and meet you; to meet the men who saved them.”
Rudel and Jerry were becoming rather uncomfortable with all the gratitude that was being heaped upon them. Clearing his throat, Jerry tried to change the subject. “Your husband isn’t here?”
“No, Anatoliy is already at the inquest. Since he is the torpedo and mine battle department commander, he has been very busy.”
After a moment of awkward silence, Rudel made another attempt at small talk. “So you are the one who constructed that amazing website?”
“Yes, yes, I did, with much help from Olga and the others. When Anatoliy was trapped, I had the computer to keep my mind busy, to help me not to worry so much, but whenever I stopped working. ” She started to tear up, and Olga came over, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.
“They wanted to apologize to us. Can you imagine such a thing?” Olga remarked brightly.
There was another knock on the door. This time it was Nadya. She held a bottle, and she was barely inside before another woman arrived.
It turned into quite a party, in spite of their planning. Jerry and Rudel had both wanted a quiet visit, and a chance to talk. But word had leaked out. Over a dozen couples, parents, and families came to see the men whose submarine had saved their loved ones. It wasn’t raucous, but it was lively, an impromptu celebration of their survival, with Rudel and Jerry as the honored guests.
Finally, after almost two hours, and pleading a previous engagement, they managed to make their good-byes. Irina had given them email addresses for
Olga followed them outside, away from the noise of the party, and kissed them good-bye on the cheek, embracing the two like her own Yakov. “I am glad we met, even if I am sorry for the reason.”
The driver translated, and Rudel answered, “I’m glad I came, too.”
Jerry added, “Tell Mrs. Tatiana we’re sorry for the mess. She is a very good host.”
The driver spoke urgently in English, and Rudel apologized, “I’m sorry to leave so soon, but we have another appointment.”
Olga nodded. “I know, and thank you for that as well. Will we see you at the memorial service? I double- checked. Dennis Rountree’s name will be read with the rest.”
Both nodded. “Thank you. We’ll be there by six,” Rudel promised as he climbed into the car. He nodded toward the driver. “Pavel says he knows the way to the church.”
Olga watched the car drive away, then went back to the party.
Dwight Manning and a knot of Russian officers were waiting on the steps when they pulled up outside. Manning almost pulled Rudel from the car. “This is cutting it just a little too close.”
“There was traffic,” Rudel apologized.
Manning turned to face the waiting Russians. “Captain First Rank Aleksey Igorevich Petrov, may I present Commander Thomas Rudel.”
Rudel and Jerry and saluted Petrov, the senior in rank; then Rudel offered his hand. Jerry studied them both, but their faces were masks, at first.
Petrov took Rudel’s hand, grasping it firmly. He said, “I am pleased to finally meet you,” in a formal voice. He didn’t smile, but Russians don’t automatically smile just to be pleasant.
Rudel did smile. “It’s good to meet you face-to-face. You sound different than you did over the underwater telephone.”
Petrov asked curiously. “How so?”
“Drier,” Rudel replied.
Surprised, Petrov burst into laughter, and clapped Rudel on the shoulder. “And you sound different, too, my friend. Not like a wobbly fish.”
“Gentlemen, we have two minutes,” fussed Manning.
Both captains nodded. “Later, we will talk,” promised Petrov.
“I would like that very much,” Rudel answered.
The rest of the group was quickly introduced. Jerry waited for his turn to shake Petrov’s hand, and to greet the Starpom Kalinin and Chief Engineer Lyachev. The last few words were exchanged as Manning urged them up the granite steps. The sentry in front braced and saluted as the group hurried past.
Inside, they slowed to a fast walk, and made one turn to face an oak door, marked by a flag on a stand. “We made it,” Manning announced with a glare, “with one minute to go.” He brushed a few cake crumbs off Jerry’s uniform.
Another guard, a junior officer this time, saluted. He opened the door for them, then stepped aside.
The far side of the room was lined with leaded-glass windows. The walls were columned marble, adorned with paintings of great naval battles. A long green table sat in front of the windows, one side half filled with high- ranking officers, facing them. Jerry recognized Borisov, and Kurganov, and Vidchenko.
Chairs filled the room, with most of them occupied by naval officers, with the occasional civilian mixed in.
Petrov pointed to three empty chairs one row back as they hurried up the center aisle. They had slips of paper taped to them with “Rudel,” “Mitchell,” and “Manning” spelled in Cyrillic, and below in English. Petrov, Kalinin, and Lyachev joined the rest of
They’d barely sat down when a shouted command brought everyone in the room to attention. Jerry rose with the rest, and watched as a party of senior officers entered from a side door. “The one in front is Vice Admiral Kokurin, commander of the Northern Fleet,” Manning explained in a whisper, “then Vice Admiral Baybarin, his deputy. Vice Admiral Radetskiy is his chief of staff…”
The group reached their seats at the table, and stood for a moment before turning to face the Russian flag, displayed at one end of the table. The recorded strains of the Russian national anthem played; then, at another command, everyone sat.
Kokurin spoke first, and Manning translated. “We meet here to investigate the loss of the Russian Federation submarine
