Читать книгу Bank of Moscow Labyrinths - Jossiv Kim - Страница 3

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 drew all the instruments on a large cardboard sheet and hanged this improvised poster on a bulkhead. Watchmen, as if unintentionally, kept peeping through slightly parted curtains. Rear Admiral noticed that and said, “Mikhalych! This is a staff meeting and not a show. Tell your men to compose themselves and get back to their duties.”

The “staff meeting” continued for about thirty minutes, and after that, the Rear Admiral, looking very pleased, left the chartroom and went downstairs to his quarters. Meanwhile, the Captain was instructing Kahn, “Have you heard what the Rear Admiral said? Not a word to anybody, and be prepared for tomorrow’s reception with the Canadians. You will be the interpreter for our staff officers. Now go and get ready for tomorrow. By the way, Captain, how do you know so much about shell fish?”

“Yes, sir! I will get ready for tomorrow! Answering your question – I am from Gdansk: every kid in our town knows how to catch and eat shell fish.”

“I see. Well, go back to you watch.”

Stas left the chartroom. In the cockpit, the second mate shook his hand and invited him for a game of chess before bedtime. Kahn noticed that all the watch members looked at him with much respect.

In the morning, at 11:00 sharp, all staff officers, with sparkling shoulder boards and with naval dirks attached to their belts, lined up near the accommodation ladder, thoroughly polished for the occasion. Rear Admiral went out on deck and the gold light of sun in the Canadian sky reflected on his parade uniform. Everybody on the deck froze and stood bolt upright, waiting for the command “At ease!” The crew of the Destroyer “Gremyashchy” was greeting its commander. Suddenly, the staff officers noticed that the Rear Admiral was accompanied by a Polish officer. Barannikov approached them and said, “Comrades officers, here is our interpreter, captain-lieutenant Kahn of the Polish Navy. Please make him feel welcome.”

Staff officers had puzzled looks on their faces. Assistant commander Litvinov sneered, “Is he a Polish girl for us to make him feel welcome?”

The peal of Soviet officers’ laughter flew over the morning port and echoed in the navy docks.

“Cut the jokes! This applies especially to you, comrade Litvinov. You may think that atomic reactors are easy to handle – but have you ever tried eating lobsters properly at the reception with the Canadian admiral?”

The laughter stopped instantly and silence fell on the deck: one could even hear the sound of the pressure tank for drinking water downstairs. Sailors on the French destroyer, anchored nearby, were watching with great interest how a Russian Rear Admiral entertained his officers. Now the staff officers looked at their commander with curiosity, and he, meanwhile, continued, “Comrade Kahn will be sitting next to me as my interpreter. However, interpretation will not be his only objective. His main objective will be to make sure that we eat this Canadian lobster properly and with full understanding. Is this clear?”

“So… he – what? Will eat it for us?”

The burst of laughter that followed was so loud that it seemed to shake the destroyer’s masts. Finally the Rear Admiral was able to say, wiping away tears of laughter, “Of course not! Presnyakov, you will eat your lobster yourself. Each of you will be provided with sixteen tools to help you fight the lobster. There is no time for a lecture on their use, besides, our ‘adversary’ is missing from our galley. Therefore, attention! Comrade Officers, when the lobster’s turn comes, we all will look at our comrade Kahn, note the tools he will be using and copy all his movements. Is it clear now?”

“Yes, Sir!” responded the sailors in unison.

Admiral Koch put a lot of effort into the reception arrangements: he wanted Soviet sailors to feel welcome and at home, even far away from their homeland. In his speech in the official part of the reception, he emphasized that from 1943 to 1945, Armed Forces of the USSR and Canada fought together against fascism on the ground, in the air, and at sea. After the official part, Canadian and Soviet sailors exchanged souvenirs and pennants. Russian “Matryoshka” nesting dolls were Canadians’ favorites: they, most certainly, added color and traditional flavor to that gathering in port Halifax. After a thirty minutes smoke break, everybody seemed to find their common “sea language”: both sides easily communicated without interpreters, patting each other’s backs and shaking hands.

Three loud gong strikes in the loudspeakers signaled to everybody present that it was time to proceed to the banquet hall. Soviet officers and their admiral were seated at the table vis-à-vis their Canadian colleagues. The table itself looked very impressive – with a grand dinner set made of German porcelain, crystal tall glasses and elegant silverware. Stewards in naval uniforms brought in the first course – it was asparagus soup. Its taste was absolutely unfamiliar to the Soviet sailors, but they kept eating it, nevertheless, anticipating the “battle with the lobster”. Finally, traditional Canadian lobsters were brought in the room on huge plates. Soundless stewards put to the left of each guest small bowls, filled with water with a slice of lemon in each one. Kahn turned to Barannikov and whispered:

“Comrade Rear Admiral, this is water for rinsing hands.”

Before he could finish the sentence, Captain 1st Rank Litvinov, much to the astonishment of the Canadian side, raised his bowl, gulped some water from it and munched on the lemon. Canadians looked at him in silence, obviously bewildered.

“Kahn, full speed ahead! Face the attack!” Barannikov commanded through clenched teeth.

Kahn rose from the table, holding his bowl of water. Canadian sailors and their admiral with great interest looked at yet another “Ivan the Fool”, apparently expecting another manifestation of ignorance. After a moment of silence, everybody heard Kahn’s voice: he spoke excellent English with an American accent.

“Gentlemen! Allow me, on behalf of Rear Admiral Barannikov, to thank Admiral Koch Van der Wiel and all the hosting party for their hospitality. Let our guns remain covered forever! By tradition, Soviet sailors do not drink alcohol during their campaigns. Therefore I suggest that, instead of wine, we toast with this Canadian spring water, chasing it with a slice of lemon! Hoorah!”

All Canadians, together with their Admiral, got up and drank water from their bowls. And it was this water that “tore down” all barriers: the banquet hall filled with laughter, guests were swapping seats, interacting vividly, and “conquering” lobsters together. The world was tired of the cold war, of confrontation and the arms race. The world needed a new commonwealth formula – one that would open borders, enable joint trips to the Moon, and discover new roads to space. A new generation – a generation of peace and brotherhood – was beginning to rise from behind the curtain, separating countries and nations, and there was no force that could stop it.