Given the suntanning attack formation, perhaps Ivan was sipping a little Stoli?
Once, while at a BBQ on Steel Beach, the Russian Cruiser that was shadowing us pulled up slowly along side.
The skipper got on the 1MC and ordered us to moon them as they were somewhere between 50 and 100ft away.
Certainly they could see the hair on our asses.
They collectively lifted their glasses and yelled in unison: SALUT!
They ran along side us for about an hour as each crew waved and held up their various food and beverages, the music blaring from each ship.
It was a Sunday afternoon after all.
By nightfall we were back to the standard fun and games of radiating, shifting course, emcon etc.
For that one moment in time, we shared the common lament of sailors throughout time and there was no difference between us.
7,000 miles from home and nothing but water as far as the eye could see.