“Can these pictures be added to your web page? Will they fit?”
“Yes,” Irina smiled. “We have plenty of room.”
“And can we make more copies of these?” She held up the photos.
Irina nodded.
“Then make many copies. Send them to everyone we know, including all those news organizations.”
“I’ve already done that, electronically, and two of our women are working on the website right now. They’ll be done in less than an hour.”
“Can you send email back to this reporter?”
“Of course.”
“Then I have some questions for him — or his friends.”
“We can’t shut them down, Admiral. The server hosting their site is located in Germany. And we can’t cut the phone lines to a hundred families. and their friends. and every public telephone in Severomorsk.”
Admiral Babyarin was trying to calm the Northern Fleet commander. Kokurin had exploded when the latest addition to the Wives and Mothers website had crossed his desk.
Kokurin stared at the images. “Could these images be faked, a clever deception?”
“Our experts are examining them right now. They are consistent with what Admiral Vidchenko has told us, and are consistent with what a good imaging sonar and underwater cameras can produce.”
“So, how did those civilians obtain this data? From the Americans?”
“According to the website, from a reporter connected to the Americans, but yes, it had to be leaked by them.”
“Are they doing this to taunt us? It’s like looking at a corpse.” Kokurin’s heart turned to lead when he looked at the images. Their newest, their best atomic submarine was lost, now a tomb for eighteen sailors and a prison for sixty-seven more.
Babyarin shrugged. “They may be trying to set up some sort of defense for their actions. With Vidchenko so close to rescuing the crew, they want to get these images into the media. They may not have been faked, but they could still have been altered.”
Kokurin sat quietly. Babyarin didn’t like his expression, and finally asked, “What does Vidchenko say?”
“I haven’t asked him. He’s too busy rescuing our men to distract him with this business.”
“But has he seen the images?” Babyarin pressed.
“It doesn’t matter. Petrov and his men could be on the surface in an hour.”
Vidchenko stood on the port bridge wing, binoculars fixed on an empty piece of water. It was pointless. A hundred other men watched that small spot of ocean as well, waiting for AS-34 to surface. In fact, it was redundant in the extreme, since the other watchers would all feel duty-bound to report a fact that the admiral had observed himself. Luckily, Kurganov received reports before he did, and filtered out the drivel.
A small splash and a bobbing orange and white shape were all that marked AS-34’s return to the surface. A whaleboat standing by started its engine and hurried toward the craft, which had appeared several hundred meters off
While the boat approached, Vidchenko saw a hatch open and someone appeared in the opening, waves lapping less than a meter below the opening.
The bridge-to-bridge radio crackled to life. “This is Bakhorin. The charges have been planted and tested. Everything is ready.”
“This is Vidchenko. Well done, Captain Bakhorin. What is your battery charge?” Curiosity had overcome him, and he didn’t want to wait for their report.
“Four percent, sir. We opened the hatch because we needed some light inside.”
“Very well done. Join us in hoping now.”
Vidchenko hung up the microphone and turned to the underwater communications set.
The underwater communications station suddenly came to life.
Kalinin reached the underwater telephone first. He acknowledged the transmission. “This is Captain Second Rank Kalinin, sir. Captain Petrov is with the injured men.” He waved frantically to a michman and gestured for him to hurry aft, toward the third compartment, where the casualties were being cared for. “He will be here soon.”
“Tell your Captain that we are ready to detonate explosive charges that will bring your submarine to an even keel. You must move everyone to the escape capsule immediately.”
“Sir, could you please repeat your last transmission?” Vidchenko patiently repeated his message almost verbatim. The admiral then added, a little impatiently, “Tell us the moment you are ready.”
“We will begin evacuation procedures immediately, sir. But it will take some time. We have wounded that must be carefully moved. We’ve had no warning, no time to prepare for this.”
Petrov came running into the central post in time to hear Vidchenko answer, “We did not want to give the Americans warning. We know they can monitor these communications. We will do our best to keep them from interfering with the rescue.”
Kalinin reported to his captain, “They are ready to free us. The Admiral says we must move everyone to the escape chamber immediately.”
Surprised, almost stunned, Petrov blinked at the news, paused a moment, then shrugged. He was puzzled by Vidchenko’s remark about the Americans, but that would keep. “Then let’s get moving, Starpom.” He turned to the rest of the men in the central post. “You heard the Admiral. Let’s go home.” He smiled, and it reflected off the faces of the men as they scrambled to their feet.
Kalinin started shouting orders. “Get the wounded in here, but move them gently.” He turned to a michman. “Get some rope to rig slings for them.”
Petrov picked up the microphone. “This is Captain Petrov, sir. We will move as quickly as possible. It will take some time, possibly over half an hour.” He hated to make that admission. The training standard was twenty minutes, but that was with a healthy crew.
Behind him, he heard men laughing, joking. They were going home! It was a surprise, but what a wonderful surprise to get. Kalinin pulled out a checklist from alongside the command console. Being good submariners, they’d planned what to do if the opportunity came to use the escape chamber. He handed the crew roster to his starshini michman, Senior Warrant Officer Zubov, who started crossing off names as men climbed the ladder from the central post into the chamber.
Petrov looked around the room, trying to run his own mental roster, when he realized that the chief engineer was missing. “Where’s Lyachin?” he asked, first to the starpom, then to the group. Nobody had an answer. The chief engineer was the next senior officer after Petrov and Kalinin. There were things he was responsible for and should already be here. It was impossible that he hadn’t heard the news. Where was he?
Petrov grabbed the shoulder of the nearest enlisted man. “Find the chief engineer and tell him to come here immediately. I don’t care what he’s doing.” He saw the expression on the man’s face, and reassured him. “Don’t worry, we won’t leave without you — or Lyachin.” The man hurried off.
Supervised by Dr. Balanov, the wounded started to arrive. A few were ambulatory, with broken arms or wrists, but many had leg injuries and had to be carefully carried through the narrow hatch between the third and second compartment. Their complaints and cries of pain were met with reassurances: “You’ll be in the hospital very soon.”
Petrov tried to keep clear of the confusion, but found himself organizing the transfer of the injured to the escape chamber. He’d managed to get several aboard when the starpom pulled him aside. Kalinin’s expression showed concern, even alarm, and beyond him, Petrov could see the sailor he’d sent looking for the engineer. He had the same expression.
“Sir, Captain Second Rank Lyachin is in the reactor compartment.” It was almost a formal report, and Petrov felt confused. There was nothing to do there. The reactor had been shut down immediately after the collision. It
