Mutiny: The True Events That Inspired The Hunt For Red October by Boris Gindin, David Hagberg Page A
Authors: Boris Gindin, David Hagberg
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and death over his crew. His eighteen officers are his standard-bearers, responsible for every detail 24/7. That means if an ordinary sailor makes a mistake, the first person to take the heat will be the officer in charge of his section. And the punishments, especially when Novozilov is involved, will be swift and harsh. More than one Soviet naval officer’s career has been short-circuited because he didn’t pay attention to how his sailors were behaving.
Two schedules are kept aboard ship. The routine daily one that starts with wake-up at six in the morning and ends with bedtime at ten in the evening. Intertwined is the duty schedule in which every sailor and officer works eight hours per twenty-four, is on call for eight hours, and is off for eight hours. That means everybody aboard adheres to both schedules at the same time, which can be grueling.
At 0600 reveille sounds and everyone in bed gets up. The ship’s dayhas begun, and for the next thirty minutes everyone who can be spared from duty comes up on deck for exercises, no matter the weather. These are push-ups, jogging in place, stretches, and sit-ups. Afterward the men have a half hour to clean up and get dressed for duty.
Showers aboard a Soviet warship are almost as rare as democratic elections. Freshwater is very scarce, so everyone, even officers, is allowed to take a shower only every few weeks, perhaps once a month. It’s just a fact of life aboard that no one questions.
After the first week at sea everyone stinks to high heaven—but it’s
everyone,
so after a while no one seems to notice. But when you do get to take a shower and change into clean clothes you suddenly realize that everyone else smells really bad.
Since Lieutenant Gindin is in charge of the water makers and water-heating equipment he can be one of the more popular officers aboard.
Breakfast starts at 0700 and can last as long as forty-five or fifty minutes. It’s when everyone gets to talk about the coming duty day or perhaps problems on the overnight shifts or about family and kids and letters from home. And it’s the time to tell jokes—but never about a man’s wife or girlfriend. It is an unwritten rule. Duty at sea is tough enough without worrying about your wife because one of your fellow officers told an off-color joke and put an idea into your head.
If Potulniy or Novozilov or even Sablin is in the officers’ dining hall while they are in port, the jokes cease and everyone finishes eating as quickly as possible and gets back to work.
“We had to prove that we didn’t have any extra time on our hands,” Gindin says.
But at sea the atmosphere, at least in the dining hall, is more relaxed, even when the captain is there. Everyone tells jokes, because the pressure on them is enormous and a good belly laugh provides a little relief.
Even Potulniy isn’t above playing a little practical joke. The
Storozhevoy
had a new dietary officer assigned to the crew. His mainjob was to take charge of all the food and miscellaneous supplies aboard. According to the duty roster, he was listed as an assistant to the captain. This dietary officer had never gone to any naval academy to learn a profession; he got his rank in an army college before he was sent out to the fleet, but as a captain’s assistant he thought that he was a pretty big deal.
So a few days out, Potulniy sends the dietary officer to do a complete inventory of all the food and supplies, and when he is finished he bumps into Boris in a corridor.
“The inventory is finished, Comrade Lieutenant,” the big shot says, a self-important smile plastered on his rat face.
But Boris has caught on right away. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean? I checked everything!”
“But not the lifeboats. They have to be checked for supplies such as chocolate and
spirt.
You know, in case we have to abandon ship we’ll need those things in order to survive. But a lot of the time the sailors get into the lifeboats and steal
Two schedules are kept aboard ship. The routine daily one that starts with wake-up at six in the morning and ends with bedtime at ten in the evening. Intertwined is the duty schedule in which every sailor and officer works eight hours per twenty-four, is on call for eight hours, and is off for eight hours. That means everybody aboard adheres to both schedules at the same time, which can be grueling.
At 0600 reveille sounds and everyone in bed gets up. The ship’s dayhas begun, and for the next thirty minutes everyone who can be spared from duty comes up on deck for exercises, no matter the weather. These are push-ups, jogging in place, stretches, and sit-ups. Afterward the men have a half hour to clean up and get dressed for duty.
Showers aboard a Soviet warship are almost as rare as democratic elections. Freshwater is very scarce, so everyone, even officers, is allowed to take a shower only every few weeks, perhaps once a month. It’s just a fact of life aboard that no one questions.
After the first week at sea everyone stinks to high heaven—but it’s
everyone,
so after a while no one seems to notice. But when you do get to take a shower and change into clean clothes you suddenly realize that everyone else smells really bad.
Since Lieutenant Gindin is in charge of the water makers and water-heating equipment he can be one of the more popular officers aboard.
Breakfast starts at 0700 and can last as long as forty-five or fifty minutes. It’s when everyone gets to talk about the coming duty day or perhaps problems on the overnight shifts or about family and kids and letters from home. And it’s the time to tell jokes—but never about a man’s wife or girlfriend. It is an unwritten rule. Duty at sea is tough enough without worrying about your wife because one of your fellow officers told an off-color joke and put an idea into your head.
If Potulniy or Novozilov or even Sablin is in the officers’ dining hall while they are in port, the jokes cease and everyone finishes eating as quickly as possible and gets back to work.
“We had to prove that we didn’t have any extra time on our hands,” Gindin says.
But at sea the atmosphere, at least in the dining hall, is more relaxed, even when the captain is there. Everyone tells jokes, because the pressure on them is enormous and a good belly laugh provides a little relief.
Even Potulniy isn’t above playing a little practical joke. The
Storozhevoy
had a new dietary officer assigned to the crew. His mainjob was to take charge of all the food and miscellaneous supplies aboard. According to the duty roster, he was listed as an assistant to the captain. This dietary officer had never gone to any naval academy to learn a profession; he got his rank in an army college before he was sent out to the fleet, but as a captain’s assistant he thought that he was a pretty big deal.
So a few days out, Potulniy sends the dietary officer to do a complete inventory of all the food and supplies, and when he is finished he bumps into Boris in a corridor.
“The inventory is finished, Comrade Lieutenant,” the big shot says, a self-important smile plastered on his rat face.
But Boris has caught on right away. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean? I checked everything!”
“But not the lifeboats. They have to be checked for supplies such as chocolate and
spirt.
You know, in case we have to abandon ship we’ll need those things in order to survive. But a lot of the time the sailors get into the lifeboats and steal
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