“Comrade Admiral,” the letter began—but the type had been scratched out and replaced with a handwritten “Uncle Yuri.” Ramius had jokingly called him that years back when Padorin was chief political officer of the Northern Fleet. “Thank you for your confidence, and for the opportunity you have given me with command of this magnificent ship!” Ramius ought to be grateful, Padorin thought. Performance or not, you don’t give this sort of command to— What? Padorin stopped reading and started over. He forgot the cigarette smoldering in his ashtray as he reached the bottom of the first page. A joke.
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