Cold Choices

“Yes, sir.”

“And I just heard you reject the idea of the American submarine sending more air-regeneration canisters to Severodvinsk, even though this has worked in the past. In fact, it’s the only reason Petrov and his men are still alive.”

“Sir, I believe the Americans caused this disaster, possibly deliberately, but even if it were by accident, all they are doing is attempting to expunge their guilt. You can’t shoot a man, then wipe away the crime by giving him first aid.”

“And if the victim will die without that aid?”

Vidchenko didn’t have a ready answer. He was aware of the conflict, but trusted to Russian ingenuity. There were always other options. Finally struggling for words, he could only say, “I thought it was better to keep the Americans as far away as possible.”

“A month ago, even a week ago, I might have agreed with you. But they have already helped, and now we need them.” Kokurin paused for a moment, then repeated, “Petrov needs them. And I need someone who is willing to work with them, who won’t automatically reject their assistance.”

Vidchenko suddenly realized what was happening. He had been so focused on the rescue.

“Vice Admiral Borisov will take over the operation. My chief of staff will inform Kurganov. I’d like you to come back with me to Severomorsk immediately. You can write your report.”

Vidchenko felt drained, a little lost. “My staff?”

“They can follow later. I’d like them to stay behind and help Borisov’s people.”

“Of course, sir, whatever you want.” Vidchenko’s words were flat, almost hollow-sounding.

“I am sorry, Vasiliy. You’ve done your best. You’ve started the job. Borisov will have to finish it.”

25. COORDINATION

11 October 2008

0945/9:45 AM

Churchill’s SH-60 Seahawk en route Petr Velikiy

It was a much shorter helicopter ride this time, just under twenty minutes, flight deck to flight deck. Patterson barely had time to read the hastily written notes thrust into her hand by Silas as they’d boarded the helicopter regarding Vice Admiral Pavel Dimitriyevich Borisov, Commander of the Twelfth Submarine Eskadra, or squadron, which consisted of all nuclear-powered general-purpose submarines in the Northern Fleet.

He was in his early fifties, came from Belarus, held numerous commands in attack submarines, was married, and had a son at the Frunze Higher Naval School in Saint Petersburg. Solid reputation as a submariner, reasonable admin skills, and most importantly, a close friend of the Northern Fleet commander.

Obviously the Russian Navy wasn’t happy with the failed attempt. Parker was almost giddy when she showed Patterson the news coverage of the demonstrations in Severomorsk. So this Borisov was the new commander of the rescue force. She wouldn’t miss Vidchenko.

The almost-familiar stern of Peter the Great filled the pilot’s windscreen, and then they were down on the landing pad. An officer met their party, and in carefully rehearsed English asked them to come to the flag mess.

This time a smaller group met them, just Borisov, Kurganov, and their aides, along with Lindstrom. Bringing a lot of people to a meeting implied insecurity, or a desire to impress the other side. Did this smaller group imply the opposite?

Patterson had of course left Silas and Russo behind, but shed brought Dwight Manning, the State Department liaison, and Captain Baker from Churchill.

Introductions and tea took only a minute. Borisov was shorter than Vidchenko, with a broad face and blond hair. He smiled more, too. Kurganov wasn’t smiling, and neither were their aides.

They’d barely sat down before he dove in. “We must discuss the transfer of the air regeneration cassettes and supplies from Mikhail Rudnitskiy to Seawolf. One of our helicopters can pick up the cassettes and supplies, but we need to know how to pass signals from our helicopter to your submarine.”

Glad she’d brought at least one naval officer along, she let Captain Baker brief them on U.S. Navy communications procedures. Borisov’s English was good, with Manning’s rapid-fire Russian used only once or twice to clarify technical details.

Borisov passed the information to his aide, who hurried from the room, and referred to what seemed to be a checklist. “Captain Baker, when will your ship and Seawolf join the rescue force?”

“Sir, Churchill will arrive within the hour. Seawolf, unfortunately, won’t arrive for another four hours. Her speed is limited because of the damage to her bow.”

“I understand. I will assign the southwest sector to Churchill and Seawolf. Can the transfer be conducted from this position?” Borisov pointed to a chart with the locations of all the ships listed in both Russian and English. Seawolf’s assigned location was two kilometers from Severodvinsk.

“Yes, Admiral, Captain Rudel and I spoke about this. He will be able to control the underwater vehicles from that position. However, he would like to launch the vehicle from one thousand meters to maximize the cargo pay- load.”

“That is good. That will let me keep Halsfjord and Rudnitskiy working near Severodvinsk. How much time will Seawolf need to effect the transfer?”

Halsfjord had already launched her two remote operating vehicles. They were clearing the silt away, getting ready to lay the explosives along Severodvinsk’s hull. Demolition experts on both ships were assembling the line charges and detonators. Borisov’s question resulted in a long discussion about timing the Russian rescue preparations so they would not delay Seawolf’s vital resupply mission.

It was a very technical discussion, and while Patterson remained involved, she also allowed her attention to wander a little and observe the Russians. There was no confrontation this time. They were matter-of-fact, and open with information about their status and their needs. Part of the worry she’d brought aboard disappeared.

The admiral marched down a reasonably long and thorough checklist. After making sure their schedules meshed, and that everyone knew their part for the upcoming second attempt, Borisov asked about ship-to-ship communications, deconflicting the ships’ radar transmissions, and even asked about medical facilities on board Churchill. “We may ask you to take some of the submarine’s crew if our sick bay becomes overloaded. Many of the crew are now suffering from hypothermia and may require immediate care,” Borisov explained.

“I’ll run a casualty drill this afternoon,” Baker replied. “We’ll be ready.”

“I am glad that we have been able to agree on so much this morning, for the sake of relations between our countries as well as the welfare of Severodvinsk’s crew,” stated Borisov. Patterson could tell a well-rehearsed speech when she heard one. But it didn’t feel like he was winding up the meeting.

“I hope that same openness will be extended to our investigation of the collision itself. Captain Rudel’s assistance since the collision will be taken into account when his actions are judged.”

Patterson started to protest, but she felt Dwight Manning’s hand gently squeeze her arm. She refrained, and let Manning do the talking. His statement was carefully worded, “I am concerned, Admiral, that you have already decided the collision was Rudel’s fault.”

Borisov shrugged. “Seawolf has bow damage, while Severodvinsk was holed both fore and aft. I doubt that Captain Petrov rammed the American submarine with his engineering section. There is also the question of Seawolf’s presence in these waters. We believe he had motive to avoid detection.”

“These are international waters, ninety miles away from the nearest Russian coastline.”