“I think not. Let us keep this to ourselves for now.” Losenko had not yet decided how best to reveal the truth about Skynet. He was uncertain how they might react to the news that mankind was at war with its own machines. For the time being his instinct was to be sparing with this information, although in the long run that was probably a lost cause. Gossip was as essential as oxygen aboard a submarine. Chances were, Connor’s astounding claims were already spreading.
“That will be all for now. You are dismissed.”
The men gathered up their folders and headed for the doorway. Losenko heard them whispering and muttering to each other. Ivanov sneered at his own copy of the transcript, as though he might leave it behind, then grudgingly tucked it under his arm. He marched briskly for the exit.
“Not so fast, Mr. Ivanov.” Losenko indicated that the XO should remain. “A moment of your time.”
Ivanov gave the captain a wary look. He looked less than enthused at the prospect of engaging his superior in further discussion. “I am needed on the conn,” he stated.
“Chief Komarov can manage for a few more moments,” Losensko insisted. He waited until the other officers had departed, leaving them alone in the wardroom. “Close the door, Alexei. We need to talk.”
The XO surrendered to the inevitable. He secured the door and turned back toward the captain. However, he declined to sit back down at the table. “What is there to talk about, sir? This ridiculous radio drama about a deranged computer?” He stood stiffly at attention. “I believe I have already given you my opinion on the subject.”
“That you have,” Losenko conceded. He gestured for Ivanov to sit down. “But it is your attitude that concerns me now, Alexei. There is an anger inside you that shows no sign of abating. I have felt it, and so has the crew.” He adopted a sorrowful tone, not a scolding one. “It worries me, Alexei. It is not like you.”
He remembered the first time he had met Ivanov. The younger officer had immediately struck Losenko as a man of integrity and sound judgment, not to mention an exemplary husband and father with an enviable family life. The captain had made it a point to take Alexei under his wing. He had been, if not quite young enough to be the son Losenko had never had, at the very least a younger brother of sorts. Indeed, after his own painful divorce, Losenko had sometimes shared holidays with Alexei and his family. They had been generous that way.
“Of course I am angry,” Ivanov retorted. He reluctantly resumed his place at the table. “Have you forgotten what was done to our country, to the world?”
Losenko recalled the wasteland Russia had become. The radioactive ruins of Murmansk.
“I can never forget that. You have every right to be angry. But, for your own sake, as well as the boat’s, you cannot allow thoughts of revenge to consume you. Or to cloud your judgment.”
“So what do you suggest, Captain?” Ivanov countered. “That I consult a psychiatrist? A grief counselor?” His scornful tone conveyed more than just a military man’s customary aversion to having his head shrunk. A humorless laugh escaped him. “I’m not sure there are any left!”
In fact, Losenko sometimes regretted the lack of having a professional psychological counselor aboard. Boris Aleksin—the Gorshkov’s medical officer—was an able physician, but he was not equipped to cope with over a hundred men traumatized by the loss of everything they knew. The doctor had run out of sedatives and antidepressants weeks ago. Suicide attempts and breakdowns were becoming regular occurrences. Just last week, a distraught seaman had succeeded in hanging himself in the engine room...
“We all must deal with our grief in some manner, or else go mad,” the captain said solemnly. He spoke as a worried friend, not a disappointed superior. “Tell me, Alexei, have you cried for your wife, or for your daughter?”
Ivanov jerked backward, as though he had been slapped in the face. His expression darkened. For a second Losenko thought the young man might move to strike him, but then Ivanov managed to regain his composure.
“With all due respect, Captain, you go too far. That is none of your concern.”
“The mental health and stability of my XO is very much my concern,” Losenko stated. “You must mourn your family, Alexei, if you are to endure the trials ahead.”
“Easy for you to say,” Ivanov shot back. “The Navy was your only family.” His face was set in stone. A muscle twitched beneath his cheek; a facial tic that had become more pronounced since Judgment Day. “I will weep for my loved ones when the Americans have paid for their sins.”
Losenko let Ivanov’s cruel assessment pass.
“And if this ‘Skynet’ is indeed responsible?”
Ivanov shrugged. “Who built Skynet?”
“The Americans have already suffered the consequences of their folly,” Losenko reminded him. Mushroom clouds still rose above Alaska in his dreams. “We ourselves saw to that.”
“Good!” Ivanov said emphatically. “That knowledge alone lets me sleep at night. We did our duty—and struck a mighty blow against the enemy. They got no more than they deserved.” He poured himself a fresh glass of wine and gulped it down. Under the circumstances, the captain overlooked the indulgence. “Permission to speak frankly, Captain?”
“By all means,” Losenko assented. This confrontation was long overdue. They needed to clear the air between them.
Ivanov did not hold back.
“To my eyes, it is you who are having difficulty coping with what has transpired, who refuses to accept the reality of what was done to our country and our people. Instead of feeling the anger you so condemn in me, the righteous fury any true patriot should feel in the wake of so treacherous an attack, you wallow in guilt and melancholy and impotent philosophizing. You seize on this ‘John Connor’ deception as if hoping it will grant you absolution—for something you have no cause to be ashamed of!”
Losenko did not flinch at the accusations. He waited for Ivanov’s diatribe—which had obviously been festering within the other man for some time—to exhaust itself. Then he spoke softly.
“You are mistaken, Alexei,” he said. “There is no absolution for me. If Connor’s story is true, it only magnifies my guilt because it means that I did not strike back at the enemy, as you put it; instead I was tricked by a machine into killing millions of innocent people.”
Ivanov shook his head. “I refuse to believe that.”
“But you are not the captain,” Losenko said firmly. His voice took on a sterner tone. “I should not have to remind you of that.”
Ivanov glowered at him.
“What do you want, Captain? My resignation? To confine me to my quarters?” There was no brig aboard Gorshkov. “I would request reassignment, but I fear that is no longer an option!”
There was still no word from any other subs. As far as they knew, they were the Russian Navy.
“No one is suggesting that you resign,” Losenko assured him. “Believe me, I can ill afford to lose my most able officer. I simply want your word, on your family’s sacred memory, that you will not let your anger against the Americans override your duty to this ship, and that you will curb your present tendency toward insubordination.”
“Insubordination?” Ivanov looked genuinely offended. “How can you even suggest such a thing? I am the starpom, not a mutineer!”
Losenko leaned forward.
“Do I have your word, Alexei?”
“You are the captain.” Ivanov placed his right hand over his heart. “On the memory of my martyred Yelena and Nadia, I pledge that I will continue to respect the chain of command. You need never question my loyalty— save in one respect.”