Paradox Hour (2 page)

They have two S-Class ships out there,
Sarkand
and
Samarkand
, and they’ll have no more than eight 76mm guns each. The other two ships were reported as A-Class, the
Armavir
and
Anapa
—eight guns each again, though they will have a single 105 on the main gondola. That’s 32 guns in all for the enemy. I’ve got 24 on
Tunguska
alone, and half of those are heavy 105s. Throw in the eight guns on
Abakan
and we match them easily enough. It will all come down to tactics and air maneuvers, and let them try to best me if they dare. One look at
Tunguska
will probably send them scattering like a flock of frightened birds.

So there you have it, Rudkin!

He spoke now to the unknown author of that precious little book Tyrenkov had inadvertently picked up on that trip up the back stairway at Ilanskiy.
When Giants Fall—The Death of the Siberian Air Fleet.
Well you can tear all that to pieces now, can’t you, Rudkin—just like I tore Volkov’s fleet apart here. Yes, this isn’t over yet. We’ve another good battle to fight, but I have little doubt as to the outcome. And one day, where ever you are, Rudkin, you’ll settle into a library chair and find out that everything you based your stupid little story on has been turned on its head! It will not be Ivan Volkov you glorify with that flowing prose. You have a good deal of editing to do. Try to write me out of the story? I don’t think so. No! I don’t go down so easily. So this time get it right. Remember my name—Vladimir Karpov. I’m going to re-write your entire book!

He smiled, his thin lips tight as he gloated inwardly at his victory. Now to make that victory complete. Now to get up north to those last few ships and finish them off before Volkov could get to one and escape. Three at good elevation… That will mean they are standing on overwatch, while that fourth ship goes to ground to lower a cargo basket and haul up Volkov’s sorry ass. If I try to descend to get that fourth ship, the other three will all be well above me, and
Abakan
will not have the guns to hold them off. So I must send
Abakan
down after Volkov. It’s the only way. Only
Tunguska
has the firepower to stand with their top cover. Yes, I hate to hand off this task to
Abakan
. I’d much rather be the one to get down there after Volkov, but tactics first.

“Signal
Abakan
,” he said calmly. “Tell them they are to bear on that enemy contact, but begin a gradual descent. They are to look for any enemy ship near ground level, and destroy it. We will hold elevation at 5000 meters. After that, get word to Tyrenkov on the ground. Tell him I want a flying column assembled as soon as possible. Get them north to the coordinates of that contact. As to our remaining ships. They are to make for Ilanskiy, and stand on overwatch there. One ship may descend for ground support fires, but only one. I want at least two of the three ships up at 4000 meters, preferably
Irkutsk
and
Novosibirsk
, if they ever get here.”

Those last two ships were both good battleships, 16-guns, and in the same basic size class as old Big Red. They were aging, but still had the firepower for a good fight. Once they arrived, Karpov knew he would have complete air superiority here. Yes, there were still twelve more airships in Volkov’s fleet, and two others that were detached after that first fight with
Yakutsk
. But many of those ships will be far away, some as far south as the Caucasus where Sergei Kirov’s troops were struggling with Volkov’s 6th Army. So in Karpov’s mind, the situation was looking very good here, very good indeed. He had a firm rein on things now, and was convinced that final victory was also within his grasp.

Yet he did not have command of all the facts. Those two ships that had been detached because of damage sustained in that first fleet battle had returned—
Pavlodar
and
Talgar
—and with them was yet a third ship, another 8-gun heavy cruiser, the
Krasnodar
. Of the three, the best of the lot was
Pavlodar
, a 160 cubic meter lift battlecruiser with twelve guns. And Ivan Volkov was not heading north to try and reach the four ships Karpov now had on his radar screens. Yes, the reports had been accurate. There were three ships on overwatch, and one at low elevation, the
Armavir
, but that was only because the ship had been fighting a bad tail fire suffered in that hot ambush when
Tunguska
had first come on the scene and nearly destroyed Admiral Zorki’s entire four ship division.

The grey skies and limited range of the radars had all conspired to hide the arrival of
Pavlodar
and
Talgar
to the west, where they had also brought in two much needed companies to reinforce Volkov’s ground force. As such, they were both at low elevation to land those troops, and not seen by the rudimentary
Topaz
radar systems.

Volkov, his devious mind still sharp enough to read the situation, knew he would be a fool to try and reach the airships to the north. The land was broken with stands of trees, and occasional marshy clearings, and he would never get his motorbikes through all that in any good time. But he would get west on the good road to Kansk where
Pavlodar
was still hovering low, if the Siberian Tartars did not get him first.

* * *

Volkov
looked up to see the massive shape of
Tunkuska
high above, a dark blight in the skies, slowly swallowed by the thickening clouds.

I have one great advantage, he thought. I can see that bastard easily enough when he’s up there lording about in that monstrosity, but the inverse is not true. He knows I may be down here—at least he must assume as much. Now he’ll be trying to read my mind, and he knows I’ll want to get airborne again as soon as possible. In that he will be correct. I cannot take the chance of lingering here like a common soldier. I can see now that the decision to detach
Pavlodar
and
Talgar
was premature. I was overconfident, too brash, and I underestimated that son-of-a-bitch Karpov yet again. Now there is no further room for error.

He looked west, along the road to Kansk where the situation on the ground still remained very confused. Some of his men had landed there earlier, thinking to surprise the enemy at Kansk and quickly seize that town. There they were to have set up a blocking position to stop any rail traffic from the Ob River line front from reaching Ilanskiy. But the situation in the main battle had compelled Colonel Levkin to recall those troops, leaving only his motorcycle platoon astride the road as a rear guard. They had been surprised by squadrons of Karpov’s Siberian Tartar cavalry, and those who could, fled east along the road.

All this was happenstance, thought Volkov. All of it—Kymchek’s failure to read the enemy strength on the ground, the cavalry ambush that sent those motor bikes to me here, and now that decision to detach those two airships pays me an unexpected dividend! So I head west, right down this road. I should find two companies up ahead, and
Pavlodar
waiting for me at ground level. No sense wasting any further time here. I must get to that airship!

“Sergeant! Lead the way!”

There were no more than twelve men left from the Motorcycle Platoon, but they would have to do. It seemed a feeble escort for the General Secretary of the Orenburg Federation at that moment, and the noisome bikes would be easily heard by any Tartars still lurking in the woodlands flanking the road ahead. This was going to be very dangerous, perhaps the most dangerous thing Volkov had done in many years. A man in his early sixties, he was still fit, and his mind was as sharp as ever. Now the thrill of danger seemed to catalyze him, and his eyes gleamed as the column started off.

Sergeant Beckov led the way, with three bike-mounted troopers. Then came the only sidecar bike in the squad, where a gunner was manning a DT-28 ‘record player’ machinegun. Behind this went Volkov, flanked by a man on either side, with the last section of four men following. The motor bikes were quick and very agile, and easy to ride on the good road surface. They roared off, leaving a thin trail of dust behind them, and Volkov glanced up warily, thinking he might see the dark shadow of
Tunguska
looming above him at any moment.

It was only his fear whispering to him. That airship was far too high to spot him here on the ground, and the heavy cloud cover was providing a good cloak against observation from the air. They sped down the road, until Sergeant Beckov raised his right arm, fist clenched, bringing the column to a halt. He looked over his shoulder, shouting back to Volkov.

“Cavalry up ahead. Not many, but they are blocking the road.”

“Well don’t just sit there, Sergeant. Clear them off!”

Beckov waved at the MG mounted sidecar, wanting it to come forward, and then gathered together five men with SMGs to make his attack. They gunned their engines, speeding forward in a mad charge, firing as they went. There he saw that they were greatly outnumbered, as there had to be at least twenty Tartars up ahead all wearing black overcoats and heavy woolen Ushankas. His squad engaged, their sub-machineguns spitting fire at the enemy, and the DT-28 hacking away from the sidecar. The horsemen had not expected this bold attack from the same men they had recently sent fleeing east on this road, and they were surprised.

The gunners shot seven dead in the first wild seconds of the duel, with three others falling from stricken horses and running for the cover of the nearby woods. The rest thought to mount a counter charge, with their leader drawing his sabre and shouting out deep throated orders. His horse reared up as he waved the flashing sabre overhead, until the DT-28 shot his mount right out from under him and he tumbled to the ground in a hard fall. This sent the remaining ten men scattering in all directions, vanishing into the treeland to either side of the road. Beckov had cleared the way and waved for the remaining bikers to surge ahead. They rode forward, SMGs still spitting out cover fire to make certain the enemy could not reorganize for an attack, and soon the squad was well away, speeding down the road.

They rounded a bend, elated, thinking the way was clear, but they were wrong. The twenty men they had surprised were just an outlying squadron of the Tartar formation. A large group of enemy cavalry was assembled up ahead, the men quickly mounting their horses when they heard the sound of the firefight to the east. Now they were shaking out in to a long line, many with bolt action rifles, and others with those cruel sabres. They saw the commotion up ahead, their leader grinning balefully when he watched the small squad of motorbikes come to a sudden halt, shrouded in their own road dust.

“What now?” Volkov shouted, but Sergeant Becker had only to point. Now they could hear the sound of rifles in the distance, and a machinegun firing.

“Damn!” said Volkov. “Is there any way around them to the south?”

The road was following the rail line here, in a wide clearing. There were heavy woodlands to their right, and a small hill that was another obstacle to any movement to the south. Volkov gritted his teeth. He had twelve men here, and there looked to be a hundred horsemen forming up ahead. He could see his men ridden down in his mind, trampled beneath the charge that was sure to come any moment now. And these barbarians would not even know who was in front of them, Ivan Volkov, a prize so great that they might all be given their weight in gold to capture him. They would roll over his little squad in a heartbeat, and leave him dead on this god forsaken road, slashed to pieces by those sabres. It was no way for the General Secretary of the Orenburg Federation to die.

He saw the horses rear up, heard the sound of more gunfire to the west, but it was not what was in front of them that concerned the Tartars now. To his astonishment, he saw the cavalry turn and charge west, away from them, leaving only a single squadron which was dismounting and taking up a blocking position on the road ahead. What was happening?

My troops, he suddenly realized! That gunfire must be the men off
Pavlodar
and
Talgar
on the road to the west. That’s why they turned. We’re a threat they have already sized up, and of no apparent concern to them now. But I have two full companies on the road up ahead, though we’re on the wrong side of the action here. He nudged his motorbike up to the MG mounted sidecar, which also had a small field radio, as this was his reconnaissance unit off the
Orenburg
, and well equipped for their role as fast moving scouts.

“Corporal! See if you can raise the men on the ground up there. Tell them a senior officer is here, and I need to get to them as soon as possible—but do not mention my name.”

“Yes sir!”

Now the sound of rifle fire and the throaty shouts of the Tartars was heard, and Volkov knew that the commander up ahead was going to have his hands full soon enough.

“Belay that order. Send to
Pavlodar
instead. Tell them to maneuver along this road and look for us here! Have them make ready to lower a cargo basket and take on ground troops.
Talgar
is also to stay at low elevation and provide ground support fire for those troops up ahead. Understand? They are not to climb under any circumstances until I am safely aboard
Pavlodar
.”

 That’s my only chance now, he thought. The sight of an airship low over this road will hearten my men, and
Pavlodar
can give those ruffian Tartars a taste of her heavy rifles. If they stay low, then it’s likely Karpov won’t be able to spot us here. He’s off north to my diversion, and let him deal with my Admirals. If Gomel and Zorki can buy me a little time, then I can turn this situation around.

A little time…

I thought I would have eternity within my grasp by now, and look at me here, counting on a few hot minutes, and these twelve men, to save my skin. Heads will roll after this. Yes, heads will roll when I get back to Orenburg and pull together the rest of my fleet.