"I hate to think about it, Alex. One night, not so many years ago, Sam and I were drinking together and he brought that up.
Thank God he was there."
“Thank God,” echoed Tasha. Her mood had changed. “I think I would like to go home now,” she said to Alex. She turned to the others. “It is not because of you. We were all much younger then, and none of us knew the other. But tales like that scare me. I do not like my husband to go near danger, Maria . . . to become involved in war,” she added. "Let us meet again soon. I would like that." As they stood up, she put her hand on Maria's. "Please do not be insulted because I leave so quickly. I just want to be alone for a while with my husband."
“I understand,” replied Maria. “It means the same to us to be here. London is almost like an island.” She squeezed the hand that engaged her own. The two men quietly shook hands, that long-ago night unexpectedly relived, a certain allegiance forming through a shared experience.
Admiral David Charles was seated at his mess table, dreams of London behind him. After spreading jam on his toast, he used that slice to push some scrambled eggs onto his fork. “Looks powdered to me,” he remarked to Bill Dailey. After tasting them, he unhappily agreed with his analysis, “They are. We've been at sea too long.” He made a sour face, then grinned at the other, “I learned to hate these as an ensign, along with grits, shit on a shingle, and every other goddamn thing the Navy decided belonged on a breakfast table. Sam Carter said I'd never be a good officer if I didn't learn to like them.” He slid another forkful into his mouth and added, "I can't stand black-eyed peas either or some of the other crap the South has inflicted on us under the general term of -military tradition. But I eat them all, and every once in a while I remind Sam of what he said."
His operations officer said nothing, eating quietly and waiting for the decision he knew was coming. The ships that could be relied upon with minor repairs had taken care of themselves and reported ready that morning at zero seven hundred . . . whether or not they were completely safe, Dailey thought to himself. But they wouldn't disappoint their leader. Task Force 58 would fight again, and no sailor wanted to miss it. They wanted to avenge their losses in this undeclared war.
Radford
and
Knox
had been sent for repairs to Capetown.
Preble
would fight again. Repairs had put her stern missile launchers back in action, although her after engine room was badly damaged.
John Paul Jones
had been sunk by torpedoes during the night, after her survivors had transferred to
Wainwright.
She had been capable of floating, but her weapons system? were inoperable and her engineering spaces had been too badly damaged. And much of her crew had been lost when the wind shifted just at the time of an explosion, sweeping sheets of flame back through two fire-control parties.
“Our recon aircraft have Kupinsky up near the Maldives,” David began. “Wish to hell we had access to those satellites taking pictures to see what shape they're in. The zero-six-hundred report indicated they were reforming to the southwest of the islands.”
“I expect they'll be heading back in our direction, sir. Their recon has been just as active as ours.”
“Alex is as careful as I am, Bill. If you have the time, don't commit yourself until you know the exact strength of your own forces. Plus, we're both working without instructions from home, at least I believe he is, according to our last report.”
“That's correct, sir. My intelligence people have been monitoring their satellites, too. I think we got them all.”
“That just backs up my reason, Bill. Neither of us is officially at war, at least we aren't aware of it. And I think both Washington and Moscow would break radio silence in plain language if we were.” He looked thoughtfully at the younger man. “They're just sitting back, I guess, waiting to see which dog kills the other.”
“I assume we're going to turn to the east soon, Admiral.”
“Right.” With a wry expression, he pushed the remainder of the chalky eggs away, nodding in agreement to his steward, who was pointing at the coffee steaming on the hot plate by the pantry. He gestured toward Dailey's cup also. “I know what I want to do, and I'll lay it out now, step by step. I know Alex better than your intelligence boys, but I want you to try them out on these ideas with their fancy computers.”
Dailey put his notepad on the table as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “I'll try them, sir. But I think you're wise if you rely pretty much on your own instinct at this point. Their best work is done when they're tied into the big fella at Hopkins. That's where all the war gaming and tactical input takes place. When they get out here on their own, they're limited to what's already stored in their own equipment.”
“I know that, Bill. I've never had any trouble making my own decisions. I can match Alex blow for blow, but your people have the background on the other ships he has with him, their engineering characteristics, weapons capabilities, commanding officers' backgrounds. That's what I want.” His eyes brightened. “I'll put a sawbuck on what Alex is going to do, though.”
“Done. It's worth it to keep you honest,” Dailey grinned.
“He's under orders to make sure that no more supplies get into Islas Piedras and that we are denied access to it. He can't allow us to protect the island so that construction can continue or allow missiles to be off-loaded. And the only way he can stop that is to keep us on our toes and sink ships.” He stopped for a moment to sip his coffee. “Truism number one, Bill,”—he held up the index finger on his right hand—“he's on his way right now in a direct line for the island. Two,”—he held up a second finger—"he's going to have his new Rigas in the air, the ones that he's picked up since last night, but he's not going to chance losing them all again until they figure out our new missile systems. So they won't be involved in any massive attacks." A third finger was added. "He's going to challenge me head on. Maybe we'll even sight one another this time. The idea is to put us on the defensive. As long as Gorenko thinks we're scurrying around the Indian Ocean with our heads inserted, they're going to make more speeches about those aggressive Americans they're trying to save everyone else from, not to mention scaring the hell out of the President."
“I'd have to agree with you so far.”
“And, number four, we're going to steam right into the middle of them if we have to.” Dailey said nothing, just nodding in understanding. “That's why I want the printouts on their individual ships, Bill. I want our submarines to play with them. When you have all the info, relay it to the subs. We'll put together their orders later.”
“What about
Nimitz,
sir? Are .you going to sail her into the middle also?”
“I'd love to, just love to. Just to show the flag. But I'm afraid we'll have to keep her in the rear of the screen. Alex will do the same with
Lenin.
We can't afford to have a capital-ship battle just yet, Bill. Maybe some brilliant politician will figure out how to call off the dogs before that happens.” His face became suddenly serious, more so than Dailey had ever seen it. “Alex is my friend, Bill. Right now, I don't think I'd ever be able to live with myself if I killed him. We've trained for this showdown all our lives,” he was staring at the overhead, “and now I feel like I'm sparring with my brother.”
Dailey said nothing. He knew he wasn't expected to respond, and he waited until David spoke again. “Turn us east, Bill. Probably just about due east. I want to intercept
Lenin
head on. Want to bet on a course?”
“No; sir. I expect you're right.”
“Aw, come on, Bill. You're going to take away my last little bit of fun if I don't have someone to bet with.”
“Okay, I'll take zero nine one.”
“You're on.” Mockingly, he held his chin in his hand, eyes shut tight as if thinking. “Can't be exactly due east. I'll take zero eight seven. What're the stakes?”
“Good bottle of brandy at the next port. Winner's choice.”
“Perfect.” The Admiral was out of his chair and on his way to the bridge, his operations officer right behind. As.they raced each other to the chart room, both appeared to a surprised crew as if they were heading for the first liberty boat.
Alex Kupinsky had not slept at all that night. Captain Svedrov was a bit worried about this man lie had learned to love almost as a father. But he was not as concerned as he would have been about other admirals he had served with. He knew that Alex could go for long periods without sleep and still exhibit perfect reactions. And, sometimes, he would doze for short periods, in his cabin, or even in his bridge chair where he was now. His eyes would be shut, but Svedrov knew he could be awake instantly, ready with an answer as if he had overheard a question. So he was not too worried this morning as they regrouped to the southwest of the Maldives,
Lenin
having taken on a fresh air group. The sky was just turning bright to the east, and his Admiral's eyes were shut again. Svedrov went from man to man on the bridge, a warning ringer to his lips.
Alex might not have been able to answer a question out of this sleep. His dozing had brought Tasha to him, and he was subconsciously sending his mind far away from his body, where it could warm him with treasured memories.
Their happiest times together had been when they were away from the Motherland. That occasionally troubled him but never concerned Tasha. But she was not Russian anyway, he always justified. He had loved their time in London. Gorenko had sent him to the embasssy as part of his training. He must get out of the country to meet other people, he had been told. The best defense is to know your enemy. But they had not met enemies. Every place they went they were treated politely, even deferentially by those who wanted to learn more about these Russians. And their flat off Kensington Gardens was a paradise. It was in the city and was not as beautiful as his father's dacha outside Moscow, but they were totally at peace with themselves, and apparently with those around them, he was surprised to learn.
Tasha adapted readily to the new social life, much more so than he, for he had never known anything but the military since he had gone to live with Gorenko's family. There were parties that she especially loved, for her life in Moscow had been very private. It was at one of those that she had met Maria Charles. He remembered the look on Tasha's face when he had come over to meet the couple she was talking with. She had been so afraid he would be upset because the man was in the American Navy. But he had told her afterward that he had been instructed to meet some of them. And he had liked the other man. David Charles was almost as old as he, and of an equivalent rank. They found that they had much in common. Tasha and Maria had arranged those early meetings in the park. The two boys had a wonderful time, adapting to their differences as only children can, teasing with each other's language until they had invented a middle language of their own.
He had been told to learn more English and, with David's Russian lacking, Alex was able to practice on his new friend. The sea had become their mutual language, and it was while they searched each others' minds that they also became closer friends. He remembered the day they had decided to have lunch together. He was to meet David outside of the American Embassy. He remembered Tasha teasing him about Gorenko's reaction if the older man knew he had extended his study of English to dining with American naval officers. He had told Tasha that Gorenko would know anyway.
He had jumped into a cab on Bayswater and said, “American Embassy, please,” in his accented voice.
The driver, realizing the man he had just picked up in front of the walled building was probably Russian, turned back through the window of his cab, eyes wide. “Did you say the American Embassy, Guv?”
“That is correct,” he had replied with as straight a face as possible. “At Grosvenor Square.” And then he added, “Do you know where that is?” realizing the driver's surprise at a Russian going to the American Embassy. He had considered telling the driver he was going to ask for asylum, but knew that would just start something Gorenko would never have understood. No sense of humor. The driver had pulled right up to the front of the Grosvenor House, its glass front so rich and powerful, and deposited him with a curious look. David had been waiting outside, and came over to shake his hand as Alex dug for change to pay for the cab. The driver, openmouthed, had not even checked to see if there was a tip. He had probably driven off dreaming of this wild story to tell his missus about the Russians and Americans when he arrived home that night. Those days had been wonderful. They had unearthed his sense of humor.
A radio speaker on the other side of the bridge briefly interrupted Alex's reverie, but it was quickly silenced by a wave of Svedrov's hand, and he forced his mind back again to those days. He remembered best that Saturday the four of them and the boys had gone to Greenwich to visit the Royal Naval Museum and the Observatory.
They had met at Marble Arch and decided right then that they had a talent for picking superb days. They walked over to a nearby Bakerloo underground station and took one of the lovely old trains that were left over from before the war, the ones with the wooden cars and velveteen seats with armrests. It wasn't like the underground in Moscow that was so clean and efficient and modern, he remembered, but it was a symbol of the British love of tradition.
They got off at Charing Cross, walking the short distance over to the Embankment, and then down the steep steps, worn by time and the feet of people dead for centuries. One of the riverboats was just leaving for Greenwich and that left them near the head of the line for the next one. When it pulled up to the pier, they were able to easily find a seat in its bow. They had grandstand seats for the Thames riverfront as the boat slid under the Waterloo bridge heading downstream.
Adults want to point out all the sites to children on such a trip, while children want to watch the sea gulls and the tugs and the variety of garbage afloat in the river. So while each family used a map to dictate history to their child in their own language, each boy pointed out for the other the gulls, and the garbage, and the tugs sliding past.