Chapter 12

The two men passed through the wrought iron gates and up the cobbled path to the portico. They stood stiffly at attention after pulling the bell. Presently the ornate door opened and a man in Naval uniform stood curiously eyeing the pair.

"Commander Shtein, Lieutenant," one of the strangers said, "aide to Admiral Afansiev of the Marine Ministry. This is Inspector Rabin of the local Police."

"Commander," the Lieutenant saluted. His eyes merely flicked to the civilian, dismissing his presence as irrelevant.

"We need an audience with Admiral Gorshin," the Commander explained, "about a delicate matter."

"Yes, sir. Please make yourself comfortable in the drawing room. I will speak to the Admiral."

The policeman tagged along behind the Naval officers, unbidden. He was used to dealing with the Navy on their territory and realised his limits.

Presently the Admiral's secretary returned.

"The Admiral is busy," he told the pair, "perhaps you can leave this matter with me and I'll convey it to the Admiral when he's free."

"Of course, Lieutenant," the Commander said, "an issue has been raised by the Inspector here..." Neither Officer bothered looking in the Policeman's direction this time. "... concerning the alleged... abduction of a minor in Latvia, Lieutenant, by the Admiral's son, Senior Lieutenant Yvgeny Gorshin."

"I see," the Lieutenant looked at his hands. "And what do the Police consider is required to clear up this matter?"

"Inspector?" the Commander asked.

"Sir... ah..." the Inspector began, "I believe there have been some costs to the Latvian Police..."

"How much?" snapped the Secretary, irritated. He looked at the Commander and saw him roll his eyes.

"I believe the costs were... some 1000 roubles."

"And the local Police?"

"Another 500, I understand."

Wordlessly, the secretary disappeared and returned with a handful of notes. Peeling off several, he handed them to the Policeman who slipped them into his coat. With a slight tip of his head he allowed himself to be shown the door.

"Better tell the Admiral to keep those two out of the way for awhile," the Staff Officer said quietly to the Lieutenant, "just in case."

"Yessir. Have you received an invitation, sir?"

"I'll be there. I'm looking forward to it, good day!"

From an upstairs window, Yvgeny, Katka and Admiral Gorshin watched the two men walk back down the cobbled path.

"You'll stay here until the wedding,"the Admiral told his son, sucking in his breath, "stay out of the way of the Police, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," Yvgeny told his Father.

"You've been foolish, the pair of you," the Admiral went on, "I'm surprised at you. I didn't bring you up to be so impulsive."

"You need to understand..."

"Ho, you think I don't? You think I'm that old that I don't remember?"

"He remembered," chuckled Admiral Yvgeny Ivanovich Gorshin, Hero of the Soviet Union. "I understand there was some controversy regarding how he met my Mother. But he had to go through the charade... outrage, disapproval. That's what everyone expected of my Father. He liked Katka, though, liked her a great deal. Reminded him of Mama, and of his youth."

"So he allowed you two to live together?" asked the Ensign.

"Well, she was permitted to remain in the mansion. She had her own room, of course, but she rarely stayed in it. Hers adjoined mine... we had only a door between us and it was never locked."

When Katka and Yvgeny arrived to take sanctuary at the Kronshtadt Naval Base they found the harbour chillingly devoid of shipping. The Baltic fleet had been, by all intents and purposes, destroyed. The Battlefleet, the heart of all Navies until the advent of the Aircraft Carrier, consisted of only one Battleship, the Slava, last of the Suvurov class. The Tsesarevich, recently released from internment, would shortly double the fleet's size.

On the stocks at the Baltic Shipyards, two Battleships, begun in 1903 and held up by the labour troubles of 1905, were resuming work. However, the Pavel the First and the Andrej Pervozanni wouldn't join the fleet until 1910.

In the Black Sea, the only modern Battleship was the Pantaleimon, the former Potemkin. Georg Pobedonosets, Sinope, Rotislav and Tri Sviatitelia, four obsolete old crocks built in the early 1890s, made up the rest of the squadron until about 1909 when the new-builds, Sviatitoi Evstafi and Ioann Zlaloust, joined the fleet.

The launch of HMS Dreadnought by the British in late 1905 began the 'Dreadnought Revolution.' The advent of the all big gun, steam-turbine-driven battleship wrong-stepped the world's other navies. It wasn't until 1909 when Russia would begin a Dreadnought building program. It wasn't scheduled for completion, however, until 1930 and by then events had well and truly overtaken her.

But in 1906, there was little employment available to the veterans of the Battle of Tsushima. There weren't any ships.

"For two years," continued Admiral Gorshin, "we lived an idyllic life as part of the Naval Reserve. I had no duties, just as a Father to my children and Husband to my beloved Katka. The Summer of '08, I think, I took my Captain's exam and was promoted Lieutenant-Commander a year later."

"When were you given a command of your own?" asked the Ensign.

"Beginning of '09, I believe. My memory, you understand..."

"Of course, Admiral. The ship was?"

"Um, Turbiniya, the Navy bought her off the French, second hand. Steam turbines... 31 knots, but she never did that speed the time I had her. Always breaking down, I remember. 'Turtle-back' fo'castle, shipped a lot of water. We called her 'Lemoniya'. Suited me, because it was always on the slipway being repaired. I could spend more time at home with my family."

"Did you still have a passion, then, for Destroyers? For the sea?" the Ensign asked, having some suspicion he'd uncovered a chink in the Admiral's armour.

"Yes, I still enjoyed the life, but not the screw-ups at the Marine Ministry. Greed and corruption was very bad. There was so much money around, but no-one knew where it was going. It wasn't going to operations I can tell you, we had to beg for supplies."

"Scandalous!"

"Scandalous, yes," agreed the Admiral, "and things have improved so much under the leadership of the Party, haven't they?"

"Yes, of course," the Ensign said. However, something in the old dog's face indicated the statement was intended to be ironic.

Russia was turning into a very different country than existed at the turn of the century. Rapid industrialisation, science, education, a middle class, foreign investment and influence, and consumerism crashed head on against a 1000-year-old Autocratic system of privilege, nobility and rigid Orthodox Christianity.

The 1900s was a good time for the burgeoning middle class, however. There was plenty of money, educational opportunities, jobs, and more things to buy than at any time in Russia's history. With that wealth and education, though, was a demand for a proper representative Democracy.

The many workers that had swarmed to the cities looking for work were relatively content with their life at this time. For all the overcrowding, low wages and poor conditions, life was nevertheless preferable to life in the 'mir.'

Move out to the countryside and the 'other' Russia presented itself. Life in the 'mirs' of Russia had not changed with the times. Life was feudal, back-breaking and one season away from destitution. The grain fields were worked by peasants still tied to their old feudal landlords, by poverty if not in fact. The only outsider a peasant expected to encounter was the travelling Orthodox priest, an integral part of the system that oppressed him. Agriculture in Russia was notoriously inefficient and attempts at freeing up the system by well-meaning reforms had not made any iota of difference.

Not for nothing did the Tsar keep a large part of the immense Russian Army on garrison duty, in Central Asia, the Trans-Caucasus and the Southern Ukraine. These areas could blow-up at any time. Where the rivers Don and Volga bent towards each other in Southern Russia, the Cossacks glowered at the 'igoranoranti' (outsiders/immigrants) and waited for the chance to drive them off the land. Periodic outbreaks of Anti-Semitic violence drove many Jewish communities West into Europe, and further West to America.

But in 1906, as Yvgeny Gorshin and Katka Talsii prepared for their wedding, life was full of pleasant expectations and deep passion.

Katka's infectious giggling filled a room with sound not unlike the crystal wind chimes Yvgeny's Mother was so fond of. She laughed a lot, these days, she was happy.

That is, despite feeling sick sometimes during the day. Dr Pavletich told her it was normal for a woman at this stage of her 'condition' and recommended marriage and an abstention from 'relations'. It was commonly believed that sex during the first month of a pregnancy had risks for the child.

They hadn't told anybody, even Yvgeny's parents, who, in any case, preferred not to be told. Yvgeny was fairly sure they knew anyway, his Mother had a way of finding out things. His Father said she was a witch and knew what he was thinking before he even thought the thought.

But this ban on sex for a month was going to be hard, he pondered. Since they boarded the night train to Riga, barely a day had passed that he hadn't had his dick firmly wedged between her slim legs. Any attempt to 'hold something back for the honeymoon' had been unsuccessful.

For the first few nights after hearing the news, Katka had told him to, 'point it away from her.' Her hand had been clamped between her legs to prevent 'accidents' and she'd asked him not to kiss her nipples and stroke her arse because it 'excited' her.

"Then I might not be able to stop!" she explained, "it's hard for me, too!"

But today had been a good day. They'd been out sailing in the Admiral's sloop, snuggled in the cockpit against the fresh breeze. The Naval orderly brought them lunch, afterwards, and they ate on the balcony watching the ship movements at the Base across the water. The afternoon had seen them exploring along the mud shore to where the estuary begins to open out into the Gulf of Finland. Exhausted, they'd retired to their rooms early. A half an hour later, Katka had slipped into Yvgeny's room dressed in a long dressing gown.

They sat together on the two-seater beside the window. Night was falling earlier and an Autumn chill caused the gas-fires to be lit after dinner. Yvgeny had obtained a tin of English cigarettes, Capstan 'Navy Cut, ' which were growing in popularity in the Russian Navy. He lit one and passed it to Katka. She didn't really like smoking but shared one with Yvgeny occasionally to be social.

Yvgeny had made a joke about sending her back to her parents, seven months pregnant, with the story that, 'she didn't know who the Father was but thought it might be a stoker from Smolensk.' She laughed so hard that her chest shook and her breasts jiggled beneath her nightgown.

"We could do that every year," he suggested, "and tell them it was a Siberian mailman, a Bashkir basketmaker..."

"Stop it!" she laughed, "you're making my ribs hurt! Just because you can't keep your trousers done up."

"Nor can you keep your knees together, apparently."

"I can so!" she replied in mock outrage, "you're a beast, you tore my underwear!"

"Once! And I don't recall you complaining at the time, mmm?"

"No... maybe not!" A broad smile broke out over her face at the recollection.

"You didn't exactly push me off, did you?"

"No." She smiled again and her hands fell to her thighs.

"In fact, I recall you quite liked it."

"Yes!" Her voice was thick, she absently rubbed her thighs. "Yvgeny? I'm sorry we can't..."

"I know," he kissed her on the mouth.

"Because I miss it too... making love." He kissed her again, longer. "I could do it right now," she added, whispering.

"Me too," he whispered back.

"But we can't."

"I know!" He kissed her again, "unless..."

"What?"

"Unless we don't actually..." He kissed her on the throat, forehead and cheek before seeking her lips once more. "There are other ways to... without..."

"Oh!" she replied with growing excitement, "you mean without actually putting..."

"Precisely!" His hands dipped between her legs then rubbed her thighs, suggestively. "I don't recall the Doctor saying that pleasure was off the agenda, mmm?"

"No, he didn't," she grinned.

"For instance..." he said, rising. Getting on his knees in front of her, he ran his hands up her legs, pushing her knees apart. Her dressing gown parted to reveal her shift. This he pushed up till her black bush appeared. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and arousal as she watched Yvgeny.

"You be careful!" she warned. "Oh!"

His tongue descended between her thighs. She started to giggle, then cut herself off as he plunged through her dark pubic hair to discover her moist slit. His fingertips grazed the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She hissed in response, spreading her knees even wider.