irritated by the unceasing paperwork, inspections, and constant bickering with the shipyard, Petrov longed for the peace and serenity that only the sea could provide.
He was born in Severodvinsk on the Kola Peninsula, the son of a senior shipyard engineer, and submarines were in his blood. He remembered many visits to the shipyard with his father to watch those underwater behemoths as they were rolled out of the great construction halls.
As a boy, he’d dreamed of commanding one, and that dream had never changed. And it was with great pride that he bid his parents farewell to join the Soviet Navy to pursue his dream. He graduated first in his class from the Lenin Komsomol Higher Naval Submarine School in Leningrad, and everything seemed to be going according to plan when disaster struck in December 1991.
The fall of the Soviet Union brought nothing but chaos and poverty to the “new” Russian Navy, whose members lost the respect of their countrymen along with their paychecks. Petrov didn’t care about the fate of the Communist Party. They had brought this on themselves. He was deeply concerned, however, about the effects their sudden collapse had on the navy in general, and his career prospects in particular.
Good fortune smiled on him, however, as he was assigned to a fairly new Project 671RTM attack submarine in the Northern Fleet. Known as an Improved Victor III class SSN in the West, they were some of the quietest and most capable boats in the Russian order of battle. Being relatively new, it was fully functional and not suffering from the neglect that was all too common with the older boats, brought on by the decaying Soviet maintenance infrastructure.
Petrov also considered himself to be doubly blessed, as his commanding officer was the master tactician Captain First Rank Dmitriy Makeyev, a brilliant and cunning hunter who handed numerous NATO submarine skippers their heads on a silver platter. Even some of the vaunted American 688-class submarines fell victim to the “Dark Lord,” as he was called. According to the waterfront gossip, Makeyev had never been caught unawares. He always maintained tactical control, only revealing himself when he wished and usually by a vicious lashing with his main active sonar.
“To be victorious in submarine combat,” he preached, “one has to be aggressive. If you are not aggressive, you lose. If you lose, then you die. It is that simple.”
Aleksey Igorevich accepted, believed, and lived by this tactical philosophy, so eloquently coined by his first captain, throughout his career. And it had served him well; very well indeed, as it enabled him to chalk up an impressive history of success in whatever he did. Now Petrov was the commanding officer of the newest and most advanced attack submarine in the Russian Navy—
Petrov’s half-musing, half-stewing daydreaming was brought to an abrupt end when the staff officer opened the large double doors to the conference room. Inside the spacious hall were over a dozen flag officers milling about, drinking tea or coffee and chatting in small groups. As soon as Petrov and his commanders entered, a large man at the far end quickly made his way over toward them. Although Petrov had met him only once before, it was hard to forget the commander of the Northern Fleet, Vice Admiral Sergey Mikhailovich Kokurin. Rounding the corner of the table, Kokurin grasped Petrov’s eskadra commander’s hand and shook it heartily. It was well known within the fleet that the fleet commander and Vice Admiral Pavel Borisov were close friends.
“It is good to see you again, Pavel,” boomed Kokurin as he slapped Borisov’s shoulder. “How is Irina? Well, I trust?”
“She is quite well, sir,” replied Borisov as a devilish grin appeared on his face. “But, I regret to inform you that she is
Kokurin interrupted, waving his hands in mock surrender, a pained expression sweeping across his brow. “I know. I know. I… I am guilty as charged.” Sighing heavily, and placing his large hands on Borisov’s shoulders, he said, “Please tell Her Highness, the tzarina, that I will pay my respects the next time I must travel to the submarine base at Sayda Guba. You have my word!”
“I will gladly inform her of your most wise decision,” jabbed Borisov. Both men burst into laughter.
Composing himself, Borisov then gestured toward his two officers. “Sir, this is my new Commander of the Twenty-fourth Submarine Diviziya, Rear Admiral Vasiliy Vitalyevich Vidchenko.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” replied Vidchenko stiffly.
“Ah, yes. Welcome to the Northern Fleet, Admiral. I hope your transfer has gone smoothly. You came to us from the Baltic Fleet, did you not?”
“Yes sir. The trip north was uneventful, and I am getting acquainted with my new duties.”
“Excellent. I look forward to working with you and the submarine commanders in your division,” responded Kokurin as he mentally took stock of the junior admiral.
Vidchenko acknowledged the fleet commander’s comments with a slight bow and stepped out of the way as VADM Borisov brought Petrov forward. “And you know Captain Petrov, of course.”
“Good day, sir,” Petrov said politely
Kokurin took a slow deliberate step toward Petrov and offered his hand. “Welcome to Northern Fleet Headquarters, Captain. And today is a very good day indeed. It has been far too long since we took acceptance of a new
In the old days of the Soviet Union, shipyards turned out three or four nuclear submarines each year. New classes followed each other in quick succession, each improvement closing the quality gap with their Western adversaries. Now it was years between commissionings, and Kokurin’s celebratory mood was well justified. Petrov’s pride was all the greater. He’d had many rivals for
“I have read every inspection and evaluation report with great interest,” continued Kokurin sincerely, “and I am very impressed with your crew’s performance. You have done well, Captain Petrov.”
“Thank you. sir,” replied Petrov uneasily. “I will convey your compliments to the crew.” It had been a very long time since he had received a favorable comment from a flag officer. Petrov was far more accustomed to the lectures and stern criticism that had been the staple of his crew’s training diet throughout the long certification process.
“I must also ask for your patience today, Captain.”
“Sir? I, ah, I don’t understand.” Petrov was now completely confused and it showed.
Amused by the young captain’s response, Kokurin’s face broke out into a broad smile. “You and your crew have gone through a lengthy, trying, and difficult certification process. One that I demanded to be more rigorous than usual. Now that the end is in sight, I know you just want to get this over with so you can take your boat to sea.” Petrov felt his face flush, like a schoolboy caught by the headmaster with his hand in the cookie jar. Can this man also read minds?
The fleet commander chuckled loudly and said, “I was once a young new submarine commander itching to be set free from the fleet’s bureaucratic clutches. So I know exactly how you feel. But today, many of us old men, some with more ballast than we need,” Kokurin patted his protruding abdomen as he spoke, “are reliving those memories through you. So please, be patient with us today. I promise the proceedings will end this afternoon.”
“Of course, sir,” responded Petrov confidently. And then with heartfelt sincerity, “It
“Excellent!” exclaimed Kokurin happily. But as the elderly submariner looked up, the smile quickly vanished from his face. For over at the head table was his chief of staff pointing in an exasperated fashion at his watch.
“Bah,” sneered the fleet commander with a curt dismissing wave.
“Is something wrong, sir?” inquired Borisov after seeing his friend’s abrupt mood change.
“It’s just my personal nag, Pavel. He’s complaining that I haven’t started the conference on time.”
“Pardon me, sir, but I do believe that is his job,” replied Borisov with a hint of sarcasm.
With a deep sigh and resigned nod, Kokurin said, “You are correct, as always, Pavel Dmitriyevich. But I just wish he wouldn’t take such joy in exercising his duties. There are times when I wonder who really is the Commander of the Northern Fleet!” Turning back to his chief of staff, Kokurin politely gestured for him to call the
