Three Kings

Seeing he was as useless here as legs on a snake, Orlov shrugged and edged out through the hatch, thinking he might need to get to the bridge and inform Rodenko of the problem. Then he realized that Dobrynin would simply use his intercom, which would save him that long climb all the way up to the citadel, so he started off towards the mess hall instead.

Every step he took was a benefit to Dobrynin and his badly spooked reactor crews. Every step he took carried that thing in his pocket just a little farther aft, another few feet away from the tempestuous fire of the nuclear core of the ship, and when he took a ladder up, entering the helo bay level, the thick reinforced bulkhead there designed to protect the ship from fuel explosions made things even better. He was outside the armored core of the ship surrounding the engineering section, and Chief Dobrynin’s morning would begin to settle down almost immediately.

Orlov thought he might go up yet another level and grab a sweet bun with raisins and a nice black tea for his mid-morning snack, but when he got to the mess hall he saw that a mishman had eaten the last bun. History would never record a moment like that, when a young man’s appetite for sweet rolls, or Orlov’s appetite for something to cure his boredom, would suddenly change everything again. When the ship’s bakery chef spread the last bit of icing on that roll, he could not know that he was sculpting the contours of the history of World War II from that moment forward.

The simple fact was that PavelGavlik took a second roll that morning, the last roll, and Orlov found nothing left but the empty bakery bin. So he wandered one deck higher, soon finding himself near the helo bay when he might have stayed right there in the mess hall, munching his roll and drinking black tea for the next half an hour-and that made all the difference. Was it the roll, or the Chief’s restless curiosity when he saw the elevated energy level in the aft helo bay that morning?

“Hey, Zykov, what’s going on? Why is everyone suiting up?” He could see a group of Marines donning special lightcamo — suits, and the weapons lockers were all open. Machine guns, grenade launchers, ammo canisters and other equipment were being pulled out and checked by the men. Off in the distance he heard the gruff voice of Sergeant Troyak riding someone for a sloppy rifle cleaning procedure, and the whole scene brought back memories of those first hours when he had been busted in rank and dumped here in the helo bay to join the Marine contingent.

“Orlov!” Zykov seemed eager to see him. “Just the man we need right now. Hey, Big K, the Chief is here!”

Troyak was Big K, at least to Zykov, who called him that instead of using his rank as an easy handle, or his real first name, Kandemir. The Sergeant stuck his head around the open door of a weapons locker and gave Orlov a scowl.

“Orlov. Good man on the job! I need you to get an Oko panel installed on the KA-40, with an infrared sensor suite. Can you do it? Kymkov is in sick bay and nobody else knows what they’re doing here.” He glared at his Marines, who shirked away, tending to their weapons and packs.

Orlov had been wandering below decks all morning, listless, brooding, thinking about that silly ride he had taken in the zeppelin and musing on the fact that Karpov was still out there somewhere doing the same thing. It seemed comical to him, that the once mighty Captain of the world’s most powerful ship was now relegated to the status of an airship commandant. Serves him right, he had thought.

Everyone on the ship seemed busy that morning, except Orlov. All he had to do was roam about and kibitz with one section Chief after another until his Bridge watch would come up in another six hours. He was bored, but now he finally had something to do.

“ Oko panel? You going somewhere?”

“Never mind where we’re going, Orlov. Can you mount the damn radar panel or do I have to collar a matoc to get the job done?”

“Vsezayebalo!” said Orlov, swearing as he often did. “Of course I can mount a stupid Oko panel. Just let me grab a few men to fetch it from the bay.”

“I’ve already done that, but they can’t sort out the damn cable connections. It’s over by the KA-40. See about it, will you Chief?”

Orlov nodded. What the fuck, he thought, sick of Troyak’s bluster. Where did he get off ordering me around, eh? But it really doesn’t matter. I need something to do, and now I’ve finally got something to keep my hands busy for the next twenty minutes. Who knows, maybe I can work my way aboard and have some more fun with Troyak and his damn Marines.

Zykov grinned at him as he went to the helo, and Orlov was sick of him too. But what were the Marines up to? Why was everyone getting rigged out as if they were about to storm the barricades? That was an idle curiosity that would soon change the lives of millions… a man with a sweet tooth, a missing roll, and Orlov.