Mikhail had been on the top deck of his vessel supervising the final docking procedures as this surprise invitation was delivered. Though he had been looking forward to a shower, a quick meal, and a long nap on his own, one couldn’t take such an invite lightly. He cleared his throat.
“I’d be honored to accept. Lieutenant. But could you please ask the admiral to give me at the very least forty-five minutes to clean myself up in the officer’s club and get into a fresh uniform?”
“Why of course, Captain. The admiral understands that you have only just come back from a long mission, and you have an hour to prepare yourself. Shall I send a car for you?”
“Ill walk,” returned Mikhail curtly.
With this the junior officer saluted smartly, clicked his heels together, and pivoted to return to headquarters.
Mikhail looked on as he disappeared up the ladder that led from the moon pool
“What’s the matter. Captain? Is there some sort of trouble?” queried a voice from behind.
Mikhail turned his head and spotted the source of this query, his moustached chief engineer, who had just climbed up onto the deck via the mini-sub’s forward access way
“No, Comrade Sosnovo, it’s nothing you need to be concerned with. It looks like I’ll be at the Komsomol dining hall, if you need me.”
“So you couldn’t wait to get a fresh meal, huh Captain?”
said the Ukrainian with a wink.
“Don’t forget, if they’re offering the Ukrainian borscht tonight, don’t pass it up, sir.”
“I won’t, comrade. Now I’d better get up to the locker room at the officers’ club and make myself presentable.
Right now, I stink so bad that every diner in the whole restaurant would lose his appetite the second I walked into the place.”
Well aware that he was leaving his Sea Devil in good hands, Mikhail left the vessel by way of the gangplank.
Their current floating dock was a large rectangular pool that had been cut into the lower hull of an Ugra-class support ship. This same opening could be closed to the sea and drained, and the Sea Devil could thus be transferred, giving the versatile mini-sub yet another deployment possibility.
A steep ladder took him to the main deck of the support vessel. Here an alert sentry snapped him a crisp salute and escorted him off the ship and onto the concrete pier. It was good to be back on solid footing after his long voyage. Oblivious to the icy gusts, he pulled tight the collar of his cotton tunic and began his way towards the officers’ club.
The area around the docks was bustling with activity.
A battalion of tough-looking Marines were in the process of boarding an Ivan Rogov-class landing ship.
Mikhail had spent a fair amount of time on one of these impressive vessels himself. In addition to troops, they were designed to carry up to forty battle tanks and a variety of support vehicles. The landing ships also had a docking bay in which hovercraft were stored, and two helicopter landing spots both fore and aft.
While wondering what far corner of the earth these troops might be off to, he passed the main embarkation area and followed the railroad tracks that ran parallel to the docks as far as the base power plant. Here he turned inland, utilizing a sidewalk to cross into the administrative and living areas.
The officers’ club was situated beside the base commissary.
It occupied a fairly new three-story brick structure built in the late 1970s. Mikhail headed for this building’s basement, where a fully equipped gymnasium, complete with an Olympic-sized swimming pool, was located. He kept a locker here for just such occasions.
Because of the fairly late hour, the locker room was deserted as he entered. Thankful to have the place to himself, he stripped off his stained coveralls and headed straight for the showers. Under a torrent of steaming hot water he washed away the accumulated grime of two weeks spent locked up within the cramped confines of his Sea Devil. He had to wash his hair three times to get it squeaky clean, and he used the better part of a bar of soap to get the rest of his body completely clean. He finished up this soaking by turning off the hot tap and crying out as a flood of icy cold water shot out from the showerhead. Not until he covered his entire body with this invigorating spray did he turn off the tap altogether.
He felt like a new man as he sauntered over to his locker and got his toilet kit. At the sink he brushed his teeth and shaved. The familiar face that stared back at him from the steam-covered mirror looked weary and strained. His steel-gray eyes were bloodshot, and fatigue lines marked his highly etched cheeks and brow. Taking a moment to trace the scar that lined his face, Mikhail turned to dress himself.
The Komsomol dining hall was located on the third floor of the officers’ club. It was plushly decorated, with red, royal blue, and gold predominating. Lit only by candlelight, the spacious room featured a strolling violinist, who was in the midst of a spirited piece by Khachaturian as Mikhail entered.
“Captain Borisov, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the smiling maitre d’.
“Hello, Vitaly,” returned Mikhail warmly.
“It’s been much too long. How’s the wife and that new baby of yours?”
“She’s still running me ragged. Captain. But the baby, he makes it all worth it. Did you know that little Viktor is already crawling? My mother sewed him a sailor suit, and you should just see how he looks in a uniform. So when are you finally going to settle down and start a family of your own?”
Mikhail shrugged his muscular shoulders.
“Find me the right girl and I’ll start on that family right after dessert,” he said with a wide grin.
“Oh, to live the life of a sailor with a beautiful, exotic woman in every port,” reflected the maitre d’, who sighed and looked down at his clipboard.
“Admiral Starobin is waiting for you in the main dining room, Captain. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you right over to him.”
Every table in the candlelit dining room was taken, but because of the lack of direct light and the great amount of space between each station, one could dine here in almost complete privacy. Mikhail was led to a spot beside a full-length picture window. Here a whitehaired senior officer sat alone sipping a cocktail, staring out the window.
“Excuse me, Admiral, but Captain Borisov has arrived,” greeted the maitre d’.
Quickly turning his head at this. Admiral Igor Starobin smiled broadly.
“So he didn’t stand me up after all, Vitaly. Ah, it’s good to see you. Captain.”
Taking this as his cue to leave, the maitre d’ quietly backed away and left the two officers to themselves.
As he did, Mikhail accepted the admiral’s handshake and seated himself.
“I hope that I didn’t keep you too long, Admiral.”
“Not at all, comrade. In fact, you’re right on time. I realized that you only just returned from sea, but I couldn’t wait to personally convey to you our appreciation for a job well done. Your little trip to Norway was a complete success. Why, we’re already benefiting from your efforts. But enough of such shop talk… how about joining me for a drink? And then we’ll get some fresh food into you.”
The admiral lifted up his right hand and snapped his lingers. Seconds later a waiter arrived. Without asking his guest, Igor Starobin ordered a chilled bottle of Caspian vodka and an assortment of appetizers. In no time at all this request was fulfilled, and as they held up their glasses, the whitehaired senior officer initiated the first toast.
“To my esteemed guest! Welcome back from the sea, Captain. Your motherland is proud of you.”
Mikhail humbly nodded and took a sip of his drink.
The vodka went down smoothly, and the blond commando reached out to try some of the caviar. Quick to join him was his host, who covered a flat whole wheat cracker with caviar and hungrily gulped it down.