The shipyard was a busy place.
“I was very excited to be doing my job,” Gindin recalls. “To me it was one of the most prestigious jobs an officer could have. I was part of a great experience. I was part of not only building the Storozhevoy from the keel up; I was on the first crew that would take him to sea.
“We were giving birth to our ship. We had a feeling of pride, excitement, contentment, and a sense of accomplishment.”
Even after the mutiny and its consequences, Gindin will consider these months at Yantar Zavod the most satisfying, gratifying times of his life. A period, in fact, that he would live over again without a moment’s hesitation. Powerful stuff for a kid in his early twenties. A Russian Jew from Pushkin.
Finally it’s time for the officers and sailors to move from the compound to the ship. They’ll be living aboard, even as work is still being done, but now just about everyone is happy and in good spirits. They are the crew who are building this ship, and they are the crew who are the first to sleep and eat and work in the compartments, and they are the crew who will take him to sea for his trials, and they are the crew who will sail on his first rotation.
Painting still needs to be finished, and trim work needs to be completed, though on Soviet warships there is very little of that sort of nonutilitarian nonsense. Adjustments need to be made on every single system aboard; that includes all the electrical wiring and equipment, all the weapons systems, all the electronics, all the plumbing and fuel tanks and piping, and the four main gas turbine engines as well as the small diesel engines that provide electrical power. The cabins and galleys and mess halls and cubricks and the bridge all need finishing. When that’s done, the ship is sailed to his base at Baltisk where the missiles and mines and ammunition for the guns need to be loaded aboard so that during sea trials all the weapons systems can be tested.
It’s this mix of civilian shipbuilders and navy crew aboard at the same time, working around the clock to finish the ship and take him to sea, that creates some moments of frustration but other moments of sometimes black humor.
Nikolai Lisenko, who is the civilian manager for all the painting jobs on the Storozhevoy, needs Boris’s signature certifying that work done in the machinery spaces has been finished to strict military specifications.
Fifteen huge fuel tanks hold 175,000 gallons of diesel oil low in the hull, divided port and starboard. They supply the fuel for the four big gas turbines and for the diesel auxiliary engines. Gas turbines and diesel engines do not run if the fuel is dirty. That means that the insides of the big tanks need to be painted thoroughly. No spot can be missed, and that includes dozens of small connectors, valves, and piping through which the fuel is distributed.
Lisenko comes to Boris to report that the tanks and piping have been painted. He wants the lieutenant’s signature on the compliance certificate.
It’s what Boris has been waiting for, because he watched the entire process. Lisenko hired women to climb through the access hatches and do the painting. But the women Boris saw doing the work were big, heavy boned, even fat. There is no way that they could have done a good job. They don’t have the agility.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t sign the certificate,” Boris says.
Lisenko’s face falls. He wants to argue, but Boris is firm.
“There is one condition, however,” Boris tells the supervisor.
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
“I need paint.”
Lisenko is to deliver to the ship three barrels of fresh paint and a very large bag of new, clean brushes. Boris will have his own sailors finish the job.
Within the hour the paint and brushes are delivered and Boris signs the certificate. How Lisenko will explain the missing supplies is his own business, but Boris is certain that his engines will get clean fuel.
About two weeks later Lisenko is back for another signature. His crew has finished painting the bulkheads and decks in the machinery spaces. Boris is doing some paperwork in his cabin when Lisenko shows up. The man is in his forties, short, stocky, always moving fast, his eyes shifting. He tries to smile, but it never looks sincere. His blue coveralls don’t fit, his hair is always a mess, and he’s usually spattered with paint.
“How are you, Boris?” he says. He has a small, round face and beady eyes. He’s clutching some papers in his hand. “We’re finished painting your spaces. Is everything okay? I’d like you to sign—”
Boris cuts him off. “You must be kidding? Do you see my cabin?”
“I’m not sure I understand you,” Lisenko says. He’s looking around Boris’s cabin, trying to figure out what he’s missing. But so far as he can see, the paintwork looks pretty good.
“Well, let me explain something to you, Nikolai. I’ll be going out to sea on a six-month rotation. But you already know this.”
Lisenko nods. “Da, I’m aware.”
“I don’t know how it’ll be possible for me to relax in here on my off-duty hours. I have no place to put my shoes, for instance. Not even a drawer. And my bed is damned uncomfortable. It would be so much better if I had a nice sofa with a good mattress. It would make my life defending the Rodina so much easier to bear.”
Lisenko’s smile is suddenly genuine. “I don’t think that will be a problem, Boris,” he says. “Could you please leave your cabin and come back in… let’s say two hours?”
Boris grabs the papers that he’s been working on and heads up to the officers’ dining hall. When he returns to his cabin two hours later, a drawer has been installed for his shoes and sitting against the wall is a very comfortable-looking sofa.
Lisenko hands the compliance papers to Boris, who signs them, and leaves. It’s another of the systems in the Soviet navy that work.
A few days later Potulniy happens to walk past Boris’s cabin and knocks on the door. Potulniy wants to discuss the progress that has been made aligning the main gas turbine engines. He notices the changes immediately.
“Very nice, Boris,” he says.
“Thank you, sir,” Boris replies, wondering what’ll happen next. What he has done is not strictly by the book, and the captain has a reputation for following Soviet naval regulations pretty closely.
“You seem very cozy in here. Not bad for a senior lieutenant. I guess if I were to ask you how you got this sofa in your cabin it would sound silly, so I won’t ask.”
“Yes, sir,” Boris says. He’s not even going to try to explain.
“It looks like only you and I among all the officers got sofas.” Potulniy smiles.
He knows that Boris has been putting in some very long hours getting the work done belowdecks, and he’s guessed that Boris has made some good connections with the contractors, which means the jobs that Boris oversaw have been done right. Potulniy decides to cut his senior lieutenant some slack.
The captain smiles again. “Good work.”
19. WARSHIP
It’s five months now that Boris has been aboard ship. He is an engineer by education at the academy, but perhaps even more important, he is an engineer by birth. He loved and respected his father, who was an engineer. Some things run deep in a man’s blood. Especially a Russian man’s. Which translates to mean that Senior Lieutenant Gindin knows the machinery and machinery spaces aboard this ship better than anyone else aboard, except perhaps for Potulniy, the precise captain. In fact, that’s one of the reasons both men have a building respect for each other.