off to find coffee in the briefing room, and Fedorov realized that was the last anyone saw of him on the old ship. He passed a moment, wondering if this Orlov might have come from the old Kirov again, but he could see no sign that Orlov was in any way distressed, and did not think the Chief would handle these events so calmly if he had shifted here. No. This was the old Orlov, the man he was before Karpov tried to take the ship, and he was busted down to a lowly Lieutenant and sent off to Troyak and his Marines. Yet here they were, sailing in a world that other man had done much to shape. It was Orlov’s discontent that led him to jump ship on the KA-226, and that ended up starting that long journey to find him again, a journey that led to Ilanskiy…
Fedorov looked at Nikolin again, waiting and wondering whether he had any response. The other man just gave him a silent shake of his head. Nothing, and something more died in Fedorov as he realized the other ship might be gone. Surely they would have heard that coded message, though he still held out a little hope in thinking the old ship might very well be in that same eerie fog as before, out there somewhere, elsewhere, and perhaps destined to appear again one day. Yet there was no certainty there, and he could not invest too much hope in that. He had to deal with things here and now.
Kirov was gone, at least for now, yet still right beneath his feet. The King is dead… Long live the King. This ship now ascended to the throne of fate, and he was its real Captain, that he knew, even though he no longer wore the rank. It was his responsibility to steer the ship safely now, and prevent this situation from spinning off on a course that would cause even more harm.
So now he set his mind on how to proceed. The Admiral was the key factor here. He held the real authority, but Fedorov wondered if he would again suffer that debilitating collapse, an effect from that first shift, that led to Karpov taking command at a most inopportune time. If that happened again…
“Admiral on the bridge!”
Orlov had been leaning over Samsonov’s station again, and he stood up straight, saluting as Volsky appeared through the hatch, breathing a bit heavily as he always did.
“One day we will get elevators installed on these ships,” he said with a smile. He noticed Fedorov at once, and took a moment with him.
“Mister Fedorov, welcome back. I trust you are well?”
“I am sir. The dizziness has passed and I feel fine now.”
“Good, good. Mister Orlov, is the submersible staged for launch?”
“Ten minutes, sir. Byko is checking the seals on the hatch.”
“Very good, then I will take Mister Nikolin’s report, unless we have any further contacts. Rodenko? Tasarov?”
“All clear sir,” said Rodenko.
“No undersea contacts, Admiral. All quiet,” Tasarov gave his report, seeing Fedorov watching him closely, a strange look on his face, like he had found a long lost cousin.
“Then Mister Nikolin can tell me what he was listening to on the radio last night. Any news?”
“Just the same, sir. Old WWII documentaries. They just keep playing the same old news, something about Barbarossa, and Smolensk was the latest.”
“Barbarossa? That was the German attack on Russia in 1941, am I correct, Mister Fedorov?”
“Yes sir,” said Fedorov, eager for any interaction he could get with the Admiral. “The First Battle of Smolensk was fought between mid June and September, 1941. It was the first instance where the Red Army recovered enough to put up stubborn resistance, and delayed the German advance on Moscow for two full months.”
“That’s our resident historian,” said Volsky. “So that battle would be at its height now. Yes? Perhaps they are commemorating the 80 year anniversary of these war events. Yet no other news, Nikolin?”
“Just this old war news, Admiral.”
“Still no GPS feed,” said Fedorov, wanting to stay engaged. “And I have no Loran-C data from Jan Mayen—nothing from the Met.”
“The Met?”
“That’s the weather station at Metten on Jan Mayen. There’s a four man team there year round, and then the main installations at Olonkin City and Helenesanden. Most activity has moved there, but we still call the station the Met.” This had been important evidence the first time around, and Fedorov wanted to get it on the table as soon as