Prohibition of Interference. Book 6. Samurai Code

Chapter 1

“The small reconnaissance ship started transmitting a coded signal,” Letra reported when I got out of the cabin of the IL plane, “Perhaps I was very much mistaken about its affiliation with the rebels.”

“What does it communicate?”

“It appears to be a pre-recorded distress message. Automated reconnaissance ships are not designed for manned flight, but this ship seems to have passengers. If the report is to be believed, there are two medical pods with people in the cargo bay, immersed in a state of low-temperature sleep. I don't understand how they crammed such bulky equipment in there, the hold in this ship is very small.”

“Where did the recon ship get damaged?”

“This drone is assigned to the destroyer Consul Pran. The Metropolis lost control of it at the very beginning of the rebellion. The report says that the crew members who were not affected by the virtual psychosis and did not die during the hijacking of the ship, were isolated by the rebels in the medical bay and the hangar adjacent to it. For almost a year they were subjected to various experiments and just plain torture. After a while, however, the rebels partially lost their guard, and the two prisoners managed to recover a small recon ship that had been damaged in one of the skirmishes and to somehow escape from the destroyer. There are no details, but there is a request for urgent help.”

“Who are they?”

“A man and a woman. Civilian professionals. I forwarded you the decoded message. It repeats cyclically, but other than the names, which are not in my databases, it doesn't say anything else about these people.”

“How did they get on the destroyer?”

“No data.”

“Can the reconnaissance ship's instruments detect satellites in orbit?”

“No, they can't. From this distance its scanners will not penetrate the camouflage fields of the satellites. Also, this scout ship is damaged and may not be able to use active scanning systems, but I wouldn't count on that.”

“Do you have strict program directives for such cases? Are you obligated to respond to a distress call?”

“There are directives,” Letra answered after a moment's hesitation, “I must render all possible assistance to a ship in distress, regardless of its affiliation. I think you realize that these directives were drawn up long before the mutiny.”

“Have you answered the call?”

“No.”

“But…”

“It is highly probable that this is a provocation. If I make contact, I will inevitably be detected. Do we need a destroyer here, or even a whole fleet of rebels?”

“What about the unconditional directive?”

“It doesn't really matter. I can't help them actually, even if I wanted to. I have no ships, the entrances to the upper levels of the base are destroyed and littered with tons of debris. All base personnel except you are dead, and you are on Earth and unable to leave it. My making contact with the ship won't make them any better, but it will give us away completely.”

“So if there really are people there, they will inevitably die?”

“The resources of the medical pods and the ship itself will last for some time, but it's very difficult to determine exactly for how long. Maybe for a few weeks, maybe for a year. The small reconnaissance craft is not designed to fly in the atmosphere, so the most it can do is get close to Earth or land on the surface of the Moon. Neither of these would help its passengers.”

“But why did they come here? It only makes sense if the fugitives knew about the Moonbase and hoped it had survived.”

“There is logic in what you say, but don't forget that it could all be a provocation.”

“Don't you think such a scenario is too difficult for a provocation? Damaged scout ship, strange distress signal… Wouldn't it have been easier for the destroyer to just show up here?”

“I don't have ehough data to analyze,” Letra replied with a note of regret, “Don't forget that it's been over a year since the mutiny began. Perhaps the Consul Pran has lost its bases and is operating autonomously. In this case, his commander is unlikely to want to waste fuel on blind jumps. Besides, an entire rebel cruiser disappeared here without a trace a year ago, and the destroyer is not likely to come here without reconnaissance.”

“It's all guesswork…”

“That's what I'm saying,” Letra said. “It's dangerous to make contact. So for the time being, all we can do is wait. We'll have to see what our guest will do, if it does anything at all.”

“That is very impressive, Comrade Nagulin,” Stalin was obviously in a very good mood. “Even Churchill grudgingly acknowledged our success, and American journalists spare no epithets to describe the results of the "Russian Polar Campaign," not forgetting, of course, the outstanding contribution of their volunteers to this victory.”

“The press, of course, is always prone to exaggeration, but they certainly played their part,” I tried to gently temper the Chief's sarcasm. “To underestimate the Americans is dangerous. They know how to fight, although they take any losses very painfully.”

“I see that you are imbued with respect for potential allies,” grinned Stalin, “and they have not neglected you. The Medal of Honor looks good on your uniform. It was presented to you personally by President Roosevelt, wasn't it?”

“That's right, Comrade Commander-in-Chief. That is the tradition.”

Stalin nodded silently and looked around the members of the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command.

“There is an opinion that Comrade Nagulin deserved more than an American award for his actions,” he said after a short pause without the shadow of a smile. “He received the overseas medal for shielding the President of the United States from a sniper's bullet, seriously wounding him, and then continuing to fight in spite of his wounds. I think Comrade Nagulin has honestly earned the highest award of the United States and has done our country a great service. But the other thing is more important to us. He led a nearly lossless convoy that delivered seven hundred thousand tons of military supplies to the USSR, and in addition our fleet was joined by two heavy cruisers and a modern battleship. How do you think, comrades, how should the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command assess Comrade Nagulin's contribution to our victory?”

Molotov, from whom, frankly, I did not expect such a thing, suddenly took the floor. “The Headquarters of the Supreme High Command should appreciate this exceptionally highly.”

“At the suggestion of Vice-Admiral Golovko, supported by the higher command staff of the fleet, the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet approved a new award for outstanding achievements in the organization and conduct of major naval operations,” said Marshal Shaposhnikov. “At the moment it is the highest naval order of the USSR. I think Comrade Nagulin deserves the honor of becoming the first Knight of the Order of Nakhimov in the Soviet Union.”

“Does anyone have any objections, comrades?” Stalin grinned slightly again. “No? Well, then the holder of the USSR's first highest naval order will not be an admiral at all, but a land general. I don't remember similar precedents in world history, but there is a first time for everything.”

“The order is a good thing,” Marshal Zhukov, who received the new rank for breaking the siege of Leningrad, joined the discussion, “but no end to the war is in sight, and a new position is needed for Lieutenant General Nagulin. I believe that he can be trusted with the newly formed tank army, especially since he himself delivered the materiel for it from the United States.”

“Let's not be in a hurry, Comrade Zhukov,” Stalin shook his head negatively, “we'll find someone to put in command of the tank army, and for Comrade Nagulin there are more important tasks right now. Agreements reached with the United States oblige us to send advisers and volunteers to China to provide military assistance to Chiang Kai-shek's army. Not only will it be necessary to organize combat work there, but also to actively interact with representatives of the United States and the Chinese government. The more damage we inflict on the Japanese, the greater will be the shipments of military supplies from overseas. This is the task we will assign to Colonel General Nagulin. I think the new title will add to his importance in the eyes of our Chinese allies.”

Lena and I spent three days of vacation time, generously allocated to me by personal order of the Chief, in the vicinities of Moscow. We didn't want to waste time going anywhere else.

I listened with interest to her story about how, when she learned that I had been appointed head of the Soviet military mission in China, she went first to Sudoplatov, and then, together with him, to Beria. She didn't say a word to me about it at the time. Lena would not tell me the details of her conversation with the Commissar, but apparently she had said many kind words to Lavrentiy Pavlovich about how she had been used during my trip to America. I don't know what was going on in Beria's head during this conversation, but, to Lena's surprise, he quite easily agreed to send her to China with me, and Sudoplatov supported this decision just as unexpectedly.

Naturally, I was pleased. It meant that in addition to all the pleasures of being near the woman I loved, I got a proven and reliable employee at my disposal. My wife had already demonstrated her organizational skills more than once, and I was not going to let her sit idly by on this trip, nor would she want to stand back to enjoy the Asian exoticism herself.

Lena never ceased to amaze me. Walking along the well-groomed paths around the forest lake, enjoying the fishing, bathing, birdsong and the silence of the night, I tried not to mention the war and work issues in my conversations with my wife, but she would sometimes go over them herself. As it turned out, while I was traveling around America, periodically getting involved in shooting stories, she wasn't wasting time here, either.

I have long wanted to bring together the people with whom I have fought shoulder to shoulder on this planet. I once told Lena that I had plans for them, but nothing concrete was said at the time. And now I was surprised to learn that my wife had managed to persuade Sudoplatov to find these fighters and commanders and combine them into a detachment of unclear purpose, but with versatile and very high quality reconnaissance and sabotage training.

When I returned to Moscow, I immediately went to Lubyanka, where Sudoplatov, with a satisfied grin, introduced me to my new subordinates who were ready to go with me to China through the NKVD. In the last six to eight months, some of my comrades in combat have risen through the ranks quite a bit.

Pluzhnikov, who had been a sergeant and was now a lieutenant of state security, shook my hand firmly. He recovered for a long time from the wounds he received during the breakthrough of General Muzychenko's headquarters column from the encirclement, but he returned to the ranks as a full-fledged fighter and received a new rank after taking an accelerated course in the NKVD School of Special Purpose.

Ignatov and Nikiforov, who had been wounded in the attack on von Kleist's column near Rzhev, recovered much more quickly. I kept an eye on their fate myself. In fact, it didn't require much effort from me. They had been subordinates of Sudoplatov before, so after their recovery they simply returned to one of the NKVD bases near Moscow, only with new Orders of the Red Star and new insignia in their buttonholes. Like Pluzhnikov, they became lieutenants of state security.

As for Major Shcheglov, he returned to front-line reconnaissance. He managed to avoid being wounded, but it appeared he woud no longer have to continue to lead reconnaissance teams behind German lines. At Sudoplatov's initiative, based on a tip from Lena, Beria summoned the Major to Moscow, and now Shcheglov was to come with me to China.

And, well, this "support group" was led by Lieutenant Colonel Lebedev, who remembered to include in it saboteurs, with whom we had barely escaped the trap near Kremenchuk.

My mood improved noticeably. I knew that these people would not let me down under any circumstances. In general, a trip to China did not seem too difficult to me. In addition to the NKVD detachment, Major General Kudryavtsev and his reinforced air regiment, fully equipped with new IL-8r planes, and a number of other detachments and support units went with me.

At that time I sincerely believed that the Japanese could not oppose us, I feared not their opposition, but rather the problems that might come from outer space. As it turned out, I was only partially right – the problems came from everywhere at once.

The Eye of the Void-class small automatic reconnaissance ship was not the Sixth Republic's latest generation of military space technology, but it could handle low- to medium-complexity reconnaissance missions. The destroyer Consul Pran had two of them on board, and Lieutenant Commander Hirch decided to risk these ships.

The small yellow star of the G2V spectral class didn't appeal to him for many reasons, but the destroyer crew had little choice. The fleet's heavy ships died more than a year ago when they stormed the orbital fortresses of the capital planet of the infected humans. They accomplished their task and burned the snake's nest to the ground, but it was impossible to call the result of the battle a victory. Four badly battered destroyers, a dozen nearly empty support transports, and a few more small ships of various purposes were all what remained of the powerful fleet engaged in a decisive battle with the enemy.

The planets of the central star system of the infected humans turned into black charred orbs, but the remnants of the fleet immediately received a new task to find and destroy the surviving enemy colonies. Hirch didn't understand what was happening. Retaliatory strikes by the infected humans deprived the fleet of supply bases and repair facilities. His ship had essentially nowhere to go back to, but the new order didn't imply a return. He was leading his damaged destroyer into a remote sector of space of which there was only sketchy information.

The consciousness of the Lieutenant Commander, afflicted by virtual psychosis, could not critically comprehend the received order. The conviction that this was not real life, but only a high-quality virtual reality, allowed him to look at everything that was going on, as the whims of his commanders, who for some reason decided to drive him and the entire crew of the Consul Pran into a completely impossible scenario, where the majority of the population of the Sixth Republic turned into dangerous infected people who took over the planets and ships. Hirsch firmly believed that sooner or later this nonsense would end, he would get out of the virtual simulator capsule and return to normal life, but now he needed to solve the task as efficiently as possible, because all his future fate would depend on it.

However, this training task dragged on too long, smoothly passing from one task to another, but the virtual psychosis forced the officer to ignore all inconsistencies and discrepancies, ruthlessly severing "unnecessary" neural connections and burning out memory areas that could plant the slightest doubt in the mind of the Lieutenant Commander that his actions are the only right ones.

The destroyer Consul Pran, escorted by a supply transport, roamed from star to star, somewhere it clashed with the surviving patrol corvettes of the infected humans, somewhere it finished off the already damaged space stations, and somewhere it ignominiously ran away when it encountered a couple of destroyers or a light cruiser of the enemy. Infected people repeatedly tried to negotiate with him, but Hirch knew very well how dangerous it was to communicate with the carriers of the infection. In the beginning, when little was known about the disease, he tried to talk to captured infected people. They were rambling on about how everything around them was the real world, and the crews of the ships that had come to destroy the outbreak of the contagion were exposed to neurostimulation equipment that had not been fully tested, and plunged into a pseudo-reality, mistaking the real world for a digital simulation. Hirch knew it was morbid nonsense, but oddly enough, it worked on some of the crew, eating away at their brains and planting doubt in them. After two of his officers went insane after contracting the contagion themselves, the Lieutenant Commander stopped all contact with the infected people and ignored any their attempts to contact the Consul Pran.

The single galactic hypernet was rapidly disintegrating. Communication with the command was cut off, and no new orders had been received, but the instructions received earlier had not been cancelled, and Hirch was plotting all new routes based on the last database update he had received almost a year earlier.

Any raid comes to an end sooner or later. The supply transport fuel tanks have shown their bottom. The ammunition was also nearly exhausted, but the organizers of the "exercise" still did not give the signal to quit, which meant that the command was waiting for new accomplishments from Hirch and his crew. However, the commander of the Consul Pran had little or no choice. The destroyer could only afford a couple of standard jumps, after which they could forget about traveling in hyperspace. On the other hand, the Lieutenant Commander hoped that the complete exhaustion of the ship's resources would finally force his superiors in the real world to stop this endless ordeal, which both Hirch and his men had already become accustomed to, but, apparently, it could only be counted on after the last mission.

The yellow dwarf, which the Consul Pran could still reach, had a rather strange status. One of his planets was populated by wild infected humans. However, the order received did not specify whether the infected necessarily had to be former citizens of the Sixth Republic, which meant that the destruction of their civilization was as obligatory as the sterilization of any republican colony affected by the contagion.

Information about this planet entered the fleet database from the report of the commander of the cruiser Admiral Kuhn. He was lucky enough to intercept an infected transport ship coming out of hyperspace at a standard surfacing point equipped with a subspace beacon. After hacking into the central computer of this transport ship, it became clear that just three jumps away from the interception point was an entire planet of infected people, virtually unprotected by an orbital defense system. The cruiser commander made a decision not to miss such a chance… But no one ever heard of him or his ship again. The cruiser disappeared without a trace, as if vanishing into space. And now the only target available to the Hirch destroyer was this planet.

The destroyer commander did not risk approaching the yellow dwarf without reconnaissance, but at the same time he saw no point in simply sending a drone there to collect data. Something that managed to destroy a cruiser was unlikely to approve of an automatic reconnaissance ship, not the most advanced one, appearing in its star system. Most likely, the ship will be shot down before it can transmit any meaningful information to the destroyer.

Having consulted with technical specialists and analyzed on the ship's computer several scenarios for the upcoming operation, Hirch settled on a rather complicated and cunning variant. One of the unmanned reconnaissance drones was not fully operational. During the Consul Pran's last skirmish with an infected frigate, the drone sustained damage and its systems could not be fully restored. The camouflage field generator was losing power at the most unpredictable moments, and the active scanning systems were working at 30 percent of their normal capabilities. In general, this machine was no good, unless you use it as bait.

Hirch assumed that it was unlikely that they would start firing at a small and unarmed ship, which, moreover, was clearly damaged. If this ship tries to accelerate to jump, then, of course, yes, but otherwise… If the drone behaves peacefully, and even gives a distress signal, claiming to have passengers in medical pods on board, the infected humans might fall for this nonsense. While the enemy is figuring out who it is that has come to his system, the scout ship will begin collecting data without using active scanning; it will transmit information via short-range communications to the second drone, fully operational and covered by a camouflage field, which will not go close to the planet, but will come out of the jump at the borders of the star system and hang there quietly, receiving narrowly focused data packets.

But if a serious defense is waiting for them in the system, both drones will be burned immediately, but that would also be the result, which would clearly show that the Consul Pran has nothing to do near this yellow dwarf. Well, if it all works out, then Hirch will be able to make a more conscious decision.

The idea worked, though not completely. It was not to say that Hirch counted so much on the fact that the infected people naively rushed to rescue the fugitives he had invented, fully disclosing themselves, but the lack of any reaction on their part was somewhat disappointing to him. The only habitable planet in the star system looked wild. No orbital infrastructure, no terminals, factories, shipyards and docks… But there was something here all the same. The Admiral Kuhn didn't come back from here…

“The first passive scan data packet from the Eye-1 ship has been received,” the space control operator reported. “The reconnaissance ship discovered a number of debris indicative of a fairly long-standing space battle in high orbits of the natural satellite of the third planet. Accurate identification without active scanning is difficult, but there is a high probability that these are fragments of the hull internal structure of the Bear-class cruiser. Explosion craters and fragments of destroyed buildings can be seen on the surface of the satellite. Judging by their shape and location, there is a tiered base under the surface. This is not a purely military facility – there are too few defensive structures and too many buildings of unclear purpose.”

“Admiral Kuhn should have been able to handle them without too much trouble,” Hirch said thoughtfully, “But I have no doubt that this space debris orbiting the satellite is what's left of it. Something happened here that decided the fate of the battle not in favor of the cruiser. Judging by the condition of the structures on the surface, the base is badly destroyed. Can you determine what remained after the battle?”

“Only approximately,” the operator answered after a short pause, “The lower levels of the base and some of the peripheral defense systems may have survived. They destroyed the cruiser with something… If the camouflage field generators work, we won't see anything from this distance.”

“Is the drone broadcasting a distress signal?”

“It's been almost ten minutes. No reaction.”

“Either our trick has been figured out, or they simply have nothing to answer with,” grinned Hirch, “And how is this to be understood?”

“Something must have survived, commander,” replied Hirch's deputy in charge of weapons. “It's a pretty big objective. The cruiser couldn't have destroyed everything and then crumbled to pieces. Unless the base was later evacuated….”

“I don't think so. Hardly anyone could have come to their aid, judging by what was going on in the central worlds. Let's not guess. Launch a flock of local probes. Have them orbit the planet and take a closer look at the remains of the base on the satellite. Their camouflage fields work fine, so hopefully the enemy won't detect them.”

“Too much distance, Commander. They will take two weeks to get from Eye-1 to the planet in camouflage mode.”

“We're not in any hurry,” said Hirch. “I'm not going to expose my ship to anti-space defense fire. The hull is barely hanging on as it is. All we needed was more holes in the sheath.”