Under the Ice

Though I’ve heard his exaggerated exploits told time and again, I bit my tongue and listened as he took me back to the time he single-handedly ran a Nazi blockade to successfully land a shipment of food badly needed by the starving citizens of Leningrad. After he finished this narrative, I humbly asked if he knew where a current-day naval captain could find a special party treat to share with his wife and a small group of friends. Not only did he come up with the caviar, but that bottle of Napoleonic cognac as well.”

“I’ll have to remember that next time I’m out shopping,” reflected Viktor Belenko.

To this, Sergei shook his head.

“Sorry, Senior Lieutenant.

It only works for captains.” There was a wide grin on Sergei’s face as he filled up the glasses and proposed the first toast.

“To good friends, warm homes, and to peace in the Motherland!”

While each of the women took but a sip of the powerful potato vodka, their husbands each downed an entire glassful. Grabbing the rest of the bottle, Sergei beckoned Viktor to join him in the den.

With their glasses again filled, they settled down in the large, upholstered couch that sat beside the blazing fireplace. From the mounted radio speakers, Tchaikovsky’s soulful Symphony No. 5 in E minor began unraveling. Such a thoughtful piece of music proved to be the perfect background as the two submariners sipped their drinks and stared into the crackling embers.

“Your Lara seems very happy,” reflected Viktor.

“And little Sasha is as adorable as ever. You are a very lucky man, Sergei Markova.”

“I don’t know about that, Viktor Ilyich. That sexy wife of yours is the type of woman a man dreams of.”

Viktor looked introspective.

“I guess that we’re both very fortunate in our own ways, my friend. Has this week gone as quickly for you as it has for me?”

Sergei rolled his eyes up and responded.

“I’ll say.

The hours are just flying by, and all too soon we’ll be packing our bags and returning to the Neva. Speaking of the devil, weren’t you going to put a call into our esteemed which man this morning?”

The senior lieutenant grunted.

“That I did, comrade.

Ustreka sends his regards and was able to give me a fairly comprehensive update on the state of our refit. As we expected, the SS-N-15 nuclear-tipped antisubmarine missiles are the only weapons that have yet to be delivered. Other than that, we seem to have a full complement of torpedoes and decoys. Our food larders have also been restocked, though Ustreka mentioned that much of the fresh produce and fruit is little more than garbage. The which man also reported that a supply of Arctic outerwear arrived late last night. In the same locker with this clothing were a dozen Kalaishnikov assault rifles, several portable mortars, and a large supply of ammunition and grenades.”

“You don’t say,” returned Sergei Markova “I don’t remember requesting such specialized gear. Do you, Viktor?”

Shaking his head that he didn’t, the senior lieutenant continued.

“Since this delivery didn’t show on the ship’s manifest, the which man was prepared to turn it away, when our good friend the Zampolit intervened.

It seems that Comrade Zinyagin knew all about the shipment, for he personally signed the receipt invoice.”

“Now that is strange,” observed Sergei as he reached for the bottle to refill their glasses.

“I must remember to ask our dear Political Officer about this when I meet with him at the end of the week.”

“I still think Konstantin Zinyagin is a snake,” disgustedly spat Viktor.

“That man can’t be trusted for a single minute. Some keeper of morale, when he’s instigated the majority of personnel problems we encounter on the Neva.”

“Now Viktor, is that any way to talk about out beloved Zampolit? After all, the Party puts such individuals on board each and every Soviet warship merely to direct the crew’s ideological indoctrination.”

“Like hell they do, Sergei. You know as well as I that officers such as Konstantin Zinyagin are there for one purpose only, to act as Party spies.”

Any response on Sergei Markova’s part was cut short by the arrival of his wife.

“Just like I told you, Tanya. I knew that they’d be talking shop,” observed Lara, as she placed a platter of caviar down on the coffee table.

Following with two half-filled glasses and an open bottle of champagne, Tanya Belenko took this opportunity to get her own two kopecks in.

“It never fails, does it, Lara? Leave these two alone for more than ten seconds and they can’t wait to talk about that damn submarine of theirs. I don’t understand it. When they’re out on patrol, they always tell us how during every spare moment, their thoughts are of us, yet when they finally get home, what do they do in their spare time but talk about that infernal boat.”

Sergei realized the truth in this statement and held up his hands.

“You’re right, ladies. This is certainly no time for talk of work. So what do you say to getting this party rolling? Has anyone tried that caviar yet?”

Lara’s face filled with an ecstatic expression.