Cold Choices

Rudel picked up the 1MC. “All hands, this is the Captain. We are about five minutes from contact. Be ready to brace for impact, and after that, be ready for anything.” Then he keyed the intercom. “Torpedo room, conn. Give me a mark at one hundred forty yards.”

“Conn, torpedo room. Understood. Stand by. Stand by. Mark!”

“Helm, all stop!” It was the only time Jerry heard Rudel speak in louder than conversational tones. “Chief, watch your air. Save enough for the final blow.”

“Save enough for the final blow, aye,” McCord responded.

“Sound the collision alarm!” McCord pulled the lever and SCREE, SCREE, SCREE echoed. In spite of all their careful preparations, Jerry’s chest tightened. His mouth felt like it was filled with sand. Intentionally running into another submarine? This just wasn’t natural.

They waited, while Jerry counted down the carefully calculated two and a third minutes it would take for Seawolf to drift to a dead stop. In a perfect world, that would leave her modified bow just touching Severodvinsk’s hull.

Jerry’s nightmare was that he’d overestimated the drag, that Seawolf would drift to a stop short of her goal, hanging in the water helpless to cover the last ten or thirty yards without using the screws. That meant a low-speed collision, but even walking speed times nine thousand-some-odd tons.

It wasn’t a sound as much as a vibration, a grinding sensation that seemed to push the bow down slightly as they slowed. There was an uneven crackling mixed in — the wooden framework.

Shimko grinned. “Bow down. That means we’re under her — right where we’re supposed to be.”

Rudel fired orders. “Status in the electronic equipment space.” Over the intercom, “Torpedo room, conn. Reposition Maxine.” Then he turned to the control room crew. “But we’re not waiting. All ahead dead slow.”

The talker waited for the helmsman’s echoed reply before reporting, “Electronics equipment space is dry.”

Rudel grinned. “This is a good start.” He held one palm flat against a metal surface, feeling the boat’s engines as well as her contact with the Russian’s hull. Jerry did the same. As the normal-sounding thrum of the screw increased, the grinding, crunching sensation decreased, the relatively light pressure holding the bow in place, preventing further movement.

“Helm, all ahead slow. Torpedo room, conn. Is Maxine in position yet?”

“Conn, torpedo room. She’s moving now, sir. In position in less than a minute.”

“Understood, Mr. Palmer. You know what we’re looking for.”

“I’ll report any rotation of the hull.”

Jerry felt the hull shudder a little as the screw increased its turns from “dead slow” to “slow.” Although it seemed like a small change, at those RPMs the screw had enough power to push nine thousand tons of submarine through the water at three knots.

Severodvinsk

There’d been no warning before the gentle crunch of Seawolf “s bow contacting the hull. Strapped in, Petrov pictured wood and metal being compressed, breaking, bending. The wood structure would press against the rubberized coating.

There. Rudel had added some power, just a little. Petrov was surprised at how clearly he could feel the screw’s effects. That meant a good contact between the two vessels, and an efficient transfer of engine power.

He looked at the inclinometer. It hadn’t moved, but it was early yet. He was optimistic.

USS Seawolf

“Helm, all ahead one-third.”

Rudel’s voice was firm, firmer than Jerry thought his might be giving that order. Real power was beginning to run through the ship’s structure, and the shuddering sped up into a strong vibration. Jerry imagined the boat on hard rubber wheels, rolling over the rumble strips on a highway

But it was just a vibration, steadily increasing. The electronic equipment space was still dry. When he heard the report, Shimko said, “We need to buy those Norwegians a drink.”

“More than one,” Rudel answered. He keyed the intercom again. “Torpedo room, conn. Report.”

“Conn, torpedo room. We’re in position, sir. The image has a lot of static near our bow. That’s probably air bubbles from main ballast tanks one alpha and one bravo.” Palmer sighed, then added, “Severodvinsk has not moved yet.”

“We’re not done yet, Mr. Palmer…” Rudel was interrupted by a piercing groan, a sound of metal being stressed. It was loud enough to make conversation impossible, and it went on for several moments.

Shimko tried to give an order to the phone talker, but couldn’t make himself understood. He was repeating himself when the groan, becoming almost a howl, suddenly stopped.”. report! All compartments report any damage.”

The phone talker, eyes as wide as everyone else’s, passed the word, and immediately reported, “There’s a seawater leak in the electronic equipment space! Chief Hudson says it’s from a packing gland around number two periscope. They’re handling it.”

Rudel seemed artificially calm as he acknowledged the report, then spoke to Shimko. “What do you think, XO? Stresses on the hull adjusting themselves?”

The XO made a face. “Yes, but where? At the bow? Near the mast’s penetrations? Somewhere else? We weren’t designed to push. This may void the warranty.”

“Casualty-assistance team reports they’re having problems slowing the flow of water.”

“Very well. Helm, all ahead two-thirds.”

“What?” Shimko was alarmed. “Skipper, shouldn’t we control the leak first?”

Rudel shook his head. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it quickly.” The deck shuddered again, and for the first time, there was a small sideways lurch. “Chief, how’s main ballast tank one holding?”

McCord replied, “I’m bleeding air in slowly to maintain pressure. We can do this for a little longer — maybe four, five minutes.”

“Level us if you can, Chief. I want our stern no higher than our bow, so we’re pushing up.”

“Pumping water from forward trim to after trim.”

Several of the displays in control suddenly went dark. As Rudel and Shimko turned to the phone talker, he reported, “They’re securing power to the electronic equipment space! The leak’s become a spray.” After a pause, he added, “The gravity drains are handling it, so far.”

The displays went dark again, and stayed that way. Immediately the helmsman reported, “Sir, the rudder has shifted to emergency hydraulic control.”

Severodvinsk

Seawolf must be putting some real power into their engines now. Sitting at the top of the sail, Petrov could feel a back-and-forth vibration, as if the American submarine was straining against some great weight. He was encouraged that the motion was side to side, although now he was worried that when they did finally move, they might roll too far, to end up trapped lying on their starboard side.

To guard against that chance, Petrov kept his hand resting on the red-and-yellow-striped handle that would release the chamber from the sail. It was a simple mechanical release. Normally one wouldn’t rest one’s hand on any control, to prevent it being accidentally triggered. He smiled at the thought of that happening.

It was hardest on the injured. The vibrations were strong enough to cause them real pain, and Balanov had unstrapped himself and was doing his best to cushion their hurts, and administering more painkillers. Petrov watched him, but didn’t caution the doctor about moving around. He had his work, and besides, what was one more risk?

Petrov stared at the inclinometer, willing it to change.

USS Seawolf

“Skipper, I’m losing pressure in main ballast tank one alpha. It’s almost gone.” Chief McCord added, “The Norwegians’ patch must have given way. The other tank is still all right.”

“All engines ahead standard.”

“Electronic equipment space, report.”

“Chief Hudson says there is a half-inch solid stream from the number two scope’s packing. The backup team is on the scene and they are trying to plug it somehow, but there’s a lot of pressure. Robinson got caught in the