Chapter 90 — Red Horizon
According to the traditions of the Soviet Navy, the deck was painted in a distinct orange-red tone. On the forward deck of the Vigilance, atop the 76mm naval gun, stood Saberlin—steadfast despite the swaying of the ship in the Baltic's choppy waters.
Though the Vigilance displaced over 3,000 tons and boasted formidable anti-submarine capabilities, it lacked a helicopter pad or hangar. With no aft deck, the ship's forward section was the only suitable place for a full crew assembly.
Now, gathered there in the icy wind, sailors and officers alike looked up at Saberlin. His posture was upright, his voice clear against the crashing waves.
"Comrades! Our captain is no longer fit to command this vessel due to medical reasons. From this moment, I am assuming command," he declared. "I've made the decision. We're taking the Vigilance to Leningrad!"
Leningrad?
The assembled sailors were stunned. Their official mission was to sail east—to join exercises with the Far Eastern Fleet. But now...
"Comrades, do you remember the Potemkin uprising?" Saberlin continued.
He had often shown scenes from the revolutionary film Battleship Potemkin during his political lessons. On June 14, 1905, sailors aboard the Potemkin mutinied against their brutal Tsarist officers. They executed those they deemed traitors, elected their own leadership, and sailed under the red flag to Odessa, joining striking workers in defiance of the Tsar. Though the revolt was eventually crushed, it marked a turning point: the military—once a pillar of the monarchy—had begun to shift its loyalty toward revolution.
The mention of Potemkin stirred something in the gathered sailors. The imagery was powerful. The comparisons subtle, yet persuasive.
"Our country is facing crisis," Saberlin continued. "Privileged elites grow fat while workers suffer. Corruption festers in our ministries. Even in our Baltic Fleet, we see decay. The time has come to awaken the people with action! We sail to Leningrad—to reignite the flame of revolution!"
"You're committing treason, Saberlin!" one officer suddenly shouted from the crowd.
Two sailors immediately grabbed the man, clamped a hand over his mouth, and dragged him away without resistance. The silence that followed was heavy.
"This isn't betrayal—it's the beginning of salvation," Saberlin said forcefully. "We must act decisively. Only revolution can cleanse the system and return power to the people!"
"Yes! We must act decisively!"
"We'll broadcast our message to the entire Union!"
Saberlin's closest followers echoed his words passionately. Their voices grew louder, spreading among the sailors. The crowd began to murmur, then to chant: "To Leningrad! To Leningrad!"
Groupthink had taken hold. In the face of emotional rhetoric and peer pressure, even skeptical sailors were swept up. It was the psychology of mass persuasion. And Saberlin understood it perfectly.
He wasn't mad. He was calculated.
He had long analyzed the systemic decay. He saw the growing disillusionment, the quiet frustrations among the lower ranks. With enough momentum—and the right stage—he believed he could become the face of a new Soviet revolution. Like the Potemkin, the Vigilance would become a symbol.
The ship was now his.
Three officers who had objected were already detained. The rest, fearful or simply unsure, kept their silence. Sailors began to station themselves to monitor them—just in case.
The large anti-submarine ship turned gracefully in the open sea. Her rudder shifted, her hull arced, and she reversed course toward Leningrad.
To avoid detection, the crew disabled the main radio. Her М-8К gas turbines roared to life, and the ship accelerated to 32 knots. The Vigilance surged ahead, a steel blade cutting through the icy Baltic.
Leningrad awaited.
...
In the quiet countryside of Bor, the winter air was crisp and sharp. Windmills spun lazily under the gray sky—one of which little Ivan had claimed as his playground.
"Ivan, come down! It's dangerous!" Andrei called, his voice tense as he stood beneath the creaking structure.
Nearby, a few "farmers" worked the fields. Andrei knew better—they were KGB agents in plain clothes. Ever since Ekaterina and little Ivan had arrived, the area was quietly secured.
Andrei wasn't surprised. He remembered that first night in the Far East, when he stayed in Ekaterina's hospital dormitory. The woman named Diana—so seemingly ordinary—must have been KGB as well. He just hadn't realized it back then.
Even with the surveillance, Ivan's reckless climbing worried him. The boy had no fear.
"He'll be fine," Ekaterina said calmly. "Andrei, I love this life. It's peaceful. Let's stay here. Let's build something quiet and real."
Andrei looked at her, feeling a knot of conflict in his chest.
He wanted this peace. Deep down, he wanted to leave the weight of history behind. But he knew—he couldn't. The Soviet Union was changing, perhaps collapsing. If he did nothing, its death would be in vain.
"I love you, Ekaterina," he said. The words were gentle, but heavy with unspoken meaning.
"Uncle Andrei, I'm going to the beach!" Ivan shouted suddenly from atop the windmill.
The beach?
This time of year, the sea was freezing. Andrei would've preferred to sit by the fireplace, eating Caspian caviar and letting the cold winds howl outside. But when Ivan insisted on adventure, he had no choice but to follow.
"It's not far, just over the ridge," Andrei muttered.
"Uncle Andrei! I saw a warship! From the windmill—I saw it near the shore! I want to go play on the ship!"
Andrei's expression stiffened.
A warship?
Here?