**"To the bottom, you say?" Krasin asked herself before rushing towards the stern of her hull. "Not a chance!"**
She quickly dashed across the rather short deck, reached the aft section, and stopped under the superstructure next to a massive searchlight, then contacted Orlin:
"Captain, how's it going?" she asked. After a few seconds, Orlin's voice broke through the static.
"Almost done. Will seventeen men be enough?" he asked after a short pause.
"Yes, quite enough," Krasin replied before the connection cut out.
The Kansen turned her gaze back towards the enemy ship, whose searchlight atop the combat bridge flashed on a couple of seconds later. It blinded her for a moment, but when the initial blindness passed, she could make out a female figure standing on the deck between the combat bridge and the second gun turret.
It was a girl of average height, dressed in a crimson uniform that had probably once been bright scarlet but had since darkened from smoke and soot. Several steel rigging elements, like armor, covered her shoulders and partially her arms. Several tubes protruded from her back. Some ran to a steel mask near her neck, while others ended abruptly, as if cut. On her head was a battered peaked cap, hiding her pale wheat-colored, slightly frayed hair. While the hair fell down her back, the front ends were cut short as if by a piece of glass or a knife. From under this cropped fringe shone a pair of pale-fiery eyes.
METAs voice came over the radio again.
— I repeat: shut down your engines and prepare to meet the inspection team, — she said with clear frustration and impatience in her voice.
— To whom do I have the honor of speaking? — Krasin asked, a clear, venomous challenge in her voice as she raised the microphone to her lips. She wanted to make sure the lookout who had identified this vessel as X-1 wasn't mistaken.
After a slight delay, the radio crackled:
— X-1, submarine cruiser of His Majesty, — the girl replied with a noticeable accent, as her gun turrets began to slowly but inexorably train on the icebreaker, — I repeat—shut down your engines!
Seeing this, Krasin cast a quick glance at her own deck, where Orlin and his men were already taking up positions along her side. The barrels of rifles and machine guns, like the oars of ancient triremes, peeked over her railing, and her own guns of all calibers—from machine guns to the three-inch cannons—turned towards the enemy. A shark-like grin spread across her face as she replied:
— A creature without clan or tribe, who thinks she can give orders! — the Kansen growled. In an instant, searchlights cut through the night darkness, striking the hull of the submarine cruiser. The girl on the deck shielded herself with her hands from the sudden, intense light, while Krasin's voice continued over the radio. — Retribution will find you, in my person! Fire! — she shouted, and instantly her side lit up with fire.
Once again, as if seven years ago, machine guns chattered from her deck. This time, instead of American Brownings, domestic DShK machine guns stood in the mounts, showering the submarine with thin white tracers. Soon they were joined by the twin V-11 anti-aircraft autocannons, ejecting shell casings in a rapid rhythm. The soldiers on the deck poured fire onto the sea with weapons brought from the abandoned post. Sparks flew from the submarine cruiser's hull from the impacts, but they couldn't inflict fatal damage to a ship displacing over three thousand tons.
— Insolent fool! You'll pay for this! — METAs voice snapped back over the radio.
The British 132-mm guns were trained on the massive, rather clumsy silhouette of the icebreaker, ready to fire. Then the submarine cruiser's forward turret was briefly illuminated by tongues of flame, spitting two shells towards the Soviet ship.
In a matter of instants, faster than the human eye could see, they covered the distance between the ships, striking the icebreaker's side. The ship shuddered.
— Damn it!.. — Krasin groaned through clenched teeth, watching the muzzles of the second turret's guns, ready to fire.
A report sounded, but not from the Englishwoman. The icebreaker's two 76-mm guns were loaded with segment shells—a relic of the past, representing the highest, most destructive variation of shrapnel. They would usually be ineffective, but against a lightly armored target at close range, they were extremely dangerous.
In the instant after the icebreaker's shot, the balance of power shifted. Heavy metal fragments slammed into the splinter shield protecting the guns. It couldn't hold them.
An explosion shook the submarine's deck. Burning fragments of guns and armor flew in all directions, drawing fiery trails across the night sky before disappearing into the black sea. The black smoke that settled on the boat's deck after that hid METAs figure from view, and then everything fell silent.
At the same time, the hull of the submarine cruiser, which had until then maintained a constant speed, keeping pace with the Soviet icebreaker, began to slowly but surely lose speed, gradually falling behind Krasin, and at the same time, it began to list almost imperceptibly to port, changing course.
— Her engines have stopped?!. — Krasin whispered in a voice half-surprised, half-joyful, watching the submarine cruiser's hull gradually recede into the night darkness.
The reaction of the soldiers standing near her was much more exuberant:
— Hooray! — rolled across the icebreaker's deck as a momentary lull fell.
— Orlin, — Krasin called out to him, taking advantage of the brief respite.
He, holding a DT machine gun, ran up to her, simultaneously changing the magazine.
— What do you need? — he asked, stopping for a moment to catch his breath slightly.
— Send a couple of men to the forward deck, in front of the guns. Let them check the damage there and be ready to patch it up... they know how, I hope, — she said with a slight shortness of breath, leaning on the still-working searchlight.
While the two of them were talking, the other soldiers continued to watch the slowly disappearing submarine. Some of them, slightly excited, talked among themselves, discussing what had happened; others, the majority, reloaded their weapons in case they had to engage again.
Suddenly, with a quiet, dull thud, something landed on Krasin's deck, a couple of dozen meters to the left of the soldiers. Mechanically, the fighters raised their weapons, aiming in that direction, but due to the lack of lighting on board, they couldn't see the source of the sound. Then a single pistol shot rang out, and one of the soldiers fell dead with a pierced head.
— Damn it!.. — Krasin growled as a small lamp hanging on her chest flickered on, but even before its light illuminated the intruder, Orlin shouted:
— Everyone! Fire!
Despite his shout, they started firing a moment before him. A hail of bullets slammed into the figure; in response, another pistol shot rang out, and another soldier collapsed dead on the deck. In the light of the lamp, they could see the figure preparing for another shot when something slammed into it, nearly knocking it off its feet.
— Orlin! — Krasin shouted, stopping for a moment next to the captain, readjusting her grip on the ice axe's handle. Her hand pointed overboard, towards the enemy. — There are boats in the water. Don't let them approach the side!
— And you? — he asked, glancing towards the enemy on the deck.
— That's the Ashen. Your bullets are useless against her, — Krasin replied dryly, baring her teeth and staring intently at X-1. — I'll deal with her.
The captain barked:
— Everyone! Cease fire! To the stern immediately! Fire on the boarding party! — he shouted and was the first to rush towards the side railing, setting an example for the others.
The firing ceased for a moment, and the remaining soldiers rushed after the captain.
— And I offered to settle this peacefully, — the girl said with a theatrical sigh and a strong British accent. After a short pause, she continued, — You yourself refused and are now forcing these people to do all this... Do you think it will help you? — X-1 asked mockingly, fully revealing herself before Krasin.
Now the Soviet girl could get a better look at her opponent. The crimson uniform, partially faded with time, was covered in dark streaks. Barely visible burns and cuts were everywhere, and many of them hadn't healed. Above the submarine cruiser's eye was a fresh abrasion, apparently from the explosion of the aft turret. In her hands, the Ashen Kansen held a revolver and a rapier.
Krasin raised her ice axe and replied briefly:
— We'll find out now.
Neither rival even bothered with pistol fire, whose bullets only scratched their skin, and immediately rushed into close combat. The heavy steel ice pick descended upon the Englishwoman, who, though roughly the same height as Krasin, was thinner and more wiry.
X-1 stepped back, parrying the ice axe blow with a deft lunge. But then Krasin began to press the submarine, sensing weakness and pushing her towards the edge of the deck. And yet, at one point, X-1 managed, by placing her second hand under her own blade, to catch Krasin's heavy blow. The force of the impact made her buckle slightly onto one knee, ending up a head shorter than the Soviet girl.
— Do you think your heroics will help all of them? — X-1 asked provocatively, her gaze frantically darting between Krasin's cold, almost emotionless face and her own hands, which lay on the hilt and the flat of her blade, holding back the Soviet girl's ice axe. — Your efforts are meaningless! — She pushed her hands forward forcefully, causing Krasin, momentarily losing her balance, to step back several paces.
X-1 took advantage of this, getting to her feet and readjusting her grip on her rapier.
— Why don't you understand? The Sirens... They are relentless. They cannot be dealt with, only joined or die, — she began, slowly approaching Krasin, — and you keep fighting and fighting... The Northern Ocean will soon be cut off from all of you, and no one but us will be able to be in it, and after that—all the oceans!
— You think you'll succeed in doing that? — Krasin challenged, getting to her feet using the ice axe as a cane.
— And why not? — X-1 smirked, preparing to lunge.
With a sharp movement, Krasin thrust her hand with the ice axe forward, deflecting the submarine's blow. The force of the impact stopped X-1, who tried to pull her arm back, thrown backward. For a moment, Krasin stopped with her arm outstretched, then pulled it back to the left and, with a sharp movement, struck backhand.
-Kha!..
The blow barely hit the Englishwoman, just grazing her cheek, but even that was enough to knock her off her feet.
— You say fighting is pointless? That you will become the new 'Masters'? — Krasin asked with a vicious, arrogant smirk. — It doesn't look like you and your patrons can do anything except kill ordinary people.
— Krasin!.. — Orlin shouted desperately.
The Kansen stopped for a moment, turning towards the captain, but she didn't have time to ask why he had called her. X-1 jumped to her feet, immediately picking up her rapier. Very quickly, the two girls found themselves facing each other, and a moment later, Krasin let out a short groan.
The blow was too sharp and fast, and the distance too small for her to do anything substantial. With a squelching sound, the cold, ice-like blade pierced the Kansen's body. Everything seemed to freeze. Her eyes slowly lowered to the submarine crouching beside her, whose hands tightly gripped the rapier, along the blade of which blood slowly seeped.
— That's all, — X-1 whispered, raising her eyes with a mocking smile to the Soviet girl. The quiet thud of the ice axe falling on the deck seemed to mark the end of Krasin's life, but when X-1's gaze met the icebreaker's eyes, she realized something was wrong.
— Ackh!.. — Krasin gritted her teeth in pain, her hands rising.
A sharp punch staggered the Brit, and she, releasing her hands, was thrown back against the left side railing.
— Bitch! — Krasin hissed, and her eyes flared with purple fire. — You think one such blow is enough to kill me?!
Swinging her right hand for more blows, she descended upon X-1, giving her no time to recover. The latter covered herself with her hands, trying to somehow protect herself from the Soviet girl's furious blows. For a moment, the blows stopped, and the submarine tried to peek out from her defense, but at that very moment, she received a new blow from Krasin.
The force of the last blow was such that X-1 broke through the side railing with her body and fell overboard. Krasin did not follow her, remaining standing on the deck, looking through the breach in the railing at the black water where META had disappeared.
— Krasin!.. — Orlin called out to her. Wincing in pain, the Kansen immediately turned her face to him, revealing the rapier stuck in her body. — What's wrong with you?
— META is gone... — Krasin said with a heavy sigh, feeling a nasty, unpleasant coppery taste in her mouth, — at least, from my board, — she added, examining the wound.
Her hands lay on the hilt of the foreign blade. She clenched her teeth almost to the point of grinding, so much that they began to ache, and closed her eyes against the pain.
— What are you doing?! — Orlin began, but before he could finish, with a sharp, squelching sound, the Kansen tore the weapon from her body.
— Aaarggh! — erupted from Krasin's mouth.
Krasin breathed very quickly and deeply from the pain, and in her hands lay the alien blade, its blade covered in her blood, which quickly began to freeze in the frost. After examining the rapier, she swiftly opened the front cover of the kerosene lamp hanging on her chest, where the fire still burned. The already congealed blood on the rapier's blade began to bake very quickly. After a few seconds, the blade was back in the frost and, without time to cool, was again directed at the girl's wound.
Orlin didn't have time to say anything when a quiet, nasty hiss was heard, almost immediately drowned out by Krasin's quiet moans. A moment later, she jerked the rapier away, then swung and threw the blade overboard.
— Help me, Comrade Captain, — she said, taking a gauze from one of her inner pockets and handing it to Orlin.
He quickly took it and, suppressing nauseating urges, said:
— It will fester, — the captain insisted in a whisper, pressing the gauze to the wound while Krasin, with some kind of strap or maybe another piece of gauze, bandaged it.
— Perhaps... — Krasin said breathlessly, — but right now I need to not bleed out, we can fix that later... what did you want to say? — she asked, raising her eyes to the captain.
Orlin shook his head, trying to push the image of Krasin's wound out of his mind, then replied:
— We couldn't mow them all down... we ran out of ammunition... the boats reached the sides, — he said with obvious guilt in his voice.
— God damn it... — Krasin growled, barely restraining herself from hitting the deck railing, — that's all we needed!..
From beside them came the sound of rapid footsteps shaking the deck.
— Captain! Comrade Krasin! The submarine! It's approaching! — shouted the approaching soldier, pointing into the darkness.
Everyone immediately fell silent, and Krasin with Orlin rushed to the railing of the starboard stern. The searchlight beams hit after them. All eyes were immediately drawn to the ink-black water, where the noticeably enlarged silhouette of the submarine cruiser was clearly visible.
— Oh, hell!.. — the Kansen exclaimed, immediately diving back to the searchlight.
At that moment, an enraged voice came over the radio channel:
— You bloody bitch! You are going to pay for that! — X-1 roared, climbing onto the deck of her hull.
— Quickly! Inside! — Krasin commanded, then added. — Prepare to repel boarders! — she shouted to the remaining soldiers, who immediately followed her command.
The submarine cruiser's remaining forward guns snapped towards the changing-course icebreaker. A moment later, two plumes of water from the shells rose a couple of dozen meters astern of the ship, showering its starboard side with fragments. The soldiers were lucky to be on the other side. At that moment, Krasin's own gun snapped back.
Several plumes of water rose around the submarine, but they failed to find their target. At that moment, META's voice came over the radio again, but this time it sounded different:
— What was that? Which one of you dared to launch torpedoes?! — she screamed in a voice so fierce and venomous that Krasin had never heard before. — Bring these dimwits to me right now!
The searchlight beam immediately jerked away from the submarine to the black water between their two hulls, trying to find the white, deadly trails in the ink-black water. Frantically searching in the darkness, it finally found them.
— Torpedoes! — Krasin shouted as another distant shell burst from the submarine cruiser shattered the searchlight next to which she was standing.
Orlin barely had time to react, as did the others, when, with a quiet, metallic whine, something turned deep within the ship. Almost immediately, the icebreaker's short hull, which some compared to a barrel, began to heel into a sharp turn to port, listing to starboard. The captain barely managed to grab the side railing to avoid falling. Some of the soldiers did the same; others fell against the railings, almost falling overboard.
He came to his senses, standing firmly on his feet. From his position, he could see what was happening roughly on the ship's course, and what he saw sent a slight shudder through his body. Instead of the ink-black sea surface, there, for many kilometers, stretched a snow-white ice shell.
— Krasin, — he called out to the girl anxiously and, without waiting for her answer, continued, — we're heading straight for the ice!
— I know, — Krasin replied, baring her teeth in a predatory grin, and the next moment she shouted. — Hold on!
With the screech and crunch of breaking ice, Krasin's hull slammed into the ice field, breaking through the first layer of ice. On deck, those who weren't holding on fell from their feet, flying several meters forward.
Instantly, the ice moved, buckling under the icebreaker's massive keel.
— Why... why did you do that? — he asked, barely finding words.
— In the ice, we'll break away from her, — Krasin said with a snarl, then shouted loudly. — Prepare to repel boarders!
***
Red lights instantly illuminated every space deep within the icebreaker. The engine room, supply storerooms, medical bay, crew quarters, cabins—there wasn't a single place where the alarm lights didn't flash. Panic began almost immediately.
Malin tried to prevent it and even succeeded somewhat, but when news of the boarding spread, it all started again.
— Everyone calm down! — roared the old polar explorer. His shout was more like the roar of a bear than human speech. Instantly, some out of fright, others coming to their senses, everyone fell silent. Malin continued:
— All able-bodied men, arm yourselves, prepare to meet the enemy! Women—too! Protect the wounded and children! — He was about to say something else, but at that moment, almost falling, Soldatov, one of the fighters who had been with Orlin, rushed into the room.
Gasping for breath, he spoke:
— Urgently!.. They're already climbing aboard!.. we... we've run out of ammunition on deck!.. We need time to reload...
— Forward! You heard him! — Malin immediately ordered.
Almost immediately, over thirty men and nearly a dozen women headed to the storeroom, which was still full of weapons brought from the post. The plan was simple: the women, once armed, would return to the children and wounded, and the men would go to fight off the enemy.
Among the men preparing to go to the storeroom was Alexeev. When they were asked to move, he quickly woke Vera and, barely dressing her in the warmest clothes at hand, carried her in his arms with everyone else. The girl wasn't fully awake yet, so several times along the way, she asked in a sleepy voice:
— Papa, where are we going? — she asked, raising her sleepy eyes to him.
— We... to a safe place, — he answered with a kind but slightly sad smile.
They reached the cabins where almost everyone was stationed. They could hear the reports of guns and the chattering of machine guns, but it was all up on the deck; down here, below decks, the sounds of battle were muffled. This continued until the red alarm lights flashed.
Alexeev was one of the first to immediately understand what was happening, even without Malin's words. He was one of the first to move for weapons, but at that moment, someone tugged his arm, making him turn around.
— Papa! — Vera called out to him, her voice now more coherent. — Don't go! — she said, and her voice broke. The next moment, tears welled up in the eyes of the stoic, very grown-up-for-her-age girl.
Alexeev was both shocked and frightened. He knelt down, running his hand over his daughter's cheek, wiping away her tears.
— Verochka... my little girl... — he said with a heavy sigh, looking into her eyes. For a moment, a kind, slightly tired, and sad smile appeared on his face. — I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'll be back... just wait a little, — he said before standing up.
Vera nodded. Although her lips and body continued to tremble, she found the strength to smile to see her father off, who a moment later disappeared around the corner before she squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry again.
***
By the time Malin's soldiers had armed themselves and Orlin's group had replenished their ammunition, the enemy had already boarded the icebreaker's deck. There were about thirty of them in total, not counting those killed on the approach, but even these thirty were dangerous.
Krasin had been with Orlin since they, with the remnants of the captain's squad, had gone below deck towards the arsenal. The wound hurt, and she didn't even know what hurt more—the blow or the subsequent cauterization. The only consolation was that she didn't feel blood seeping from the wound.
— Hurry up, — Orlin urged the soldiers as they grabbed as many cartridges as they could.
One of the soldiers reached for a few grenades but was stopped by Krasin.
— No need. We'll be in the confined corridors of my hull. You'll do more harm to us than to them.
— Understood.
— Everyone heard, no grenades! — Orlin barked, simultaneously loading cartridges into his Nagant.
Gradually, everyone was laden with cartridges and magazines for submachine guns. Finally, hurried footsteps were heard in the distance, which couldn't possibly be from Malin's group, who were on almost the other part of the ship.
— Damn it... we won't make it, — one of the soldiers muttered through clenched teeth, working the heavy bolt of his rifle.
The door had been open all this time. The passage leading to the room was straight and offered a perfect field of view, so when the first person in an unfamiliar uniform appeared at the end of the not-so-long passage, everyone noticed immediately. Orlin and a couple of other soldiers only raised their hands, tightly gripping their pistols, aiming at the enemy, when some object flew past them.
The next moment, the first cultist to enter was thrown backward, a spear-like crowbar protruding from his chest. The soldier hit the wall behind him and, after a second's pause, slid to the floor. Orlin threw a quick glance over his shoulder where Krasin stood in a throwing pose. Her face was slightly contorted in pain. The ice axe slid back into her right hand as she sharply almost collapsed, grabbing her left side and using the ice axe as a support.
— Are you alright? — Orlin asked quickly.
— Tch, — Krasin gritted her teeth before nodding, — yes. Fine.
At that moment, the Siren soldiers poured through the doorway again, and at the same moment, Orlin's soldiers, who had already managed to load up on ammunition, opened up with a withering hail of fire.
***
Meanwhile, events were unfolding somewhat differently in another part of the ship. The cultists didn't immediately storm in, so Malin, together with Mirokhin who was there, managed to organize a counterattack that began almost as soon as they tried to break in. When they tried to do so, they were immediately met by a wall of fire and bayonets. The first five, crowded at the door, were killed almost instantly; the others managed to retreat. A firefight broke out on the icebreaker's deck, where there weren't too many places to take cover. Bursts from submachine guns chattered in the air, occasionally punctuated by the thunder of more powerful rifles and machine guns.
Mirokhin was in the first wave that went on the attack. He was one of those now hiding behind the superstructure, sheltering from bullets and firing back with his PPS. Reloading another magazine, pressed against the metal wall, his gaze fell on the icebreaker's stern.
To the left and right behind the ship, like huge pincers, ice fields converged. Between them was a thin strip of water, black as pitch, which was slowly but inexorably growing thinner.
The lieutenant's gaze moved a little further, where on the open water lay the powerless hull of the monstrous submarine. From its stern, a column of gray-black smoke, standing out even against the black night sky, shot into the air, and from numerous holes in the hull, like through a sieve, an inexplicable light seeped out.
— Is that what attacked us? — someone asked him.
Amid all this cannonade, Mirokhin barely managed to distinguish, and only thanks to the accent, the voice of Aidmar, who had unnoticed also ducked behind this corner, only from the other side.
— Good Lord!.. — the lieutenant swore, throwing a glance at the Evenk.
It was about Aidmar's clothing. He was still wearing his fur coat, sewn with coarse threads but with several additions—parts of a simple soldier's uniform—but this time the color of the clothing was not the usual gray-brown, but crimson. Mirokhin immediately remembered that this fearless man was one of the first to rush at the enemy, wielding a fire axe.
— Comrade, what's wrong? — Aidmar asked again, looking at the lieutenant.
— Nothing, later, for sure, clean the coat, it's painful to look at, — he waved it off, then added, — yes, that's it.
With a characteristic click, the magazine slid into place, and when the bullets momentarily stopped whistling overhead, Mirokhin rose. In one moment, the lieutenant's submachine gun chattered, and as if on command, those who had been pinned down by fire on the deck rose for a counterattack on the boarders.
— Forward, comrades! — Mirokhin shouted, waving his submachine gun. — Let's throw these creatures into the sea!
A moment later, a thunderous cry:
— Urra! — rang out across the deck like deafening thunder.
In one moment, the situation changed. The cultists, who were confident they had the advantage, faltered. Following the counterattack, the deck partially returned to the control of the Soviet soldiers, and the cultists retreated towards the bow, continuing to fire.
To Mirokhin's left, one of the soldiers fell dead, struck by a bullet, but at that same second, the one who killed him paid for it. From somewhere to the side, a second soldier, a friend of the killed man, pumped nearly a dozen bullets point-blank into the cultist, who collapsed lifelessly on the deck, flooding it with blood. With every step, with every lost friend and comrade, the anger grew hotter and hotter. Some, baring knives, axes, and bayonets, went into suicidal hand-to-hand combat, where everything was decided by brute force alone.
The attack died down as quickly as it had begun. The cultists' forces were pushed closer to the bow, but throwing them overboard hadn't been possible. Again, bullets whistled overhead, and the soldiers hid behind walls and cover.
Mirokhin, who, as it happened, had temporarily taken command, sitting behind cover again, was thinking about what to do next. His eyes wandered over the soldiers he could see, who were sitting with him and looking at him with hope.
— "God... I'm just a lieutenant..." — the thought flashed through his head when a new cry cut through the air:
— Come on, comrades! Forward!
— Orlin!.. — he exclaimed joyfully upon seeing Captain Orlin's squad approaching from the stern.
The captain's soldiers advanced at full height, dousing everything in front of them with fire and metal. Machine guns laid down a withering barrage. As soon as one fell silent, others immediately opened fire. The Siren fighters weren't even allowed to raise their heads. Those who did immediately fell, struck by a stray bullet. Orlin's squad passed Mirokhin's positions and rushed further forward.
With them was Krasin, firing her pistol.
— Forward!.. after them! — Mirokhin commanded, raising the soldiers to attack again.
The attack began with renewed force, and this time the cultists couldn't hold it. The Soviet soldiers broke into the boarders' positions. Again, ice axes, crowbars, and axes came into play, descending upon the uninvited guests.
Seeing what was happening upfront, on the forward positions, those who remained behind tried to save themselves, but the only way to do that was to jump overboard. Several men stood on the edge of the deck, looking at the ice crust breaking under the ship, from under which, like bubbling magma, black water erupted.
They froze in indecision, pondering whether to jump, when another burst from the defenders' side cut down their ranks. Almost half of them fell dead, and the rest climbed over the railings.
However, jumping down promised nothing good. Due to the height of the side, falling onto the ice would at least result in leg injuries, and at worst, the fall would be followed by immediately going under the icebreaker, which would be impossible to survive. But the frightened cultists neglected this and threw themselves overboard. A moment later, desperate cries followed, quickly drowned out by the crackle of breaking ice.
The last Siren soldier on the deck was killed personally by Orlin, who put a bullet in his forehead from his Nagant. After that, an oppressive and very alarming silence fell.
— Are we done? — Mirokhin asked, licking his dry lips, looking around at the others.
— Apparently, — Malin answered him, slightly out of breath.
For several moments, no one said anything, but then Krasin's eyes fell on a soldier from Orlin's group who had earlier been checking the damage to her hull.
— What's the damage like? — she asked.
— Well, it's... — he hesitated slightly, scratching the back of his head, — one of the shells hit the wheelhouse, there's a through penetration. No damage besides the hole, it seems, but I'm not sure. And the second shell, apparently, missed altogether, — he shrugged.
— Clear, — Krasin nodded, then turned to the captain. — Right, now we need to...
— Comrade Captain! Comrade Krasin! Enemy below decks! — a soldier shouted loudly, running out onto the deck, breathing heavily.
***
Unnoticed by all, a small enemy squad had managed to get below decks, where they engaged in a fierce confrontation with the defenders remaining below. Here, the power of the weapon didn't matter, as death lurked around every corner.
Alexeev was one of those who, as it happened, remained inside the icebreaker's compartments and didn't get onto the deck with Mirokhin and Malin. He was about to rush out after them, but at that moment someone shouted that the enemy had penetrated the lower decks. Hearing this, Alexeev immediately rushed back, deeper into the ship. Its corridors were quite narrow, and there weren't enough bulkheads, so one could only hide around corners. Alexeev was running after another soldier.
This is what saved him from death. When he jumped out from around another corner, a burst immediately hit him. The bullets pierced his body, punching through it, with small bloody fountains spurting from his back. Almost immediately, the soldier collapsed, beginning to choke, and a Russian speech from the other end of the corridor lashed at Alexeev's ears like a whip. The grinding of his teeth was almost louder than his heartbeat, which was beating in a frantic rhythm. His hands clenched into fists, tightly gripping the PPSh he had picked up. He took a deep breath and quickly stepped forward, coming out from around the corner.
A long burst from the submachine gun hit the Siren worshippers, of whom there were three standing in the passage. The first ten bullets hit the first one, riddling him from stomach to head, killing him instantly. Managing the recoil firing from the hip, Georgy aimed the submachine gun at the next opponent, who barely had time to twitch. The third also tried to do something; his finger lay on the trigger of his own submachine gun, but Alexeev was faster again. Several bullets hitting the cultist in the chest decided his fate. He began to fall backward, his hands convulsed, and his finger still pressed the trigger. A burst from the submachine gun rang out through the passage, tracing a line from the floor to the ceiling.
Alexeev didn't have time to react. Two bullets hit him in the torso, but only one exited his back. He gasped from a mixture of pain and surprise before starting to fall onto his back. With a dull, painful thud, he crashed onto the floor as his vision began to fade along with his consciousness.
— Daughter... — he whispered quietly as his eyes began to close, — forgive me...
The last thing he heard was someone's cry, which he could no longer make out.
***
Ever since departing from Novaya Zemlya, radio messages had been sent from Krasin's board in the hope that someone would hear them, but due to the surrounding Mirror Seas around the island, they didn't reach the intended recipient. However, that wasn't entirely true.
A calm, quiet sleep was sharply and unexpectedly interrupted by the barely audible crackling of a radio receiver.
— Ugh-m... — the girl groaned half-asleep, tossing on her not-so-large bed. She had hoped the receiver would fall silent, letting her get a good sleep after a tiresome night watch, but when it didn't, she was forced to get up. Getting to her feet, she slowly wandered through the low passages of the submarine to the radio receiver.
For a submarine Kansen, she was rather large-built, and at the same time, her clothing was quite elaborate. A fancy red uniform, turning into a skirt and high boots, combined with a long half-cape with sleeves and fur trim, was uncharacteristic for her class; nevertheless, that was her attire, and all the diving equipment manifested along with the rigging.
Her gray hair with a dull pink tint was braided into two pigtails, which, in turn, were tied into loops. The main part of her long, straight hair simply cascaded down her back. Her face was quite ordinary for a Kansen. Her left eye was a dark crimson, somewhat dull color, and her right eye was covered by several white bandages that went over her hair, like a blindfold. The same bandages were on her right arm, over the uniform.
She slowly approached and sat down at the radio receiver. The quiet crackling of Morse code repeated over and over, changing slightly in content. At first, the message was garbled and incoherent, but with each new listening over almost half an hour, the girl slowly wrote out the message:
`SOS incl`
`Icebreaker Krasin stop`
`Meteorological post on Novaya Zemlya attacked comma`
`remains of personnel taken aboard stop`
`one hundred twenty seven people stop`
`proceeding north along 50 degrees east longitude stop`
`at 76 degrees north latitude attacked by Kansen META stop`
`turned west along 76th parallel stop`
`many wounded on board stop`
`SOS incl`
— Where the hell have they been carried off to, — the submarine sighed as her hull began to slowly but surely turn towards the indicated coordinates. Simultaneously, her own radio station began retransmitting Krasin's messages. Due to the distance, it probably wouldn't reach the Mainland, but it could be heard by her detachment, designated with the letter 'V', or by the K-3 detachment.
Hoping for this, the night terror of the Northern Seas, the one who had managed to reach the *Prinz Eugen*, the submarine, formerly of His Majesty, whose hull had been cut up after the war and now a proud fighter of the Northern Fleet, V-5 Trident, headed at full surface speed to rescue Krasin.