Cold Choices

“Good. They are getting ready to fit the wooden framework over Seawolf’s bow. Then they will get under way and submerge. It should be no more than half an hour.”

“I would prefer to remain in contact until the Americans are ready. Is that acceptable?”

“As long as you can get into the escape chamber in good order, that will be fine.”

“Yes, sir. We will stand by for your call.”

Petrov hung up the microphone and sat down wearily. It took all his concentration to manage a simple conversation. The constant headache made thought almost impossible. Still, he had to keep thinking.

Only four officers were left in the central post: Petrov, Kalinin, Fonarin, and Mitrov. There was nothing left to do.

“One collision put us here, another will save us.”

“ Will, comrade Captain?”

“I believe in having a positive attitude, comrade Starpom.” He smiled. “Besides, the surface holds its own hazards. The fresh air may finish me off.”

Fonarin chimed in. “I’m willing to risk it, sir.”

“You’re a brave man, Igor Mikhailovich.” Kalinin grinned. “Such sacrifice.”

“And I’ll risk the real food,” Mitrov said.

“And warmth,” Kalinin added.

“As long as they have enough painkillers for our headaches,” Petrov commented, and they all agreed.

“What will you do after we get home, sir?”

“Fill out a great many forms, I fear.” They laughed for a moment at his joke, but it was dark humor. “There must be a lot of paperwork involved with the loss of a submarine — and people.”

“It wasn’t entirely your fault, sir,” Kalinin said.

“Whether or not I was completely or partially at fault is irrelevant, Vasiliy, the safety of this ship and crew is ultimately my responsibility, and mine alone. In any case, there’s a shortage of boats in the fleet. I doubt if I’ll get another command right away.” Petrov saw their expressions, and smiled. “Do not worry, shipmates, I now have a new standard for what to call a ‘bad day.’”

They ran through the checklist again, slowly, just to burn up time, and then speculated about what Admiral Borisov would say in his welcome-aboard speech. He was, after all, an admiral, so there would have to be a speech.

Rudel’s voice jolted them out of the desultory conversation. As Petrov grabbed the microphone, the American reported, “Seawolf to Severodvinsk, we are ready.”

“Seawolf, this is Petrov. Nobody’s ever ready for this. For the record, I still think you’re insane.”

“It will take us about ten minutes to get in position. How long do you need to board the escape chamber?”

“Give us five minutes, starting now, my friend, then give it your best. Severodvinsk out.”

USS Seawolf

Rudel had sounded General Quarters as soon as they’d left Halsfjord. Palmer had Maxine in the water a few minutes later heading for her preprogrammed observation point. The instant she was clear, Jerry said, “Recommend course three two seven to the initial point at ten knots, time to initial point four and one half minutes.”

“I’m going to keep her at five knots, Jerry. No sense stressing the framework,” replied Rudel. For this evolution, the captain had the deck and the conn.

“Understood, sir.” Jerry watched QM1 Peters update the chart and the log.

“Chief of the watch, how are the ballast tanks holding?”

“Better than before, sir,” Chief McCord said cautiously. “One alpha and one bravo were still bleeding a little when we tested them with the low-pressure blower, but I think they will give us enough buoyancy.”

Rudel ordered, “Save the high-pressure air for the right moment, Chief. I don’t mind being heavy by the bow when we start pushing. Once we’ve started, then keep number-one main ballast tank as full as you can.”

“Keep it full when we push aye, sir,” McCord responded automatically.

Jerry updated their position. “Five minutes to initial point. Recommend keel depth of six hundred and forty feet. Recommend port turn at that time to approach course of two seven four.”

“Diving officer, make our depth six hundred and forty feet. Jerry, does that approach course allow for the cross-current?”

“I’ve factored in a two-knot southerly current sir.”

“Very good.”

“No vibration at five knots,” Rudel observed. “The Norwegians did a good job.”

“The pitlog reads four point three knots with turns ordered for five,” Shimko observed. “We may slow down faster than we’d planned.”

Jerry nodded. “We knew there’d be drag, but not this much. I’ll work on it.” He added, “Peters, time the turn, please.” The QM1 nodded.

“Torpedo room, conn. Report on Maxine’s status.”

Palmer’s voice answered immediately. “Conn, torpedo room. In position, in line with both subs. Severodvinsk is one hundred and twenty-three feet in front of her.”

“Excellent,” Rudel answered. “Start feeding us ranges as soon as we make the turn.”

“Conn, torpedo room aye.”

“One minute to turn — mark!” Peters reported. “Recommend slowing to three knots at the time of the turn.” Jerry was still working furiously, calculating Seawolf’s new drag factor.

Rudel divided his gaze between the displays and the clock. “Stand by. Left standard rudder, steady on course two seven four, speed three knots.”

The helmsman repeated the order, and as the bow swung over, Palmer’s voice reported, “Conn, torpedo room. Range one thousand twenty yards.” Chief McCord acknowledged his report.

“Jerry, what’s the drag figure?”

The navigator didn’t reply immediately, but Peters, watching him work, looked up to the XO and nodded reassuringly. Ten seconds later, Jerry announced, “Recommend stopping engines one hundred and forty yards from Severodvinsk.”

“That’s pretty close,” Rudel observed, “just over a boat length.”

“With a smooth bow from three knots, it’s four hundred. We’d figured two fifty, but the drag is greater — much greater than we originally thought.”

“Then we’ll stop at one forty,” Rudel concluded.

“Range is eight hundred yards, bearing of Seawolf from Maxine shows slight left drift.”

“Change your course to two seven six,” Rudel ordered. “Sonar, conn. Watch the bearing to Maxine’s sonar. We need it to be steady.”

“Conn, sonar, aye. Current bearing is two seven five.”

“Depth is six hundred forty feet, sir,” reported Hess.

“Range is six hundred yards,” relayed McCord.

“Casualty-assistance team, report status of the electronics equipment space,” barked Rudel.

The IC man on the phones spoke briefly. Jerry’s people were supposed to be standing by next to the electronics room. With all the extra shoring that had been added, there was barely room for a man to stand. The switchboards were wrapped with several layers of plastic, techs stood by with parts and tools at the ready. Additional personnel were staged just inside the crew’s quarters.

“Seaman Blocker reports they’re ready. Chief Hudson is watching both the packing glands and the reinforcing frames.”

“Very well,” Rudel acknowledged. Mentally, Jerry crossed his fingers.

“Four hundred yards.”

“Sonar, conn. What’s the bearing to Maxine?”

“Steady at two seven five.”