An enormous, at least two-metre thick, concrete double door slides open, and a dark and cool throat of the mountain is almost sucking me in. My jaw has dropped. No…I’m not reading you an excerpt from some horror or thriller novel, and my name is not James Bond.

I’m standing on the doorstep of the once top-secret facility on the Black Sea coast and now the Naval Museum Complex Balaklava on the south-east of Crimean peninsula, just a stone-throw away from the city of Sevastopol.

From elegant, marble white cities of ancient Greeks to invasion of Scythians’ nomadic tribes, from Byzantine’s Orthodox churches in Chersonesus to mosques in Bakhchisarai…two wars, numerous military conflicts, constant change of power—this tiny piece of land has seen them all.

This megalithic underground submarine base, carved deeply into Tavros Mountain, has been here on high alert during the whole period of the Cold War, when two mega-powers—USSR and the USA—tried to control the whole world. Following the direct order from Josef Stalin, the construction works started in the mid ‘50s when the confrontation between the two countries picked up its crazy pace.

My guide snatches me back from my reverie and invites to follow her into the dark concrete tunnel—a silent witness of all secrets of this place.

I’m glad I speak fluent Russian. All signs and information boards here don’t cater for the English-speaking world.

Maybe it is for good. I muse. Maybe it gives tourists this authentic experience, bringing them back in time. It’s all about experience, after all…or is it? Clearly, this place affects my judgment, making me paranoid. I try to get rid of these annoying, ridiculous thoughts and follow my guide to the very heart of the mountain.

It feels a good ten degrees cooler inside this subterranean mega- structure, but I’m not surprised at all. Some 126 metres of the solid rock above my head protects this place well not only from any weather conditions, but even from nuclear fallout. I’m embracing my shoulders instinctively. Despite its impressive size, this underground city seems claustrophobic to me. Visiting it on my own without a guide or at least a detailed map, I would probably got lost in the endless labyrinths of tunnels and chambers which served as warehouses, repair shops, and dry docks, where submarines, equipment, torpedoes, and other weapons used to be stored and repaired.

One of the tunnels opens to a channel—a resting place for submarines. I must admit I’ve always been captivated by these dark, slim, elegant, but deadly sea guards. There is something mysterious in their existence deep underwater—undetectable, inaudible, and unpredictable. Now, I can see their “nest”, the whole subterranean city where they came to rest, to be repaired and looked after. They could enter and exit the base completely submerged through the specially-designed underwater access point, completely invisible from the sea and the shore.

Yes, to look after for almost fifty years… Object 825 GTS was not just a maze of some industrial premises. It was a high-security compound, completely isolated from the external environment which provided autonomous air supply, equipped with powerful diesel generators, fuel and water lines, an underground rail road, housing for staff, dining rooms, kitchens, bathrooms, showers, rest rooms, command posts, and nuclear shelter—everything and everybody here was absolutely prepared for a nuclear disaster.

However, even a nuclear attack seemed less dangerous for the USSR government than the information leaking out to the west. The employees of Object 825 GTS couldn’t disclose their real employer even to their families and close friends.

Camouflaged from the sea by the naturally curved shape of Balaklava Bay, hidden deeply into the mountain, classified top-secret project—this place has never existed until the early 2000s.

A pleasure boat full of tourists is entering the channel slowly. Some people are waving to me, and I’m smiling and waiving back to them. The channel opens to the dark blue waters of the bay, where dolphins jump out of the waves, playing and following boats. Their black streamline bodies remind me of submarines.

I’m squinting because of the bright sun and smiling to myself.

History has proclaimed its verdict. The uncertain, paranoid times of the Cold War are over. Now, the nature not the weapons controls these waters.

By L. Salt

From: United Kingdom

Website: http://saltandnovels.wordpress.com

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