VII

Armageddon
– Kirov Series – Volume VIII

Altered States
– Kirov Series – Volume IX
Darkest Hour
– Kirov Series – Volume X
Hinge Of Fate
– Kirov Series – Volume XI

Three Kings
– Kirov Series – Volume XII

Grand Alliance
– Kirov Series – Volume XIII
Hammer Of God
– Kirov Series – Volume XIV
Crescendo Of Doom
– Kirov Series – Volume XV
Paradox Hour
– Kirov Series – Volume XVI

Award Winning Science Fiction:

Meridian
-
Meridian Series - Volume I
Nexus Point
- Meridian Series - Volume II
Touchstone
- Meridian Series - Volume III

Anvil of Fate
- Meridian Series - Volume IV
Golem 7
- Meridian Series - Volume V
Classic Science Fiction:
Wild Zone
- Dharman Series - Volume I
Mother Heart
- Dharman Series - Volume II
Historical Fiction:
Taklamakan
- Silk Road Series - Volume I
Khan Tengri
- Silk Road Series - Volume II

Dream Reaper
– Mythic Horror Mystery

Mailto: [email protected]

http://www.writingshop.ws ~ http://www.dharma6.com

Kirov Saga:

Paradox Hour

By

John Schettler

“Mother Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations.”

—
Faith Baldwin

Kirov Saga:

                   Paradox Hour

By

John Schettler

Part I –
Escape

Part II –
Ghost Ship

Part III –
Keeper of the Keys
Part IV –
Turnabout

Part V –
Lenkov’s Legs

Part VI –
The King’s Business

Part VII –
Choices
Part VIII –
Peake’s Deep
Part IX –
Maxim 17

Part X –
The Uninvited Guest

Part XI –
Twisted

                               
Part XII –
Empty Chairs

Author’s Note:

For
readers who might be dropping in without having taken the journey here from book one in the
Kirov Series
, this is the story of a Russian modern day battlecruiser displaced in time to the 1940s and embroiled in WWII. Their actions over the many episodes have so fractured the history, that they now find themselves in an alternate retelling of those events. In places the history is remarkably true to what it once was, in others badly cracked and markedly different. Therefore, events in this account of WWII have changed. Operations have been spawned that never happened, like the German attack on Gibraltar, and others will be cancelled and may never occur, like Operation Torch. And even if some events here do ring true as they happened before, the dates of those campaigns may be changed, and they may occur earlier or later than they did in the history you may know.

This alternate history began in Book 9 of the series, entitled
Altered States
, and you would do well to at least back step and begin your journey there if you are interested in the period June 1940 to July 1941, which is covered in books 9 through 16 in the series. That time encompasses action in the North Atlantic, the battle of Britain, German plans and decisions regarding Operations Seelöwe and the attack on Gibraltar in Operation Felix. Action against the French fleet at Mers-el-Kebir and Dakar is covered, along with O’Connor’s offensive in North Africa, and the coming of Rommel. The little known British campaigns in Syria and Iraq get a good deal of attention, and other events in Siberia occur that serve as foundations for things that will happen later in the series.

To faithful crew members, my readers who have been with me from the first book, this volume stands as the sequel to the
Grand Alliance
Trilogy and also concludes the second eight volume “Altered States” saga in the series. It will take the action to the eve of that fateful day and hour on July 28, 1941, when
Kirov
first displaced in time.

-J. Schettler

Part I

Escape

“You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.”

―
Abraham Lincoln

Chapter 1

Karpov
stood on the gondola bridge of
Tunguska
, riding the turbulence of the angry skies in the largest craft ever to fly above the earth. Everywhere on the ship, men were standing in taut readiness at their battle stations, the gunners behind the long steel barrels of their recoilless rifles, the flight engineers at their stations to watch speed, buoyancy, elevation and the trim and cut of
Tunguska’s
massive tail rudders. There was still a stunned silence on the bridge, and Captain Bogrov could still feel the sting of Karpov’s gloved hand on his cheek. They had all seen the agonizing death of Big Red, the awful searing fire of the explosion when Karpov launched every RS82 rocket that remained into the tail of the ship to ignite his terrible fire bomb.

The flagship of the enemy fleet was caught in that explosion, her sides rent open, canvass shell burned away, gas bags serrated by the fragments of Big Red’s shattered duralumin tail frame. Both ships had been struck a fatal blow with Karpov’s merciless order, and both would die in those last terrible minutes, suspended in the fires until the weight of their own twisted airframes overcame their buoyancy, and started the long plummeting fall to their doom. Down they went, like two massive smoking comets in the sky, crashing to earth with a thunder that challenged the storm above in its fury.

Yet out of that calamitous moment, a few souls were lucky enough to escape, leaping for their lives from the burning airships, and the men on the bridge of
Tunguska
watched in horror. Parachutes bloomed in the sky, and something fell like an evil seed from the deep underbelly of the
Orenburg
—a small metal sphere.

Karpov saw it fall, and immediately knew he was seeing the desperate retreat of his enemy, Ivan Volkov. His hard voice had broken the stillness on the bridge, the biting barb of orders forcing life and movement into hands, arms, and legs again, setting the crew to the task that was now uppermost in his mind—get Volkov. Get him before that seed fell to good ground and could sprout again in the Devil’s Garden he had made of this world. And so the Rudderman was hard on the wheel, then engines roared, and
Tunguska
lurched about in the sky, turning north by northwest, and riding the wind in feverish wrath.

Ports opened on the smooth brow and chin of the ship, and the concave
Topaz
radar dishes deployed, ready to search the grey lines of clouds for any sign of the enemy. Up ahead, Karpov could see a smaller silver fish diving into a cloud, the
Abakan
, slowly taking up position in the vanguard of his formation. This was all that remained of his fleet at the moment, unless
Talmenka
could hasten up from the south, or he could get help from his last two battleships to the east,
Irkutsk
and
Novosibirsk
.

Volkov believed he would destroy my entire fleet, thought Karpov. Instead he got a nasty little surprise here again. The tables are turned!
Orenburg
is a smoking wreck down there, and I’ve already killed or beaten off eight of his ships! Yes, we paid a heavy price for that. It was not easy for me to do what I had to do just now and sacrifice Big Red. So now I must be certain Volkov suffers. He’s down there somewhere, and if he managed to survive that fall, then he will be scrambling to make contact with his men on the ground and get to another airship as soon as possible.

Good, let him try.

“Topaz stations, report!” His voice was hard on the voice tubes, the thin reply barely discernible over the noise of
Tunguska’s
engines.

“Contact bearing zero-one-two degrees true. Large signal. Speed and elevation unknown.”

Rodenko would come in handy at a time like this, thought Karpov. But even he would have difficulty reading the signals from this antiquated equipment. Four enemy airships remained, and this could be nothing else than what it seemed. Volkov was planning to get there on the ground and gain the protection of those airships. His signalmen had been listening to the enemy on radio as orders were called out, ship to ship. In the heat of combat they had foolishly resorted to use of the open airwaves, instead of coded Morse signals. He knew he might now be facing these four enemy airships, and last reports had three at good elevation, at least 5000 meters, somewhere to the north. Now he finally had a good read on where they were.