Cold Choices jm-2

by Larry Bond

  Jerry looked at Rudel. There were times when he felt exactly the same way. He didn’t dare speak. Jerry, Rudel, Shimko, and most the division had written letters to Rountree’s folks. At the time, it had helped, a little. But now Jerry felt powerless, sorrowful, and guilty.

  The Seahawk’s cabin door closed, and the bridge-to-bridge radio carried the pilot’s voice. “We’re done here, Seawolf. Godspeed.” The helicopter was already applying power and moving forward, leaving hover.

  Shimko picked up the mike. “Understood, Rider Zero Two. Have a safe trip back. Please take care of our people.”

  “We will, Seawolf. If those fighters follow us, please notify our next of kin.”

  Crowded as the bridge was, none of the officers moved. They watched the helicopter climb and head westward. After ten minutes it was just a dot on the horizon. The two Russian fighters had carefully made their passes on the port side of the boat, to the east, until the helicopter was out of sight.

  Now, well to the north, the Flankers joined up again. Jerry watched the two planes descend until they were skimming the surface. They were speeding up, too, and he could imagine the grins on the two pilots’ faces. He knew what was coming.

  Jerry shouted “Brace yourselves and cover your ears!” and pointed aft. As he raised his own hands, the two fighters suddenly changed from dots to toy planes to aircraft fifty feet across, seventy feet long and at arms’ length overhead.

  A shattering BOOM almost knocked Jerry to the deck. Half a moment later, a shock wave strong enough to rock the boat did make the bridge crew stumble. One man on the hull was literally pushed off his feet and tumbled toward the water. Saved by his lifeline, he hung dangling along Seawolf’s flank. The other members of the crew scrambled to his aid. Jerry had been expecting it, but everyone else, especially Rudel, looked alarmed. “They broke the sound barrier right above us!” Jerry shouted.

  Clear of the sub, both fighters pulled up until they were vertical. They zoomed upward, spinning slowly, drilling through the air until they were only specks. Along with the rest of the bridge crew, Jerry tracked them with his glasses until they leveled out at high altitude. He noted their direction— to the southwest and back to base. “Show-offs,” he muttered enviously.

  “I’m glad we didn’t have any masts up,” Shimko remarked.

  “They almost got a sample of our paint,” Hayes answered.

  “Mr. Mitchell, before our rude guests showed up, Rider Zero Two told us they’d spotted a group of Russian surface ships headed this way.” Shimko glanced at his watch. “As of twenty-three minutes ago, they bore two two five degrees at ninety miles. They also said they’ve got radar intercepts from other aircraft. We passed the information on to Mr. Constantino below.”

  Jerry checked his own watch and nodded. “I’ll give you a visual ETA as soon as I’m down in control.”

  Rudel, who had been listening, said, “Since the Russians are close, I intend to remain on the surface.” He paused for a moment, looking to the southeast. “I’ve got another data package made up, this time for the Russian surface ships. We may spot a helicopter from the task force anytime now. They seem to know where we are.”

  “Understood, sir. And as soon as I’m done with that ETA, I’ll check on the techs’ progress.” Suddenly Jerry felt good — even happy. That SH-60 had been their first physical contact with the outside world since the collision. They finally had the parts to get the comm gear working, and within hours the Russians could begin rescue operations, thanks to Seawolf’s prep work.

  Down in control, QM2 Dunn had the watch, and had already plotted the Russian ships’ course and speed, and projected the time to intercept.

  Jerry shouted “Brace yourselves and cover your ears!” and pointed aft. As he raised his own hands, the two fighters suddenly changed from dots to toy planes to aircraft fifty feet across, seventy feet long and at arms’ length overhead.

  A shattering BOOM almost knocked Jerry to the deck. Half a moment later, a shock wave strong enough to rock the boat did make the bridge crew stumble. One man on the hull was literally pushed off his feet and tumbled toward the water. Saved by his lifeline, he hung dangling along Seawolf’s flank. The other members of the crew scrambled to his aid. Jerry had been expecting it, but everyone else, especially Rudel, looked alarmed. “They broke the sound barrier right above us!” Jerry shouted.

  Clear of the sub, both fighters pulled up until they were vertical. They zoomed upward, spinning slowly, drilling through the air until they were only specks. Along with the rest of the bridge crew, Jerry tracked them with his glasses until they leveled out at high altitude. He noted their direction— to the southwest and back to base. “Show-offs,” he muttered enviously.

  “I’m glad we didn’t have any masts up,” Shimko remarked.

  “They almost got a sample of our paint,” Hayes answered.

  “Mr. Mitchell, before our rude guests showed up, Rider Zero Two told us they’d spotted a group of Russian surface ships headed this way.” Shimko glanced at his watch. “As of twenty-three minutes ago, they bore two two five degrees at ninety miles. They also said they’ve got radar intercepts from other aircraft. We passed the information on to Mr. Constantino below.”

  Jerry checked his own watch and nodded. “I’ll give you a visual ETA as soon as I’m down in control.”

  Rudel, who had been listening, said, “Since the Russians are close, I intend to remain on the surface.” He paused for a moment, looking to the southeast. “I’ve got another data package made up, this time for the Russian surface ships. We may spot a helicopter from the task force anytime now. They seem to know where we are.”

  “Understood, sir. And as soon as I’m done with that ETA, I’ll check on the techs’ progress.” Suddenly Jerry felt good — even happy. That SH-60 had been their first physical contact with the outside world since the collision. They finally had the parts to get the comm gear working, and within hours the Russians could begin rescue operations, thanks to Seawolf’s prep work.

  Down in control, QM2 Dunn had the watch, and had already plotted the Russian ships’ course and speed, and projected the time to intercept. Even with the storm cleared, the Russian ships wouldn’t be visible until they were about fifteen miles away from Seawolf. According to Rider 02, they’d had a speed of twelve knots, which meant another six hours before they came over the horizon.

  He passed the times up to the bridge, and Rudel’s voice acknowledged over the intercom. A moment later, the XO came into control, smiling broadly. Giving his foul-weather coat to a rating, he said, “I’ll go up with you to electronics equipment space. I don’t think I could wait for your report.”

  As they left control, Shimko was still smiling, and actually clapped Jerry on the back. “It’s almost over. We pass the data on Severodvinsk to the Russians, let them mark our location, and then it’s done. If the Russians are aggressive with the helicopters, we could have one overhead by lunch. They grab the hard copy, and we head for Faslane.”

  They’d climbed the ladder to the electronics spaces, with Shimko, of course, going first. As Jerry got to the top of the ladder, he turned to go forward, but the XO stopped him, and spoke softly. “I want you to know that I’m grateful for all your hard work since the collision. You’ve done a lot for both us and the Russians over there. They don’t know it, and the Skipper isn’t really aware, but I am, and. ” He paused for a moment, then added, “It’s been very hard, with the Captain unengaged. He could almost qualify as one of the injured, after the collision.”

  Jerry was a little surprised by the XO’s outburst. He’d never heard him talk about the captain like this. Under normal circumstances, it just wasn’t done. At a loss, he finally answered, “I’m glad I was able to help, sir.” It sounded weak, but Shimko didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s part of why we have executive officers, Jerry, to back up a captain. I’ve always thought I was, but trying to fill Captain Rudel’s shoes is hard work.” There was strain in Sh
imko’s voice. “And it’s been hard seeing the Skipper so shattered by this.”

  Jerry shrugged. “He cares about his crew — maybe too much.” It was judgmental, and Jerry felt uncomfortable saying it, but it was true.

  “He’s a good officer, and somehow he’s got to get through this, with our help.” Shimko said it firmly. He wanted it to be true. Jerry did, too, because he could not imagine the alternative.

  The XO smiled, just a little. “Remember this when you’re a captain, and be kind to your executive officer.” He turned and walked the few steps to the electronics equipment space door. Shimko carefully peered in.

  Chief Hudson, Lamberth, and Blocker were all in the space, quietly, even happily working. Jerry looked for Kearney, then sadly remembered he was on his way to the Churchill. Hudson was now short two men.

  The chief spotted Shimko, then Jerry. “Progressing well here, sirs. No surprises so far. We’ll have one HF transmitter up tonight.”

  The 1MC called them both this time. “XO AND MR. MITCHELL TO THE BRIDGE.”

  “What now?” Shimko wondered aloud.

  They both hurried back to the bridge, climbing back into the cold wind a few minutes after the call.

  Rudel pointed to the southwest. “I thought it was the jets coming back, but it’s only one plane, and it’s larger.”

  Jerry took a pair of binoculars and inspected the plane, little more than an irregular speck. “Slow mover, and a big one. ASW patrol plane, but not a Bear. Probably an 11–38 May.”

  “I concur,” Rudel answered. “Mr. Mitchell, will those fighters escort him?”

  “No, sir. They don’t need to, since we don’t have anything up here to threaten the patrol plane.”

  “Can he hear our bridge-to-bridge radio?”

  “Yessir, he should be able to. He has the UHF gear aboard. The Russians know our radios are down, and they just heard us use the bridge-to-bridge set to communicate with our helicopter. He’ll be listening on our frequency.”

  The aircraft was closer now. Jerry could see the long, straight wing, four turboprop engines, and that wart of a radar dome below the cockpit. Definitely an 11–38 May. The Russians used them for ASW patrol. It carried radar, sonobuoys, magnetic detection gear, and a bomb bay full of torpedoes and depth charges.

  Subs like Seawolf were this plane’s natural prey, and Jerry felt totally exposed. They were surfaced, crawling at slow speed, in a damaged boat. He forced himself to remember that it was peacetime, that there was no reason for the Russians to attack.

  Rudel asked the XO, “Marcus, do you want to try?”

  “I’d rather use one of the CTs, sir. My Russian’s a little weak for this.”

  “All right, get one up here,” Rudel agreed.

  Shimko ordered Hayes, “Have CT1 Sayers report to the bridge.”

  In the few minutes it took for the CT to arrive, the patrol plane approached, and passed down their starboard side at low altitude and at a respectful distance. It began circling them.

  After one circuit, the bridge-to-bridge radio came to life. “American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.” The words were heavily accented, with pauses between every few words.

  “Well, that’s handy. He speaks English, sort of.” Shimko added with a touch of sarcasm, “That’s probably what my Russian would sound like to them.” He looked at the captain. “With your permission, sir.”

  Rudel nodded, and Shimko keyed the mike. “Russian aircraft, this is USS Seawolf. We have Severodvinsk’s location. We have information on her condition.” Shimko spoke slowly, watching Rudel the entire time, who nodded approvingly at the end of each sentence. When he released the mike switch, they all listened, straining to hear the Russian’s reply.

  “American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.”

  “Well, this is not promising,” Shimko observed.

  CT1 Sayers appeared from the hatchway, and somehow they made room for the petty officer. Shimko was trying again. “Russian aircraft, we have important information for you. Please respond.”

  “American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.”

  “He’s getting better with practice.” The absurdity of the situation almost made Jerry laugh. “We finally contact the Russians, and all they can do is repeat a message to leave. I’ll bet it’s written down for him.”

  Shimko handed Sayers the mike. “See if you can establish some useful comms with this guy.”

  Sayers nodded and keyed the switch. He spoke smoothly in Russian for a minute, then released the button. Jerry recognized the words “Seawolf’ and “Severodvinsk? as the CT spoke. “I said we were guarding Severodvinsk’s location,” Sayers reported.

  Rudel nodded. “That’s fine.”

  The plane made almost a complete circle before responding. “American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.” This time it was followed by a medium-length string of Russian.

  Sayers keyed the mike, spoke two words, then turned to Rudel and the XO. “They repeated the same message in Russian, and added, ‘This is our last warning.’”

  Jerry put himself in the pilot’s place. “He’s probably been ordered not to discuss anything with us, just deliver the message.”

  “I don’t care what his orders are. Make the SOB listen,” Rudel ordered. “We have to guide them to Severodvinsk’s location. Tell them.”

  As the captain spoke, the patrol plane had continued its circle until it was dead ahead, then tightened its turn. Even without the binoculars, they could all see doors opening up under the plane’s belly. The Il-38 carried its weapons internally.

  As Sayers spoke a string of rapid phrases, the Ilyushin headed straight for them, descending. Jerry thought, They wouldn’t dare. Professionally, he wondered what ordnance aboard the patrol plane would be appropriate to use against a surfaced sub. Then Jerry saw it was too close to drop anything.

  Whatever Sayers was saying over the radio was drowned out by the plane as it passed overhead. All four engines were at maximum throttle, and the massive aircraft blocked the sun for a moment. It was almost twice as long as a Flanker, with three times the wingspan. Jerry tried to study the open bomb bay as the plane passed overhead. It was visible for only a moment, but he could see dark shapes inside.

  Then it was past, and Jerry and the others all found themselves blinking, looking at each other. “I could see ‘Made in Minsk’ on the depth charges,” Shimko joked. Rudel smiled weakly.

  Jerry tried to reply in kind. “And I left my camera at the hotel.”

  The patrol plane did not turn, but was climbing. “He won’t leave,” Jerry predicted. “He’ll climb to medium altitude and watch us with his radar.”

  “And we’ve been reminded again we’re not welcome.” Rudel added. “But I won’t be driven off. Thank you, Petty Officer Sayers. Let’s go below and give Mr. Hayes and his lookout some elbow room.”

  In control, Rudel gave his coat to a petty officer and asked for the 1MC microphone. Jerry saw him think for a moment, then draw a breath, gathering himself.

  “This is the Captain. We’ve had some visitors, Russian aircraft passing close overhead. We’ve tried to talk to them, and although I’m sure they heard us, they’ve only responded by repeatedly asking us to leave, and they’ve been pretty rude about it. But I am not abandoning the men aboard Severodvinsk until I’m satisfied the Russians are on station. Thank you for your hard work and continued dedication to this rescue mission.”

  Rudel hung up the mike and turned to Jerry. “Nav, make sure we don’t get more than two miles from Severodvinsk’s position.” Grabbing his jacket once again, Rudel snatched the vital satellite phone from its charger near the chart table. “I’m going to report to SUBGRU Two.”

  Petr Velikiy

  Vidchenko and Kurganov waited for the reports. Kurganov was still speaking to the Ilyushin’s pilot when the messenger appeared. The rating handed a slip of paper to Admiral Vidchenko. “Intercept repo
rts the American is using his satellite phone.”

  Kurganov hung up the secure phone and took the slip from Vidchenko. He read the report quickly. “He’s reporting in, as he should.”

  Vidchenko asked, “Still no sign of him moving away from the datum?”

  “It’s been less than ten minutes. He may be asking for orders. Their radio receivers still don’t work, after all.”

  Vidchenko shook his head. “Not an American submarine captain. They have more autonomy. He may be telling his commander what he will do, but he won’t ask.” The admiral looked at the clock, then his counterpart and surface group commander. “I say give him another fifteen minutes. If he hasn’t left by then, he’s not going to.”

  Kurganov asked, “Is that an order, Admiral? Or are you asking my opinion?”

  Vidchenko smiled. “I value your opinion greatly, Ivan Aleksandrovich.”

  “You know I have two Kamovs on alert plus fifteen. I think we’ve given the American more time than they deserve.”

  “Then give the order. And increase the formation’s speed to twenty-five knots. We don’t have to steer evasively, either, since we know the American submarine’s location. Leave one escort with that tub Rudnitskiy, but tell her we want maximum speed.”

  Kurganov responded brightly, “Aye, aye, sir! That will cut our time to datum in half. If Rudnitskiy is on the ball, we might get one sortie out of AS-34 before dark.”

  USS Churchill

  A radioman knocked on the door to Captain Baker’s day cabin. The enlisted man handed hard copies to Baker and Patterson. “Flash traffic, sir,” he explained. Silas and Lindstrom watched the others quickly scan the page.

  “Rudel’s phoned in to SUBGRU Two. He’ll have a transmitter up this evening, and he reports being buzzed by Russian aircraft.”

  “That’s old news,” Silas commented. “The Seahawk pilot’s been back an hour, and he’s still twitching from seeing those Flankers.”

  Baker shook his head. “No, Commander. According to Rudel, after the fighters left, a May patrol aircraft showed up and buzzed them at very low altitude — with an open weapons bay.”