Chapter 4

"Damn!" Commander Gorshin said, "Fedyunsky? Can you summon Roscoe?"

He looked again through the periscope, increased magnification, and looked again. World War 2 submarines were sure cluttered on deck, he thought, and clearly designed more for use on the surface.

The I-5 class Japanese submarine was painted a dark green. The fin was relatively small but it had a large cylinder on the foredeck he assumed was the hangar for the aircraft. An upraised rail led from the hangar to the bows, evidently some kind of catapault or means of sliding the plane into the water. Aft of the fin was a deck gun, fully exposed, with the barrel clamped down to the deck. Fore and aft of the fin, the deck was flat and there was a handrail for the crew. The Japanese ensign fluttered from a small mast astern and another painted on the fin for aircraft recognition. A cluster of masts atop the fin was most likely two periscopes, a radio mast and possibly a schnorkel for recharging the batteries at periscope depth.

From the aft fin rail the Japanese had rigged an awning, lashed by long ropes to the base of the flagstaff. Gorshin could see several crew, stripped to the waist, wandering about on deck or lying, as if sunbathing.

"Wazzup, skip?" Roscoe entered 3C, breezily.

"Look?" Gorshin offered the periscope, frowning.

"Aha, aha!" Roscoe said, "it looks dead to me. Whatya think?"

"It's adrift. No sign of a diesel exhaust. Their engines are stopped and they're not going anywhere. I think they're out of fuel and most likely their batteries are exhausted. They seemed to be preparing to sit it out."

"Tough, huh? Just waiting there until their water and supplies run out and they all die of thirst. Kinda brings a tear to the eye, doesn't it?"

"What can we do to help them, Commander?" Fedyunsky asked.

"Sink 'em, put them out of their misery. It'll be the kind thing to do!" suggested Roscoe.

"If we surface," Gorshin said, ignoring Roscoe's comment, "then, no doubt, they'll open fire with their gun. What type of gun is it, Roscoe?"

"A 5.5 inch, skip, and they'll likely have a pom pom somewhere. They often do in case of attack by aircraft."

"That's a big enough shell to do damage to our hull," Gorshin said, "we can't risk it. We'll move inshore and anchor. That'll be beyond the range of their guns. That must be, what 15,000 metres out?"

"At least, sir," agreed Fedyunsky.

"Then let's move away."

When Pavlov tapped on the door of Chino's cabin, the reply was dull and lifeless. Chino was naturally exuberant and 'out there.' To hear her so down had the Russian lieutenant worried.

When he entered, he found Chino had torn the bottom of her borrowed shirt and tied the ends tightly above her midriff. Her loose trousers she'd shortened above the knee and handstitched darts in the sides so they hugged her around the hips. Pavlov was taken aback by her appearance and his eyes were drawn to the 6 inches of pale soft flesh exposed by her tailoring.

"Are you all right?" Pavlov asked her.

"Kinda!" she replied, unenthusiatically, "when are you going after the other girls?"

"Soon, not sure. We have a slight hiccup."

"Oh?"

"There's a hostile submarine not far off. It's drifting, out of fuel, but still might present a danger."

"Hostile?"

"It's from the 2nd World War. It still thinks it's fighting the Americans."

"This world is weird, so weird! It's like some crazy backwater and all these guys end up drifting here from somewhere else. Some think they're fighting wars with each other. Some probably think they're back in the days of the Crusades, I don't know. They're all trying to figure out where they are and what's happening. There's a bunch of crazy natives stealing everything they can... where the Hell did they come from, huh? Where do they think they are?"

"Don't know," he shrugged, "they may be the only indigenous people. They may have evolved, adapted, to this world as best they can. Maybe there's others like them? Small communities, raiding back and forth, stealing what they can to survive. Perhaps that's what man has become after all these centuries? No more than hunters and gatherers?"

"Like some big circle? Around and around and back to the beginning once again. Then people invent stuff, build cities, and the whole mess starts all over again. Some crazy kind of Hindu reincarnation, with the 'wheel of existance'?"

"Who knows, Chino?"

"Are you a Christian?" she asked, suddenly, startling the young lieutenant.

"Um... my parents started going to church after the fall of the Soviet Union. Suddenly it was okay, and lots of folks went back to religion. I... I'm kinda not so sure, myself. I've been to church with my parents... Easter, Mass. But I can't say I'm convinced it makes much difference."

"Mass, huh? Catholic?"

"Russian Orthodox."

"Kinda the same thing, isn't it? They have priests and incense, saints, statues of the Virgin..."

"Icons, yes, I guess it's much the same. We have a Holy Communion, but our calender's different. There's the Feast of Basileus, I don't think you have that."

"No. My Dad was Catholic and I went to a Catholic high school. My Mom wasn't that bothered either way. She's Norwegian. I guess the Norwegians aren't that big on religion."

"Not sure," Pavlov shrugged.

"You married?" Chino asked.

"Um... I was hoping to, someday. I have a girlfriend back home. We wanted to get married but, you know, the Navy is tough on families. We could be away 6 months at a time."

"Yeah, I wouldn't put up with that. Is she pretty?"

"Oh yes, very," Pavlov grinned, "she's 19 and a student. Her name is Zina and she's from Saint Petersburg. I met her when I was in the Marines, based at Khronstadt. We lived together for a time, off base. But, I got offered sea duty on Akulas. The pay was much better. I thought we could save for a house..." Pavlov sat thinking for a time, head bowed.

Eventually, he looked up and continued. "We had a manpower shortage on some of the specialist vessels, such as this, back in 03. My commander received a request for volunteers to take tests to see if they were suitable for life on board submarines. They're not to everyone's taste, y'know. They're a closed world, all male, and you have to live like monks for months on end. We rarely visit foreign ports, unlike surface veseels, because we are so menacing. Some countries won't accept nuclear powered and armed warships. Also security. These missile boats are very secret. Not that it makes any difference now. Everything's fucked and what point was there if all we're going to have is a world like this?" he looked upward.

"I so know what you mean," Chino replied, "we're so good at telling everyone how they should run things, huh!"

"We Russians were trying to rebuild our empire," Pavlov told her, "we had huge amounts of oil and gas and we used that to bully everyone. For a 1000 years we've been pushing people around and then we wonder why they don't want to be friends. Putin was KGB and will always be KGB. The only thing he knows is kicking ass."

"At least you've now got democracy," Chino said.

"We don't have democracy," Pavlov spat, "we have the press. The press tells everyone what to think and the Government pays them. Nothing changes, only the flag."

"Johnny?" Chino said, her voice plaintive, "do you think my folks might have survived? I mean, they could have been rescued by a passing ship?"

"Possible, Chino, but it's a big ocean. I don't discount anything anymore."

"You will look?"

"We'll check out everything we see. We hope to sail to the coast of America. Probably, there's some kind of civilisation there."

"Yeah! It'll be all futuristic and they'll have transporters and warp drive like 'Star Trek.' Y'know what I'm talking about?"

"Sure, 'Star Trek.' We get American shows. I think we have them onboard. They have lots of DVDs of American shows in the recreation room. 'Star Trek' is a favourite. Dubbed in Russian."

"Russian? How do you translate Klingon into Russian? This I've just got to see? Got any dope?"

"Dope?"

"Marijuana? We should get ripped and watch Star Trek in Russian. I reckon it could be a hoot."

"You smoke marijuana?"

"All the kids do where I come from. We score it from the 'chicos' down at the mall."

"Chicos?"

"Latinos, Mexicans. I use to hang out with a Mexican, y'know that? His name was Ricardo, Ricky, and he was just so hot. He's nineteen, really into leather, and rides a motorbike. He'd take me for rides... mom would kill me if she ever found out."

"I can understand that," Pavlov smiled, "I have a bike back home. It's a trail bike, a KTM. In Winter you can't ride because of the ice and snow."

"Hey, Johnny, you can take me for a ride anytime." She grinned so sexily Pavlov nearly fell off his seat.

"You come on to guys like that all the time?" he asked.

"Only cute ones. Why not? I can look after myself."

"There's 160 young guys on this ship..."

"I've noticed!"

"And you are the only girl. I'd be very careful how you behave in front of them if I were you."

"Why? Jealous, Johnny?"

"Chino... uh... these guys haven't seen a girl in three months. You any idea what you'd do to them flirting like that?"

"Of course I do," she laughed, "they get boners!"

"I... uh... can't be there all the time to fend them off."

"So why would you want to?" she smiled.

"I don't want to see you getting into something you can't handle. Nor do I want the discipline on this vessel to fall to pieces. It's difficult enough without you slinking about half naked."

"You like my outfit?" she grinned, holding her arms up.

"Of course, and 160 guys will say the same thing."

"Oh, way cool!"

"Ok," he shook his head and spread a map out on the folding table. "I had this printed out. I want you to look over it and tell me if you think anything's wrong. It's most important, our lives might depend on it."

"Oh, no pressure, right?" she grinned, "ok, sure, um... I used to be good at map reading, orienteering. These are the elevations?" Pavlov nodded, "well, it seems to be about right." Chino leaned across the table studying the map. Pavlov was struck by a wave of scent, faintly jasmin, and wondered where she'd found it on board. "Aha, aha..." she repeated. "Y'know there's an old vent? Up there. It's steep but you can squeeze down it. I saw it when I was out exploring."

"Vent, huh?" Pavlov said, suddenly interested, "where does it come out?"

"Above this, like, communal cavern. It's where they have meals and stuff. There was always a Chinese bitch guarding the passage to where we slept. She had a rifle slung over her shoulder and a strip of bamboo she used to hit us with."

"Why hit you?"

"I think they try and break our spirits, y'know? No-one fucks with me like that, I tell you. You go there and jam that bamboo up her asshole!"

"Huh!" he chuckled, "how big is this vent?"

"Um, yeah, I think you'll have trouble, big bones. It's just big enough for me."

"Well, that's no use then."

"Well, um, maybe I need to come along, then?"

"Certainly not, Chino. You're not trained..."

"Crap, Johnny! I've done rock climbing, orienteering... want to see some Judo, huh? I'm already a brown belt."

"Chino, this is not a confidence course nor 'Treasure Island.' These guys are armed and mean business. It's no place for a 16 year old girl."

"You're fullashit, Johnny. Y'think I can't handle myself..."

"Chino!"

"... just because I'm a girl?"

"I never said..."

"Y'wanna fight, huh? Y'want some moves?" Chino stood and came around the table, hands up and fists clenched. "Y'fancy y'self, huh?" she bobbed, "c'mon, try and slap me again, huh, huh?" Chino swatted at his face, catching Pavlov around the cheek. He stood angrily, whirled, and stormed out the door.

"Fedyunsky!" Gorshin yelled, "I've got an idea. We gather up as many bottles of water we can and hitch them to a couple of inflatable bouys. We then sail underneath that Japanese submarine, like so, then blow them out the escape hatch!"

"Ok," Fedyunsky thought, "then they come up alongside their boat and they hook them in with gaffes?"

"Exactly!"

"Then what, sir? They're still dead in the water and we've no diesel to offer them."

"We surface, like so," he showed him with his hands, "we stay fine on his bow so he can't train either his deck gun or torpedo tubes. We then raise the ensign and suggest a parlay."

"Well, sir, that would be fine, except, will they recognise the modern Russian flag, sir? They may mistake us for Dutch, perhaps? There were free Dutch forces fighting alongside the Americans, remember? Several submarines escaped from the Dutch East Indies and sailed to Freemantle, Australia. They might think we're one of them? I would in their place."

"It's hard to believe they'd mistake the Retvizan for a Dutch K boat, Fedyunsky, but I take your point. I still have the Retvizan's original ensign in my office. I souvenired it when we got our new colours. Perhaps we could use it instead? The old Soviet flag? We hadn't declared war on them in 1943, a fact Roscoe is keen to keep reminding me of. We'd be neutrals, in that case, and they'd have no reason to fire on us."

"They might need the practice, sir? Or they could just be in a nasty mood after getting lost and running out of gas? There's no telling what they would do. Is it wise risking the ship in this way? The Japanese Imperial forces were a pretty fanatical and fatalistic bunch. I think Roscoe's right not to trust them an inch."

"We can cover them with our stern tubes?"