Mutiny: The True Events That Inspired The Hunt for Red October

On the other hand, if enlisted crewmen mostly come from the smaller towns and farms, they’re drafted for a three-year term, and except for about twenty-two weeks of shoreside basic training they learn all their skills aboard ship at sea, where just about every minute of their time is rigidly planned. If they aren’t in their cubricks tending to their uniforms or sleeping, they are supposed to be in training, working, or listening to political lectures. Stuff like hanging out for a smoke and a chat with friends, maybe playing a game of cards or lingering over a cup of tea, is strongly discouraged, though these boys are sometimes pretty inventive and every now and then they do find the time for a diversion, the main purpose of which is to get out of work.

Most of them are eighteen or nineteen when they come out to the fleet and are country bumpkins or unsophisticated rustics, what are called muzhiks. And most of them are ignorant, because they’ve grown up in households with no access to television. They know nothing about life in their own country, let alone the outside world. They are naive kids, prostofiljas, and that includes an almost total lack of knowledge about sex. There is no such thing as sex education in Russian schools, nor is the subject ever discussed by parents. Such a thing is simply too embarrassing.

One day a senior sailor from BCH-3 hands a bucket to one of the younger kids and tells him that he has to climb the ladder to the top of the crow’s nest, what is called the observation bridge, remove the uterus up there, put it in the bucket, and bring it back. The kid doesn’t have a clue what the hell a uterus might be, it’s enough that a senior sailor has given him a job to do, and he’ll be damned if he’ll admit he doesn’t know.

“Do you understand your assignment?” he’s asked.

He nods. Of course he understands. But the moment the senior sailor goes away, the kid runs back to his cubrick to find out what he’s supposed to do. By the time he’s finally told exactly what a uterus is and what it does, just about every senior sailor aboard ship is falling on the deck with laughter, while all the other junior sailors are wondering when it’ll be their turn.

Like when one of the senior sailors from Gindin’s section hands one of the new kids a cloth bag.

“Are you aware that there’ll be a major disinfection for medical purposes throughout the entire ship first thing tomorrow morning?” the senior asks.

Of course the muzhik knows nothing about any medical drill, but he nods. After all the sailors aboard ship have gone to bed for the night, the kid is supposed to collect their toothbrushes in the bag and leave it at Dr. Sadakov’s door. The boy does what he’s told. In the morning all the sailors aboard ship get out of their bunks to clean up before exercises, but no one can find his toothbrush. What’s going on? Dr. Sadakov arrives at his dispensary, where he finds a big bag of toothbrushes with no note, and he has to wonder what the hell is going on.

After all is said and done, the young sailor’s boss gives him a very good piece of advice: “Be smarter next time. Try to actually use your brain instead of merely carrying it around.” On the other hand, Russians carry their souls just under their skin. It’s a common heritage, as an old Russian proverb provides: We are all related; the same sun dries our rags.

Mischa Mihailov was one of the typical sailors aboard the Storozhevoy in that he was average in just about everything he did. Gindin recalls that Mischa never showed any passion for his work, though he did have some fairly good basic knowledge of the machinery. If he could get out of a job, he would do it without a moment’s hesitation.

But Mischa could play the guitar and sing Russian songs until there wasn’t a dry eye in his cubrick. Whenever he had time off, usually just before bed, the other sailors would beg him to sing. Especially one particular song that back on base was played all the time on the radio:

Our duty was tough today, carried out
Far from Russia, far from Russia.
Every day we sacrifice our lives
Far from Russia, far from Russia.

The song had been approved by the Kremlin just for sailors like those aboard the Storozhevoy, and whenever it was played everyone, sailors and officers alike, couldn’t help but get a little misty-eyed.

“It was glorifying and praising us for the tough job we did far from home,” Gindin says. “It represented the value and the morality of our Soviet system, and what was important and what deserved to be honored.

“It uplifted our spirits, made us proud of what we did far from our homes and families. It gave us an incredible sense of accomplishment that our people and our government knew and appreciated how difficult our mission was.”