Karpov was still sulking, but behind that storm front in his mind he was already thinking, planning, looking far ahead at some distant outcome. Orlov seemed torn between anger, confusion and irritation over the matter. The junior officers, Rodenko, Nikolin, Tasarov and Samsonov fidgeted uncomfortably, waiting. Fedorov seemed energetically alive, his mind also forward looking as to possible consequences. It was clear he had more to say, though he politely waited for the response of the senior officers first. The Admiral was leaning back in his chair, his hands folded on the table as he regarded the others, his glance often on Karpov. It was he who broke the silence first. “Who is our enemy here?” asked the Admiral. “In 1941 Great Britain and the Soviet Union were allies, perhaps strange bedfellows, but allies nonetheless. It has been said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Perhaps so. The West delivered more than half of the trucks Soviet armies would use in this war, and considerable amounts of raw materials, aircraft, and other supplies.
