Meeting their nods of greeting, Antonov slyly grinned.
“The honor is ours, comrades. It’s not often that the Volga has such esteemed guests. The brave exploits of the Spetsnaz are well known to us. As fellow Naval warriors, you do us most proud. Now sit, comrades, and enjoy the simple comforts of this humble vessel.”
Snapping the fingers of his right hand, the captain beckoned his guests to be seated. As they did so, the warrant officer silently exited the compartment.
Quick to enter in his place was a white-uniformed orderly. With practiced ease, this young sailor set the large silver tray he had been carrying down on the table. Displayed on its length was a china tea service and a platter of fresh oatmeal cookies. After serving them each a cup of tea and two cookies, the seaman smartly pivoted and left the room, shutting the hatch behind him. Only then did the captain continue.
“I hope this will hold you until dinner, at which time I’d like for you to join me for a real meal.”
After consuming a sip of tea, he added, “By the way, Lieutenant Yagoda, I had the honor of meeting your illustrious father in Moscow several years ago.
With his passing, the Motherland has indeed lost one of its greatest heroes. His vision alone was responsible for the likes of the amazing vessel that we currently sit inside.”
“Why, thank you, Captain,” returned Grigori, who noticed that the symphony that continued to surround them was about to begin its next movement.
“My father rests in peace knowing that his thousands of hours of unselfish toil have not been wasted in vain.
If only he could have lived to see this day come.”
“I believe he’s with us at this very moment,” offered Antonov with a wink.
“He lives through you, Comrade Yagoda. How very fortunate it is for the Motherland that you have lived up to his demanding standards and then some. The Spetsnaz is our country’s finest fighting force. No other soldier on this planet is your equal. Since achieving the impossible is but an everyday occurrence for the Spetsnaz commando, I think you’ll find your present task particularly challenging.”
Taking in the rapt gazes of his curious audience, Antonov took another sip of tea before continuing.
“I must admit that, so far, the timing of this mission has been most auspicious. Only a few hours ago, your transfer to the Volga would have been impossible to achieve. Though the ocean looks calm now, this morning these same seas were swept by a mammoth wave of water.
“We first learned of the approach of this tidal wave not long after sunrise, while monitoring the U.S.
Coast Guard shortwave weather band. At first, we feared this alert could be a mere hoax, cleverly conceived to draw us out. Yet, when we checked our own weather satellite, we found it most legitimate.
“Fortunately, we were positioned near these same islands. Since the wave was coming in from the northwest, we stationed ourselves in a deep trough of water that lay to the southeast of San Miguel. Even though the island absorbed much of the tsunami’s fury, we felt its aftereffects a full eight hundred meters beneath the water’s surface.
“Then, of course, in addition to this unusual phenomenon, an extremely thick fog has haunted these waters lately. This afternoon is the first in over a week in which the blue sky is even visible this far out to sea.”
With this, Grigori sat forward.
“I had a chance to personally view this fog bank during my free-fall from the Tupolev Red Fox that flew us here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the waters above us were already veiled in its milky shroud.”
“What would we have done if the fog had covered San Miguel Island?” questioned Konstantin, between bites of a cookie.
Grigori didn’t flinch.
“We would have jumped anyway and worried about where we landed later.”
Expecting just such an answer from their fearless leader, Konstantin merely shrugged his shoulders.
Taking the resulting silence as a cue, Captain Antonov spoke out once again.
“Just as worrisome as this unusual weather has been the actions of a certain American submarine.
Yesterday will mark the third recent occasion on which we apparently crossed their path by mere accident. As was the case with our previous encounters, we easily escaped their crude attempt to pursue us.”
Antonov shook his head.
“To think that the United States would dare challenge the pride of the Motherland’s Fleet with one of their twenty-five year-old, obsolete, diesel-electric models. This only goes to show how very thin their supposedly unrivaled submarine force is actually spread. Why, the poor fools can’t even effectively guard their own coastline!”
This last statement caused the captain’s previously calm face to flush with excitement. Regathering his composure, he took another sip of tea and cleared his throat.
“Well, enough of this old sailor’s rambling. I’m certain that you’re most anxious to hear exactly what you’ve been sent these thousand of kilometers to do.
So, here it goes.
“The orders I’m about to convey to you come directly from Premier Viktor Alipov’s office. They were sent via a laser satellite transmission, and were received on the Volga barely two hours ago. Since they arrived scrambled, I’m the only one aboard who knows their contents.”
Pausing to take a deep breath, Antonov scanned the faces of the three young men who sat before him.
Certain that he still held their complete attention, he continued.
“At present, the Volga is on a course due northward.
That will put us off the coast of the U.S. mainland in approximately another hour’s time. As soon as I can guarantee you the protective cloak of dusk, I’m going to drop you off in the waters directly opposite the geological feature known as Point Arguello.
I will do everything within my power to convey you as close to the shoreline as safety allows.
I’ll warn you now that these waters are extremely hazardous. They are haunted by wicked riptides and razor-sharp reefs. You must choose your course of entry carefully, for the pounding surf here can be most unforgiving.”
“We are well qualified to overcome whatever obstacle Mother Nature might throw our way,” interrupted rigori, whose curiosity was fully piqued.
“Of course you are,” returned the captain.
“I was only being overly fatherly, for caution in these waters can not be overly stressed.”
Accepting Grigori’s nod of awareness, Antonov returned to business.
“Once you have penetrated the surf line, you will find yourselves in the southern sector of Vandenberg Air Force Base. From there you are to proceed to Space Launch Complex 6, which lies another kilometer inland. It is from this site that America’s space shuttle will be launched into the heavens sometime tomorrow morning. Your mission is to simply terminate this flight using whatever means necessary. The Volga will then be standing by off the coast to pick you up, once this task has been accomplished. Needless to say, we’ll waste no time in taking you home to a much-deserved heroes’ welcome.
This last sentence barely registered in Grigori’s mind as he contemplated the awesome scope of his mission. This was no mere airplane that they had been sent to take out, but America’s most advanced space-delivery system!
Genuinely astounded by what he had just heard, Grigori looked to the faces of his coworkers. There was no hiding the shock and surprise that they too were experiencing. After silently offering them a compassionate gaze of understanding, Grigori slowly turned his stare back to Captain Antonov.
“Some morning’s work the Motherland is asking from you, huh, comrades?” offered the one-eyed Naval officer.
Unable to respond, Grigori instead found his attention focusing on the picture mounted on the wall immediately behind Antonov. Once again this photo featured Europe’s longest river. Innocently playing on the Volga’s wide banks in this representation was a group of frolicking young children. Was it really only twenty years before that Grigori himself had been such a child?