“XO, let me know when we reach diving depths. I am going below to the conning tower and prepare to dive.”
Gesny look up at Anton. “It is your decision, Comrade Captain. We can do it here, but the shallow waters risk us hitting the bottom. Or we can go farther into the bay.”
“Call me when you think we can risk a dive.”
“Aye, sir.”
Fifteen minutes later, as Anton stood behind the planesmen listening to Chief Ship Starshina Mamadov, the chief of the boat, describe the gauges and levers surrounding the conning tower, Gesny’s voice came through the intercom.
“Captain, depth is two hundred meters, sir. I recommend we dive.”
Mamadov was a squat, stockily built man who had a voice that would rival a tenor in the disestablished Soviet Opera. Anton and Elena had been privileged to attend the last opera in 1946, after which the state ceased to fund it.
“What do you think, COB? Think it is time to see what the Whale can do?”
“Yes, sir. A submarine is not a submarine when it is above the waterline.”
Anton turned to the officer of the watch. “Lieutenant Nizovtsev, I am going topside. Prepare to dive.”
Gesny moved aside as Anton climbed onto the bridge. “Well, XO, why don’t you do the honors.”
“Sir?”
“Dive the boat.”
“Dive! Dive!” shouted Gesny. Then the XO reached beneath the stanchion and hit the Klaxon horn. Across the still air of Kola Bay rode the “oogle” noise of the submarine alarm, warning everyone on board that the Whale was submerging.
Anton stepped aside as the men aloft slid down the ladders and disappeared into the hatch leading to the control room. He glanced forward and saw the sea and anchor detail disappearing through the forward hatch; and before he turned aft, he already knew that those back there were doing the same.
In a minute, only he and Gesny stood on the deck of the conning tower. “XO, after you, if you please.”
“Yes, sir, Captain,” Gesny said. The man walked casually to the hatch and quickly disappeared belowdecks.
Anton took a quick look as water rushed over the bow. He glanced behind. The aft portion of the Whale disappeared beneath the sea. No one could understand the thrill of a submariner as he challenged the dangers of the sea by challenging it beneath the waves. You could never control the waters of the oceans, but with luck you could survive them.
He turned and stepped quickly down the ladder leading into the conning tower, reaching above him to seal the hatch. As he leaped onto the deck of the control room, Anton stepped aside. A young sailor raced up the ladder and double-checked the hatch. There was never room for a mistake on board a submarine.
For the next hour, he took the Whale through the depths of Kola Bay, enjoying the handling of the submarine. The speed impressed him. Unlike battery power, all Anton had to do was shout out a speed and the atomic power surged, leaped, soared to the command. Battery power rose slowly and dissipated quickly. Here was truly the future of the Soviet Submarine Force. Here was their ability to meet the Americans in the open ocean. Since Peter the Great, Russia — now the Soviet Union — had dreamed of an oceangoing fleet that met the expectations of a country that stretched across two continents and half the world.
Anton pursed his lips and blew out, seeing no clouds of vapor.
What he really liked was the heat atomic power gave to the boat. Diesel submarines were always freezing in the Arctic because battery power lacked the energy to do more than keep the temperatures livable but cold.
“It is great, isn’t it, Comrade Captain?”
Anton looked over at Gesny, who stood near the planesmen. “It is, XO.”
Gesny continued, “I know how you feel, sir. Like you, I am a veteran of the Great Patriotic War, and to feel such power in our boat while submerged gives such a thrill to know what our Navy can be doing.”
Anton nodded with a smile. He found it amusing how someone who spoke so calmly and without emotion acted when he became thrilled. For him, he smiled and in the pit of the stomach a feeling such as one has on a circus ride bounced along with his emotions.
“How fast will she go while submerged, Comrade Diving Officer?” Anton asked, addressing Gesny with his watch position title.
“We have reached fifteen knots while submerged, and she could have gone faster.”
Anton leaned back slightly to adjust for the maneuver of the Whale.
“Passing one hundred meters,” the officer of the deck relayed.
“One hundred meters, aye,” Gesny acknowledged.
“Trim the boat, XO.”
“Trim one hundred meters,” Gesny ordered, his voice toneless.
“One hundred meters, aye,” the officer of the deck acknowledged.
Anton straightened as the Whale began to level off.
“As I said, Captain, we have reached fifteen knots while submerged. I know we could have gone much higher.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because we have these tests of our most reverend scientists who want to do everything in incremental efforts.” Gesny shrugged. “I have suggested that we go until the boat starts to shake, but I believe they are concerned that we will shake apart if we go too fast.”
“Maybe they are right.”
“Maybe everyone is right in our Navy.”
Lieutenant Tomich entered the control room. Gesny glanced at the zampolit and wordlessly stepped over to where the officer of the deck stood. Anton’s eyebrows arched as he tried to recall the name of the OOD. Oh, yes, Nizovtsev, the navigator. It was unusual for a navigator to be doing this. Every ship in the Soviet Navy was assigned two navigators, and while the navigators were in those august jobs, all they did was navigate. They were the only officers exempt from the zampolit’s political-party work.
“Comrade Captain, I have checked the crew’s mess as you asked. I think it is a brilliant idea you have suggested for me to walk through the mess during the serving hours. You can hear so much, and it does, as you pointed out, allow me to have a better feel for the morale and political dedication of our crew.”
“For such a young officer, Comrade Lieutenant, you are very astute. I think our crew and our officers can benefit from your insight.” Anton saw the beam of pride in Tomich’s face. There were ways to make the zampolit a valued member of the wardroom; driving him away was not one of them. As long as one remembered that in the end, the officer was still a zampolit.
“I think you are right, sir.”
“Final trim!” came a shout from Mamadov, who was looking over the shoulders of the planesmen aligned along the port bulkhead and helmsman who manned the wheel near the forward end of the control room.
“Captain, we are depth one hundred meters, steering course zero four zero, speed ten knots,” Nizovtsev calmly announced.
Anton turned to Gesny. “Let’s bring her up a knot at a time until we reach fifteen knots, Comrade XO.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Increase speed to eleven knots.”
Anton barely felt the increase, but it was there. It penetrated the soles of his black shoes, the speed — the power. It was like a man with a new woman for the first time. Thrilling. Here was the future of the Soviet Navy. It was no wonder the American Navy enjoyed the command of the seas, but their time was coming, and he — Anton Zegouniov — would lead the way in the Whale.
“Did the captain feel that?” Gesny asked, his face expressionless.
“For us old battery-powered sailors, XO, it is indeed an amazing moment for me,” he acknowledged.