“It’s unusual to leave us out here unescorted. What do you think they were up to?”
“Who knows?” the captain said cautiously.
“With the Cheka, almost anything could have been possible.
Sometimes I wonder if that crack crew is even working for the navy.”
“You and me both. Captain. I’ve heard tell that Dzerzhinsky has guided his vessel right up to the sub nets at Pearl Harbor. From there he supposedly took pictures of a group of Americans picnicking on the shoreline.”
Shaking his head, Valenko grinned.
“I bet you can’t wait to get back to Petropavlovsk and see that new son of yours.”
“I sure can’t. Do you realize that next week he’ll be six months old?
And to think that I’ve already missed almost a third of life.”
“Get used to it. Comrade, or perhaps this line of work isn’t for you.
And besides, they don’t do anything but eat, sleep, and cry the first couple of years anyway.”
“Why, Captain, I didn’t think you knew so much about babies.”
“You’d be surprised, son,” Valenko added with with a wink.
Valenko was preparing to leave, to issue the orders sending the Vulkan westward, when Kuzmin looked up apprehensively.
“Captain, there’s one more thing that I’d like to ask of you before we get back to port.
Galina and I would like to know if you would do us the honor of being little Nikolai’s godfather.”
Clearly surprised by this request, Valenko hesitated a second before responding.
“It’s me who you honor, Stefan. What have I done to be so worthy of this distinction? Why, we hardly know each other.”
“Nonsense, Captain. We have sailed three patrols together. Even though we haven’t been able to talk as much as I would have liked, your example has meant so much to me. Galina says that you’re the father figure I never had to emulate. Whatever the case, we would be proud to have you as our son’s guardian.”
Veiled by the red combat lighting, Stefan Kuzmin failed to see his commanding officer’s cheeks flush.
“What else can I say, but that I’ll accept.”
“Wonderful!” the which man exclaimed. He stood to offer the captain his hand.
“Galina will be so thrilled.
Of course, you’ll do us the honor of having dinner at our place when we return to Petropavlovsk.”
“You’d better believe I’ll be there. Not only do I want to sample some of that good home cooking you’re always bragging about, but I’d better check out this boy I’m to be responsible for.”
As the two men exchanged a hearty handshake, an observer could indeed have mistaken the figures as father and son. Both sailors were ruggedly built, with similar six-foot-tall frames and handsome Slavic features. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, it was this similarity of appearances that had originally attracted the two to each other.
Valenko broke the hand contact first. “I’d better go and get the Vulkan moving. We certainly don’t want to stand up the likes of Grigori Dzerzhinsky. Then, if my luck holds out, perhaps the cook will have some stew left over. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Patting his stomach, the captain pivoted and walked to the navigation station. His mind still reeling with excitement. Warrant Officer Stefan Kuzmin reluctantly returned to the radio console. The man he respected most in the world had not let him down.
Perhaps there was a chance they could be real friends after all.
Even though the Delta Illclass submarines were among the largest of undersea vessels, with a length of over five hundred feet, extra space aboard the ships was rare. Every corner of the hull was packed with supplies and gear. Even the crew’s bunks were “hot,” for as soon as one left for his duty station, another took his place in bed. Thus, each section of the sub had a variety of uses. This was especially true in the mess area. Not only was this the place where the one-hundred-and-thirty-two-man crew ate their meals, but it also served as recreation hall, library, barber shop and meeting place.
By the time Captain Petyr Valenko reached the Vulkaris mess, the dozen or so tables here were almost completely empty. With his stomach growling hungrily, he crossed into the galley and intercepted the unchallenged czar of this section of the sub, Chief Cook Anatoly Irkutsk. Known for his volatile temperment, perpetually stained apron and corpulent potbelly, Irkutsk supervised his domain like he owned it.
Aware that his bark was worse than his bite, Valenko approached him while he was scraping out the bottom of a badly scorched kettle.
“That’s one way to stay physically fit. Chief,” greeted the captain.
Irkutsk found little humor in this and responded accordingly.
“The damned apprentices the navy gives me are nothing but a bunch of worthless buffoons. I swear that these idiots burn more food than they serve. It’s a wonder I can still come up with enough rations to feed the men by the time we reach the end of our patrols. Our larders have never been so empty.”
“You’ll manage, as always,” Valenko said as his stomach gurgled loudly.
Taking this cue, the chief looked up and met the captain’s glance.
“Missed you at lunch and dinner, sir. I’m beginning to wonder if you’d rather starve yourself than eat my cooking.”
“Now, Comrade, you know better than that.
Speaking of the devil… would you happen to have a leftover bowl of stew and a crust of bread for this starving old man?”
Relishing the moment, the cook seemed to deliberate before answering.
“As your good fortune would have it, there’s a single portion left. It just happens to be your very favorite, Captain.”
Valenko’s eyes sparkled.
“Ah, you’ve cooked up some stuffed cabbages! You’ve made this weary old man’s day.”
Several minutes later, Valenko sat down at the only occupied table.
Nodding toward the solemn-eyed officer who sat sipping his tea, Valenko carefully emptied his tray. With exacting precision, he positioned his dinner before him, careful to use the rubberized matting that kept the plates from slipping in the event of a sudden change of the hull’s angle. Enjoying the scent of the steam emanating from the largest of his bowls, the captain broke off a piece of black bread and dipped it in the piping hot sweet-and-sour sauce.
“I tell you, the Chief makes these cabbage rolls better than my own mother. How lucky we are to have such an artist serving us.”
As if to emphasize his words, Valenko cut into one of the large balls of cabbage and swallowed down a huge bite. Following this with a sopping piece of bread, the captain saw that his enthusiasm was wasted on his table mate “What’s the matter, Senior Lieutenant? Have I done something that has upset you? You look as if you just lost your only friend.”
Vasili Leonov, the Vulkan’s second in command, merely shook his head despondently and tried to lose himself in another sip of tea.
“I know what it is,” Valenko said between bites of fruit compote.
“You’re in love, aren’t you Vasili? I’d bet a month’s pay it’s that new girlfriend that’s got you down.”
Astounded, the Senior Lieutenant redirected his dark gaze toward the captain.
“Your accurate perceptions shock me. Comrade. I never realized that you were a mind reader.”
Valenko cut into another cabbage roll.
“That’s only one of my many talents, Vasili. You know, I couldn’t help but watch you mope around like a sad puppy during the majority of this past patrol. You’ve got yourself a bad case, there’s no doubt about it.”
Savoring a bite of cabbage, chopped meat and rice, he continued.
“One thing I’ll say for you is that you’ve certainly got excellent taste. I saw you two together, the morning we left Petropavlovsk. My, she’s a beauty.”