by Larry Bond
Without warning, Captain Rudel came down the ladder. Both Jerry and Palmer stood and faced their CO, but the fast-approaching deadline dictated that those working continue. Rudel handed Palmer a thick envelope, double-wrapped in plastic.
“I hope there is still room. These are hard copy images from La Verne’s survey of Severodvinsk. Petrov won’t be happy.” Rudel looked unhappy as well, largely because he was sending some really bad news. “But at least he’ll know the score. I’d want to know.” He paused, looking at the work in progress. “How much longer?”
Jerry fought the urge to answer. This was Palmer’s show. The jaygee said, “Twenty minutes, sir. We’re almost done with the loading, then sealing the case and getting her ready for launch is the same as any other mission.”
Rudel checked his watch. “Then we’ll set UUV stations at 0940. I brought this down myself because I wanted to wish you luck, Jeff. I know you’ll get the job done.”
Rudel left, and Palmer handed the package to Chief Johnson, who added it to the nearly-bursting UUV. While the torpedo division finished loading Patty, Palmer stepped back, motioning Jerry to follow.
Speaking softly, Palmer said, “Nav, I want you to make the run.”
Jerry was surprised. “What? You’re the UUV operator. You went to school on these things.”
“Yes, but we’ve all heard about your fancy Manta flying on Memphis. This run will be in full manual control. I did that once, on the school simulator, for about ten minutes.” Palmer pointed back toward the ladder. “You saw what just happened. The Captain came down here to wish me luck!”
“That’s because you’re the guy doing the job. If I was doing it, he’d wish me luck.” Jerry lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Look, the Captain’s pretty tense about this. Is he making the right decision by letting us try this? Is he missing anything that would give it a better chance of success? And you have to admit this plan is pretty wild. Is there anything, anything at all that he can do if it doesn’t work?”
“This isn’t making me feel better,” Palmer gloomily observed.
“So if he didn’t think you were the best man for the job, would he let you do it? He’d pull you in a heartbeat if he thought someone else could do it better.”
“All those men depend on me doing this right.”
“Correction, they depend on all of us, and we’re not going to let them down.”
Jerry got out of the torpedo room before he yielded and agreed to Palmer’s request. He wanted to do it, and part of him believed he was the best man to do it, but not enough of him to take it away from Palmer. It was torpedo division business, and Jerry was the navigator. Palmer had run plenty of sorties, all without a bobble. He’d be fine.
* * *
Jerry took his station in control. There wasn’t much navigating involved, but Seawolf was going to move around to Severodvinsk’s starboard side. Since the Russian was listing to port, only the starboard torpedo tubes were accessible. Rudel would position his sub just two hundred yards from where Severodvinsk lay, shortening the distance Patty would have to cross with her brainwashed navigation system.
Jerry had prepared for the move by studying the sonar survey of the area. At the same time that LaVerne had imaged Severodvinsk, she had mapped the bottom around the crippled sub for two nautical miles in every direction. QM1 Peters was still updating their charts, but Jerry knew to the foot what the depths were, and where the rocks and hollows were. He’d picked a likely spot astern of the Russian sub, a hundred feet off the bottom. There was nothing but smooth seabed between Patty and her goal.
“Control, torpedo room. Maxine is away.” Chandler acknowledged the report. As part of his belt and suspenders policy, Rudel had ordered Maxine positioned so they could watch Patty’s progress with her sonar suite. Properly positioned, she could give Palmer some of the depth perception he’d lost when they’d bypassed Patty’s forward sonar ranging circuits.
The repeater set in control changed from black to blue as Maxine’s sonar activated. In map mode, it showed an overhead view of Seawolf, Severodvinsk, and Maxine’s location.
It took only a few minutes to cover the few hundred yards to the spot they’d decided on, and Maxine swung around. The Russian’s hull filled one side. Jerry knew Palmer would enter commands telling the vehicle to remain in that spot, pointed in that direction, and its own computer would keep it there. He’d be busy enough.
Palmer didn’t wait for an order from control. “Control, torpedo room. Patty is away.” After Chandler acknowledged that report, Rudel picked up the microphone for the underwater telephone. “Severodvinsk, Seawolf. We have launched the vehicle.”
The answer, distorted but brief, was “Understood. Good luck.” It sounded like Petrov’s voice. Passage through seawater had removed any emotion, and Jerry didn’t know what had been there. Desperation? Encouragement?
The bridge display shifted to Patty’s sonar image, showing the sonar picture from the vehicle’s point of view. Palmer brought Patty tight along Seawolf’s side after launch. The image shifted, wobbling up and down and left to right, and Jerry saw the difference between the stabilized automatic and the manual mode.
At first, the UUV seemed almost out of control. Wild pitch-downs were followed by equally wild pitch-ups. A zig to the left toward Seawolf almost rammed the UUV into her side, but then the hull disappeared entirely as Patty swung almost straight away from the sub.
Jerry realized what was happening. Quickly, he picked up the sound-powered phone handset and connected himself to the UUV circuit. “Torpedo room, control. Jeff, allow for the delay in your commands. Remember everything moves at the speed of sound in water. The time delay will increase the farther Patty is from us. You’ve got to get ahead of Patty, anticipate her movements more.”
Chief Johnson answered. “Mr. Palmer’s nodding,” came over the handset. The image steadied, swung back toward Seawolf, but then steadied again. Steering a slow, less sinuous path, Patty headed aft. Seawolf’s stern and propulsor passed, then disappeared off the right edge.
“Control, torpedo room. Patty is running with a slight up angle. Compensating with the thruster.” Palmer’s voice sounded calm, but clearly stressed.
Rudel nodded approvingly, “Not bad, Nav. You and your team did a good job of balancing the UUV out with just a scale, tape measure, and an Excel spreadsheet.”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to all concerned,” replied Jerry, pleased with the results.
Severodvinsk appeared, a little off to the right, but visible. The image swung left, away from the sub, and for an instant, Jerry was afraid Palmer was overcontrolling. Then he saw Palmer was opening the distance, to line up on Severodvinsk’s starboard torpedo tubes.
It took a few minutes, but the Russian swung back into view with her forward hull filling the screen. The open tube was a yellow dot down on the dull-colored hull, even with the forward edge of the sail.
Palmer had Patty advance slowly; he had to make a picture-perfect straight-in approach. This wasn’t going to be easy, as Severodvinsk’s torpedo tubes were angled out from the hull, like Seawolf’s. Complicating the matters was the Russian’s list to port and downward pitch. Thus, the tube pointed down as well as out. While the open tube was visible, there was nothing to line up on. They’d estimated what the proper azimuth and elevation angles should be graphically, but they were only approximate values. Patty would have to line up exactly on the tube’s axis, perfectly centered on the opening if she was going to make it inside.
Numbers danced at the top and bottom edges of the display. Elevation, azimuth, depth, speed, motor rpm, only range never changed, pinned at “999.” Even without range, Jerry could see the side of Severodvinsk grow. The false-color image was deep green, and the screen became a solid wall of the color.
It was impossible to see inside the opening, to see whether Patty was aligned with the Severodvinsk’s tube. He found himself watching the elevation and azimuth num
bers, subconsciously trying to nudge them. The less they changed, the steadier the image, the better Jerry liked it.
The opening grew steadily, but slowly. Three knots was a slow walk, and Jerry began to eye the charge meter. Luckily, it gave an accurate reading, but it had started out in the red, showing only less than an hour where a full set of batteries was good for fifty-plus hours.
The opening kept drifting right, and while Palmer kept correcting, it meant the angle was constantly changing. More and more of Severodvinsk’s hull became visible with each correction, and the UUV’s angle numbers went past the limits they’d calculated. Finally Palmer turned Patty to the left and circled. It was a small circle, and this time Jerry noticed Patty’s speed was a little higher. The image was steadier, and grew quickly, then shuddered and flickered.
“Seawolf, we felt a vibration.” The underwater telephone still mutated any voice, but Jerry imagined the Russians waiting, hoping. A vibration?
“It missed. Patty must have bounced off the edge of the tube.” Shimko’s voice couldn’t hide his disappointment.
Rudel passed the news to Severodvinsk. “Our first attempt failed. We’re positioning to try again.”
Palmer was already circling for another pass. It was a tight circle this time, but he made his approach at a bare crawl. It looked good, but at the last moment, the display flashed with bright yellow pixels, then froze. A moment later, Patty’s computer rebooted, showing the vehicle lying alongside Severodvinsk’s hull.
“We can’t do that again.” Rudel said what everyone was thinking. “Get Mr. Palmer up here.”
Palmer set Patty to hover, with her forward-looking sonar shut off to save power, and then headed for control. The CO, XO, and others were all clustered around the now-dark UUV display, discussing what had gone wrong, when Palmer entered almost throwing his hands up in frustration. “It’s the cross-current, sir. It’s strong enough to throw Patty out of alignment just before we reach the tube. I don’t have enough time to react to the change before she hits the boat.”
“Patty can’t take another bump like that.” Shimko was stating the obvious, but it was meant more as a question.
“I know I’m close, sir. Did you see the bright yellow flash, just before she hit the second time? That was the sonar beam reverberating off the inside of the tube. The rest of the hull has anechoic coating, but the tube is bare metal. We were that close, then the current pushed me out of line.”
“So we use a crosswind landing,” Jerry announced. Ignoring their expressions, he continued his explanation with Palmer: “The water’s pushing you to the right as you try to enter the tube, right? Well, we often had to land on a runway that wasn’t exactly downwind.”
Jerry held out one hand, moving it in one direction, but angled it slightly to the left. “We called it ‘crabbing,’ just a little sideway angle that compensates for the crosswind. At the last minute, as we touched down, we’d add a little rudder to bring us into line with the runway.”
Palmer nodded slowly. “We are ‘landing’ the UUV,” he agreed.
Shimko said, “We don’t know the speed of the cross-current.”
Palmer answered that. “Maxine can provide ranges, and we can measure the current from her data.”
“Then get back down there and get set for another pass. We’ll figure the current’s vector and pass it to you.” Shimko pointed to the screen. Even though the sonar display was dark, the readouts still showed their numbers. “Even if the sonar can survive another hard bounce, we’re running low on juice. The single battery is having trouble meeting all the power demands and we’re depleting it faster than expected. We’re on borrowed time already.”
“Mr. Palmer,” spoke Rudel, more as a coach than a commanding officer. “I know you can do this. Stay calm and follow your training. Now go.”
Palmer quickly disappeared, and Rudel went back to the Gertrude to update Petrov and tell him they were getting ready to make yet another attempt. By the time Jerry and Shimko finished the math, Palmer was already pointed toward Severodvinsk. “It’s just a small correction,” Shimko explained over the handset. “Add two degrees of azimuth to the left at three and a half knots.”
Johnson acknowledged for Palmer, and Jerry added, “It will look like you’re off to the left, but it keeps Patty aligned with the tube. You’ll know the angle’s right if the bearing to the tubes doesn’t change.”
The chief acknowledged for Palmer again, and Jerry hung up the handset. “This all assumes Jeff’s hand is steady,” Shimko remarked softly. He was silent for moment, then asked, “Shouldn’t you be down there? This is your idea.”
Jerry wasn’t sure whether the XO meant the crabbed approach or the UUV transfer itself. He wanted to be close to the action, and he wanted to provide moral support. But the skipper told Jeff Palmer that he could do this. Showing up at a critical moment might say the opposite and distract him.
“Jeff’s on top of this, XO. He knows what to do. He’ll make it this time.”
“Lives are at stake.” The XO’s eyes were fixed on the display, and Jerry realized how wrong it must look to him. But to Jerry’s aviator’s eyes, imagining himself landing a jet, Palmer was right in the groove.
Jerry didn’t say anything more, but watched the bearing and bearing rate numbers on the display. They held almost rock steady, and Jerry saw the approach from Maxine’s point of view; the UUV was just a few yards away from the Russian’s hull.
The image flashed bright yellow again, and Jerry tried to guess when Jeff would straighten out his approach. In an aircraft, the friction of the wheels on the runway helped straighten out a plane. The temptation was to do it too early, or overcontrol and make too large a correction. And then there was the time delay. Don’t do it too late.
Jerry thought Palmer had waited too long, then he saw the image shift and realized Palmer must have sent the signal a few moments ago. The tube opening moved toward the center of the screen and suddenly a bright, sustained flash of yellow filled the display. Then it went dark.
“Control, torpedo room. I’m revving the motor,” Palmer nearly shouted over the intercom. “Full rpm!”
“Seawolf, this is Petrov. We can hear something in the tube! There is the whine of a motor.”
Rudel answered. “Severodvinsk, we think it’s in.”
“Control, torpedo room.” Palmer’s excited voice blared over the loudspeaker. “Executing command shut down!”
A long moment passed as the sound traveled to Severodvinsk and Petrov’s reply came back.”Seawolf, the whining has stopped. We are closing the outer door.”
“Control, torpedo room. I’ve lost all contact with Patty.” Palmer’s hopeful tone contrasted with what would normally be very bad news. Moments later, he was in control, waiting for word from the Russians.
Once the outer door was closed, the water would have to be removed from the tube. Normally it would be blown down with air, but with most of the high-pressure air already spent, the Russians could afford to use only the slightest burst to get the tube to start draining into the water round the torpedo tank. If Patty was filling most of the tube, there wouldn’t be much sea-water to drain. Then the inner door would have to be opened. Again, that normally used hydraulics. But it could be done manually, by cold, exhausted men breathing poor air. Finally, the vehicle would have to be pulled from the tube on a boat with a significant list, and it weighed nearly twenty-eight hundred pounds.
Jerry had been torpedo officer on Memphis. He knew how he would have done it on that boat, or even Seawolf. How did the Russian mechanisms differ? Whatever the difference, he was going to have to wait a few minutes to find out if they were successful. Considering how long the Russians had waited, he couldn’t complain.
Severodvinsk
Petrov leaned heavily against the bulkhead, the microphone in his hand temporarily forgotten in relief and sudden fatigue. They’d done it, he told himself. The Americans had just saved their lives. He hoped.
Rodi
onov’s excited voice came over the intercom. “Request permission to open the breech door.”
“Granted,” Petrov replied.
“Door’s open and the vehicle is inside the tube. My men are rigging a block and tackle. Without power and with this pitch and list, we’ll be hauling the damn thing uphill, the wrong way out.”
“Understood. I’ll have the Starpom send down more men to help with the work.” With all of them tired and cold, hauling out the heavy vehicle would be exhausting work.
Kalinin overheard the conversation, and barked orders, sending a half-dozen uninjured men to the starboard torpedo bay. They almost hurried, and he saw several smiling. It was understandable, Petrov realized. There was now a chance they would not die.
He remembered the microphone, and knew Rudel was still waiting for word from him. There was nothing to say until he got word from the torpedo officer. If Rodionov and his people couldn’t get that thing out of the tube, they were still dead men. But the American had done his part. Petrov owed him an update. He picked up the microphone and reported, ‘‘“Seawolf, this is Petrov. We have the vehicle. My men are working to remove it from the torpedo tube. This will take a few minutes.”
Rudel’s voice answered. “Seawolf is standing by.”
Petrov stood by as well, for about twenty seconds. He’d planned to wait for word from Rodionov. There was nothing he could contribute, and he didn’t want to jiggle Rodionov’s elbow, but he had to see.
It seemed like more than half a dozen men had arrived to help the torpedomen retrieve the American device, but they made a passage for Petrov as soon as he entered. The senior torpedo michman was organizing the detail around a block and tackle while another examined the front of the American device.
There was no clearance between the American remote and the sides of the tube. It had never been designed to be hauled out nose-first. The smooth, flat nose was slightly rounded near the edges, but there were no attachment points or access panels. They hadn’t expected any.