Murmansk
The cyclist approaches the hill that leads into the town perched at the top of a very long and steep grade. The pedaling is difficult and slow but Petrov persists in his dogmatic pedaling at a dismal speed. He knows he looks ridiculous to anyone observing as he is not a professional rider. The distinct wobble of his upper torso alternately to the left and right causes him to maintain his focus on presenting a more dignified profile of a qualifying athlete in long distance training. Heaving with exertion, Petrov luxuriates in the crisp, pristine Arctic air.
The town opens before him and appears deserted. What little is visible in the bright moonlight presents an eerie and desolate vista of centuries old wooden structures, ill-maintained with bare clapboards and trim and odd angles askew. Great attention to detail is evident in trim carvings and decorative lintels and door frames and results in a subdued and modest feeling of opulence and erudition.
“The feel of the place is of a college town that for some reason is now abandoned,” thought Petrov. The village is a mere four blocks of structures and empty narrow cobbled streets built more for horse drawn carriages than for modern automobiles. Petrov carefully navigates the crumbling granite curbstones and cobbles.
The stranger had been told by the locals in Murmansk that the town was abandoned many years in the past. The reasons given were varied; the water was bad, a deadly contagious disease was virulent , the Communist government forcibly removed the citizens during the Stalinist era. Petrov realizes that any or all of these reasons are credible and accepts the unknown.
“Considering the remoteness of this part of Russia and the scarcity of building supplies, I am surprised the village isn’t pillaged. There is no observable security force protecting this place and no off-limit signs,” Petrov notices. Open to exploration, he decides to press onward and brazenly navigates what passes for the main street of the village. Two and three-story buildings line the widest part and open into a town square. The trees are bare this time of the year and look very ancient with thick spiraling trunks and vaulting, twisted limbs. The diameter of the largest is at least three meters. The snow has piled into drifts and the sidewalks are clear in places due to the incessant Arctic wind. Other than the howl of the wind, the village is strangely silent, as quiet as a graveyard and just as foreboding.
“Anyone can hide in these buildings,” Petrov worries, “I am a sitting duck if they decide to shoot.” His sources told him that the village is uninhabited and all of them were in agreement that he would not be confronted.
A warehouse at the edge of the village is the only sign of human habitation as Petrov sees the interior lights. He approaches unseen and unsure of what he will find in such a desolate setting ten kilometers from Murmansk. He is surprised that electricity is even available in the desolate village. He encircles the large wooden building that apparently was used as a shipping point in the past due to the proximity of the now rusted rails and decaying ties of a train line running adjacent to the building. He approaches a window that is lighted, careful to not let his presence known. A large water-filled structure occupies a corner of the expansive interior and a group of people surround the waist high tank. The people are short in stature and remind him of children in their mannerisms and the ways they are interacting with each other. Petrov notices emotions of dread and fear splaying across their faces but he cannot hear speech from his vantage point outside the building. He notices stainless steel, long narrow appendages where their hands should be. Needle like curved claws flash in the fluorescent lighting as attempts are made to grasp baseball size metal objects from the water that is agitated and splashing. Petrov is not sure if these devices are tools being used by the people surrounding the table or if they are replacements for their hands.
A single thought enters Petrov’s mind, “You should not be here.” The thought is almost audible to him and he looks around with trepidation that he may have been discovered as an intruder.
“I need to come back here with proper camera equipment for low light photography,” he decides as he mounts his bicycle and skirts the central part of the village, hoping to remain unseen. He quickly descends the hill leading from town and is grateful to be away from the gloomy village and the strange activity in the warehouse. Bright streetlights would not provide comfort in this village as the degree of deterioration is advanced and a pervasive anxiety and feeling of insecurity motivate the rider to press on tirelessly towards Murmansk.
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1
The leaden ocean churned with whitecaps as the storm continued in its ferocity. Dmitri Khromov held fast to the rail as he made his way to the bridge to report to the Captain the condition of the cargo the ship carried. Fortunately, the ship solidly held together against the hurricane force winds and the eight-meter waves that punished the flotilla enroute to Murmansk. This storm made Dmitri regret how he had cursed the blinding fog of the previous day. The impermeable mist had surrounded the ships in the Bay of Biscay off the coast of France and created an uneasy sense of foreboding that hung over the crew. The feeling among the Russian sailors was ubiquitous and no amount of modern navigational technology could assuage the sense of doom that followed the flotilla, a perceptible uneasiness that had dogged them since entering the Atlantic waters from the Mediterranean.
This area of the ocean was fifty-seven kilometers due west from the southwestern coast of Ireland where the Spanish Armada had met its demise as the Spanish crown sought to engage the English navy. There were no unmapped sandbanks or rock formations to hazard the flotilla but the treacherous winds played havoc with the best of sailors. If any one of the ships lost power here and was set adrift, the current and tide would surely result in a harrowing drift eastward to the Irish coast and the submerged rocks and sharp precipices there.
Capt. Oleg Malyovich questioned Dmitri, “In what condition are the cargo hold doors? Were there leaks of ocean water into the hold from the waves breaking on the deck of the ship? Were the barrels in the cargo hold leaking radioactive fluid?” The cargo on this passage consisted of spent fuel from nuclear reactors in the Ukraine. The fuel had previously been stored at the nuclear power plant in the Ukraine as it cooled and was afterwards transferred to barrels lined with a thick layer of lead to help prevent radiation from leaking out. The tossing of the ship had worried the Captain as the barrels, though securely fastened to the floor, had been known to leak low levels of radiation through the seals at the tops of the barrels. The crew would sleep restlessly that night. Captain Malyovich ordered the men to maintain two-hour watches in the cargo hold. The ship churned onward in its difficult journey to waters north of Scotland.
2
Dawn broke eerily for the crew of the Novo. The notorious fogs of these waters continued to blind the crew and the moisture was turning to snow. The sun was hidden and only the grayness of the ocean immediately surrounding the ship was visible. Dmitri cursed the wind. The blinding snow created great difficulty for him and his fellow sailors as the Russian naval cargo ship wended its way northeast around the coast of Scotland. Icebergs were rare in these waters although not unheard of. Another week of dangerous conditions were in store before the flotilla of both the destroyer escorts and the cargo ships reached the port of Murmansk. This freak storm caught the naval squadron unawares although not entirely without preparation. A Russian ice cutter was due to meet them as they rounded the Norwegian coastline. Typically, the waters were ice free this time of year but with the cargo of radioactive waste products and debris from decommissioned nuclear reactors, the flotilla could not be too cautious. Preparations were made for any type of weather conditions the sailors may encounter.
The journey had started in the Black Sea as several stops were made at various ports around the Eastern bloc nations that were aligned with the former USSR government. The federal government was in disarray, but the treaties were being honored and the Russian navy continued to ship the detritus from the nuclear operations through the Mediterranean, northward along the coasts of Portugal and France and further north around Scotland and Norway. The ultimate destination was Murmansk, Russia where spent nuclear fuel material had been stored since the 1960s after nuclear programs in the military and civilian sectors had commenced.
The Russian flotilla entered the Barents Sea thirty-five kilometers north of the coast of Norway. They had refueled northeast of Scotland when they were met by a Russian naval refueling tanker. The storm subsided and they were able to successfully transfer the fuel without incident. The tanker did have to rendezvous later than expected as the storm that encountered the flotilla off the coast of Scotland took its toll on the scheduled itinerary
Dmitri Khromov and his shipmates were very much relieved at last. The stress of the sea voyage along the western coast of Europe weighed heavily on the sailors and they turned their thoughts to their final destination, Murmansk, which was a day and a half journey away.
Dmitri gazed at the photographs Lena had given him. She did not want to risk him forgetting her over a chance encounter in some faraway seaport. She was photographed in the café where she is employed and patrons and fans are gazing at her with a mix of emotions revealed on their faces. The young sailors look at her in awe of her beauty with hopeful and furtive, wandering eyes. The older sailors have expressions of impatience as they wait for their food orders or coffee refills.
Dmitri’s shipmate, Fyodor bemusedly asks, “Is this your girlfriend you have been staring at for the last half hour?” He already knows the answer as all the enlisted sailors pour over photographs and letters from their loved ones when not on watch on deck or manning the engine rooms.
“Yes, these are her photographs. Look at how lovely her golden hair shines in the light from the café window. Her eyes remind me of the ocean farther south, a clear blue shade unlike the dark gray of the northern seas.” Dmitri carefully stored her photographs in the paperback he had borrowed from the ship’s library. He enjoyed dreaming of her when taking a break from his reading.
Fyodor continued, “I don’t have a girlfriend or fiancé, only casual acquaintances that I date on occasion. I am not ready to settle down like yourself. Congratulations, again, on your engagement. Have you decided when the marriage is to take place?”
Dmitri was surprised that Fyodor would share such personal information with him. They worked together on the ship but only knew each other since the present assignment sailed a month ago from the port in Murmansk. The general quarters for the sailors were little more than cramped bunk beds and hammocks on the wall for storage. The sailors tried to stay out of each other’s way and were somewhat successful because of the staggered work schedule. The twelve-hour shifts allowed the sailors some personal time when not enjoying the cooks grub or playing chess or ping pong ball in the recreation room. Dmitri decided he could maintain his privacy by limiting his interactions with others when unnecessary. The other sailors mistook this for shyness or disinterest but this was a family trait he had learned from his father, Sergei, who had survived numerous years as a forced laborer under the Stalinist regime in the old guard Communist Soviet Union.
“No, we have not set a date yet as our plans are tentative. The Navy has us apart quite a bit because of my assignments with the Novo shipments,” replied Dmitri.
“It is too bad Lena could not enlist with you and be assigned as a couple on the same ship.” Fyodor was referring to the newly adopted practice in the Russian Navy of allowing husbands and wives to serve their enlisted assignments together as a team on the same ships. The practice was experimental and difficult to implement as there is limited space for privacy onboard the ships. All of the enlisted men were in favor of the rule change but the officers feared debauchery and jealous emotions that might interfere with the ship's discipline.
3
Capt. Malyovich looked very concerned as he hung up the satellite phone on the bridge. He ordered his assistant to convey a general order to gather the crew of twenty-seven together on the deck. He had received bad news from the Russian naval base at Severomorsk. The flotilla had been ordered to reroute to a location forty-two kilometers northeast. A Russian nuclear-powered submarine had been forced to surface unexpectedly due to a fire on board. The ships in the flotilla were to help evacuate the crew of the submarine. Lives had been lost due to the fire and resultant smoke inhalation. Some of the crew had evacuated to lifeboats while others worked to secure the nuclear reactor on board the submarine as well as the torpedoes and warheads that the vessel carried.
This was a very dangerous assignment. The cargo vessel was to bring the victims on board and a destroyer escort was to attempt to haul the submarine to port at Severomorsk in Russia. The fire had started when a torpedo misfired during a Russian naval training exercise seventy kilometers north of the Norwegian coast. The propellant exploded in the torpedo bay and caused damage to electrical cables and caused a subsequent fire to break out. The fire suppression system activated, however five sailors suffocated as the oxygen was depleted. Several were burned beyond recognition. The submarine surfaced within twenty minutes of the accident and the remaining crewmen were evacuated to inflatable lifeboats. Time was of the essence in the rescue effort as the water temperature was three degrees centigrade. The naval flotilla and a fishing vessel churned towards the stricken submarine in hopes of finding survivors.
Captain Malyovich ordered Dmitri and the others to assemble life jackets and blankets on the deck of the Novo. A small speedboat was readied to be lowered into the water to ferry survivors of the mishap to safety onboard the Novo. All the ships in the flotilla neared the rescue site and maintained a half kilometer distance between each vessel. The Novo sat lowest in the water so it was ordered to maintain its first responder status. There was plenty of space in the cargo hold for the survivors to bunk until the flotilla arrived in Severomorsk the following day. The temporary quarters were well away from the radioactive cargo and numerous lead-lined bulkhead doors offered further protection.
Malyovich looked out to sea as he spoke to the crewmen, “This is an unexpected change in our itinerary but we have orders to follow. We are to deliver as much help as possible to the stricken crew of the Ural. The rescued sailors will stay in the forward hold away from the cargo area. They will be safe there and out of harm’s way. See to your stations,” the Captain ordered.
Dmitri wondered about the truthfulness of the Captain’s words. He did not like the way the man refused to look the sailors in the eye when he spoke of the cargo. Dmitri spoke to Fyodor, his shipmate, “Can we trust what the Captain is saying? My instinct tells me no.”
Fyodor replied, “What can we do? Malyovich has his orders from Severomorsk and the commanders there.”
The flotilla was very fortunate as the weather had calmed and the ocean was tranquil with minimal half meter waves. The rescue attempt was successful and the sailors and officers safely boarded the Novo. They were able to negotiate the disturbance caused by the sinking of the Ural as the submarine listed and then disappeared under the surface of the ocean. Tensions were heightened, however as the Captain and officers of the Ural did not know what to expect from the nuclear reactor that had powered the Ural. The bulkheads isolating that part of the submarine were watertight so there would be a delay before a reaction to the salt water were to occur if at all. The officers successfully powered down the reactor yet there was spent nuclear fuel and the reactor cores to consider. The flotilla hurriedly turned and continued on their return voyage to Murmansk. The Russian naval commanders at Severomorsk ordered their fleets to avoid a perimeter of one hundred and fifty kilometers from where the Ural had sunk to the ocean floor. The depth where the Ural rested was two hundred and twenty-seven meters, which was relatively shallow for an open ocean. The Barents Sea was classified as a shelf sea and a continental shelf extended outward from Scandinavia and Russia for quite a ways before yielding to the depths of the Arctic Ocean.
Dmitri helped to secure the sailors and officers in their makeshift quarters on the Novo. Several of the sailors had received burns from the fire on the stricken sub and the remainder considered themselves lucky to have escaped at all. Five sailors had been trapped in a forward compartment and their fate was unknown although it was assumed that they had succumbed to the flash fire that had initially occurred when the torpedo malfunctioned.
4
Several of the rescued sailors gathered on deck and were enjoying the salt air and the light breeze. Flasks of vodka were passed around as Capt. Malyovich generously helped to celebrate the successful rescue. The cries of the seagulls were welcome indeed as the flotilla neared the coast of Murmansk Oblast in Russia. Dmitri joined the sailors and was quite happy and relieved that the shipment of the irradiated reactor equipment and the spent nuclear fuel was arriving to port without incident. He was extremely agitated during the rescue of the crew of the Ural as he did not know what to expect from the wreckage and the spent nuclear reactor onboard. Dmitri looked older than his years as his beard leant a darkened appearance to his facial complexion. His piercing black eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep but the excitement of nearing the flotilla’s final destination and his coveted rendezvous with his beloved Lena prevented him from sleep. Tomorrow he would be safely ashore and in the arms of his girl.
The wind caught Dmitri’s hair and whipped it away from his face. This trip from Odessa and the lack of sleep and the anxiety and worry took its toll on his youthful face. Already he had dark circles under his eyes and it gave him a haggard, raffish appearance that belied his young age of twenty-three. This was only his second voyage with the Novo on this sea route. Dmitri knew that the Soviets had been reckless with their treatment of the spent nuclear fuel and the radioactive assemblies from the nuclear reactors. There were over five hundred decommissioned reactors in the Kola peninsula from naval vessels as well as from domestic energy production in the former USSR. Other material was simply deposited into the ocean in the Kara Sea to the north of Siberia. Everyone on this ship knew of the Soviet government’s disregard for safety. The travesty made Dmitri want to strike out at those responsible for the debacle. He knew that many in the former Communist government were still public servants and this knowledge did not sit well with Dmitri.
"This sickens me. I am afraid I might throw up any minute," thought Dmitri as he fought to keep that from happening around his shipmates.
The fight or flight instinct was in play when Dmitri thought about the radioactive pollution in the Kara Sea. Adding salt to the wound, the present government wanted to exploit the Kara Sea as prime fishing ground. That part of the ocean was only ice free for two or three months out of the year.
"What were these people thinking when they decided to dump the spent nuclear fuel into the open ocean? Where does it go and does it harm the sea life and what about the danger to humans if they eat the fish from that area?" Dmitri had many unanswered questions and wanted to research the topic further when he returned to Murmansk.
5
The Murmansk peninsula is a wasteland where mining and manufacturing activities had taken place since the late 1800s. Unmaintained dump sites for toxic wastes were ubiquitous. The sky was dark and dingy not only from the winter weather but also because of the toxic clouds of pollutants emitted by the factories and processing plants on the peninsula. Rainbow hued patterns festooned the bay leading to the Arctic Ocean as the runoff from the toxic dumps poisoned the local waters that fed into the pristine Arctic. This had been going on for a long time.
The port of Murmansk was built during World War I to bring supplies, armaments and troops to the north of Russia in the winter. The port was ice free due to the warm currents of the Atlantic influencing the water temperatures in the vicinity. Still, winter storms menaced the area and Murmansk boasted an extreme climate as the largest city north of the Arctic Circle. Nuclear warhead tests on Arctic islands farther to the east also served to increase the importance of the military installation at Severomorsk, twenty-five kilometers northeast of Murmansk.
Dmitri's father was a supervisor in the naval port facility. Sergei Romanev Khromov was a former prisoner of one of Josef Stalin’s Communist Party purges and had been exiled to Murmansk from Moscow. He and the other prisoners were tasked with helping to build the city and the shipping facility or face the prospects of the dreaded gulags. The arctic environment was brutal for them as the housing facilities for the prisoners provided only simple shelter from the wind. The walls were bare, unpainted slats of wood with an improvised layer of tar paper insulation beneath that. The roof was corrugated tin and leaked everywhere as the nails securing the tin had not been properly sealed to prevent moisture from getting through. The public latrine outside the structure overflowed constantly and serviced over one hundred prisoners. The dormitory featured bunks stacked three high and thin mattresses that looked as if rats nested there as well. The prisoners suffered from lice, scabies and bedbugs and their skin boasted continuous weeping lesions that never healed, that would crust over until the itching became so unbearable that the prisoners would scratch until they bled, then the healing process would start all over again.
The prisoners were forced to work on the construction of the buildings to house the future city dwellers and the administrative centers as well as the facilities in the military base and port. They toiled year-round for meager rations, often only a loaf of Russian peasant bread, some potatoes and, mercifully, a measure of vodka. It was homemade quality and lacked robustness and flavor but it helped the prisoners to make it through the long hours of Arctic darkness as they continued to labor at the construction sites. The heating at all of the jobsites was provided by kettles of kerosene that were set on fire with a small smokestack above each kettle to radiate the heat and provide protection from the flames in the windy workspace. Many of the prisoners helped to transport toxic wastes from manufacturing and mining operations in Murmansk. Nickle was mined and refined at several locations and iron was smelted as well. The prisoners all returned to their barracks blackened by the smoke that they had breathed all day. Coughing filled the air throughout the night and not a few passed away from advanced lung diseases because of the pollution and poor diet.
Sergei Khromov, Dmitri's father was fortunate, indeed. He had been trained as an accountant with the government housing office in Moscow before he was arrested during a purge. His accounting and math skills were highly sought in this remote area and his mental acuity helped to provide a buffer against the severe physical labor that alone killed numerous prisoners. He was tasked with helping to run the accounting office for the port at Severomorsk. The British Air Force had also formerly used the facilities there and in Murmansk during World War II to maintain its fighter squadron that had protected the Allied forces’ Arctic convoys that had operated in these waters during the war effort.
Khromov's civil service position was not without rewards. His rations were greater and the housing facilities much more adequate than the prisoners’ barracks. He worked in the inventory office and he helped to inspect the cargo, the men, and the machinery that arrived at the port. His job took on a very mysterious and onerous quality when the Soviet government began to establish nuclear waste storage facilities outside of Murmansk. Andreyeva Bay was only fifty-five kilometers from the border with Norway and one hundred seven kilometers north of Murmansk. Spent rods, used nuclear fuel, plutonium and other radioactive waste products from nuclear reactors around the former USSR were interred at Andreyeva Bay in shoddy conditions, often in steel pipes encased in dubious quality concrete. The science of radioactivity was either entirely lost on the storage facility operators or they simply did not value the lives of the personnel that were tasked with the operation of maintaining the warehouses.
The federal government had broken up in 1991 and various provinces of the former USSR were declaring their independence. The workers in Murmansk and Andreyeva Bay, already used to trifling pay scales, were desolate as their paychecks stopped altogether. Khromov was desperate. The nuclear waste products could not be left unattended. The facilities were nearly full and he did not want a repetition of the disaster of 1982 when radioactive water leaked into the bay from Building 5. Years were spent cleaning up afterwards and the effort continued yet. Fortunately, no one died in that debacle, however many laborers and cleanup personnel received high doses of radiation and were beginning to show signs of poisoning.
Khromov had to decide whether to accept further lucrative shipments of nuclear waste products from around Eastern Europe or operate the facilities without a budget at all. "Why did not the Soviet comrades plan for situations like this? Who could have forseen the breakup of the USSR in this manner?" argued Khromov with no one in particular but his perplexed expression belied his inner turmoil.
The high defense budgets, costs of military and political incursions around the world, as well as the simple northern and Arctic geography of the country incurred a high cost. The industrial complex was inefficient and the oil industry was not profit motivated so the federal coffers suffered.
6
Lena Raijia Olafson anxiously waited for word from her young fiancé, Dmitri. He had deployed over three months ago for another assignment with the Russian Navy to procure and transport the nuclear waste products from various ports around southeastern Europe. The transport was low key but everyone in Murmansk was aware of the movement of the material. That is all that they did was receive, process and transport the various radioactive materials to the storage unit at Andreyeva Bay. The port just to the north at Severomorsk serviced the Russian Navy as well.
Lena pondered, "I hope all goes well with Dmitri, he has been gone for so long. So proud of him with his recent promotion! He is self-conscious and feels inferior because he is the son of a former prisoner. His Navy buddies have fathers who are officers in the Navy. Why feel this way over the past that he cannot change? Look at how much they have done!"
Lena was shocked by Dmitri’s unexpected desire to marry her. They had been dating occasionally when he was in port. With the recent chaos and deprivation they were experiencing, she did not think this was an opportune time to plan a wedding and a family.
"My love seemed so philosophical and unexpectedly spiritual when he told me his thoughts on marriage. Such a very traditional belief that marriage is a commitment and union that is for eternity despite what may happen here on this earth." Lena continued to disbelieve this dream come true and anxiously awaited for a moment of awakening to deliver her from her present turmoil as well as the unexpected turn of events with Dmitri.
He explained to her that even if they faced death, their union would continue on afterwards though in a different form Dmitri had described. This belief was somewhat alien to her as her background was the traditional Sami nature folkway. To them the cycle of birth, life and death was inescapable. Death simply returned to the earth what was hers to begin with. The Samis believe in animism, spirit forms inhabit nature and are to be respected and honored. Lena was careful not to attract attention to her native beliefs for fear of repercussions. The old ways were resisted by the government. The former Communist Party had marginalized the Samis to a miniscule territory near the Norwegian border. They were forced to live in the collective and not allowed to practice their native ways. Some were allowed to continue the traditional herding of the reindeer and these nomadic tribesmen travelled between Norway, Sweden and Finland where many other Samis had been somewhat assimilated into the local cultures. However, many had fled to America in the early 1900s to escape the effects of the popular racial segregation that had prospered in Scandinavia. Though blonde and blue-eyed, the Samis were not considered Scandinavian and were hampered by much discrimination and suspicion. Many passed themselves off as Nordic and went underground with their traditional culture and native beliefs and they did not mention their background to anyone in America.
7
Lena made preparations to meet her father, a community leader of the Samis in that part of the Murmansk Province or Oblast as it was known. The Murmansk city officials and representatives of the Russian Navy had negotiated with the Sami leadership as well as the governments of Norway, Finland and Sweden to begin a food procurement pipeline to provide much needed relief to the local population. The town had lost a third of its citizenry as freedom of movement had been restored and many decided to seek opportunity elsewhere in St. Petersburg or Moscow while others returned to their native villages where they still had family in rural parts of Russia. The commodities and foodstuffs brought into the port by the Russian government proved inadequate although even at their zenith the distribution system was riddled with inefficiency, corruption and outright hijacking and theft of shipments intended for the Russian Navy and the local population of Murmansk. Unfortunately, due to unbridled pollution from the mining and manufacturing infrastructure in the Murmansk Oblast, the local waters were very polluted. One ate from the local streams and rivers as well as the local waters of the Arctic Ocean at one’s own risk.
Storehouses and commissaries had been stocked and supplied at one time after the decimation from World War II. The stock was not maintained well nor replenished as often as it should have been. As a result, one suffered from possible food poisoning from botulism, spoilage of goods as well as a disgusting array of maggots and other vermin that invaded the ill attended warehouses. Vegetable cultivation was possible with the aid of greenhouses, however the permafrost north of the Arctic Circle prevented large scale farming cooperatives. Numerous fresh shipments of relief supplies from Norway, Sweden and Finland and the Samis had already reached Murmansk and the citizenry and navy personnel clamored for more. The relief efforts also helped to restore a faith and trust that had been allowed to perish. The area of Murmansk was exceedingly remote and had been very neglected by the Soviet government except for the bare necessities that the military needed to service its fleet there.
Large festive gatherings occurred when the Samis and others arrived in town with their supplies and the vodka flowed. These celebrations reminded Lena of the Sami’s traditional seasonal equinox and solstice gatherings. Huge bonfires were lighted and home wrought music and dancing were everywhere! Occasional glimpses of the Aurora Borealis added to the festivities. It was during one of these gatherings last winter that Dmitri had proposed to her, Lena reminisced. At times she wrote it all off to the effects of the firelight and the vodka. They had continued their relationship all summer while Dmitri was in port and the work on the ships commenced to maintain seaworthiness. The cargo ships were lifted by large cranes and work began to secure the structure of the hull and finished with a good cleaning and a fresh coat of marine paint.
8
Sergei enters his office and slams the door shut as his son abruptly runs down the street. He mutters excitedly to himself and then goes berserk in the room overturning chairs, tables and breaking a window in the process. The wind sends snow into the room and the cool breeze helps to calm him. He reaches into his desk and pours a stiff glass of vodka. He upturns the glass with quick gulps and helps himself to another. “What does he see in that woman, this Lena?” Sergei ruminates. “He is young, handsome, and a professional sailor. He has a future in the military if he keeps his nose to the grindstone. A foreigner as a wife will complicate things and bring suspicion on him from his superiors. His security clearance is not jeopardized yet but why take chances?”
Sergei Khromov had invited his son, Dmitri, in for a drink as work wound down for the day. Dmitri spent the day on duty at the Naval port in Severomorsk where the Russian northern fleet is based. The ocean waters in this part of northern Russia are ice free in winter due to the presence of Gulf Stream waters that reach across the Atlantic and help to keep the ocean temperature above freezing. The base is home to nuclear powered submarines as well as other ships that are retrofitted to a nuclear reactor configuration. A multitude of piers and docks extend into the water and everything from large destroyers, submarines, and other fleet operatives as well as civilian ships and boats line the water’s edge. Severomorsk is an important asset to the Russian military and saw action during World War II servicing Allied planes to help the Russians defeat the Nazi forces that invaded from the west. This part of the Kola peninsula suffered extreme bombing and destruction from Hitler’s forces but was quickly rebuilt, it was that important to the Navy. In addition, Murmansk is a shipping hub that accepts supplies and produce and from which metal ores and oil are exported.
Sergei adds more coal to the makeshift stove fashioned from a recycled oil drum. The interior of the office already feels like a sauna and this always causes Dmitri concern that the wood paneling would burst into flame at some point. The office has a low ceiling as well and the rising heat from the stove must be carefully tended. The sulphur fumes from the coal fire are highly offensive and both men throw open the windows to help dissipate the odor. This is not the highest quality coal.
“How are you, Father?” Dmitri inquires. Always the dutiful son, Dmitri has mixed emotions toward his father related to past career choices the senior Khromov made. Their relationship is strained due to Dmitri’s decision to date Lena Olafson who is a Swedish woman employed in a café in Murmansk near the waterfront.
“I am fine, son. Will you be at the celebration tonight? You know the townfolk always celebrate when the sailors are in port and the supplies of fresh reindeer meet have arrived from the Saami tribe. Will Lena’s father be there do you think?” inquired Sergei.
Dmitri replied, “The tradition is to always welcome the herdsmen as honored guests. There may be other family members as well. The work is usually tended to by the entire family.”
Sergei did not know how to react to this. He knew the guests were honored by the townfolk but he did not want his son involved with them on a personal level.
Dmitri continued, “Lena’s family are Saamis, traditional reindeer herders who are permitted to graze their charges across the borders in the Scandinavian northern regions as well as in the northern part of the Kola Peninsula where Murmansk and Severomorsk are located. The entire region is traditional grazing land for the reindeer who must migrate incessantly to prevent overgrazing and ruination of the tundra from taking place. The Saamis follow the reindeer to protect them from animal predators as well as poachers who could easily decimate the herd.”
Sergei listens politely but does not reply. “I do not want my son to spend a lot of time discussing his girlfriend’s family. I want him to be rid of the relationship and the sooner the better,” Sergei thinks to himself.
“I am sorry that I have not spoken with you since our fleet arrived from Odessa,” Dmitri states.
“You will be accompanying the nuclear material to Andreyeva Bay?” asks Sergei. He appears somewhat agitated and looks away as he says this.
“I have my orders to assist the transportation to the storage facility,” replies Dmitri. He guesses his father’s dread and remorse as to the situation at Andreyeva Bay. Since the early 1980s, material from the improperly stored nuclear waste had leaked into the pristine waters of the bay and even further into the open Arctic waters. Cleanup efforts were progressing as the Naval personnel were tasked with this Herculean and dangerous effort. Material had been stored in concrete filled metal tubes that had since corroded from the original installation in the late 1950s and 1960s. The metal was rusted and broken and the concrete was inferior and falling apart. The highly radioactive wastewater has poisoned the waters around the storage facility. Fish kills are becoming more common as thousands of the dead float on the still waters of the bay and foul the shoreline. The stench of decay is sickening and horrific. The seagulls are poisoned as well as they feast on the easy catch.
Dmitri thought, “You knew the storage facility at Andreyeva was falling apart yet you continued to add more nuclear waste material to the place. How could anyone in his right mind allow this to happen?” Dmitri does not allow his resentment to show. It is incredulous that the material had been so carelessly handled and a myriad of questions float through his mind.
Dmitri does not elaborate. “We are to leave tomorrow at ten in the morning. The material transport can’t wait.”
No, indeed, the shipment must be disposed of properly as soon as possible,” Sergei replies. He walks across the room and rifles through a stack of shipping invoices on his desk. His hands tremor slightly and Dmitri pretends not to notice. The snow is lightly falling again.
Neither want to jeopardize their employment, Dmitri as a sailor and Sergei as a civilian government representative in Murmansk. The tension is thick in the room and both men walk outdoors to escape the smothering undercurrent of emotion as well as the uncomfortable heat from the coal stove. Dmitri feels as if he was being drawn into a vortex, a feeling of utter hopelessness pervades his psyche. This emotion is new to him, its source he cannot identify and can only guess at. He tries to brush off the feeling as he sweeps snow away from his uniform.
Sergei is fretting that his son is assigned to the Andreyeva Bay transport. He knows that in earlier times, nuclear waste disposal was not much of a concern. Some material was disposed of in the Karel Sea to the east of Murmansk. That area of the Arctic is frozen solid a good ten months out of the year. There are not many people living in that region, so the disposal was a non-issue to government at that time.
Sergei’s worst fear is that a deranged cadre of government officials are deliberately attempting to thaw polar ice by using the radioactive material in the hopes of clearing a northwest passage that would provide open shipping lanes along the northern coast of Siberia and Russia. These types of thoughts cause Sergei to breathe heavily to avert a panicked state. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare in and out quickly, his fists clench and he careens around the room as a surplus of adrenalin takes over. Sergei knows a jogging regimen would help him to stay centered but the idea of running in the snow and biting Arctic winds is not appealing.
“Lena will be at the celebration this evening,” Dmitri announces struggling to maintain a sense of normality in the conversation. The silent lull is awkward and he seeks composure. His fiancé wants to spend time alone with Dmitri, but he knows his own familial and professional duties will not excuse him. Dreading his father’s reaction to his engagement, he has yet to announce the betrothal to him.
Sergei does not respond. He disapproves of the relationship with a Swede and the daughter of a reindeer herder, no less. He hopes his son will outgrow this infatuation. His shoulders hunch over in defeat as he tries to hide his reaction of disdain and revulsion. “How has she been,” Sergei inquires in an emotionless manner. “She is such a lovely woman to grace the tables of the sailors at port,” he adds.
Dmitri ventures, “Soon she and I will marry and she won’t have to work there anymore.” He looks at his father for a reaction either of dismissal, approval, anything that would clue him into what tack to take.
Sergei is long used to hiding his emotions. He had survived internment in his youth when he had been sent with others during a Stalinist purge in Moscow in the late 1940s. The prisoners were given the choice of forced labor in a Siberian gulag camp, from which few ever return , or forced labor helping to rebuild the bombed out remains of Murmansk and Severomorsk.
Sergei decides to take a concerned fatherly approach. “You must not do something you will later regret. You have only been dating for less than a year and primarily this past summer when you were in port. I think you will outgrow these feelings as time passes.”
Dmitri is greatly offended at this. “I have already matured into a man, man enough for the Russian navy. We have already made up our minds and hoped you would give us your blessing. Won’t you please not use marriage as a chess piece for career advancement and consider our feelings!”
Sergei responds by wagging his finger at Dmitri the way a father would discipline a disobedient toddler. Dmitri is disgusted at this and leaves without saying a word. He knows his father wants him to marry someone who may help to advance his career, but Dmitri finds this to be cold and calculating and dismisses the thought. Politically arranged marriages are passé and the custom a relic of a century prior. “Who are we, the Romanovs?” mocks Dmitri. His father’s attitude of insincerity maddens his son who does not want to retaliate nor engage in a verbal battle.
“That is his problem,” Dmitri thinks to himself as he gulps the icy air to cool his heated emotions. His eyes moisten and he stifles his hurt emotions as he returns to his barracks to prepare to meet his girl that evening for the bonfire.
Dmitri decides to work out in the gym to get rid of the tension he is carrying from his father’s discussion. He changes into workout sweats and proceeds across the street from the barracks to the enlisted men’s gymnasium. Several sailors are playing basketball and others can be heard in the racquetball courts. No amount of money is spared to furnish the recreational facilities as the winters are long and dark and the men need to stay active with the bitter polar blasts taking over.
Dmitri spends the next hour pumping iron in a very aggressive and loud manner. His physique is like his father’s, over six feet tall with broad shoulders, slender hips and large paws for hands that could seriously damage an opponent if necessary. He quickly showers afterwards and is careful to apply antibiotic to the sores on his legs that have been plaguing him since the middle of this last tour of duty on the heavily laden military cargo vessel, the Novo, and its cargo of nuclear waste and material destined for Andreev Bay for long term storage. At last he is ready to meet his girl, Lena. He and several shipmates meet up in Murmansk for a round of drinks then Dmitri hastens to Lena’s apartment several blocks away.
Lena quickly answers the door. They embrace lovingly and longingly. Lena is tantalized by Dmitri’s firm muscles and caresses his back and neck. Dmitri grasps Lena’s locks of corn silk blonde tresses and plays with them, twirling them around his fingers and splaying the fine gold strands in the light. He is mesmerized by her soft blue irises and invitingly full lips. They kiss and Dmitri grasps Lena’s head with both hands. The fresh ginger scent of her perfume fills his nostrils and he softly flicks his tongue around her earlobe and down the nape of her neck. Lena reluctantly pulls away. She knows they are expected soon by the others at the bonfire. She and Dmitri have started a fire of desire themselves but must wait until later. With eyes overladen with love, they depart for the celebration.
9
Dmitri and Lena met up with his father as they gathered for celebration at the latest bonfire. The snowstorm had cleared and the stars shone brilliantly in the November sky. Everyone was in a jovial mood as the relief shipments had arrived and the local sailors were back who had deployed for the nuclear material transport from the Black Sea.
Lena and Dmitri joined the celebration in the town square where the crowd had gathered around the bonfires. Dmitri’s father feigned a smile as the couple surrounded him and embraced. They had yet to announce their engagement. No nuptial plans were in place as the couple had to consider important decisions to be made such as where to live and did they want to have children as well as career directions.
Earlier,Lena asked Dmitri, “What can we do or explain to Father about your family. They are Russian and he resents what they did to his family and community?”
Dmitri replied, “I have several shipmates who have encountered the same problem. They decided to simply tell the truth. Our fathers were imprisoned by Stalin and forced to come to Murmansk or go to the gulag where they would die. Yes, they are Russian but they were punished by the same leaders who punished your own people. My father did not do this and neither did my ancestors.” Lena relented but wasn’t entirely convinced that her father would accept this reprisal to his own prejudices. Life for his family on the collective was very difficult. Over two thousand Saami natives had been forced into the collective which boasted horrible, ghetto like conditions. Vile filth was everywhere as there was no running water; the natives were dependent on snow melt and what they could haul from a stream in the summer. Food sources were unreliable and the Communist leaders were meager in their permissions to allow the Samis to hunt and fish and gather from the forests as was their tradition for thousands of years. As a result, malnutrition flourished in this land of plenty and many died. Lena’s own grandparents died of starvation in the winter of 1944 as they unselfishly sought to ensure the survival of their children with what little they could find. Those were heartless times, the government maintained the collective as if it were a prison.
Samis depend on traditional husbandry of the reindeer herds for much of their own livelihood. The animals provide fur and meat to the community. The women meticulously sew skallers, the traditional Sami boots as well as outerwear with the fur and hides. The weaving and sewing skills bring the women of the community great honor and influence as the families live far from modern clothing outlets. Sami society is changing as the Norwegian, Swedish and Finnish governments subsidize their housing and health care needs. The Sami community in the Kola Peninsula where Murmansk is located were at a deplorable disadvantage due to the prior policy of segregation to enforced collectives and the regulation of the reindeer herding. Elsewhere in Scandinavia, ATVs were in use to herd the animals from place to place in search of productive grazing areas. Those who herded reindeer in the Russian Kola Peninsula are dependent on their own physical resources to tend the animals due to fuel rationing and lack of modern transportation. They simply walk on foot as they tend the animals. The reindeer move at a fast pace and the herdsmen are challenged to keep up with them.
Lena’s father, Bjorn Olafson, was born in the Saami community of Häggsjönäs, Jämtland, Sweden. The traditional Saami house consisted of tree trunks arranged in a conical shape that imitated the more portable teepee like tents that the migratory Saami herdsmen carried with them. Modern conveniences are rare in these traditional structures although many of the community did opt for the government housing as attempts were made to modernize the community in this way. The herdsmen and their families follow the reindeer and the entire family is active in this time-honored occupation. The parents relay to the children the intricacies of herding and branding. The ears of the reindeer sport the marks of the various families who own the animals. A deft wielder of the knife could place the mark on the ear without drawing blood. The traditional ways were returning as the Saamis sought to reestablish their former way of life and culture. There was conflict as in any society when the past and future collide. Lena and Dmitri sought solid ground as they navigated the traditions their parents accepted as the norm and their own career responsibilities and plans for the future.
The couple excused themselves and went for a walk along the waterfront. They clutched each other as if to prevent the world from stealing them away as well as their hopes for the future. It felt wonderful to be in Dmitri's arms again. Dmitri spun Lena around, tightly embraced her and planted a long-awaited kiss on Lena’s lips and upturned face. He kissed away her tears of joy at his return. They continued their moonlight meandering.
