These words had had their desired effect, and Stefan soon accepted their new duty without additional complaint. As Valenko watched the which man at work in the control room, he found himself happy with their new friendship. Now, if Ivana only stayed around to greet him on his return, his joy would be complete.
Valenko was in the midst of his final inspection of the Vulkan when Lev Zinyakin, the sub’s sonar officer, came rushing into the control room.
The wide-eyed Lithuanian excitedly addressed Valenko.
“Captain, they’re here! The limousine has just pulled up to the gangplank.”
Valenko reacted cooly.
“Very well. Comrades, please man your stations. Senior Lieutenant, inform the crew to make ready for inspection.”
Vasili Leonov clicked his heels, pivoted and depressed a plastic toggle switch set beside the communications console. In response, four muted tones bellowed forth from the sub’s public-address system.
Taking a second to make certain his uniform was in order, Valenko positioned himself beside the forward hatchway. Proud of the men who stood beside him, the captain snapped to attention as their first visitor completed the short descent into the sub’s interior.
Fleet Admiral Sorokin led the way. The whitehaired, hefty figure looked larger than life as he stood there — his medallion-filled, gold-trimmed blue uniform clearly illuminated by the recessed lighting.
Before greeting the captain he made certain that his companion cleared the stairway without incident.
Only when General Secretary Rodin climbed down the final rung did Sorokin return the captain’s salute.
“Requesting permission to come aboard. Captain Valenko.”
“Permission granted.” Valenko was excited at seeing not only the ruddy, jowled figure of his commanding officer, but also the trim, familiar individual who stood beside him.
The admiral noticed Valenko’s stare and wasted no time with the introductions.
“Captain Petyr Valenko, may I present General Secretary Viktor Rodin.”
Formal as this salutation may have seemed, the immaculately suited statesman stepped forward and warmly shook Valenko’s hand.
“It is an honor to meet you. Captain. We share much in common, for as a youth I, too, wanted to become a submariner. As it turned out, the Party had other intentions for my services.”
Instantly at ease with this guest, Valenko said, “Please feel free to make the Vulkan your home. It’s not often that we entertain visitors, but we will try our best to make your tour an enlightening one. Shall we start here in the control room?”
“That would be most appropriate,” replied the admiral.
“It’s about time that I was able to meet some of the men I always seem to be reading such good things about.”
Without further delay, Valenko introduced them to Senior Lieutenant Leonov, Warrant Officer Kuzmin, and the various systems operators. Last in line was the zampolit. Ivan Novikov remained unemotional while being presented to the Premier, yet seemed noticeably impressed upon meeting the admiral’s handshake.
“You don’t know what a distinction it is to finally meet you. Admiral Sorokin,” the political officer said.
“I have read each one of your textbooks, and agree with your theories completely.”
“Ah, a fan at last,” Sorokin beamed, and allowed himself to be dragged into a discussion of the importance of naval power as an instrument of state policy.
While these two were so preoccupied, Valenko began explaining the purposes of the various consoles surrounding them. The captain could tell by Rodin’s questions that he had a quick, probing intellect. Since the Premier had been a member of his high school’s DOSAAF (All-Union Voluntary Society for Assistance to the Navy), he had an elementary knowledge of the basics of seamanship. The majority of his inquiries concerned the various sensors and weapons systems the Vulkan carried.
Whenever possible, Valenko let the officers in charge of the particular area supply the answers. / Premier Rodin smiled with delight when Lev Zinyakin invited him to have a seat at the sonar console.
With the aid of a pair of headphones, the General Secretary got an on-the-spot lesson in the detection of underwater targets. This exercise took on added realism when Zinyakin actually turned on their active sonar. When their ping deflected off the flanks of a school of startled fish swimming beneath the hull, Rodin’s eyes lit up.
To answer the General Secretary’s questions regarding their armament capabilities, the captain called upon the expertise of Yuri Chuchkin.
The goodnatured weapons chief wasted no time in inviting them to visit the restricted area that comprised the majority of the sub’s length.
The journey down to the missile magazine allowed the two VIPS to get a good idea of what life aboard the Vulkan was really like. In general, they found the hallways they passed through crowded, yet spotlessly clean. The crew was well behaved and most cordial.
Valenko was impressed by the manner in which the Premier stopped to chat with several of the conscripts.
Though he might only ask their name and hometown, this gesture proved excellent for morale. When the enlisted men learned that they would be going to sea again in only a couple of more hours, this extra enthusiasm would be most appreciated.
The Premier couldn’t help but inquire why the missile compartment was fondly known as the taiga. This question answered itself when the locked hatchway was opened and he set his eyes on an immense canyon of green-painted silos. He immediately associated the sixteen launch tubes with the thick trunks of the mighty conifers that occupied the northern regions of the Motherland. They proceeded carefully down the metallic catwalk that separated the tubes into two lines of eight silos. For several seconds, an eerie silence permeated the compartment as both guests contemplated the destructive might stored there.
As they exited, Admiral Sorokin patted the outer walls of the silo marked 1. All too soon he and the Premier would once again be encountering the object stored inside. A chill shot up his spine as he visualized the fiery consummation of that final meeting.
It was during tea in the wardroom that Viktor Rodin formally addressed his select group of tour guides. In a brief speech he thanked the officers for their hospitality and applauded the crew as a whole.
He then went on to emphasize the significance of the summit meeting upon which he was about to embark.
He left them with a somewhat puzzling declaration that hinted at a possible change in the Vulkan’s duty in the years to come.
Astounded by Rodin’s audacity, the admiral stood to make some closing remarks of his own. Praising the Vulkan’s patrol record, Sorokin stressed the importance of their present duty. Their diligence alone assured the Rodina that the enemy would think twice about starting any surprise hostilities. After thanking them for their sacrifice, the admiral cut his words short after noticing the clock mounted on the galley wall.
Since they had stayed well over their allotted time, the good-byes were short and sweet. As the big-boned admiral led the way out of the forward hatch, Viktor Rodin turned to invite Valenko to visit him in Moscow during his spring leave, if possible. Surprised by the unexpected offer, the captain humbly accepted.
Two hours later, while the General Secretary was immersed in his conciliatory speech to Petropavlovsk’s naval hierarchy, the last mooring line was detached from the Vulkan’s bow. Without the aid of a tug, the sub reversed the spin of its dual-shaft propellers and backed into the icy waters of Taliniskaia Bay.