Cold Choices

Greg Wolfe was the OOD. Captain Rudel had not relieved him of the conn, something other skippers might do when in contact with a Russian boomer. Wolfe had his answer ready. “Unlikely, sir. Even at five knots, he’s significantly noisier than we are. And his towed array is not as good as ours.”

“But there is still a chance he could get a whiff of us. Particularly if he doesn’t do what we think he’s going to. What can we do to lower his chance of detecting us even more?”

“Well sir, slowing down won’t help; we are already limited by our narrowband signature. Rigging the ship for ultra-quiet would do the trick, but then there would be some system issues since we’d have to secure air- conditioning. We could open the range. ” Wolfe trailed off as he tried to think of other tactical possibilities, but remained silent for only a moment. “Sir, I recommend altering course to the south. This would put us on a divergent course from the contact and place us well outside his detection range while allowing us to continue tracking him.”

“Very good, Greg. Do it.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Helm, left standard rudder. Steady on course one eight zero.

As the helmsman repeated the conning orders, Jerry watched his quartermasters update Seawolf’s track. Once the Delta IV was gone, they’d need a new course to get them back to the next survey area to launch Patty.

Severodvinsk

Sayda Guba Inlet

“Helmsman, come left to course three five five,” ordered Petrov.

It was a glorious day. The wind was howling from the northwest, the skies were covered with thick clouds, and it was raining — perfect weather for a covert departure. No radios were used as the tug pulled Severodvinsk from her pier. All communications were made with hand signals or flashing light, just in case those pesky American spy satellites were trying to listen in. With a little luck, the Americans wouldn’t notice their absence until after the storms blew over; and that should take almost a week, according to the weather prognosticators.

Up ahead a rusted, dilapidated-looking tug, her stern lights burning brightly, showed the way out. Again for security reasons, Severodvinsk was not using her radar, and she would need a little help getting out of the bay in these foul conditions. Visibility was not good, but Petrov could still see the rocky shoreline of the submarine base to starboard and the pine-tree-covered island in the middle of the bay to port. The glowing lights from the city of Gadzhiyevo silhouetted the barren hills with a greenish gray hue.

The wind-driven rain stung his face, but Petrov hardly felt it. He was finally going to sea, on his own, no babysitters, and nothing Mother Nature could throw at him would dampen his spirits. A short toot and the flashing of the tug’s stern lights was the prearranged indication that the turning point was getting close.

“Attention navigation watch, five hundred meters until the turn,” squawked the loudspeaker. Petrov smiled, pleased that his commander of the navigation battle department, Captain-Lieutenant Dimitry Borisovich Ivanov, was on top of things. His announcement was right on time, and given the difference in distance perfectly matched that of the old and very cranky veteran tug captain.

Three minutes later, the tug sounded a long blast on her whistle and flashed her stern lights again — she was beginning her turn.

“Mark the turn,” announced Ivanov.

“Helmsman, rudder right full. Steady on course zero nine zero,” shouted Petrov down into the sail. Unlike Western submarines, Russian boats actually had a helmsman’s position in the sail, right below the cockpit, for surface running. That made it easier for the conning officer and the helmsman to talk to each other without using an intercom.

“My rudder is right full, coming to course zero nine zero, Captain.”

“Very well, helmsman. Just keep our nose on the tug’s stern and he’ll guide us through the channel.”

“Aye, Captain,” replied the sailor as he adjusted the rudder angle by pushing forward or pulling backward on the joystick control.

Petrov continued to scan from the left shoreline, to the tug, to the right shoreline and back again so as to keep Severodvinsk squarely in the middle of the channel. This was the most dangerous part of egress route. The channel between Sayda Guba and the Murmansk Fjord was very narrow. There would be little time to correct a mistake.

Because of the security concerns and the poor weather, it took Severodvinsk almost two hours to finally clear land and enter into the Barents Sea. After dismissing the tug, Petrov increased speed and barreled his way through the large swells. The wind picked up once they were outside the lee of the coast, and sea spray joined the rain in pelting the bridge watch. Every now and then Petrov would laugh, like a schoolboy on a carnival ride, as the boat fell into a deep trough. It was an exciting ride.

An hour and a half later, Severodvinsk dove beneath the stormy seas and proceeded on course to the buoy field.

3 October 2008

USS Seawolf

Jerry kept one eye on the fathometer. So far, readings matched the charts. “Seventeen fathoms under the keel. Point India bears zero nine five at seven hundred yards.” Jerry’s report put Seawolf within minutes of their next launch point. Number nine. “Present course is good.”

Although Lieutenant Commander Lavoie was OOD, Jerry was essentially conning the boat. His recommendations guided Seawolf to the right spot. Theoretically anywhere nearby would do, but Rudel had insisted on places with a smooth bottom. It would be bad luck to launch a UUV and have it strike one of the rolling hills or some sort of projection; a definite possibility in this neck of the Barents, which was shallower than usual.

“Maneuvering, conn. Make turns for three knots,” spoke Lavoie into the intercom. The engineering officer of the watch, or EOOW, was back in the bowels of the engine room and supervised the operation of the reactor and main propulsion system. He controlled the ship’s speed and responded to the OOD’s orders.

“Make turns for three knots. Conn, maneuvering, aye.”

“Watch your depth, Dive.” Lavoie’s second instruction was to the diving officer. As Seawolf’slowed, she became slightly negatively buoyant, because the water flowing over her dive planes worked like air over a plane’s wing and helped to keep the boat up. Less speed meant less lift. Chief Petersen needed a delicate touch to keep the sub at neutral buoyancy, where she would neither sink or rise.

Peterson moved water out of Seawolf‘s variable ballast tanks. She used her main ballast tanks to get underwater, but variable ballast tanks were used to compensate for small changes in the boat’s weight and to adjust her trim fore and aft. Peterson ordered a small amount of water to be pumped to sea to account for the excess weight.

The OOD waited another minute, then ordered, “Helm, all stop.”

“All stop, aye. Maneuvering answers all stop.”

Jerry watched the quartermasters update the chart. It was all by dead reckoning at this point, but the chart was still a check on the mental mathematics in Lavoie’s head. The nav plot showed them slightly past their intended position, but only by a hundred yards or so, the length of the boat. Stan Lavoie had the right touch. “Plot shows us on station,” Jerry reported softly. “Distance from planned position is within navigational error.”

“Nicely done, Mr. Lavoie.” Rudel’s praise was always public. Reaching up, he pressed the talk button on the intercom and said, “Sonar, conn, report all contacts.”

“Conn, sonar, only white noise from the ice, sir. Not even biologies.” Sonar would have reported anything, of course, but Rudel’s check was the last step. Since the encounter with the Delta IV, the only other Russian vessels they’d detected had been two distant icebreakers.

Picking up the Dialex handset, Rudel called the torpedo room. “Mr. Palmer, are you ready?” Jerry knew that the captain’s question was also pro forma. Palmer and the torpedo gang had been ready since six that morning, when Jerry had visited the torpedo room before breakfast.

“LaVerne’s loaded in tube four and is ready in all respects, sir.”

“Very well.” Hanging up, Rudel looked at Lavoie and said, “Stan, you have my permission to prepare the tube and launch the UUV when ready.”

“Prep the tube and launch the UUV when ready, aye sir.” Executing a rough facsimile of a pirouette, Lavoie