Chapter One: Ocean of Tears
Hello everyone, and welcome to a brand new adventure. While we wait for my next large scale project, Horizon, I began to wonder about a new project, and a new story - one that takes us not to space (Right away, at least), but the bottom of the ocean. Scorpion’s Tale is a story of Cold War intrigue, and an exploration of the world of espionage and conflict on a global scale. As my forte is writing about space, I enlisted the help of my good friend @Pedroperson for his extensive knowledge of military history for this story. He is a delight to work with, and I am so excited to work with him on this project! We will both be checking the thread to answer your questions and dive deeper into the story as we progress. Scorpion’s Tale offers us a look into a world unseen, a glimpse of what could be if tensions flare and mistakes are made. I also want to remind all our readers that this is our first military timeline, and I’m sure mistakes will be made and things not accounted for, so go easy on us!

Of note: Our schedule will be a post every two weeks, with the potential for interludes interspersed.

That being said, let us dive right into the story, and explore Scorpion’s Tale - A World Unseen…

Chapter 1: Ocean of Tears


JULY 1, 1974

New York Times, Monday Edition, Selected Headlines:

PINOCHET RISES TO POWER IN CHILE… FLORIDA WILL TRY TO RESCUE PALMS… 3 C.O.P VOTES FOR IMPEACHING NOW… ROCKET LAUNCHINGS AT WALLOPS CALLED A SUCCESS… THE PRESIDENT’S NEW ECONOMIC “CZAR,” KENNETH RUSH CALLS FOR TAX INCREASE… UN GENERAL ASSEMBLY MEETING ON PEACEFUL USES OF OUTER SPACE, TODAY AT 3PM…

The following excerpts are recovered from the journal of Martin J. Bushwick, engineering officer onboard the Hughes Glomar Explorer as it participated in Project Azorian, 1974-75.

July 1, 1974: Weather bad again today. We’ve been making good progress towards the recovery zone but I don’t know how much more of rolling off my bunk I can take before I snap. We’re expected to have calm seas at least while we’re in the zone, whenever we get there… four days I think? I am so sick of the cooking onboard, chef was a dropout from culinary school I think. We got a call from Hughes before we set off, stating how important our mission was… CIA boys onboard seemed to agree. I’m not so sure. They tell us we’ll be scouring the ocean floor looking for the sub, and our cover story is manganese mining - who’s gonna buy that, the fuck is manganese? Some of the spooks have been telling us about what the ocean floor was like… they say it's like walking on another planet. Some strange new world that lies just beneath our reach and is our key to victory when we really put our minds to it. I don’t know how much I buy it, to be frank. More later. Wrote a letter to mom.

July 8, 1974: Something paid us a visit today, Spooks called it Chazma. It coasted off our bow trying to get a good look at us, I don’t think it understood what we were doing. I was up on the bridge, and the spooks told me not to say anything. Chazma flashed lights at us, we went about our business. She was a strange ship, covered in lumps and bulges sticking out from her converted hull. I stared at her for a long time, watching her shapes move in the waves. Other than the spotlights she shone at us, her bridge structures were dark, flashlights were all we could see as she moved around us. Hunting us. I feel as though they know, I feel as though they can look inside our minds with their technology that we all fear so much. The technology we’re working to get down here. Here… Where are we even? I mean, I know where we are. Somewhere in the Pacific. Since we got here, we’ve all been so quiet. I know they’re getting ready to get moving on this project soon, but god… it feels so eerie. They’re out there watching us, just circling us, trying to figure out what we’re up to. Our public mission has been made clear, and those in charge have tried to keep us focused on our mission. It’s growing tiring.

A part of me wonders why we do it, why we go to such lengths to outsmart the enemy. Why do they bring such minds into the cause to attempt to win some war that hasn’t been fought, hasn’t even started… What is it for? We so often speak about the role of our “way of life” to govern how we move through this world, but what does that even mean anymore? As I stare out of this narrow window, across a dismal ocean on a divided planet, I begin to question my purpose on this Earth, my presence in a world so split. It is maddening to be so far from home with no guarantee of success. The numbers say it will work, but the real world is separate from the world of equations. The ocean is a cruel mistress, one who tears the chains of reality from us, reminding us she cannot be governed by conventional means. She is a magical beast, a temptress towards a world unknown.. She consumes all and who are we to attempt to wrestle a fraction of control.

We begin operational scouting tomorrow, looking for the submarine, hoping to get a chance at taming the wild ocean, to achieve whatever goal is being set for us here. I hope to God it’s worth it.

July 12, 1974: My god. We got it.


TOP SECRET
FINAL STATUS OF PROJECT AZORIAN, MAY 1975

As of the time of writing this report, Project Azorian has largely concluded, and all materials recovered from the ocean floor have proved invaluable to studying the Soviet nuclear threat.

PURPOSE:

Project Azorian, as it stands now, demonstrates successful recovery operations for military equipment lost at the bottom of the ocean, well beyond traditional crush depths and similar conflicting factors - enabling a greater understanding of one component of the Soviet nuclear triad. The project set out to recover not only the hardware of a Soviet SLBM but also the handbooks for receiving and processing launch commands.

K-129 BACKGROUND:

K-129 was a Project 629A (Translated to: проект 629А Projekt 629A) (NATO reporting name Golf II–class) diesel-electric-powered ballistic-missile submarine that served in the Pacific Fleet of the Soviet Navy–one of several Project 629 strategic ballistic-missile submarines believed to have been assigned to the 15th Submarine Squadron based at Rybachiy Naval Base near Petropavlovsk, commanded by Rear Admiral Rudolf Golosov. Upon her final deployment, K-129's commander was Captain First Rank Vladimir I. Kobzar and Captain Second Rank Alexander M. Zhuravin as senior assistant to the commander (executive officer). Present also, according to radio chatter, was a political attache from the Kremlin, the identity of which has not been confirmed by the CIA or Department of Defense. Any identifying material to this attache was not found onboard. It is believed that this person of interest may have been present to supervise military procedure and protocol onboard K-129, as part of the overall inspection of the fleet

By mid-March, signals intelligence pointed to Soviet Navy commanders in Kamchatka becoming concerned that K-129 had missed two consecutive radio check-ins, and failed to make contact with any other vessel. Radio intelligence specialists recorded a series of events - First, K-129 was instructed by normal fleet broadcast to break radio silence and contact headquarters; later and more urgent communications all went unanswered. Soviet naval headquarters declared K-129 missing by the third week of March, 1968 and organized an air, surface, and underwater search-and-rescue effort in the North Pacific from Kamchatka and Vladivostok.

U.S. SOSUS in the North Pacific was alerted and requested to review acoustic records on 8 March 1968 to identify any possible anomalous signal in an effort to locate the site of the sinking. Eventually acoustic data from four Air Force AFTAC sites and the Adak, Alaska SOSUS array triangulated a potential event location to within 5 nautical miles, a site hundreds of miles away from where the Soviet Navy had been searching and in water around 16,500 feet deep.

Soviet search efforts, lacking a comparable SOSUS system, failed to find K-129 and eventually, Soviet naval activity in the North Pacific returned to normal. K-129 was subsequently declared lost with all hands by the Soviet Pacific fleet.

OPERATIONS:

Global Marine Development Inc., the research and development arm of Global Marine Inc., a pioneer in deepwater offshore drilling operations, was contracted to design, build and operate Hughes Glomar Explorer. The ship was built at the Sun Shipbuilding yard near Philadelphia, with executive oversight from United States Intelligence Forces. Howard Hughes – whose companies held experience with multiple classified projects – agreed to lend his name to the project to support the cover story that the ship was mining manganese nodules from the ocean floor. Hughes and his companies had no actual involvement in the project.

Hughes Glomar Explorer employed a large mechanical claw, which Lockheed officially titled the "Capture Vehicle" - affectionately called Clementine by the crew. The capture vehicle was designed to be lowered to the ocean floor, grasp the targeted submarine section, and then lift that section into the ship's hold. One requirement of this technology was to keep the floating base stable and in position over a fixed point 16,000 feet (4,900 m) below the ocean surface. Early testing pointed to potential failure modes of the system, so a drastic redesign was ordered to ensure that the operation would proceed smoothly. Sailing from Long Beach, California, on June 20, 1974, Hughes Glomar Explorer arrived at the recovery site July 4 and conducted salvage operations for over a month. During this period, at least two Soviet Navy ships visited Hughes Glomar Explorer's work site, the oceangoing tugboat SB-10, and the Soviet missile range instrumentation ship Chazma. It is believed, based on aerial and space based surveillance of the operation, that these crews were unable to discern the nature of Hughes Glomar Explorer’s true mission.

The capture vehicle was lowered and raised on a pipe string similar to those used on oil drilling rigs. Pairs of 30-foot (9.1 m) steel pipes were affixed together and lowered with the capture vehicle through a hole in the middle of the ship. The capture vehicle featured additional stabilizing bars that were engaged with the Target Object after an initial grapple by the claw. These bars acted to press the object into the claws grip and prevent it from surging up out of the claw as lift interruptions occurred. Upon a successful capture by the claw, the lift reversed the lowering process – 60-foot (18 m) pairs drawn up and removed one at a time. The salvaged Target Object was drawn into the moon pool, the doors of which could then be closed to form a floor for the salvaged section. This allowed for the entire salvage process to take place underwater, away from the view of other ships, aircraft, or spy satellites. The recovery operation proceeded over the course of 3 days, starting on July 11.

RESULTS:

The recovered section included all desired artifacts, including nuclear torpedoes and 3 SS-N-5 Snark ballistic missiles and thus Project Azorian was a complete and resounding success. Uncovered in the wreckage were a variety of Soviet codebooks, satellite frequency manuals, and secret communications equipment previously unknown to United States Intelligence Forces. The bodies of six crewmen were also recovered, and were given a memorial service and with military honors, buried at sea in a metal casket because of radioactivity concerns. Specific details of the assumed Soviet launch chain of command are outlined in [REDACTED]. Analysis of the recovered Snark indicates that current UGM-73 and even previous UGM-27 capabilities exceed those of the SS-N-5. It is possible to compare some of the systems recovered to known parameters of the SS-N-6 Serb and improve mass and performance estimates. These improve the agency’s position that the Serbs performance is below that of Poseidon but advances in liquid SLBMs could enable them to match UGM-73. A memo is being prepared to justify further SLBM development against a realistic Soviet future development.

From the wreck analysts were able to determine the most probable cause of the K-129 sinking. Through a number of different potential mechanisms the Main Fuel valve on the #1 missile opened and dumped its contents into the launch tube. The resultant depressurization and loss of structural support to the tank and warhead buckled the Oxidizer downcomer and allowed its contents to leak and ignite with the spilled fuel. The resultant fire degraded structural support inside the missile tube, flooding the compartment and eventually the full sub. More details are outlined in report [REDACTED]. No actions were identified for USN SSBNs to undertake as the solid propellant found on US SLBMs eliminates this specific failure mode.

With regards to operational security - a lesson was learned in securing materials at contractor sites. An intervention by agents was necessary to prevent publication in a nationally run paper of materials taken in unrelated petty theft at the contractors Long Beach office. Local law enforcement cannot be the sole protection provided to locations storing sensitive materials no matter the classification levels.
 
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Oh THIS is going to be interesting! While I'm not much of a history buff myself, I do happen to recognize this particular program. Raising a lost submarine from nearly 5 kilometers is already an eerie feat...a successful Azorian is a really unique concept to explore, and I'm excited to see where all this leads us! I already notice the near-miss with the possible leak of documents...
 
Oh THIS is going to be interesting! While I'm not much of a history buff myself, I do happen to recognize this particular program. Raising a lost submarine from nearly 5 kilometers is already an eerie feat...a successful Azorian is a really unique concept to explore, and I'm excited to see where all this leads us! I already notice the near-miss with the possible leak of documents...
and it only gets stranger from here :)
 
Chapter 2: Kangaroo Court
Hello everyone, and welcome to Chapter 2 of Scorpion's Tale! For all of you that gave feedback and enjoyed Chapter 1, thank you! Your support means the world to me, and I am so excited along with @Pedroperson to bring you more of this story. In today's chapter, we'll be jumping forward in time - about 6 years, and learning about the goings on of a Soviet Directorate... Come along with us, and dive right in to Chapter 2!

Chapter 2: Kangaroo Court

Moscow - 1980
8:55 AM


No, the gymnasium is out of the question, not after this… Arkady thought, making up his mind as he trudged up the final flight of stairs. They were painfully steep, and wound seemingly endlessly through the very bowels of the Naval Intelligence Directorate’s headquarters, spitting you out in an orientation that never seemed entirely possible. The hallways were thick with the cloying heat of radiators, and bustle of people moving to and fro. 1980's winter had been a cold one, the air outside threatened to creep through the windows and snatch you back into the icy void outside. Voices were hushed here, per protocol, but loud enough that the droning of facts and fleet positions and strategy grew into a swell that permeated one’s own inner monologue. Most of the discussion these days was the ongoing invasion of Afghanistan, and the constant stream of data that poured in from men on the ground and electronic eyes in the sky. But Arkady Belyaev was here for something altogether different. He adjusted his satchel, pulling the documents that he had spent all morning shielding from the cold and wet of winter in Moscow closer to him. They had been sent to him, rather urgently, the day prior - arriving at his apartment late at night under escort from two KGB officers. He could only assume they were KGB - they carried no badge, no gun… not that he could see. The news wasn’t good, nothing ever delivered late at night was well and truly good - but it was nothing they hadn’t trained for. Intelligence was a constant game, evolving before one’s own eyes. Even this, however, would have certainly upset the Deputy Director. Arkady had not made his start in the world of intelligence and strategy through common means like many of the other men here, through service on the various ships of the Soviet Navy - he had been recruited out of college for his chess skills, a constant game of logic and reasoning that served well when dealing with the never ending changes of the battlefield. As he walked through the halls, his footsteps wet and echoing, a voice called for him: “Comrade Belyaev! You’re right on time!”

Comrade Sidorov bounded down the intersecting hallway, meeting him in front of the towering double doors. He was slightly taller than Arkady, jet black hair tucked neatly back behind his ears. His uniform was damp with the slightest bit of sweat, and Arkady realized just how hot the building was. His eyes bore the strain of an all night review, a not too uncommon occurrence in this line of work. Arkady sighed, and straightened his shirt, suddenly self conscious of his own appearance. “Vasily, good to see you… This should certainly be an interesting meeting. Did you get the briefing?”

Vasily looked around, seemingly cautious all of a sudden. His tone, no longer over-caffeinated and jovial, switched harshly to one of subversion. “Oh did I ever… The wife wouldn’t let me hear the end of it, asking why these men were here in the middle of the night… You’ve read it, haven’t you?” Arkady nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Unlike you, comrade, I value my sleep… but I did get a chance to read it - not in as thorough detail as I suppose you did...” Vasily stepped closer, and Arkady felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. He had never been this close to his comrade in arms before.

“Big things are coming, Comrade Belyaev, I fear for all of us what it means. In the short term, long term, I’m not sure… But this was an act of aggression, and we just stood there.” Arkady felt his forehead perspire, watching the intensity in his colleague’s eyes. It was strange, a mixture of sleep deprivation and believing the works of something higher - the bureaucracy that governed them. “The Americans took the sub, and it took us six years of us sitting on our ass to do something about it.” Without a word, Vasily turned to open the doors, and motioned for Arkady to follow him. The tension in Vasily’s movement was palpable; he strode ahead of Arkady, roughly placing an identical binder of his own on the table. It bore the marks of something truly secret, wrapped in red tape and stamps - official seals adorning every corner, hastily torn the night before. Comrade Lenin towered over the room, casting his all seeing gaze down on the row of tables and chairs soon to be adorned with members of Soviet Naval Intelligence. Arkady cracked the binder open, and a mess of photographs and reports spilled out like confetti onto the table in front of him - he really hadn’t given this report enough attention. Possible Theft of Nuclear Components, Status of Bodies Unknown, Code Material in Fleetwide Jeopardy leapt off the page at him, and he felt his heart sink. They were well and truly in it now - images of a gargantuan ship lurking in Los Angeles harbor, as imaged by the fleet of Soviet reconnaissance satellites, and smudged photos taken from pen cameras. Not even field agents could get close enough to reveal the true nature of this massive ship. They were grainy images, sure, but they bore the hallmark of something alien. This was truly a game now, and the cards were laid before them on the table - read ‘em and weep. Arkady pushed his glasses up his nose once more, straining to make out the details of the massive gantry from the oblique shots, when the double doors swung open. Deputy Director Kerchov had a face like he’d been shot in the knee, a permanent grimace that sent chills down new recruits’ spines.

“Lock the doors and get the projector down, we’re behind schedule and I want to make my lunch with the Directors! Let’s go!” Kerchov roared, storming around the 20 odd men sitting in front of him. Everyone, even Arkady, stood at attention, perfectly still with their eyes facing forward. A reminder of the very halls they were in. The Deputy Director was almost a ghost of a bygone era. He was a tall man, no longer the muscular hero of the Red Army he had been 40 years before, now something altogether worse, a bureaucrat. He walked with a cane, an ornate gift he claimed to have won in combat during his time overseas, but was more telling of the money funneled towards keeping higher level officials complacent. Every glare from his coal black eyes was death, anger and a feeling of dissatisfaction.

“Oh, he seems to be in a good mood today…” Vasily whispered, leaning to Arkady’s ear as the room settled. Arkady responded with a quick nudge in the ribs, a quick and effective motion to keep quiet.

“Gentlemen, last night you were all given packets regarding an American project we have been speculating about for some time. They call it Azorian, from what we can tell it's a salvage fleet… There is an extensive corporate record within Howard Hughes’ own organizations that support the American Alibi…” He paused, chewing on the word Alibi… seemingly collecting himself for a moment, a deep inhale through his nose. Arkady had never seen him collect himself. “We… were prepared to believe this. Chazma was even in the area collecting intelligence, and found nothing out of the ordinary regarding signals intelligence. However… We were clearly misled. Deeply, deeply misled.”

The Deputy Director snapped his fingers, and the ensigns stationed at the doors scattered to set up the projector. The scene that flickered into life before their eyes shook them all to their core. US Navy sailors, dressed in formalwear and plain clothes were burying the bodies of Soviet men at sea. There was a quiet gasp, but no one dared to look at who it came from. One by one their lead lined coffins fell off the deck into the deep blue abyss, sinking down into a world unknown. Back from whence they came. The men in the room sat, mouths parsed, in silence. Some looked away from the screen, but the scolding eyes of the Deputy Director forced them to look. A command without words, so powerful and earnest it could be felt in the air like static. Arkady swallowed, as coffin after coffin left the ship. The film’s last few moments were chaotic, showcasing a variety of artifacts recovered from the sea, including documents and technology. The camera was far less steady, and the men in the room strained to make out what was what. Finally, the stability of the frame would return, showing the sailors aboard the ship lowering the Soviet Naval colors, and the film would at last stop - the projector reel spinning in space, now absent of purpose. Arkady’s eyes turned to Vasily, who clenched his jaw with such force that veins blossomed on his forehead. The Deputy Director spoke once more. “We are outmatched, not only have these men desecrated a grave, they have taken something from us that we will never recover - our honor. The honor to bury these men ourselves. The submarine K-129 has been taken, and all of the information is now likely in the hands of American Intelligence forces. It took long enough, but we were finally able to confirm the validity of this operation with the retrieval of this film.” A tense silence, marked with sweat and the clicking of the radiators filled the room.

“This is outrageous!” Comrade Turginev cried, bellowing from his corner of the room. Like Kerchov, Turginev had long retired his military heroism for the whims of politics. But there was still a fight in him, a flame not yet doused by the cloying toxin of bureaucracy. “We expect to sit here and do nothing while the Americans return to the comfort of their backwards world with our intelligence?” Kerchov motioned for silence, but not before allowing himself a terse nod - a silent gesture of understanding.

“Gentlemen, please. We will have order…” Turginev stood, and the air grew considerably thicker. Arkady turned to search for a reaction in his friend’s face, but found nothing but anger. A different man. One who perhaps was letting that hatred burn through him. Vasily himself had been a submariner once, spending long hours in cramped rooms almost as hot as this one, shoulder to shoulder with his brothers in arms - not all too sure when the light of day would bless him again. He knew what the swell of the ocean felt like, lapping at his heels as compartments threatened to fill with water.

“We must act, Deputy Director! We must respond in kind! I recommend immediate proceedings on a program equal to or greater in caliber!” Arkady felt his chest tighten. Escalation was the enemy here, working against everything that an idealist like him wanted. He could see the face of the Deputy Director contort, clearly lost in thought. He was easily swayed by notions of grandeur, desperate to rise in the ranks of Soviet Intelligence to where he could call the shots. Something rose inside Arkady.

“Deputy Director, it is my assessment-”

“Quiet, now is not the time for assessment! Now is the time for action!” Turginev barked, immediately walking towards the front of the room. The interruption stung. “We can begin deployment of trawlers almost overnight, repositioning from our station keeping positions in the Black Sea. There have been rumors of the location of a lost American sub, one with nuclear material onboard. It would be a prime first target and an adequate test of our systems. Could we theoretically group cruisers in?” Arkady found himself standing. Out of line, no longer following protocol. How long had he been standing? His heart began to ring in his ears, a loud and resonant thump that threatened to drive him mad.

“Sir - we must not act in escalation. What the Americans did was wrong, yes, but we must be conscious of the image we portray if we stoop to their level. Restraint is a way forward that gives us time…” The room grew more silent than it ever had been, even without a soul present. A deep discomfort crept out of the walls, embracing everyone in a vice grip that threatened to bleed one dry. Arkady swallowed, and realized the mistake he had just made. Bile rose in his throat, caustic and biting, forcing a grimace to flicker across his face. Vasily’s face had softened, not to that of the friend Arkady had known, but one of sympathy for a damned soul.

“Comrade Belyaev, I understand that you do not understand the intricacies of a naval system as complex as the Soviet Union’s, yet your analytical skills have landed you here. Are you not in favor of maintaining superiority in a geopolitical situation such as this? To watch as your brothers in arms are dumped into the sea like refuse? Is that who you are, Comrade Belyaev, a coward?” There was silence. Complete vacuum, as if every molecule of air had been removed from the room. Arkady choked, desperately trying to summon the courage to speak one final time.

“I am not a coward for not wanting to face destruction - I am a believer in the use of intelligence for good, to play the long game... Despite all this intelligence, you seem ill equipped to respond to the irrationality of American forces when presented with a threat! You… You are the coward here for bowing to the whims of war, Deputy Director Kerchov.” All Arkady could see was eyes. Unblinking eyes - held open by the sheer power of awe and anxiety. His hands made a puddle of sweat on the table, seeping into the ancient mahogany. The Deputy Director’s hand had curled into a fist, gnarled with arthritis and rage.

“Comrade Belyaev, I recommend you choose your words carefully here.” He was somehow calm, his voice low but still commanding, “There is too much on the line for individuals such as yourself to make a fuss. I think you’ve made your point.” Arkady stood there, trembling. His world was falling apart around him, and the sheer volume of his heartbeat in his ears continued to drive his descent into madness. Movement startled him from across the room - two guards had stepped through the door, motioned in by the Deputy Director. Arkady knew what he had to do, and without a word, he would collect his things and turn to face the door. Vasily remained motionless, the face of a friend returned - flickering into existence for a moment as he watched his comrade in arms step towards the door. The silence cut, a piercing discomfort that threatened to unseat Arkady’s steadfast walk. He knew what this meant, it would not be the end of his career, but the beginning of a long exile that threatened to displace the progress he had made. He didn’t care - there were bigger things at stake and his point had been made.


----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The streets of Moscow were empty and cold, and the temporary warmth in Arkady’s lungs from his cigarette comforted him slightly. The stairs to the Metro were icy, and as he worked his way down, he felt as though he was being swallowed by the Earth itself. There was not much to remember about the rest of the day, it had passed by so quickly in the murk of adrenaline that he could not recall what had happened. Just a grave sense of disappointment, that it was all coming to this. He had not heard the contents of the rest of the meeting, but there was an air of new activity around his division. Mobilization. There was no walking back from an edge with a drop as steep as this. The platform of the Metro station was empty, save for the occasional rat that scurried across the tracks. The fans pumping heat hummed like some distant sleeping giant, and Arkady let himself relax for a moment. It was, in some respects, the first moment of peace he had experienced all day. His mind returned to the meeting, the way in which no one dared to speak to the Deputy Director but him. Perhaps… Perhaps someone could walk the world back, for Arkady’s tenure as the bearer of weight would be over. Footfall disturbed him from his tranquility, the aggressive click of military issue combat boots. He turned, catching a glimpse of two men in coats, advancing towards him quickly. The rumble of a train, and the flash of lights filled the station, and the two men soon had him in their sights. There was nowhere to run - Arkady knew that his time had come, and pushed his glasses up his nose once more. They were almost unmistakably the same men who had come to his apartment the night before - KGB. In a twirl of coats, and the scuffle of boots, he began to fall - illuminated in the lights of the oncoming train. And then there was nothing - nothing but the squeal of brakes and the distant footsteps of the two men as they vanished into the night, living to tell no one what had happened here. Arkady would cease to exist.
 
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This was very very well-written! It’s definitely an unsettling look into the spiraling consequences of an event like this. The narrative following one character’s perspective is really effective at showing us just what that sense of paranoia feels like, especially the way it divides Arkady and Vasily. It’s frighteningly easy to step far out of line…
 
This was very very well-written! It’s definitely an unsettling look into the spiraling consequences of an event like this. The narrative following one character’s perspective is really effective at showing us just what that sense of paranoia feels like, especially the way it divides Arkady and Vasily. It’s frighteningly easy to step far out of line…
One of the big emotions I wanted to convey through the story was scheming, and the spiral of paranoia. I am certain that when Soviet Military leadership found out about this IOTL, they would have thrown a fit - as the discovery likely came around 1975-76. But to learn nearly 6 years later that one of your subs had been successfully recovered is a hard pill to swallow.
 
Masterful writing as always. Gives the energy of a spy thriller - were this a book, it'd be one I'd blaze through in a night, unable to put it down.
 
Afternoon everyone! Owing to a series of events induced by our work and medical needs Chapter 3: All These Things That I’ve Done will be delayed a little bit. To tide you over I’ll share some notes and commentary on the last few entries on Friday. As always we appreciate your support and hope you’ll stick with us as we polish up these next few entries!
 
Good afternoon dearly beloved readers! We are pushing to get you Ch 3 early next week and should be more or less back on track after that. While the timeline and major events in this story came to us over the course of a week or so, putting all the detail we’d like in the text takes a little while longer. We’re trying to use a number of different narrative styles which does kinda slow production a bit but hopefully is a little more immersive than just a wall of text, presenting new developments as they would be in this world. Personally this is the first work of fiction I’ve put together and it’s great fun! I really enjoy crafting new worlds and situations, I’m finding it holds the same appeal as a lot of TTRPGs and I’m thinkin bout ways to work those two things into each other.

As for our story, we’ve passed the initial point of departure. While Project Azorian did happen in real life there’s two critical differences here. The first is that Azorian was much less successful IRL. The exact details on why are a little murky but the project did fail to recover the primary target, the missiles onboard K-129. The second detail is that IRL, Azorian was unintentionally revealed a year after its completion in 1975. A petty break-in at the Hughes office in Long Beach resulted in a document making its way to the LA Times where it was published in spite of CIA intervention. Our thinking was that these two things combined would sufficiently change the Soviet response to be a little more… aggressive.

Thanks for stickin’ with us! We really appreciate your feedback and hope you enjoy where we take this tale.


 
Pedroperson said it best, thanks for sticking with us! We appreciate the patience as we deal with some medical and real life stuff. Chapter 3 is coming up fast!
 
Chapter 3: All These Things I've Done
Hello friends and internet acquaintances, welcome back to Scorpion's Tale! When we last left off, we lost our friend Arkady in an act of suppression, aiming to control a program that threatens to disrupt American operations and shake up the course of the Cold War. Today, we jump forward three years, and explore a world so far unseen - the depths of the Atlantic. @Pedroperson was, as always, super helpful in getting this section out on time, and I hope that you all enjoy what's to come.

Chapter 3: All These Things That I’ve Done


Florida Today
February 3 1983
Cracks in Main Engine Delay Challenger Debut


Following problems encountered in its most recent test firing, NASA announced that it would delay the maiden flight of the new Space Shuttle Orbiter Challenger until after one of its main engines is replaced. STS-6 was originally scheduled to launch last month with the first part of the new Tracking and Data Relay Satellite System (TDRSS) but a potential new date remains unclear as more testing is conducted. Viewing opportunities will be announced upon selection of a final date by the space program…

FOKA DWNLNK 2/4/83 1243z 261.035 MHz KOSMOS 1395 STRELA
LAUNCH DELAYED. MAINTAIN SITE WATCH AND CONDUCT OTHER SURVEY ACTIVITIES AS OPPORTUNITY PRESENTS.


TRAWLER FOKA CAPTAINS LOG ENTRY 2/5/83
SOUTH ATLANTIC

After spending most of the day asking my crew what we are able to occupy ourselves with until the Americans care to launch their new shuttle, it seems Grisha's new survey sled is all that is ready to begin now. We are plotting a northwesterly search pattern that should keep us out of the way and out of suspicion. I can’t say I am happy about how far it will take us from our observation point but it seems increasingly unlikely that we will see the launch before we are forced to return home and answer to command about the lack of tangible results from our voyage. Grisha assures me that simply demonstrating this troika will satisfy them but I fear that aerospace command will not share naval intelligence's excitement for up close images of detritus.

TRAWLER FOKA CAPTAINS LOG ENTRY 3/6/83
200 KM NORTH OF WESTERN SAHARA

It has been over a month since we began dragging Grisha's cameras across the ocean and have nothing at all to show for it. The bottom of the ocean may be fascinating to him and the rest of my crew as they avoid the sun below deck but not a single man-made object has been spotted resting on the floor. The time allotted to us by the cancellation of our initial target has eased some pressure but these survey operations are ill suited to this vessel. The pattern is very conspicuous and I find myself fretting over every aircraft that crosses the skies above us. Airliner after airliner, all blissfully unaware of each speck in the ocean’s pure purpose. There’s no telling which ones hold Naval officers but each fills me with dread all the same. Fortunately the surveys will last another week at most before our fuel levels force us to pull up the troika and return home empty handed. At this point I’d prefer a disappointed admiral to a snooping yankee…

TRAWLER FOKA CAPTAINS LOG ENTRY 3/10/83
AT STATION

At long last our patience has been rewarded. The troika found something today. I can’t make sense of it but it’s clearly metal. Much bigger than the debris we’ve identified in previous fields, and it looks far more… purpose built. We’ve been holding positions all day while Grisha takes his photos. He seems to think it could be American but I’ve yet to see evidence convincing enough to stretch our reserves and remain here longer than a few more days. There is a certain eagerness to escape our watery prison, I am preparing a Strela message to send if the situation dictates, however, it would be nice to get someone to supplement our tired eyes in the investigation.


FOKA UPLINK 3/12/83 1624z 261.035 MHz KOSMOS 1434 STRELA
USE AUTHORIZATION: PROJECT 229
POSSIBLE USN SUBMARINE WRECK IDENTIFIED BY SURVEY SLED REQUEST GUIDANCE AND RESUPPLY

FOKA UPLINK 3/12/83 1624z 261.035 MHz KOSMOS 1434 STRELA
USE AUTHORIZATION: PROJECT 229
MAINTAIN PRESENT STATION KEEP AND REDUCE COMMS TRAFFIC. RESUPPLY INBOUND FROM BALTIC. DEPLOY SENSOR SUITE.


TRAWLER FOKA CAPTAINS LOG ENTRY 3/27/83
AT STATION

The naval intelligence agents have proven to be even more disruptive than the helicopter that brought them to my ship. In three days they have changed this place into something I hardly recognize. I fear there will be nothing left of this ship or us after they have what they need for their precious project. Stali almost fell overboard trying to remove the listening antennas as they requested. I will have to remind them that they are guests on Foka and when they are gone it is us who will be forced to restore her to observing duties.

When I am not accommodating naval intelligence demands there is one thought that occupies me, we have spent the last month sitting in a grave. The sneaker Grisha found today proves it. I’m not sure what exactly Project 229 seeks to do but everything points to it tearing those men away from their resting place. There’s no doubt in my mind the Americans would do the same to me but traipsing around a tomb still gives me pause. This sub was a weapon of war but was also home to a crew, like my ship, like my crew. What story will our bones tell, one of grave robbers or one of men serving their country?


USN
Office of Naval Intelligence
Operational Intelligence Section
Suitland MD


05/09/1983

Report on Soviet Atlantic Fleet Activities for April 1983

……………

Soviet intelligence gathering proceeded as normal during the last month. AGI positions were monitored during the month relative to most USN ships. Position maps of suspected Auxiliary, General Intelligence are available in appendix D of this report.

The launch of STS-6 on 04/04/1983 drew notable attention from AGIs. The launch was repeatedly stood up and down owing to unrelated issues and during each period of a probable launch AGIs would push closer to Cape Canaveral and positions along the suspected ground track of the shuttle. Their withdrawal from these observation positions coincided with press releases concerning the launch date which indicates that there is no reason to suspect strong connections between soviet naval intelligence and shuttle launch processing, providing more confidence for operational security on future DOD flights.

One anomaly in positioning for STS-6 was noted in an AGI designated ‘Tattletale 9’. Tattletale 9 (true designation unknown) was noted to move away from a position observing the launch at the same time as other AGIs in February but spent most of March and all of April in a position approximately 400 miles SW of the Azores. Tattletale 9 did not return to a position to observe the launch. The conclusion of ONI is that the AGI Tattletale 9 suffered a mechanical or electrical problem of some kind after attempting to appear inconspicuous and was unable to return to its post. More incidents of this type will be monitored to assess the reliability of the Soviet AGI fleet.

……………






Vasily Sidorov lay in his bunk, listening to the groans and rattles of the ship around him. He found himself wondering if this was how Jonah felt, swallowed by a great whale now lurking underneath the sea. His appointment to Project 229 had been one of hushed voices and careful direction, a reminder of the delicate nature of this mission. The Submarine, B-239 Carp, was much larger and more comfortable than ones he had served on in the past - passageways were at least wide enough to walk through, and the hull did not feel as though it threatened to swallow you whole. It felt, to Vasily, almost too large - Somehow tempting to the very forces that governed their very existence down here. The purpose of Project 229 was clear: locate one of the two rumored American submarines that had disappeared in 1968, and in a tit-for-tat exchange, attempt to raise any materials possible. To Soviet leadership, it was a brilliant plan, one that ensured that the secrets of the dastardly Americans would be safely in their hands. To Vasily, it was merely another operation - a cold and unfeeling mechanism of the state he served. In spite of all this cold, all he could think of now was the heat. It was so much hotter down here than he remembered, a cloying heat that reminded him of something long ago… The heat of the radiators inside the Naval Intelligence Directorate’s headquarters. No… he tried not to dwell on it, the mission at hand was too critical. But slivers of pain and sorrow would creep back into his mind, consuming him just as the metal hull had when he stepped aboard. There was no funeral. No next of kin to notify - a distant uncle who had moved to the countryside some 10 years ago. His mother had passed away when he was just a baby, his father not long after. No sisters. No brothers. Nothing. It is as if Arkady Belyaev had never existed. Vasily would take longer routes though the building - walking by his desk reminded him of that day 3 years ago, when the only friend he had known had seemingly vanished. There was a new analyst at the desk now, unaware of the legacy it carried - a true genius, ripped from the fabric of time itself. A part of him had always wondered if there was something that could have been done for his friend, his comrade in arms. The man meant no harm, and yet, here they were. Thousands of pounds of steel and flesh commanding the ocean. His legacy was denied with an act of violence in its place.

A voice startled Vasily from the depths of his own despair. “Liaison Sidorov - we’ve got something. I was sent to bring you to the briefing room.” The man sat up, rubbing his tired eyes.

“What is it, lieutenant?” The underweight submariner shifted in his boots, attempting to retain his composure. Vasily studied his body language. His eyes scanned the floor for a moment, unsure of how much he should speak. Uncomfortable with the Kremlin breathing down the neck of a crew that seemed so far from Moscow.

“We’re not sure - we believe it could be a target for the project.” He hesitated before the word project, being careful to ensure he did not reveal anything he shouldn’t. Vasily pulled his boots on, and dabbed at his brow. He knew what that meant - the radar return had been successful, the work of trawlers, long game intelligence and other submarine crews pointed them to where they needed to be. On May 20 1968, USS Scorpion had slipped beneath the waves one final time, condemning 99 men to the ocean’s grip. And now, the crew of Carp stood, hovering in the inky depths somewhere above their grave - to Soviet knowledge untouched and unseen from the time of her sinking. Rising to his feet, he ducked into the corridor, following the already perspiring lieutenant.

Crewmen hastily saluted as they rummaged through the halls and narrow decks of the submarine, and Vasily felt acutely aware of his station. He was not meant for command, surely, but his position within the Kremlin’s graces, and his status would be reflected in the eyes of crew members. He no longer saw himself as one of them, and they could not detect the nuances of a submariner in him. He had become the thing that had doomed them all to this face - a political voodoo doll, dancing in the clutches of whoever controlled it. He could feel his unsteadiness growing, but the cold steel of the submarine would give him pause to focus on the mission at hand. The briefing room sat behind an armored door, sandwiched in between compartments much as everything else on this vessel was. The men all stood, even the high ranking officers as he ducked through the door. The anxious lieutenant stood behind him, not permitted to cross the threshold into secrecy. Captain Lukov turned, his gray eyes scanning the room. “Liason Sidorov,” he growled, his voice damaged by years of tobacco use, “please have a seat. I’d like to get us started as soon as possible.” Vasily acquiesced, and for a moment, he understood the fear in the lieutenant’s eyes as he shut the door. He wished to be out there, blending into the machinery.

“Yes, I received a general briefing before my arrival and introduction, Captain. The Naval Intelligence Directorate has informed me of the… candidates for this area.” The captain shuffled to his seat, knees arthritic from years of service. Vasily could not help but wonder how old he was, or how long this metal coffin had aged him.

“This morning - we entered into what the engineering team has called the proximity sphere of target Delta. It was one of four wrecks identified by Project 229 for later investigation. As you know, Liason Sidorov, our ship to match the American’s capability for raising a wreck is not yet finished. We - excuse me.” A deep, hacking cough resonated from his lungs, and the crewmen shifted uncomfortably. He would quickly wipe his face, shoving his kerchief into his pants pocket. Vasily could already tell what it was, the dots of blood sitting on his lips. Cancer. The captain was here out of his own stubbornness, a refusal to end his career that had all but consumed him. “We.. We believe that this site, at which we are currently holding station, is Site Delta - Scorpion.” Scorpion. Hearing the word outside of his own crowded thoughts nearly forced Vasily to be ill, causing him to dig his fingernails into the fake leather armrests.

“Have we received a positive identification? I would like to make absolutely certain before authorizing any sort of movement on behalf of the Kremlin.” Captain Lukov frowned, not used to his power being questioned. Nevertheless, he slid a series of documents across the table. Vasily tore open the package, and let the contents spill onto the table like they had all those years ago. Like Arkady had done. His face, much more damp with sweat now than it had been before, wrinkled with worry. The primary document contained a map of coordinates, an elongated pill shape that bore all the telltale signs of a debris field. The idea that this project remained hidden behind an air of non-reality was no more. They were in place, the work had been done, and now, all that was left to do was push the button.

“As you can see, we believe this to be the wreckage of SSN-589. The marker is ready for deployment in Tube One.” Vasily perked up.

“It’s loaded already? Why wasn’t I informed?” He inquired, suddenly concerned. The captain grimaced back at him, ever the more wary.

“We thought it prudent to be ready to engage. We require… Only your authorization, Liaison Sidorov. You are the link. We have also been given authorization to wait here and request… further assistance from the fleet.” Vasily stood as the captain began to hack and wheeze again. Now - it would seem, the choice laid in his hands. To stay and guard their prize, or to leave behind evidence that they’d been there. A dangerous game. Vasily found himself with the most difficult choice, and he could not help but wonder what Arkady would have done.

“Tell the men to drop the marker, and let us return to our home port. I do not wish to stay at this gravesite any longer than necessary. That will be all, Captain Lukov.” Vasily turned to leave, thankful to be crossing the threshold into the machine world once more.

“Are you sure, Liaison Sidorov?” Lukov’s voice pierced him, and any retaliation threatened to turn the knife inside his chest.

“Yes. That is a direct order from the Kremlin. Launch the marker, and get us underway.” As he stepped through the door, he would lock eyes with the perspiring lieutenant - a moment of understanding which showed that they both knew true fear.

9d28fa00908e8cc7e4f86abc.png

Project 229's marker torpedoes, left behind by Liason Sidorov and the crew of the Carp during initial operational phases
Author's Note: As of this time in the timeline, the soviets were unaware of American visits by the bathyscape Trieste II after the initial sinking in 1968. This survey was largely to verify the status of the submarine and check for any early Soviet activity in the area. Soviet trawlers did also frequent the Atlantic around space shuttle launches, lurking in the waves to try and learn what they could about payloads carried onboard the orbiters.
 
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ThatCallisto put it perfectly. This writing has been absolutely phenomenal - the sense of creeping dread as tensions rise is palpable. Vasily’s discomfort highlights the heavily stratified power structure he finds himself in, and we sense, alongside him, that things are starting to get out of hand. The descriptions of these claustrophobic vessels are absolutely sublime as well.

These lines stand out from today’s chapter:
What story will our bones tell, one of grave robbers or one of men serving their country?
His legacy was denied with an act of violence in its place.
 
Update New
Hello everyone, it's been some time and I wanted to give an update as to the status of Scorpion's Tale - Last year, around this time my health took a pretty serious turn, and I was unable to continue writing creatively. Since then, I've taken some time to reflect and heal, and came to the realization that I definitely want to keep writing. So I shall, and I am working on a chapter of Scorpion's Tale for you all right now. So stay tuned, this Tom Clancy esque adventure is coming...
 
Hello everyone, it's been some time and I wanted to give an update as to the status of Scorpion's Tale - Last year, around this time my health took a pretty serious turn, and I was unable to continue writing creatively. Since then, I've taken some time to reflect and heal, and came to the realization that I definitely want to keep writing. So I shall, and I am working on a chapter of Scorpion's Tale for you all right now. So stay tuned, this Tom Clancy esque adventure is coming...

Welcome back
 
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