There was none, of course. Umansky was busy with his tables and a calculator. Bakhorin wanted to let him finish his calculations, but the answer was obvious. “Are the batteries failing?”
Umansky nodded, a look of frustration on his face. “The only question is how much power do we have left. I have to assume the discharge rate will increase, instead of staying constant.” Finally, he tossed the calculator into a corner with disgust. “Twenty minutes at most, maybe as little as ten. I’d like to plot the change in the discharge rate. It may be an exponential function.”
“You don’t need mathematics like that to know we can’t make it back to the surface in time.”
“We can still make it to
“With barely enough time to attach the cable,” Bakhorin confirmed. “But this is the second one. I know what needs to be done.”
“Then we proceed,” Umansky answered.
By the time they’d reached
The first cable had been attached forward, so they headed aft. In spite of his haste, Bakhorin was careful to steer clear of the bow. There was no telling exactly where the dark-colored cable was, and running into it could damage both AS-34 and the cable.
Neither Russian was terribly worried about their minisub at this point. They knew it was her last dive. With the batteries shot, and no replacements or any way to fix them, she was finished.
The mooring point was under a retractable plate. It was designed by Russians, to work when the deck was caked with ice and snow, and it worked underwater as well.
Using one claw, Bakhorin uncovered the mooring point, and as carefully as a watchmaker, slipped the eye of the loop over the cleat. Once it was settled into place, he released the claw and announced, “I’m clear.”
Umansky gave him a thumbs up and said, “Good. Move us away from the submarine.”
“Understood. I’m heading to the northeast.”
“Away from the buoy and the ships. I concur.”
As Bakhorin guided them to their new location, Umansky checked the discharge rate again. It had increased slightly. Whatever was going on inside those batteries, it was only getting worse. They only had ten percent of a full charge now. It would be impossible to make the surface with the motors. In fact, Bakhorin hoped they would be able to get at least half a kilometer away from
Twenty seconds later, the display panel lights began flickering and the motors started losing thrust. “That’s far enough. Releasing yellow flare.” Bakhorin pressed a lever, releasing a smoke float. They were not coming up where they were supposed to, so it was only polite to mark their current location.
The minisub drifted to a stop, and Umansky reached over to cut the switches to the motors, the passive sonar, and the exterior lights. The gauge read less than five percent charge. The batteries were essentially flat. Bakhorin laughed. “Well, that’s it for me. I’m just a passenger now.”
“You always were the lazy one,” Umansky shot back. “I think it’s time to quickly shed some unnecessary weight.”
“Make sure that panel still has some power,” Bakhorin joked.
“We have a green board,” Umansky replied. “Dropping ballast.”
A dull BANG reverberated through the hull and they felt a sudden jolt.
Umansky pressed a second button, and another BANG sounded as explosive bolts detached the mechanical arms from the bottom of the minisub. Between the ballast and arms, nearly a thousand kilograms of dead metal landed on the seabed, just a few meters below them.
They were rising, but there was no point in taking their time. “Initiating gas generators.” The last button fired four chemical containers located in the minisub’s ballast tanks. Each was fitted with a small hydrazine charge that would fill the tanks rapidly with gas; emptying them of water. The sound was smaller, but they could still feel the vibration, and better still, the depth meter started spiraling upward. They’d be on the surface in moments.
“Now comes the hard part,” said Bakhorin ruefully, “breaking the news to the Admiral.”
Russian Submariners Risk Lives to Continue Rescue Effort
Preparations to rescue the crew of trapped submarine
The Russian submersible, over fifteen years old, has suffered from battery problems since the rescue began, but until now they have only limited the number of dives the submersible could make, and their duration.
On the last dive, the batteries suddenly began to lose their charge, and the operators, Captains Third Rank Bakhorin and Umansky, faced a difficult choice. If they aborted the dive, the rescue would be delayed, but if they continued and attached the cable, they would not have enough power to return to the surface.
The two submariners took the dangerous course, and successfully attached the rescue cable. With barely enough electrical power remaining to move away from the downed submarine, they performed a risky emergency surfacing, which succeeded.
AS-34 is one of three underwater vehicles working on the rescue. The other two are remote operating vehicles operated by the Norwegian salvage and rescue vessel
In an interview with Skynews reporter Britt Adams, Vice Admiral Pavel Borisov, commanding the rescue operation, called Bakhorin and Umansky “heroes upholding the best traditions of the Russian naval service,” and said that such men were “common throughout the fleet.”
Preparations are now expected to be complete at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon local time. If they are successful in righting the submarine, the survivors will be on the surface within minutes.
The walls were stained in one corner, the pattern had worn off the linoleum in many places, and Mariska and her husband had left in search of a proper lock for the front door.
But a sign painter was at work on the front window, and secondhand furniture was streaming in from half a dozen places. And most importantly, Irina had her Internet access.
Olga had appropriated the small office in the back. She was supervising a couple of the new girls as they organized the furniture when Galina found her. “There’s another reporter here.” She smiled broadly.
Olga was curious. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing’s funny, Olga. I’m pleased. He’s from the base newspaper.” The base newspaper was run by the Navy, and only printed articles approved by the headquarters.
“I was expecting him. Thank you, Galina. Show him in.”
He’d phoned ahead, which was polite, and Olga had insisted he come over straightaway. In all the bustle she’d forgotten to tell Galina, but no matter. She chased the other women out of her half-finished office, satisfied that there was a battered desk for her to sit behind, and a chair for her guest.
She was still sitting down when she heard Galina say, “Go right in.” The tone of Galina’s voice was the first warning. The young man that entered looked like he was still in university, younger even than her son Yakov. She felt like fixing him lunch.
But he was here for an interview, and his age really didn’t matter. They all seemed so young to Olga.
“Mrs. Sadilenko, thank you for seeing me.” The young man fiddled with a notepad and tape recorder.
“I’m flattered that the paper is interested in our new organization, Mr. Borzin.”
“I’m hoping that the story will run on the front page, Mrs. Sadilenko.”
“Please, call me Olga.” She fought the maternal urge to straighten his tie.
“Thank you, Olga, and I am Ivan Pavelovich.” He referred to his notepad for a moment, then asked, “What is the goal of your new organization?”
Borzin spent about fifteen minutes quizzing Olga about the Navy Wives and Mothers group. How many members did it have, what were the requirements for membership, how did they operate?
“With much confusion,” Olga joked. “We are still sorting ourselves out into some sort of structure. Irina talked about a ‘wiring diagram’ and I thought she meant the insides of her computer.”
“But your organization is doing much work.” He referred to his notepad. “I asked for this story because I heard about the phone call you arranged between Captains Bakhorin and Umansky and their families.”
