Cold Choices

You know many of the people involved personally. President Huber trusts your judgment, and you’ve delivered for him in the past. You’ve even been on a submarine patrol up there.”

“The Russians probably shouldn’t know about that last bit,” Patterson mused. Pausing, she half-smiled. “I didn’t know I was so annoying. You know, I might find my way back “

Wright laughed out loud, but before he could say anything in reply, Patterson argued, “It won’t work. I’m not in the chain of command. I’m an adviser to the President.”

“President Huber will appoint you an ‘on-scene coordinator’ for the search-and-rescue operation. Under international law, Rudel is the on-scene commander, since he was or is the first unit there. Given his limited communications, supporting him with a surface ship makes sense.”

Wright made some notes. “Now, once the Russians arrive, they will quite properly take over the rescue effort, but you will stay there until Seawolf comes home.”

“Who do I report to?” Patterson asked. She wasn’t going to say yes until she knew where the wires led.

Wright grinned. “That depends. SUBGRU Two on matters relating to Seawolf, the Russians for the rescue, me for everything else. I’ll stay out of your hair as long as I feel informed, and I’ll get you whatever you need.”

“Can I take along someone? Dr. Russo. I met him at the brief. He’s an expert on Russian submarine rescue.”

“I’ll arrange it. I’ll also include a State Department rep, in case things with the Russians get intense, and a naval officer as your aide.” Wright saw her expression and reassured her. “They will work for you, I promise.”

“All right.”

“Splendid.” Wright’s smile lit the room. “Ben will arrange the travel details, but expect to leave tomorrow — early.”

* * *

Two hours later, she skipped dinner to hit an outfitter’s store on Seventh Street. They expressed interest in her destination when she told them she needed arctic gear, but Patterson put them off with a story about an environmental survey in Alaska, which she’d actually done, years ago.

She’d barely started when her phone beeped. It was a text from Lowell. check cnn. She hit a key and checked a list of articles on the screen. It was obvious which one he was referring to.

The audio with such a small speaker was awful, and she had to keep the volume down in the store, but the anchor’s voice was understandable.

“The Russian Interfax news agency has announced that the Americans have admitted their role in the loss of their submarine, now identified as Severodvinsk. A Russian naval ministry spokesman says that the U.S. government has provided both the location and time of the submarine’s loss through a collision with an American nuclear attack submarine.

“The Russian statement did not name the U.S. submarine, and questioned its ‘oceanographic survey’ mission. The submarine will evidently remain in the area conducting its own search for the downed Russian vessel.

“The ministry claims that because the location is in international waters, the only way the Russian submarine could have been crippled is through ‘hostile actions’ by the American vessel. They are discounting the American claim of an accidental collision, on the grounds that there is no reason for two submarines to be operating in such close proximity, and also the need to conduct a search, since it and the American had collided. He hinted the U.S. actually knows the precise location of their missing submarine, and is withholding it.

“The ministry says it is continuing its rescue plans, but that the search vessels will be escorted by Northern Fleet warships to prevent any interference.”

14. UPHILL

In the Barents Sea

It was a series of regular, violent motions. First the deck would pitch down and to starboard as Seawolf crested a wave. Then the entire boat would actually slide to the right, finally rolling back to port as she came down into the trough. As the wave’s crest moved toward her stern, it sometimes lifted her propulsor partway out of the water. The vanes would thrash for just a moment, and then as the water covered them, ice chunks would strike the vanes and then the cowling. The shuddering vibration, like ice cubes in a disposal, ran though the hull and everything attached to it.

There was some yaw in the motion, too, a slight turn to starboard and then back to port as the rudder lost its bite. And because the bow wasn’t a smooth, round, symmetrical shape anymore, all manner of vibrations and clunks found their way into the pattern.

Jerry had long ago ceased being seasick, if that meant losing the contents of one’s stomach. His stomach muscles were exhausted and sore, thankfully fatigued to the point where they were unable to spasm. He still felt weak and almost dizzy from the boat’s motion, but he could function— barely. He was still keeping death as a fallback option.

On Seawolf, all normal functions had been stripped down to bare bones, and then the extra bones had been discarded. Sea state six meant near gale-force winds and ten to twelve-foot seas, streaked with large tails of ice-laden spray. Submarines just weren’t built for this weather. Movement had to be carefully planned, not only through the passageways, but even simply crossing to the opposite side of a compartment. Handholds here and there, wait for the right moment to step, or risk banging your head on that cabinet, pipe, panel, or whatever as you’re thrown forward.

Shimko had passed the word as soon as they turned east. Rig the boat for heavy weather. Anything that could move, would. Anything that could be shaken loose, would move. Two thankfully minor injuries in the first six hours had shown the strength of the storm, and that the crew needed to use their imagination when securing for rough seas.

Jerry moved carefully, shuffling in concert with the deck’s gyrations in a nautical zen that came from hours of practice and a deep need to conserve energy. He, Shimko, and the captain were taking turns touring the boat, visiting each deck in every compartment, checking up on the tormented occupants. It was tiring, but necessary.

His first stop was enlisted berthing, aft and high up in the hull. The motion of the ship was, unfortunately, quite pronounced and the men literally had to wedge themselves in their bunks to prevent from being thrown out. With everyone not on watch confined to their rack, it was crowded, and noisier than usual from the motion of the ship and the sound of water and ice pounding the rubber-coated hull. Jerry was reminded of the old-style Pullman sleeper cars; assuming the train was riding a roller coaster in a hailstorm.

Many of the men were surprisingly asleep, but a few saw him, and waved or greeted him weakly. Jerry wasn’t the only one suffering the mal de mer. While only a few were as sensitive as he was, in seas like this, more than two-thirds of the crew were affected.

He noted two men in berthing that had sick chits taped to their bunks and IV bags hung over them. Dehydration was a real risk with severe seasickness. He asked to make sure the doc was looking in on them regularly.

Down lower, closer to the bottom of the boat, the torpedo room offered a smoother ride. With the boat moving so violently, all regular maintenance had been suspended, so it was quiet. The single watchstander, a pale olive hue, was seated, braced against the weapon launch console and one of the stowage racks. He was wearing his sound-powered phones and was alert enough to notice Jerry’s arrival and carefully stood.

Several other enlisted members had sought refuge there against the motion. A few were even trying to eat — cold boxed meals had been prepared by the galley. The smell of food stirred Jerry’s stomach, but he quickly left before it could wake up and remember how unhappy it was.

Aft of the torpedo room were the auxiliary machinery spaces, and then the forward reactor bulkhead. Like the torpedo room, these spaces were sparsely populated. He then climbed back up to the next deck, passing by the wardroom to radio. Actual work was being done in the radio room, as the ITs printed out message traffic and sorted it by department. With the floating wire stowed, they couldn’t monitor the fleet broadcast while on the surface; the two multipurpose antennas were still down. They’d bolted several fans, blowing as hard as they could, to cabinets