Liberators

Blockade Runners

Chapter Twelve: Blockade Runners

Aboard the submarine K-311

Somewhere in the Kara Sea

October 7, 2008 1000 Rivymiyitevko time (0600 Krakozhian time)

“How are our guests doing, Doctor?”

“We pulled them out of the water just in time, Captain,” replied Captain Third Rank Vadim Chesianka, the ship’s doctor. “Had we delayed their rescue for thirty seconds or more, we would have picked up their frozen corpses.”

The four survivors of the Hryvnia’s sinking had been immediately rushed to the doctor’s cabin, where he quickly set to work warming their bodies up. They were now in a specially prepared storeroom that was heated at a balmy thirty degrees Celsius.

“That powdered soup formula for hypothermia victims made by our laboratories was a complete success,” Chesianka continued. “It restored our guests’ body heat and replenished their bodily fluids. They are ready for possible interrogation,” he added in a lower voice.

“No, Vadim, we will not interrogate them,” Sheshenko replied immediately. “They are not Rivymiyitevko rebels; they are Russian and Ukrainian nationals. And we can’t just push them around after saving their lives. I’m very concerned about that Yefremov kid; I hear that he’s the son of a Russian Duma member.”

“But how are we supposed to know why that Polnocny approached them?”

“I’ll let Goran take care of it. He’s so good; he can make a tree talk.”

Sonolovichyrevko, Rivymiyitevko

That same time

“You are a lucky woman, Ekaterina,” said Konstantin Benin as Domshomidova stepped out of her personal helicopter. “You left the Kazimir Delesov just before it was sunk by Krakozhian submarines.”

“But that submarine also sank your friend Alenko’s vessel,” she replied. “If he somehow survived, and they somehow rescued him, your secret stash will be a secret no more.”

“My dear sister, you still have much to learn,” said Benin. “Never rely on only a few vehicles to supply yourself. I have submarines shuttling the supplies provided for us by our Russian friend just in case the Krakozhians step up their pitiful excuse for a blockade.”

Aboard the submarine K-311

Somewhere in the Kara Sea

That same time

Lieutenant Goran Pavlovich Marenko was the sonar supervisor for the K-311, but right now his deputy had taken his place for the current watch. While he was trying to sleep in his bunk, Captain Sheshenko had asked him if he could talk to the survivors of the Hryvnia’s sinking. Goran agreed, and that was why he was on his way to the galley, where the man named Aleksey Alenko was eating his meager lunch.”

“Hello, sailor,” the old man said as Marenko entered the galley.

“Hello, Captain Alenko,” he replied. “I believe this submarine and its crew owe you an apology.”

“Apology accepted, Lieutenant,” said Alenko as he sipped his lukewarm soup. “Ah, at least the soup hasn’t changed. It still tastes like old socks."

Marenko had to grin at that. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your food,” he said. “It looks like you know your way around submarines. Can you tell me of your career before you became a merchantman?”