"Today. You were in one of the seventeenth-century rooms with your students. You were moving and talking so fast, I didn't think they'd ever remember what you were saying." She tilted her head, looking more closely at him. "I was wearing a naval officer's uniform. I don't believe you liked it."
"Ah, yes. I remember now." There was no smile on her face, nor even a sign of recognition that he had offered to help. "Why would a military man be in a place of culture?"
"As I've said, I go there whenever I am lucky enough to be in Leningrad. Doesn't everyone who conies here?" He smiled again at her, trying to make her believe he was harmless. "Haven't you ever seen military people there during your visits?"
"Perhaps they have appeared. I never look for them. I am always too busy with my students." She began to turn to the bar.
"where do you and your students come from?"
"Nisula." She looked over her partially turned shoulder at him. "Over the border. In Finland."
"I see." Silence. Finland. Many of the Finns hated the Russians for the centuries of invasion of their peaceful little country. On the border, he knew they were constantly harassed. "And has your family been there for a long time?"
"Yes. A few hundred years, I suppose. Whenever it was called Finland. When it wasn't, they were Russians." She looked back at him again. "I really don't think we have anything more to talk about." Her voice was quiet and soft, now that she was no longer lecturing students, and her accent was not as heavy as many of the Finns who spoke Russian only when it was required.
"I'm sorry," he responded quietly. "I meant no offense. I am just here by myself, and I plan to spend another few days at the Hermitage before I return to my university."
He was from a university, polite and quiet, and, she decided, even a bit shy. She turned around in her seat again and smiled for the first time. He extended his right hand and introduced himself, and he never had any doubts about his life after that. The Navy could do what they wanted to him, but he would be happy. And for Tasha's part, he erased the evil memories that had passed down through her family for a few hundred years. She found at least one Russian military man who was gentle and kind.
They were married in Leningrad late that May, when the snow was gone and the canals flowed once again. The wind from the Gulf of Finland filled the air with the warm smell of apple blossoms. They honeymooned in the city, taking day trips to the Summer Palace and Lake Ladoga and the seacoast, and even boated on the Neva with the tourists. Too soon it ended, and they were back at the university, more work already waiting for Alex from Gorenko. The plans for the carrier were acceptable. Now he was to design it piece by piece with the naval architects that were being sent to assist him.
It takes as long to design a new class of ship as it does to build it. His duties consisted not only of development of the carrier but of advising Gorenko in building his blue-water service force: tankers, ammunition ships, repair ships, and full-line replenishment ships. They must be capable of handling a variety of warships steaming together in a task force.
He was promoted in line with his peers, but he did not get back to sea. While the Commander in Chief of the Navy was literally his patron, there were enough senior Party members who had not forgotten the dark days of Cuba. Gorenko was not about to antagonize them further. Kupinsky traveled freely about the country, visiting shipyards and discussing his plans with both military and civilian builders. He was allowed to attend a variety of schools, including the staff and command schools that he had been scheduled to attend earlier in his career. He was also allowed a brief tour in the embassy in London, where he learned even more about aircraft carriers from the Americans.
Gorenko was ensuring that Alex would catch up with the officers in his own age group, yet satisfy his detractors at the same time. The Party sometimes worked in strange ways, and in that massive country one individual could not avoid the continual observation of his seniors. When the keel for Kiev was laid in 1971, Kupinsky's job was finished. Now the supervision would be turned over to the shipbuilders at Nikolayev, and he would only return irregularly to review progress, especially when alterations were introduced.
He was now able to convince Gorenko that he must go back to sea. But the major problem was that his seniority demanded an advanced position onboard, and he had been away from the water for almost eight years. In the Russian Navy, an officer spends a great deal of time, five years or more, aboard the same ship, learning his specialty. He may even assume a department, head's rank and then become an executive officer, if the captain and the political officer deem him fit. Unless he makes too many mistakes, he will often become commanding officer. It was therefore most difficult to find the right ship for Alex. His future was in the surface force now, and he was almost too senior for command of a destroyer. Gorenko again dipped into his purse of influence and found an executive officer of a guided-missile cruiser in disfavor with his political officer. Captain Second Rank Kupinsky became executive officer of the Admiral Fokin, a Kynda-class cruiser in the Red Banner Northern Fleet.
Alex was able to reverse the natural distrust of an outsider into respect in a short time. He approached his new job with the same determination that he had found to create the first carrier. He was not hurt by the fact that Gorenko had interceded for him. His knowledge of submarines and antisubmarine tactics were invaluable to the Admiral Fokin, more attuned to surface and air warfare but often finding itself involved in antisubmarine maneuvers. When the captain was transferred to a senior command, Alex became commanding officer and captain first rank. He would be ready for flag rank after this tour.
"Excuse me, Admiral." Kupinsky's thoughts shifted quickly back to the signal bridge of Lenin. He straightened from the railing, turning quickly, and returned the salute of the young staff officer who had interrupted his dreams. "Sir, Captain Svedrov reports that our Rigas have inflicted heavy damage on surface units of the American forces. They left at least four ships, One of them a large cruiser, burning."
"Were any of them sunk?"
"I do not believe so, sir, although a guided-missile destroyer was severely damaged."
"And what of our own casualties?"
The young man hesitated. "The American missile system was very accurate, Admiral. Three of our Rigas escaped, only to be set upon by fighter aircraft." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Only one is returning, sir."
"I see."
"Also, he wishes me to inform you that the American attack aircraft are only ten minutes away. We have sent our helicopters south to assist the destroyers with the approaching submarines. He respectfully asks if you will join him and the staff shortly."
"Yes. Inform Mr. Svedrov I will be down in a few moments." The young man saluted, then wheeled about to carry his message, even before Kupinsky had returned the salute. He hated the idea of going down into the dark flag plot where he could see nothing of the action taking place. It was simply moving dots on screens with no size or shape or animation. He would have much preferred to be on the signal bridge watching the effect of the various weapons. But he realized that most of the action would take place beyond his eyesight anyway, and they needed him to coordinate the action once they had initiated his battle plan.
Plot in Lenin was similar to that in Nimitz. It was a bit smaller, since the Russians often sacrificed human space for weapon space, but it performed essentially the same functions. Many of the weapons were different, yet they had been devised for the same purposes. As Alex entered the room to assume his position next to Captain Svedrov, his Chief of Staff, he quickly reviewed the status of operations. He saw the flight of A-7's approaching his force, the American submarines to the south, and in another corner of the room, a board showing the dispersed American force.