Counterforce

by Richard P. Henrick

  “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll be drowning his sorrows in a bottle of vodka.”

  “I hope that’s the extent of it,” Valenko said.

  “Leonov’s an intelligent fellow, but a little too sensitive. A tragedy Like this could knock him completely off balance.”

  “To the extent of suicide?” Kuzmin asked.

  “You never know. Comrade. No pain can be as great as that generated between a man and a woman. I’ve seen many a brave officer not think twice about risking his life during a patrol, yet simply break apart upon our return after having a spat with his loved one.

  Sometimes I think that’s one of the main reasons I’ve decided to remain a bachelor all my years.”

  “Perhaps I should volunteer my own services in tracking Vasili down,” Kuzmin offered.

  Valenko’s response was firm.

  “Stay home with your wife and son, Comrade. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

  Lifting his glass, Valenko finished off the fiery spirits. While Kuzmin refilled their glasses, the captain silently cursed himself for getting involved with his senior lieutenant’s love life. He had only been trying to do good. Why did these things always have a way of backfiring? His gloomy contemplations were interrupted by the arrival of the girls.

  “Hey, you two, why the long faces?” Galina asked.

  “I bet you’ve been talking about work again.”

  “You’ve caught us out, dear,” Kuzmin answered meekly.

  “We promise there will be no more shop talk.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep that pledge,” Galina responded.

  “Now, is the kitchen detail going to have to sit here and just watch you drink that fine Ukrainian brandy?”

  “I’m sorry, ladies.” Stefan immediately began filling the two empty glasses. While he did so, Ivana nestled herself into that portion of the couch that was situated beside Valenko’s chair.

  “You wouldn’t believe the scene that’s visible outside the kitchen window,” Ivana said.

  “I’ve never seen the snow fall so thickly before.”

  “Just what we need tonight, a blizzard,” Valenko said gloomily.

  “Our company isn’t that bad, is it Captain?”

  Ivana’s question was delivered with such innocent spontaneity that Valenko broke out of his sullen mood. As the brandy glasses were passed around, he made the first toast. “To good food, good friends, and a world filled with peace and understanding.”

  The brandy was sampled, and while Stefan and Galina discussed Nikolai’s feeding schedule, Ivana initiated a conversation with Valenko.

  “The trials of parenthood. Actually, little Nikolai is an angel. The dear practically sleeps through the night now.”

  “I’m certain that Galina appreciates all your help.

  Have you two always been this close?”

  Ivana hesitated a bit before answering.

  “As the little sister, I was always quite jealous of Galina.

  We’ve had our share of spats, but nothing too serious.

  During school I didn’t have much to do with her, except to borrow clothes and make-up. And before long she was married, and here we are the very best of friends.”

  “That’s the way it should be,” Valenko remarked, while stifling a yawn.

  “Being an only child, I wish I could have experienced such a relationship, but it was not to be.” He paused, and then said, “I hate to be a spoilsport, but I think I’d better be getting on my way. Paperwork kept me awake most of last night, and all that good food and drink have drained me completely.”

  Ivana covered a yawn herself.

  “I guess I’m ready to turn in also. Hold on, and you can walk me downstairs to the apartment I’m staying in.”

  “I thought that you were staying here.”

  “I was, but with Stefan’s return I just didn’t feel comfortable. This place is crowded enough as it is.

  Fortunately, one of their bachelor neighbors is also a submariner and he’s currently out to sea. Galina got the keys from him for just such circumstances.”

  “What’s this about somebody wanting to leave?”

  Stefan said animatedly.

  “Are you certain that you don’t want one more brandy for the road?”

  Valenko stood and the others joined him.

  “I’m afraid not. Comrade. I can’t tell you what a marvelous evening it has been. I haven’t had such a good time in years.”

  “Well, it was a pleasure having you,” answered Galina.

  “Please feel free to make our home yours whenever you so wish.”

  Kuzmin nodded.

  “With that blizzard blowing outdoors, you’re welcomed to spend the night here. I can personally attest to the comfort of this sofa for sleeping.”

  “The snows don’t bother me, Comrade. In a way, I kind of look forward to walking in the white stuff once again.”

  “If you change your mind after you poke your head outside, just come back and knock,” Galina offered sincerely.

  Coats, gloves and hats were produced, and soon Valenko and Ivana found themselves alone in the hallway. Only when they reached the stairs did the naval officer feel the total effects of the alcohol he had consumed. Slightly dizzy, he halted a moment to tightly grasp the shiny wooden bannister. His escort was in no better shape as she stumbled up beside him.

  When Ivana hiccuped loudly the two broke up in a seizure of uncontrollable laughter.

  “Some example we are to the children of the Motherland,” Valenko slurred.

  “A naval officer and a teacher-to-be so potted they can’t even walk down a flight of stairs.”

  “Speak for yourself. Captain,” Ivana retorted.

  “Didn’t you know that it’s a scientific fact that women can hold their liquor much better than men?”

  Emphasizing this statement with another hiccup, Ivana shakily began to walk down the stairs. Her progress appeared steady until she faltered just as she reached the second floor landing. Keeping her from stumbling was a pair of strong, alert hands. Without a word passing between them, Valenko angled his head down and kissed her full on the lips. A vibrant shock of longing jumped back and forth between them.

  Impossible to ignore, this heart pounding, instinctive urge was stimulated by passions too-long contained.

  “You don’t really want to be alone tonight, do you sailor?” Ivana muttered breathlessly.

  Valenko answered with another long, electrifying kiss. No more words were spoken as Ivana took his hand and led him to her apartment.

  Somehow, they managed to get the door unlocked.

  Inside it was warm and dark. Neither bothered with switching on lights. Valenko allowed himself to be led by the hand onto a large mattress that lay against the far wall.

  Needless clothing was tossed to the floor as they both scurried for the cover of the bed’s thick, cotton comforter.

  Another passionate shock flared as their naked bodies touched and intertwined. Savoring the moment, Valenko allowed his hands to explore those exciting features he had watched all evening. With lips still pressed and tongues probing, his fingers traced the soft yet firm flesh of her breasts. Budlike nipples beckoned to be aroused. With an expert, gentle touch, he did so. Only after leaving them erect and stiff, did he continue his wandering.

  A creamy smooth, flat belly led to a pair of tight, squirming hips.

  Massaging the inner sides of her thighs, a line of goose bumps urged his exploration ever on. The pressure of her lips intensified as his fingers delicately probed the recesses of her womanhood.

  She needed little priming, for he found these depths wet and hot.

  Reaching out with her own hands, Ivana traced the hairy, solid surface of her lover’s chest. Her frantic exploration didn’t stop until she found her mate stiff and ready. Knowing full well that she was about to be taken by more man than she had ever encountered before, she trembled inwardly. Valenko
felt this vibration and knew that the time was right for fulfillment.

  Sliding on top of her, he cupped his hands under her buttocks and, with a single plunge of his hips, found his mark. A passionate moan escaped from Ivana’s lips as he pushed himself forward and gave her his all.

  For a fleeting second, neither party moved.

  Valenko relished the feel of their initial merger, as the slow grinding of Ivana’s hips led him on.

  Deliberately slow, he pulled himself back so that his shaft’s lips hovered outside the folds of her moist channel. This was followed by another plunge downward.

  Valenko gradually increased the speed of his rhythm.

  Assured by his gentleness, yet clearly awed by his size, Ivana hungrily matched his strokes. Loosened by his penetration, she wrapped her legs around his hips and increased her pumping. All too soon this stroke became a frenzy, and a quivering warmth began rising deep within her.

  Again she moaned and found herself begging him to take her deeper. Just as he shoved himself to his limit, a fiery, ecstatic warmth shot upward from the pit of Ivana’s loins.

  Aware of his mate’s rousing climax, Valenko abandoned all self-control and joined her. At their moment of climax, their lips again became one. He knew then that their coupling had been most right.

  Warm, soothed and satisfied, his new love snuggled up beside him. He was grateful that she didn’t need any words to express her satisfaction. As he lay there with Ivana securely in his arms, Valenko was suddenly aware of the distinct, fierce howl of gusting winds outside. Cognizant that he had made the correct choice, he hugged her gently, and within minutes matched the slow, even breaths of her deep slumber exactly.

  Chapter Four

  Approximately 3,400 miles to the southeast of the Siberian city of Petropavlovsk is the Hawaiian island of Oahu. Like the Soviet city, Oahu gained its primary importance by being home to a huge naval complex.

  The installation at Pearl Harbor was home port to not only dozens of American surface ships, but also served as headquarters for the Third Fleet’s Pacificbased submarines. It was to this spot that the attack sub Triton was called to after completing its patrol in the North Pacific.

  The morning dawned hot and clear as Captain Michael Cooksey left his command and climbed into the passenger seat of a waiting jeep, parked at the end of the gangplank. Though the Triton had arrived there almost twenty-four hours ago, this was the first time that Cooksey had been topside. Invigorated by the fresh, tropical air, he greeted his driver, then sat back for the short ride to Admiral Miller’s office.

  Cooksey was surprised when the orders inviting him to see the admiral had been received aboard the Triton the previous evening. Usually his superiors waited for his final report to be filed before debriefing him. So far, he had only released his preliminary observations of the patrol just completed. Not knowing what was in store, he yawned and took in the passing scenery.

  The port area was alive with activity as they crossed its width and began their way up the long, winding roadway that led to the headquarters complex.

  Thankful for the driver’s silence, Cooksey used this time to put the events of the last few days into proper perspective.

  Except for the failure to catch up with the suspected Soviet attack sub, the patrol had been a great success.

  There were no significant equipment difficulties to speak of. Even their interception of the carrier task force had gone as planned.

  On a personal level, all that Cooksey could complain about was his continuing problem in getting some decent shut-eye. Since arriving from Midway, Cooksey doubted he had slept more than an hour or two. As usual, when he tried he just lay stiffly in his bunk, his mind going a mile a minute. He knew that he couldn’t begin to count the cups of coffee that he had consumed on the way in.

  Any irritability on his part was apparently not noticeable to the crew.

  His conversations with them were brief and to the point, and focused entirely on their immediate duty. As it worked out, the officer he usually had the closest contact with was consumed by worries of his own. For the last few days, his XO had been a bundle of raw nerves.

  Concerned with the health of his wife, who was due to deliver their first child any moment now, Richard Craig had but one thing on his mind. Fortunately, for the safety of all of them, the exec had been able to sufficiently carry out his varied duties. Of course, he had been the first one off the Triton, having learned that Susan had been shuttled off to the base hospital that morning.

  Covering up another yawn, Cooksey looked on as they passed through a dual column of majestic coconut palms. The sun felt good on his face, and gradually his inner tension dissipated. His eyes were even beginning to nod shut, when the jeep abruptly braked to a halt. Cooksey fumbled for his I.D. card, so that the alert marine guard would allow them into the command complex that he stood before. The captain’s name was noted on a log, and only then were they allowed to proceed.

  Headquarters for the Third Fleet was located in a large, three-story, white-brick building. Situated on the summit of a lofty hillside, this location allowed for an excellent view of the port facilities below. As they approached the structure’s entrance, Cooksey noticed a wide assortment of differently shaped antennas jutting forth from the tiled roof. Interspersed between these aerials were a pair of massive satellite dishes.

  Since communications are the eyes and ears of command, Cooksey was aware of the importance of these amazingly accurate and powerful relay systems. The jeep came to a halt behind a shiny black limousine, with plates identifying it as belonging to the Defense Department. Politely, the driver informed Cooksey that he would be waiting to convey the captain back to his sub. Cooksey thanked the lad, exited the jeep, and made his way inside.

  The office of Admiral Broderick Miller was located on the third floor. Although Cooksey had only been called there a handful of times, he didn’t need to ask directions to get to the proper door. Taking a second to straighten his uniform, the blonde-haired captain sucked in a deep, calming breath, exhaled slowly and entered.

  A good-looking Hawaiian sat behind the reception desk, deeply immersed in the letter she had been typing. Cooksey remembered her from his last visit.

  The young woman was so wrapped up in her work that he had to clear his throat loudly to get her attention.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted with a start.

  “Captain Cooksey, I’m afraid you caught me in memo land I’m Lisa, and you’re certainly right on time. Can I get you some coffee before you go in to see The Boss?”

  “Why, thanks. Lisa, that would be great,” Cooksey responded.

  “Black is just fine.”

  As she rose, he couldn’t help but appreciate her tall, thin figure, and waist-long flowing black hair. It had been much too long since he had seen a woman like this … much too long.

  When Lisa turned with his coffee in hand, she caught the captain’s stare of inspection and smiled.

  Shyly, Cooksey diverted his glance while taking the enamel mug from her steady hand.

  “The Admiral said to show you in as soon as you arrived. Captain. Make the most of the good mood you’ll be finding him in. Seems he shot the best round of golf in his life yesterday.”

  Aware that she could only coax the barest of smiles from the handsome captain’s face. Lisa beckoned him to follow her. Efficiently, she approached a pair of polished walnut doors set in the far wall. After knocking on the right side, she turned the handle and signaled Cooksey to enter.

  The admiral was on the phone as Cooksey stepped inside. Motioning Cooksey to take a seat, the commanding officer of the Third Fleet continued with his conversation, oblivious to the presence of his newly arrived guest. Two high-backed leather chairs faced the admiral’s desk; and Cooksey chose the one on the left. After seating himself, he examined the office’s interior, while the admiral scribbled a long list of coordinates on a legal pad.

  Solid, dark-stained wood furniture and plush red le
ather predominated.

  One wall was covered by a massive bookshelf crammed with thousands of various volumes. A map rack stood beside it. Cooksey was surprised to find that an intricate map of Midway Island was pulled down and clearly visible. A red grease pencil had been used to circle various locations that lay in the waters to the north of the island. On the wall next to the map rack were over a dozen framed photos, which Cooksey knew were the various ships that the admiral had served aboard. Represented here were vessels ranging from fleet oilers to a destroyer, several World War II-style diesel submarines, and a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier.

  The room’s only window was a massive affair, set immediately behind the desk. This afforded the admiral an excellent view of the port. A shiny brass telescope sat on a tripod beside it. It was said that Miller often used this scope to watch the sailors down below. It was rumored that many a shirker had been reported from this unlikely vantage point. A golf putting machine, complete with balls, a putter and a spongy green, rubberized skirt completed the furnishings.

  Cooksey took a sip of his coffee and looked at the man who sat before him. Well into his sixties now, Admiral Broderick Miller still glowed with an abundance of robust energy. Even though his hair had long turned to pure white, this only gave him an additional degree of distinction. With his skin tanned a golden brown, and blue eyes sparkling, the man seemed a perfect picture of health.

  It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had been carried off the flaming deck of the carrier Yorktown. For it was during the battle of Midway that the young officer, fresh from the Naval Academy, gained the attention of his superiors. Under the expert guidance of Admiral Spruance, Miller rose quickly in the ranks. Distinguishing himself as a brilliant tactician and competent administrator, he was placed on a variety of ships to accumulate vital experience. This wide range of knowledge served him well in his current post. The admiral’s imploring stare caught that of Michael Cooksey as he silently begged the young officer to have patience. Firmly, he talked into the telephone.