“What would you want with us? Look around you. The war is over here. You lost,” said Kursov.
“Possibly, but the man who betrayed me to the enemy should be made to pay,” hissed Bugayev.
“Betray you? I was picked up along with the rest and interrogated for hours. Only after a long wait was I told to go home. When the war started no one cared to question me anymore,” said Kursov. It was a lie, but it fit.
Bugayev shook his head slowly. “No, that isn’t possible. I have found all but one of our party and they all said they were innocent, even when I shot them.”
The revelation that Bugayev had murdered the others was a slap to Kursov. It meant his folly would now strike at his own family. An angry look came over his face. “You killed those who supported you? Who worked for you? They were willing to give their all for Russia and now you have repaid their loyalty with this? Look what has now happened. The Allied armies have pushed Russia back almost to our borders. All the killing has come to nothing! Now you want to kill some more. This is not the Russia I remember. The Russia I knew had a soul, despite the Communists. You are nothing more than evil and hate, still trying to get your way. Very well then, shoot me and leave this place. Take out your revenge on me,” shouted Kursov, stepping forward slightly and puffing out his chest. He fully expected the bullet at any time.
Bugayev laughed. “Brave words, but no, I do not kill you. First I kill each of your family as you watch. It will be slow so you can feel the pain I felt at the hands of my captors.”
Around him the two families clung together. Mrs. Kursov took Camille and Sasha in her arms while Mr. Polski placed an arm around his son’s shoulders.
Bugayev looked from side to side at the family before him. “The question is who shall be the first?” he said slowly as he moved the pistol in an ark. His eyes focused on Freda. “You will do,” he said as he squeezed the trigger.
The pistol fired, but not before Anton Kursov sprang like a coiled spring in front of her. The bullet struck him in the upper left chest, spinning him around and knocking him to the floor. Mrs. Kursov let out a scream and rushed to his side. Rudy grabbed the back of a wooden chair and was about to throw it at Bugayev.
Bugayev hadn’t heard the door open, but as he was about to dispatch Rudy he felt a blast of cold air on his back. He had just begun to turn when an axe appeared out of nowhere, chopping its way through his upper arm and burying itself in the side of his chest. Petyr had swung the axe like a baseball bat. The blow knocked Bugayev over onto the kitchen table where he collapsed onto the floor. The severed arm lay on the floor, still gripping the pistol in its now dead hand.
Petyr placed his foot on Bugayev’s back and pried the axe from his side as if removing it from a tree. He watched the ever spreading pool of blood spreading over the wooden floor in a widening circle. Bugayev stared up as Petyr leaned over him. Just before his eyes fluttered shut he heard him say in a voice sounding like death itself, “You were wrong. I was the one who turned you in.”
Petyr turned to the others. “Get some towels and bandages. Mr. Polski, can you get a tourniquet on this arm? I want to keep this man alive,” he ordered.
The rest of the family jumped into action as Petyr went over to his father. He was lying on the floor being tended to by his mother. He knelt beside him and smiled. “You saved Freda’s life,” Petyr said. “I think I understand a little now. In many ways, I am proud of you, Father.”
A very pale Anton Kursov looked up at his son and smiled. “And I have always been proud of you, Petyr. You were right. I was foolish, and you have brought pride and honor to our family,” he said. He placed his hand over his son’s and grasped it.
“Now I need to get you to the hospital.” Petyr said.
They heard the Humvee pull up outside and Ricks came through the door. “Let’s get these two in the vehicle,” he said.
Kursov was eased into the front seat while Bugayev was lifted into the very back of the vehicle. Petyr and Mr. Polski junped in the back seat. Ricks shoved the Humvee into gear and sped down the highway toward Krakow.
The Osprey eased over the fantail and slowly positioned itself over the deck of the Iowa. Once the wheels touched down, the back of the plane lowered and two passengers got off. Captain Rhodes greeted the two and escorted them back to his cabin. As they left, the Osprey shut down its engines.
For Hustvedt, the Iowa reminded him of his old ship, the North Carolina. The strength of the ship could be felt almost immediately and they were greeted by members of the crew as they made their way forward. Using a critical eye, there wasn’t much that could be said was wrong aboard the ship. The ever present rust was almost nonexistent, and the decks were clean and neat. Even when the party entered the skin of the ship there was little wrong. The decks were spotless and nothing seemed out of place. Rhodes led them to the port side and up to his inport cabin. “Come in. I had some sandwiches brought in since you probably didn’t eat on the plane,” said Rhodes.
Claire Richardson looked around the cabin. “This brings back memories. The last time I was aboard Hammond was in command,” she said as they made their way to the table. The three sat on one end and selected a sandwich. Chips and tea were at each place.
“Then welcome back,” said Rhodes. “Now that you’re here, you mind telling me what you have up your sleeves? The message was rather cryptic and you mentioned a special mission.”
Hustvedt took a bite out of his sandwich and began. “Well, Captain, as you know we have just about taken the Crimea and a big chunk of the Ukraine. General Richardson has noticed that the troops are getting a little tired of the operation,” he began.
“Captain, this war has been fought totally different from anything previous,” said Richardson. “The use of the drones has pretty much taken the real danger out of going forward. We have been killing the Russians by the thousands with few casualties of our own. When that happens, we are finding that our people grow weary and sick of just killing, and to tell you the truth, I am too. More and more of our efforts are going toward trying to get the enemy just to give up. I already have over 250,000 prisoners.”
The numbers shocked Rhodes. Being at sea kept them away from such things. “My soul, that’s a little astounding,” he exclaimed.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, our estimates are that the Russians may have lost over two million people in this,” said Hustvedt. “Between that and our keeping the population cold and dark, these people are suffering,” he said.
“That brings us to this operation,” said Richardson. “Captain, I want to take Iowa into Sevastopol harbor and see if we can get the city to surrender as a whole.”
Rhodes sat back in his chair. He had a sharp vision of the Iowa being pelted with every gun imaginable before even getting into the harbor. “That’s a huge risk,” he said slowly. It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled at the idea.
“I know it is. We don’t really know what might be up against us. But if we go in under a white flag and talk to the local commanders, it might just work. Of course the Wisconsin and North Carolina will be just offshore. The Queen Elizabeth is out there too, just in case,” Hustvedt explained.
“Who will be going ashore?” Rhodes asked.
Richardson spoke up. “Just two of us. I will go and I would like to take Lieutenant Commander Jeffers along as a translator,” she said.
Rhodes looked skeptical. “Just two of you, with no escort, into an active war zone. Ma’am, I wouldn’t do that on a bet.”
“Most sane people wouldn’t,” Richardson chuckled. “But the way things have been going, I wouldn’t be surprised if they jumped at the chance. They have the Spanish and Italians to the northwest and we are coming in from the east. These guys have to know what’s about to happen,” she said.