Cold Choices

Seawolf disappears. And the chance of the crew getting off that stricken Russian sub alive goes up.” He looked at the secretary of state. “That’s got to help our international standing.”

Before anyone could respond, Huber added, “She’s making things happen, and she’s taking all the risks. As long as she keeps us informed—” He gave Wright a hard look.”—she has my authorization to act freely.”

Petr Velikiy

Kurganov, Vidchenko, and most of Petr’s wardroom had gathered in the central command post. The sonar officer had calculated the range of their underwater telephone as three miles. Racing ahead of Mikhail Rudnitskiy at thirty knots, and having reached that three-mile distance from “Point Severodvinsk,” the formation had slowed to a bare creep.

While the big cruiser continued to move slowly and silently toward the location provided by Seawolf, her escorts fanned out, spacing themselves in a ten-mile-diameter circle around the site. They didn’t use their active sonars, but they did listen passively. If a submarine was detected, Vidchenko had issued orders to drive it away.

At five knots, it would take a while to cover the last three miles, but that time didn’t matter. Rudnitskiy was still two hours behind the warships. They had to slow if they wanted to hear the sub.

The sonar officer spoke into a microphone, sending Severodvinsk’s pendant number over and over. “K-329, this is Hull 099, over.” He paused for a moment, then repeated the call. “K-329, this is Hull 099, respond.”

After five minutes, and checking the navigational plot for the distance, the sonar officer began again. Between each call, he paused for sixty seconds. In spite of the crowded room, nobody wanted to make the slightest noise. Vidchenko could hear the small cooling fans inside the electronic equipment, the click every time the sonar officer pressed the microphone.

It took fifteen minutes and 2500 yards before they heard a response. It was Petrov’s voice, clear and recognizable. “This is Severodvinsk, we are glad to hear you.”

The cheer almost deafened him. They were in a metal-walled compartment, after all. Both admirals glared and the sound stopped instantly, and they heard the end of a sentence: “. our families.”

The sonar officer managed to say, “Please repeat your last,” before Vidchenko took the microphone.

“This is Rear Admiral Vidchenko. What is your situation? Over.”

“We are resting on the bottom at a depth of one hundred ninety-seven meters. We have a thirty-four-degree port list and a nine-degree downward pitch. Compartments one, seven, and eight are completely flooded; compartment six is partially flooded. Over.”

Vidchenko marveled at Petrov’s coolness and the neat summary, even as he digested the information. The forwardmost compartment, which held mostly berthing, was flooded. That meant a hole in the pressure hull forward. That was bad enough.

Worse was the news aft. There must have been a second hull breach near the stern, or perhaps the stern tube ruptured. Compartment eight held the auxiliary mechanisms, such as rudder and stern plane actuators and the emergency propulsion motor. Compartment six and seven had the main propulsion turbines, electrical generation turbines, and machinery that supported the reactor. With that one sentence, Petrov had marked the end of his first command, and the newest submarine in the Russian Navy.

A burst of sadness and grief filled him, and the admiral asked, “Casualties?”

“Sixty-seven survivors, nineteen have serious injuries, but are currently stable.” Petrov paused, then reported, “Eighteen dead, sixteen during the collision, and two shortly after from their injuries.”

“Understood,” Vidchenko answered. “We’ll get names shortly. Mikhail Rudnitskiy will arrive in just under two hours and will immediately launch AS-34.”

“They won’t be able to evacuate us, not with compartment eight flooded.”

“Agreed,” Vidchenko replied. “Based on your report, we’ll have it survey the bottom and then we’ll determine what is needed to bring the boat level. Is your rescue chamber intact?”

“Yes!” Petrov’s frustration came though clearly. “If we can right the boat we will be able to bring everyone to the surface. Why are you surveying the bottom again? Seawolf has already performed one. Don’t you have it? They gave a copy to me when they sent us the carbon dioxide chemicals and medical supplies. It was very complete.”

Vidchenko ignored the question. “What about your atmosphere?”

“Oxygen is at sixteen percent, carbon dioxide at two point five percent. We have forty-four hours of chemicals remaining, thanks to Seawolf. We’d be near death by now if she hadn’t transferred her own emergency C0₂ absorption curtains to us.”

“We will have you righted and out of there by tomorrow, I promise.” It was surreal, speaking so easily to someone trapped on the ocean floor. Petrov and his men were in mortal danger, but he might as well have been telephoning his wife.

“Admiral Kuganov will take over now. He can get the details of your dead and injured. I must go see to Rudnitskiy and the submersible.”

“Thank you, Admiral, we are sure you will save us. And please thank Commander Rudel and the men aboard Seawolf, sir. Not only did they find us, they kept us alive until you could get here.”

Vidchenko didn’t answer.

22. RENDEZVOUS

9 October 2008

1915/7:15 PM

USS Seawolf

They surfaced five miles off Churchill’s port beam. Normally, when Seawolf joined on a surface vessel, she did so by announcing her presence with a green flare, a thousand yards astern, in perfect firing position. This time, instead of “bang you’re dead,” a yellow flare broke the surface, indicating that a submarine was coming to periscope depth. But without a periscope or most of her sonars, Seawolf had poor situational awareness of the surface above, and couldn’t safely come up near another ship. Once Churchill’s bridge crew saw the yellow flare, they maneuvered away to give Seawolf all the room she needed. While a little excessive, nobody disagreed with Rudel’s caution.

Once on the roof, Seawolf began to close on the now fully illuminated destroyer. Jerry was well aware of Seawolf’s limitations, and he swore at times that he could physically feel them, but this surfacing bruised his already tender submariner’s ego. It was just plain wrong to meekly surface and then hobble over and take station astern of a surface combatant. Just thinking about it made him wince. And it was doubtful that Doc Gallant had anything, other than his cheery bedside manner, to treat it with.

Even though the weather had improved considerably, Seawolf was still very much restricted in her ability to maneuver on the surface. At anything more than five knots, the large gentle swells caused the heavily damaged bow to vibrate and make some very unpleasant noises. Instead of racing northeast at thirty-plus knots, Churchill would be limited to Seawolf’s glacial pace.

As the boat rolled slowly from side to side, Jerry was starting to get used to being on the surface. His stomach still complained, and he was sure he was losing weight from missed meals, but he was learning to cope with the nausea. It was amazing how much the weather could change in just over a day. The evening sky topside was magnificent, with a colorful twilight having faded away under clear skies. The main act, however, was the aurora borealis, or northern lights, which put on a spectacular display. The chief of the watch had no problems getting volunteers to man the two lookout positions on the bridge. Despite his doubling the number of lookouts, there were so many who wanted to go up that he’d shortened each watch to just an hour.

The captain and the XO slowly walked down the ladder into control, having just come down from the bridge,