Counterforce

by Richard P. Henrick

  Sucking in his breath, he looked up as the van disappeared around the corner and the other pedestrians caught up with him.

  “Do you believe that fool?” cried a shocked babushka.

  “The total idiots they allow on the roads nowadays. Just the other day a limousine almost ran me down on this exact same corner.”

  “Are you all right. Comrade?” offered a fragile, grayhaired old man, who held onto a packed mesh bag much like Valenko’s.

  “Where is the militia when you really need them?”

  Thanking the elder for his concern, Valenko offered an explanation.

  “I guess I was in such a hurry to cross that I failed to see the van miss the light. I’ll have to be extra cautious next time.”

  “That’s something each of us needs in abundance these days,” returned the old-timer.

  “The dangers of living in a modern city are just tremendous. You take care, young man.”

  Accepting this fatherly advice, Valenko pushed on.

  As he began his way down the street he desired, he passed by the babushka who was still animatedly conversing with herself.

  “That limousine missed me by only inches. Probably some high-brow Party chief was inside, late for a date with his mistress. These days an individual life just means nothing. Now, in the old days, how different things were…”

  The old woman’s words soon faded as he quickened his pace. Upon rounding the next corner, he found himself sliding uncontrollably on a patch of thick ice.

  Awkwardly, he caught his balance. Life on land is more dangerous than it is 1,000 meters beneath the sea, Valenko thought. He finally saw the brightly lit windows of the shop he was looking for, less than a quarter of a kilometer distant. He breathed a sigh of relief only upon being certain that the doors to the Pushkin Toy Store were definitely open for business.

  Gorshkov Street was located near the large park Valenko had passed on his way from the base. He knew it well, for it was home to a number of naval personnel, especially those with families. Dominated by a dozen rather ugly steel high-rises, the street offered both excellent access to the port facilities and to Petropavlovsk’s central park.

  By the time he reached number thirteen, Valenko was anxious to gain respite from the biting cold. With numbed feet and hands, he gratefully ducked into the main hallway of the building. Here, relief was almost instantaneous. Luxuriating in the warmth, he was greeted by a wrinkle-faced duty woman.

  “Good evening, young man. Can I help you?”

  Valenko spotted the woman. She was seated behind a tiny, cluttered desk beside the elevator.

  “Yes, Comrade, I’m here to visit the Kuzmins.”

  “Well then, sir, first I’ll need to have your name.

  Are they expecting you?”

  Making the most of her lowly position of authority, she eyed the newcomer suspiciously while readying her notebook.

  “I’m Captain Valenko, and yes — the Kuzmins’ are expecting me.”

  “Ah, an officer no less,” observed the old-timer as she carefully wrote this information down.

  “Well, enjoy yourself. They are certainly a lovely family.”

  As he approached the elevator, the duty woman again spoke out.

  “I’m afraid that lift won’t be doing you much good. It hasn’t worked properly since the day it was installed. The stairs are right here to your left” Expecting as much, Valenko found the stairway and began his way up to the third floor. The effects of the biting cold had completely dissipated by the time he reached the door marked 301. He knocked and, almost immediately, the door swung open.

  “Captain Valenko?” greeted a tall, attractive young woman, whose exotic, almond-shaped eyes instantly held his stare.

  Almost shyly, Valenko nodded.

  “That’s me. You must be Galina. And all this time I thought Stefan was bragging about your beauty.”

  Guiding a strand of long black hair behind her ear, she responded with a slight blush.

  “Actually, I’m Ivana, Galina’s sister. Does the compliment still stand, though?”

  “Of course it does,” Valenko said, but his smile revealed a hint of embarrassment.

  As she beckoned him inside, he quickly took in the apartment’s cramped yet cozy ambience. Serving as a combined living and dining area, the room he entered featured a large sofa, with two stuffed chairs filling the far corner and a fully set dinner table placed before them. Several tasteful landscapes were hung on the walla, while a familiar, haunting symphony echoed from the radio.

  “That’s Borodin, isn’t it?” he asked as he allowed himself to be led toward the couch.

  “Actually, it’s his Symphony Number Two in B minor,” Ivana returned matter-of factly “Ah, In the Steppes of Central Asia,” Valenko continued fondly.

  “It’s been much too long since I’ve heard this piece. As a youth, it was my very favorite.”

  “As it was mine,” revealed his escort, who stood beside him while he took a seat.

  “In my opinion, very few composers have captured the spirit of the Motherland as well as Alexander Borodin.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  “When I was a lad, my father would put this record on the victrola and I would lie there and picture myself riding with the Tartar horsemen.”

  “To me it has always been the song of the untouched woods and mountains,” Ivana countered.

  “Even on the coldest of nights, I can listen to this piece and instantly transform myself deep into the spring oak wood.”

  A particularly haunting melody emanated from the speakers, and both listeners silently soaked it in. It was Valenko who broke the spell.

  “You know, Stefan didn’t mention anything about having other guests present. Where is he, by the way?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ivana said.

  “Both proud parents are busy preparing little Nikolai for his first formal dinner party. Actually, Stefan didn’t even know that I would be here. I was offered a break in my studies, and took this chance to help my sister out while Stefan was at sea.”

  “And where are you attending school?”

  “At the Institute of Music in Kiev,” answered Ivana.

  “If all goes well, I should be teaching by next spring.”

  “That is a most admirable profession. I didn’t realize that I was sitting here discussing Borodin with an expert.”

  His remark caused a broad smile to cross Ivana’s face. Taking in her natural, innocent beauty, Valenko found his attraction growing.

  Something in the way she met his attentive stare reflected a mutual feeling.

  The unexpected cries of a baby sounded, and they both turned in time to see Stefan Kuzmin enter from the adjoining bedroom. Nestled proudly in his arms was a squirming, blond-haired infant, dressed in a navy blue sailor’s suit.

  “Good evening, Captain,” Stefan said excitedly.

  “I hope we haven’t kept you too long.”

  “Nonsense,” said Valenko as he rose from the comfortable couch.

  “Ivana was being a perfectly charming hostess.”

  Following Stefan was a thin, attractive woman.

  There could be no doubt as to her identity. Except for a rather short hair style, her deepset dark eyes and other exotic features were an exact match of the woman who stood beside him.

  Stefan Kuzmin gathered them all together and began the introductions.

  “Galina, at long last you’re to meet the man I’ve told you so much about, our illustrious Captain Valenko.”

  “That’s Petyr to all of you,” Valenko instructed. He greeted Galina with a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

  “This meeting has been most anticipated by me, also,” he added.

  “Your husband is very proud of you, and rightfully so.”

  A high-pitched whine of protest followed, and Kuzmin lifted the bundle he had been carefully holding.

  “No, little fellow, we haven’t forgotten you. Nikolai Petrovich Kuzmin, meet your est
eemed godfather.”

  Stefan handed his son to Valenko, who cradled him a bit awkwardly at first. “Don’t be afraid, he won’t break,” Galina advised.

  Not accustomed to handling such a fragile, valuable load, Valenko was a bit uncomfortable. It was only after meeting the youngster’s pale blue, inquisitive stare that his apprehensions eased. When the youngster’s face lit up with a happy grin and the little fellow cooed a gurgling welcome, the captain instantly relaxed. By the time the first bottle of champagne was opened and the appetizers served, the two were well on the way to becoming the best of pals. Their friendship was sealed when Valenko reached down into his mesh sack and removed a long, rectangular box wrapped in bright red paper. The lad had a great time tearing the wrapping off, but needed his mother’s expert hands to remove the gray plastic, cylindrical object securely packed inside of an inner box.

  “Why, it’s a submarine!” Galina exclaimed as Nikolai eagerly placed its conical hull into his toothless mouth.

  “Don’t worry, the people at Pushkin’s say that it’s supposedly child-proof,” Valenko said.

  “It’s even guaranteed to crash dive in the bathtub, or your money back.”

  “She doesn’t look like one of ours. Skipper,” Kuzmin reflected.

  “It better not be,” the captain retorted.

  “Only the greedy Americans would be so foolish as to allow the Japanese to make representations of their latest nuclear craft for children to play with.”

  “Now, that’s enough submarine talk!” Galina said forcefully.

  “Tonight I would like nothing better than to keep the conversation as far away from your duty as possible. Have you tried the pickled beets as yet?

  Ivana prepared them from our mother’s own recipe.”

  Taking the hint, Valenko picked up a cocktail fork, speared one of the beets, and chewed it down.

  “Very tasty. Tell me, ladies, is your mother a good cook?”

  “The best,” Ivana answered.

  “Even with her limited supply and budget. Mother could put together a week’s meals and never serve you the same thing twice.”

  Galina continued.

  “It’s a wonder we’re both not tat as hogs. Breads and pastries were her specialty.”

  Suddenly reminded, Valenko reached forward and picked up his cotton sack.

  “Earlier in the day, I’m afraid I got carried away in the local bakery.

  Do you think that you could put these loaves to use? With me, they’ll only go stale.”

  He handed the bread to Galina, who checked their composition and beamed.

  “This is an absolute treasure!

  Are you certain that you want to give them up?”

  Valenko waved away her objection.

  “Believe it or not, all I wanted was an oatmeal cookie anyway. You know, the clerk there didn’t even want to take my money. Since when are naval personnel treated so specially here?”

  “You must have gotten lucky,” observed Galina.

  “Most of the townspeople only want our rubles. Half of the time, all we hear is their constant grumbling that we are the cause of the city’s pollution and traffic problems. As if Petropavlovsk would be the city it is without the navy’s presence. Why, it would just be a backward Siberian outpost without us.”

  The captain consumed another sip of champagne before answering.

  “You are probably right. I have been here for several years longer than yourselves and I have watched the city grow as the navy’s presence has continually increased. Yet, I could have sworn that I was picking up a new spirit here today. I’ve never encountered so many friendly strangers before.”

  “Perhaps they’re on their best behavior because of the General Secretary’s visit,” Galina reckoned.

  “One thing we know is that the cleaning crews have sure been out in force.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice such crews at the base, also,” Kuzmin reflected.

  “They’re painting everything that doesn’t move.”

  “You know, Galina may have hit upon something,” Ivana said.

  “Viktor Rodin’s visit here may have opened the townspeople’s eyes.

  Surely they realize how important the navy is to them now. The eyes of the entire world will be focused on Petropavlovsk solely because of this facility’s existence. By the way as members of the armed forces, what do you think of the upcoming summit meeting?”

  Kuzmin looked blankly at his captain; it was obvious that neither of them knew what she was talking about. Ivana realized this and continued.

  “I’ve forgotten where you’ve been for the last two months! In a nutshell, about five weeks ago the new American President, Robert Palmer, invited Viktor Rodin to meet with him in Los Angeles. The supposed subject of this summit is the instantaneous freezing of all new strategic missile systems, and the creation of a concrete timetable for the gradual elimination of those nuclear warheads already in service.”

  “Most impressive,” Valenko said thoughtfully.

  Kuzmin shook his head in disgust. “If you ask me, it sounds like more imperialist propaganda. Whenever their presidents take office, the first thing they inevitably do is throw the standard olive branch toward the Soviet Union. They may talk peace, but I guarantee you that work on their MX missiles and Star Wars platforms will go on, regardless.”

  “I beg to differ with you, dear brother-in-law. This may have been the case in the 1960’s or 70’s, but today a new generation of leaders guides both countries. All over the world, the people cry out for peace. Ridiculously high military budgets have broken the economies of too many nations, and the average citizen has had enough.

  “Our General Secretary has voiced his own frustrations.

  Though he has only been in office a few months more than the new U.S. President, his unprecedented actions are already changing the direction of the Motherland. For the first time ever, defense spending has actually decreased, while consumer expenditures are on the rise.”

  “It sounds to me like we’re asking for trouble,” Kuzmin mumbled.

  Ivana reacted instantly to this.

  “That is precisely the paranoid thinking that has gotten us into this mess! We don’t need any more nuclear bombs; neither do the Americans.

  Their people are just as tired of the arms race as ours. Don’t forget that Robert Palmer ran on a strong anti-military platform. No U.S. President since Reagan has ever won so decisively.

  Just give these two dynamic young leaders a chance to meet eye-to-eye.

  They’ll come up with something constructive.”

  Impressed with Ivana’s thoughts, Valenko’s attraction to her intensified.

  “I see that somebody has been doing their political-science homework.

  For the sake of little Nikolai here, I hope that your optimistic view of world affairs comes to pass, Ivana. Until it does, Stefan and I can only do what we do best to insure this fragile peace.”

  “Anyone ready for dinner?” Galina asked.

  Not hearing a word of protest, she picked up the baby and led the way into the dining area.

  Valenko was positively ravenous by the time they sat down at the table.

  The varied platters of food that soon followed didn’t disappoint him in the least. The conversation was of a much lighter nature as they plowed into their borscht. The rich beet soup was another favored recipe of the girls’ mother. Valenko found that a spoonful of sour cream perfectly accented the tart, sweet broth. Stefan Kuzmin made certain that the champagne continued to flow. They were well into their third bottle by the time the main course was brought out.

  Never had beef stroganoff tasted so delicious. Presented on a platter of wide egg noodles, the meat was tender enough to cut with a fork.

  Served alongside was a bowl filled with steamed carrots and string beans. It had been much too long since the submariners had tasted fresh vegetables, and the two men joyfully indulged themselves. A cup of strong black coffee and a slice of
spicy apple tart completed the feast. All through the meal, little Nikolai sat in his wooden highchair, content with his bottle and the company surrounding him. By dessert’s end, the lad was fast asleep.

  While the girls began clearing the table, Stefan volunteered to put the baby to bed. Valenko accompanied him into the apartment’s only apparent bedroom.

  With barely enough room for their own double mattress and a single vanity, they had just managed to squeeze a crib up against the far wall. As he watched the proud papa kiss his son lightly on the cheek and then tuck him in, Valenko found new respect for his warrant officer. Stefan Kuzmin had certainly done well for himself. In such an environment, Nikolai couldn’t help but grow into a fine young man.

  He held this thought as he seated himself in one of the two chairs set on either end of the couch. The girls were still busy in the kitchen as Stefan rummaged through an antique wooden cabinet and extracted a large bottle and four crystal glasses.

  “I hope you have left some room for this cherry brandy. Galina brought it back from Kiev after her last visit.”

  “Stefan, I don’t know where I’m going to put it-but pour away.

  Comrade.”

  Both men were totally at ease as Kuzmin raised his glass in a toast. “To my son’s godfather — may Nikolai grow up in his likeness.”

  Not to be outdone, Valenko took a sip of the potent liquor and then offered his own toast. “To my new friends. May health and happiness haunt these walls always.”

  This time, after the sips were consumed, both men sat back. A moment of contemplative silence passed before Kuzmin anxiously caught Valenko’s eye.

  “There’s something that I think you should know about. Captain. Chief Chuchkin called here earlier, asking if I knew the whereabouts of Senior Lieutenant Leonov. When I explained that I supposed he was with his fiance, the Chief clued me in on some disturbing news. It seems that Comrade Leonov’s girlfriend defected to the U.S. last month with a Western journalist she had been having an affair with. Several of the crew are currently scouring the city to see how Leonov is taking the news.”

  Valenko winced.

  “That is a most tragic tale, Stefan, in more ways than one. You see, it was my big mouth that urged Vasili to ask the girl to marry him during this shore leave. The poor guy must be heartbroken!”