Chapter 89 — Mutiny at Sea
The Cold War had reached its peak. Despite the United States and the Soviet Union appearing cooperative—shaking hands in space and maintaining a fragile diplomatic front—their global rivalry had never truly ceased.
At sea, NATO maintained pressure on the Soviet Union through its dominant naval forces. Beneath the waves, submarines from both sides silently stalked each other in an ongoing game of underwater chess. The Soviet Navy's strategy focused on using surface ships to force NATO submarines away, thus opening lanes for its own ballistic missile submarines to slip into the deep ocean and prepare for nuclear retaliation.
To make this strategy viable, the Soviet Navy had to boost its ocean-going anti-submarine capabilities. One of its most important developments in this effort was the Project 1135 "Haiyan" class—known in the West as the Krivak-class. These medium-sized ships marked a milestone in the modernization of the Red Navy.
Technically, the ship was highly advanced. It used the М-7 COGAG propulsion system: a combined gas turbine arrangement that featured two М-8К main turbines (18,000 horsepower each) and two М-62 cruising turbines (6,000 horsepower each). Altogether, this configuration generated 48,000 horsepower, pushing the ship to a top speed of 32 knots. This performance allowed it to shift formations quickly, maneuver efficiently in air defense and anti-submarine roles, and operate across vast ocean distances. Even the British, proud of their own turbine technology, looked on with envy. Over forty ships of this class would eventually be built.
The vessel's standard displacement was 2,810 tons, rising to 3,200 tons fully loaded—comparable to a small destroyer. Were such a ship sent to China, it would surely be considered a major surface combatant.
This particular Haiyan-class ship, sailing across the Baltic Sea, was the newest of its kind in the fleet—the Vigilance. Built in 1973, she had officially launched on June 4, 1974.
Now, she had departed her home port and was embarking on a long voyage across half the globe toward the Far East, where she was to participate in major naval exercises.
On the bridge, Lieutenant Colonel Portuline, the Vigilance's commanding officer, stood with a telescope in hand, surveying the horizon. In just two weeks, the sea would begin to freeze. In a month, most ports would be locked in ice. The Soviet Union's northern geography meant suitable naval bases were few and seasonally limited.
As Portuline scanned the cold waters, he couldn't help reflecting on the real purpose of their journey. The crew believed it to be a routine exercise—common enough in the Cold War era. Joint drills, maneuvers between fleets, and interregional deployments were standard. Yet those at the captain's level knew better.
This wasn't a mere exercise.
It might be the opening move of a new strategic shift. There could be operational orders waiting in the Far East. There were even rumors the Vigilance might be permanently reassigned to the Pacific Fleet.
"Knock knock." A sharp rap echoed from below, and a man in a neatly pressed navy uniform appeared at the top of the stairwell.
"Saberlin, what is it?" Portuline asked.
Vasili Saberlin, the ship's political officer and vice-captain, saluted briskly. In the Soviet Navy, political officers held significant authority, often equal to or even greater than their commanding officers in ideological matters.
"Reporting, Captain. There's a leak in the bottom fuel tank," Saberlin said, his tone urgent.
A leak during an ocean-crossing voyage was serious. Though they would be meeting with other warships and resupply vessels along the way, the Vigilance had to rely on her own performance. Their departure had already been delayed for repairs. Any further problems could compromise the mission—and sailing at high speed only increased the risk.
"Let's go check it," Portuline said, lowering his telescope and following Saberlin down into the ship's bowels.
Their footsteps echoed against the metal as they descended. The ship's first officer trailed behind.
Portuline had only commanded the Vigilance for two years, but he already knew every inch of her. A good captain understood his vessel like he understood his own body.
The fuel tanks were located in the lower sections of the hull, helping lower the ship's center of gravity and improve its stability in rough seas.
Two minutes later, they arrived at the base of the ship.
"Captain, there's a serious leak here!" reported Sailor Shain, his expression anxious.
"Don't panic," Portuline replied. He didn't smell any overwhelming fuel vapor, which meant the leak wasn't yet critical.
He opened the access hatch and stepped inside, followed closely by the first officer.
Clang.
Suddenly, the hatch slammed shut behind them. The compartment plunged into darkness—Portuline hadn't dared turn on the lights for fear of igniting any fumes.
"Hello? What's going on?" he shouted, banging on the steel hatch.
Outside, Saberlin turned calmly to Shain and patted him on the shoulder.
"Well done. I'll gather the crew and announce our decision. Justice is on our side. It's time to relight the flame of Leningrad—to reignite the revolution!"
Saberlin's face was resolute. He had been preparing for this moment for years.
As the ship's political officer, he had long conducted ideological sessions for the crew. In his lessons, he told them about how workers, peasants, and soldiers—under Lenin's leadership—had overthrown the Tsar and the old regime. He emphasized Lenin's belief in Soviet democracy: a system of governance by the people, not bureaucrats and career elites.
The results had been dramatic. Unlike other dry political lectures, Saberlin's sessions captured the sailors' imagination. They saw him not as a distant officer but as one of their own—charismatic, principled, and righteous.
But none of them realized that every lesson had been a prelude to this day.
Saberlin believed the Soviet leadership had lost its way. The revolution needed to be reborn. And once he reached Leningrad—once he stood up and shouted to the people—he was sure they would follow.
He would become a hero of the new Soviet Union.
"Comrades, all personnel not on duty—assemble on the forward deck immediately!" Saberlin's voice rang out from the ship's loudspeaker.