God, how he hated to have to see the zampolit before lunch. There ought to be a Soviet Navy directive forbidding zampolits to talk to their skippers until after lunch — No! Make it dinner.
“We remain at one hundred meters depth, speed zero.”
“And our location?” Bocharkov asked, intentionally ignoring both junior officers.
“A slight right-bearing drift, Captain, when the tide ebbed out an hour ago, but other than that we are five hundred meters southwest of the supply depot of the Subic Naval Base. We are also about the same from the edge of Olongapo Bay.”
“How much depth do we have under us?”
Ignatova shrugged. “We do not know, Captain. At one hundred meters we know the American aircraft carriers can come into the port, but unless we use our depth ranger, we won’t know.”
Bocharkov looked at Tverdokhleb sitting at the navigation table. “Uri, what is the bottom like inside Olongapo Bay?” Bocharkov turned to Ignatova. “Did he tell you?”
Ignatova smiled.
“Muddy, Comrade Captain. Mud with shifting shallows. I do not recommend entering it. Our draft is much too deep to go too far into it.”
“Yes, sir, Captain. He did tell me. As soon as I entered the control room, Lieutenant Tverdokhleb was telling me, telling them, and probably calling around the boat to make sure everyone knew to stay out of Olongapo Bay. I take it he told you?”
Bocharkov grunted. “He called me to tell me.”
“Do you want to take a depth ranger?”
Bocharkov shook his head. “Not yet.” He looked at the clock on the wall. Ten fifteen. The K-122 would have to wait another twelve hours before they could commence the Spetsnaz operation.
“Lieutenant Dolinski, what are you doing in the control room?” Bocharkov asked.
“Just observing, sir.”
“Then go observe somewhere else. We don’t have much room here.”
“I asked him to come with me, Comrade Captain,” Golovastov said. “Sir, Lieutenant Dolinski is a zampolit like me. He has been providing me some very good ideas since his arrival.”
Ignatova turned. “Are you a zampolit now, Lieutenant?”
A tight smile crossed Dolinski’s face as his head rose. “Of course, Captain Ignatova. Once a zampolit, always a zampolit. Lieutenant Golovastov is fairly new. When I saw the challenges here on the K-122, I thought I could give him the benefit of my experience.”
“Well, I hate to stop the two of you from your professional sharing, but do you think it could be done better somewhere else?” Bocharkov asked, forcing his voice to remain calm. What challenges? What was it about young zealots that gave them the omnipotence to believe they had the answers to every damn thing in the world? “The crew here in the control room has their hands full keeping the boat level, steady, and quiet. The fewer hands here the better.”
“What I was showing Lieutenant Golovastov, sir, was how his Party-political work could be integrated into the operations of a boat. How it could be used to increase solidarity regardless of rank,” Dolinski replied, ignoring Bocharkov’s order. Instead, Dolinski clenched his fist and continued. “Five fingers are useless in a fight unless curled into a fist. It is something Yasha can create on the K-122.” Dolinski paused. “Of course, that help would be alongside you and the XO.” His tight smile broadened, but the Spetsnaz’s eyes locked with Bocharkov’s.
“I think you have a bright idea, Lieutenant Dolinski,” Ignatova said. “Now, I must insist, as the captain asked, that the two of you take your discussion elsewhere. We have a boat to get ready for tonight’s mission. You, Lieutenant Dolinski, are the mission for tonight.”
Bocharkov grunted. “Lieutenant Dolinski, are you ready for tonight?”
The man snapped to attention. “Sir, the Spetsnaz are always ready.”
Ignatova looked at Dolinski. “Maybe, Lieutenant, you should take Lieutenant Golovastov with you? It would be the right thing to do.” The XO turned his attention to the zampolit of the K-122. “Lieutenant Golovastov, what do you think? I think Lieutenant Dolinski is right about how the right Party-political approach to working together can enhance team-work. Maybe if you went with the lieutenant tonight, you would gain even further insight into the principles Comrade Dolinski is sharing with you.” He looked back at Dolinski. “I believe what you said would apply across the Soviet Navy, would you not agree?”
Dolinski’s smile disappeared. “I think not, sir. The role of the zampolit is to indoctrinate and guide, to observe outside the chain of command, and to offer suggestions to improve solidarity and Party correctness — not to do the operations.”
“But you are doing operations,” Ignatova said, his voice sharp.
“It was my choice to move into this field, comrade.”
“Good,” Bocharkov said with a heavy sigh. “Now, if you two would excuse us, we have work to do for tonight when you take your principles and your operational skills into action on American soil.”
“You mean Filipino soil,” Golovastov said. “The imperialists have enslaved this Asian country—”
“Lieutenant, you are correct,” Ignatova said, his voice rising. “We are in dangerous waters with a dangerous operation to do. I know where you are going with this idea and I think it is a great idea.”
Golovastov looked surprised.
“You are going to use it as topic one for a Party-political meeting later. Tell me quickly: Am I right?”
“Yes, sir. You are right. I will use it as a topic for tonight’s Party-political discussion.”
Dolinski glared at Ignatova, then with a curt sideways nod added, “You are right, Captain Ignatova. This is a great topic for a Party-political discussion.”
Ignatova looked at Bocharkov. “We are blessed with two zampolits on board the K-122.”
Dolinski and Golovastov saluted and marched out the aft control room hatch.
“Blessed is not the word I would have used, XO.”
“Golovastov is going to be hard to live with once this Dolinski fills his head with how zampolits can improve operations,” Ignatova said softly.
“And he is easy to live with now?”
Lieutenant Alex Vyshinsky, the communications officer, stepped through the forward hatch, stopping as his eyes adjusted to the lower light of the compartment. Bocharkov saw the officer and waited. Communicators seldom left their little empire unless necessary.
Vyshinsky saw Bocharkov and Ignatova. He walked quickly toward them.
“More directions from Moscow most likely,” Ignatova said softly.
Steps before he reached them, Vyshinsky, stuttering slightly with the first word, said, “Captain, I have a top secret message from Moscow.”
Ignatova raised two fingers and dipped them. “Two points.”
Vyshinsky held the metal message board out with his left hand while saluting awkwardly with his right. “Here it is, Comrade Captain.”
“Comrade,” Ignatova said, shaking his head. He looked at Vyshinsky as Bocharkov took the message board. “Captain is sufficient, Alex, or comrade, but both together is a waste of air aboard a submarine.”
Bocharkov motioned downward. Last thing needed was an interview with the zampolit while this Lieutenant Dolinski was filling the political officer’s narrow mind with bullshit and ideology.
Ignatova nodded. Vyshinsky stood silently, his glances bouncing from Bocharkov to Ignatova while Bocharkov read the message. Halfway through the message, Bocharkov said, “Damn,” and kept reading. Wordlessly, he finished and passed it to Ignatova.