Three Kings

“No worries,” he said. “I’m in as a guide and interpreter for this man and his rescue team. We’ve a squad back there, and these men are Russian military.”

“Russians?”

“Right,” said Popski. “Out here on the General’s orders-Wavell, I mean. Your general is the one we’re after, O’Connor. His plane went down somewhere north of here and we’re out to fetch him, before the desert does the man in. Can’t do anything until this storm lets up, but you’re a sight for sore eyes out here. Thought we had aDego patrol that got lost, and we’re glad to see you.”

Sergeant Williams took that in, then conveyed the essence of it to Reeves over his comm link. “Sir,” he finished, “I think you’d better come up here. Looks like we’ve got some bloody Russian military here, or so this man says. He’s speaks the King’s English, though.”

“Russians? I’m coming up.”

Reeves could not make sense of that. Why, weren’t they just taking pot shots at us with 15 kiloton nukes? Bloody hell, what’s going on here? He might want to inform the Sergeant that they were presently at war with the damn Russians, but he needed to see what was happening up front with his own eyes. So he tapped Cobb on the shoulder again, nodding for him to move out.

“Easy does it,” he said. Then on his command line he gave another order. “Number two, follow me up. Twenty yard interval, if you can see that far.”

The Dragon’s engine purred and the IFV moved forward, the turret gunner at the ready. As they moved up they could now begin to see the dark shadowy mass of the helicopter in the distance, still largely obscured by the blowing sand.

A Major Peniakoff… Russians… What in god’s name was going on here? Could this be a Spetsnaz commando unit out here as a fifth column? Maybe these sons-of-bitches have been sighting for that ICBM, and vectoring the damn thing in! He steeled himself for that possibility, but as his vehicle approached the scene he could see only the five man ground team led by Sergeant Williams and two other men.

“Stop right here,” he said to Cobb. “Cover me, boys. I’m going to try and sort this kettle of fish out.”

He exited the vehicle, goggles fixed tightly over his eyes now in the blowing sand. There they were, the Sergeant and two men, one in what looked to be old style British kit, right down to the boots and cap. The other was clearly Russian, with a black leather jacket, and he looked to be an officer, though he was certainly not army, or rigged out for desert operations. If these were Spetsnaz commandos, then he was a ninny goat, so he decided to try and solve the mystery.

“Lieutenant Reeves, 1/12 Royal Lancers, 7th Brigade. I don’t suppose you gentlemen are looking for us? What’s the Russian military doing out here, eh? There’s a bloody war on mates, and we don’t take it well when you lob 15 kilotons at us like that bit a while back. Now what in hell are you doing here?”

Popski looked very surprised. What was this man talking about? “Yeah? There’s a bloody war on alright, but we’re on your side, mate, or haven’t you heard?”

Reeves tightened his lips, eyes obscure behind those goggles. “Well, sir,” he said. “Begging the Major’s pardon, but you and your whole lot are now prisoners of the British Army! What’s that you have parked out there?” Reeves gestured to the dark mass of the helo.

“Helicopter,” said Popski. “From the Russian navy. We’re on search and rescue out here, looking for the goddamned general.” He was beginning to lose his temper now, but his eye kept straying to the vehicle this man had climbed out of, and the longer he looked the stranger he felt about it. Had to be something new, as he had never seen anything like it. Fedorov was looking at it too, and now he knew he was suddenly facing another one of those impossible moments that had been strung out like pearls for all these many long months. Those were modern Infantry Fighting Vehicles, he knew, and he also knew who the 12th Royal Lancers were in the modern British Army. What was going on here? How could this man be standing here… How?

Then he realized that his own presence here at this moment was an equal impossibility, yet this moment was real, as iron clad as reality ever got in the cold steel of what he now recognized as the barrel of a 25mm autocannon pointed his way. He could hear the engines of many more vehicles obscured by the blowing sand. Something had happened. The mirror of history had cracked again, and they had moved one way or another. Either these men came here through the fire of time, slipped through a crack in fate’s battered hourglass, or he and the KA-40 had flown through a hole in time again, only to reach their own day and era in 2021…

Then he remembered Orlov, and that thing he had been playing with that had burned like a fallen star and nearly scalded his hand. My God, he thought. We’re riding the tiger’s back again, and heaven help us now.

Part X

Nick of Time