“I have never been on a conventional submarine,” Tomich added.
Anton’s and Gesny’s eyes met. Without a word or movement, Anton knew he and Gesny were thinking the same thing about the young zampolit, who would act as an equal with them. Both were veterans of the war. Tomich had never known the fear, angst, or emotion of survival that a submariner veteran had experienced. Anton looked away. Since this was the only atomic-powered submarine in the Soviet Navy, Tomich’s comment meant the zam-polit was on his first submarine.
Anton bit his lower lip. This Tomich must have friends in high places, if the zampolit’s first assignment on board a submarine was on the most sensitive and classified one in the Navy. There was that feeling of pride swelling in Anton again as he thought of the future he would help bring to his country. And, almost as an afterthought, the party.
The sun was touching the edge of the hills behind the facility as Anton stood on the bridge, listening to Gesny conn the Whale toward the opening that marked the concealed dock. About thirty minutes until they were inside and another hour to ensure that his boat was securely tied. Then he could think about heading home to Elena. Wait until he told her of his first trip out on his boat. His boat!
Anton lifted his binoculars and swept them across the facility areas, looking at the varied buildings and guard posts that dotted the rough hillside and coastline that made up this secret facility. He surmised that the reason why the area had never been properly organized and cleaned up like a naval facility should be was that it helped in camouflaging the true purpose behind their work here. It was the only thing that made sense.
“What is the captain looking at?”
Anton lowered his glasses. Tomich stood alongside him. He had not heard the zampolit come up the ladder.
“This is the first time I’ve had to view our facility, Lieutenant. I am amazed at how farsighted our leaders are in taking what is easily the most important thing for our Navy — our future — and hiding it in plain sight.”
“I thought the same thing,” Tomich replied. “Our enemies are thinking we are pursuing an atomic-powered submarine in our Pacific Fleet headquarters at Vladivostok. They would never think of us doing it in the Northern Fleet.”
“Or maybe they think we would be doing it with our Baltic
Fleet or Black Sea Fleet?” Anton asked. He knew Tomich was sharing classified information with him. Was Anton underestimating the zampolit? Was Tomich testing him? Would this information later become valuable to him, or would it be used against him? Regardless, the more information he knew, the better he could weave his career through the minefields of Soviet politics.
Tomich shook his head. “I don’t think they ever considered Kaliningrad. The Baltic Fleet is trapped at the end of the Baltic and is too exposed for our enemies to exploit anything we might do there. As for the Black Sea Fleet”—Tomich laughed—“Chairman Khrushchev had known all along the evil of Stalin, and to put this project in the Ukraine where we have a bastion of traitors would be inconceivable.”
Anton nodded. “You have a keen analytical mind, Lieutenant.” Tomich smiled. “Yes; once again the party has proven superior.” He tapped his head. “While the Americans and their lackeys patrol off the Pacific Fleet headquarters, hoping to find our atomic power program, we have hidden it under their noses in the most inhospitable part of our country: the Arctic.” He laughed and with an almost schoolboyish voice added, “Isn’t it great?” Anton nodded. The zampolit was smart. Anton had not considered why the Northern Fleet. He doubted he would ever have given the intellectual effort to have reasoned it as this young political officer had. Anton shivered slightly, as if the Arctic wind had whipped up his trouser leg.
“It is indeed great, Lieutenant Tomich. For you and for all of us who are embarked on what will be a historical event in our Navy’s history.”
“Captain!” Gesny shouted. “Recommend coming to course three two zero at this time.”
“Very well!” he shouted. Gesny did not need to ask permission; he had the conn. He turned to his XO standing nearer the front of the bridge, but the man had his back to Anton.
“Captain, my apologies,” Tomich said. “I am distracting you from your duties. We should talk later. I am sure you have many questions about my party-political plans for the crew. Tonight we are doing a ‘Life of Lenin’ project. You are welcome to join us.”
“Could we have it when we dock, Lieutenant? I would be enthused to participate, and if we can do it prior to nightfall, then we can have those who must travel on their way in time to avoid the harsher time of the day.”
“Yes, sir. I would be glad to do it,” Tomich said, enthusiam running the words together. Then the zampolit added, as if the young man felt he had to say something else, “I am, like you, so proud of being asked to be part of this great adventure.”
Anton acknowledged the young man’s parting comment and then watched for a second as the zampolit scurried through the hatch, heading down the ladder to the conning tower. When he looked up, Gesny was staring at him. His XO nodded, raised his hand with a slight two-finger salute, and then returned to conning the boat toward the dock.
Anton raised his glasses and returned to viewing the facility. Along with seeing how the facility was laid out and how the construction lacked so much infrastructure, he listened to Gesny’s orders.
With experience in the Navy came so much nautical knowledge tied up inside one’s brain. As he listened, he visualized the changes the conning crew were doing, the shifting of the rudders, the seesaw noises of the electric motor as it changed its speed. It seemed transparent to him as he easily translated the courses and speed changes into a vivid mental chart of the Whale as it maneuvered. Most submariners had this innate ability of envisioning navigational movements without seeing them. It became ingrained the longer one stayed in the submarine force because navigation was always done in the dark confines of submerged operations. A captain who could not visualize his navigational picture with its myriad of contacts would never survive a battle at sea where most, if not all, of those contacts were trying to sink you.
He wondered if this Tomich would wet himself when he experienced his first depth charge. He saw movement to the right of the concealed dock and shifted his binoculars to the area. Wetting oneself did not mean the sailor would never survive a war at sea. Many he had known had gone through the terror of depth-charging, lying on the bottom, praying — though not out loud — to survive; and who then went on to become veteran submariners. He recalled his own terror.
He tweaked the focus on the binoculars. A couple of trucks were backing up to a loading platform along the back side of the dock. The current course of the Whale allowed him to see, but he would be able to watch for only a minute before their course and speed caused the opening to the dock to block the trucks from view. Probably delivering supplies.
He recognized the tall figure when he came into view. Doctor Zotkin walked ahead of several other white-gowned figures. Members of Zotkin’s staff, Anton thought. The dock began to obscure the activity, but not before he saw men coming onto the loading platform carrying stretchers. He counted seven before the opening blocked his view. Three of them had blankets covering the faces. The others were uncovered.
“We are nearing the entrance, Comrade Captain,” Gesny interrupted.
Anton dropped his binoculars and glanced forward. Gesny raised his binoculars slightly and let them drop. Gesny nodded and turned forward. Why was his number two warning him about the binoculars? Why could he not look around his surroundings? A good naval officer needed to know what the coastline looked like as much as he needed to know the depth, current, and wave action of the seas in which he sailed. But he was new to this project, and there was much to be curious about and much that could find him and Elena learning how to chop wood for heat in Siberia.