John Schettler - Kirov

Karpov was somewhat surprised. Fedorov had been thinking about this from more than one angle, he realized. He was considering possible consequences of their actions here, worried about the future he knew, the history of all the days from this day forward to the year 2021, and then all the unknown days that might lay ahead. This was what he was most worried about, his precious history. Kirov could render all his books invalid in one mighty blow. Didn’t the Lieutenant see that? Yes, he did see that, but instead of seeing opportunity here, he wallowed in fear. Fedorov was afraid, that was all. Every man had something to anchor him in this world of uncertainty. For Fedorov it was his history books. He found his comfort in the stolid, unchanging facts there, and now things were changing, spinning wildly off in a new direction, becoming something altogether new, and Fedorov was afraid of it.

“You worry too much, Fedorov. Did it ever occur to you that we could become great men too?” Karpov looked at his navigator with the question. “Did it ever occur to you that this ship is here for a reason? You don’t want your history bothered, yes, I understand this. But to quote Dostoevsky: ‘Do you expect me to ‘accept fate obediently as it is, once and for all, and stifle everything in myself?’ A man must be ready to act, not just sit meekly and accept his fate like so many do back home. After all… Men are men, and not piano keys. Yes, I have read some books too, Mister Fedorov. I too, studied at the university. Don’t look so surprised.”

A silence intervened, and then Fedorov said: “Yes sir, you are correct. I am worried about the history-very much so. It was a long dark road we walked after this war, through Stalin, Khrushchev, and Brezhnev. They were men too, some say great men, yet I do not think you will find very many back home too eager to see such men back in power again. There were times when our nation strayed very close to annihilation under their leadership. And if what you say is true, and we are here for some reason, I can only hope it may be achieved without walking in the their shadow.”

“How long do we blame Stalin, Khrushchev and Brezhnev for our woes, Fedorov? One day we must come to blame ourselves for what we have become. It has been a long time since the old Soviet system collapsed. What we’ve made of the country since then has been none of Brezhnev’s doing. But the Americans and British? Yes, they’ve made our lives a living hell, have they not? So I choose to blame them for the moment.”

“I do not say this is entirely Russia’s fault, sir. Your points at the briefing were heard by all of us. Yes, we are here, and we must do something. That is agreed. I was only suggesting that you should consult with the Admiral, sir, and-”

“That is none of your concern, Fedorov. And this discussion is pointless. Attend to your charts now.” Karpov had learned all he needed to know from the Navigator. He gave him a stern look. “You have become just a bit too brash, Fedorov. Watch your mouth, eh? Just because we both have one stripe and one star on our cuff does not mean that you have license here.” He pointed to the floor of the bridge.

The cuff insignia for a junior Lieutenant and a Captain of the First Rank did indeed look very similar, only the thickness of the stripe differentiated them, Karpov’s being twice the width. “If you ever do want to thicken up that stripe on your cuff, Lieutenant, then you had better thicken up your skin first. Now busy yourself and plot me a heading to this anchorage at Newfoundland, and let me worry about the British and Americans.”

“To Argentia Bay, sir?”

“Correct.”

Fedorov knew exactly what was on the Captain’s mind now, and he wisely said nothing more, his eyes worried as he bent to his navigation to plug in some numbers on the long range weather radar screen.

The Captain settled into his chair, flashing a grin at his Chief of the boat. “Listen, Orlov,” he said quietly. “We have business here, and a chance to make some rather interesting decisions. The Americans and British want to have this secret little meeting, but they don’t invite their newfound friends in Russia. They will plot how best to lay down the law after this war, and leave us out of it. All we are supposed to do is bleed away the lives of ten million or more and defeat Germany for them while they pay us off with a few trucks, spam, and powdered eggs in their Lend-Lease program. Does that sound fair to you?”

Orlov smiled. “Not at all, Captain.”

“Then perhaps we can get a better deal for Russia if we pay a little visit to this secret hideaway in Newfoundland. Before we do so, however, we will need to watch our backs. I cannot have these British battleships creeping up on us, nor will I tolerate the continued harassment of these carriers. I want to put unholy fear into the British before we sit at the negotiating table.” He planted his finger firmly on the arm of his chair. “Then we deal from a position of strength,” he said emphatically.

Orlov nodded, casting a glance at the other crewmen on the bridge. “Yet we should be a little careful, sir,” he advised. “Fedorov has a point. Perhaps you should discuss this with Volsky.”

“Careful? Volsky is sedated; asleep. Who knows how long he will be under? So the matter is for us to decide, you and I. We are the senior officers in command now. Yes, we must by cautious, yet firm,” Karpov agreed. “But I’ll be damned if we’ll turn tail and run out into the Atlantic as our young Navigator suggests.”

He lowered his voice further so that only Orlov could hear him. “Listen to me, Orlov… We’re never going to see the future we shape with our actions here. How do we get back there? So we will never know what the consequences of our actions will be, nor will anyone else alive today. We can guess, conjecture, have long discussions with Mister Fedorov about it, but in the end, this is our reality now and we had better get used to the fact that this is the world we’re living in, as impossible as it seems. At this moment, that world is tearing itself apart with this war. There will be winners, and there will be losers. That is the case in every game, yes? I intend to be one of the winners, and with this ship we can make sure that happens, and make certain that we do not become one of the scraps the Allies fight over when they finally do defeat Germany and Japan.”

Orlov nodded, but remembered something the Captain himself had argued at the first briefing. “You see a couple of heads of cabbage on the cutting board and you want to chop it while you can.” Orlov was thinking in terms of profit or loss here. There was no mistaking who’s heads were on the cutting board. He knew the Captain was talking about Churchill and Roosevelt now.

“Look, you said it yourself, Karpov. The British and Americans win this war. Russia too! So what are you going to do, attack them? Then who’s side are we on? And why should they deal with us further?”

In the tough world of the Russian criminal underground Orlov had come from, one had to pick his friends and enemies very carefully. “Everybody serves a boss,” he continued. “Which side will we be on in a few years if we sink half the British and American navies? You don’t hit somebody in the face unless he disagrees with you. The same goes here. Talk first, and if no one listens, then take stronger measures.”

“Look, we didn’t throw the first punch, Orlov.” The Captain handed him back his own image. “You saw what those planes were up to. What? Was I suppose to sit here negotiating on the radio while those torpedo planes came in on us?”

“Of course not, but this business…this secret meeting. I think this is something different. If you sail down there we’re bound to run into all these ships Fedorov is talking about. Then what?”