The Empire of Time

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It might be noted at the outset that this work is told, not in a direct and chronological fashion, but by great leaps forward and back through time. This is, I’d argue, how it should be. It is, after all, a time travel novel. Oh, H G Wells might have done things differently in his day, leaving out those complications that seem to come with the territory, but I am quite certain that had he, like I, witnessed more than a century of development of this sub-genre, he might have told it in the same way, experiencing all that happens through Otto’s eyes, through Otto’s thoughts; sharing each moment as he experiences it, and, by that means, giving the reader the very feel of travelling in time.

Roads To Moscow was originally written, and was always intended to be, a singular work, though of considerable size. Throughout its six-year gestation, and through all the changes of mind and direction the work took, there was never any question in my mind that the story that began in Chapter 1, in the dark and distant depths of the ancient Prussian forest, should be the same story that culminates in Chapter 468, long years later and in the futuristic environment of Four-Oh.

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