Commodore Danis quipped, “It’s against Navy regulations to partake of alcoholic beverages aboard a United States warship except for medicinal purposes. Don’t know about you, Captain, but I feel sick as hell.”
Bostwick replied, “Me too, Commodore. I’ve had a headache ever since I woke up this morning. I’ll have the corpsman write us a prescription.”
“Mark of a good commanding officer. Action first, paperwork later.”
Of the caviar, Woody Parnell said, “This stuff’s not half bad once you get it past your nose.”
After Bostwick poured each glass full, Danis announced, “May I propose two toasts? The first, to victory.”
“Hear! Hear!” All replied and savored their first sip of the vodka.
Danis raised his glass again, “Goddamn Josephus Daniels,” the traditional Navy toast to the World War I Secretary of the Navy, who decreed no alcoholic beverages permitted aboard U.S. warships.
“Goddamn Josephus Daniels,” chorused fifteen voices.
Upon realizing Bea had no security clearance, Danis drew her and Brent aside. Danis wanted to be sure no word of Denver’s contact with the Soviet minesweeper went beyond the room. “You know, Bea, Captain Bostwick got this Vodka in Seattle before he left.”
Bea replied, “Where else, Eric? I’m a Navy junior, remember?”
Eric nodded. “Good. While I’ve got your ear, I hear some good things about this fine young man of yours. But this is not the time to embarrass Brent.”
They responded with a smile.
Maintaining a transparent air of aloofness, Danis continued, “Look, I’m sorry Bea, but your dad will be tied up here the rest of the day so would the two of you mind running out to the Digs to see if Dave drank that bottle of champagne I left cooling in the fridge?”
Brent replied, “You heard what the commodore said, Bea. It’s a lousy assignment, but somebody’s gotta do it,” and the two departed.
Initially unnoticed, Jim Buchanan entered the wardroom and poured himself a glass of vodka. Suddenly Captain Bostwick’s voice boomed above the din. “Jim Buchanan. You rascal. You’ve come to take my ship from me and I refuse to give her up.”
The two shook hands. Jim served with Bostwick at two previous duty stations and knew him well. He easily saw through Bostwick’s statement and knew that nothing could please Bostwick more than his springboard assignment at OpNav.
Jim said, “I trust you had a great patrol, Hal, but not too great. You’re a big pair of shoes to fill just for openers. War hero status on top of that makes the job near impossible.”
Bostwick beamed. He took the compliment well.
Continuing Jim said, “Seriously, Hal, can’t tell you how happy I am for the opportunity to command Denver. I look forward to seeing the patrol data. A lot of good lessons there, I’m sure.”
“I’ll have Jack Olsen work up a schedule. Relief in a week sound okay?”
Danis interjected, “How about two days, Skipper? This time next week, you’ll be head down and butt up in the Pentagon. War has a way of making things happen quicker.”
A tone of mock surrender in his voice, Bostwick replied, “Guess we heard what the boss said.”
Later, after the festivities on Denver, Eric Danis and Dave Zane sat in the commodore’s office. Eric and Dave had grown up together in a different time and the thought of arranging for young Maddock to go off and make love to his friend’s daughter gnawed at Eric’s conscience a little.
Dave reminisced, “These homecomings are great, Eric. I remember how Dale and Bea would drive to the boat to greet us. Soon as we got home, I threw a handful of dimes onto the lawn and told Bea she could keep all she found. Said I tossed out ten but it was actually nine. After that, the second thing I did was to take off my shoes.”
In his own inimitable way, Dave let Eric off the hook.
The interpreter immediately contacted the zampolit upon his return from the Bolivar boarding. Poplavich then went to Sherensky and demanded, “Comrade Baknov must be relieved of all duties. This is necessary to deter others who might be similarly disposed.”
Sherensky thought, Winning a war is challenge enough for field commanders without the second-guessing of political twits.
Zhukov needed the talents of Vasiliy to perform her mission so the captain attempted to reason with the obstinate zampolit saying, “Ah yes, Comrade Zampolit. Lieutenant Baknov is clearly out of line. I shall require him to support the sound Party guidance. I shall discipline him immediately but must prevent the loss of his valuable role in the success of our mission.”
Poplavich did not like Sherensky’s tone but neither did he wish to be identified as one who deprived Zhukov of needed services. “Go on, Comrade,” he said.
“First, we make it known to him he will no longer serve as a boarding officer. Then his indiscretion will be made known to all in Zhukov.”
The captain figured the crew would probably applaud the news of Lieutenant Baknov’s action but did not share this with Poplavich.
The zampolit asked, “And then?”
“We let Vasiliy know the Party is not without compassion then permit him to make amends through demonstration of his loyalty. Require him to assist you in preparation and delivery of political lectures to the crew. And fine him twenty percent of pay for twelve months.” Sherensky looked for expression on the zampolit’s poker face but found none. “We’ll set the time as one year before amnesty. In the meantime, we keep the advantage of his weapons and combat training. Believe me, Comrade, this could be very important to us before the mission is over.” Make the zampolit realize Vasiliy may be key to getting Poplavich’s abundant ass safely home.
Poplavich considered the proposal a moment. Though not making it known, the zampolit had no true wish to die for the Communist Party despite the fact it would earn a plaque in his memory to hang in the Kremlin. Having the arrogant Baknov under his thumb had a certain appeal and he saw logic in the balance of Sherensky’s plan.
“Yes, Comrade, Captain, we shall do as you wish but I insist on confinement after his next indiscretion. Is that understood?”
“Clearly, Comrade Zampolit.”
A knock on the captain’s stateroom door interrupted their meeting. A messenger reported that a zampolit and commanding officer eyes-only message had been received and they personally must complete the decryption.
While Sherensky typed in the plain language text, the decrypted message rolled out on a tape from the crypto machine and read:
ZAMPOLIT/COMMANDING OFFICER EYES ONLY. TO ALL UNITS. MOVEMENT OF NORTHERN FLEET SUBMARINES TO PACIFIC VIA BERING STRAIT TO SUPPORT ANTI-MERCHANTSHIP CAMPAIGN WILL COMMENCE LATE JUNE. PACIFIC FLOTILLA REACTOR POWERED SUBMARINE UNITS CURRENTLY DEPLOYED PROCEED TO STATION DESIGNATED IN WAR PLAN. THERE, SCREEN BERING SEA TO INSURE SAFE PASSAGE OF NORTHERN FLEET UNITS. DEPART IMMEDIATELY TO VICINITY LATITUDE FORTY-FIVE NORTH, LONGITUDE ONE SIX FIVE EAST AT BEST SPEED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW.
So, thought Sherensky, someone near the top is finally convinced the Pacific Ocean is far too large for the plan we have been embarked upon.
Bea’s dress, a puddle of blue, blended with the bright afternoon sun on her bedroom floor. Brent watched her as she slept. Her rich brown hair lovely even in disarray, she lay on her back uncovered from the waist up. The late spring afternoon warmed them and he savored this view of his ladylove. They’d yet to seek out Eric Danis’s bottle of champagne; but after Brent lighted Dave Zane’s inventive wood fired hot tub would be a good time for that. Their initial physical reunion completed they settled down to the mental one.