The night dragged on. The last of the cultists who had boarded the icebreaker were killed without any mercy. Those who remained below deck were hunted down and shot or hacked apart. Those who somehow managed to get to the upper deck discovered an endless white emptiness stretching for kilometers around them. Their fate was no less enviable—enraged soldiers and civilians, led by Malin and Krasin, literally threw them overboard. Orlin remained on the sidelines, nevertheless ensuring constant protection in the form of a trio of submachine gunners who kept their sights fixed on the cultists.
As soon as the cleanup was completed, a much more difficult phase began for the icebreaker's passengers—helping the wounded and counting the dead.
******
"Comrade Krasin," a nurse exclaimed wearily, wiping her hands of blood before continuing, "please, come over here," she said in a voice that was clearly tired, pointing to a cot behind her.
"Thank you," the Kansen nodded, walking deeper into the makeshift medical bay, one of several set up on her deck. Krasin sat down with some displeasure, simultaneously shrugging off her heavy jacket, which had a noticeable slash on the left, just below the armpit. She didn't want to be here, believing her wound, however serious, wasn't reason enough to distract the doctors. However, Orlin and Malin, who in unison insisted it was better to get checked, had finally made her go.
"Whoa!" the nurse exclaimed as soon as she freed Krasin's wound from the gauze it was wrapped in. "I've never seen anything like it!"
The wound looked truly disgusting. A rather large and thin cut with trickles of blood that had streamed down and congealed was almost entirely hidden by charred flesh, a result of Krasin's own actions. A large, pale blue hematoma surrounded it all. But the most astonishing thing for the nurse was that such a serious wound was gradually healing. The dead skin was slowly peeling away on its own, and underneath, the wound was being covered by new, bright pink flesh.
"So... let's see," the nurse said, pulling on gloves. Her hands moved slowly, carefully along the edges of the wound, roughly gauging its size.
"Tss-s!" Krasin bit her lip from the sharp pain.
The nurse immediately pulled her hand back, looked up at the Kansen, and continued the examination with greater caution.
"I don't understand how you were even walking with a wound like this?" the woman in the white coat muttered in amazement. "With a wound like this, an ordinary person would be bedridden for at least a month, if not more!.."
"What's the verdict?" Krasin sighed as the nurse turned away to get some instruments.
"You're very lucky, actually. From a preliminary examination, I'd say two, maybe three ribs are shattered, but your internal organs are fine. I heard you were pierced by a blade, and then you cauterized the wound, correct?" asked the nurse, holding fresh cotton wool and some kind of jar.
"Correct," Krasin nodded.
"The blade caught you in the ribs and passed within a few millimeters under your diaphragm, and just as far from your kidneys," the nurse said, bending over Krasin's wound and beginning to carefully treat it.
"Lucky indeed," Krasin said dryly, staring into emptiness, still wincing slightly from the mild pain.
The very nature of a Kansen was as astounding as it was strange. They could survive hits from shells of the most powerful guns, projectiles capable of destroying entire houses and piercing meters of steel, yet they could be harmed by something simple, like ordinary broken glass. So it was with pain. Despite a high pain threshold, they felt it, even from the most insignificant sources.
"How long do you think it will take to heal?" Krasin asked as the nurse leaned back from the wound again.
"Honestly, I don't know," she replied, moistening the cotton wool with some liquid again. "I... I've never worked with a Kansen before, and I honestly don't know how such wounds heal for you. If this were an ordinary person, I'd say recovery would take at least a month," she fell silent, looking at Krasin once more, "but for you... I just don't know. People with such wounds don't walk around, let alone fight, yet you're even commanding a whole ship."
"Yes," Krasin sighed while the nurse wrapped the wound with a new layer of gauze, "I understand."
"So for you... I'd say it will probably heal in five to seven days. So you don't need to worry about it."
"Understood," Krasin nodded, putting her uniform back on and hiding the wound under her clothes.
"Take care of yourself," the nurse replied to the departing girl before returning to counting and sorting medicines, awaiting new visitors, which she knew were still to come. It had truly been a crazy night.
"Thank you," Krasin nodded, turning the corner.
******
Krasin slowly wandered the corridors of her hull, not knowing where to go. Fatigue told her to go to her cabin and collapse onto the bunk. Her head told her she needed to go up to the upper deck, to the bridge, but Orlin had posted his men on guard there. As she passed through a cross corridor, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Her steps halted, and she slowly approached.
A little girl, Vera, whom she had seen in the mess hall and remembered for her cheerful, curious nature, was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a fur jacket and a long woolen scarf. Just a couple of meters from her, Krasin saw a closed compartment that she knew had been converted into an operating room. Slowly approaching, she sat down next to the girl.
"Good evening," she said with a careful smile, watching as the girl raised her small head, her eyes settling on her. In that same second, Krasin's heart skipped a beat, and the smile immediately vanished from her face.
The girl's eyes were red from tears, and her cheeks were streaked with tear tracks like mountain streams.
"What happened?!" Krasin whispered more than said, her voice hushed.
"D-Daddy!.. H-He!.. O-Over there..." Vera said with horrible sobs, barely able to form words, trying in every way to avert her eyes, "H-H-He was w-wounded, and then t-they t-took him..." At that moment, something seemed to break in the girl, and she, bursting into tears, literally collapsed forward.
Krasin barely managed to catch her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, but she didn't know how to calm the girl down. In all the years she had lived, she had never spent much time with children.
"Hush, hush..." was all Krasin could say in a quiet voice, starting to stroke her back, trying to somehow soothe the girl. The Kansen's movements were cautious—being stronger than an ordinary human, she moved her hands smoothly so as not to hurt Vera. A moment later, she flinched as the tears touched her neck. They were warm, but for some reason felt like long-frozen ice. Vera's hands instinctively tried to hug Krasin but couldn't wrap around her fully.
Each new sob made the Kansen's heart skip a beat and clench tighter and tighter. Gradually, the girl's crying became quieter and quieter, and her breathing slowly but surely steadied. Carefully, Krasin moved Vera away from herself, still holding her slightly.
"Why are you crying so?" she asked with a tender, barely noticeable smile, looking at the girl's tear-streaked face. "Let's wipe those tears away," she said uncertainly, gently brushing the tears from her reddened face.
Vera sniffled loudly, bringing her hand to her face, wiping away tears and snot, then spoke in a slightly calmer voice:
"I... I'm scared," she said, lowering her head.
Krasin, who had been looking at her face, now let her gaze fall on her hands. They were literally shaking. The Kansen had seen this before, but then it was in grown men who had starved for a long time and frozen in the cold. But for a little girl to behave the same way as the famous survivors of the Red Tent... She felt a painful prick in her throat, and her hands immediately went to the girl's shoulders:
"Vera, calm down..." she said, pulling the child to her so that her hands remained folded near her chest. Gradually, the trembling began to subside, and then stopped completely. "Shh-h-h..." Krasin added quietly, continuing to slowly stroke the girl's head, hoping to calm her. Little by little, the girl began to come to her senses, but at that moment, the door opened with a prolonged, drawn-out creak.
A man stepped slowly into the corridor, wearing a white medical coat, but despite its cleanliness and whiteness, it was dimmed by the bloodstains on it. His hands were also covered in blood, left after he removed his gloves, and which he was trying to wipe off with a rather worn handkerchief. Finally, he put the handkerchief in one of his pockets and carefully stretched to remove his monocle. His tired, aged eyes wandered the corridor for a couple of moments before stopping on the pair sitting on the floor.
"Viktor Albertovich," Krasin greeted the old doctor with a nod. He had somehow ended up among the residents of the meteorological post on Novaya Zemlya. She added in an unexpectedly quiet voice, "What's the news?"
The doctor opened his mouth but almost immediately closed it without uttering a sound. His eyes began darting around, anywhere but at the girl, who had turned her head in his direction, waiting for him to speak. Seeing the doctor's reaction, a cold shiver ran down Krasin's spine. And as if to top it all off, Vera's thin, slightly uneven voice sounded again:
"Mister... what about my daddy?" she asked, looking at the doctor with her red, tearful eyes.
Viktor Albertovich's mouth went dry. He tried to moisten his lips several times but failed. He sighed heavily and knelt on one knee to be at eye level with Vera and Krasin. For a moment, everything was silent. The words just wouldn't come to the old doctor's lips. Finally, he spoke in a quiet, muffled voice:
"Your daddy... he died," he said, squeezing his eyes shut, unwilling to look into the eyes of his daughter, which were filling with tears again. "We couldn't save him. I'm sorry."
He heaved himself to his feet as if his legs were filled with lead and headed back.
"Bring the next one," he croaked, throwing a brief glance over his shoulder at Vera, who had started trembling again. The last thing he heard before returning to the ward was a piercing child's scream.
The little girl's crying echoed through the ship's corridors:
"D-D-Daddy!.. Waa-ah-ah!"
Krasin's heart bled every time the girl uttered the words. She hugged her to her chest with unexpected strength, in a desperate, pointless attempt to calm Vera.
"Hush... hush," the Kansen repeated, perfectly aware it was futile.
Continuing to hold the girl firmly in her arms, Krasin rose to her feet and trudged to the only place where she could find support for herself—her cabin. She began to slowly move away from the operating room when Vera almost broke free. The girl jerked, thrusting her hand forward as if trying to grab something:
"Daddy! Daddy, no! Let me go!" she screamed, trying to break free from Krasin's strong grip, but she didn't succeed. As Krasin turned the corner, the operating room disappeared from view, and at that same moment, the strength seemed to leave the girl's body. The screams stopped, and she went limp, falling onto Krasin's shoulder. She no longer tried to break free, no longer tried to struggle, no longer tried to look. The only thing the girl did, in a semi-conscious state, was cry and whimper quietly:
"Daddy!"
Soon, Krasin finally reached her cabin, still carrying Vera in her arms. For just a moment, a thought flashed through her mind:
*"Why didn't I take her to the passenger cabins?.."* she asked herself, immediately realizing what a pointless question it was.
She simply couldn't bring herself to abandon this child. Everything that happened on her deck was under her jurisdiction. Here, she was king and god; everything that happened here was on her conscience. His death was on her conscience. So the Kansen carefully placed the girl on her own bed. Vera was already asleep. The shocks of the last few hours had been too much, far too much for one eight-year-old girl. She continued to cry even in her sleep, quietly sobbing. As soon as she was on the bed, under the blanket, she immediately curled up into a ball, pressing against the wall, still quietly whimpering something.
Krasin took a deep, sad sigh, gently running her hand over Vera's head, causing her to flinch slightly.
"The world is cruel..." she said in a tired voice, feeling her own eyes growing heavy. Finally, fatigue was making itself known.
Slowly, she lay down next to Vera and very quickly fell asleep.
******
"How many did we lose?" Krasin's voice sounded dryly in the pilothouse, where Orlin and Malin had already gathered.
"We found sixty-one bodies on board, thirty-four of them are boarders," said the old polar explorer, covering his eyes with his hand.
"Twenty-seven, then," Krasin uttered disappointedly and stared ahead. "Oh God!"
"Thirty," Orlin interjected. Krasin looked at the captain in confusion. Seeing this, he said, "They didn't count three of my men on the upper deck. They were off to the side, so they just weren't found."
"Thirty people..." Krasin sighed, staring at the floor again.
Yesterday's situation had affected her more than she thought. The sight of the crying girl who had lost her father, whom she had left in her cabin, caused a nagging pain in her chest whenever she thought about it. She raised her eyes to the two men and spoke in a subdued tone:
"I don't have room on my deck to transport that many dead."
"You don't?" Malin asked cautiously. "So what do you propose then?"
Orlin, as a landman, looked incomprehensibly from Krasin to Malin.
"Since they died at sea, defending the people on board and the ship itself," Krasin spoke carefully, literally forcing the words out, "I propose we bury them at sea, with full honors."
"What?!" Grigory roared in anger. "Throw the bodies of my fighters into the sea like dead dogs?!"
"And what do you propose?" Krasin asked with a guttural growl, jumping to her feet.
"As soldiers of the USSR, who died in service, they should be buried in the earth!" the captain snapped and punched the ship's wall.
"I can't get them all to the mainland!" Krasin shouted. "We have thirty corpses and another hundred living people, whose survival is my primary task! And yours too!" she said, jabbing a finger into the captain's chest. "I technically have a maximum capacity of a hundred people on board, and I took a hundred and thirty... Do you think if there was the slightest possibility of doing it, I wouldn't have tried?!"
"It's seriously cold overboard. To keep them preserved, we could place them on the deck," Orlin rumbled, but at that moment, Malin, who had been silent until now, watching the argument, spoke up.
"Captain, I'm afraid in this case I have to agree with Miss Krasin. What you're proposing can't be done, at least for humanitarian reasons. Besides, tell me, how would you feel if every day... you saw your dead father, brother, or friend?" he said and added. "And there are plenty of seabirds here... So we wouldn't get them there that way."
The captain stopped, staring somewhere between Krasin and Malin. You could see the thoughts racing in his head. He took a deep breath and finally spoke:
"Alright then... do what you think is necessary," he said, clearly forcing himself. "And what about the boarders' corpses?"
"Don't worry, Captain, I'll take care of them," Krasin said with a vicious smile.
Almost an hour into the journey, the ship's propellers slowed, and the mighty icebreaker stopped in the ice. The gangway was lowered almost immediately, and soon the soldiers who were still on their feet after the night's battle began unloading the already stiffened corpses of the raiders who served the Sirens from the deck. Slowly, a foul-smelling pile of indistinct shape formed on the ice.
"Get back on board!" Krasin called out to the soldiers, urging them to return, then turned to Orlin, who was standing nearby watching the process. "That's it. Very soon, birds and bears will feast on this."
"They don't deserve any more," Orlin said, turning his gaze away from the pile of corpses.
"Did you find what I asked for?" Krasin asked unexpectedly.
"Yes, my men are already preparing our people for burial."
"Good," Krasin nodded, starting to slowly walk away. Unexpectedly, she stopped and turned around, "We'll do it as soon as we reach open water. And one more thing... gather everyone who wants to say goodbye."
"Alright," Orlin nodded, also walking away. He didn't want to look at the remains of the traitors any longer.
The icebreaker moved off, gaining speed and breaking through the ice.
******
Vera woke up very late. Despite the long sleep, she didn't feel refreshed. On the contrary, her whole body felt as if it were filled with lead—heavy and sluggish. Everything hurt—her stomach, head, arms, legs; it seemed even her bones ached.
She slowly sat up on the bed, and at that moment, the memories of the last hours crashed down on her like an avalanche. Her breathing faltered again, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Little one, what's wrong?!" exclaimed Krasin, who had come down to her cabin for a few things. She rushed to Vera, catching the girl who was threatening to collapse again. She succeeded, and at that same moment, tears began to fall on her shoulder.
"W-why are you doing this?" Vera asked in a quiet, barely audible voice, burying her face in Krasin's shoulder. "You have other things to do... right? Why?"
For a moment, Krasin seemed to falter, as if someone had hit her, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She hadn't expected such a question, so she was at a loss, not knowing what to answer.
"Because it's my fault he died. My fault all of them died," Krasin said sadly, taking a deep breath. "It hurts me to know that a good man like your father died. It hurts me to know I couldn't help him or anyone else then, and now... the only way I can help him is to take care of you."
Krasin let go of Vera and, standing up, headed to the far end of her cabin, where an officer's wardrobe was placed. The girl watched from behind as the Kansen took off her jacket and put on some other outerwear. She watched her in amazement, continuing to wipe tears from her eyes. Finally, Krasin turned around.
Her clothing had changed so drastically she was almost unrecognizable. Her whole body was now covered by a long, loose black cassock, which almost hid her figure—even the shoes on her feet. On her neck, on a rather thick chain, hung a golden cross. On her head, as if in contrast to the blackness of the cassock, was a snow-white *koukoul* (monastic hood), its ends falling like hair down her chest, with a small golden cross at the very top. In her hands, instead of an ice axe and spear, was an old, gilded censer. For a few seconds, Krasin looked at herself as if assessing her appearance, then turned to Vera, who was gazing at her spellbound.
"You... why are you dressed like that?" the girl asked in amazement. The notes of crying were almost gone from her voice, which precisely unnerved the Kansen.
"Call me 'you'..." Krasin said slowly, then continued, "Get dressed."
"Where to?" she asked, climbing off the bed.
"To say goodbye to your father," Krasin said in a grim tone, handing her her jacket.
As soon as Vera heard Krasin's words, the memories began flashing before her eyes again.
"Say... goodbye..." she whispered, her gaze suddenly becoming glassy again.
Krasin slowly approached her, kneeling on one knee, and put a hand on her shoulder before speaking:
"That's right," she whispered, carefully lifting the girl's head with her hand to look her in the eyes. "The situation isn't the best right now, so I... we can't get him and the others to the mainland, so we'll give them their final rest here... at sea."
The girl quietly sobbed, and almost immediately the corners of her eyes filled with shiny, diamond-like tears.
"Yes. Yes, I want to. Let's go," she nodded quickly, wiping tears from her eyes, and began putting on her jacket.
Krasin slowly rose to her feet and, before leaving, took Vera's hand. Slowly, they trudged onto the deck, where the final preparations were being completed. Orlin's subordinates were collecting the bodies of their less fortunate comrades and, together with the doctors, preparing them for their final journey.
******
There simply weren't that many coffins on board the icebreaker, so almost everything was used. But despite the haste and outright lack of materials, everyone was in equal conditions.
The ship stopped again, but now there was no icy shell around, only clear, cold water. The sun was already setting, though at this time of year it set very early, but its fading rays, like a theater spotlight, illuminated the icebreaker's deck.
On the wide stern deck, in several rows, lay the improvised coffins with the fallen defenders of the ship, and around them crowded people: soldiers, nurses, meteorologists, and their family members—all who could and wanted to come were here. Several seriously wounded were helped onto the deck so they could see their comrades off on their last journey. But there were few children; they remained in the cabins. For the funeral of a loved one was too heavy an event for most children.
Malin and Orlin stood slightly apart, looking gloomily at the scene unfolding before them.
"W-well," Malin drawled, "no matter how many years I live, I'll never get used to this."
"Had to bury many?" Orlin asked tiredly.
"Had to... Some during the Civil War, some in the last war, some just during expeditions, and some... simply from old age," Malin replied, "but so many at once... haven't had to."
Orlin nodded almost imperceptibly, then spoke:
"I've seen it before, but then we were at the front. And it happened without relatives, but here there are so many of them! Probably makes it somehow heavier," he sighed. "Where's Krasin? We've been waiting for her!"
"Isn't that Krasin over there?" Malin asked, pointing his hand towards the stern.
The captain followed the polar explorer's hand with his gaze and was momentarily confused when he finally spotted the one he was pointing at. Malin was right—it was indeed Krasin, only her appearance was strikingly different from what he was used to in recent days. Next to her walked the girl he had seen several times before. At one point, they stopped at one of the coffins, lingering by it, and at that moment Orlin saw tears glistening on the girl's face.
Soon, Krasin led the girl aside and approached Malin and Orlin.
"Sorry I'm a bit late, comrades," she greeted them with a brief nod.
"You... why are you dressed like that?" Orlin asked, looking the Kansen over.
"I told you, with all honors," Krasin sighed, looking towards the stern. "Well, had to remember the past."
"The past?" Malin raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I was born for the Tsarist fleet, and there a ship's priest was assigned to each ship. We, Kansen, were trained mainly in military affairs, that's the main thing for us. Well, navigation and other things too, but some of us studied something else. I studied with the priests... so I can perform all the necessary procedures."
"Ahem," Orlin coughed into his fist, "good to know."
For the next twenty minutes or so, they stood, continuing to talk and giving the others time to fully say goodbye to those who did not survive the past night. After that, on Orlin's order, everyone stepped back to allow Krasin to perform the ritual service. A quiet tongue of flame flared up and was almost immediately thrown into the small furnace of the censer. Krasin took a step forward, instantly drawing all eyes to herself. As soon as this happened, she folded her fingers into the sign of the cross and slowly crossed herself, then began to speak:
"O Lord our God, invincible, incomprehensible and strong in battles! Thou, by Thy inscrutable destinies, sendest unto one an Angel..." Her words cut through the painfully cold, heavy air that pressed down on everyone like lead.
Krasin slowly walked between the rows of bodies, sprinkling them with water and swinging the censer, continuing to recite the prayer. Everyone watched only her. Some crossed themselves, some women cried quietly, covering their faces with their palms. Others simply watched silently, as if they didn't care, but solitary tears glistened in the corners of their eyes.
"...Establish them in the host of the glorious passion-bearers, the victoriously suffering martyrs, the righteous and all Thy saints. Amen," Krasin finished the prayer, approaching the last body, where she stopped for a moment, looking at the white gauze that replaced the shroud hiding his figure.
She turned her head and gave a brief nod to Orlin. He saw it, and then the burial process itself began. The cargo cranes, which normally unloaded cargo, now carefully moved the bodies overboard, lowering them into the cold water, where they immediately sank to the bottom. The final chord was a gun salute from the main caliber. Fifty-two shells were fired from the stern gun—for those who died now and those who gave them the chance to put to sea. As soon as the thunder of the last shot faded, the icebreaker's propellers began to spin again, pushing it forward.
******
Vera didn't remember how she got back to the cabin. The funeral had been so exhausting that she almost fell back into her own memories. The sight of her father lying there again sent her into a shiver, and only Krasin's words brought her back to her senses. And then she watched as her father disappeared behind the black waves of the Arctic Ocean; after that, everything was like a fog. She didn't even remember falling asleep.
She woke up late at night. It was quiet. The only porthole she could see glowed with a dark, lunar light. Suddenly, something glimmered—something inexplicable and mesmerizing. Vera quickly jumped out of bed and ran to the porthole, trying to look out—to understand what it was.
She literally pressed herself against the double glass, trying to see beyond it, but she couldn't. Vera stepped back from the porthole, quickly scanning the cabin. As soon as her eyes fell on the jacket, she immediately grabbed it, ran out of the cabin, and dashed to the upper deck, pulling the jacket on as she went.
Krasin's cabin, where she was sleeping, was quite close to the ladder to the deck, so she was soon at the heavy metal door, marked with bullet traces, leading to the deck. Vera strained, pushing the door open, and stepped out into the air. The cold sea air hit her face, making her shiver from the chill for a moment. Overcoming herself, the girl walked on, raising her head to the sky and gazing at it spellbound.
"God!" she exclaimed. A faint, sad smile appeared on her face at the sight of the night sky.
The black night sky, illuminated only by stars like diamonds on a cave vault, suddenly flashed with colors as mesmerizing as they were impossible. It shimmered with green, which suddenly turned to blue, and almost immediately became red. For all the time she had been in the north, Vera had never once managed to see this phenomenon—the aurora borealis, a captivating, amazing spectacle that immediately held one's gaze.
Vera stood there, spellbound, looking at the sky, when a voice from behind quietly called out to her:
"Why did you leave?" The eight-year-old girl, with some trepidation, quickly turned around, jumping slightly in surprise, and saw Krasin standing in her usual form—a heavy jacket and no hat.
"I... I. Sorry, Comrade Kras..." she didn't get to finish.
"Stop," Krasin stopped her, stretching out a hand in front of her. "First, I asked you to call me simply, without all these titles. Second—I'm not scolding you," she said, approaching her and, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder, also raised her head to the sky. "Beautiful?"
"Yes," Vera nodded, watching the northern lights enthralled.
"No matter how many times I see it, I still can't stop admiring it."
For several minutes they watched the unfolding light show in awe, which seemed only they could see.
"You know," Krasin began quietly, not taking her eyes off the sky, "some northern peoples believe that when the sky flashes with multi-colored fire—it's the souls of the departed descending from heaven to visit the living..."
"Daddy!.." Vera sighed, lowering her head, remembering her father.
"Yes. And him too," Krasin nodded, lowering her gaze to the girl. "And him too..."
"Daddy! Daddy!" Vera shouted, waving her free hand. "Look! I'm okay! I'm here! Daddy!.." As if in answer, the sky literally flashed for a moment with a mesmerizing violet light before returning to its previous kaleidoscope of colors.
"He saw," Krasin said with a tender smile on her face.
"He... really saw?.." Vera asked, looking up at Krasin.
She hesitated for a moment. Part of her wanted to tell the girl it was true, that her father had seen her, but another part of her mind fought it. However, due to her upbringing, she believed in something slightly different than what the northerners said about the souls of the dead descending to earth.
"Yes, he saw you," Krasin smiled, raising her head to the sky again. Vera followed her.
They stood like that until the girl began to sway on her feet from fatigue. Then Krasin picked her up and carried her back to the cabin.
******
Until dawn, the situation was completely serene. The icebreaker made its way through the sea surface and the ice fields that stood in its path. The watchkeeping "officers" and lookouts relieved each other every two hours to prevent hypothermia, which in these latitudes, especially at sea, was extremely dangerous. The wounded huddled in warm wards, where doctors and nurses watched over them tirelessly. The women and children sat mostly in their cabins, also not burning with desire to leave them, though some children could be seen on the upper deck. Everything seemed to have returned to normal, but a viscous, heavy atmosphere, like a lead sarcophagus, enveloped everyone.
The memory of the attack was fresh, and therefore, when half an hour before noon an unknown vessel surfaced off the icebreaker's port side, Orlin, who was checking on the watchkeepers, immediately sounded the battle alarm. The women and children again huddled in their cabins, and some of the soldiers barricaded themselves below deck, bristling with weapons. The rest, on the captain's order, grabbing everything from submachine guns and rifles to heavy machine guns and even hunting rifles, ran out onto the deck, crowding the port side, aiming at the submarine that had appeared on the water.
Krasin was also informed about the detection of a potential enemy. Leaving Vera in the cabin, she joined the others, coming up on deck, and arrived just in time. About a mile from her hull, to port, the silhouette of a low ship with a sharp, predatory hull profile appeared above the water.
"What's going on here?" Krasin asked, climbing up to the upper observation platform where Orlin stood with several assistants, carefully examining the ship.
"Well, here, look," he said, handing her his binoculars. Krasin took them and immediately raised them, pointing them at the potential threat.
The new submarine had rather strange lines. The bow was raised high, like the forecastle of a destroyer. It smoothly transitioned into the main deck and ended in a rather large gun barbette with a single cannon. A small, rounded conning tower was attached to it, behind which the deck seemed to split into three paths, two of which ended almost immediately, and the third, central one, sloped into the water. Gradually, details that were hard to make out at a distance became clear. A mast, two antennas, a silhouette on the conning tower, and two signal flags.
"Flag 'O' [Oscar]," Krasin muttered, looking at the flag signals, "she's requesting permission to follow."
"Comrade, just say the word and we'll open fire," Orlin said, turning to his subordinates, checking their readiness.
Meanwhile, the submarine slowly approached, drawing almost parallel to the icebreaker, and turned its gun directly along the course, showing it had no intention of attacking. From this distance, one could already see without binoculars the flag of the Northern Fleet of the Soviet Union flying above the conning tower. Next to it flew some strange flag, possibly a personal one, and a unit flag. "V-5" was written on the conning tower.
"Hold your fire!" Krasin shouted, simultaneously descending from the observation platform to the main deck. The boat was now within tens of meters of Krasin's side.
The soldiers parted slightly, nevertheless still firmly gripping their weapons, aiming at the spot where Krasin was now standing. A moment later, a new figure appeared next to her. Bundled in a white cape, under which a red uniform was visible, a girl stood next to Krasin, slightly shorter than her. The stranger's head was wrapped in bandages covering her left eye.
"W-well... they tell the truth: 'some things only Krasin and crazy'," the girl said with a smile, looking around at those present and stopping at Krasin. "Well, hello, I guess."
"Lower your weapons," commanded the Soviet Kansen, "she's a friend."
"A friend?" Orlin asked distrustfully, conspicuously putting his hand on the Nagant's holster. The English speech hit him like a whip. "But she's English!"
"She's not entirely English," Krasin drawled, then, quickly glancing around at everyone, added, "Let's go back upstairs, there are too many curious eyes down here," she said before turning and heading towards the ladder leading to the upper observation post.
V-5, or, as she called herself, Trident, and Orlin trudged after her.
"Why are you here?" Krasin asked, leaning on the railing once they reached the observation post. "I thought you didn't patrol these latitudes."
"Right," Trident confirmed with a slight smile, "I just received your message, and as soon as I could, I rushed to your aid."
"When did you get the message?"
"About thirty-two hours ago," the submarine answered again. "I acted as a relay, so they already know about you on the Mainland."
"Uh-huh," Krasin murmured, slowly nodding her head, putting a hand to her chin. "That's good."
"What even happened to you?" Trident asked in an unexpectedly loud tone, quickly looking from the captain to Krasin and back.
"Two days ago, at night, we were attacked by an English submarine," Orlin began, omitting that the attacker belonged to META, "we fought them off somehow, but lost thirty people during the boarding."
"Hey-hey-hey! Don't put the blame on me! Even though I was born on Royal territory, I'm devoted soul and body to the Union!" Trident objected in a rumbling voice.
"And I'm not shifting blame," the captain said in a calm voice, nevertheless grabbing the handle of the Nagant, "it's just funny how we met two submarines, and both are British. How is that possible?"
"Alright! Orlin!" Krasin shouted, rubbing her forehead. "Let's not, she really is a friend."
"Then, when you said 'not entirely English,' what did you mean? Care to explain? And what is an Englishwoman doing in our fleet anyway?"
"Well, actually, Krasin can't explain it fully," Trident cautiously raised her hand, attracting attention, "so, allow me to explain."
"Well, go on," Orlin said challengingly.
"Well, then let's... so, where to start?.." she asked herself, frowning. "Well, in June of last year, forty-eight, a small quarrel, if you can call it that, happened between the Americans and the Greeks in the Mediterranean. I won't go into details, but the dispute was about two girls—Lemnos and Kilkis. Those are two American battleships that were bought by the Greeks even before the first world war. They were asked to return them."
"What are you getting at?" Orlin asked suspiciously.
"You'll understand now," Trident said, continuing to talk. "In the end, they did something there and, using the summoning mechanism... well, for us... managed to summon, besides Lemnos and Kilkis, also Mississippi and Idaho—essentially them, but in American service. Then they shared this technology with Great Britain, and they brought it almost to perfection," Trident sighed, continuing, "As a test, they did several trial summons, so their fleet saw Royal Sovereign raise her flag again, a couple of cruisers, destroyers, and so on, and so forth... and that's when they summoned me, my sister Tiger, and three more S-class submarines: Sturgeon, Sea Lion, and Sea Wolf," she closed her eye, laughing quietly. "To say they were surprised... it was funny. Well, and then the English government tried to send us here, to the Union. In the end, they somehow reached an agreement, and well, here we are."
Orlin looked suspiciously at Krasin, waiting for her confirmation; she noticed it.
"I didn't know half of this, but what I did know—it all matches," she said, shrugging.
"Alright," Grigory said sullenly, finally removing his hand from the Nagant's holster. But his calm was short-lived.
"Ship off the starboard bow!" a cry from one of the lookouts echoed across the deck.
Krasin and Orlin quickly raised their binoculars, searching for the new target on the horizon. Trident also pulled a spyglass from under her clothes.
The distant silhouette of a submarine with two gun turrets, one of which was destroyed, slowly sailed, cutting through the waves.
"Is that the one who attacked you?" Trident asked, lowering her binoculars, glancing sideways at Krasin. She lowered her binoculars to chest level. Unnoticeable to others, her hands were trembling slightly, and her mouth was dry. Krasin hissed through her teeth:
"Yes, that very creature."
"All hands, battle stations!" Orlin shouted.