Cold Choices

There were several clusters of officers on the bridge. Captain First Rank Chicherin actually commanded “Petya.” It was a prestige appointment, and Chicherin was widely regarded as a climber. His competence as a commander would never really be an issue, not with two higher levels of command embarked.

Chicherin was moving around a lot, trying to look busy while Rudnitskiy got underway. He kept going out onto the bridge wings, and staring at the rescue ship, as if that could speed its progress. Petr Velikiy would be next to leave.

Rear Admiral Ivan Kurganov, Commander of the Forty-third Missile Ship Division, was in charge of the task group, and Vidchenko watched him quietly chat with several of his staff. There was little for Kurganov to do either, but he did nothing much better than Chicherin. He would let the captain run his ship, but as the center of the task group, it would only go where Kurganov ordered.

Kurganov’s staff monitored the task group’s operations in flag plot, located in a separate space behind the bridge. Although Petr Velikiy was still tied up at the pier, for the admirals, the battle had already started. Escort vessels were searching the harbor for unwelcome observers. Western subs had lurked outside Russian bases many times before. Officers and crewmen in flag plot tracked the searchers’ progress as they scoured the water with their active sonar.

The storm would make acoustic searches almost futile, but Vidchenko and Kurganov agreed that it was worth the time and effort. The storm would also prevent Western satellites from watching the group’s departure. The formation also departed under total emission control; no military radars or communications systems were transmitting. They would not give the Americans a free ride. Delaying news of their departure meant the Americans couldn’t predict when the task group would arrive in the search area. Vidchenko thought that was good.

Vidchenko was in command of the entire search and rescue effort. This included not only Kurganov’s task group, but aircraft from shore bases and eventually the Norwegians, when they arrived. During this mission, he reported directly to Admiral Kokurin, commander of the Northern Fleet. And Vidchenko didn’t give a fig who Kokurin talked to.

He’d first met Kurganov when each had been given their assignments as part of the rescue. They’d gotten little sleep, not only preparing the ships for sea, but designing a search plan.

Kurganov was a Muscovite, urban and a little too worldly for Vidchenko’s tastes. He’d been born in the north, to a Navy family, but preferred Saint Petersburg to the nation’s capital. In spite of their different backgrounds, they’d got on famously, because they shared an utter distrust of the Americans and harbored deep suspicions about the U.S. submarine’s true role in the incident.

The surface admiral had drawn heavily on Vidchenko’s submarine experience. Together they’d developed an airtight search plan. They were searching for two subs: one that could not move, another that could.

After much discussion, they’d decided to head straight for the location provided by the Americans. They felt like prize fools for having to act on it, but they’d be bigger fools if they didn’t look there first.

They’d polished the plan now for two days, and if the tactics were slanted more toward ASW than search- and-rescue, it was hard to imagine that anyone on Severodvinsk was still alive. Part of Vidchenko wanted to believe that they were still alive, but that meant they were trapped, probably in the dark, certainly cold, breathing foul air and praying for help that might not come in time. He was a submariner, and you accepted that possibility every time you submerged, but it was a nightmare nobody wanted to think about. Part of him believed a quick end might be better.

And most of him just wanted to find the American submarine. What would happen after that depended on Severodvinsk’s fate.

Chicherin walked over to Kurganov and saluted. Vidchenko couldn’t hear the words, but saw line handlers moving on the main deck. Kurganov returned the salute, then walked over to Vidchenko’s chair. “We’re underway,” he reported. “And good luck to us all.”

“I’ll give it all to Severodvinsk, if it would help,” Vidchenko answered. He felt a vibration in the deck. They were moving, and it felt good. He’d been eager to go, of course. The urgency had been overpowering. The storm had kept them bottled up, like a pressure cooker, tension and worry building up with no way to release it.

Let the American show himself. Vidchenko was ready for him.

17. CONTACT

7 October 2008

1830/6:30 PM

Severodvinsk

Petrov stretched his aching body as he climbed out of his command chair in the central post. While his engineers had rigged it so he could sit safely, the significant port list had the back of the chair carrying a lot of his weight. Of course, this wasn’t part of the design specifications, and while it could easily carry the load, it did so at the expense of human physiology. As he worked the kinks out, Petrov looked around at his watchstanders. Anatoliy Rodionov, the torpedo and mine commander, had the deck watch, while Maksim Tylik was over at the engineer’s post. Fonarin sat cross-legged against the BIUS console with his log sheets and a calculator. He punched away at the buttons with dogged determination, a pencil clenched between his teeth. Petrov smiled at his chief of chemical service’s dedication.

A sudden crunch announced the relief of stress in his spine, and even though this reduced the pain in his back, he still felt tired and sore. The lingering headache was also still there, more noticeable now that the back pain had subsided. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do about that. Looking down at his watch, Petrov reminded himself that they had been on the bottom now for over three days. So far, the emergency measures they had taken were working. Besides being a little chilly, the crew was holding up very well. Morale was still quite good. But the “easy” part of this endeavor was about to end. The next three days would see things get steadily worse. And there was still no sign that the fleet had found them.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew Petrov’s attention to the passageway behind him. Kalinin emerged from the dim light carrying a steaming cup in his hand. “Your evening tea ration, sir,” he said as he offered the cup to his captain.

“Bless you, Vasiliy,” Petrov replied gratefully. Slowly, he sipped the hot liquid and felt its warmth penetrate his body. Despite wearing the insulated green survival suit, he still felt chilled and the hot tea seemed to melt away the cold. “Hmmm, good tea. Thank you.”

Kalinin smiled and said, “You’d probably say the same thing about hot piss right now, but I accept your compliment.”

Petrov grimaced at his first officer’s crudity and gestured for him to sit down. “I see that even in these adverse circumstances you’ve retained your belowdecks sense of humor, Vasiliy.”

“You know what they say, sir. You can take the sailor out of the bilge, but you can’t take the bilge out of the sailor,” Kalinin quipped as he plopped down on the deck.

Shaking his head in mock despair, Petrov sat back down in his chair. Then in a more serious tone asked, “What’s our status, Starpom?”

Pulling out his notes from his breast pocket, Kalinin started going through the now all-too-familiar list. “The reserve battery is at fifty-eight percent, but a number of the emergency battle lanterns have depleted their batteries. Per your orders, I’ve secured all nonessential lights to preserve them for use in critical locations and for when we abandon ship. We are okay on food and water, although we are down to the less tasty bits. We have plenty of stale hardtack and a couple more days of canned meat paste, at least that is what the label says.”

Petrov grinned as he recalled the popular debate of the last two days as to whether or not the contents of the cans were indeed a meat product, and then as to what parts of what animal it came from. All concerned had decided in the end that, in this case, ignorance was not necessarily a bad thing.

“What about the tea and coffee?” inquired Petrov as he raised his cup. Under normal conditions, such a question would be considered trivial in the extreme. But given the powerful effect it had on his crew’s morale, being the only real creature comfort they could offer, it was of considerable importance to Petrov.