Cold Choices

convinced him that Seawolf was really here to help them.

Suddenly, Rudel snapped his fingers at Jerry and motioned for him to start writing down the data that Petrov was providing. Nine dead, nine missing and presumed dead, seventeen crewmen with serious injuries. Three compartments completely flooded, reactor shut down, power provided by the reserve battery; Jerry winced as the list went on and on. Without a doubt, the Russians had drawn the short straw and had suffered accordingly. Even Shimko was shocked at the degree of damage that Severodvinsk had sustained. Whistling softly, he said, “It’s a miracle any of them are still alive.”

Finally, Petrov started to report on their atmosphere. Sixteen point four percent oxygen, one point four percent carbon dioxide. That’s not too bad, Jerry thought hopefully. But the last part of Petrov’s report filled everyone in Seawolf’s control room with dread. “All chemical air-regeneration cassettes are depleted. Repeat, all chemical air-regeneration cassettes are depleted. Estimated time to lethal carbon dioxide concentrations is two and a half days. End of report.”

Rudel groaned at the significance of Petrov’s last statement. Without aid of some sort, the survivors would be incapacitated in less than two days and dead soon after. And there was still no sign that the Russian Northern Fleet was anywhere near. As he slowly raised the mike to his face, Rudel took a number of deep breaths and tried to sound as “normal” as he could.

“Captain Petrov, we have your data and we will relay it to our government along with your exact location. However, I must surface to transmit. We will be out of touch for a couple hours, but we will be, back.”

“Understood; and Captain, thank you. Severodvinsk out.”

“Skipper, those guys are screwed!” exclaimed Lavoie, who looked just as stunned as everyone else.

“Enough of that, Engineer, I won’t tolerate a defeatist attitude. We’ll just have to come up with something to help them,” replied Rudel with a fierce determination. He then quickly turned about and began shooting out orders.

“Mr. Hayes, get us on the roof, ASAP! Nav, give your notes to Mister Chandler and have him prepare a report to be sent by the sat phone. I want this stuff out within ten minutes after we surface. The rest of you go with the XO to the wardroom and work this problem over. I want options, not excuses. We are not just going to let those men die. Understood?”

A chorus of “Aye, aye, sir,” rang out as people turned to and began to execute their skipper’s instructions.

As Shimko and the other officers went to the wardroom, Jerry made a quick detour into the radio room. He found Chandler already putting together the initial draft of the phone message. “Here you go, Matt,” said Jerry as he tossed his notes on the worktable. “This is all the information we got from the Russian skipper. Have it ready for transmission in fifteen minutes.”

“Right, I’ll have Chief Morrison put it together immediately.”

Jerry looked around the room, there was no sign of the ITC. Confused, he turned back to find Chandler pushing the notes Jerry gave him to the opposite side of the table. He then started writing furiously in a standard navy-issue green logbook. “Excuse me, Matt. But what are you doing? The Skipper wants this message drafted ASAP.”

“The chief will be here momentarily. I was going to finish up my report on the collision,” replied Chandler with an air of innocence.

Red flashed before Jerry’s eyes; he had had enough of Chandler’s cover-your-ass antics. Struggling to control his anger, he approached Chandler with a deliberate, menacing stride. The commo’s expression became more fearful as he watched Jerry approach; it was as if he saw flames shooting from Jerry’s icy blue eyes.

“Wrong answer, mister,” growled Jerry; his tone was almost guttural. Chandler gulped audibly. “You are going to draft that message as ordered, with or without Chief Morrison’s aid. In nine minutes, you will bring the draft to me. If you are one second late, I will personally put you on report the moment you walk through the wardroom door. DO I MAKE MYSELF ABSOLUTELY CRYSTAL CLEAR!?”

The on-duty ITs cringed and looked about for a convenient place to hide. No one had ever seen the navigator this mad before. In fact, no one in the department had ever heard him yell before. For the patient, professional Mr. Mitchell to blow his relief valve, the offender would have to have screwed up really, really badly.

Chandler started to shake visibly; beads of sweat lined his brow. “Please, Jerry, I have to write it all down.” He sounded fearful and desperate, almost pleading. And he’d used Jerry’s name.

Completely surprised by Chandler’s pitiful-sounding response, Jerry was instantly snapped out of his rage. There was none of the usual bravado, and the smug arrogant attitude was also absent.

Matt Chandler had manned one of the fire-control consoles during General Quarters, and he’d been there when they collided with Severodvinsk. It was as good a place as any to watch what was going on, but he hadn’t given any orders, made any decisions. Why the fanatical drive to write down his impressions?

Confused as to what was happening, Jerry asked, “I don’t understand why you feel this is so urgent. Did you see something, Matt — something important?”

“Important?! Migod, Jerry, we collided with another submarine. Rountree’s dead, and we almost lost the boat! We all nearly died!”

Jerry looked carefully at his communications officer. Chandler was excited — wide-eyed, even a little breathless. This couldn’t be an act. He was actually terrified. Sensing that Chandler was on the verge of losing it, Jerry pushed a little. “How long have you been working on this write-up?”

“I went straight to our stateroom right after we started for Scotland and just started writing. It was like I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I wrote down everything I could think of, before I forgot any of it, I didn’t want to miss anything. But I don’t know if I can ever forget any of it.”

“You’ve been at it that long? What about your duties? Your men?”

“They don’t matter. None of this matters. I just have to write it all down. I have to do it now, if I’m going to finish in time.”

Jerry was still confused. “In time for what?”

“For us getting back to port. There’s so much to write down. I can remember every detail like it happened only a moment ago, and it takes so long to explain things clearly…”

Jerry cut him off. “Matt, why do you have to write it all down right now?”

“Because we could have all died. Not just Rountree, all of us. I really understand now how dangerous submarines are. I knew we had to be careful, follow procedures, but I always thought it was like crossing the street. You never think you’re going to be the one in an accident.”

“Matt, you can’t focus on. ”

“On what? The danger?” Chandler held his hands out, encompassing the space. “We’re surrounded by it. We can’t escape it, it’s with us every minute of every day!” He paused for a moment, and then said flatly, “I… I shouldn’t be here. This is a mistake. Why in the world am I working my ass off for a promotion I’m never going to live to see?”

Jerry hardly knew what to do, or what to say Chandler was obviously on the edge, maybe over it. He’d stared his own mortality in the face, and didn’t like what he’d seen. Jerry was not a priest or a psychologist, and he felt completely at a loss. Part of him had always wanted to slap Chandler around, but that only worked in the movies.

“Matt, I need you to get past this.” Jerry grabbed Chandler by the shoulders and spoke calmly but firmly. “It’s been a shock, but we’re still here. And you’ve got an important job to do. You managed to get the radioes working earlier, so you know you can fulfill your duties even with this monkey on your back. Forget the report for now. There will be a time and place when it will be needed, but right now I need you to get that message drafted.”

Chandler looked exhausted, but he listened quietly, passively. Jerry wondered if he’d already given up, but the comms officer nodded slowly. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

Jerry felt relieved by Chandler’s answer. “Good. I’ll be in the wardroom when you’re ready, Matt.”

Still confused and a bit drained, Jerry literally stumbled through the wardroom door ten feet down the passageway. Whatever conversation had been going on had stopped the moment he threw open the door.

“Personnel issues, Mr. Mitchell?” asked Shimko with his trademarked pixieish grin.