Mutiny: The True Events That Inspired The Hunt for Red October

“Break off the attack!” The same voice is in Makarov’s headset.

He keys his mike. “This is Sukhoi-24 Squadron Leader Captain Makarov. Identify yourself,” he demands.

“This is Vice Admiral Kosov. Break off the attack now!”

They have reached the Storozhevoy. Makarov can see a man on the bridge, looking up at him.

“Weapons release now possible,” Ryzhkov reports.

“Nyet,”

Makarov replies. “Unit Three, Unit Three, break off. I repeat, break off.” He hauls the heavy jet hard over to starboard and pulls back on the stick, sending them climbing into the crystal-clear blue sky. They have accomplished their mission. Time now to go home.

73. THE BRIDGE

The Storozhevoy finally comes to a complete halt in the middle of the Baltic, nearly all the way to Swedish waters. It’s a little past 10:30 in the morning, local time, and a sudden hush has descended on the warship.

Once the jets broke off their attack, Potulniy had time to study the images on the radar screen. It looks as if the entire Russian navy has them surrounded.

Now it begins, he thinks.

He keys the VHF radio. “This is Captain Potulniy. We are standing by to be boarded. Which side do you prefer?”

“Port,” the terse reply comes back.

Potulniy gets on the 1MC. “Attention, all hands, this is the captain speaking. If you have weapons, put them down. We will be boarded in a couple of minutes. Anyone caught with a weapon will be forcibly disarmed and placed under immediate arrest.”

“Bridge, Acoustics,” Proshutinsky calls on the ship’s comm.

“Yes, Nikolay?” Potulniy replies. At the moment Proshutinksy is the second-ranking officer aboard.

“Shall I order a damage control party?”

“Nyet,” Potulniy says. “That will be up to the KGB when they come aboard.” Even as he speaks the initials a chill comes over him. It’s unknowable how this will all turn out. But it will not end well for any of them.

^{PART 9}

FEAR HAS BIG EYES

74. VLADIVOSTOK

This summer afternoon nearly two years after the mutiny the gentle Pacific breezes blow unusually warm in the harbor. A lot of people are out and about along the Korabelnaya Naberezhnaya Ulitsa, the main thoroughfare right on Golden Horn Bay. The winter was long and bitter, so no one wants to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary. Vendors are selling everything from ice cream to kvass, a mildly alcoholic drink, like watery beer.

The ships and submarines are lined up in precise rows at their docks on the Pacific Fleet base, their flags snapping crisply even in the light breeze, activity bustling on nearly every deck.

Gindin has been demoted one rank to lieutenant and has been assigned to work at the navy fire department in Kaliningrad. He was accused of being a coward, a disgrace to the Rodina, for not doing a better job training his men, for allowing himself to be arrested and locked up, for not making a better effort to stop the mutiny, for not willingly giving his life to save the ship.

The captain and all the other officers who had voted with the black backgammon pieces were demoted to sailors, got the same sort of punishment, except for Firsov, who was blackballed. Most of the enlisted men got exactly what Sablin had promised them: They were held for several months but then were discharged from the navy and allowed to go home. Only Alexander Shein was given an eight-year sentence at hard labor and a small fine.

Immediately after the incident, when they were taken back to Riga for their initial questioning, Gindin met his roommate, Vladimir Firsov, at the KGB’s Riga headquarters. The meeting was short and awkward, although the two men embraced warmly.

Standing on the dock now, looking at the warships, Gindin wonders why he didn’t ask his friend what had happened that night. Why had he voted to go along with Sablin’s mutiny, and then later why had he jumped ship?

Even though Gindin called Vladimir’s parents in Leningrad and asked that a message be passed along, he hasn’t seen or heard from Firsov since then. Perhaps it’s for the best.

After the dust had settled from thirty days of interrogations, Gindin and the others were made to sign a classified document promising never to talk to anyone about the mutiny. It was a KGB order, so everyone, including Gindin, took it seriously and signed without hesitation.

He has been assigned to be a fireman; it is a dead-end career in the navy that will lead to nothing as a civilian. All of his plans, all of his hard work at the academy and out in the fleet, have gone down the drain. Blotted out by the insane act of one man.

Gindin has taken a leave and come out here to the Far East to visit with his sister, Ella, and her husband, Vladimir Simchuk, his brother-in law just a few years ahead of him who had recommended the academy.