Orlov had not been well the last few days, and after toughing it out, he eventually went to see Doctor Zolkin. The diagnosis was merely fatigue. War needed many servants, and Orlov was Chief among them on the ship, assigning all the work details, training evolutions, inspection teams. The only things below deck he didn’t have to worry about were the reactor section, which was Dobrynin’s realm, the Damage Control teams, which came under Byko and the engineers, and of course, the Marines. That said, he was still often in and out of the Helo Bay, to see to some loadout required or make sure the ordnance teams had moved things where they belonged.
Whenever the ship made port, his work continued, and sometimes redoubled, because he was supervising all the missile reloads and replenishment of the main magazines. It seemed there was never any time for rest, but now Zolkin admonished him to take some time off, and get a good meal. He gave him something to help him sleep better, which was another thing that was often difficult any time the ship was in a battle zone. Missiles could be fired off at any hour, and the ship would quaver with alarms and the sound of men moving to battle stations. It seemed to him that Karpov’s wars would never end.
Get a good meal….
That was what sent him to the Officer’s Mess early that day, but much to his chagrin, there was Admiral Karpov, at his usual table, leaning heavily over a deep bowl of soup.
Orlov remembered that it was only a few weeks ago in real time since he had conspired with Sergeant Silenko, and Ivan Volkov, deep in the can with them as they plotted to remove Karpov from command. It had been that visit to the Northern Shamrock that changed things.
Karpov must have gotten wind of the plan, he thought as he eyed the buffet. Yes, he must have known that Voronin was coming for the ship that night in Severomorsk. And Volkov made me a lot of promises, but what does it matter now? I was to have my salary doubled, and bumped up to Captain of the 1st Rank, but none of that happened. Volkov was just using me. He had no real authority to promote me, and even if I did get that extra money, what would I do with it? It seems we are forever at sea, always looking for a fight somewhere; always looking for war.
He took some cold cuts, fresh bread and cheese, and a smaller bowl of the soup, which was really a beef stew that day. Then he tromped over to a table, and was thinking to sit with his back to the Admiral, before he thought twice. He then sat down, twenty feet across the room, and dipped his bread into the thick soup. It seemed the Admiral was lost in something he was reading on a pad device, oblivious to the fact that Orlov was even there. That, of course, reflected the resentment the Chief had long harbored with Karpov, who seldom ever spoke with him, unless there was something extra he wanted done that day—more work. He was very surprised, then, when he heard the Admiral call out his name.
“Ah, Chief Orlov! The soup is very good today, yes?”
Karpov was finishing up, standing and going to the bar for a little more tea. He filled his glass, and Orlov thought he would just leave, but he was very surprised, and somewhat let down, when Karpov approached his table.
“May I join you?”
“Of course, Admiral,” said Orlov, wondering how much extra work Karpov was going to dump on him this time.
“Chief… I was meaning to sit with you a while, and talk. In fact, when I learned you had been to sick bay, I told Zolkin to send you here for an early meal. Things have been… difficult these last weeks, and particularly since I got that news of my brother from Siberia.”
“Understandable,” said Orlov, taking a big spoonful of soup.
“But that is not the only reason,” said Karpov. “Nor will I lay it all on the Gods of War, though we have been a little busy since the Chinese came south again. No… It was this business with Voronin, and Volkov, and yes, with Sergeant Silenko and yourself.”
The silence after that was thicker than the soup. Orlov shifted uncomfortably. Not knowing what was coming next. He thought he had skated out of that situation, because Karpov never imposed any disciplinary measures on him for his part in all of that. Here it comes, he thought, pursing his lips and waiting for Karpov to continue, his eyelids narrowed.
“Chief, Fedorov came to me and let me know what happened. It was that damn Ivan Volkov. He’s the man that was behind that business all along. First he tried to get rid of Troyak, and managed to move in some security men disguised as Marines in Silenko’s squad. Then he sent Voronin, that pompous ass, but he soon learned that he wasn’t going to throw his weight around here, not on this ship. Orlov, it was Volkov behind it all, and he tried to recruit you to his side of the fence with a lot of promises. Yes? He wanted to use you to get more men on this ship.”
“That he did,” said Orlov. “Look Admiral, if you are here to discipline me, just get it done. I know what I did, and why.”
“Do you? Do you really know what you did? Chief, when Voronin stuck his ass in my chair on the bridge, and refused to budge, I had to order Samsonov to remove him. And by God, the man pulled his service pistol—right there on the bridge! You know what happened next? Every man on that bridge stood up and squared off to Voronin, and you could see fire in their eyes. Yes, a lot of clenched fists up there, even with the junior officers. I’ll tell you what, Chief. That felt damn good. I did not expect it—not Voronin with his pistol, or all those men standing to back me up. I never realized how the crew felt about it all, about me I suppose, until they stood up like that. Loyalty, Orlov. On a ship like this, if the officers and crew give that to me, it’s Gold.”
Orlov dipped his bread, eyes averted. “You’re going to rub my nose in it now?” he said sourly. “You’re going to tell me how disloyal I was to let Volkov bend my ear?”
“No Chief, quite the contrary. I’m going to ask you to stand up here as well, just like the others. If you have issues with me, so be it, but you’re a senior officer here. If you can’t stand up for me, then stand for the men, for the ship, for Kirov. I know I give you the short end of the stick, as they say, and all too often here. There’s a lot of work to be done, and I look to you for most of it. Aside from this business with Volkov, I have no complaints—you get things done. But every man on this ship has to really stand up now, because every other day we’ve got missiles out there with our names on them.”
Orlov nodded, but said nothing. Karpov stroked his chin, thinking a moment. “Chief… We call you that, but you are really a Captain of the 2nd Rank. I hear Volkov promised you a leg up to Captain of the 1st Rank. Then you learned he had no authority to do that. Clever man, Volkov, but he’s also a liar. Well, I think I’ve overlooked you too long, undervalued you. Yes, I’ve taken you for granted, and you never got the respect you deserved for the things you get done—for all the hard work you do. That changes now. So I came over here to tell you this. For the outstanding manner in which you perform your duties as Chief of Operations, you are hereby given that promotion that Volkov never really had in his pocket, but I have the authority, and I even went to Admiral Volsky with this as well. Yes, you can trade those four thin stripes on your cuff for one nice thick one now, and you can put a third star on your shoulder. From this moment on, you are officially Captain of the 1st Rank.”
Orlov looked at him. “You are promoting me?”