Cold Choices

families. Normally such a document would have been highly classified, and now there were copies of it on the Internet!

The defense minister had virtually ordered him to meet with the families. “Say whatever will make them happy. Remember to blame the Americans. This crisis is their fault.”

Olga Sadilenko, the spokesperson for the group, was a hard case. The mother of Severodvinsk’s reactor officer, she was articulate and unimpressed by busts, flags, paintings or admirals. Her questions were maddeningly simple.

“Have you confirmed the Americans’ information?”

“If you mean the location they provided, no, we haven’t. A Navy spokesman has suggested that the Americans may have deliberately given us incorrect information,” Kokurin answered.

“But that makes no sense,” the woman responded. “Why admit your involvement and then lead the searcher to the wrong place? What did the ships find there?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sadilenko, I’m not at liberty to say. There have been indications that the American is deliberately interfering with the search.”

“How is he doing this?” Sadilenko demanded. “Why have your ships not driven him from the area?”

“That information is classified.”

Kokurin had tried to sound final, but Sadilenko wasn’t deterred. “Why classify it? The Americans obviously know, our Navy knows, and”—she paused to look at her notes—”Captain-Lieutenant Rvanin made the accusation public yesterday morning.”

She looked straight at Kokurin. “If the Americans’ actions are harming our progress, shouldn’t we share our evidence with the world? Make them explain themselves?”

“I’m sorry, madam, I cannot explain further.”

Sadilenko looked unhappy, and the women broke into sudden discussion, everyone seeming to talk at the same time. It trailed off with Sadilenko nodding. She turned back to Kokurin.

“Did the search forces at least include the Americans’ information in their plan?”

“I’m sorry, that is classified.”

“Do you know where the American submarine is?”

“That is also classified.”

“Have you attempted to communicate with the American submarine?”

“No, we have not. There is no way to know if the Americans will tell us the truth.”

“You can learn much from a man’s lies,” Sadilenko countered, quoting an old proverb.

Kokurin paused, but decided to ignore the accusation.”Severodvinsk is a Russian Federation Navy submarine that was engaged in routine operations when it was lost. The Navy is searching for it now with every means at its disposal. We want our men back as much as you want them back, and we have the added task of finding the cause of the accident and bringing to account those responsible.”

One of the women, young with a face puffy from crying, stood up in back. “My friend says her husband is still in port. Her youngest is sick and he called to see if the baby was better. But he can’t do that unless he’s in port, can he?”

“He shouldn’t have called at all. He violated regulations. What is your friend’s name?”

“I won’t tell you. This isn’t like the old days. You can’t arrest anyone for that. She has a family.”

Sadilenko asked, “How can they be searching if they’re still in port? Is the storm keeping them there? The Navy spokesman said two days ago that the storm wasn’t interfering with the rescue.”

Kokurin felt impatience rising. He wasn’t used to being argued with. They were only women, unused to naval discipline and prone to emotion. But enough was enough.

Kokurin stood. “Fleet movements are highly classified.” He tried to look directly at the young woman, but the others leaned toward her protectively. “Your friend’s husband serves on one ship, whichever ship it is. There are many ships involved in the search, and we do not tell anyone outside the chain of command the location of our warships.”

Sadilenko ignored Kokurin’s hint that it was time to leave. “We would like to have a liaison assigned to the search and rescue force. He is the father-in-law of one of the missing officers, and a retired submariner. He could monitor the rescue effort and send regular updates to us here.”

Kokurin was horrified at the thought. Let an outsider watch their operations? He’d rather blow a hole in the side of the flagship. It didn’t matter that the man they suggested was a retired naval officer. In fact, dealing with a civilian would be easier. A former Navy man might see and understand too much. It was a tailor-made security breach.

“Absolutely not. It’s against regulations to have a civilian, even a retired naval officer, on a ship during possible combat operations.”

“Then he could work here, at headquarters.”

“No. He would see too much classified information.”

“But he’s been cleared.”

Kokurin paced behind his desk. “That was while he was in active service. He can tell you that his clearances were taken away when he retired.”

“But you can give them back.”

“Impossible. He’d have to be investigated all over again, and that takes time. The rules are quite clear on this matter.”

Frustrated, Sadilenko commented, “It’s sad, Admiral. We are leaving here with no new information. I am disappointed that the commander of the Northern Fleet knows so little about our loved ones.”

Another accusation, but Kokurin refused to be drawn out.

“Blame the Americans, who have admitted their role in causing this crisis. The Navy is doing everything it can. As sailors’ mothers and wives, your role is hard, but there is little to do but wait.” Kokurin tried to sound paternal. It might not have worked, but at least they were finally leaving.

The women filed out, grumbling. Once the door was shut, Kokurin let out a whoosh of air and slumped with fatigue. That was over, thank goodness. He was still coming to grips with Severodvinsk’s loss himself, and he found the mere mention of it created a storm of emotions.

Grief, certainly, if they were dead, but did he dare hope they were alive? All of them? And anger at Petrov. He’d congratulated the boy how many days ago? Was this his fault? He was bright, an able commander, but certainly inexperienced. Could they have picked the wrong man to be captain?

They’d given Petrov Russia’s newest boat, the best in the fleet. Could it be a materiel failure? Subs were designed to resist that, but others had succumbed over the years and Severodvinsk had spent an insane amount of time on the building ways. What did her loss mean for the Navy, and its future? He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel.

Finally, he pushed the questions back into the shadows. Nothing would be resolved soon. Endurance was the only answer. He turned back to his desk and to next year’s budget submission.

* * *

Outside the headquarters building, the women sheltered in a corner. Olga Sadilenko listened to their complaints and protests for a few minutes, making sure everyone had a chance to speak. When there was a lull, she was ready. “I didn’t expect that walrus to tell us anything. Who are we to them? Nothing? We give them our sons, our husbands, but they don’t believe they owe us a thing.”

A cold wind eddied into the corner where they stood, as if to confirm her statement. “Yelena.” She turned to the young woman who had asked Kokurin about the phone call. “I’m proud of you for standing up to the admiral like that. Can you do more?”

The young woman nodded, her unhappy expression carved from stone.

“You and your friends call as many other families as you can. Find out which ships are still in port, or when they left. Get me what you can by noon tomorrow.”

“Galina, do you have the notes?”

A middle-aged woman held up a stenographer’s pad. “I’ll have these typed up by this evening.” Her face started to fall. “With my Yuri gone, there’s little to do.”

A young woman reached out to hug her. “Then come and type them up with me. I’m alone, too. And when you’re done, I’ll add them to our web page.”