“Approaching fifteen meters depth,” Arkanov announced.
“Ease planes.”
Then, as if the crew had worked together for years instead of weeks, the Whale leveled off. Anton glanced at the depth gauge. They were directly on sixteen meters.
“Final trim,” Mamadov announced, reaching down and slapping the nearest planesman on the back.
“Status report,” Anton said.
Unconsciously, he reached up and started to touch his face. Gesny reached out and touched his arm, stopping him. Anton looked at the hand on his arm, then at Gesny, and nodded thanks as he dropped his arm back alongside. Many had lost bits of flesh from touching it too soon after the Arctic had done its best to freeze it off.
“Boat steering course zero niner zero, speed ten knots, depth sixteen meters, sir!”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Lebedev.”
Lebedev stepped to the navigation table where Lieutenant Ni-zovtsev sat.
“Captain,” Nizovtsev said, “recommend fifteen minutes on heading zero eight five. That should take us off the shelf edge and over the deeper fathoms.”
“Very well,” Anton acknowledged. He looked around for the hot chocolate, saw the cup on the nearby shelf, but doubted it was still hot now.
Anton reached up and grabbed a handhold on an overhead pipe. His gloves protected any chance of flesh freezing to it, but then maybe this was a precaution that would be forgotten with atomic power? “XO, I thought the weather forecast said it was another few hours before the storm was to reach here.”
“I am checking, Comrade Captain. It is possible that this is only a small storm and that it will pass through the area quite quickly. In which case, when we surface tomorrow, it could be gone.”
Anton nodded. He opened and closed his hand holding the pipe but felt no pain. Then he clinched and unclenched the other hand, checking for frostbite. Terrible frostbite meant numbness, and numbness meant the loss of an extremity. Silently, he did the same thing to his toes, thankful of the slight pain he felt, but it would be later in his stateroom before he could inspect every inch of his body. He nearly grabbed his crotch, sure everyone would understand, but a captain must never open himself for ridicule.
Fifteen minutes later they were over the deep area of Kola Bay. He waited another ten minutes, asked for a depth reading, and satisfied, he ordered them to fifty meters depth. Put a little water between him and those surface warships boring holes in the bay. With their attention on the ice buildup on their decks, he wanted to reduce any opportunity of them taking off his conning tower.
The pain in his face was beginning to subside. He gave some standing orders to the officer of the deck. Lieutenant Lebedev acknowledged each order by repeating it. Behind the officer of the deck, the chief of the watch cuffed the sailor responsible for log entries, who leaped to the task of writing down Anton’s orders.
“XO, Lieutenant Lebedev; once the underway watch is set, if you would find Lieutenant Commander Tumanov, let’s meet in the wardroom in fifteen minutes to go over the at-sea trials we have been cast into.”
“Yes, sir. Here is Doctor Zotkin’s envelope for you, sir.” Gesny pulled it out from inside his foul-weather jacket.
Anton took it. He wondered what the “good doctor” had to say this time. Whatever it was, it was thick. This explained why Zotkin agreed with Anton’s argument about testing the aft torpedo room repairs. The doctor never intended to just send the Whale out for a few dunks. The timetable was everything to Zotkin, and if weather was unbeatable for the sea trial in the Barents, then they would do it in Kola Bay and declare success. Success was the barometer of leaders.
Govno. Shit. He hoped it was not a dissertation warning him of the consequences of failure. Failure for a submariner was to have an odd number of surfacings and submergings.
Anton nodded. “I will meet you three in the wardroom in ten minutes.” He turned and headed down. Moments later he was in his stateroom, taking his gloves, coat, and shoes off. He looked in the mirror at the bright splotches on his face, touching them lightly. The pressure turned the area white, only to have it bounce back to red when he pulled his finger away. He smiled. Elena would not have a man missing a nose and cheeks from this trip. Fingers and toes were the same.
He changed his socks, slipped on a different pair of shoes, and grabbed different gloves from his locker. He placed the cast-off items near the ventilation shaft along the deck so any moisture could dry from the heat. He smiled as he held his hands in front of the vent, letting the warm air flow across them. He was going to love atomic power.
He picked up his other fur hat and put it on. Then, tucking the envelope beneath his arms, Anton headed toward the wardroom. Once there, he laid the papers from Doctor Zotkin on the table. The man never ceased to amaze him with his desire for power and his great paranoia.
Anton had his hands wrapped around the cup of hot chocolate when Gesny stuck his head through the wardroom curtains. “Lebedev is coming. He is checking the watch bill and making a change. We had one of the engineers come down sick—”
“That was Petty Officer Brest, right?”
“Yes, sir; one of the newcomers. Been on board only a couple of months, but unable to get out of his rack this morning.”
“Maybe I should have allowed them to sleep in the berthing area instead of restricting the men to the boat.”
“I don’t think it was that, Comrade Captain. He had blood on his lips when they helped him off the boat.”
“Radiation?”
Gesny nodded. “Most likely. Brest worked the water coolant system nearest the reactor.” Gesny took his fur watch cap off and tossed it on a nearby seat. Then he scratched his head. “We can ask Tumanov when he comes.”
Lebedev stuck his head between the curtains, gave a small salute to Anton, and went over to the serving line, pouring himself some hot chocolate. “I saw Anatole on the way down, Comrade Captain. He sends his apologies. He is changing his watches to compensate for the loss of Brest. He will be here in five minutes.” Gesny nodded at the papers lying facedown on the table. “Doctor Zotkin?”
Anton nodded. “Seems this is going to be more than just a trip into the bay to check out the aft torpedo room. Speaking of which, Lieutenant, how does it look?”
Lebedev slid into the vacant space alongside Anton, sipping his hot drink too fast. “Woo! That burned,” Lebedev said.
Gesny placed his cup on the table and pulled a chair up to the table. “Sip, don’t chug.”
“Lieutenant: the aft torpedo room?”
“I swung by there from the conning tower, sir. We have a fire and safety watch in the space. I checked the valves and the tubes. There are no leaks.”
“Just now?”
“Aye, sir. And we were at fifty meters when I checked. I believe the repairs will hold. There was nothing in the damage that penetrated the hull, sir. All the damage was confined to the internals of the aft torpedo room.”
“That’s good. Let’s hope you’re right. Fire has a way of doing unseen damage when valves, pipes, gears, et cetera are involved,” Anton said. He picked up the papers from the table and handed them to Gesny. “It seems Doctor Zotkin views this trip as more than an opportunity to check out our repairs.”
Tumanov whipped the curtains back and stomped into the wardroom. “Comrade Captain, Comrade XO,” he said sharply as he grabbed a ceramic cup and poured some hot chocolate for himself. “My apologies for my tardiness, sirs. I had some problems to attend to concerning the engineering spaces.”
“You mean Petty Officer Brest?”
“That, plus a couple of my sailors think it might be dangerous to perform their duties.”
Anton’s eyebrows arched. “They are refusing?”