Dealing with Traitors

Unlike the American sailors hailed as heroes upon their return, Captain Remus found himself suspended and subjected to an internal investigation once the storm had passed. The charge was clear: he had rammed the American ship using the Sierra-class submarine without authorization, inflicting damage on the vessel that demanded costly repairs from the Navy.

The interrogation room was dimly lit, shadows swallowing the edges of the space, while the cold, steely gaze of the internal affairs officers mirrored the gloom. When asked by the Political Department whether he regretted his actions, Remus shook his head firmly, showing no remorse.

"These are Soviet waters. I will never tolerate American ships gathering intelligence here. Any incursion must be met with immediate retaliation," Remus declared with unyielding conviction. A veteran of the fiercest clashes of the 1970s and 1980s Cold War, his words carried the weight of someone who had weathered every storm.

"But remember, Captain Remus," the man seated in the middle pushed up his glasses, his face like ancient ice, "you are a soldier. Soldiers obey orders. Do you realize the extent of damage your unauthorized actions caused to national assets?"

Remus sneered, his voice laced with sarcasm. "You speak of government property. But tell me, however valuable it is, can it ever be more important than the dignity of the nation?"

"Captain Remus, don't evade the question." Interrogator Xie Liaosha's impatience flickered visibly. He jabbed a pencil at Remus's forehead. "I'll ask again: do you regret your actions? Admit your mistake, and you'll be released from confinement. Refuse, and you remain here until you do."

"I'm sorry, but I don't regret it." Remus's voice was steady and resolute. Even in the murky light, his eyes shone bright and unwavering.

Xie Liaosha's anger flared. Pointing at Remus's nose, he hissed, "Then stay in the confinement room! I doubt you'll want to remain here long!"

After escorting Remus back to the cell, Xie returned to his office where Chernavin, his superior and visitor from the Northern Fleet, awaited.

Chernavin toyed with a Red Star Medal in his palm, never looking up. "Well? Comrade Remus still refuses to admit fault?"

Xie shook his head. "He's convinced he acted rightly, which complicates matters. Give us time — once his defenses crumble, we'll break him. Once he confesses, the government can gracefully praise him. You've achieved your objective, sir."

"Humph." Chernavin's dissatisfaction was palpable. "Hero or not, the best captain or not, I will force him to admit his error, by any means necessary. Do you understand?"

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Chernavin considered his next move. Undermining Yanaev's reforms and subtly disrupting the Navy's order were now his only tools. He loathed how Yanaev's rise had destroyed his plans. Before last August, it seemed Comrade Yeltsin might seize power and Chernavin would join the new elite — but Yeltsin's death erased all that.

"I understand." Xie replied quietly, bowing respectfully before leaving. Serving the Navy's Commander-in-Chief was no simple task.

Word of Remus's solitary confinement soon reached Yanaev himself. Unlike the Navy's cautious approach, Yanaev was irritated. The earlier Barron Sea Scalpel Incident had been a prime chance to burnish the army's image, squandered through Soviet caution. He hadn't expected the Navy to handle this similar opportunity so bizarrely — by isolating Remus.

Surkov, a think tank member, warned, "Our Navy is not as unified as the Army or Air Force. If left unchecked, this will spiral out of control like a wild horse."

Surkov's warning pushed Yanaev to act decisively, finally purging high-ranking naval officers he had neglected before. He welcomed another political purge. Those blind to reality should retire; those on the wrong side must repent before Lenin.

Yanaev, a harbinger of death, arrived and left devastation in his wake.

Long biased against the Navy, Yanaev resolved to discipline its top brass personally. Canceling his economic project inspection, he flew directly to the Northern Fleet base in Murmansk. His mission: to humble the arrogant Navy and warn those wavering alongside Chernavin that their true loyalty belonged to Soviet leader Yanaev — not Chernavin.

Felix Nikolayevich Gromov, commander of the Northern Fleet, first learned of Yanaev's impending visit. He hastily arranged a guard of honor, but Yanaev's expression upon landing was grim — less a warm welcome, more a summons for answers.

General Gromov wiped cold sweat from his brow. Yanaev's fearsome reputation as a "butcher" was legendary. Officers who witnessed his ruthless purges of the Army's elite trembled at his approach. Especially those aligned with liberals, who vanished without a trace after secret trials.