“Seeteufel,” he readily answered.
Igor’s German was still poor, and he depended upon his newfound friend to translate for him.
“They call it Sea Devil,” said Konstantin.
“What a fitting name for such a unique vessel.”
Igor readily agreed, and spent the entire afternoon crawling through the cramped interior of one of the just completed prototype models. That evening, he shared his initial impressions with Konstantin Markov. To the impressionable Estonian, such craft held the future of naval special operations. He envisioned vast fleets of Sea Devils, complete with their crews of highly trained Spetsnaz operatives, sneaking into enemy waters, cutting through sub nets, laying mines and other ordinance, and even clandestinely landing teams of commandoes. All this would be carried out right in the enemy’s own backyard, without him being any the wiser.
Konstantin listened intently, and agreed that the vessel did have great potential. He promised to bring Sea Devil to the attention of his uncle, who was the managing director of Sevastopol’s Red Banner shipyards. True to his word, after the conclusion of the war Konstantin did in fact tell his uncle about the tracked submersible. When he showed a genuine interest in his nephew’s wartime discovery, Igor was given the job of transferring one of the appropriated vessels down to the Red Banner shipyards.
Little did he ever realize it then, but this would only be the start of a relationship that was to last for over four decades.
The deep-throated cry of a boat whistle sounded in the distance, and Igor broke from his deep pondering and looked up into the clear, blue sky. The sun was not yet directly overhead, but just in case the noon ferry was early, the whitehaired veteran decided to increase the pace of his hike.
The path took him through a thick forest of birch trees and led downward into a scrub-filled bog. He had to be extra cautious not to deviate from the trail on this part of the journey, for the swamp was rumored to contain quicksand that could swallow a man up quicker than a great white shark.
He was a bit winded by the time he successfully crossed the bog. His sedentary life-style was not conducive to physical conditioning. And besides, with Moscow’s soot-laden air, it was healthier to catch a ride in a limo than walk anyway.
As he attained the summit of a small rise, Igor was thankful that he had given up smoking and had kept his weight in check. Other than his arthritis, his six-foot, two-inch frame was in pretty decent shape for one who had lived nearly six and a half decades. Having the services of a full time live-in physician helped, but so did the decent set of genes that he had inherited from his parents. While wondering if his mother and father would still be living if it wasn’t for the ravages of war and pestilence, Igor wiped his forehead dry with a handkerchief.
Once again the distinctive cry of a boat whistle sounded, but this time it seemed to be much closer.
Ready to continue now, he descended into a thicket of stunted pines and climbed up a hill formed partially of coarse sand. From this vantage point he could clearly see the glimmering waters of Koporski Bay. His dacha was also visible, perched on a hill with the bay before it.
The cottage was simply constructed of native timber and stone. It had a modern kitchen, indoor bath facilities, two bedrooms, a living room, and Igor’s very favorite feature, a screened-in porch. Weather permitting, it was here that they would take their meals, watch the glorious sunsets form over the Gulf of Finland, and then linger long into the evening with the stars and the night wind for company. Since the sky still showed no signs of an advancing front, Igor planned to have today’s meeting out on the porch as well. But his guests would never even find the place if he didn’t hurry on down to the docks to greet them. He hurriedly began his way down the trail that would lead him to the pier.
He was concentrating totally on his stride and almost missed sighting the three distant figures on the trail leading up the opposite valley. This was the route from the village to his dacha, and Igor could just make out the tall, stately figure of his wife leading two men up the graded pathway. The tallest of these two individuals had a big, round-shouldered frame and wore the distinctive blue uniform of a Soviet naval officer. Behind him followed a thin gentleman in a gray business suit.
“Svetlana!” screamed Igor at the top of his lungs.
This cry echoed throughout the valley and soon had its desired effect when the trio halted and turned to scan the countryside for the sound. Igor wildly waved his hands to catch their attentions, and it seemed to be his wife who first spotted him. She waved in return and so did the portly naval officer, whom Igor knew to be his old friend, Admiral of the Fleet Konstantin Markov.
As they continued on toward the dacha, Igor crossed the valley to eventually rejoin them at the cottage. He could walk at a more moderate pace now just knowing that his guests were in good hands. Once again, Svetlana had stepped in to save the day. They had been married for forty years now, and Igor doubted he’d ever be able to live without her. Regardless of her own hectic schedule, she never failed to keep a warm, cozy house. Her cooking skills were superb, and she was one of the most considerate people that he had ever met. He should have known that Svetlana would be down at the docks to greet his guests when he didn’t show up at home earlier.
He had just planned to go out on a sixty-minute hike.
But that was well over three hours ago! Such was the price one paid when one detested wearing a watch, and was a consummate daydreamer.
A quarter of an hour later, Igor was in the process of striding up the stone walkway that led to his dacha’s entrance, when the front door popped open and out walked Konstantin Markov. It was the Admiral of the Fleet who issued the first greeting.
“Well, just look what the tide has washed in. I’m glad that you could find the time to join us, comrade.”
This last sentence was delivered with such a serious tone that Igor feared that his guest was genuinely upset with his tardiness. Yet when Konstantin’s face lit up with a warm smile and he reached out with his arms spread wide, Igor knew otherwise.
“Igor, old friend, it’s good to see you. When you didn’t show at the pier, and Svetlana explained that you never returned from your morning hike, we were afraid that a bear had taken off with you. But I knew all the time that if it was a bear that was causing your delay, he’d find your hide much too tough for his likes and eventually let you go.”
They met with a hug and a series of kisses to each cheek.
“Thanks for the concern, Konstantin, but I think that you’re right all the same. This old hide is getting a bit tough to make a decent meal of.”
Igor playfully winked and both men let out a laugh.
It was the Admiral of the Fleet who was the first to gain control of himself.
“Has it really been six months since I’ve seen that ugly face of yours? Where does the time fly to, old friend? Why, it seems that only yesterday we were waltzing through the streets of Berlin with a gorgeous fraulein on each arm and not a care in the whole world between us.”
“Where in the world did we go wrong,” returned Igor, who led his guest over to a small flower garden. Tulips could just be seen bursting from this plot as Igor continued.
“So how did things go in Vladivostok, comrade?”
Konstantin shrugged his massive shoulders.
“It’s business as usual, what more can I say? I read the riot act to Admiral Petrov, who swore that he knew nothing about the inconsistencies that I spoke of. Yet as I was preparing to fly back to Moscow, I understand that the good admiral really laid it to his staff.”