Troubled Waters: Part Two

You ready for part two? Good, because it's about to get a bit crazy...

It hadn’t taken them long to figure out I didn’t speak Russian. Marin remained quiet throughout the entire time, excusing her voicelessness to the fact her teeth where chattering and she was shivering all over. They eyed us both a bit skeptically, but gestured and waved for us to go inside the submarine, some smiling as they did so.

“I’m not sure if this is a trap or they really are just being nice,” I mumbled to Marin as we climbed down a ladder and into the belly of the submarine.

She didn’t respond, it was all she could do to hold onto the rungs while trying to keep the blanket around her. Poor girl was freezing, and I hoped the time in the water wasn’t a precursor to hypothermia.

Every one of the soldiers gave us curious looks and glances as we were lead to what I presumed was the control room. Several of them questioned their comrades in rapid Russian, which I could only guess the meaning of. I glanced helplessly at Marin.

“They’re curious,” she murmured between chattered teeth. “And they’re wondering what we were doing in the middle of the ocean. They’re afraid that a war has started.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Remind me again just what time period we’re in? Why are they afraid of war?”

I chuckled nervously. “No reason. Come, I think we’re about to meet the captain of the ship.”

Once in the control room, the men who’d escorted us there saluted. Several officers turned towards the soldiers and saluted back, their faces puzzled and their eyes wide as they beheld myself and Marin. We must’ve looked like two drowned rats.

The man with the most decorations on his uniform, leading me to believe he was the Captain, stepped forward.

“В чем смысл этого? Кто эти люди?” he demanded from the nearest person.

“What is the meaning of this, who are these people,” Marin translated quietly.

The somewhat chubby fellow on my right replied back, gesturing to us and waving his hand at the top of the submarine.

“He says they saw us drowning and reeled us in.”

“We weren’t drowning!” I mumbled. “Just floating aimlessly.”

Marin gave me a look and pulled the blanket around her closer. “It felt like we were about to drown.”

The Captain turned to us. Marin and I both stood at attention, not looking very respectable with towels wrapped around us and our hair mussed up.

“Вы говорите по-русски?” he asked.

“Uhhh, nyet,” I replied helplessly. “I have no idea what you said.”

Murmurings and loud whispers erupted from the rest of the officers. The Captain sucked in a breath and shook his head.

“Engl-isk-ie?” he inquired.

I understood that question perfectly. And I wasn’t about to let it go uncorrected. It didn’t matter to me that I did, in fact, speak English. What mattered to me at that moment was setting these Russians straight on one small matter. “No, I’m Scottish!” I proclaimed.

The Captain blinked. “Shotlandskiy?”

“Trevor!” Marin hissed. “Is that really important at the moment?”

“No way is anyone going to tell me I’m English!” I retorted. “I’m Scottish, born and bred. And proud of it!”

Someone groaned and said something that I presumed was negative.

“No one speaks hardly any English here, Trevor,” Marin stated nervously. She shuffled her feet. “Shall I…?”

I gave her a sharp glance. “No. Not a good idea. It’s bad enough that we’re in the middle of the most dangerous time the world has ever faced, we don’t need them to realize you understand them.”

“The most dangerous time on the face of the earth?” Marin gave me a flustered look. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?”

“Uhh, I’ll tell you later…” I muttered, as two new men entered the room.

The Captain seemed relieved at the sight of the other two officers. I wasn’t familiar with all naval positions, but I could tell these two were also high ranking men. They glanced us over with raised eyebrows. The shorter of the two frowned and scratched his chin, removing his cap and readjusting it.

The Captain of the ship drew them aside and waved in our direction, telling them something that didn’t make the shorter one seem very happy.

“He told them we were rescued out of the waters by the men, and he can’t figure out if we’re Americans or someone else. He’s afraid this has something to do with the fact there’s been no radio contact with Moscow in two days,” Marin whispered. “He says we don’t look like Cubans.” Now she faced me straight on. “What on earth is he talking about?”

“I told you, I’d address it later,” I hissed as the three highest ranking officers turned back to us. The taller of the two who'd just entered the room stepped forward, and to my surprise put his hand out.

“I am Nikita Abramov, second-in-command of B-59, the submarine which you are now aboard. I welcome you to our ship,” he said.

“Oh, you speak English!” I exclaimed, taking his hand and shaking it. “I’m Trevor Trekker and this is my- uhh, daughter, Marin.”

Nikita blinked. “So you are Scottish?”

“That’s what I told your commanding officer here, but I don’t think he understood me very well. I’m currently living in America for the time being.”

“Well, I must tell you that our entire staff,” he waved a hand at the other officers and a couple of the young submariners present, “is quite interested in knowing why you were floating in the middle of the ocean. Was your ship sunk?”

“Yes, actually,” I replied. “We hooked a huge tuna and struggled to bring it in most of the night, but ended up springing a large leak in our tiny fishing boat. It all went downhill from there. We managed to hold onto a piece of drifting wood, and that’s how your men found us some time later.”

Nikita nodded, but for some reason a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So you weren’t on a commercial ship that was torpedoed?”

“Torpedoed!” Marin gasped.

The second-in-command officer glanced her over. “You don’t sound very Scottish,” he remarked.

“She’s… Czech,” I admitted. “Her mother was Czech, too. But she died.”

He didn’t seem quite satisfied with the answer, but didn’t press it any farther. “So your fishing boat sunk and that’s why you’re here?”

“That’s about the size of it,” I replied.

Nikita actually laughed and turned back to the Captain. “Он говорит, что их рыбацкая лодка затонула . Судя по этим человеком , я могу понять, почему !”

The other submariners began to laugh, and I scooted a little closer to Marin and whispered, “Why are they laughing.”

“I will tell you later,” she shot back, using the same tone I’d used earlier.

“Someone’s a little touchy.”

“Yeah, and someone didn’t tell me what was going on.”

Nikita turned back to us and beamed. “Well I’m glad to hear that’s the only reason you’re floating around. In that case, we welcome you to our ship. I can’t say that we can drop you off anywhere other than in Cuba or Moscow, but for now you are our guests.”

“For now?” Marin asked timidly.

Nikita shrugged. “If America fires a missile at the motherland, we will be forced to take you as prisoners of war.”

I was pretty sure Marin was about ready to strangle me at the moment. “Well, let’s just hope that doesn’t happen,” I chuckled nervously.

And I meant it.

Come back next week for the final post!