Cold Choices

frequency, but was still within the range of human hearing. The eerily tinny pings hammered away, providing the Helix with precise range and bearing information. But they knew exactly where Seawolf was, unless they were blind and stupid. Why lower the ball and ping?

Alberto Constantino, still functioning as the contact coordinator, passed the bearing data up to Rudel. The captain answered with “Control, bridge. Concur, bearing matches. The other one’s doing lazy eights half a mile out in front of us.”

Jerry stared at the meager plot before him, as if it could reveal the Russians’ intentions. One to the front, one to the side, using its dipping sonar.

“Conn, sonar. The pinging’s stopped.”

Constantino acknowledged sonar’s report and passed it up to the bridge, then looked around, unhappy at the enforced idleness. There was nothing they could do. They were surfaced, running at five knots, steering a box pattern around a downed Russian sub. And there were Russian ASW helicopters overhead, with unknown intentions.

Rudel reported, “It looks like the dipper’s shifting positions. He’s moving to keep position off our port beam.”

Jerry fidgeted with a pencil over the mostly blank sheet of paper laid over the plotting table. This game was completely one-sided. Not only did the Russians own the ball, they owned the ballpark as well.

“Two minutes to the next turn, new course will be to the left to zero four five.” QM2 Dunn’s report was routine. Seawolf’s track was a square centered on Severodvinsk. Three miles on a side, it was designed to keep Seawolf close to the downed sub.

“Control, bridge. The helicopter’s dipping again,” Rudel reported. “Same relative position, to the northeast.”

“And directly in our path,” Jerry added. Constantino looked at the plot and nodded his understanding. “They’ve been watching us. They know where our next turn should be.”

“The helicopter in front of us just dropped something in the water, about one thousand yards away!”

The end of Rudel’s report was punctuated by a BOOM that came right through the hull, muffled but definite.

“That was not a signaling charge,” Constantino observed. Aircraft that operated near submarines often carried small explosive charges, the size of a hand grenade, designed to attract the attention of a submerged sub. They could also be used to simulate an attack.

This was no simulation. But they could have put it right next to Seawolf, if they’d wanted to. Jerry looked at Shimko and Hayes. Nobody in control said anything for a moment; then Constantino asked, “Where are they going to put the next one?”

The XO asked Jerry, “How far was that charge from Severodvinsk?”

Jerry barely glanced at the chart. “We’re at the corner of the box, so it’s a little over two miles.” Laying a ruler across their course, he reported, “The charge was fifty-five hundred yards, two and three quarters miles from Severodvinsk.”

“Time for the turn, sir,” Dunn reminded Jerry.

“Belay the turn,” Shimko ordered sharply. “I’m going up. This isn’t working. And the Skipper’s up there all by himself.” The XO was on the ladder to the first deck before he’d even finished his sentence.

Shimko had barely cleared the last step when another BOOM came through the hull, jerry tried to convince himself that his imagination made it seem closer, but Rudel’s voice on the intercom confirmed it. “Control, bridge. That one was only five hundred yards away, dead ahead! Hard right rudder! Come right to one eight zero!”

The helmsman acknowledged the command over the intercom as he threw the rudder yoke over all the way to the right. A moment later, Rudel ordered, “Continue coming right to three one five.” That put them back along their last leg, but in the opposite direction.

Jerry looked around control, with Rudel and the XO topside, and the engineer back in maneuvering, he was the senior officer present. The younger junior officers, Santana, Miller, and Norris, all looked at him with a mixture of shock, fear, and confusion. He tried to reassure them with a tight smile, but he knew this setup was all wrong.

Suddenly, the XO’s voice boomed from the intercom loudspeaker. “Navigator, lay to the bridge, on the double. And bring the satellite phone!” Dunn grabbed the phone and semi-threw it to Jerry as he rushed up the ladder well. He didn’t even bother to put on a parka as he started climbing up the access trunk as fast as he possibly could.

Uncharacteristically, Shimko had left the upper access hatch open. The only reason he’d do that was if his intention was to immediately bring the captain below. Jerry was near the top of the access trunk when he clearly heard Rudel’s voice. Given the circumstances, he seemed remarkably calm. “They’re still not responding on the radio, Marcus, but they know why we’re here. They can only go so far.”

“That last charge was only a quarter mile in front of us, Captain. What if they halve it again? And again?”

“They have their rules of engagement, just like we do.”

“What if they make a mistake? Did they take into account our stressed pressure hull? One miscalculation by a Russian caused this whole situation. We can’t rule out another.”

“I have to push this, XO.” Rudel’s voice was determined, stoic, almost obstinate. “I want them to look us right in the eye, and then blink. Petrov and his men are depending on us.”

“With all due respect, sir, the men on this boat are also depending on you.” Shimko’s intensity matched Rudel’s. He was respectful, but Jerry would never dream of talking to the skipper like that. “They’re using live ammunition, Captain. And they’ve made it clear they don’t want to talk to us. You’ve done everything that you can. We have to leave, sir.”

Uncomfortably aware that he was eavesdropping, Jerry shouted, “Permission to come up to the bridge.”

“Granted,” responded Rudel crisply. “Where’s the satellite phone?”

“Here, sir.” Jerry handed it to his captain, who passed it on to Shimko.

“XO, time to call the boss and issue a formal complaint.”

Jerry thought phoning home sounded like an excellent idea. But Shimko was far from convinced. “Sir, we don’t have time for this. They’ll drop another charge any minute now!”

As if on cue, Jerry watched as the Helix released another cylindrical object into the water. The explosion was closer and louder than the last one. He could feel the shock wave as it hit Seawolf’s hull.

“Damn it, XO! Make the call! That’s an order!” shouted Rudel.

Shimko was fuming, but did as he was told and started punching the buttons vigorously. Rudel then looked at Jerry and seemed surprised that he was still there. “Get below, mister!” he commanded.

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jerry.

As he dropped down into the hatch well, Jerry could hear the XO almost pleading with Rudel. “Captain, they are not going to stop this. We have to turn away and head west!”

“We’re responsible for Severodvinsk. I’m responsible for Severodvinsk shrieked Rudel. His voice trembled with pain, as if abandoning Petrov and his men was the same as betraying a close friend.

“And the Russians aren’t going to let you do anything about it. Sir, we have to change course to the west now, before they drop another charge.”The captain didn’t respond before Shimko added, “Group Two is on the line, sir.”

Jerry heard Rudel begin his report to SUBGRU Two; then the XO suddenly called down the trunk. “They’re dropping another charge close by. All hands brace!”

Rudel’s voice came over the intercom. “Hard left rudder! Course two seven zero.”

Jerry grabbed onto the ladder as he heard the chief of the watch pass the warning on the 1MC. The KA- BOOM and vibration that followed wasn’t as bad as he’d dreaded, but it filled his mind with images of the shoring giving way, of the forward compartment filling with seawater. Had the last-second turn-away helped to deflect the shock?

The slam of a hatch and an urgent “Down ladder!” caused Jerry to slide down the rest of the access trunk