Cold Choices jm-2

by Larry Bond

  “He says it’s urgent, ma’am. Captain Baker is already in CIC.”

  Patterson knew the way well enough by now that the messenger let her set the pace while he followed. In CIC, Baker stood, holding the handset. “All he’d say is that he has to tell you first.”

  “Tell me what?” Patterson asked as she took the handset. “This is Dr. Patterson,” she said cautiously

  “We’ve got a plan to save Severodvinsk.” His explanation followed so quickly and was so fantastic that she had him repeat it — twice.

  By the time he’d finished, Baker had guessed enough from her side of the conversation to understand Rudel’s plan, and he wondered if his expression matched hers.

  “And you’re just informing me? Not asking my permission?”

  She heard Rudel sigh. “If I ask your permission, you might say no. If you say yes, you could be buying yourself some serious trouble. I don’t want to take anybody else down with me.”

  “Forget that, Captain. Are you sure Seawolf will come out of this intact?”

  “I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”

  Rudel sounded defensive, and she quickly said, “I’m sorry, Captain, but I had to ask that question. You not only have my official permission, but my cooperation. What can we do?”

  “I’ll know that after my officers tell me. Can you please call Admiral Borisov and Arne Lindstrom? Set up a conference call for thirty minutes from now?”

  “When will you be ready?” she asked.

  “They’re going to tell me that, too.” After a short pause, he added, “We will be ready in time.”

  “Then I will speak with you again in half an hour, Captain, and God bless you.”

  “I hope so. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

  Petr Velikiy

  When he heard the topic, Admiral Borisov had followed Patterson’s advice and cleared the flag plot of everyone but Kurganov and their two deputies. He didn’t know what would be worse: Hearing some bizarre scheme that was doomed to fail, or having to hope again.

  Lindstrom was on the screen five minutes early, fidgeting in front of the TV camera, then Patterson and Baker sitting together, and finally Rudel, looking hurried, almost breathless. His watchstanders had reported Seawolf surfacing ten minutes earlier.

  “Admiral, Doctor, Captain, Mr. Lindstrom, thank you for agreeing to listen to me. My officers and I have a plan that has a good chance of working. But we will need help to make it work, and I’m open to any suggestions that will improve it.”

  Borisov spoke first. “Petrov and his men will not be able to move into the chamber for much longer. Even if they move in now, they will not be able to release it if they are unconscious.”

  Rudel asked, “What is your best estimate of their CO2, level?”

  “They could start losing consciousness in as little as eight hours. Some perhaps as long as fifteen.”

  “Then we need every welder and engineer in the rescue force. It would be best if we tied up alongside Halsfjord. Is that acceptable, Mr. Lindstrom?”

  Lindstrom looked off-camera and spoke in Norwegian briefly. “Yes, port side. Bow-to-bow?”

  Rudel shook his head. “No sir, bow-to-stern. We need your aft fifty-ton crane to lift out the damaged forward array structure once it is detached. Perhaps Pamir and Altay can moor outboard of us. Detaching the forward arrays and cleaning up the surface will take the most time, and anything we can do to speed that up will help.”

  Kurganov added, “Rudnitskiy will join you as well. She has divers for the underwater work.”

  “What about cushioning the impact?” Lindstrom asked. “We could construct a framework of timbers that would fit over your bow. My men could fabricate it on deck while others are cutting away the arrays and their mountings.”

  “How long?” Rudel asked.

  “No longer than it takes to remove the sonar structure,” Lindstrom answered. He looked to the side and spoke in Norwegian. “And we’ve just started.”

  The two Russians spoke briefly, then Borisov said, “We assume you will also be reinforcing your pressure hull.”

  Rudel shrugged. “We will do what we can, but space is limited.”

  Borisov spoke again, smiling. “I noticed during my visit to Seawolf that the shoring in your electronics space was wooden, with brackets spot-welded in place.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Russian damage-control shoring is steel, in prefabricated sections, with threaded brackets on the end to ensure a snug fit. Would they be of use to you?

  Rudel smiled. “I’d gratefully accept them, gentlemen.”

  “Can this be done in time?” Kurganov asked. “On our boats the main hydroacoustic array and its mounting weigh over ten tons.”

  Rudel answered, “Things come apart a lot faster than they go together.” He smiled. “And we don’t have to worry about being neat.”

  Severodvinsk

  Petrov hadn’t expected a call from Borisov so soon. It had been only an hour or so since the last conversation. The final good-byes would come later, so he assumed the admiral wanted to ask about the carbon dioxide levels. Useless, really, but there was nothing else to do.

  “Captain Petrov, prepare to get your men back into the escape chamber.”

  “What? I just finished getting my men out of it. They will be much more comfortable in the hull.”

  “Rudel has a plan to right your boat.” Borisov started describing it, but Petrov grasped it almost immediately, and cut off the admiral. “Is he insane? Have you all lost your minds? We don’t need another boat next to us.”

  “He is convinced this will work, and he has convinced all of us as well: Lindstrom, Patterson, everyone. Work has already started.”

  “Can I speak to him?” Petrov asked.

  “Seawolf is already surrounded by other vessels. With all the noise, I doubt if her underwater telephone would even function. You should see it, Aleksey. It would amaze you. Foreign vessels, including a Russian salvage and rescue ship, surround an American nuclear submarine preparing it for this effort. Workers from three countries cover the bow like ants. And there are over half a dozen divers underwater right now with their cutting torches blazing, a dozen more standing by.”

  Borisov’s description fired his imagination. Petrov’s first surprise had worn off, and his mind had begun to consider the plan more dispassionately. Would it work? The problem with believing in that plan was that Petrov and his men had already begun to accept their fate. He didn’t know if they could hope again, or withstand the fear that came with it.

  The admiral described Rudel’s plan in more detail, and explained, “You must move up into the chamber as soon as you can, while your men still have the strength to do so.”

  Petrov answered, “Some of them have taken sedatives. I’ll have to see what Balanov can do to rouse them. And the extra activity will drive the carbon dioxide levels even higher.”

  “We’ve factored that into our calculations. And we’ll need hourly updates, to check those figures.”

  “You’ll have them, Admiral. And tell Rudel to make a careful job of it. No rushed work. That’s when accidents happen.”

  The White House

  President Huber didn’t mind the budget meeting being interrupted, but he had a vital meeting with an industry group in fifteen minutes that he couldn’t ignore. Wright had insisted the call was extremely urgent.

  “Sir, I’ve just spoken with Dr. Patterson. There’s to be another attempt to save the Russian sub.”

  “What?” Huber’s voice showed more confusion than was expected from a chief executive. “You told me not half an hour ago that there was nothing more to be done. My people are working on a statement of condolence now.”

  “They still need two statements. They are making hurried preparations now, and should be ready in about six or seven hours. Petrov and his men could begin to lose consciousness in as little as eight.”

  “That’s cutting it a little close,” Huber obse
rved.

  “It’s a last-minute thing, Mr. President.” He described how Rudel would use Seawolf to push Severodvinsk upright. “And the Russians are completely on board. There is some risk, sir, but Dr. Patterson says she’s been reassured by Rudel and other qualified engineers that everything will be done to reduce it. And no, she doesn’t have a number.”

  “I asked her to keep me informed,” Huber grumbled.

  “And she’s doing so, sir.”

  “And like before, the only control I have is to order her to stop.”

  “You could give that order, sir. You took control of the situation by sending good people.”

  “And they’ll try in six hours?”

  “That’s the estimate as of now, sir. If this works, it will be successful immediately.”

  “Keep me informed.”

  Halsfjord

  Rudel and Shimko stood on the aft deckhouse, looking down at the fantail. The Norwegian rescue ship had enough room aft to land a large helicopter. Now the floodlit surface was cluttered with men and a gridwork of timbers. The heavy lengths of wood were carried aboard the rescue ship for just such a circumstance. A strong framework could be quickly assembled to reinforce a damaged ship, or construct a cofferdam.

  Rudel could see that the box-frame-like structure was well along. Lindstrom explained how it would be attached to the hull. “The welders will attach plates at the front edge of the hull. Stubs on the edge of the framework will be attached with simple pins to those plates. After you’re done it will be simple to detach whatever’s left and cut off the attachment plates.”

  “After we’re done,” Rudel muttered. “I like the sound of that.”

  “We’ve based it on the blueprints you provided. We will lower it into place and attach it literally in minutes.”

  “And it will be ready in time.” Shimko didn’t ask a question, but Lindstrom reassured him. “My chief engineer says they will be finished cutting in two, maybe three more hours. There is a lot of very tough metal to cut through. The framework is actually almost done. Until we need to lift it over to Seawolf, we will reinforce it and improve the design.

  “The work on your forward ballast tanks is also proceeding, and will be done in time.”

  Rudel answered, “Keeping any air in those tanks at all will be a tremendous help.”

  Lindstrom shrugged. “Removing the antisonar coating around the holes is taking time, but as each section is cleared, we start patching it. The patches won’t be completely airtight, of course, but they should help.”

  “We’re very grateful,” Rudel said.

  Lindstrom grinned. “Don’t thank me. I’m adding all this work to the Russians’ bill.” A shout in Norwegian attracted his attention, and he excused himself, saying “Please, stay as long as you like. I’ll send a messenger when the Russians are ready.”

  The two Americans watched the frantic work on Halsfjord’s fantail, then walked over to the port side and looked down at Seawolf. Even though she was lit up by dozens of lights, they could still easily see welding flames and sparks almost covering the bow. The water in front of her glowed with the cutting torches from divers working on the structure underneath, and even more men were at work in the electronics equipment space. Only the Norwegians and Americans were being allowed inside the sub, but there were plenty to do the work.

  “They’re working damn fast, XO,” commented Rudel approvingly. “Pretty soon we’ll see if this semi-crazy idea of ours really works.”

  “Ah, Skipper? Sir, there’s one thing. That order you gave about nonessential personnel?” There was concern in Shimko’s voice.

  “What about it, XO?”

  “Nobody will leave, sir. The officers and chiefs say everyone is essential, and when I tell the men individually, they respectfully refuse to carry out my order. All of them.”

  “Dammit, XO, I made it an order because I knew nobody would leave voluntarily. It’s no disgrace. We drop them off just before we make the dive, and pick them up as soon as it’s done. They’ll wait on Halsfjord for what? An hour? Fewer lives at risk.”

  “ ‘Fewer men to help’ was the universal response,” Shimko reported.

  Rudel sighed heavily, leaning on the deckhouse rail. “This could go south in a dozen different ways we can’t imagine.”

  “True, sir, so it may be hard to say who’s ‘essential’ and who isn’t.”

  “So you disagree with my order as well?” Rudel sounded surprised.

  “Disagree, maybe, sir, but never disobey.” Shimko continued, “I think they all appreciated the thought, Skipper, but nobody wants to be left out, so to speak.”

  “I think the appropriate word describing this is ‘mutiny,’ Mr. Shimko,” Rudel grumbled.

  “Other captains would kill to have a crew this undisciplined,” countered Shimko with a wide grin.

  “Then belay my last.”

  * * *

  The “Russians” Lindstrom had referred to were Vice Admiral Borisov and Rear Admiral Oleg Antonovich Smelkov, chief of the Technical Directorate of the Northern Fleet. Both joined by teleconference, Borisov from Petya and Smelkov from his office ashore. Patterson and her group aboard Churchill were also electronically present.

  Smelkov didn’t look like an admiral. A harried bank clerk, maybe. Or possibly a university professor during exam week. His uniform coat was off, and he sat at his desk, surrounded by computer printouts. Two voices spoke quickly offscreen.

  They had gathered to hear Smelkov answer the big question: Where to push? Smelkov was not only a naval constructor, he had helped describe the fleet’s requirement for Severodvinsk, and then supervised her construction.

  Smelkov was pale, with hair so blond that at first glance it seemed white. His thin face added to the first impression of an elderly man, almost frail. Then he spoke, and twenty years disappeared.

  He didn’t waste time. “I will hope my English is acceptable. The answer to your first question is no. Not only is it too close to the escape chamber, but the sail’s structure was never designed to withstand that much side force. It would most likely rip clear of the hull.

  “So, if you must push on the hull itself, I say here.” He typed for a moment, and the image changed to show a cross-section of Severodvinsk. A heavy black line just inside the outer hull showed the pressure hull, divided into compartments by similar lines.

  A circle marked a spot on the lower hull, just aft of the sail. “This is in the center of the third compartment. You must set your depth so you are below the hull’s centerline. It will overhang your bow. When you push, also blow your forwardmost tanks to lift as well. Is this clear?”

  “Yes,” Rudel answered simply. “Have you calculated how much force we will need?”

  Smelkov shook his head. “There is no way to know. Mr. Lindstrom’s first figures were very reasonable, and his preparations very thorough. It should have worked. The only conclusion I can make is that Severodvinsk’s lower hull has been caught on the uneven surface she lies on.”

  “Snagged on the rocks,” Rudel suggested.

  “Yes,” Smelkov answered.

  “That is our theory as well,” Lindstrom added.

  “When you first start to push, the outer hull will give way. This is acceptable. It may even form a ‘pocket,’ or recess that will prevent your bow from sliding to the left or right.”

  “When will Severodvinsk’s pressure hull give way?”

  Smelkov threw up his hands. “I estimate near two-thirds of your full power, Captain Rudel. The hull is designed to resist the steady pressure of the sea and sudden shocks from torpedoes and depth bombs. This will be localized, like a depth-bomb attack, but longer, and harder. The hull will deform before it fails.”

  “Which Petrov and his men won’t be able to see, because he will be in the escape chamber,” Rudel concluded.

  “Given Petrov’s situation, the additional danger is irrelevant,” Borisov added. “No, Captain, before Petrov would start moving his men into the
escape chamber again, he said he was not climbing out, no matter what happened.

  “Also, I have a message from Olga Sadilenko. Do you know her?” Rudel nodded and Borisov read from a sheet of paper. “She says they are praying for the crews of both submarines, and that you and your men are very brave, as brave as her son’s crew. I will add my own prayers to hers.”

  “Thank you, Admiral, and thank Mrs. Sadilenko for us.”

  “Good luck to us all.”

  Severodvinsk

  It had taken almost two hours to move the men. Everyone was weak. Some refused to make the climb and had to be bullied, almost dragged to the ladder. As desperate as they were for light, warmth, life itself, they dreaded the thought of climbing into the escape chamber.

  This time, he’d sent Lyachin up right away to supervise the loading inside the cylindrical capsule. Kalinin remained at the base of the ladder, cajoling and hectoring the men into climbing faster, or even climbing at all.

  Finally, the injured had been moved, the logbooks and classified material stowed, and Petrov reported to the surface. “Comrade Admiral, Severodvinsk is ready.”

  “Very good, Captain. What is your CO, level?”

  “Fonarin just took a new reading. It’s three point seven percent.”

  Borisov didn’t reply immediately, and Petrov added, “We’re still breathing, Admiral.”

  “Good. They are getting ready to fit the wooden framework over Seawolf’s bow. Then they will get under way and submerge. It should be no more than half an hour.”

  “I would prefer to remain in contact until the Americans are ready. Is that acceptable?”

  “As long as you can get into the escape chamber in good order, that will be fine.”

  “Yes, sir. We will stand by for your call.”

  Petrov hung up the microphone and sat down wearily. It took all his concentration to manage a simple conversation. The constant headache made thought almost impossible. Still, he had to keep thinking.

  Only four officers were left in the central post: Petrov, Kalinin, Fonarin, and Mitrov. There was nothing left to do.