“I think it is a great idea, Josef. You have taken a poor suggestion of mine and turned it into a great party-political agenda.” Tomich nodded, his eyes wide. “If you will excuse me, I have to prepare.”
The officers waited until the zampolit disappeared down the ladder to the control room.
Anton turned back to Gesny and Lebedev. “Well, Lieutenant Commander? What are you waiting for?”
Lebedev smiled and clapped his hands. “Thank you, Captain, thank you.” He turned to leave.
Gesny reached out and touched his shoulder, stopping the operations officer from leaving. Then he looked up at Anton. “Comrade Captain, are we to man the aft torpedo room once under way?”
“We will put a fire and safety watch inside it. Otherwise we will consider it inoperative.”
Gesny opened his mouth to say something. Anton raised an eyebrow. “Aye, Comrade Captain. Lieutenant Commander Lebedev, reopen the hatches to the aft torpedo room.”
“And, make sure they have not lost their watertight integrity, Comrade Ops,” Anton added.
“Yes, sir — no, sir,” Lebedev replied as he grabbed the ladder and started into the control room below them.
“Sir, did Doctor Zotkin say anything about changing the duration of the test or if the test would be modified in any way?” Gesny asked.
“No; we both agree that we cannot let such a small thing as a fire in a torpedo room stop the sea trials. We have a time schedule to meet.”
“Aye, sir,” Gesny said with a passion that matched the lack of expression on his face. “This is a great day for our Navy.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Doctor Zotkin was very passionate about the sea trials. His exuberance was contagious.”
“Oh, yes. He will go down in history one day as the father of the atomic Navy.”
“I am sure of that,” Anton added.
Gesny looked down at his shoes as if admiring the shine.
“XO, I am going to my stateroom for a few minutes. I would like some of your time when you are available to go over the sea and anchor details for our sea trials.”
Anton took his coat off and hung it on a metal hanger screwed into the thin bulkhead that separated the passageway from his tiny stateroom. It was early afternoon. He had missed lunch, but he could always grab a sandwich.
When he turned, he knocked his dress coat from the hanger onto the deck. When he bent to pick up the coat, he saw the letter Admiral Katshora had sent by courier three days ago. He had never ignored an admiral’s communique.
He slapped the envelope against his palm a couple of times before sitting down and quickly opening it. He read it as quickly as he opened it, then read it slowly, taking in what the short note said. He looked at his watch.
“Captain,” Gesny said as he stuck his head through the curtain.
“Yes, XO?” Anton folded the letter calmly and stuck it back into the envelope. Gesny watched.
Gesny handed him a message. “This came in from Northern Fleet headquarters. Looks as if our friend the Norse god is going to shower us with his blessings for the next few days.”
Anton read the message. “You’re right. Good thing we are inside and well protected.”
“This will interfere with Doctor Zotkin’s sea trials of the atomic reactor.”
Anton bobbed his head. “You could be right, XO. Unfortunately, as powerful as we all like to think we are, we cannot control the weather.”
“Yet.”
“Yet.”
“Doctor Zotkin may want to go forward with it, Captain. He is tied to his timeline.”
Anton nodded. “I understand, but until we see what your Norse god throws down on Severomorsk and the facility, we will have to wait. Either way, it does not look good for us going into the Barents.”
He laid the message on top of Katshora’s letter. “I have found our weathermen are more weather guessers than forecasters.” He nodded at the message. “It says the winds will pick up at noon tomorrow and increase with intensity, bringing with them gale force winds by the day after tomorrow. By then we should be hit with snow and ice.”
“Won’t be the first I’ve gone through that.”
Anton did not reply. The Arctic was fairly new to him. He had not spent sufficient time in it to find the operating environment common. He had heard of the terror the weather brought with it, slamming against humanity, daring you to come out and face it. “What are your recommendations, XO?”
“We should prepare the boat for foul weather. I have already ordered the chief of the boat to remind everyone of the dress requirements. Last year we had one of these come through here. At that time I was in Severomorsk, across the bay. We had several sailors lose fingers and toes. Had two disappear forever. To this day we don’t know what happened to them. And that was inside ice- free Kola Bay.”
“I need to go to Severomorsk today, XO, for a meeting with the admiral. I would like to do it with as little fanfare as possible.” Gesny nodded. He understood easily why Anton would not want Doctor Zotkin to know.
“I will arrange it. Your driver is outside—”
“My driver?”
“Yes, sir. I saw him this morning when I arrived, and he said he was waiting for you.”
Anton ran his hand through his hair. “Of course. I had forgotten I had asked him to wait today,” he lied, wondering why Popov was waiting unless it was for this meeting. But then how was a car going to get him across the bay?
“Do you want me to send him home?”
“No,” Anton said as he stood. He reached over and slipped both the message and letter into his coat pocket. “Let me step out and talk with my driver. I need to let him know what time to come back.”
“Should I go ahead and plan your trip across the bay?”
Anton shook his head. “No; it looks as if arrangements have already been made. Unless asked, XO, I don’t see any reason to share with anyone other than you my visit to the admiral.” He pulled his foul-weather jacket off the hanger. “Let’s keep this visit between us, XO?”
Gesny stepped back, half in the passageway, to give Anton room to slip on the jacket.
Gesny ran two fingers squeezed together across his lips. “I have no idea what the captain is talking about. Besides, the walls have ears, and those ears are linked to—”
Anton held up his hand. “Thanks.”
Anton opened the rear door of the ZIL; Popov called it a limousine. He told Anton the design had been copied from both European and American limousine designs. Of course, in the Soviet Union, anyone who merited a limousine could have it as long as he took it in black.
Popov folded the morning copy of Pravda and laid it on the seat beside him. “I thought you had forgotten.”
“I nearly did.”
“It is good you came when you did because I have been running the engine since this morning and the gas is below half now.” Popov faced forward. “I will take you to where you need to be. And, I will be there when you return.”
Anton knew that Popov and he had never discussed anything about today. He started to pull the letter out, but it was stuck beneath the straps and buttons of the foul-weather jacket he wore over his working uniform. “I need to be back for discussions later with the facility manager.”
“Doctor Zotkin will not miss you for the remainder of the day. He is deep into his plans.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, driver.”
“Driver, driver, driver. That is all I hear about the people’s profession.” Popov pulled the fingerless gloves tighter, put the car in reverse, and looked in the side mirrors as he squealed out of the parking space. “I hate it when the back window freezes.”