Under the Ice

“It would be a tragic waste to have to shoot you, especially since I’ve taken such a sincere interest in your career throughout the years. Though I never had a son of my own, you were the type of individual I would have liked to have raised.”

Surprised to hear such a thing, Sergei finished removing the cassette, and cautiously handed it to the Admiral, along with its blank twin.

“Don’t look so shocked,” reflected the white-haired veteran as he pocketed the tapes.

“For I’ve been a silent admirer of yours since you first entered the A. A. Grechko Academy. Did you know that I personally saw the video tapes of each of your oral exams? Why I probably know your academic record better than you do, and it was I who was responsible for getting you that first commission you so wanted — on that attack submarine. So come to your senses, comrade, and listen to your benefactor. Even though he is currently holding a gun to your head.”

Aware that compromising would put him in the best position to expose the veteran’s twisted scheme, Sergei nodded.

“You are right. Admiral. Perhaps I have been too hasty in my initial reaction. It’s just that the prospect of nuclear war scares me so I instinctively revolt at the very idea of such a tragedy befalling mankind.”

“And rightfully so,” retorted Mikhail Kharkov, who realized that the tense standoff was over. As he uncocked and lowered the pistol, he added.

“If I had a beautiful young wife and child waiting for me back in Murmansk, I would likely most have reacted much as you did. But if you’ll just take some time to hear me out, I believe I can convince you that the attack plan we’ve chosen to implement all but eliminates the chance of an Imperialist counter strike

Why with our new super accurate MIRV’d warheads, we can take out not only their missile silos, airfields, and port facilities, but the very communications installations that are responsible for passing the word to their missile-carrying submarines to launch. And would you believe that we can thusly decapitate our enemy with a mere one-hundred warheads on our part? Why it’s going to be incredibly easy, with a minimum of resulting radioactive fallout.”

Though Sergei was well prepared to argue otherwise, he held his tongue and sheepishly responded.

“I’d be most interested to see this attack plan. Admiral.

But first I’ve got to get us safely back to Murmansk.”

This prophetic remark was met by a firm knock on the door. As Mikhail Kharkov proceeded to hide the pistol that he had been holding under the folds of his sweater, Sergei spoke out.

“You may enter.”

Quick to do so was the concerned senior lieutenant.

“Please excuse me, comrades. But I just heard from Chief Magadan in sonar that we could have some company following us into Baffin Bay.”

“I’ll bet it’s that damned Sturgeon again!” cursed Mikhail Kharkov.

Sergei replied while standing and shaking out his tense limbs.

“Whoever it is, the best place to learn their intentions is the Neva’s attack center. Shall we, Comrades?”

In no mood to argue, the Admiral of the Fleet gave the young captain the briefest of supportive winks as he followed the ship’s two senior officers out into the passageway.

Chapter Seventeen

There was a light spring to Petty Officer First Class Stanley Roth’s step as he ambled down the passageway and entered the door marked Sound Shack. His hardworking assistant, Lester Warren was studiously hunched over a console, and Stanley gave him a punch in the upper arm to let him know that his replacement had arrived.

Seaman Warren looked up and the grin stretched across his associate’s face told him the checkup had been a good one.

“So you’re going to live after all,” observed the Texan, as he watched Roth scoot past him to get back to work.

“It appears so,” replied Stanley, who quickly seated himself and reached out for his headphones.

“Pills says that the swelling has gone down substantially, and there’s not even a hint of infection. He even wanted to know if I wanted him to try fitting me for a false tooth.”

“I didn’t think a mere pharmacist’s mate was capable of doing such a thing,” replied Lester seriously.

Stanley playfully punched his assistant in the other arm and responded.

“No, I’m only kidding you. There’ll be plenty of time to get a spare once I’m back in New London, though this time I’m picking my own dentist. Besides, right now I’m not about to bother Pills with designing a false tooth.

From what I saw, he’s got his hands full with his new patient.”

“Do you mean the Eskimo we took aboard back on Baffin Island?” queried Lester.

Stanley nodded.

“The very same, my friend. I got a peek at him laid out on his bunk, and he was still out for the count. Pills says the bruise on his chest indicates he was most likely shot. It appears he was wearing something over his chest that deflected the bullet, and that’s what saved him.”

“He’s a lucky stiff all right,” reflected Lester.

“Is he going to pull through?”

Stanley could only shrug his shoulders.