“Very well, signal the Americans and tell them we request assistance.”
His executive looked at him, understood the gravity of the situation, the responsibility placed on his commander, and instructed one of the crew to signal the Americans to approach. When they were within a few hundred yards of each other, the Alexander Nevsky launched an inflatable boat with four crewmembers from their side. Two seaman, and two officers, all unarmed, made their way to the Texas. When they came to its side, a flexible ladder was lowered to allow them to board.
“Sir, Captain Lieutenant Orlov, and Senior Lieutenant Lukin of the Alexander Nevsky,” Orlov said in heavily accented English as he saluted.
His salute was returned. “I’m Commander Weston, captain of the USS Texas, and this is Lieutenant Gonzalez my exec,” he said while exchanging handshakes.
After the Russian sailors had been searched for weapons, their enlisted men remained topside, while the two officers were led to the galley. They sat down to a cup of coffee, and waited while the commander and his senior staff made their way in. They stood as the commander entered.
Jared Weston was a green-eyed thirty-eight year old who wore his red hair cut close to his scalp. At just under six feet tall, he carried his lithe body with authority and confidence. He took his job seriously and was known as a consummate professional. He came from a rural upbringing, and worked for everything he accomplished, including paying his way through college. It was not the natural route for a future commander of a naval vessel to come from a private school, but his talents were recognized early on, and his work ethic allowed him to move ahead of others. His parents were of little means, yet they provided the principles, which made him who he was. He was a man, and he should be able to make his own way. He was very proud of the career he made, and this was going to be, no doubt, one of the most interesting events in it.
They sat down.
“And what can the United States Navy do for our Russian friends?” Commander Weston asked.
There was no time to waste, and no purpose for deception, even to ‘save face.’ “The Nevsky is dying. An undersea explosion of some type caused several leaks within our missile tubes, and more importantly, in our reactor. Captain Bardin sent us here to ask that you save our crew. There are one-hundred-thirty men on board. If you could take us to the nearest port, we would be indebted to you.”
While he digested this information, he studied the face of his Russian counterpart to see if there were any signs of deception. He knew something was wrong with the sub, but he did not know if he was hearing the whole story, and he did not want to make a hasty decision until he was sure that he did. “Have you made radio contact with your superiors,” Commander Weston asked.
“Our communications and much of our electronics are not functioning,” Orlov said.
Ascertaining this was important because they too had problems with their navigation, communication, and much of their other electronic instruments. There was no need to disclose this information at the moment. “How was your ship damaged, and what do you make of the surface conditions,” he asked to see if they knew anything more than the crew of the Texas did.
Orlov was at first curious by the question, then contemplative. He had a good idea of what might have caused the damage, but he had not stopped to consider the strange nature of the environment he saw when he came out of the sub. “We believe some sort of underwater eruption damaged our vessel. We didn’t come into contact with any structure, and there were no onboard explosions. It was something external,” he finished.
“What about out there,” Weston pointed with his thumb indicating the strange weather conditions.
“I don’t know,” Orlov said.
They sat there studying one another. It finally dawned on the young Russian about what had concerned the Americans.
“Commander,” he began, “We have received no radio instructions, nor do we believe we are at war. We saw the red sky to the east, but we both know there is nothing in that area which would be targeted by either of our countries. I am here only for the sake of our crew.”
While he considered that statement, he said, “What about the Nevsky?”
“The captain will stay on board to scuttle her,” Orlov said in a somber voice.
“How do I know he won’t believe we are really at war, knowing that his ship is dead, fire his payload at their prearranged targets then be happy to go down with his ship knowing his crew is safe. That would be quite a coup,” Weston challenged.
“Commander, I can only give you my word as an officer. We only wish to save our crew, and you are our only hope.”
While he studied the young man, commander Weston issued the orders to his exec, “Get out as many inflatable craft as we have. Tie them to each other and send a skeleton crew to deliver them to the Nevsky. Have the Chief prepare quarters to accommodate our guests. Make sure they are all searched prior to coming aboard, not so much as a pocket knife gets on.”
“Aye, Aye sir.”
“Thank you commander. I can assure you, this is no trick, and I only wish we would have never met under these circumstances,” he said offering his hand once again.
It was an uncomfortable feeling allowing almost as many ‘enemy’ crewmen on board as the Texas itself had. The transfer had gone quite rapidly. The crew of the Nevsky was searched, escorted to the area made ready for them, and held under guard. All but six had boarded the Texas. The captain, his political officer, and four other seamen had decided their fate was with the Nevsky.
When the last of the Russians had boarded, Commander Weston saw the Nevsky prepare for submersion. He too ordered the Texas to dive and monitor the other vessel as best as they could. If they detected any outer doors opening, indicating a possible missile launch, they would sink it themselves. He did not know if all of his systems were operational yet, but he knew his craft was much faster. If all he could do was ram it, then he would do it.
It was a nervous time for everyone, including the Russians.
Fifteen minutes later, it was apparent what the captain of the Nevsky was doing. They were at the edge of the ‘trench.’ He was taking his sub in a deep angle dive, which would eventually cause it to rupture. If that did not happen, it would simply remain on the bottom as those on board would be helpless in a matter of hours anyway. They would wait.
When it was determined that the Nevsky would never be heard from, or seen again, Commander Weston ordered his crew to take them to the surface, and to bring Captain-Lieutenant Orlov to the conning tower.
“Captain, our communications, and much of our other electronic navigation systems are not functional. They haven’t been since whatever happened yesterday,” he said deciding a bit of truth was in order.
Orlov simply nodded in understanding at both the statement, and the reason behind it.
“I came back up to get a good look at where we are in relation to what is lighting up the sky there on the horizon,” he said pointing to the east.
“That should be Nicaragua. I’m afraid based on what you said about how you were damaged, and the gray sky with these heavy clouds, that that light is an eruption from the Masaya volcano. The only way to know is to go have a look. We’ll get as close as we can to confirm what we can. I’ll expect you to manage your crew, and we’ll let a few at a time come topside to get some air so they can see things for themselves.”
“Thank you Commander. I appreciate your offer, as will my crew.”
“Hopefully we’ll be able to get you safely ashore and on your way home. We should know before the day is over. Keep yourself handy.”
“Yes sir,” he said as he saluted and left the tower.
They were unable to make it closer than a few miles from shoreline. The ash was quite heavy even at that distance as the sub, and those standing outside, were soon covered in the gray colored flakes. It was obvious that there was more than one active volcano in the area. The light visible on the darkening horizon provided the evidence.
Commander Weston made course adjustments to move the Texas as far from the fallen ash as possible, while still maintaining visual contact with the coastline. This was how they had to navigate. The stars were not visible, and their navigational equipment was still inoperable. The officers of the Texas stood two-hour watches along with one of their Russian counterparts, and two additional seamen, while they sailed along at a steady fifteen
