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from one assignment to another,
granted and denied favor, chastened and ground upon his chiefs, but yet his
ruthless efficiency saw the ship as tightly wired as it had ever been.
    They
had rendezvoused with the replenishment ship 10 hours ago and taken on
additional live ammunition to replace the rounds they would fire in these
exercises. They were up between Bear Island and Jan Mayen on a cold late summer
day, but they should be in a sheltered inlet where they could best ride out the
coming storm. No use running at sea in a force nine gale, which is exactly what
Rodenko, the ship’s radar man, had predicted over the next several hours.
    His
mind drifted to the likely play of the hours ahead. They would ride out the
storm, then rendezvous with Orel off Jan Mayan and try again, if Slava managed to keep her targeting barges in line it would be a miracle. And as for Kirov ,
what to do about all those extra missiles crated in the holds below? Chief
Martinov was taking far too long to store the munitions properly in the magazine.
The Russian maxim: ‘They pretend to pay us and we pretend to work’ was well
applied to that man. He would have to send Orlov down there to knock a few
heads together if he wanted the missiles all sorted out in the next eight
hours.
    What
would Severomorsk say about the delay, he wondered? The Admiral already seemed
upset over the time lost by this mishap, and it led Karpov to believe that
Volsky was worried about something back home. What could it be, he wondered? A
personal matter? More likely it was something to do with ‘Old Suchkov,’ Chief
of the Navy. He was aging, ten years older than the Admiral, and well past retirement
age. Yet the old guard, as he called them, had been hanging on to power in the
hierarchy above.
    Suchkov
was made Chief of the Navy in 2015, just six years ago, at the age of 68. Now,
at 74, his failing health would prevent him serving out the usual ten year term
at the post. Volsky was next in line, having come up through the mandatory
billets as commander of the Black Sea Fleet, then the Pacific Fleet, and
finally the Northern Fleet. If Suchkov retired, who would replace Volsky as
Fleet Admiral here? Most likely Rogatin. He had moved from Novorossiysk to
Murmansk two years ago, and now was comfortably installed as Suchkov’s Deputy
Chief of Staff.
    The
Captain knew he was a long way from that chair. His normal route, after
finishing at least three years here aboard Kirov , would be to take on a Missile
Ship Division as Chief of Staff, then make Rear Admiral and take over
operations at a base like Severomorsk or Novorossiysk. He would need to collect
his medals, the Order of the Red Star, the Order for Service to the Homeland,
the Order of Military Merits, the Order of Courage. Once he lined up enough
color in the ribbons on his chest he could then begin the final approach to a
Fleet Admiral position, and he would finally have the power he deserved.
    He
shrugged inwardly, thinking what a long and grueling slog it would be. Things
took time in Russia. Things were promised but seldom delivered in Russia.
Things too often had a way of going wrong, just like this simple live fire
exercise. Karpov had already started courting the favor of men like Rogatin
back home, thinking to get in with the man and possibly skip a few chairs. For
now, he was proud of his post here aboard Kirov , and determined to make
the most of the opportunity. He was finally out of the ranks of junior
officers, a man to be respected and reckoned with, or so he believed.
    Yet
Dostoevsky’s line about old habits was all too true where the Captain was
concerned : ‘The second half of a man's life is made up of nothing but the
habits he has acquired during the first half.’ Now that he had been made First
Captain of the ship, he sometimes repeated the foibles and jaded manners of the
old Gazprom executive class he had come from, bending the rules to suit him,
and exercising more license than he might have