Cold Choices

just heard us use the bridge-to-bridge set to communicate with our helicopter. He’ll be listening on our frequency.”

The aircraft was closer now. Jerry could see the long, straight wing, four turboprop engines, and that wart of a radar dome below the cockpit. Definitely an 11–38 May. The Russians used them for ASW patrol. It carried radar, sonobuoys, magnetic detection gear, and a bomb bay full of torpedoes and depth charges.

Subs like Seawolf were this plane’s natural prey, and Jerry felt totally exposed. They were surfaced, crawling at slow speed, in a damaged boat. He forced himself to remember that it was peacetime, that there was no reason for the Russians to attack.

Rudel asked the XO, “Marcus, do you want to try?”

“I’d rather use one of the CTs, sir. My Russian’s a little weak for this.”

“All right, get one up here,” Rudel agreed.

Shimko ordered Hayes, “Have CT1 Sayers report to the bridge.”

In the few minutes it took for the CT to arrive, the patrol plane approached, and passed down their starboard side at low altitude and at a respectful distance. It began circling them.

After one circuit, the bridge-to-bridge radio came to life. “American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.” The words were heavily accented, with pauses between every few words.

“Well, that’s handy. He speaks English, sort of.” Shimko added with a touch of sarcasm, “That’s probably what my Russian would sound like to them.” He looked at the captain. “With your permission, sir.”

Rudel nodded, and Shimko keyed the mike. “Russian aircraft, this is USS Seawolf. We have Severodvinsk’s location. We have information on her condition.” Shimko spoke slowly, watching Rudel the entire time, who nodded approvingly at the end of each sentence. When he released the mike switch, they all listened, straining to hear the Russian’s reply.

“American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.”

“Well, this is not promising,” Shimko observed.

CT1 Sayers appeared from the hatchway, and somehow they made room for the petty officer. Shimko was trying again. “Russian aircraft, we have important information for you. Please respond.”

“American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.”

“He’s getting better with practice.” The absurdity of the situation almost made Jerry laugh. “We finally contact the Russians, and all they can do is repeat a message to leave. I’ll bet it’s written down for him.”

Shimko handed Sayers the mike. “See if you can establish some useful comms with this guy.”

Sayers nodded and keyed the switch. He spoke smoothly in Russian for a minute, then released the button. Jerry recognized the words “Seawolf’ and “Severodvinsk? as the CT spoke. “I said we were guarding Severodvinsk’s location,” Sayers reported.

Rudel nodded. “That’s fine.”

The plane made almost a complete circle before responding. “American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.” This time it was followed by a medium-length string of Russian.

Sayers keyed the mike, spoke two words, then turned to Rudel and the XO. “They repeated the same message in Russian, and added, ‘This is our last warning.’”

Jerry put himself in the pilot’s place. “He’s probably been ordered not to discuss anything with us, just deliver the message.”

“I don’t care what his orders are. Make the SOB listen,” Rudel ordered. “We have to guide them to Severodvinsk’s location. Tell them.”

As the captain spoke, the patrol plane had continued its circle until it was dead ahead, then tightened its turn. Even without the binoculars, they could all see doors opening up under the plane’s belly. The Il-38 carried its weapons internally.

As Sayers spoke a string of rapid phrases, the Ilyushin headed straight for them, descending. Jerry thought, They wouldn’t dare. Professionally, he wondered what ordnance aboard the patrol plane would be appropriate to use against a surfaced sub. Then Jerry saw it was too close to drop anything.

Whatever Sayers was saying over the radio was drowned out by the plane as it passed overhead. All four engines were at maximum throttle, and the massive aircraft blocked the sun for a moment. It was almost twice as long as a Flanker, with three times the wingspan. Jerry tried to study the open bomb bay as the plane passed overhead. It was visible for only a moment, but he could see dark shapes inside.

Then it was past, and Jerry and the others all found themselves blinking, looking at each other. “I could see ‘Made in Minsk’ on the depth charges,” Shimko joked. Rudel smiled weakly.

Jerry tried to reply in kind. “And I left my camera at the hotel.”

The patrol plane did not turn, but was climbing. “He won’t leave,” Jerry predicted. “He’ll climb to medium altitude and watch us with his radar.”

“And we’ve been reminded again we’re not welcome.” Rudel added. “But I won’t be driven off. Thank you, Petty Officer Sayers. Let’s go below and give Mr. Hayes and his lookout some elbow room.”

In control, Rudel gave his coat to a petty officer and asked for the 1MC microphone. Jerry saw him think for a moment, then draw a breath, gathering himself.

“This is the Captain. We’ve had some visitors, Russian aircraft passing close overhead. We’ve tried to talk to them, and although I’m sure they heard us, they’ve only responded by repeatedly asking us to leave, and they’ve been pretty rude about it. But I am not abandoning the men aboard Severodvinsk until I’m satisfied the Russians are on station. Thank you for your hard work and continued dedication to this rescue mission.”

Rudel hung up the mike and turned to Jerry. “Nav, make sure we don’t get more than two miles from Severodvinsk’s position.” Grabbing his jacket once again, Rudel snatched the vital satellite phone from its charger near the chart table. “I’m going to report to SUBGRU Two.”

Petr Velikiy

Vidchenko and Kurganov waited for the reports. Kurganov was still speaking to the Ilyushin’s pilot when the messenger appeared. The rating handed a slip of paper to Admiral Vidchenko. “Intercept reports the American is using his satellite phone.”

Kurganov hung up the secure phone and took the slip from Vidchenko. He read the report quickly. “He’s reporting in, as he should.”

Vidchenko asked, “Still no sign of him moving away from the datum?”

“It’s been less than ten minutes. He may be asking for orders. Their radio receivers still don’t work, after all.”

Vidchenko shook his head. “Not an American submarine captain. They have more autonomy. He may be telling his commander what he will do, but he won’t ask.” The admiral looked at the clock, then his counterpart and surface group commander. “I say give him another fifteen minutes. If he hasn’t left by then, he’s not going to.”

Kurganov asked, “Is that an order, Admiral? Or are you asking my opinion?”

Vidchenko smiled. “I value your opinion greatly, Ivan Aleksandrovich.”

“You know I have two Kamovs on alert plus fifteen. I think we’ve given the American more time than they deserve.”

“Then give the order. And increase the formation’s speed to twenty-five knots. We don’t have to steer evasively, either, since we know the American submarine’s location. Leave one escort with that tub Rudnitskiy, but tell her we want maximum speed.”

Kurganov responded brightly, “Aye, aye, sir! That will cut our time to datum in half. If Rudnitskiy is on the ball, we might get one sortie out of AS-34 before dark.”

USS Churchill

A radioman knocked on the door to Captain Baker’s day cabin. The enlisted man handed hard copies to Baker and Patterson. “Flash traffic, sir,” he explained. Silas and Lindstrom watched the others quickly scan the page.

“Rudel’s phoned in to SUBGRU Two. He’ll have a transmitter up this evening, and he reports being buzzed by Russian aircraft.”

“That’s old news,” Silas commented. “The Seahawk pilot’s been back an hour, and he’s still twitching from seeing those Flankers.”

Baker shook his head. “No, Commander. According to Rudel, after the fighters left, a May patrol aircraft showed up and buzzed them at very low altitude — with an open weapons bay.”