“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 moderncamo 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 makeSiwa, 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.”