Cold Choices

“No wonder we haven’t heard from the fleet,” Lyachin stated in awe. “They had no idea where to look!”

“Our debt to this Rudel fellow continues to grow,” responded Kalinin. There was no disagreement from those present.

After that came a detailed bow-to-stern series of photographs, both port and starboard, and annotated maps of the area, large and small-scale. One was marked with the location of debris from Severodvinsk and Seawolf, torn or broken off during the collision. Petrov was impressed with both the Americans’ thoroughness and the capabilities of their underwater vehicles. But it was a lot to take in. It was almost an hour later when he finally gave the package to Kalinin.

He tried to focus on the basics. Some of his crew had been lost, but the rest were alive, and thanks to the Americans, he didn’t have to pretend they had a chance of survival. But it was time to accept the bitter fact that Severodvinsk was lost. Horribly crippled, in deep water, she would never leave this place. A great sadness came upon him. He didn’t think it would ever go away.

19. HEAVY TRAFFIC

8 October 2008

1300/1:00 PM

USS Winston S. Churchill

Patterson found Captain Baker on the bridge. “I just got a message from SUBGRU Two. They did it.” Patterson handed him the hard copy.

Baker smiled as he read the news. “Three days’ worth of breathable air, medical supplies — Rudel’s done it.” Churchill’s, captain sounded like a proud sibling. “The Russians ought to give him a medal for this.”

“I don’t know about the Russians, but we might,” Patterson agreed. “It gives them time.”

“Not much,” Baker countered. “If the Russian ships arrive on scene tomorrow morning, they’ve got forty-eight hours to come up with and execute a rescue plan.”

“I asked them for their ETA,” Patterson said.

Baker was surprised. “The Russians?”

She nodded. “Through the State Department. I thought it was time to say hello, especially since we’re supposed to be supporting the on-scene search-and-rescue commander.” She shrugged. “Actually, I’ve been trying since we came on board. State says they’re passing the requests on to the Russian embassy, as well as our ambassador in Moscow, but so far there’s been no response.”

“We can try ship-to-ship when they get closer,” Baker suggested. “They haven’t come up on the search-and- rescue radio net. There’s a UN agency called the International Maritime Organization. They have established procedures and radio frequencies everyone’s supposed to use for rescue coordination, but so far Churchill is the only ship using them.” Baker shrugged. “Of course Seawolf can’t, but the Russians should be all over the net.”

Patterson frowned. “Please be careful about communicating with the Russians by radio. As long as it’s coordination, ship movements and such, that’s fine. Anything else is supposed to go through the State Department.”

“Don’t you have a State Department rep on board?”

“Yes, but State wants all our communications to go through the Washington-based staff.”

“Which sounds very clumsy and slow.”

“You’re right. It is,” conceded Patterson.

* * *

Baker walked over to the chart table. Both Churchill’s projected course and their best guess at the Russians’ path converged on the collision site. “I’ve scheduled a helicopter launch for 0715 hours tomorrow morning.” He saw her expression and the unasked question. He reassured her, “It is the earliest possible minute we can launch. Lieutenant Ross is a good pilot, but he’s never done a personnel transfer with a submarine before and I want him doing this in daylight. The helicopter will also be carrying a lot of cargo, and we’ll be bringing back several of Seawolf’s injured, which means Doc Spiegel has to ride as well.”

Picking up a pair of dividers, Baker measured the flight distance off the chart for Patterson.

“We’ll be approximately here, one hundred and fifty miles away, by 0700 tomorrow. Once airborne, we expect the helo to reach Seawolf about an hour later, and we’re allowing half an hour overhead to send the parts down and bring the injured aboard. The winds are subsiding, but they’ll still be a major factor. And this type of evolution is never easy. The XO is working on a message telling Seawolf when to surface. He’ll run it by you before we send it.”

Patterson was grateful for the courtesy. “At least we can talk to her.”

International News Network

“Reports of a successful attempt by USS Seawolf to transfer atmosphere control chemicals and other supplies to the crippled Severodvinsk have been confirmed by the U.S. Navy. Although in communication with the downed sub, Seawolf has not provided a list of the dead or injured Russian sailors. Inquiries by International News Network as to the reason for this have not been answered.

“Requests for comment by the Russian Federation government have been referred to the Russian ambassador to the United Nations, Madame Elisaveta Yansanov. A spokesman for the ambassador said that the report of the American submarine’s activities could not be verified. She also said that she has no data on the location or activities of Russian forces, but that the rescue of the sailors aboard Severodvinsk is proceeding according to plan.”

The White House

Jeffrey Wright went in first, followed by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Chief of Naval Operations, and then Rear Admiral Sloan. As National Security Adviser, Wright had been in the Oval Office many times, but was always impressed, and thought carefully before speaking. This was the driver’s seat.

The current occupant, President Nathan Huber, looked up from his desk as Wright and his group were ushered in. An aide was collecting documents as Huber hurriedly signed them. “I’ll finish these later,” he told the aide, and came around from behind the desk.

He greeted Wright, General Hodge, and Admiral Forrester; then Forrester introduced Rear Admiral Sloan.

“This is Commander of Submarine Group Two, sir. Seawolf is one of his boats. We thought his expertise would be useful.” Sloan stood at near-attention.

Huber warmly shook Sloan’s hand. “Welcome, Admiral.” He turned a little to the left, smiling, and automatically, Sloan turned in the same direction. A bright flash filled his eyes, and he heard Huber say, “Thanks, Ray. We’ll take some more a little later.” Huber introduced a young man standing to the right of his desk. “You all know Ed Rain, my press secretary.”

Wright and the other three took seats across from the president, while aides arranged themselves inconspicuously behind the principals. Rain took a seat nearby and began scribbling furiously.

Forrester began his report. “Mr. President, Seawolf’s resupply was successful. Captain Rudel reports Severodvinsk has an additional three days of breathable air. They also gave the Russians medical supplies, lanterns, batteries, and a little food. Our best intelligence on the Russian task group says they will arrive on the scene by tomorrow morning, local time.”

Wright added, “And we’ve forwarded Rudel’s report on to the State Department. They’ve passed it to Moscow and to the Russian ambassador. No official response.”

Rain looked up from his notepad, frowning. “The Russians probably got Rudel’s report the same time that we did. It’s a commercial satellite phone. Every national intelligence service and even some media organizations can listen in whenever he calls us.”

Wright responded, “There’s no need for secrecy. The more open our actions, the less the Russians can accuse us of. Look at what Rudel’s done. That’s great press. He’s bought time for