to Admiral Volsky, and pointing out the reference. The Admiral looked up at the helo video feed, then down at the book.”
“It is certainly a good match,” he said.
“Then we are looking at a ghost fleet?” Karpov protested. “This is preposterous! I have heard a lot of guff in my day, Fedorov, but this tops it all. It's nonsense, I tell you.”
“Yet there they are,” said Admiral Volsky gesturing at the video. “You were just beating Fedorov over the head with the video feed. Yes? Or are you suggesting the British are feeding us this video footage with some new electronic warfare device?”
Karpov raised his eyebrows, thinking a moment. “That may be possible, sir.” His eyes widened as he spoke, quick to latch on to anything that would allow him to fit what he was seeing into some understandable point of reference, and dispel the illusion that Fedorov was spinning out. Fedorov knew what was coming out of his mouth next, an eerie echo of the same reaction he had the first time they were here.
“This could all be part of some elaborate ruse, designed to confuse us,” said Karpov. “Some kind of electronic warfare, perhaps a NATO PSYOP. That strange explosion we experienced hours ago may have been the opening salvo.” It was clear to him that such a deception would be much more plausible than anything Fedorov was saying now.
The strange replay of these events gave Fedorov the shivers, yet he knew he had to take a stronger line here, and the Admiral was the key to winning this argument before the missiles began to fly, and things got out of hand.
“Orlov?”
The Admiral wanted to know what his Chief of Operations thought, but Orlov looked as confused as anyone. He had idled with Fedorov at times, the two of them also sharing stories of the second war where both their grandfathers had served, but this was difficult to believe.
“I don't know what to think, Admiral. But, as it is clearly impossible that the British could resurrect ships decommissioned and demolished decades ago, then we must give further thought to what the Captain suggests. As for Fedorov, he did take a good knock on the head the other day. Perhaps he needs another one?” He gave the navigator an unfriendly look, a warning in his eyes.
“Impossible, you say, yet this very ship has risen from the dead, has it not?” Volsky’s voice was a strange echo of the past, heightening the sense of déjà vu for Fedorov.
Karpov took a deep breath, stiffening, gratified that Orlov had again reinforced his position. “Enough of this game,” he said. “If this is a PSYOP then the British have gone too far! These ships may be responsible for everything we have been dealing with here.”
“A moment ago it was this submarine that was responsible for all of our problems,” said Admiral Volsky. “Now you suggest the British are running some elaborate psychological operation aimed at confusing us?”
Karpov frowned, clearly unhappy with the Admiral’s remark, yet he persisted. “If they do not identify themselves under international protocols, then it is permitted to give fair warning and fire a shot across their bow, sir. Everything we have endured here has been a clear provocation. It is time we let them know that the Russian Navy will not tolerate this nonsense.” He folded his arms, his anger apparent, and the look he gave Fedorov was clearly meant to silence any further comment on his part.
The Admiral rubbed his forehead, the headache he complained about returning again with the stress of all that had happened. The next time he looked up to check the video feed, he seemed to sway on his feet, his eyes glazed over, and he began to fall.
“Admiral!” said Fedorov with alarm, quickly taking Volsky’s arm to steady him. Yet those thick legs could not hold him, and he fell to the deck.
Orlov shouted, and two Yeomen ran quickly to render assistance. “Call the Doctor,” he said. “Better yet, go and fetch a stretcher and we will take him to sick bay ourselves.”
Volsky's eyes were open, yet he said nothing, clearly distressed by a severe attack of what seemed like vertigo. The lights above him, the milky green glow of the radar and combat stations, all blended with the faces of the men as they leaned over him, and he closed his eyes to fight off the nausea. As he did so, he had the distinct feeling that he had lived through something