Cold Choices

American’s hull, the turbines instantly freed from their massive load, water pouring in from the shaft seals.

“Have you found the collision debris field?”

Umansky answered. “It wasn’t on any of our sonar sweeps. Severodvinsk had some way on at the time of the collision. She would have gone some distance, especially since she appeared to be descending when she struck this hillside. There’s a scar in the bottom on the other side. With a little time…”

“Which we don’t have,” Vidchenko interrupted. “We’ll leave the investigation of the bottom to a proper survey vessel, and hopefully Petrov and his men will be able to personally assist in reconstructing the collision.”

“This is where we’d have to plant the first charge, Admiral.”

Bukharin had move the mini-sub around to the starboard side and maneuvered it to an irregular rocky mound next to Severodvinsk’s hull. It had to be removed so that the sub could roll to starboard and right itself. The lights from AS-34 actually cast shadows, showing an empty space on at least one side of the obstruction.

Mud covered most of the underlying rock. But what kind of rock were they dealing with? Solid bedrock or just a small outcropping? How big a charge would they need to break it up?

“Can you use the motors to clear some of the silt? We need to get a sample of that rock.”

Umansky answered again. “We can do better than that, sir, we’ve got a water jet forward, like a fire hose. If Captain Bakhorin can position us. ”

“Already in progress,” Bakhorin answered. The pilot gently maneuvered them closer, and Umansky busied himself with the controls. Vidchenko couldn’t see the results, and impatiently asked, “How’s the battery charge?”

“Over fifty percent, sir, although with all this work you can almost see the indicator needle move.”

“I’ve got a sample!” Umansky exclaimed. “Hah! It’s in the basket.”

“Good work, Captain.” Vidchenko was sparing with praise, but these two men deserved it. But was their hard work going to be worth anything in the end?

“Sir, I recommend taking photos, but we will have to wait for the water to clear.”

“Then let’s move down to the next obstruction.”

“Aye, sir.”

They managed to examine four masses of rock altogether. They had to use the waterjet once more to get a feel for the extent of the formation. Whatever material they were made of, it easily resisted the high-pressure water shot at them. Finally, as the low battery charge alarm rang, they headed back to the surface.

Vidchenko was not a demolitions expert, but he was an engineer. The AS-34 crew had planted charges before, although never under such circumstances. The three of them talked all the way up. How much explosive could AS-34 carry? Could they plant all of them in a single dive? What types of work could the mechanical arm perform? Even as they rose, Vidchenko was already thinking ahead to the next dive, the most important dive. Hopefully, the last dive.

USS Seawolf

The helicopter crew chief was attempting to give her important instructions. She tried to listen, but even over the interphone, she could only make out half of what he said.

Hovering over Seawolf, the rotor wash tugging at her clothes and chilling any exposed skin, Joanna Patterson focused on the crew chief’s face. Truth be told, she was terrified. Flying was fine, even in something as improbably aerodynamic as a helicopter. But the thought of dangling over empty space, hung by a thread…

The crew chief finished speaking, and Patterson nodded vigorously. He waited for a moment, and it looked like he expected her to do something, but when she didn’t move, he took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face the open cabin door.

He hooked the sling to the attachment points in her exposure suit, disconnected the lead for the interphone, and motioned for her to sit on the cabin floor. It took a moment for her legs to obey, and then he motioned for her to swing her legs over the edge.

She was still watching his face, and he pointed to his eyes and then the hoist in front of her. He repeated the motion, and she nodded, this time understanding. Eyes on the hoist.

He nodded and saluted, then pressed a control. The line went taut, and the suit tugged in uncomfortable places, and she was off the cabin floor and hanging in space. She heard a new sound, in spite of the engines. It was the whine of the hoist motor, and she felt herself slowly descend.

The temptation to look down was overwhelming. She wanted to know how far she had to go, even though she’d seen it from the helicopter and the pilot had told them it would be about fifty feet. Rather than look down, she looked up, at the helicopter’s fuselage receding, and the dark disk of the rotor blades. The cold rotor wash buffeted her face, and she welcomed it.

She kept her head titled back until she could hear voices below her, and she looked down to see she was almost there, only fifteen, then ten feet off the deck. One sailor had a long pole that looked like a shepherd’s staff, reaching out for her.

Sailors in safety harnesses stood by to steady her, but she kept her feet. They quickly unbuckled her, then guided her toward a hatch behind the sail. Another sailor inside, at the foot of the ladder, greeted her and led her to the crew’s mess. As sailors helped her out of her exposure suit, her two companions, Ken Bover and Arne Lindstrom, were escorted in.

Lindstrom efficiently peeled off his suit with almost no help, but Bover seemed unable to work the fastenings. He bubbled with excitement as Seawolf’s crewmen helped. “I can’t believe we just did that! I wish someone had taken a photo! Why didn’t someone have a camera? My daughter will never believe me.”

A lieutenant commander appeared and introduced himself as “Marcus Shimko, Seawolf’s XO.” After introductions, he said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Bover, we’ll testify on your behalf. By the way, you’re all out of uniform.” Handing each of them a dark blue ball cap inscribed with Seawolf’s name and crest, he asked, “Please follow me. We’ve got breakfast waiting in the wardroom.”

Patterson followed the XO, with her two companions behind, up to the wardroom. It appeared that almost all of Seawolf’s officers were gathered to welcome them, and Shimko began the introductions. Captain Rudel, Lieutenant Commander Lavoie, and.

“Jerry!” she shouted, and found herself hugging him, surrounded by a crowd of attentive, very curious, but silent officers. Seeing her old shipmate sent emotions cascading through her. There was relief, but then concern, no, more than concern. “I was worried, and I’m so sorry, and it’s so good to see you after everything.. ”

She paused, and then let Shimko complete the introductions. When he finished, about half the officers turned to leave, to make room for the rest, but she spoke up.

“Please wait.” When they had all turned back to face her, Patterson said, “I have a message from the President. He is deeply sorry for Petty Officer Rountree’s death and the injuries to your crew. Captain Rudel, he wants you to know that he believes you and your crew have acted in the best interests of the United States and Russia since the collision. You have his full support.”

She hated to rush through what had obviously been planned as a formal meal. Fresh-baked cinnamon buns beckoned, but she settled for fruit. It was best to eat lightly. This would be a long day.

It was a working breakfast, with different officers assisting each of Patterson’s group. Ken Bover would be working with Chandler on the repairs to the sub’s radios and other systems, Lindstrom would talk to Wolfe and Palmer about the UUVs and what they had seen, and she would brief Rudel.

But first, they all wanted to see the forward bulkhead. She’d already inspected the photos that Rudel had sent back on the helicopter, both of the external damage and the interior.

The reality was so different, she wondered if she’d looked at the right photographs. The charring and the scars from the welds to support the shoring were the last thing she’d wanted to see aboard a nuclear sub.

It was crowded with four people in the small compartment. Only Jerry, responsible for the electronics equipment space, had accompanied them inside. She turned to make sure Bover and Lindstrom could both see clearly. Evidently they could, Bover was pale, almost ashen, his eyes as wide as saucer plates. Lindstrom looked better, but was muttering softly in Norwegian. It could have been a prayer or a curse, but he wasn’t pleased by what he saw.