Goliath: Kirov Series, #70

By John Schettler

Linked directly to Volume #69, the story begins with Fedorov still trapped inside the ancient Sphinx, but where it soon goes from there is a wild new twist, and a new story line. Hold on to your hats, Director Kamenski has another mission for Karpov, Fedorov, and crew, and it is different from anything  they have ever been asked to do. The problem is the dread Grand Finality rearing its ugly head again. Karpov thought the mission to the polar bases using Baikal  to plant hidden tactical nukes had made an end of the Finality when the initial Skeletal invasion was stopped, but now Kamenski reveals that the fierce Alien race is not yet through with Earth, and that they have planned for the annihilation of humanity another way. Kamenski gambles that men like Karpov, Fedorov, Troyak and his Marines are just the type to  foil the plot the Ice Men are hatching, but to do this they have to go to the strangest farthest place the saga has ever reached.

The Skeletals are once again the primary antagonists, and it will take all Fedorov's reasoned wits, Karpov's razer sharp military instincts, and the muscle and bravado of Troyak and his Black Death Marines to pull this mission off against the most dangerous foe they have ever faced. It's an amazing twist in the series to try and save the earth itself and everything on it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Writing Shop Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224164622

John Schettler

A prolific writer with 75 books, John Schettler achieved early recognition in winning the Silver Medal for Science Fiction in Foreword Magazine's annual competion, and scoring a 9.5/10 with Reader's Digest for his 5-book Time Travel series opener, Meridian. He went on to author the longest story ever written, the massive 64 volume Kirov Series, also a Time travel Military Fiction and alternate history of WWII. John's latest work is a new Epic Fantasy series, The Chronicles of Innisfail, released April of 2022.

Book preview

Part I

The Archive

Archive as if the future depends on it.

― Lisbet Tellefsen, archivist

Chapter 1

As the surprise of what had happened to him subsided, Fedorov suddenly felt cold water surrounding his boots and slowly rising to wet his ankles. The realization that he was now in grave danger in this confined space was acute. There must be a pipe down low feeding this water in, and at this rate, it will be up to the ceiling in here in ten or fifteen minutes.

He was in a small perpendicular chamber, the walls solid stone, coarse and uncarved; the low stone ceiling only about seven feet high. The area he had been examining on the other side must have had a trigger point that set off a rotating floor disc. It was a trap, like so many other cleverly engineered traps attributed to Egyptian tombs and Pyramids. Then he realized that if he could find the source of the water inflow, and somehow stop it up, he might buy himself more time. Better now before it gets deeper. He stooped low, his hand under the rising water feeling along the edge of the stone wall, but he could find no openings like a pipe. Instead, the entire length of the chamber had been built so that water could flow over a low set ridge of stone. Could he block it using all his clothing? Then he felt the two shorter ends of the chamber were also emitting water. He could feel the current of its inflow with his fingers. No wonder the water was rising so quickly.

He had seen the stream between the forelegs of the Lion had flowed into a stone canal to channel it beneath the beast and direct that water a safe distance away so it would not undermine the great monument. That channel must be very near, and the water is simply leaking down through these cleverly engineered openings along the wall nearest the floor.

The water was now up to his knees.

Confined spaces like this presented many dangers. The limited breathable air could cause asphyxiation, any gasses or fumes entering the space could be deadly, flooding like this was a real concern. Heat could build up and become suffocating, and any explosion or fire might be deadly. Even accumulation of dust could present a severe breathing hazard.

Now he pounded his fist on the stone wall, and called out for Troyak. Then he remembered his suit radio, and pinched it off.

Captain Fedorov? Are you alright?

Fedorov could just make out Troyak’s muffled voice on the other side of the wall, but he could hear him loud and clear on the suit radio.

I’m well, for the moment, but this is a small room and water is flooding it from below. I’m already up to my knees! Can you break through somehow? Can the men muscle the wall to try and move it?

We tried that, sir. It won’t budge. I heard what sounded like a metal lock clanking shut.

Well, I’ll be out of air space and under water in ten minutes at the rate this room is flooding. Do something, anything, or I’m going to die in here!

The consequence of Fedorov’s insatiable curiosity was looking like it might soon be fatal. He had taken some cell phone images of the carved wall, then thought to get up close to it and examine it further. That was when the trap had been sprung. He realized that the engineers could have designed this trap to flood in just a few minutes, but they deliberately restricted the inflow of water just enough to lay on the mental torture of fear. It would be a slow death, but not a painful one, thought Fedorov. And through his mind came scenes of his life, all the many things he had experienced, his first love lost, and then all he had seen during his time with Kirov. Was this truly his end? Was he to die because his thirst for the history finally led him here to a place he could not simply shift away from?

On the other side of the wall, Troyak was his only chance for survival now.

Private Block. You have the PVV-5A Plastic Explosive?

Sir, yes sir.

Give me a half charge... Captain? How big is this chamber you are in?

Looks to be about eight feet wide and three feet deep.

Alright. I am setting up an explosive charge to your bottom left if you are facing the outer wall. Please move as far to the right as you can.

Now Troyak went to work setting up that charge. PVV-5A was a plastic, moldable explosive like C-4 that could be easily shaped in ways to direct its explosive power. Enough of it could cut through a metal I-beam 14 inches thick. Troyak had no doubt that it would blast and break this stone, though he did not know how thick the wall was.

Sir, how high is the water now?

Three to four feet.

Alright sir, please turn and face the side wall on your right if facing me or the outer wall. Keep your head protected, cover or plug your ears, and open your mouth. There’s going to be a big splash in 30 seconds.

Troyak was counting on the water acting as a shield to absorb a lot of the shock. There would be no metalix shrapnel, but segments of the rock could be as dangerous as bullets. He hoped using just half a stick would be enough to do the job, but not so much as to send a hail of stone all through the inner chamber, which would pummel Fedorov, and possibly kill him. Private Blok had taken his field knife and cut a section of the PVV-5A, which was an RDX based explosive with 20% plasticizer to make it very malleable.

Troyak set the charge and waved the men back. His experience allowed him to shape the explosive to direct its power in one direction, straight through the wall. It went off with a loud explosion that blasted away a one foot wide section of the lower inner wall, out came a sudden deluge of water and hissing steam.

Inside the confined space, Fedorov took a shock but he was not harmed. The four feet of water had risen to five feet, and that served to inhibit any rock fragments from acting like a shotgun blast. Troyak had used just enough explosive to break that small section of the wall. All the water rushed out, which was his real intention. It would buy them time to see what else they could do, but he did not want to try another explosive big enough to blast their way in. The shock to Fedorov might be too great, as there was now no water barrier to absorb it.

Captain? Are you alright?

Well enough, Major. That did the trick with the water, and I’m also getting air through that small hole

Is there gas inside?

Very little, mostly up near the low ceiling. I can stoop below it.

Good. Hang in there, sir. We’re working on another solution.

At that moment, there came a rustle of movement in the two corridors. Whether it was the operation of the trap itself, or the explosion, the alarm here had been raised, and the sound of many men could be heard tramping through the two entry corridors.

Marines, make ready on a firing line. Hold fire unless I give the order. Watch our back, Sergeant Zykov. Troyak was all business.

The Marines formed a line abreast, all down on one knee, their assault rifles at the ready.

Captain, said Troyak. We’ve got bad company. Troyak joined the firing line.

Ten armed men carrying spears emerged from each corridor arch. They saw the Marines, some with looks of astonishment. Then they started towards them. Troyak turned to face them, his face set, and he thrust out his arm as if to say: ‘Stop where you are.’ When some kept advancing, lowering their spears, he raked the ground in front of them with a burst of fire. One round ricocheted up to just graze a man’s lower leg. The spearmen all stopped.

Now Troyak had his war face on, and he pointed a stiff finger to the wall where Fedorov had been trapped. It was clear to the spearmen what he was saying. For when that trap had been sprung, a clever system had activated a mechanism that ignited two fires in the upper head of the Sphinx, one behind each eye, which then glowed in the night as if the Lion was roused to anger. It also set off other alarms, summoning these two squads of Guardsmen to the inner Hall of Records.

In the middle of all of this, a man wearing a turban and white Arabic robes came shuffling into the room behind the Marines. Zykov quickly took a bead on him with his sniper rifle and had him covered. The man held up his hands as if to say he was harmless, and spoke, first in some Arabic tongue, and then in English, French and Spanish, all saying the same thing. Who are you? What do you want here?

There was only one English Speaker among the Marines, Zykov, and he had a rudimentary knowledge of the language. None spoke French or Spanish, but Zykov told Troyak what he thought the man said in English. Fedorov also caught the essence of the message.

Tell him to send those men away or there will be many killed here. Then tell him I want that wall trap opened at once! Troyak pointed stiffly at the wall again.

You invade my home like brigands or thieves, and now you presume to give me orders? said the man in white.

Zykov’s translation went You come as thieves and give me orders? Then he walked over to the man, took a firm hold of his robe and said. Yes, we give you orders. Understand? He fixed the man with a deadly serious glare.

At this the twenty spearmen grew restless, and it looked like they might charge. This time Troyak fired his hand held machine pistol on full automatic at the wall, the bullets snapping into the stone and the noise deafening. Call those men off or they die!

Zykov shook the robed man and repeated Troyak’s order. The man raised one arm, warding off the spearmen, even as more men gathered in the shadows deeper into the Great hall. Troyak could see them on infrared. He gave a hand signal, and two Marines turned to cover their rear, weapons ready. Troyak pointed at the wall he had peppered with that burst, more insistent.

Ah, said the robed man. We have caught a fly that came looking for honey. You want him back. Yes? Very well, I will open the chamber, if this man will permit me.

Zykov translated: He says he can open it.

Then tell him to get with it! Troyak was not one to lose his temper, but with twenty men holding spears in front of him, and others in the shadows behind him he could easily foresee a bloodbath here if he had to go full automatic in this situation, and he knew Captain Fedorov would not want that.

The robed man was released by Zykov, and he walked to the wall, looking over the lines of Hieroglyphics. Let me see... He then pressed upon three glyphs in sequence, and the third one depressed under that pressure. There came a sound of metal sliding against rock, and lo and behold, the circular floor disc rotated again, then it jammed. Yet in partially rotating it produced an opening just large enough for Fedorov to squeeze through. Troyak exhaled, releasing the tension. He was very pleased.

Now Zykov, thank this man and then tell him to dismiss these soldiers so none of them will be harmed.

Zykov did this, but the man frowned. Who are you? he asked, that you should be so bold as to come here and give such orders. The Assassins will not look kindly on you if even one of these men is harmed, and believe me, retribution is their stock and trade, and they will hound you no matter where you might go, in this time, or another. But to be more accommodating, please tell me who you are, and why you are here?

Fedorov’s English was better than Zykov’s and he understood what the man was asking. So he spoke next.

I am Anton Fedorov, and I have come here to satisfy my curiosity. Tell me, is there a hidden cache left here by those the world might called the men of Atlantis? A cache of knowledge and wisdom that might have been shared with other peoples? Fedorov wasted no words, and got right to the point. I am not a thief, come to plunder or steal, but a man interested in history.

I see... Well, there is knowledge here, yes, the history of this world as we know it, carved into these walls by dedicated scribes, of which I am chief this session. This hidden place was chosen to keep it from prying eyes. Yes, to keep it safe from brigands and thieves—those unworthy to know what it recounts, now, in years past, and in the far future as well. Yet this was not written by those from this place you call Atlantis—I am surprised you even know of or believe such things.

One believes the evidence of his own eyes, said Fedorov. After all, who in the modern world ever knew there was a second Sphinx? Yet here we stand. I have learned of this place, and more.

Indeed... Forgive me, I am Ahmed, keeper of this Archive for a time, though that responsibility will soon pass to another. I forget my manners.

And I, said Fedorov. Best to dismiss these spearmen, sir. My Marines can be quite edgy in the presence of such a threat. We mean no harm; we disturb nothing more here; we take nothing. I am sorry we had to damage this wall, but I was minutes from death a moment ago.

Yes, and take a lesson from that! This place was constructed to protect what is here, and some of its defenses are mostly unseen, and quite deadly.

So I have learned.

As for these men, they are but twenty of many thousands, and those others are all now aware that this sacred place has been violated by outsiders. Your intentions may be good, historian, but to come here is to court death if one comes uninvited.

Now sir, make no threats, for many would die, and here, in this time, that would change a very much of the history carved into these walls. Surely you do not want that.

I see... Then you are an Agent of the Order?

No, we know nothing of that, but we are Walkers, if you know that term, and with means to deal with many thousands or more. That would cause many changes to all you have carved here. If you, yourself, are a fellow Walker, then you know I speak truth.

Who and what I am I will keep just now, but if you are a gentleman, sir, and not a thief as you say, then I would ask you to kindly withdraw from this place, and leave us in peace. Then no changes need ever be inscribed, and the tale of days beyond this one into the many tomorrows will remain intact and unsullied. Will you go in peace?

Fedorov looked around. He had barely scratched the surface of what might be here, and his urge to see more was very great. Yet he could sense and understand this man’s reluctance to offer him a tour, and his desire for Troyak and his men to be gone.

Sir, remove these men I see here. They block our safe passage, and promise we will not be followed or attacked. Then we go as you ask. And these many thousands of men you command should know their great peril if ever they dare attack us. Please understand. I do not boast. We are few, but very strong.

Indeed, well now that we have both shown each other the swords we carry, I sincerely hope it will not be necessary to use them. The man raised a hand and waved the spearmen off, calling one man by name and speaking to him in Arabic. Troyak was pleased to see the twenty spearmen withdraw as they had entered, and the shadows deeper into the Great Hall drew back and were gone.

You say that nothing written by the men of Atlantis is here? Fedorov asked Ahmed.

Nothing. That is but a fable, a rumor. Things are written here, or should I say chiseled in stone, but not by men from Atlantis.

Who I have met and spoken with directly, said Fedorov. So I know they are no fable or myth, but real. I have seen their towers on islands in the Atlantic Sea. Yes, I have seen this fabled lost continent that was fated to meet its doom. I was hoping that—

Yes, yes, you were hoping to learn all they may have known, and all they may have seeded in the world of the Mediterranean cultures. You wanted to know the truth of Plato’s stories, and now you have uncovered it, but not here, sir. This is an archive built for another purpose.

Fedorov was not going to reveal that he knew what that purpose was, and Ahmed was not going to tell him anything more of it, for there were rules that had to be followed in these matters. Even a single misplaced word could end up rippling forward in time to cause alarming changes. Fedorov could only remember his careless whisper to Mironov, and how it changed all Russian history when the man who became Sergei Kirov took it to heart and saw to the early death of Josef Stalin, before Stalin could see to his own death. Ivan Volkov’s Orenburg Federation was one result. Though his mind was now on making a safe withdrawal, he could not help asking Ahmed another question.

You said your record of days reached both forward and also into the past. May I ask how far forward it goes?

Oh, you may ask it, but I may not answer such a question. If you are truly a Walker of meridians, then you know why.

Of course, but there is great fear in the day and time we come from—talk of something called a Grand Imperative. Have you heard of this. Do you know the term?

That I do, and it is the doom that has been written of. Yet what may be an imperative to some, may not apply to all. This is all I may say.

Fedorov looked up at the walls, seeing the perfect horizontal rows of glyphs from floor to ceiling. The only blemish was the missing chunk of the wall Troyak’s rescue charge had opened.

"I am sorry for the damage we have caused here, though I am grateful it was done, otherwise my days would be over, and I still have much to learn. We will leave now as we came, and go peacefully. But I must warn you. If we are attacked or pursued, many of your soldiers will die, and even one untimely death could change a thousand years."

Ahmed nodded. Go in peace. Our soldiers will not bother you, but I beseech you. Never come here again. He held up a warning finger.

Fedorov nodded.

Major Troyak. We’ll withdraw as we came. Weapons tight, unless we are attacked.

Aye Sir. You heard him, Marines. Up and at it. Troyak pointed to the right tunnel.

Chapter 2

They moved through the tunnel, a pair of Marines reaching the open end first and scanning left and right for any sign of ambush or trouble. There was only the sound of the stream flowing in between the legs of the Sphinx, a calming sound that belied the danger and the flow of Adrenaline within them. The Egyptian spearmen were nowhere to be seen. So the two men climbed the right leg of the beast and anchored a climbing rope to a metal stake The others reached the scene, and Troyak and Zykov went up next. Reaching the top, Zykov turned and looked back at the glowing eyes of the Sphinx. They seemed to burn with hatred and indignation at first. He scanned the shadows behind those glowing eyes in case hidden bowmen might be lurking there.

Clear, he said to Troyak.

Alright, Captain Fedorov next please.

Fedorov took hold of the rope and started to climb. He had to lean back and slowly walk his way up the ancient stone, his grip on the rope being the only thing that stopped him from falling backwards. Nearing the top, Troyak reached down, took hold of his right arm, and hauled him up. The other Marines began to follow, climbing easily. Troyak sent two down the other side to search the area for any threats. They would report anything seen via their jacket short-range radio sets.

The night was still and quiet, but there seemed some impending danger all around them. How many soldiers did the Egyptians have guarding this place, Fedorov wondered. Surely there was a garrison somewhere close by. Will they stand off, or will it come to a battle before they could reach the helicopter. The Marines could feel the danger as if with some sixth sense born of all the combat missions they had been on, but none shirked. These were men who had faced off against any foe that ever posed a threat to them, from German Panzergrenadiers on the Orlov rescue mission, to Volkov’s Paratroopers at Ilanskiy, to the wild tribes of Sudan, to the raptors along the Tunguska river and in the deep dark caves where they searched for hidden rifts in time. They had faced every foe with resolute calm and lethal competence—even the Ice Men in Antarctica and the frozen north when the alien Skeletals came. So Fedorov could feel no fear being in the company of such men. He only hoped they would not have to fight here, because every bullet fired could be ripping holes in the meridian from here to modern days.

Major, he said to Troyak. Should we call for the helicopters? It would save us a long night march.

Troyak was scanning their surroundings. To the south he saw the dark squarish shapes of stone buildings in this ancient setting. No sign of movement in Cairo, he said.

Oh, that’s not Cairo. That city was founded much later by the Fatamid Arabs. But we are very near the location of Heliopolis, the ‘City of the Sun,’ a place that has been occupied here in the Nile Delta since prehistoric times. Then came Memphis in the early dynastic period of the Old Kingdom, around 3000 BC. It will be thousands of years before the urban sprawl of Cairo grows up here, starting in the fourth century of the first millennium AD. Anything else we see will be a temple, shrine or monument from a time before recorded history, as this Sphinx is. The area looks clear now. Call the helicopters. They should locate the Sphinx easily from the air. The need for stealth is over now. Let’s save the hike back to Wadi Delga.

Aye sir, I’ll bring the birds in.

Now let any in this region know our power, thought Fedorov. Ra himself sends two angels to take us up into the night and away. They will put some awe into these Egyptians. It might cause a small ripple, and become a legend or tale, but I don’t think it will cause and significant changes.

Troyak told the Helos to vector in on his signal and look for the Sphinx. It was not long before they heard the hard thumping of the rotors beating the night. Then their metal angels hovered briefly near the sphinx and slowly descended to land. The reserve squad leapt off immediately and fanned out to secure a perimeter around the birds, and then Troyak waved his squad forward to the LZ. He stood by the open door, eyes squinting in the swirling dust. And waved his Marines aboard. Fedorov boarded, and then, last of all, Troyak. Seconds later the rotors revved back up to full power and they lifted off. Fedorov looked out to see if there were any Egyptian soldiers or cavalry about, but it was too dark to see much on the ground.

He told the radio man to notify Kirov that all was well and the mission helos were now returning to the ship. But not all was well.

* * *

Back withing the second Sphinx, Ahmed left the outer chamber and rushed into the shadows. He made his way into a series of winding passages that wended deeper into the heart of the beast, eventually reaching a smaller inner chamber. There he saw a solitary man standing in white robes and wearing a blue turban. He walked quickly to the man.

They have found us, he said in Arabic. A group of eleven penetrated to the outer hall. Most were armed and in uniform. They have seen the Glyphs there. One was even caught in a wall trap, but they used some kind of explosive to free him. They asked of any remnant of the Atlantean scrolls, but of course I dismissed that as mere legend. From their dress, and by the weapons they carried, they were 21st Century soldiers, called Marines by their leader. So they may have come off a ship—you know the one I speak of. Go and report that the Archive may no longer be safe. We have been found. It will be necessary to improve security here, and we can no longer rely on the local Egyptians. Too much is at stake, and even a single death among them could have far reaching consequences. I have argued this many times at the council. Now they must know that the brotherhood itself must provide our security—not these locals, whose lives we must guard well. So how can they protect this place? Tell them to sample resonance and see who these intruders are. They will have to be dealt with, because they are obviously Walkers from some future time, and must be related to the operations of the Order. This is a grave day. We have been discovered, and security was so lax that they were able to come withing this monument, just like the Founders.

"Agreed. Perhaps they were sent here by the Founders. WE know that