LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Harbor Master’s.”

      Canada

      It was September of 1980. The 7th Operational Squadron of Warships arrived on a friendly visit to the Canadian Halifax Harbor on the East coast of the Nova Scotia peninsula – the location of the main Canadian naval base and the port of Halifax. An armada of Soviet ships with red flags raised on their masts lined up in the outer harbor of 265 square kilometers. Only the Large Destroyer “Gremyashchy,” with the 7th Squadron executive staff, headed by its Commander, Rear Admiral Barannikov on board, entered an eight-kilometer bay and dropped its anchor at the port pier. The naval base in Halifax houses the main body of the Canadian Navy. The Rear Admiral knew that base territory housed the headquarters of the Canadian Navy in the Atlantic, the united Navy of NATO and the coastal aviation of the Canadian Air Force. Coastal infrastructure also included military equipment repair shops and dry docks for NATO warships.

      Halifax, the unfrozen sea gate to Canada. Its beautiful harbor leaves an unforgettable impression as you sail into it at low speed. City of Halifax that years ago used to belong to the Irish, spread out over the picturesque hills; grim fishermen and whale hunters – the toilers of the sea – have lived here for hundreds of years. In the summertime the city is immersed in the sea of its parks’ greenery and its suburbs are filled with the enticing beauty of Nova Scotia.

      On the third day of the visit, Admiral Koch Van der Wiel, as the Harbor Master, invited Rear Admiral Barannikov and eight other senior officers to the ceremonial reception where, according to tradition, they were to be treated with Canadian lobster. The air in the officers’ lounge of Destroyer “Gremyashchy” was filled with thick fog of cigarette smoke: for the last two hours, Barannikov’s staff officers had been discussing the oncoming luncheon with the Canadian Admiral.

      “Comrade officers, one last question – and you can go to your cabins after that.” Captain 1st Rank Chaliy tried to calm down the staff officers. “As you all know, at the luncheon they will serve Canadian lobster: I offer you this last item on our agenda as a ‘special treat’, so to speak.”

      “Alexeyich, they can serve us a ‘liquidator’ with porridge – we will swallow it down without blinking, so this lobster is a piece of cake for us!” spoke for everybody from his seat Captain 1st Rank Litvinov.

      “That is exactly the problem, that we are only good in gobbling up axes and sledgehammers! Lobster, however, is a delicate thing: it needs a special approach, like a French mademoiselle.”

      After Chaliy’s words, Rear Admiral got out of his chair and headed to the door. All the noise in the lounge ceased immediately; officers, at the command, got up.

      “Pavel Alexeyevich,” Rear Admiral addressed Chaliy, “please go on. I have to go to the bridge.”

      Going up to the bridge, he could not stop thinking about this damned lobster and how not to lose face while dealing with it in the presence of the Canadians.

      “In the lounge, they all would expect me to know the answer, as I am the senior commander. It’s a good thing I had a reason to leave”, he thought on the way.

      On the bridge he saw the Destroyer’s captain and the second mate’s watch standers. When the second mate noticed the Rear Admiral going up the stairs, he commanded:

      “Comrades officers! Attention on deck!”

      Barannikov waved. “As you were! Continue your watch. Commander”, he turned to the captain, “I would like to talk to you: let’s go sit in the chart room.”

      The captain followed the Rear Admiral to the chart room, where he immediately closed the massive drapes.

      “Look, Mikhalych ” In private, Rear Admiral addressed the Captain 1st Rank informally: they were classmates in the naval academy and spent three years at the same desk. “I can’t stop thinking about this damn Canadian lobster: how do they eat it? Do you remember anything about it from our classes in etiquette in the Naval Academy?”

      “You know, I only remember something about diplomatic receptions, and even how to behave in the presence of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, but I do not recall anything about a lobster either. Wait, in combat unit 5 there is this Lieutenant commander – he is from the Polish Naval Academy, on internship under the Warsaw Pact. I think, he may know: the way he bears himself – you would think he is of noble blood.”

      “What language do you speak with each other?”

      “Ha! He speaks Russian better than you and me! Moreover, he can speak English.”

      “Get this Pole over here at once!”

      Fifteen minutes later, a stocky, Asian-looking Lieutenant commander entered the chart room.

      “Comrade Rear Admiral! Lieutenant commander Kahn reporting as ordered!”

      Barannikov was, quite obviously, puzzled.

      “I was told that you are a Polish Navy officer, but I see a native of one of the Central Asia republics.”

      “Negative, comrade Rear Admiral! I am an officer of the Polish Republic, an intern for the ‘Military Cooperation Program’.”

      “As I can see, you are not timid at all. And you really look like someone from Middle Asia. You also look very much like my Korean friend Major General Lee. Anyway, down to business. Captain, have you ever met a Canadian lobster?”

      Kahn felt how the tension inside him eased. On the way here he was sure that Rear Admiral called him over yesterday’s insubordination, when in Engine Control Room he corrected Deputy Admiral, Captain 1st Rank Litvinov.

      “You mean, in person? Only at the table.”

      “Exactly, at the table. So, how was the meeting? I mean, how is it eaten?”

      “Comrade Rear Admiral, actually, lobster is eaten with the fingers. But you, probably, would like to know what special instruments can be used for that?”

      “Good man, you are sharp! Mikhalych, my commendation to you for your faithful service: he is exactly who we need. Well, go on, captain, shoot away: how shall we deal with this lobster?”

      “If a menu includes crustaceans, then twelve to sixteen special instruments are provided to each guest.”

      Kahn finally recovered his breath and looked around. He was in the chartroom of the destroyer for the first time during this campaign. Numerous operation maps were hanging on the walls; wide tables were covered with piles of blue charts, pressed down by paper weights, sextants, chronometers, and long navigation rulers. Clocks on the bulkheads showed world time. The spirit of the sea prevailed there, it was the kingdom of Sindbad the Sailor, the control center of a huge ocean colossus, filled with the most advanced weapons and torpedoes – unparalleled anywhere in the West for thirty more years. The eyes and ears of the ship were there, and the lives of its 266 crew members depended on the commands, given from here.

      “Come on, Captain, stay focused! Go ahead; give me a report on the instruments for these crustaceans’ dissection. What did you say – up to a hundred sixteen of them needed?” Rear Admiral climbed in a tall navigator’s chair and took the initiative.

      “Almost affirmative, comrade Rear Admiral: up to sixteen!”

      At that moment Kahn noticed that all the members of the bridge watch were standing behind the door curtains, eavesdropping on his report.

      “Don’t yell: just sit down and tell me in plain words what kinds of instruments they are and how one can eat with them.”

      “These instruments are used for extracting the lobster’s meat from the shell and eating it right away. Perhaps I should better draw each instrument and explain its purpose?”

      At this point the ship’s captain lost it and rushed to the door. The Rear Admiral’s reaction was instant: “Mikhalych, where are you going?!”

      “I’ll fetch the staff officers: they should listen, too.”

      “Stay put! Do not rush, brother, ahead of your father! Look at him! He thinks he is so smart!” Barannikov grinned cheerfully.

      Stas

Скачать книгу