View Full Version : Mutiny on a Soviet Sub

July 26th, 2001, 12:00 AM

Int. Conn - Tsarevich Nikolai

Groznovs’ eyes focused on the barrel of the pistol, the image morphing from a fuzzy shape to a shiny raven-toned barrel. Slowly his deep eyes rolled upwards, looking at the shaking image of Simonova. He could sense her fear. She was determined, however. Determined to follow what she believed in. This displayed passion – a weapon which could be worked for and against its’ wielder. Groznov smiled as he gracefully placed his hand on top the weapon, maintaining his grip as Simonova struggled to shake it free. Several clanks and locking of weapons echoed in the room – the tension was rising. Groznov knew he was surrounded by guns. No matter, his men would kill the mutineers and continue with his plans or return to Russia as innocent men.

Suddenly, Simonova stopped shaking the gun about, jamming it closer to her Captains’ face. Slyly the elder slid his finger atop her own, which was nervously embracing the trigger. Several gasps seemed into the room as the crew questioned the sanity of their commander. Stretching his smile, Groznov muttered deviously;

Senior Captain Groznov: “You are passionate, Simonova. I admire you.”

The XO stood there nervously, struggling to keep her emotions latched under her skin.

Commander Simonova: “About the Motherland,” she replied in a shaky voice.

Senior Captain Groznov: “Indeed.”

Simonovas’ eyes bulged wide as Groznov shoved the weapon to his side, squeezing the trigger. Instantly several shots roared through the bridge after the bullet roared from her gun. A wall of pain surged through Simonova as Groznovs’ free arm slammed into her face, knocking her onto the floor. She screamed as she went down – she let go of the gun. Her body slammed into the medal deck, surging yet another wave of pain throughout her body. Klaxons bellowed to life, screaming for aid to arrive on the bridge. Deck officers and near by security drew out their guns, hurrying to the Captain. There, Groznov stood, watching his adversary rise to her feet. Like a hawk stalking its’ prey, his eyes watcher her every movement without fear or feeling as she slowly rose to her feet. Screaming in rage, Simonova drew her fist, swinging to Groznov. Then everything went black.
There Groznov stood, watching the unconscious body hang in the arms of security personnel with a devious smile on his face.

Senior Captain Groznov: “You are your own undoing,” he muttered as the body was drug away.

Officers hurried around their Captain, making sure he was okay. Ignoring them, his eyes watched as the dozen or so mutineers lye on the deck, cuffed and disarmed, growling over the mistakes they had made. For some it would cost them their lives, others, the another chance.
Markos wondered if the Alfas’ heard the shorts on sonar. If so, there would be questions to answer and frayed nerves to be calmed. Simonova was becoming a loose end. Grovnoz had misjudged her – she was more compassionate and not nearly as cold as anticipated.