Cold Choices jm-2

by Larry Bond

  “One collision put us here, another will save us.”

  “ Will, comrade Captain?”

  “I believe in having a positive attitude, comrade Starpom.” He smiled. “Besides, the surface holds its own hazards. The fresh air may finish me off.”

  Fonarin chimed in. “I’m willing to risk it, sir.”

  “You’re a brave man, Igor Mikhailovich.” Kalinin grinned. “Such sacrifice.”

  “And I’ll risk the real food,” Mitrov said.

  “And warmth,” Kalinin added.

  “As long as they have enough painkillers for our headaches,” Petrov commented, and they all agreed.

  “What will you do after we get home, sir?”

  “Fill out a great many forms, I fear.” They laughed for a moment at his joke, but it was dark humor. “There must be a lot of paperwork involved with the loss of a submarine — and people.”

  “It wasn’t entirely your fault, sir,” Kalinin said.

  “Whether or not I was completely or partially at fault is irrelevant, Vasiliy, the safety of this ship and crew is ultimately my responsibility, and mine alone. In any case, there’s a shortage of boats in the fleet. I doubt if I’ll get another command right away.” Petrov saw their expressions, and smiled. “Do not worry, shipmates, I now have a new standard for what to call a ‘bad day.’”

  They ran through the checklist again, slowly, just to burn up time, and then speculated about what Admiral Borisov would say in his welcome-aboard speech. He was, after all, an admiral, so there would have to be a speech.

  Rudel’s voice jolted them out of the desultory conversation. As Petrov grabbed the microphone, the American reported, “Seawolf to Severodvinsk, we are ready.”

  “Seawolf, this is Petrov. Nobody’s ever ready for this. For the record, I still think you’re insane.”

  “It will take us about ten minutes to get in position. How long do you need to board the escape chamber?”

  “Give us five minutes, starting now, my friend, then give it your best. Severodvinsk out.”

  USS Seawolf

  Rudel had sounded General Quarters as soon as they’d left Halsfjord. Palmer had Maxine in the water a few minutes later heading for her preprogrammed observation point. The instant she was clear, Jerry said, “Recommend course three two seven to the initial point at ten knots, time to initial point four and one half minutes.”

  “I’m going to keep her at five knots, Jerry. No sense stressing the framework,” replied Rudel. For this evolution, the captain had the deck and the conn.

  “Understood, sir.” Jerry watched QM1 Peters update the chart and the log.

  “Chief of the watch, how are the ballast tanks holding?”

  “Better than before, sir,” Chief McCord said cautiously. “One alpha and one bravo were still bleeding a little when we tested them with the low-pressure blower, but I think they will give us enough buoyancy.”

  Rudel ordered, “Save the high-pressure air for the right moment, Chief. I don’t mind being heavy by the bow when we start pushing. Once we’ve started, then keep number-one main ballast tank as full as you can.”

  “Keep it full when we push aye, sir,” McCord responded automatically.

  Jerry updated their position. “Five minutes to initial point. Recommend keel depth of six hundred and forty feet. Recommend port turn at that time to approach course of two seven four.”

  “Diving officer, make our depth six hundred and forty feet. Jerry, does that approach course allow for the cross-current?”

  “I’ve factored in a two-knot southerly current sir.”

  “Very good.”

  “No vibration at five knots,” Rudel observed. “The Norwegians did a good job.”

  “The pitlog reads four point three knots with turns ordered for five,” Shimko observed. “We may slow down faster than we’d planned.”

  Jerry nodded. “We knew there’d be drag, but not this much. I’ll work on it.” He added, “Peters, time the turn, please.” The QM1 nodded.

  “Torpedo room, conn. Report on Maxine’s status.”

  Palmer’s voice answered immediately. “Conn, torpedo room. In position, in line with both subs. Severodvinsk is one hundred and twenty-three feet in front of her.”

  “Excellent,” Rudel answered. “Start feeding us ranges as soon as we make the turn.”

  “Conn, torpedo room aye.”

  “One minute to turn — mark!” Peters reported. “Recommend slowing to three knots at the time of the turn.” Jerry was still working furiously, calculating Seawolf’s new drag factor.

  Rudel divided his gaze between the displays and the clock. “Stand by. Left standard rudder, steady on course two seven four, speed three knots.”

  The helmsman repeated the order, and as the bow swung over, Palmer’s voice reported, “Conn, torpedo room. Range one thousand twenty yards.” Chief McCord acknowledged his report.

  “Jerry, what’s the drag figure?”

  The navigator didn’t reply immediately, but Peters, watching him work, looked up to the XO and nodded reassuringly. Ten seconds later, Jerry announced, “Recommend stopping engines one hundred and forty yards from Severodvinsk.”

  “That’s pretty close,” Rudel observed, “just over a boat length.”

  “With a smooth bow from three knots, it’s four hundred. We’d figured two fifty, but the drag is greater — much greater than we originally thought.”

  “Then we’ll stop at one forty,” Rudel concluded.

  “Range is eight hundred yards, bearing of Seawolf from Maxine shows slight left drift.”

  “Change your course to two seven six,” Rudel ordered. “Sonar, conn. Watch the bearing to Maxine’s sonar. We need it to be steady.”

  “Conn, sonar, aye. Current bearing is two seven five.”

  “Depth is six hundred forty feet, sir,” reported Hess.

  “Range is six hundred yards,” relayed McCord.

  “Casualty-assistance team, report status of the electronics equipment space,” barked Rudel.

  The IC man on the phones spoke briefly. Jerry’s people were supposed to be standing by next to the electronics room. With all the extra shoring that had been added, there was barely room for a man to stand. The switchboards were wrapped with several layers of plastic, techs stood by with parts and tools at the ready. Additional personnel were staged just inside the crew’s quarters.

  “Seaman Blocker reports they’re ready. Chief Hudson is watching both the packing glands and the reinforcing frames.”

  “Very well,” Rudel acknowledged. Mentally, Jerry crossed his fingers.

  “Four hundred yards.”

  “Sonar, conn. What’s the bearing to Maxine?”

  “Steady at two seven five.”

  Rudel picked up the 1MC. “All hands, this is the Captain. We are about five minutes from contact. Be ready to brace for impact, and after that, be ready for anything.” Then he keyed the intercom. “Torpedo room, conn. Give me a mark at one hundred forty yards.”

  “Conn, torpedo room. Understood. Stand by. Stand by. Mark!”

  “Helm, all stop!” It was the only time Jerry heard Rudel speak in louder than conversational tones. “Chief, watch your air. Save enough for the final blow.”

  “Save enough for the final blow, aye,” McCord responded.

  “Sound the collision alarm!” McCord pulled the lever and SCREE, SCREE, SCREE echoed. In spite of all their careful preparations, Jerry’s chest tightened. His mouth felt like it was filled with sand. Intentionally running into another submarine? This just wasn’t natural.

  They waited, while Jerry counted down the carefully calculated two and a third minutes it would take for Seawolf to drift to a dead stop. In a perfect world, that would leave her modified bow just touching Severodvinsk’s hull.

  Jerry’s nightmare was that he’d overestimated the drag, that Seawolf would drift to a stop short of her goal, hanging in the water helpless to cover the last ten or thirty yards without using the sc
rews. That meant a low-speed collision, but even walking speed times nine thousand-some-odd tons.

  It wasn’t a sound as much as a vibration, a grinding sensation that seemed to push the bow down slightly as they slowed. There was an uneven crackling mixed in — the wooden framework.

  Shimko grinned. “Bow down. That means we’re under her — right where we’re supposed to be.”

  Rudel fired orders. “Status in the electronic equipment space.” Over the intercom, “Torpedo room, conn. Reposition Maxine.” Then he turned to the control room crew. “But we’re not waiting. All ahead dead slow.”

  The talker waited for the helmsman’s echoed reply before reporting, “Electronics equipment space is dry.”

  Rudel grinned. “This is a good start.” He held one palm flat against a metal surface, feeling the boat’s engines as well as her contact with the Russian’s hull. Jerry did the same. As the normal-sounding thrum of the screw increased, the grinding, crunching sensation decreased, the relatively light pressure holding the bow in place, preventing further movement.

  “Helm, all ahead slow. Torpedo room, conn. Is Maxine in position yet?”

  “Conn, torpedo room. She’s moving now, sir. In position in less than a minute.”

  “Understood, Mr. Palmer. You know what we’re looking for.”

  “I’ll report any rotation of the hull.”

  Jerry felt the hull shudder a little as the screw increased its turns from “dead slow” to “slow.” Although it seemed like a small change, at those RPMs the screw had enough power to push nine thousand tons of submarine through the water at three knots.

  Severodvinsk

  There’d been no warning before the gentle crunch of Seawolf “s bow contacting the hull. Strapped in, Petrov pictured wood and metal being compressed, breaking, bending. The wood structure would press against the rubberized coating.

  There. Rudel had added some power, just a little. Petrov was surprised at how clearly he could feel the screw’s effects. That meant a good contact between the two vessels, and an efficient transfer of engine power.

  He looked at the inclinometer. It hadn’t moved, but it was early yet. He was optimistic.

  USS Seawolf

  “Helm, all ahead one-third.”

  Rudel’s voice was firm, firmer than Jerry thought his might be giving that order. Real power was beginning to run through the ship’s structure, and the shuddering sped up into a strong vibration. Jerry imagined the boat on hard rubber wheels, rolling over the rumble strips on a highway

  But it was just a vibration, steadily increasing. The electronic equipment space was still dry. When he heard the report, Shimko said, “We need to buy those Norwegians a drink.”

  “More than one,” Rudel answered. He keyed the intercom again. “Torpedo room, conn. Report.”

  “Conn, torpedo room. We’re in position, sir. The image has a lot of static near our bow. That’s probably air bubbles from main ballast tanks one alpha and one bravo.” Palmer sighed, then added, “Severodvinsk has not moved yet.”

  “We’re not done yet, Mr. Palmer…” Rudel was interrupted by a piercing groan, a sound of metal being stressed. It was loud enough to make conversation impossible, and it went on for several moments.

  Shimko tried to give an order to the phone talker, but couldn’t make himself understood. He was repeating himself when the groan, becoming almost a howl, suddenly stopped.”. report! All compartments report any damage.”

  The phone talker, eyes as wide as everyone else’s, passed the word, and immediately reported, “There’s a seawater leak in the electronic equipment space! Chief Hudson says it’s from a packing gland around number two periscope. They’re handling it.”

  Rudel seemed artificially calm as he acknowledged the report, then spoke to Shimko. “What do you think, XO? Stresses on the hull adjusting themselves?”

  The XO made a face. “Yes, but where? At the bow? Near the mast’s penetrations? Somewhere else? We weren’t designed to push. This may void the warranty.”

  “Casualty-assistance team reports they’re having problems slowing the flow of water.”

  “Very well. Helm, all ahead two-thirds.”

  “What?” Shimko was alarmed. “Skipper, shouldn’t we control the leak first?”

  Rudel shook his head. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it quickly.” The deck shuddered again, and for the first time, there was a small sideways lurch. “Chief, how’s main ballast tank one holding?”

  McCord replied, “I’m bleeding air in slowly to maintain pressure. We can do this for a little longer — maybe four, five minutes.”

  “Level us if you can, Chief. I want our stern no higher than our bow, so we’re pushing up.”

  “Pumping water from forward trim to after trim.”

  Several of the displays in control suddenly went dark. As Rudel and Shimko turned to the phone talker, he reported, “They’re securing power to the electronic equipment space! The leak’s become a spray.” After a pause, he added, “The gravity drains are handling it, so far.”

  The displays went dark again, and stayed that way. Immediately the helmsman reported, “Sir, the rudder has shifted to emergency hydraulic control.”

  Severodvinsk

  Seawolf must be putting some real power into their engines now. Sitting at the top of the sail, Petrov could feel a back-and-forth vibration, as if the American submarine was straining against some great weight. He was encouraged that the motion was side to side, although now he was worried that when they did finally move, they might roll too far, to end up trapped lying on their starboard side.

  To guard against that chance, Petrov kept his hand resting on the red-and-yellow-striped handle that would release the chamber from the sail. It was a simple mechanical release. Normally one wouldn’t rest one’s hand on any control, to prevent it being accidentally triggered. He smiled at the thought of that happening.

  It was hardest on the injured. The vibrations were strong enough to cause them real pain, and Balanov had unstrapped himself and was doing his best to cushion their hurts, and administering more painkillers. Petrov watched him, but didn’t caution the doctor about moving around. He had his work, and besides, what was one more risk?

  Petrov stared at the inclinometer, willing it to change.

  USS Seawolf

  “Skipper, I’m losing pressure in main ballast tank one alpha. It’s almost gone.” Chief McCord added, “The Norwegians’ patch must have given way. The other tank is still all right.”

  “All engines ahead standard.”

  “Electronic equipment space, report.”

  “Chief Hudson says there is a half-inch solid stream from the number two scope’s packing. The backup team is on the scene and they are trying to plug it somehow, but there’s a lot of pressure. Robinson got caught in the stream and got pretty banged up. He’s on his way to sickbay.”

  “Very well. Tell Hudson to just contain the flooding and watch those frames.”

  The phone talker relayed Rudel’s order. The flooding was bad enough. Water would accumulate and weigh down the bow. But they’d told Jerry about Smelkov’s estimate. At two-thirds power, Seawolf would begin to deform Severodvinsk’s pressure hull. But when would Seawolf ‘s start to go?

  Seawolf’s hull was already stressed, and weaker as a result of the collision. If the frames started to bend, there would be no more time, no warning.

  “All ahead full.” The captain’s voice was calm, but he couldn’t hide his anxiety.

  “I’m losing pressure in one bravo,” McCord reported. Rudel nodded acknowledgment. Jerry could see him trying to visualize the two hulls, feeling how they were fitting together. What would make the Russian move?

  The vibration was audible now, and so uneven that the control room crew either strapped themselves in or braced themselves as best they could. The deck shifted from side to side, and occasionally pitched up or down, as if the entire sub was fishtailing as it struggled to shift Severodvinsk’s hull
.

  “All ahead flank. Maneuvering, make maximum turns!” Rudel shouted.

  Rudel’s final engine order started to have an effect. Racing through the water at full power, Jerry remembered how Seawolf’s hull seemed almost alive with energy. Now her struggles grew more violent.

  An upward jolt almost knocked Jerry from his feet, and some of the watch cried out in surprise. Another followed, and another.

  “Control room, torpedo. The sail’s moving!”

  Palmer’s report pulled Rudel over to the intercom. “How much?”

  “Five degrees, maybe more. Those shocks we just felt were the start. Definitely more, approaching eight degrees now.”

  “Captain!” shouted the phone talker. “Chief Hudson reports there are now multiple leaks in the overhead in the electronics equipment space.”

  Severodvinsk

  When the motion came, Petrov only knew it because of the inclinometer. The vibrations were so strong that he had become almost numb. It was impossible to tell whether they moved him to the left or right or backward.

  But his vision had been fixed on the inclinometer, and it had changed. He called out “Thirty degrees!” Then came another shock, hard enough to make some of the uninjured men cry out in alarm, but Petrov called, “Twenty-four degrees!”

  He heard cheers and prayers, and encouragements to the Americans to keep pushing. Petrov kept his eyes fixed on the inclinometer. His left hand squeezed the release handle so hard it hurt.

  USS Seawolf

  A series of sideways jolts made the hull creak, then a sharp downward bump seemed to allow Seawolf to slide forward. Shimko asked nervously, “What are we doing, tunneling under the Russian?”

  “A little scared, XO?”

  “Sir, a wise man said that fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment!”

  Rudel shook his head. His executive officer was a certified loon, for that matter so was the rest of this crew.

  Looking over at the chief of the watch, he shouted, “We have to get her bow up. Fill after trim to the mark and blow a little air into main ballast tank two.” As heavy as the bow was, they had to make the stern heavier. Jerry remembered an old submariner initiation. “Skipper, send the crew aft.”