“Now this is decent caviar, comrade… not like that crap they sell us at the commissary.”
“From what I hear, all the good stuff gets sold for export,” offered Mikhail.
“I believe you’re right, my friend. But it just doesnt seem to make any sense. I know we need the trade, but why barter away one of the Rodina’s finest natural resources, and leave none for its own citizens? Why, decent Russian caviar is easier to buy in New York City than it is in Moscow!”
Before Mikhail could reply, the waiter appeared table side
“Excuse me, comrades, but the kitchen will be closing shortly and I’d like to get your orders in.
May I recommend either the fresh baked sturgeon, or the house specialty, Ukrainian borscht.”
“I’ll take the sturgeon,” said the Admiral.
“Make mine the borscht,” said Mikhail.
“My senior electrician is from Kiev, and all I’ve been hearing these last two weeks is how damn tasty the dish can be when it’s prepared properly.”
“I’ll tell the chef to stir the pot for you, comrade,” offered the waiter as he ambled off to the kitchen to put in their orders.
The admiral sipped his vodka and looked his guest in the eye.
“So tell me, comrade, other than your successful tap of the NATO communications cable, did your Sea Devil function properly?”
“Other than a backed-up crapper and a couple of minor shorts, she operated splendidly, Admiral. We gave her watertight integrity a real workout when a couple of Norwegian corvettes depth-charged us off the coast of Larvik.”
“How in the world did they ever tag you?” asked the concerned senior officer.
“Don’t worry, Admiral. It wasn’t a signature deficiency on our part that gave us away. You see, we hit an unmarked sub net that triggered our presence to their ASW forces.”
“Off the coast of Larvik, you say?” repeated the Admiral thoughtfully.
“I want you to leave me that net’s exact coordinates. I’ve got Korsakov and his team going into those same waters next week, and there’s no sense risking their mission on something we already know about.”
“You’ll have those coordinates on your desk tomorrow morning,” returned Mikhail, who added with a grin, “I’ll drop them off to you on my way out of the base as I begin my leave. I’m booked on a ten a.m.
Aeroflot flight to Odessa, where I’ve got a whole four weeks to work on my tan.”
Admiral Starobin feared just such a thing and was all set to deliver the bad news when the waiter arrived with dinner. Deciding to let his guest eat this last meal in peace, Igor held his tongue and dug into his sturgeon.
Across the table from him, Mikhail Borisov breathed in the rich collection of scents that were emanating from his steaming hot bowl of borscht. Using a large spoon, he sipped a mouthful of the beet-red broth and found it tasty and perfectly seasoned. He needed a knife and fork to get at the assortment of delicacies that filled the rest of the bowl. They included tangy sausage, potatoes, cabbage, carrots, onions, celery, and several tender chunks of meat. He used a heel of crusty rye bread to sop up the remaining broth, which he extended with a dollop of sour cream.
“My chief engineer was correct, this dish is one of the finest I’ve ever tasted. How was your fish, Admiral?”
“Adequate,” replied his host.
“Though I would have preferred a bowl of that borscht, at my age a plain piece of broiled fish makes more sense for the old heart. Now what do you say to dessert?”
No sooner did these words leave the Admiral’s lips than the waiter arrived with two platters of sliced pineapple spears.
“Well, look what we have here,” observed Igor Starobin.
“I guess a cargo ship arrived here from Cuba recently.
Though it’s going to take a lot more than pineapples to pay off the huge debt Castro and his gang of thugs owe us.”
“At least this is a commodity that we can’t grow in the motherland,” added Mikhail as he cut into the luscious yellow fruit and began devouring it.
The admiral waited for their snifters of brandy to arrive before managing to bring up the sensitive subject that had necessitated this dinner in the first place.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal, Captain. I just wanted to tell you once again how very proud I am of you. Without your tireless effort, the motherland would be a less secure place to live. All of us can rest more easily just knowing that vessels like Sea Devil are at our disposal, to thwart the imperialistic ambitions of our sworn enemy.
“You have helped make a dream that was conceived over forty years ago become a reality. As you very well know, it was during the closing days of the Great War that I first laid my eyes on Sea Devil. Though this crude Nazi prototype was far from the sophisticated vessel that we have today, the mere idea of combining amphibious tracked drive and submarine propulsion was a unique, ingenious concept whose possibilities seemed endless to me. The designers at the Red Banner Shipyards agreed, and as a result, the craft that we today call Sea Devil was born.
“Through the years there have been many doubtors in the defense ministry who were skeptical of Sea Devil’s operational effectiveness. True, we have had our failures, just as we’ve had our triumphant successes.
Yet to win these unbelievers over to our side once and for all, I recently submitted the plans for an unprecedented covert operation to both Admiral of the Fleet Markov and the Premier’s closest aide, Deputy Secretary Stanislav Krasino. And much to my utter delight, only yesterday I received the go-ahead from the Politburo itself.
“As I prepared to set the operation in motion, I could think of no better qualified officer than you to lead my strike team into action. For what I propose is a mission whose successful outcome will change the very balance of power between East and West unalterably in our favor!”
With this rousing statement, Igor Starobin briefly halted to take a sip of his brandy and catch his breath. Certain that he had the undivided attention of his rapt dinner companion, he continued.
“What I propose is to have you take Sea Devil up Scotland’s Firth of Clyde to the American naval installation at Holy Loch. There you will place a specially designed series of limpet mines beneath the hull of a yet-to-be-named imperialist nuclear submarine. These explosives will be placed in such a manner that their activation will split the vessel’s hull apart and cause the sub’s still-critical reactor to go plummeting to the seafloor below. The result will be an ecological disaster of unprecedented scope, as raw plutonium is released into the pristine waters of the loch, poisoning them for a thousand years to come.
“Just think of the international outrage that will follow such a disaster, comrade! Without being able to point a finger at the actual perpetrator, the Americans will be assailed by every nation on this planet. Why, the Europeans will be absolutely furious, and demand that the United States withdraw its nuclear weapons from their soil before such a calamity can reoccur.
And in such a way not only will we succeed in permanently shutting down the naval installation that poses the most direct threat to our shores, but also cause the removal of American cruise missiles and shorter range tactical nuclear weapons from Europe as well!
“I had hoped to initiate this mission upon your return from leave, for I know the hectic schedule that you’ve been on these past few months. But one of the preconditions that the Politburo insisted upon when they gave me the go-ahead was that it take place to coincide with the Queen of England’s visit to the Falsane Naval Base at nearby Gare Loch. Here she will christen the first English submarine to be equipped with Trident missiles.”