His mind drifted back over twenty years. After his return from Cuba, where his submarine had been ordered after the Americans tired of playing cat and mouse with it, he had been given a formal hearing in Moscow. No submarine commander in the Russian Navy had been so humiliated before. Only Gorenko's personal intercession had kept him from a court-martial. As it was, the Commander in Chief of the Soviet Navy had taken a great chance. He was not a strict Party member, and there were many who would have been happy to see him go. But he had Khrushchev's ear. The two older men had much in common, and thus there was a hearing first.
The Admiral did not involve himself in the formalities, but Alex found himself with a highly efficient defense counsel, another Party member much like Gorenko. He was polite, nodded at all the details that were presented, declined to ask any questions, and gave every indication of being there just to ensure that Kupinsky received fair consideration. However, when his turn came, he had both the quartermaster's and engineer's logs in hand, and presented details from each, exactly in order as each engineering casualty occurred to the submarine. By the time he got to the American quarantine operations, the senior officers conducting the hearing were beginning to appreciate the problems of the captain of a diesel submarine in foreign waters, with a minimum of support from the homeland.
Then began the story of his longest night, the discovery by a carrier aircraft, the American destroyers, the helicopters, the sonobuoys in the water, the grenades, the incessant pinging on the hull, and the pinwheel fence that was literally thrown around him. Then, there was the inadequate air supply, the leaking oil, the shaft with the hot bearing that was about to seize. And, worst of all, there had never been any instructions from Moscow. There were no effective communications systems to explain what was happening to them. They knew that something was up with the Americans, but they had no idea whether they would be sunk or not or even if they were to fight. And finally, the man read from the log about the hours of maneuvering in Kupinsky's attempt to escape, and, after closing all the logs, he related the conditions of the boat and the men when their brave captain finally had no choice but to surface.
They could not court-martial him. No Soviet submariner had ever undergone such an action before. Gorenko had built a new fleet after the Great Patriotic War, but they had yet to take those boats into battle. They decided that Lieutenant Kupinsky had responded admirably considering the limitations he was forced to work under. However, too many senior officers knew of the surfacing. It was one of many insults heaped on them over a ten-day period by the U.S. Navy, and some action had to be taken. They sent him inland, to a university for further education. x Alex had the opportunity, before the hearing, to spend some evenings with Gorenko, discussing the quarantine and exactly what had gone wrong, and the older man had listened. Gorenko had always publicly ridiculed the American aircraft carriers, but he knew the advantages they offered in antisubmarine warfare, and suspected that a future Russian blue-water navy would need them in some form. The other point of discussion was one that Alex had always felt strongly about, and now he could speak personally about the lack of an effective service force. "AH right!" Gorenko had offered. "I'll build the service force, after we have the missile submarines. You study your aircraft carriers and come back to me with an answer. But," and he had leveled a finger at Alex, "don't bring me a big expensive American carrier."
Life at the university, five years of it, had been difficult for Kupinsky. He had been brought up as a youth in a sailor's home, he had been educated as a sailor, and he had truly become a man of the sea. He was sent far from it. There was no choice but to immerse himself in study.
The most important gain of the homeland was his research. It was during this period that he accepted the challenge to develop the aircraft carrier — but not an American type. What evolved was a challenge to the American submarine fleet. While he had been humiliated by a particular destroyer, he had been found by a carrier-based aircraft. For a submarine, there is no knowledge. of an aircraft's proximity until it has you. It doesn't matter whether it is a fixed-wing type or a helicopter, because it does not come in contact with the water until it is reasonably sure a sub is there. And then there is no longer any element of surprise, which is the submarine's greatest advantage! Then there is only escape.
So his aircraft carrier became an antisubmarine force in its own right. It would carry many helos, which were easy to store, launch, and recover from any platform. But of even more importance was the VTOL aircraft. Intelligence provided the latest in research from the British, the leaders in the vertical takeoff and landing aircraft. With the information passed on to him via Gorenko's office, he was then able to plan a ship that was three hundred feet shorter than the American carriers, and half the tonnage. With the limited space required for flight operations, he was able to add the protective and offensive weapons that American carriers depended on their escorts for. The carrier would bristle with missile launchers to counter attacks from the air, surface, or subsurface, and it was especially built as a sub killer. The Kiev-class aircraft carrier became a reality on paper. The air-strike capability would come later, as long as the planes could be adapted to the available platform.
After returning to Moscow and presenting his detailed plans to Gorenko, he went on to Leningrad for leave, and that was where he met Tasha. In a renaissance city, one savors the culture, especially during the winter when everything is frozen. He first saw her in the Hermitage, leading a class of her students from room to room in the standard-issue Russian slippers. There was so much to see that she was barely giving them enough time to survey each painting before she hustled them to the next room.
She didn't look like a native to him, though she seemed to be quite comfortable in the Hermitage. She was slimmer than many of the Russian women and her clothes were more stylish. She wasn't dressed in the manner of the European or American tourists, but she carried herself in a special way, and her clothes had more color than one normally saw in Leningrad.
It was her face that had first caught his attention, her eyes. They were a lovely green, and he noted that they crinkled at the edges and seemed to smile by themselves when she was smiling at the children. When she began a lecture about a certain painting or an artist, her round face would become serious again. But she was still pretty to him, especially her eyes. When he decided to talk to her, he noticed she was speaking another language, but perhaps she was a guide.
His introduction to her failed miserably. "Your students won't be able to tell you tomorrow what they saw today at this speed. Perhaps I could assist you." He smiled at her serious face. "I'd be happy to escort some of your children."
She looked first at his uniform, then at his face. She did not smile, nor was there even a change in her expression. She shook her head, "You are the military. What do you know of art?" And she had turned her back, having barely broken the running lecture she was giving.
He saw her again that night when he went to the rooftop bar in the Leningrad Hotel. This time he was not wearing his uniform and she was not with her students. He carried his brandy over to her stool at the bar. "I'm sorry if I upset you today. I really do know my way around the Hermitage. I go there whenever I am in Leningrad." Alex wanted to apologize before she could put him down again.
She turned in her chair, staring at him, not quite realizing that the short, quiet gentleman in the dark suit was the same officer that had interrupted her class. "I beg your pardon."