The boy nodded and smiled. "Yes." He saluted the man again. "Do you know my father?"
This time it was Gorenko who nodded without speaking.
After staring at the officer before him for just a second, tears began to form at the corners of the boy's eyes. "He's dead, isn't he? I don't have a father any more, do I?"
The passing seconds seemed like hours as he looked down at the child. "I will be your father now," he had said firmly, his eyes reflecting the man who had saved his life in the streets in Stalingrad.
He had taken the boy's bony hand in his own and led him into the house. He gave the woman money for herself and the child, and had sent more whenever he could during the war. Once in 1944, he was able to visit, when the trains were running again. And the following year, when the war ended, she had let him take the boy back to the capital city with him. There was nothing she could offer the child in Leninsk, and she could barely sustain herself. She asked only that Alex be sent home to visit each summer if the commander had the money to do so. Each summer, he did return to his native town to see his mother, and each time he brought money from the man, who was now an admiral.
Alex became a member of Gorenko's family in those early years in Moscow. He was treated as a son, just as he had been told on that wintry day in 1943, and loved as one also, for there were no other children. He was allowed to enter one of the Nakhimov schools because of Gorenko, even though he was older than the others. When he was seventeen, he was entered in the Frunze Higher Naval School. He would not be an infantryman dike his father.
Gorenko remembered the vacations the boy had, when he returned to his adopted family full of new ideas from the school. It was not an easy life, but few Russian young men his age had any idea what it meant to be easy. The two talked late into the nights of the navy and what young Alex would do when he was graduated. Many of the discussions were serious, about Russian history, and strategy, and the great military thinkers such as von Clauswitz and Mahan. Alex was not just smart. He had a brilliant, challenging mind, and the Admiral treasured these evenings.
Alex wanted to learn at any time of day or night. He forgot nothing. History was one of his favorite topics, and he sensed the struggles of the Russian people more from Gorenko than from the books. He learned of the many nations that had invaded their homeland at one time or another, and how they were always defeated by the stolid army and the Russian winters. When their armies were desperate and there was no food and they had only the clothes on their backs, then the winds blew from the north and the snow came. And the Russians had time to recoup and fight again.
Now, in the twentieth century, Gorenko taught his son how Russia would expand. No longer would they be invaded from every direction. They would expand their sphere and become a major force in the world. They would not join other countries, but they would have other nations turning to them. Always, a prime factor in this dream was Gorenko's desire to change his Navy from a homeland defense force to a blue-water fleet, commanding the oceans of the world.
He taught Alex the lessons of war. The first thing he would accomplish was, the building of a submarine force. It was necessary if you were to protect your own supplies and deny them to your enemy. First you had to defend yourself, then you could take the offense. The undersea fleet would be followed by a surface force second to none. He remembered explaining to Alex that more than 20 million Russians had died during this last war, more than any other country, and never again would it happen if they could command the seas. Alex learned about seapower at the feet of the man who understood the American, Mahan. Each time they talked, Alex was reminded that the country that controls the oceans of the world controls the countries of the world. The necessity for intellect in the military was constantly driven home to Alex, now a young man, as he graduated from Frunze. As much as Gorenko hated the Germans, he told many stories of the General Staff methods that the Russians now emulated. It was always a good lesson to see how a small state like Germany could invade a large one like Russia. Only the best and the brightest reached the top, and that's where Alex would go.
In the mid-fifties, Gorenko became Commander in Chief of the Soviet Navy. Alexander Kupinsky had by that time exhibited his abilities both in the naval schools and on board ships. He was chosen for submarine training. He joined the fleet that his stepfather had created in less than ten years. Submarine command was Alex's dream, and Gorenko was sometimes hurt that he could not express to his comrades the pride he felt in the young man. Alex would have to make it on his own, without help from the Admiral.
It was after his first submarine tour, when Alex had returned to Moscow for a few days' leave, that they had one of their few arguments.
"I don't believe that you can extend your Navy throughout the world unless you can adequately service it. Any naval vessel should be able to survive on its own, but only if it is kept supplied. You taught me that yourself when we were reading Mahan!"
"We are ready now," Gorenko had replied. "We are thin perhaps, but our bases around the world make up for our lack of service ships."
"And if our bases are closed?"
"That should not happen again," the older man had growled. "We are too strong now. Our missiles are too much of a threat."
"We also have no aircraft carriers. Remember Mahan said you have to not only control your own seas, you must project your power, and in his time there were no aircraft carriers or even airplanes."
"That will come," was the reply. "I will not be caught like Hitler was. I will go to the oil fields and supply bases, and I will have a service force second to none."
"That is fine to say now. But how do you plan to support our submarines when they cross the oceans?"
At that point Gorenko had risen from his chair angrily. He did not accept criticism easily, especially from the only person that he had perhaps ever loved. The conversation was cut off.
The next morning, the Admiral was his old self. He told Alex he would have him sent to the Grechko Naval Academy for further study after his first sub command. In the spring of 1962, after an early promotion, Alex Kupinsky received his command, a submarine being made ready for a deployment to the Western Atlantic.
CHAPTER SIX
Sam Carter stretched lazily in his bridge chair, glancing down at the flying fish leaping gracefully through the air alongside the Bagley. His captain's chair had been returned to the open starboard wing after a brief tropical downpour. He looked across at Lake Champlain, noting activity on the flight deck a thousand yards off his port bow. The mighty elevators had already brought a dozen tracker aircraft to the flight deck, and he could see them being wheeled into position for takeoff.
"Looks like they're getting ready to launch, Bob," he remarked to his operations officer who was standing OOD watch. He looked back over his shoulder to the flag on the Bagley's mast. "I'll bet we come about thirty degrees to port for launch. What do you think?" It was always a mental game.
Collier, looking up at the flag, nodded his agreement. "Can't argue with that, Captain." And to his junior officer of the watch, he said, "What will our course to station be if the carrier turns about thirty degrees into the wind?" Both Collier and the captain knew within a few degrees, from their years of experience, but every junior officer had to develop these same instincts.
"Bridge… this is CIC," came a voice from a pilothouse speaker. "The last flight of trackers is returning to the carrier soon. We just picked it up over their tactical circuit. I expect they'll have another launch before they retrieve. That means they will reorient the screen anytime."