Time of the Rising Star

[K. A. Pital]

Thanks to Zor and his "Aurora and Bolsheviks timeported" thread! Happy reading!

Time of the Rising Star

I. Emissary.

Second floor, room number 86. Doors closed. A bold, aging man behind the doors is sitting at the table, writing. He writes, from time to time taking breaks, coming up to the window and looking out on the street.

His thoughts are in disarray, but he desperately tries to focus them, condense into a single message – a smart message, appealing message, a message that will be understood and supported by the people who helped him just several days earlier.

It's around three hours afternoon, and the man is tired already, but his will forces him to continue writing.

Nothing out of ordinary happens. Several chairs, wrapped up in rough cloth, and a sofa stay by a small wooden table, where the man keeps a heap of newspapers and his notebook.

He thinks about various things. One of them is the lection he's about to give today. A lection which must be successful. It was October the 27th, and he has only one hour left. He must explain to the students that a peace treaty with Germany is required, as fast as possible. Some of them are overtly optimistic about the army's ability to wage war; some want to rely on a quarter-million corps of the Red Guard to fight Germany – preposterous, childish fantasy which he must get out of their heads. If the Red Guard is thrown on the front line, all of his peace agitation would be in vain. Soon the disillusioned red soldiers will realize, that his promise of an end to the imperialist war was a lie. The Soviet power will fall.

Such were his thoughts at the moment, and he was so deeply immersed that he didn't notice a rather strange event happening right in his cabinet. Without any noise, a human dressed in a black worn suit appeared seemingly out of nowhere behind him. His face was weathered and covered with wrinkles, but his look was, to put it mildly, rather happy.

- Comrade Lenin, - he spoke softly.

The man turned rapidly.

- Who are you?
- It might be hard for you to comprehend, but I am a temporal emissary, - spoke the man, making a few steps around the table. - I have come from the future.

And Vladimir Lenin, leader of the revolution, shook his head in disbelief, remaining speechless, but alert, gazing at the man without moving.

- I understand that it is hard to comprehend, - spoke the man. - Thankfully, we have developed means to explain it directly rather than wasting time on inefficient talking.

And in a few seconds Lenin was lying unconscious in his chair. The man looked satisfied. Within several seconds, Lenin opened his eyes and stared at the man with a totally changed look.

- So it's true then.
- Yes, quite so, - ringed the man's voice in his head. The messenger from a distant future remained silent. - And we are ready to establish a temporal channel. This operation is a very important action for us. Never before has the Commitee for Temporal Intrusion acted in times before it has moved itself into extra-temporal dimensions. We weren't sure until the last calculations have been completed.
- But why did you not... - thought Lenin, and heard the man's voice again even before he finished formulating the thought.
- The Commitee's conception in all timelines hinges upon the rise of Communism as dominant in the world through the XX century. We never tried venturing into times before we became independent of the timelines since our separation, but we're even more unsure about the effects of temporal shift if we intrude before the key events that begun the advent of Communism. The Commitee cannot be sure that venturing into the beginning of human civilization, or even before that, even with time probes, will not damage the timelines that create the Commitee itself. Intruding here, as you already know, has already shifted the date of Time-Space Breakthrough to the year 1925 if all goes as planned.

Lenin nodded silently.

- A recursive intrusion into times before this can lead to a vicious cycle of self-intrusions by the extra-temporal Commitee ever-moving the human civilization further and further back in time. This can lead to a space-time rift that may be damaging to spacetime in the ever-spawning timelines. Eventually this can speed up human progress to infinite speeds, creating a fundamentally unhuman society. We cannot risk such a threat lightly. Self-intrusions into post-Commitee times can also spawn a cycle that will infinetely speed up human progress, and extra-temporal barries may not hold.

Lenin sensed something dark behind the man's casual remark.

- Yes, Vladimir. We have already been assaulted by non-human extratemporal warfare. It seems that one of the timelines took the vicious cycle approach, resulting in a civilization so much more advanced that we may only refer to them as "gods". Thankfully, the Commitee was able to deduce that timeline which arose from researchers' irresponsibility, and destroy it until it was too late. Our probes are gathering data about spacetime continuity only so far into the future and past. We cannot move beyond the singularity barrier which transforms the human civilization, but we carefully foster the timeline that produces the most desired pre-singularity society. Since it hasn't attacked us, we assume that this timeline is correct. Yet still, the temporal Commitee determined the XX century period as "safe for circular intrusion" precisely at your time.

Communism will rise shortly as you know, and you will see it. As we converse, thousands of time-probe nanorobots have been dispatched to all corners of this time-space location.

As soon as we are finished, we will raise the technological and educational level of this time-space society, and hopefully...

Suddenly the voice in the head stopped.

- I am terribly sorry, - he managed to utter, and Lenin noted that his body is becoming transparent. - Apparently, we have unexpected results... I cannot contact the extra-temporal commitee, and the drones report space-time volatility. You! - with a terrible look, the man stared at Lenin. - You doomed humanity, you fool! The Commitee and extratemporal facilities have been destroyed, and I'm losing the network communications. You killed me!

Lenin saw an abrupt picture of him - no, super-him. Posthuman him. A nano-cyborg, ordering that the Commitee never be created and temporal research ceased, deeply sheltered by temporal shields. Yes, he killed that future in 1925 and apparently the decision to do it arose in his mind just during this conversation. The messenger only overlooked this slight change of motivation by chance, otherwise he'd eradicate it before Lenin from the near future could raise the temporal shields.

The future Lenin was sure that the temporal Commitee was evil - instead of granting humans infinity of immortality and progress in the material world, it splitted the time-space continuum and destroyed millions of possible timelines with existing lives in them. Ending that was not a light decision, but he took it.

- The Commitee will launch a counter... - hissed the man, almost a ghost now. Then he smiled. - Oh, you moron. The commitee managed to launch one recursive strike. At least we are avenged... - and thus he died.

Lenin fell back in his chair, completely disempowered. He managed to grab the phone.

- Get me Comrade Trotsky. Fast.

But in that moment, a deafening silence entered Petrograd as Smolniy and it's surroundings fell into temporal stasis. In a moment, the center of the city vanished into thin air, while a chunk of green landmass appeared in it's place.

[Alferd Packer]

Ha! That's an incredibly imaginative way for a time traveler to fuck someone over. If I were him, I probably would've slowed down time to a virtual standstill and kicked ol' Lenin in the balls once per nanosecond, a few million times. I figure all the friction caused by moving that fast would not only cause his testicles to burst into flames, but that it would be incredibly satisfying to do to someone who has just destroyed your life's work.

I also like the idea of a world using the time travel to achieve a technological singularity very rapidly, even though it's just tangential to the main story. I can't wait to read more!

[The Grim Squeaker]

Cyborg-Nano Lenin... Artwork needed

[DrMckay]

perhaps a couple of Maxim guns emplaced on Bunker Hill?

Great start. Best of luck.

[Master_Baerne]

Brilliant! Continue!

[Zor]

Stas, i am honored. Keep up the good work!

Zor

[Scottish Ninja]

In honor of this work of history, here is some commemorative art.

[K. A. Pital]

II. The spark which giveth birth to flame

Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals
From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,
And bosom beating with a heart renewed.
Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom,
Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,
Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team
Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,
And shake the darkness from their loosened manes,
And beat the twilight into flakes of a fire

Lord Alfred Tennyson

Something happened to Petrograd. Although Petr could not tell what exactly, the gut feeling of some horrific accident did not leave him.

In the evening, the light suddenly became brighter and the air - much warmer than it possibly could in wintertime, with. He rose from the deck, looking at his companions - a small group of sailors, who slowly sung a popular song, stopped and became silent at once.

- What is this? - he uttered, looking at the suddenly changed bright sky, which almost instantly replaced the grim clouds that hovered over the dark city. - What's happening?

Suddenly a tremor hit the Aurora, and the sailors fell down. The water in the Neva, usually still and calm, was going down very fast.

- Alarm! - shouted Petr, standing up and looking in awe from the deck of the cruiser.

The water rapidly changed color and level, with waves running across the whole river... of which there was not much left. Looking back across the cruiser's board, Kurkov saw the Neva ending just several hundred meters from the ship, cut off by a grassy landmass. This landmass surrounded everything that remained of Petrograd - a circle several kilometers in diameter, that encompassed the center of the city - the Winter Palace, Franco-Russian factory and other huge buildings now stood out even more visible, while a large mass of small houses, barracks and ever-expanding streets of the great city vanished into nonexistence. From the cruiser's bow, one could enjoy beautiful view of a strait which never was supposed to be there. The strait led somewhere into open seas, it seemed, and parts of another landmass were seen in what looked as a small gulf from where Petrograd, or it's remains, were now. In addition to the fact that it was daytime, it was also clear that it's summertime.

- What the bloody... - whispered one of the sailors, Nikolai Lukichev. - What is this?

A long, deaf silence fell over them.

- Some sort of trick... - said Belyshev, the cruiser's commisar. - Some evil experiment? A new and terrible weapon?

- Everything is possible, comrades, - spoke Kurkov. - But at first we need to make contact with the government, if it still exists.

- Right on, - said Belyshev. - I'll get to the radio shack. Meanwhile, man the deck weapons!

- There'll be chaos and panic in the city, - noted Kurkov calmly. - Just as soon as enough people realize what happened.

Indeed, it was beginning - in the streets between the remaining buildings, lone wanderers grouped in packs of ten or fifteen, or even more, and wandered into the city's buildings, getting on the rooftops to see what was going on.

But sudden shouts from behind drew his look away from the streets. It was Belyshev running back from the radioshack.

- Everyone, stay calm! - he ran into the avant, waving his hands like mad. - It's hard to believe, but it seems we have been attacked by forces out of the future who displaced the entire city, or even levelled the entire outside world!

- So where are we? - Kurkov was feeling the panic rising up - not only in his mind, but in the minds of fellow sailors.

- No idea! Comrade Trotsky rallied the Red Guard and has already dispatched them into the streets to maintain order in the city. According to the radiotransmission, only comrade Lenin knows exactly what has transpired as he was the object of the attack. Our orders are to come ashore with the RKP(b) commitee members. Centrobalt has been lost, it seems only the vinicity of Petrograd survived. Recon squads are now being formed in the Petropavlovsk fortress and the Winter Palace. We need to make haste, comrades! - said Belyshev with a trembling voice, but towards the end of the speech managed to put his emotions under control.

The crew which has already assembled on the pont avant, started speaking quietly between themselves. Everyone was deeply shocked by these events.

A few seconds later the sailors started to ready the canots to go into Petrograd.

***

Anatoly Lunacharsky was, quite simply, amazed. The XVIII century America. For the moment, the revolutionary intellectuals were stunned when they started to find this out with the help of John Reed and Lunacharsky, who spoke to several locals that were detained by soldier patrols on the border of Petrograd. Lunacharsky was shocked, and this shock so far prevented him from thinking a grim thought - if Comrade Lenin is right, this time attack forever left him without his beloved family. And not just him, but a great many people in Petrograd. A voice shook his thoughts off.

- We're already requesting the Library and archives to get a proper map, - Trotsky was standing behind John Reed and Anatoly Lunacharsky. - Now we will decide our course of action in the immediate term, given the circumstances that we came to know.

Reed communicated for several long hours with the American whom the Petrograd patrols captured immediately after dispatching outside city borders. Lunacharsky served as a translator to the small group of Central Commitee leaders who assembled in the room.

- That unsettles me greatly, - spoke another member of the small council which assembled in the radiostation on the New Holland island - the most powerful in Petrograd, this station was the heart of revolutionary coordination, transmitting messages to barracks, ships, government buildings.

- Comrade Sverdlov, - Lenin softly spoke out of the corner. - Now that we have captured those men from....

- Brooklyn, - reminded Lunacharsky.

- Yes, Brooklyn, - Lenin carried on, raising his voice. - It is clear that we have very little time left. Due to that temporal attack on our city, we are stranded two hundred years in the past on the coast of the American colonies. The revolutionary guard have been dispatched to guard the city borders and shoot any trespassers, - at that moment Trotsky nodded slightly staying right beside the transmitter machine.

- But this is not enough, - the Bolshevik leader carried on. - We have charted the approximate radius of the city that has been transported, and it seems that we have around 15,000 men transported, among them the workers of the Franco-Russian factory, the Petropavlovsk fortress garrison, and most of our administrative apparatus. It is almost assured that we have to deal with the situation without outer inference, since temporal intrusions are very unlikely for the reasons which you already heard during my first talk post the time attack. However, as I noted in my first-hour communique to the remaining population of Petrograd, we are in dire straits. Food supplies will not last more than three days, and we cannot initiate trade with the locals fast enough to avoid a hunger crisis. We are lucky that we, and we alone, control the armed people in the city. Most of the arms have already been requisited and put in the arsenals in Petropavlovsk fortress. Only the street and border guards are allowed to wield anything more deadly than a handgun. Here, I will give word to comrade Antonov-Ovseenko, who, as the leader of military and naval affairs of the SNK, can explain to us what our most immediate task is.

A man with wild hair and glasses stood up from his chair and went in the middle of the room. An improvised board - a piece of wood with chalk laying on a table - became his main instrument of explanation.

- Comrades, what we have found out is that the time attack left us stranded in the middle of a war between the British and the Americans. We are on a place called Long Island, not far from New York itself, in what is known as "Gravesend bay". If the dates are correct, and mister Reed who is present here is also correct about American history, quite soon there will be a major naval operation of the British fleet. Their army of several dozen thousand men is getting ready for landing as we speak. Rumors of this are circulating among the local population, which Reed had thoroughly interrogated. It seems we are right on the eve of the landing.

- And so? - Sverdlov was anxious. - What do you propose?

- It is clear we have enormous technological advantage against the British. We must send messages to the local population and spread news of our arrival and of our will to ally with the locals - namely, the troops of George Washington, controlling Long Island the neighboring New York, a large population center. Which means, eventually, the American leadership. At the same time, right now, we must act decisively and swiftly - launch an attack against the British with a superior force demonstration that will scare them into giving away all their military food supplies. Requisiting their food supplies will give us some time to make arrangements with the colonists' leaders in New York. It will also send a clear message for them that we are against the British. Reed will help to draft a good message to the local population about who we are and what we want. As soon as we ensure the city's food supply, we can move to other goals. The city and us, it's inhabitants, must be isolated from the outer world so that our technological marvels will not fall into the hands of those people, however - this is a direct decision of comrade Lenin that was upheld by our committee, so we must strictly control arms. No forces armed with much more than rifles or handguns are to come out of Petrograd for now. However, in the meantime, we will try to strengthen our border. Given the technological disparity of our arms with the currently existing ones, it would be safe to say that several machine guns will solve the problem. But we can't attack the huge British navy with machine guns, neither can we wait for the British to land here. Here, I give word to commissar Belyshev whom we invited specially for that mission.

A small, but robust man rose from the circle of old wooden chairs.

- You all know me, comrades. The crew of our ship was always at the front of the deeds of the Revolution. Our commander, Vladimir Alexeevitch, decided that it would be best to use our cruiser to strike at the enemy with overwhelming force. The British fleet will serve us well, as we will also use it as a good will gesture for the American leader Washington, who is stationed here and awaits a British attack.

- We must do it now, over the course of several hours, while our goodwill ambassadors have already been dispatched, - said Lunacharsky. - This is extraordinary.

- The Aurora is ready, - said Belyshev quietly. - It will move out from the Neva into the waters...

- The Narrows, - corrected Lunacharsky.

- Yes, that strait. And then demonstrate our power to the British Navy which is assembling at a neighboring island. Our people have already detected them from observation points. Those are mostly wooden frigates, but there's lots of them. We'll order all of them to assemble in the Neva mouth, and then order the British to transport the food on-shore. Then the British forces shall be totally disarmed and sent to Washington, while the ships will be waiting here. Good luck to us all.

***

Shoosh... shooosh.... shooosh... The machine slowly sang it's monotonous song. The cruiser's heart had awakened, and Nikolai Lukichev, the machinist, was on duty once again.

He thought this morning that he was going to demobilize with the rest of the crew next day. But this sudden twist of fate left him with his machines. Just several days earlier the crew got rid of the ship's commander, the ruthless "Dragon". The victory of Revolution promised a quick peace treaty and demobilization, but extraordinary circumstances changed that.

Shoosh... shoosh... shooosh... the machine was hungrily devouring coal. The massive armored body moved across the small waterway which remained from a once full and gorgeous river, the Neva. The 152-mm Canet guns were manned and ready to wipe out the unsuspecting British - but the goal was a demonstration, not a sneak attack.

The ship was picking up speed, coming out into the narrows, where a massive British fleet prepared for landing. A large mass of wooden frigates moving across the narrows was clearly seen from the pont avant.

- Can you see them? - slowly whispered Reed, standing at the ship's bow, holding a naval megaphone.

- Yes, and they see us, I think, - said Lunacharsky quietly. - There's less than three kilometers between us, and we're rapidly closing in.

- We're closing in, - shouted Nikolai Erikson, the ship commander, staying on the captain's bridge with commisar Belyshev. - Get ready.

The British ships moved forward. Several frigates accompanied a 64-gun ship in the middle of the formation.

- That must be the flagship... the ship that was attacked by an american submarine, - whispered Reed. - The Beagle?

- Definetely not, that's Charles' Darwin ship, - corrected him Lunacharsky. - You're not very good at history, friend.

- We'll be better when we get the books on the period from the Petrograd libraries, if there are any, - replied Reed. - Food right now is more important anyway.

Less than a kilometer remained between the British fleet and the Aurora. The armored behemoth slowed down a bit, and the sailors came up to the decks to see the elegantly shaped wooden sail-ships filling the strait. And then it was time for the ultimatum to ring clearly across the straight in the middle of a summer day.

A deaf silence, only the sound of the sea itself, was felt in the several hundred meters between Howe's lead formation and the "Aurora". But after several seconds, the sound of smoothbore guns was the answer.

***

He was an able seaman. He was a good officer. He was experienced, he was weathered. He was one of the finest men in the Royal Navy, and this...? Is this some kind of ridiculous joke? The Americans must be truly out of their minds, thought Richard "Black Dick" Howe. And in some other circumstances, he would probably be right. But it was the August of 1776, and Howe made a terribly bad decision.

- Sir...

- I heard him, - Howe cut off his lieutenant with a calm voice, looking straight at the large, enormous metallic machine standing in the waters before the Royal Navy's assault fleet. - I suggest we close in and lay this ugly American monstrosity to rest in those waters. It is most likely a mock...

The British admiral did not finish - a terrible noise, the sound of a massive explosion, filled the air, and Howe fell down on the hand-rails. But even from there he saw the unthinkable - several of His Majesty's Ships were exploding right before his eyes. It was a beautiful and horrifying firework. The Rose and Greyhound were no more. Gone. In the blink of an eye, the enemy who so boldy advised them to surrender, acted on his promise. A brute, unrestrained show of force.... But it was not over. The thunder came again, and four more frigates went down in flames - both near and far, all around Howe's flagship. So far that he could not even think it's possible to shoot... almost over a mile. And only a second passed between the dreadful acts of destruction!

His beautiful ships were now nothing but small wooden wreckage parts. The crew... Howe shuddered. To go out like this... he noticed several people still alive in the water amongst the bodies. Oh God, and the soldiers! What dreadful weapons have been directed against them all!

- Do not resist, - he heard the voice speak again. - This ship which we command, the "Aurora", in the name of the Revolution, can destroy your entire landing armada in the blink of an eye. Do as we have said.

Howe could not speak. He was looking in awe at the burning remains of two of his ships and at the smoke rising from what he thought the enemy's guns were.

- And as you're still doubting, you shall be given another demonstration, - the voice mercilessly took away Howe's time, the time he needed to make a decision. - Look at Staten Island, where your base was.

Howe slowly turned back from the horrific metal ship, looking at the other side of the Narrows - the side, from which he brought British troops.

The Staten Island shore, and the harbor point, exploded. Literally. Before his eyes. The metal ship... it could not be! Howe turned his head around. Yes, smoke and thunder came from that... how was it called? "Aurora"? Perhaps it was the ship of god, sent down to punish the wicked? Howe could not explain how the Americans could ever get anything like that, not even to himself.

- Surrender and do not attempt to close range any further, or all your ships will share the same fate. We await your message. You know our demands. Tell us you are ready.

The British admiral was thinking as fast as he could. If he falls prisoner, and all the fleet too, who would inform the Empire of what transpired here? If the fleet is decimated, and Howe now no longer harbored any illusions that the huge enemy ship could not do this - Britain will also not know what awaits it. He need to get to Staten island and then return to the Empire. No matter how, but he needs to. The best would be to pose as a sailor... then, when manning the canots, as the fleet will move to fulfill the enemy demands, he will sail off, in the panic, in the fray...

Certainly. That was the only way.

Several frigates already sent out the canots to rescue the survivors from the exploded ships. A perfect time to escape. And slowly, his plan offered him a sense of security against the unknown danger.

- We surrender, - he said slowly. - Deliver that message, wave those silly white curtains which they want to see, throw all guns down from the decks, throw away all rifles, and sail to wherever they say! But this is not the end, I swear.

The giant metal ship was immune to words. It did not evaporate. It waited. And the more Howe looked at it, the more he realized that something wrong happened to the world in which he lives.

[K. A. Pital]

Here's my take at the pseudo-historic illustration


Next on-board - Lenin meets Washington... and the other way round

[Wanderer]

What are the Stats for the Aurora and its steaming range?

[K. A. Pital]

Aurora

Total Displacement - 6 731,3 tons

Max Length - 126,8 m
Max Width - 16,8 m
Median Draught - 6,4 m

Machinery Power - 11 971 h.p.
Top Speed - 20 knots (museum figure; some publications note that official tests yielded 19,2-19,6 knots max)
Sailing Distance - 4 000 miles (7 200 km) at 10 knots.
Coal Supply - normal 964 tons (maximal: 1000 tons)

Crew: 570 (of them 20 officers)

Artillery Armament (1917):
14 x 152-mm Canet guns
Rate of fire per minute: 10
Range of fire when gun on 20 degrees vertical:
- with 1915 field charge 14 450 m
- with shrapnel 11 895 m
Mass of projectile: 41,46 kg (1915 field charge or 1915 shrapnel)
6x 76,2-mm Lender flak guns
Rate of fire per minute: 25
Vertical elevation -5 to +65 deg.
Range of fire: 5 500 m vertical, 9 000 m horizontal.
Mass of projectile: 6,5 kg

Torpedo armament:
- 1 deck launcher
- 2 underwater launchers
Ammo - 8x 1989-type torpedoes
Mine armament:
150x 1908-type mines

Broadside mass:
- 267 kg per volley
- 652 kg per minute

[Wanderer]

Ouch, those poor British Bastards. The Revolution hast come.

[K. A. Pital]

Coming soon.

Meanwhile, cont'd.

***

- Aim for their powder holds! On my command! Fire! – shouted Belyshev.

The cruiser fired a left broadside with it’s Canet guns, immediately destroying two frigates. The explosions made Lunacharsky cover his eyes. He certainly knew that it would not be possible to persuade the British without such a display of force – at least in the short time they had to do it – but deep down Anatoly felt that using violence is wrong. He felt uneasy when his reasoning conflicted with his feelings – just as in the time of Revolution. The Revolution was supposed to be an end to violence, a triumph of a people putting off it’s shackles, he thought. But then the cruiser fired another volley.

The sound of firing weapons was heard clearly through the walls of the radio shack. Andrei Mikhailovitch Zotkevich, Aurora's telegraphist, shook his head. A new war somewhere beyond his imagination... No more messages from Centrobalt, "Diana", "Russia"... only the center of the city survived. How much more dreadful must have been the weapons which were used to attack Petrograd, thought Andrei, than this ship's simple guns - and yet, if he was to believe the ship's committee, those weapons right now were no less a super-weapon. The telegraphist's thoughts were grim. Even if this operation that Belyshev was so enthusiastic about, succeeds, what are they going to do next?

The room was quiet. Nobody answered his grim thoughts. Only the quiet noise of the radiotelegraph station and nothing more... until suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

- Excuse me!
- Come in..
- Petr. You can call me Petya.
A man entered the radio shack with his companion - the huge tripod-based photo camera.
- You... you're a photographer? - Andrei quickly smoothed his clothes.
- The enemy has surrendered! - the photographer was excited. - You have to telegraph to Petrograd!
- Sure I will.
- I'll take your picture, - he smiled. - For history.
The man readied his camera right in the door space. Several minutes passed before a sudden revelation crossed the telegraphist's mind.
- Were you... were you taking pictures during the war with Japan? - asked Zotkevich, uncertain.
- Indeed, - the man was looking very enthusiastic as he readied the huge wooden box. - Petr Adolfovich Otsup, at your service. Now, please look here. We are making history.

A simple person could have called Otsup slightly crazy. A photographer who delighted in shooting massive events - wars, rallies and meetings - and their human leaders. He also loved to take photographs of famous people. If something was going on, you could be sure Otsup would be there. He traveled across the Russian Empire, crossed the battlefields of two wars, ended up shooting the events in the very heart of the Revolution - Petrograd... Zotkevich suddenly thought that of all people, probably only someone so free-riding as Otsup was positively looking at what happened with the city and them all.

But Andrei Zotkevich liked him. During the Revolution, he met the photographer at the barricades. Otsup bravely carried his camera into the fray near the Palace - but bad shooting conditions didn't allow him to make the shots in time. The sailor remembered how bravely the man moved around with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Recalling how they met shoulder to shoulder at the Palace bridge, Zotkevich thought that it was probably Lenin who picked Otsup for the job. Were there even any other photographers left in Petrograd, thought he, and this thought brought a sudden relief. He even smiled thinly as he delivered an urgent message to the New Holland radiostation.

Otsup left for the deck, which offered a prime view - in the mouth of a narrow strait between two islands, dozens of frigates maneuvered to swim to the shore where Petrograd was. People on the sail ships threw heavy guns into the water and the whole strait was filled with shouting noises. Two burning carcasses did not yet sink down, while other targets of the Aurora have met Neptune all right. The flagship, called "Eagle" - Otsup asked Lunacharsky about it - was one of the first in a long row of surrendering British vessels.

Countless sloops and barges were swimming between the ships and near the shores of Staten Island. The British landing failed utterly. Otsup once again thought about the perspectives of photographing this age. This indeed was one of the greatest possibilities in life that ever opened before him.
- So, did you shoot it all? - an anxious commander Erikson appeared behind Otsup's shoulder.
- Yes, commander.
- Good, - it seemed that Erikson was feeling extreme pride for his ship. - This is most important.
- I don't take bad shots, lieutenant, - the photographer started readying the camera. - Now, will you excuse me?
- Sure I do. Look at the island, - Erikson pointed his hand at the smoke rising up on the opposite shore, where some army encampment structures were dimly seen. - It's their base. Or, rather, was their base.
- May I ask what our plans for now are? - asked Otsup whilst still being immersed in work with the camera.
- We wait until they surrender all food supplies and ships. That's several hours. After that, we return to Petrograd, to the factory pier. Armed guards will be waiting those ships on the shore from a good two hundred meters, so I think no incidents would arise. After they disembark and transport all supplies to the shore, we will decide what to do with them.

***

As the small canot sailed through the chaotic British fleet, Richard Howe could not get his look off the floating fortress that so easily put an end to the Empire's brilliant landing. The canot crossed a spot with dozens of dead bodies and wooden wreckage floating around, but Howe almost didn't see it. In a few seconds, he realized what happened here - it was one of the frigates that exploded, taking down with it two accompanying sloops, quite close to the shores of Staten Island.

The strait was filled tight with small and large ships. Howe passed them by, looking at the people there. His heart was trembling. All of them were doomed to unknown fates, since the metal ship demanded that they all come ashore in Gravesend Bay.

The canot hit the shore, and Howe carefully walked out of it.
- After me! - he shouted to his men, and ran into the burning harbor encampment.
The camp was burning here and there. Shouts of wounded were heard everywhere.
- What happened?! - admiral Howe ran into one of the officers, whose clothes were covered in blood. - Where is my brother?
- I'm afraid I do not know, sir, - he man cried. - He may be dead, or on the ship, or somewhere in the camp, sir.
- So find it out! - Howe shouted, and the officer ran off. - And find me Charles!

Even a quick look at the camps revealed a total disaster. Burning tents and hundreds of dead and wounded - literally everywhere... the smell of burned horse and human flesh rising from the earth was almost intolerable. From the landing piers to the guns and supply tents, everything looked like a battlefield aftermath. But it was not a battlefield... a massacre, thought Howe. And the ship did that in a barrage that lasted less than a minute!

Richard Howe moved through what remained of the camp to the command tent and realized that it was futile. The destruction was so thorough that the dead outnumbered the living. Wounded people wandered in shock across the camp, crying out the names of their companions - probably those who just several minutes ago breathed and laughed... Red uniforms of lying British soldiers were everywhere, mixed with the ugly colors of blood and dirt.

- I need a horse, - Howe shouted to the officer, who has wandered away several steps. But the latter was so shocked that he didn't even notice. Failing to get any attention from the man, Howe went to the outskirts of the ravaged camp. He caught himself thinking that the enemy ship could repeat the bombardment and end his life in an instant. The faster he gets out of here, the better.

[Zor]

Hey Stas, have you considered adding more to this?

Zor

[The Duchess of Zeon]

Stas, just as a comment to what's otherwise a very good story, you're overestimating the destructive effect of explosive shells against wooden ships. The Austrian Steam Ship of the Line Kaiser of 86 guns at the Battle of Lissa (or Vis) was hit seventy times by explosive shells and rammed an enemy ironclad (sinking it!), and yet survived the engagement, with her hull later being rebuilt into the basis for an ironclad herself. Granted these were primitive rifles or muzzle-loaders with small powder charges, and which would burst on impact, so certainly the shells of the quick-firing Canet guns of the Aurora would be far more effective, but short of a direct hit on the powder magazine that level of destruction would not be easily entailed.

Frankly, to save ammunition, I'd think the commander of the Aurora would in the future probably just resort to ramming. The British have no guns which can damage the ship's vitals through her armour, and showing an invincible steel monster bearing down on you and tearing your ship in two would be more terrifying still, sort of like the effect that Verne depicted in 20,000 Leagues under the Sea of the international response to the Nautilus.

[K. A. Pital]

Frankly, to save ammunition, I'd think the commander of the Aurora would in the future probably just resort to ramming. The British have no guns which can damage the ship's vitals through her armour, and showing an invincible steel monster bearing down on you and tearing your ship in two would be more terrifying still, sort of like the effect that Verne depicted in 20,000 Leagues under the Sea of the international response to the Nautilus.

Indeed that is so. I'm writing that part out. Guns were just for show-off.

Hey Stas, have you considered adding more to this?

I'm writing C.3 but it goes slowly as I have shitloads of work. Nonetheless, I'm not forgetting about this story Analyzing Petrograd (a foreign town to me, even if I have been there on many occasions) is rather time-consuming, with all the maps and buildings detailed, to set out a realistic depiction of their small city. Washington's voyage is essentially a description of Petrograd. That's what's eating my time

[Scottish Ninja]

Good to hear that it's still going, though. I was starting to get a bit worried.