Sea Devil

Chapter Four

Nowhere on the planet were winters harsher nor spring more welcome than in the Soviet Union. This was especially the case in the Rodina’s Baltic region, where the arrival of the spring sun was met with all the joy and festivities of a new birth.

Admiral Igor Starobin felt like a young man once again as he walked along the rocky shoreline that bordered this portion of Korporski Bay. It was a glorious May morning. The sky was a powdery shade of blue, with a few fluffy white clouds gently blowing in from the south. The usually rough waters of the Gulf of Finland looked almost inviting as they stretched out to the western horizon in a glimmering expanse of deep green.

Though it wasn’t even noon yet, the sun generated an alien warmth that had been absent for seven long, frigid months. This sunshine had already brought a little color to Igor’s previously pale face. Its soothing radiance could also be felt deep in his arthritic joints, where the pain that had been a constant companion these last few weeks seemed to gradually lessen.

At sixty-four years of age, Igor Starobin had seen his better days long since pass. Not that he had much of a youth to speak of. What little he remembered of his earliest years took place alongside the waters of this same gulf, in nearby Estonia. Here on the banks of the Valge river, Igor was born and raised, the only son of a village blacksmith. He never remembered much about his parents.

His mother died of tuberculosis when he was only seven, and what few memories that still remained were of a hardworking, hard-drinking father who was content to let his son run wild as the wind.

Igor abhorred his father’s dank, sooty shop. He much preferred to spend his time outdoors, as near to the waters of the gulf as possible. As he grew into adolescence, he became an adept beachcomber, whose keen eye could pick out the smallest of treasures hidden amongst the flotsam that inevitably ended up on the shore. His finds included a chestful of raw silk, a pair of battered binoculars, and a blood-soaked life jacket that the authorities in town were particularly interested in.

It was while roaming the shoreline that he met a man who was to be instrumental in changing his life. Father Dmitri was an Orthodox priest who took an immediate liking to Igor. Though he certainly had never been a churchgoer, Igor was fascinated by the elder’s tales of the world beyond Estonia, and he agreed to visit the priest at his monastery. Much to his father’s surprise, Igor became a regular visitor to the monastery and eventually enrolled there as a fulltime student. By fourteen he could read and write. Yet whatever ambitions he may have had to continue on in the world of academics were forever put to rest by the invasion of the Nazis.

Forty-nine years ago, at the tender age of fifteen, Igor enlisted in the navy. Basic training took him to the fabled city of Leningrad. There he not only became strong in body, but strong in mind as well.

Igor grinned as he mentally recreated those exciting, innocent days that seemed to have occurred in another lifetime. How invigorating it had been to meet his first real comrades from such far off cities as Moscow, Kiev, Sverdlovsk, and Odessa! And how could he ever forget his first visits to the museums, libraries, and symphonic halls that made Leningrad the jewel of Russian culture?

As it turned out, he had all too little time to absorb these many wonders, as the first falling shells signaled that the German threat was a very real one.

It had been much too long since the veteran naval officer had pondered such memories. Affairs of state had kept his thoughts far removed from such fond imaginings, and he was grateful for this brief respite to the shoreline of his childhood.

A flock of ivory white seagulls swooped down from the blue heavens, and Igor watched the graceful birds as they soared only a few centimeters from the surface of the placid waters. Father Dmitri had always said that there was much to learn from the basic laws of nature.

And the older Igor got, the truer this advice seemed to be.

City life had dulled his inner vision. For too many years, his duty had kept him locked behind walls of concrete, glass, and steel. Shuffling papers was no way for a man to live. Fresh air and a pastoral setting was a tonic that was as necessary as bread and water. Back in his Moscow-based office, he could picture the ringing telephones and scurrying aides as they rushed to fulfill yet another order of the day. Only last week, Igor had been one of these pathetic creatures.

It had originally been his wife’s idea to escape the city. They usually used their seaside dacha only in summer.

But when Igor began complaining of spells of dizziness and shortness of breath, Svetlana insisted that they leave Moscow earlier than planned.

Several projects that he had been working on were about to reach their conclusions, and Igor was tempted to postpone this visit. But fortunately Svetlana would hear no such nonsense. As Chief of Staff of Komsomol hospital, she was used to getting her way, and in this case, her diagnosis had been a correct one.

Igor hadn’t felt this good in years. Since leaving the city his appetite had returned with a vengeance, and he was even starting to sleep through the night again. Their dacha was comfortable, and was located close enough to a village that they could walk to get supplies, but was far enough away from civilization to ensure seclusion. A recently installed telephone kept both of them in touch with their offices, and they made a mutual pledge to use it sparingly.

A gust of fresh air whipped in from the gulf, and Igor filled his lungs with its salty essence. Now that he was quickly approaching retirement age, his years of continued quality service to the Rodina were numbered.

Of course, there was still one very special pet project that he wanted to see to its conclusion before he stepped down from his position of power. It had taken forty years to bring it to its current level of maturity and was already beginning to pay handsome dividends.

The meeting he had scheduled for this afternoon would bring his life’s work one step closer to being fulfilled, That was why his Svetlana didn’t dare intercede as he issued the invitations to the two men who would be responsible for getting the ruling Politboro’s permission to implement the plan that he would soon present to them. If all went as planned, his visitors would be arriving shortly. Svetlana had agreed to prepare a special lunch for them, and afterward, he would make his presentation.

His one worry was how Stanislav Krasino would react to his carefully prepared briefing. The deputy secretary had never been a professional soldier and was known to be a bit soft on defense issues. His position as first assistant to the general secretary made him an all-important ally, and Igor would do his best to convince the bureaucrat of his plan’s merits.

His other guest was a different story Admiral of the Fleet Konstantin Markov was an old friend and coworker.

During the closing days of the Great War, he had been at Igor’s side when they captured the German submarine construction facility at Keil, and knew well the great secret that it held. In the years that followed, Konstantin had been an invaluable supporter, always there to lend a helping hand when one of Igor’s projects hit rough waters. As a member of the ruling Politburo, the Admiral of the Fleet was one of the most powerful men in the entire country, and he would certainly greet Igor’s presentation with open arms.

Anxious to get on with the afternoon’s activities, Igor took one last fond look at the surging waters of the gulf before turning around and beginning his way homeward.

The path that he was following was little more than a goat track. Its narrow, earthen meander twisted through a series of massive boulders and crossed a sandy peninsula pitted with several tide-pools. A stand of stunted pines lay on the other side of this peninsula, and as he began crossing through them, his thoughts returned in time to the day he completed basic training and was sent home on a brief 24-hour pass.

Though he would have preferred to spend this time wandering the shores of his childhood playground, Igor remained in the village with his father. For the first time ever, they went out drinking together. The tavern keeper was an ex-navy man himself, and kept them occupied with breathtaking stories of his exploits in World War I. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that they drank their share of potato vodka and dizzily headed back for home. Igor had to leave early the next mo ming and he remembered viewing the tears in his father’s eyes as he kissed his son goodbye This emotional parting would be forever etched in Igor’s mind, for it was the last time he would ever see his father alive. The muscular, close-lipped blacksmith was to die a hero’s death soon afterward in a frozen foxhole, defending Moscow from the invading Nazi hordes.

With no other relatives to speak of, the navy was to become Igor’s adopted family. He applied himself to his duty wholeheartedly, and soon gained a reputation as a dependable, hardworking sailor. It was while on convoy duty in the Norwegian Sea that he would see his first action. This came to pass when a German U-boat put a torpedo into the side of the cargo ship that Igor had been stationed on as a gunner’s mate. The warhead exploded just at the water line, inside the main hold.

Their cargo of Canadian wheat caught fire, and as the crew struggled to control the damage, Igor remained at his post even as the rest of the gun crew panicked and prematurely abandoned ship. It took a maximum effort on his part, but he succeeded in carrying up the shells from the magazine, loading them into the breach, and then sighting the cannon on the hull of the gloating Uboat.

Unfortunately, all of his shots went errant, until the senior lieutenant saw his plight from the bridge and personally went down to assist him. The officer arrived just as the Germans were preparing to fire another torpedo salvo. He fine-tuned the sights on the sub’s exposed conning tower and signaled Igor to fire away.

Miraculously, the shell smacked into its target, and when the smoke cleared, the now crippled sub was seen limping off for safer waters. Igor received an Order of Lenin third class for his efforts. He also assured himself future advancement in the Soviet Navy.

By the war’s conclusion, he was a full lieutenant assigned to a Spetsnaz squadron whose mission was to capture as much German naval equipment as possible. It was while serving with the special forces that he first met Konstantin Markov, who held the rank of captain third rank.

Markov was an educated, cosmopolitan man of the world who had been born and raised in the port city of Odessa. As the Spetsnaz prepared to move in on the outskirts of Kiel, Igor was temporarily assigned to Markov’s unit. The two hit it off splendidly from the very beginning. For the city slicker, Igor was like a breath of fresh air, while the worldly Markov represented everything that the young Estonian ever wanted to be.

They were at each other’s side on the morning that the Spetsnaz overran the defenses of Kiel’s naval production facility. Together they burst into the cavernous warehouse on pier 13, and viewed the dozens of miniature tracked submersibles that the Germans were preparing to deploy in the Baltic and elsewhere. A frightened design technician who had been hiding in an adjoining office explained that this 35-ton amphibious midget was to be powered by a 25-horsepower motor, giving it a submerged speed of 8 knots to a depth of 21 meters. It’s Caterpillar tracks were incorporated to simplify its launch from special bases, while two torpedoes were to be carried alongside them. It was Markov who asked the cowering technician the name of this vessel.

“Seeteufel,” he readily answered.

Igor’s German was still poor, and he depended upon his newfound friend to translate for him.

“They call it Sea Devil,” said Konstantin.

“What a fitting name for such a unique vessel.”

Igor readily agreed, and spent the entire afternoon crawling through the cramped interior of one of the just completed prototype models. That evening, he shared his initial impressions with Konstantin Markov. To the impressionable Estonian, such craft held the future of naval special operations. He envisioned vast fleets of Sea Devils, complete with their crews of highly trained Spetsnaz operatives, sneaking into enemy waters, cutting through sub nets, laying mines and other ordinance, and even clandestinely landing teams of commandoes. All this would be carried out right in the enemy’s own backyard, without him being any the wiser.

Konstantin listened intently, and agreed that the vessel did have great potential. He promised to bring Sea Devil to the attention of his uncle, who was the managing director of Sevastopol’s Red Banner shipyards. True to his word, after the conclusion of the war Konstantin did in fact tell his uncle about the tracked submersible. When he showed a genuine interest in his nephew’s wartime discovery, Igor was given the job of transferring one of the appropriated vessels down to the Red Banner shipyards.

Little did he ever realize it then, but this would only be the start of a relationship that was to last for over four decades.

The deep-throated cry of a boat whistle sounded in the distance, and Igor broke from his deep pondering and looked up into the clear, blue sky. The sun was not yet directly overhead, but just in case the noon ferry was early, the whitehaired veteran decided to increase the pace of his hike.

The path took him through a thick forest of birch trees and led downward into a scrub-filled bog. He had to be extra cautious not to deviate from the trail on this part of the journey, for the swamp was rumored to contain quicksand that could swallow a man up quicker than a great white shark.

He was a bit winded by the time he successfully crossed the bog. His sedentary life-style was not conducive to physical conditioning. And besides, with Moscow’s soot-laden air, it was healthier to catch a ride in a limo than walk anyway.

As he attained the summit of a small rise, Igor was thankful that he had given up smoking and had kept his weight in check. Other than his arthritis, his six-foot, two-inch frame was in pretty decent shape for one who had lived nearly six and a half decades. Having the services of a full time live-in physician helped, but so did the decent set of genes that he had inherited from his parents. While wondering if his mother and father would still be living if it wasn’t for the ravages of war and pestilence, Igor wiped his forehead dry with a handkerchief.

Once again the distinctive cry of a boat whistle sounded, but this time it seemed to be much closer.

Ready to continue now, he descended into a thicket of stunted pines and climbed up a hill formed partially of coarse sand. From this vantage point he could clearly see the glimmering waters of Koporski Bay. His dacha was also visible, perched on a hill with the bay before it.

The cottage was simply constructed of native timber and stone. It had a modern kitchen, indoor bath facilities, two bedrooms, a living room, and Igor’s very favorite feature, a screened-in porch. Weather permitting, it was here that they would take their meals, watch the glorious sunsets form over the Gulf of Finland, and then linger long into the evening with the stars and the night wind for company. Since the sky still showed no signs of an advancing front, Igor planned to have today’s meeting out on the porch as well. But his guests would never even find the place if he didn’t hurry on down to the docks to greet them. He hurriedly began his way down the trail that would lead him to the pier.

He was concentrating totally on his stride and almost missed sighting the three distant figures on the trail leading up the opposite valley. This was the route from the village to his dacha, and Igor could just make out the tall, stately figure of his wife leading two men up the graded pathway. The tallest of these two individuals had a big, round-shouldered frame and wore the distinctive blue uniform of a Soviet naval officer. Behind him followed a thin gentleman in a gray business suit.

“Svetlana!” screamed Igor at the top of his lungs.

This cry echoed throughout the valley and soon had its desired effect when the trio halted and turned to scan the countryside for the sound. Igor wildly waved his hands to catch their attentions, and it seemed to be his wife who first spotted him. She waved in return and so did the portly naval officer, whom Igor knew to be his old friend, Admiral of the Fleet Konstantin Markov.

As they continued on toward the dacha, Igor crossed the valley to eventually rejoin them at the cottage. He could walk at a more moderate pace now just knowing that his guests were in good hands. Once again, Svetlana had stepped in to save the day. They had been married for forty years now, and Igor doubted he’d ever be able to live without her. Regardless of her own hectic schedule, she never failed to keep a warm, cozy house. Her cooking skills were superb, and she was one of the most considerate people that he had ever met. He should have known that Svetlana would be down at the docks to greet his guests when he didn’t show up at home earlier.

He had just planned to go out on a sixty-minute hike.

But that was well over three hours ago! Such was the price one paid when one detested wearing a watch, and was a consummate daydreamer.

A quarter of an hour later, Igor was in the process of striding up the stone walkway that led to his dacha’s entrance, when the front door popped open and out walked Konstantin Markov. It was the Admiral of the Fleet who issued the first greeting.

“Well, just look what the tide has washed in. I’m glad that you could find the time to join us, comrade.”

This last sentence was delivered with such a serious tone that Igor feared that his guest was genuinely upset with his tardiness. Yet when Konstantin’s face lit up with a warm smile and he reached out with his arms spread wide, Igor knew otherwise.

“Igor, old friend, it’s good to see you. When you didn’t show at the pier, and Svetlana explained that you never returned from your morning hike, we were afraid that a bear had taken off with you. But I knew all the time that if it was a bear that was causing your delay, he’d find your hide much too tough for his likes and eventually let you go.”

They met with a hug and a series of kisses to each cheek.

“Thanks for the concern, Konstantin, but I think that you’re right all the same. This old hide is getting a bit tough to make a decent meal of.”

Igor playfully winked and both men let out a laugh.

It was the Admiral of the Fleet who was the first to gain control of himself.

“Has it really been six months since I’ve seen that ugly face of yours? Where does the time fly to, old friend? Why, it seems that only yesterday we were waltzing through the streets of Berlin with a gorgeous fraulein on each arm and not a care in the whole world between us.”

“Where in the world did we go wrong,” returned Igor, who led his guest over to a small flower garden. Tulips could just be seen bursting from this plot as Igor continued.

“So how did things go in Vladivostok, comrade?”

Konstantin shrugged his massive shoulders.

“It’s business as usual, what more can I say? I read the riot act to Admiral Petrov, who swore that he knew nothing about the inconsistencies that I spoke of. Yet as I was preparing to fly back to Moscow, I understand that the good admiral really laid it to his staff.”

“You can bet that for the next couple of months all of them will be on their best behavior,” offered Igor.

“Why of course,” returned the Admiral of the Fleet.

“That’s what these surprise visits are all about. But we know that it’s only human nature at work. The greedy ones will get hungry once more, and start stealing supplies just like before. And then it will be necessary for me to again cross the width of the Motherland to make an example of someone.”

While kneeling down to get a closer look at the bursting tulips, Konstantin Markov added, “What we need, comrade, is a real war. That will soon enough get the attention of those shirkers in the fleet. This cold war that we seem to be eternally in the midst of is causing us to lose our edge and go soft.”

“Who knows, perhaps that’s what the Americans have planned all along,” reflected Igor.

“It’s time for us to regain some momentum and readjust the world’s balance of power,” The Admiral of the Fleet gently stroked the bright red petals of the largest of the tulips as he responded.

“My sentiments exactly. I had hoped that the project that you are responsible for would do just that. As I said before, your retrieval of the American Trident II warhead from the waters off Kwajalein was absolutely brilliant work.

Even the Premier’s usually dour face lit up in a wide smile when he was briefed on the operation. As we speak now, the Imperialist’s most sophisticated weapon’s system is being dissected by our scientists, who will shortly be able to develop an effective decoy to counter this major component of their nuclear triad. But from what I read in yesterday’s briefings, our quest for their AD CAP torpedo didn’t go quite so smoothly.”

A pained expression crossed Igor’s face as he replied.

“That it didn’t, comrade. I had hoped that your visit here today would have an extra reason for celebration, but unfortunately that isn’t the case. At least we didn’t lose one of our units, and it appears that the security of our project is still intact as well.”

“We were lucky all the same,” returned the Admiral of the Fleet with a grunt.

“I just wish that we didn’t have to resort to laying those mines. The American Spruance class destroyer took a hit right on its bow. Though the casualties were minimal, the imperialists are angry as hell, and rightfully so.”

“They still have no positive proof that we were the culprits,” offered Igor.

“The mines were unmarked, and if they are indeed able to trace them, it will be found that they originated in China.”

Konstantin Markov stood up and shook his head.

“The Premier’s quite upset, nonetheless. From what I gather from Deputy Secretary Krasino, he wanted it to be made absolutely clear that he never again wants to be placed in such a potentially embarrassing situation.”

“Our business does have its risks, Konstantin.”

The Admiral of the Fleet compassionately patted his host on his back.

“You don’t have to tell me that, comrade.

These foolish young bureaucrats that we’re forced to work with don’t know what it’s like to fight in a real war. And what they refuse to understand is that our struggle against the forces of capitalism is just that. For there can be no compromise in the struggle for the triumph of world communism.”

Igor’s spirits seemed to lighten.

“Well said, old friend.

Our esteemed Deputy Secretary inside wouldn’t happen to share your outlook, would he now?”

Konstantin Markov looked at Igor as if he hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Come now, you know better than that. Stanislav Krasino is still on the side of the moderates, just like he’s always been. Yet of all those who sit on the Politburo, I believe he’s the one that we’ll have the best chance of reaching. So tell me, Igor, how have your powers of persuasion been lately?”

“Shall we go in and find out?” offered Igor with a grin.

“I’ve been waiting for some time now to find out what’s been going on in that head of yours,” confided the Admiral of the Fleet as he followed his host to the entryway.

“After that Trident scheme, I don’t know what to expect from you next.”

“That mission was only a warm-up,” said Igor as he opened the door for his guest.

“The one I’m about to propose is going to go down as the greatest clandestine Spetsnaz mission of all time!”

The two naval officers entered the dacha, and Igor briefly scanned the living room.

“I’ll bet Svetlana is charming the Deputy Secretary on the patio. Follow me, Konstantin. It’s the cottage’s best feature.”

Igor led the way down a hallway lined with framed landscape prints. They passed by the kitchen, which directly adjoined a large, airy room that offered a magnificent panorama of the waters of the gulf. The screened-in patio was tastefully decorated with rattan furniture. Seated in two of the chairs were the dacha’s hostess and Deputy Secretary Stanislav Krasino.

Quick to realize that they had company, Svetlana Starobin looked up to greet the two newcomers.

“So you finally made it back after all, husband.”

Igor meekly walked over to her side and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, my dearest. As always time has a way of escaping me whenever I take one of my seaside strolls.” Turning to address the bespectacled, fuzzy-haired bureaucrat who sat beside her, Igor added, “And I apologize to you also. Comrade Krasino.”

The two men shook hands while the Deputy Secretary responded.

“There’s no need for apologies, Admiral Starobin. Your wife has been the perfect hostess. Why, I never realized that she was the Chief of Staff of Komsomol hospital. My own cousin is a resident there, and she speaks most highly of the organization.”

Svetlana caught her husband’s eye.

“You remember Dr. Olav, don’t you, dear? She’s the cardiologist who gave you the stress test.”

“Of course I do,” returned Igor.

“She was a most competent physician, and if I remember correctly, a real looker too.”

Svetlana gave her husband a disgusted look and stood.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to the kitchen and bring in the lunch. I hope all of you are hungry.”

“I happen to be famished,” retorted Igor, who devilishly grinned as his wife exited the porch.

“That one’s a gem,” he added, as he beckoned the Admiral of the Fleet to have a seat.

Konstantin Markov sat down in the chair vacated by Svetlana. With his gaze locked on the glistening waters visible in the distance, he thoughtfully observed, “You mentioned that the view was superb from this room, but I had no idea how incredible it really was. I bet on a clear day you can almost see the coast of Finland from this vantage point.”

“I saw it only this morning,” boasted Igor.

“Although I must admit that I had a little help with my telescope.”

Deputy Secretary Krasino adjusted the fit of his glasses and politely commented.

“This is my first visit to this portion of the Rodina, and I must admit that I’m quite impressed. I was expecting nothing but swampy marshland here.”

“We have plenty of that too, Comrade,” answered Igor.

“But as you can see on the adjoining shoreline plenty of sea grass pines, and birch trees also.”

“From what I understand, your czar and founder of the Russian navy Peter the Great was no stranger to Koporski Bay,” reflected the Admiral of the Fleet.

“I once read in one of his diaries that he kept a small sailboat stored in these parts, and liked to get off here alone whenever the pressures in St. Petersburg got too intense.”

Igor seemed surprised at this.

“I didn’t know that, Konstantin. I wonder where he kept this boat, and where he stayed during his visits. You must show me this diary next time we get together.”

“I’d be glad to, Igor. I have a copy right in my own library and would love to share it with you. Our beloved Peter was quite a fellow. Even I’ve been able to learn a little more about naval tactics by reading his memoirs.

That one was years before his time.”

“And thank goodness for that,” replied Igor.

“Otherwise there’s no telling how long Russia would have kept its doors closed to Europe and the rest of the world.”

Deputy Secretary Krasino was all set to convey his opinion when Svetlana arrived with a tray of food. The bespectacled bureaucrat immediately stood to help her with this platter heaped with all sorts of appetizing delicacies.

“Why thank you, Comrade Krasino,” said Svetlana, who readily accepted her guest’s gracious assistance.

“Could you please set it down on the coffee table?”

“Of course, Comrade Doctor,” answered the bureaucrat.

Noting that she had the full attention of her husband and his visitors, she hurriedly addressed them.

“I know it’s not much, but it should serve to tide you over until dinner. There’s smoked salmon, herring with sour cream and onions, fresh tongue, black bread, and some cheese blini that I cooked myself.”

“I can personally vouch for the blini,” interceded Igor, as he hungrily eyed the platter.

“They’re as sweet and delicate as a loving wife’s heart.”

Svetlana couldn’t help but smile at this remark.

“The plates are right there, so don’t be shy. Go ahead and dig in.”

As the Admiral of the Fleet and the Deputy Secretary each reached forward to grab one of the bone china plates, Svetlana addressed a question to her husband.

“Shall I serve the tea now or with dessert?”

Igor lowered his voice and winked.

“Wait until later, dear wife. And perhaps we’ll have something to celebrate, and imbibe a beverage of a bit more substance.”

“I’ve already got the champagne on ice, husband.

Good luck to you, and don’t eat too many blini.”

With this, she left them. Igor joined his guests and loaded up a plateful of food. While the Admiral of the Fleet munched away on a blini, and the Deputy Secretary bit into a tongue sandwich, Igor went to work on a helping of herring.

“My, these blini are tasty,” said Konstantin Markov as he spooned up another helping.

Igor nodded.

“Svetlana got the recipe from her mother. She says that’s how she won my heart.”

“You’re a lucky man, Igor,” reflected Konstantin between bites of the tender sour-cream-filled pancake.

“I’ll say,” concurred Stanislav Krasino.

“Not only is the Comrade Doctor an excellent hostess, but from what I hear from my cousin, an excellent administrator as well.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a woman,” Igor said with a sigh.

The Admiral of the Fleet slyly grinned.

“It’s your sparkling personality that won her, Igor. Back at naval headquarters, they say that you can charm the wallet right out of a capitalist’s pocket.”

“And their latest missile warhead right out from under their noses,” added the Deputy Secretary.

“At the Kremlin they’re still talking about your operation in the South Pacific. Even the Premier still boasts of your unprecedented success in stealing the Trident II prototype.”

Igor grunted.

“Too bad that I couldn’t have followed it up with yet another treasure, this time an AD CAP torpedo plucked from the waters off Southern California.

But such are the fortunes of war.”

The Deputy Secretary put down his sandwich and locked his gaze on his host.

“I was alongside the Premier when word of our failure reached the Kremlin.

Soon afterward, the American ambassador called. He hinted that we were to blame for the seven sailors who died when their Spruance class destroyer hit that mine.

He also mentioned that 25 others were hospitalized with serious cuts, bruises, and burns. Thank the fates that the ship didn’t sink altogether. Yet this still puts us in an awkward position, just as we were undermining the NATO coalition by gaining the trust of its members.”

“Why is that?” asked Igor.

“The imperialists still have no proof that we were the ones responsible.”

The Deputy Secretary shook his head.

“But what about the sound tapes that the American ambassador mentioned? They supposedly hold the signatures of two of our submarines that had been caught in U.S. waters just when the blast occurred.”

“These tapes don’t mean a damn thing!” exclaimed Igor.

“Admiral Starobin is correct,” added Konstantin Markov.

“Even if these tapes were released to the public, who has the ability to analyze them properly? And even then, all we have to do is firmly deny the allegations.”

The Deputy Secretary frowned.

“It doesn’t look good all the same, comrades. Merely inferring that we were involved in this tragedy will produce new doubts in the minds of the NATO ministers. What worries the Premier is that these misgivings come just as NATO is about to vote on whether or not to remove all of the American short-range nuclear weapons from European soil.”

Igor briefly caught the glance of his fellow naval compatriot before looking the bureaucrat in the eye and voicing himself.

“In your esteemed opinion, Comrade Krasino, do you feel that the Premier would be receptive to a plan that would irrevocably sway NATO opinion back to our side?”

“Most definitely. Admiral Starobin,” answered the Deputy Secretary.

“The Premier’s number one foreign policy priority remains convincing NATO that their American warheads are no longer necessary.”

Igor’s green eyes sparkled with the same intensity as the waters of the gulf behind him.

“If that’s the case, comrade, all I’m asking is that you temporarily put our little set back in the waters off California out of your mind, and that you listen to the following proposal.”

“If it will indeed help us regain the trust of our European neighbors, I’m all ears,” offered the bespectacled bureaucrat.

Igor put down his plate, stood, and initiated his discourse while pacing before the screened-in porch.

“Regardless of what recently occurred in the waters off San Clemente, one thing that is absolutely certain is that Sea

Devil has proven its effectiveness time after time. No other underwater platform in the world can equal it when it comes down to stealth, accessibility, and the broad extent of its operational capabilities.

“What I propose is to use Sea Devil to strike a blow against America’s most important strategic base in all of Europe, it’s submarine facility at Holy Loch, Scotland.

With a minimum of risk on our part, we can close this complex, that’s capable of servicing both nuclear-powered guided missile and attack submarines for all time to come. As a bonus, our efforts will effectively cause the closure of the British sub base at nearby Falsane also.

“The scenario that I’m proposing is chillingly simple.

Sea Devil will be covertly conveyed to Scottish waters in the hold of a specially designed trawler. With a crack Spetsnaz team on board, the mini-sub will be launched and then penetrate the Firth of Clyde, where it will continue on to Holy Loch. Our latest intelligence reports indicate that except for the standard security precautions such as underwater hydrophone arrays and surface ASW patrols, the American base is poorly defended. We’ve seen this same naivete when it comes to security matters in most of their naval facilities around the world, and Sea Devil will easily run this pathetic gauntlet of defenses and proceed to its goal, an American nuclear powered submarine. This unsuspecting vessel will be at anchor as we approach it with a team of divers.

“The task of this team will be to place a shaped charge explosive device on the hull of the submarine, just below its reactor compartment. They will then return to Sea Devil, where the charge will be detonated.

The massive force of the resulting explosion will rip open the American sub’s hull and cause its reactor vessel to plummet into the depths below. Laboratory tests show that there’s a ninety-seven percent probability that the reactor will melt down at this point, causing plutonium fuel pellets to be directly spewn on the seafloor. And in such a way, an ecological disaster of unprecedented dimensions will poison the Scottish waters for decades to come.

“An enraged populace will rush to Parliament to express their outrage. Their fellow citizens will unite behind them as they demand that the rest of the submarines be removed and the base closed. In this same manner, the English facility at Falsane will also be forced to shut down operations, and the West will have lost two of its most strategic ports in all the globe, all for the price of a single, shaped-charge explosive.”

“Why, that plan’s absolutely ingenious!” interrupted the Admiral of the Fleet.

“As we learned during the Chernobyl accident, nothing scares the Europeans more than the threat of nuclear contamination. They’ll be horrified when they hear of the meltdown. Their scientists will release various studies of gloom and doom, and all over Europe the peace groups will have a field day.”

“Can you imagine what the NATO ministers will have to say as they meet in Brussels to discuss this disaster?”

asked Igor, his face red with emotion.

“Not only will they vote to remove every single American nuclear warhead from European soil, but they’ll most likely demand the removal of all of their troops as well.”

“Of course they will,” concurred Konstantin Markov.

“Uncle Sam will be finished on the Continent, and as NATO withers away, the Warsaw Bloc will gratefully move in to fill the void.

“Igor, my friend, you’ve outdone yourself this time.

Though I’d still like to learn more of the details, I certainly don’t have any major apprehensions. What about you, Comrade Krasino?”

The bureaucrat’s impassive expression failed to display any outward show of support as he sucked in a deep breath and guardedly responded.

“In all my years of service to the Motherland, I must admit that this is the wildest proposals I’ve ever heard. I readily agree that if this operation is successful, the results will be much as you projected. But I foresee two major weaknesses in your train of thought. First, and most important of all, if a Sea Devil couldn’t even penetrate the meager defenses around California’s San Clemente island, how are we going to be able to successfully sneak one into some of the most militarily sensitive waters in all the planet?

And secondly, even if this penetration does somehow succeed, what kind of shaped-charge can penetrate the hull of a submarine, and how can the desired aftereffects be guaranteed?”

Igor carefully listened to the bureaucrat’s concerns and briefly caught Konstantin Markov’s glance before attempting a response.

“Your questions are most astute, Comrade Krasino, and I will do my best to answer them. The Sea Devil that was apparently detected off the coast of California had a long history of mechanical difficulties. We believe that it was a defective engine bearing that gave it away to the American hydrophones.

The vessel in question is currently being conveyed back to Vladivostok where a detailed examination will determine this fact for certain. But regardless, let me reassure you that in over one hundred previous operations, not once has a Sea Devil been tagged by enemy ASW forces. This leads me to believe that the penetration that I just proposed can readily be achieved by a Sea Devil in first class working order.

“Your other concerns are completely unnecessary. The charge that I spoke of has been available to us for some time now. It is based on a shaped-plastic compound that’s been known to easily penetrate the armor plating of a battle tank. Unlike our own double and triple hulled vessels, the thrifty Americans utilize only a single hull on each of their various classes of submarine. It should be no problem for our intelligence people to determine the exact location of the reactor vessel. We have ordinance and design experts who will then determine the precise locations to set the charges in order to achieve the desired hull damage.”

The Deputy Secretary nodded thoughtfully.

“And what if the Sea Devil was to be discovered in the midst of this operation?”

Igor was quick with his answer.

“If such an unlikely thing were to come to pass, the crew would first attempt to escape. If all routes are subsequently proven closed to them, the vessel will be scuttled, while the Spetsnaz operatives swallow the suicide pills that will guarantee their anonymity. As always, every effort will be made to ensure that the motherland can’t be connected to any of the wreckage that may be subsequently salvaged.”

“It sounds as if you have thought this plan out most fully. Admiral,” offered the Deputy Secretary.

“Though covert missions of this magnitude certainly have their risk, it appears that the Rodina has much more to gain than it has to lose in this instance. I too would like to see the pertinent details that the Admiral of the Fleet requested. Yet other than a few technical concerns, I see nothing that would prevent me from supporting such an ingenious plan. My congratulations, Admiral Starobin, on a job well done.”

Hardly believing what he was hearing, Igor fought the temptation to cry out in triumph. The Admiral of the Fleet was also caught off guard by the bureaucrat’s ready acquiescence. Still shocked by the scope of his compatriot’s plan, Konstantin Markov loudly cleared his throat and voiced himself.

“All this discussion has made my throat dry. If only I had something to wet it with.”

Taking this as the hint that it was meant to be, Igor called out towards the kitchen.

“Svetlana, to hell with that tea, bring out the champagne!”

His wife was well prepared for such a command, and arrived on the porch seconds later with a tray holding a bottle of champagne and four crystal glasses.

Igor briefly examined the label of the bottle before twisting off the foil and expertly popping the cork. His hand was shaking slightly as he filled each glass.

Both Konstantin Markov and Stanislav Krasino stood to join their host and hostess in a toast.

“To the Motherland!” said Igor proudly.

“Long may she prosper!”

The four clinked glasses and took a sip of their drinks.

“My, that’s quite excellent,” commented the Admiral of the Fleet as he smacked his lips together.

“Is it French?”

“Comrade Markov, I’m surprised at you,” scolded Svetlana Starobin.

“Don’t you think that the Rodina is capable of distilling spirits as good as the French?”

“What my wife’s trying to say is that this superb vintage was bottled in our own Ukraine.”

“You don’t say,” mumbled the Admiral of the Fleet, who looked down to check the label on the bottle. Satisfied with what he saw, he raised his glass upward and initiated a toast of his own.

“To the brave men and women of the Rodina, whose sacrifice makes this bountiful harvest possible!”

Again the foursome lifted their glasses to their mouths. No sooner did Igor refill them than Deputy Secretary Krasino offered a proposal.

“And I’d like to drink to the true heroes of the Motherland, the brave men and women of our military, whose selfless toil and extraordinary vision ensures our security today and guarantees the eventual emergence of one planet united by the bonds of communism tomorrow.”

“Well said, Comrade,” offered the Admiral of the Fleet as he lifted up his glass to salute the originator of these inspirational words. Yet as Konstantin Markov took a sip of his champagne, a sudden thought dawned in his consciousness. He looked to his host and expressed himself.

“Excuse my forgetfulness, Igor, but in all the excitement, I failed to ask you one important question. Have you yet picked out an officer who’s capable of carrying out the type of difficult mission that you just proposed to us?”

Admiral Igor Starobin’s eyes sparkled as he answered.

“Why, of course I have, Comrade. Who else is more qualified that Captain Mikhail Gregorievich Borisov, who just so happens to be out there somewhere beneath the Baltic Sea at this very moment, displaying the type of death-defying bravado that has earned him the nickname of Lion of the Spetsnaz I”