Stalin's Hammer: Rome
John Birmingham
Language: English
Pages: 176
ISBN: B00ABQ0L3E
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"Birmingham sets new standards in alternate history, time travel, and sheer dancing-on-the-edge-of-the lava gonzo inventiveness. Solid and wild at the same time." – S.M. Stirling, author of Dies the Fire
Ten years have passed since Admiral Kolhammer's 21st century battlefleet was dragged into a wormhole and thrown across oceans of time, emerging with disastrous consequences and shattering the history of the Second World War.
Hitler and the Nazis have fallen, Kolhammer sits in the White House, but Stalin rules half of Europe and Asia. The great Soviet engines of state power turn and burn to 'set history right'. Not just of the war, but of all future time.
In Rome with his lover Julia Duffy, an older, mellower Prince Harry is drawn into Stalin's plans when a simple game of spies goes horribly wrong. Underneath the eternal city, former Spetsnaz officer Pavel Ivanov fights a running battle with the NKVD's executioner-in-chief as Stalin's minions fight to preserve the secret of a weapon that could destroy the West with one, fearsome blow.
In Stalin's Hammer: Rome, the first of a series of serialised novellas, John Birmingham returns to the world he destroyed along with the US Fleet at Midway in the Axis of Time series.
us—a quick dinner and a shag—or is there any chance you’ll get away from whatever villainy you’re up to this week? I don’t believe for a moment you’re only here for that ridiculous film or the trade talks.” The waiter returned with a plate on which sat a single large mushroom, steaming, lightly sheened with oil, garnished with shreds of deep green flat-leaf parsley, and smelling strongly of truffles. He sliced it in half before leaving them to their appetizer. The restaurant was full now, the
NKVD, promised Beria, and not a finger would be raised against you should you wish to take your reward and leave for the so-called “free world.” It was quite a compliment, in a way. He had really pissed them off. But material reward was not Skarov’s motivation. The demon in the tunnels behind Ivanov now was much more dangerous than any bounty hunter or freedom seeker. Alexandr Dmitry Skarov was Stalin’s executioner-in-chief. He hunted Ivanov not for money or freedom but because for him it was
last few minutes. He followed Furedi into the tiny apartment, which was empty save for a couple of thin, stained mattresses and the detritus of what looked like US Meals Ready to Eat. The former Spetsnaz officer recognized the signs of a lay-up point. He also recognized the voice tube system as soon as Franco used it to talk to yet another hidden accomplice. Curiosity, bordering on compulsion, tried to draw Ivanov over to the one grimy window to see if he might establish their location, but
defending themselves and Sobeskaia from the first attackers, while the third slipped in with a blade or perhaps a poison point, whatever they intended to use on him. Harry caught himself nervously running his thumb over his fingertips, anticipating the confrontation before it arrived. He breathed in and out and tried to empty his mind. To play the ball on its own merits, as he had said to Plunkett. He waited, knees slightly bent, his weight focused forward on the balls of his feet, eyes settled
eye on the service lane,” said Harry. “It’s clear for now. We can get out through there if you can organize some cover for us. It looked like there was half a regiment of Beria’s finest loitering around out the front. Be sure to have some of your lads covering the rear as well. Or they will very soon.” “I’ll see what I can do,” replied Plunkett, absenting himself again. “You heard the man, Sobeskaia. We’ll see what we can do—and we’ll do what we can. But not until I know it’s worth it. Or that