Three Kings (Kirov Series) (42 page)

But there stood Popski, unaware
of any of this, yet soon to be shaken by the hard reality of what was about to
happen. How could he bring him to that understanding, bridge that 80 year gulf
between Kinlan and Peniakoff and see them shake hands as one?

 “Popski,” he said, quietly.
“Have you ever seen uniforms like those worn by these men?”

“Can’t say as I have. Those
helmets are unlike any used by the Tommy’s, and the same goes for those rifles
they’re carrying, but they look like they’ll do the job well enough.”

“And have you ever seen armored
vehicles like these? Look at those tanks!”

“Those are real beasts,” said
Popski. “Have to be entirely new. They’re magnificent!”

“They are,” said Fedorov. “And
have you ever seen a contraption like the one that we flew in to get here, our
helicopter? For that matter, have you ever seen a ship like mine, or rockets
that could do what we demonstrated earlier during that air attack on the Suez
Canal?”

“I was there to see that!” said
Popski. “Rumors make the rounds fast in Cairo, and we heard a fancy Russian
ship was coming through, so I went over to the canal when you came in and saw
the whole thing. Marvelous! You fellows have a few of those for our ships?”

“I wish it were so, but our
ammunition is limited. That’s why we use it carefully, and sparingly, and only
when it counts.”

“Smart enough,” said Popski.

“These weapons, these machines, I
know they impress you, but don’t they seem fantastic?”

“That they do. One look at a tank
like that will drain the blood from this General Rommel’s face, and that’s a
fact.”

“Quite so, and it will drain the
blood from his men as well, literally. Popski…”

He wanted to tell him that tank
could not have been built by the British industries of today; that the craft of
its making would not be possible for another sixty to eighty years. Then he
realized this man would simply never understand the real truth, so why did he
have to know? Popski would believe the tank was here, right before his eyes, but
never grasp that it could have come here from the future. That would be the
experience of most here. They would never know the real truth, though they
would rejoice that Achilles had come to the fight, an invincible champion in
this hour of need—Achilles, with one weakness in the limited duration of his
power. Yet he realized now that to fully explain this situation to Kinlan, he
would need to rely on his own limited skills in English, and he wished Nikolin
were here. He was going to have to tell this man something that General Wavell
did not even know yet!

“Must be a prototype,” he said at
last, leaving Popski in the innocence of unknowing. Some would eventually know
the real truth. Wavell would have to be one of them, and O’Connor was on the
way here at this moment. Other men highly placed in the British army and
government would certainly have to know. The rest of that impossible truth
would still be protected by that bodyguard of lies, as Churchill might put it.

“I think that I will try to speak
with General Kinlan on my own now, if you don’t mind. I can manage a bit of
English.”

“Have a go if you wish. Maybe you
can talk sense into the man.”

Fedorov checked with Popski on a
few words he was uncertain of, words like displacement and detonation, and then
he had him ask for a private conference with the Brigadier, which Kinlan
granted. His report had come back, and he had an odd look on his face. The two
men went off near an FV432 command vehicle and Fedorov began his faltering
attempt to communicate.

“Forgive my English. You’re
report? It is concluded?”

“It has, and it seems you were
correct, Captain. My men report the site is… well the whole damn facility has
vanished! What is going on here? What kind of trick have you Russians pulled?”

Fedorov struggled to get all of
that, but the essence came through. “No tricks,” he said. “An accident.”

“Accident? There were millions of
pounds worth of equipment and facilities back there. What kind of accident
could have them go missing short of another of your damn warheads? Either that
or my patrol got lost. They certainly weren’t all carted off by the Berbers, or
buried by that sandstorm. Right?”

“No second warhead,” said
Fedorov. “It was the first.”

“The first? Well we got that one.
At least we got two of the three, and the last was off target to the east.
Those facilities were completely intact when we moved our column out.”

“The attack… it caused big
accident. Odd effect of nuclear detonation, like EMP.”

“EMP? That might fry electronics,
but it bloody well could not account for what we’re talking about here.”

“Not EMP… similar strange effect
of detonation. Causes big problem with time.”

“A problem with time? I don’t
follow you.”

“Sorry. I will try again….
Detonation
changes
time,
breaks
time. It can make things move in
time. Understand?”

“Move in time? That’s bosh.”

“Bosh?”

“It’s nonsense! What are you
talking about?”

“Not bosh. Is real truth. Your
men just found General O’Connor. He is the real man… General Richard O’Connor,
and you will soon see. Your base at Sultan Apache remains there, in year 2021.
But
you
are not there. Your men, your brigade, all displaced in time due
to detonation. Big accident! I know for sure. Because this happened to my
ship.”

Kinlan gave him a look that was
half annoyed and half astonished. “Your ship? Are you telling me you think you
moved in bloody time?”

“Yes! This is true. Nuclear
detonation during live fire exercises. Accident. Then we appear… somewhere
else! Same place, different time. Honest truth.” He held up his hand as though
he were taking an oath. “I know it sounds impossible. I never believed it
myself, until facts made things true. We moved
here
, to this time—1941.”

“1941?” Kinlan grinned at him,
unbelieving, as there was no rational place he could put this. “You’re trying
to tell me you think this is 1941? You’re daft, man, off your rocker.”

Fedorov did not follow that, but
he could sense the other man’s rejection of what he had told him. “Then where
is Sultan Apache?” He returned to his long suit, playing another spade.

Kinlan stared at him. “Well I
don’t know where it is, Captain. But it seems you don’t know where it is either
with this silly explanation.”

“Sounds false, sounds crazy, I
know this. But I speak truly. Sultan Apache is all there, but in 2021. It is
you that went missing, just like my ship. You heard reports?
Kirov
lost
in Norwegian sea. You heard this?”

“Yes, I heard the report. Then
you show up a month later in the Pacific.”

“Yes! But we do not sail there in
oceans of 2021. We sail there in 1940s! Then it happens again. An accident with
reactors sent us back to our own time… to year 2021. All true.”

There was movement from the grey
brown sand out beyond the sheltering tent set up off the hatch of the FV432. Then
one of the Staff Officers, the man named Simpson, emerged with another report.

“Excuse me, sir. Reeves’ scout
section is back. They’ve a number of men in jeeps, a bunch of throwbacks, or so
they appear. Jeeps look to be old relics, and one man is claiming to be a
General O’Connor.”

“Very well,” said Kinlan, the
same problem on his hands, unresolved insofar as he was concerned. “Bring the
man in. Maybe he can make more sense than this one.” He gave Fedorov a
disparaging look.

“General Richard O’Connor,” Fedorov
tried again. “Real man—from 1941. Look close at this man. Check photos. Look
close at Popski. Look at jeeps. All 1940s!”

“Or all some elaborate theater
you Russkies cooked up to hold up my column so you can lob another warhead or
two our way.”

“No! Not true. No more missiles.
Let your eyes prove this. See General O’Connor. Then you believe… You are here
now, in 1941, and this is real. My ship is here, up north, and we fight for the
British now.
Kirov
is an ally, a friend, not enemy. Russians and British
are allies in 1941. Soon you believe this too. It is very important… Critical.
This can change the war—change history—make no more war with Russia in 2021.
Understand? We can stop war there, in 2021, and we can win war here, in 1941.”

Kinlan took that all in, his eyes
fixed on Fedorov, seeing the urgency in the man, hearing the sincerity in his
tone of voice, and the desperate need to be believed.

“This all happened as I say,”
said Fedorov. “An accident, but all true. Otherwise, you tell
me
,
General Kinlan. Where is Sultan Apache? Go look with your own eyes!”

Simpson returned, leading in a
short man dressed out in the garb of an Army officer, but one from days of
yore. He expected he might see someone wearing a uniform like his own in modern
camo
scheme, but not dressed like this, heavy wool
socks reaching to knee length shorts, thick leather belt, a pale olive
officer’s jersey with shoulder braids and a flash of red at the collars, all
topped with an officer’s cap, emblazoned with a thick red band and the badge of
a crown over a crossed sabre and baton, the insignia of a Lieutenant General.
Rows of service bars rode above his left chest pocket, with a thick strap from
shoulder to waist.

Yet it was not the rank and
service medals that identified this man as a General, it was his manner and
deportment, the bright penetrating eyes, always moving, the air of authority
about him, not showy or arrogant, but a quiet strength that spoke of iron will
and determination in the man.

“I’m told you are Brigadier
Kinlan?” O’Connor extended his hand. “Can’t say as I’ve ever had the pleasure.
Have you just come off the boat?”

Kinlan took his hand, with
reflexive manners, yet his mind was just as befuddled as before. What on God’s
good earth was happening here?

Chapter
36

He
just stared at the man,
seeing the characteristic white hair at the edge of his cap and short cropped
white mustache. It was the image of the man he had seen in the data files he
looked up on his library pad. Impossible! General Richard O’Connor had died in
1981, forty years ago! This had to be an imposter, there was simply no other
way to look at the situation. Yet, at the same time, there was no reason on
earth why anyone would be here, in the middle of nowhere, dressed up like this
to play army. Did he come in on that KA-40 with the Russians to play out this
sorry ruse?

Lieutenant Reeves was standing
behind the man, and he saluted. “Sir,” he said quietly. “One other note to
report. Our lead troop picked up something on infrared and we had a look. It
was a plane crash, General, so I took my vehicle out and had a good look at
it.”

“Yes?” said O’Connor. “That was
our Blenheim. Jerry took a good bite out of our left engine, and we couldn’t
ride out the storm. Tried to make
Siwa
, but went down
near the dunes a bit north of here.”

“Reeves?” Kinlan looked to his
Lieutenant for confirmation.

“Yes sir. It was a Blenheim, just
as the General says. I had a look inside, and it was authentic, to the nines.”

“An old wreck from the last war?”

“No sir. The plane was in tip top
condition. Looked like it was flown that very day. The engines were still warm,
and oil was leaking from one—shot up as the General says.”

“As the General says, as the
General says. Damn it Reeves! I’ll grant you this man looks the part, but you
know very well he can’t be who he claims to be.” He looked at O’Connor,
frustration battling with his senses and reinforcing the one word that could be
applied to this whole charade. Impossible!

“See here,” said O’Connor. “You
would do well to mind your manners, Mister Kinlan, and mind the rank and
insignia you find on this uniform. I’m not one to lord it over another officer,
but you’re obviously new here, as is this entire unit. What’s that parked over
there?” He pointed with his riding crop. “That’s the biggest damn tank in the
world! Did Wavell send you out here looking for me? How many of those monsters
do you have?”

“Wavell?”

“Well I’m nobody special, just
the commander of the British XIII Corps in the Western Desert, but you’ve certainly
heard of Wavell. Yes?”

Kinlan folded his arms and
shrugged. He should just throw this whole lot into a secure vehicle and get on
with his move north. The column was nearly all past his position by now, the
sound of the Warrior IFVs from the last battalion in the line of march still
rumbling in the background.

By the time they brought O’Connor
in, the storm had abated, but darkness and low blowing sand was still obscuring
much of the landscape near the ground. Thus far O’Connor had seen only the eight
wheeled Dragon IFV of Reeves’ troop, the FV432 command vehicles, and the
shadowy form of one Challenger 2 parked as part of the HQ guard unit. He had
seen nothing of the real mass and material of the brigade Kinlan commanded, but
he could hear it, and knew the sound of tracked vehicles on the desert ground
well enough.

“From the sound of things the
whole division must be out here,” said O’Connor. “But I can’t imagine why, or
even how you managed to get a force of this size out here. Suppose you tell me exactly
what this unit is and what your orders are, General Kinlan.”

Now Fedorov spoke up. “General
Richard O’Connor?”

“One and the same,” said
O’Connor, noticing Fedorov. “Who is this man?”

“I am Captain Anton Fedorov, off
the Russian battlecruiser
Kirov
. We came to search for you.”

“Russians?” O’Connor had not
heard anything of the ship, as he had his hands full managing the retreat east,
with Rommel’s tanks and armored cars in hot pursuit.