The Bunker
The first concrete proof that the new assignment was going to be something out of the ordinary showed up in the form of a plain, white, windowless van. Not a UAZ; not an army vehicle at all, to the naked eye. Main Intelligence Directorate, or worse. The drive took two hours; no indication of the destination, and not a single word from the driver.
On stepping out of the vehicle, Kapitan First Rank Pyotr Razvedky was confronted with a sheer wall of cragged black rock. In front of him: a steel door, more than three meters in height. Behind him, a narrow stream, a couple of hundred meters of noisy white rapids and a small waterfall. The place was ringed on all sides by dense foliage – from above, it was invisible. There was no snow left on the pines, but the sun had not yet completely banished the winter chill. At least it would be warmer inside.
For a moment, Razvedky considered whether or not it would be polite to knock. He decided against it. He had been warned in advance that the Commissar did not like being disturbed. For good or ill, however, whoever was watching the camera feed – there was always a camera – saw him, and almost before he had the opportunity to compose himself, the steel doors swung silently open. He was greeted by a sickly gray - green Sergeant sporting the royal blue insignia of the secret police.
“Comrade Kapitan, welcome. The Commissar is expecting you. Follow me.”
The bunker turned out to be something more closely resembling a cave, roughly hewn out of the black rock, inadequately illuminated by dim orange lightbulbs strung along exposed copper wires on the ceiling. The first thing Razvedky noticed was the smell – raw and unmistakable. Veiidic Salmon, as fresh and as overpowering as the fish markets back home on the days when the trawlers came in.
The second thing he noticed was all the bones.
They were littered all over the place, so numerous that it was almost impossible to avoid treading on them, though Razvedky tried anyway. White and clean – not a scrap of flesh left on them.
Some looked entirely too big to belong to salmon.
The Sergeant deserted him after a few dozen meters, hurriedly indicating an opening to his left with another sharp salute and a thin smile.
“Through here, Comrade Kapitan. The Commissar will see you immediately.”
Razvedky swallowed hard.
The passage opened into a small chamber, perhaps ten meters by ten meters, tall and completely unilluminated. Against the opposite wall loomed an enormous silhouette, just barely discernible in the creeping gloom.
“Comrade Commissar," Razvedky began, gratified at least that his voice had not abandoned him as readily as his guide. “I am Kapitan First Rank Pyotr Razvedky. I have orders from Supreme Command.”
The shadow stirred and expanded, and Razvedky realized with some alarm that it had been sitting down.
“Privyet, Tovarish.” The voice, thin and slightly reedy, might have been almost comical if it had emanated from any less threatening source. “What do the Party command?”
Now for the speech: two short sentences, rehearsed twenty times over in the back of the van and memorized by heart. Razvedky was a Kerbal of action, but now was not the time for slipups.
“Glorious news, Comrade Commissar,” he began, “our Navy Comrades have seized control of East Hook Island from the Imperialists. You are to assume command of the garrison, effective immediately, and take whatever action necessary to neutralize all counter - revolutionary elements.” The last four words were underlined – Razvedky took special care to enunciate them. He held out the paper by way of evidence, though it was too dark to read anything.
The Commissar nodded slowly. “And you, tovarish?”
Razvedky swallowed again.
“I am to be your adjutant, Comrade Commissar."
Slowly, cumbersomely, the great silhouette turned around, and for the first time in his life Kapitan Razvedky, a decorated combat veteran, went still with fright. Out of the blackness stared two enormous red eyes.
“Are you a loyal Communist, tovarish?”
Mercifully, the muscles in Razvedky’s neck remained limber enough to nod.
“Yes, Comrade Commissar.”
The Commissar closed his eyes, licked his lips and smiled, and for a terrifying moment Razvedky saw nothing but long yellow teeth.
“Then we are have many success together, tovarish! The counter - revolutionaries and revisionists are be soon dealt with, da? Boris great Political Commissar, asallknow!”