Arctic Firepath (Sean Quinlan Book 2)

by Dominic Conlon

  The decision made, Khostov plotted a course and turned the wheel on the compass bearing.

  Captain Grigori woke up with a start from a deep sleep. He dreamt he was in a formal ceremony and the President of Russia was about to pin the Order of Honour to his uniform. At the moment the medal was fastened, cannons sounded a 21-gun salute.

  'Captain.' The knocking on the door grew louder. 'Captain!'

  'Yes! Stop that row!'

  The Steward entered. 'I was told to request your presence on the bridge.'

  'What’s the problem?'

  'The lookout has spotted something on the horizon.'

  'Right. Give me 5 minutes.' The Captain did not normally want to be called every time they came across a ship. But after reading the confidential directive from Vice-Admiral Kostya Duboff, Grigori left special instructions to inform him whenever they sighted a vessel. Nothing would come between him and the objective outlined in his orders.

  He dressed quickly. Even though the bridge wasn’t far, he pulled a parka on. A recent polar depression heralded a new weather front from the north. He entered the bridge in a blast of cold air. 'What have you got?'

  'We are too far away to get a good view, Captain.'

  'Radar?'

  The helmsman shook his head. 'Just a blip on the screen, Captain.'

  Grigori motioned towards the binoculars. 'Give them to me.'

  He screwed them into his eyes, twisting the knob to adjust the focus. After a minute he left the bridge to observe the object from the lookout's position. He stayed a while, then strode back.

  'Any change?'

  'It's a puzzle, Captain. I find it hard to comprehend how anything so small could travel so far north.'

  'Hm. I think I’m beginning to understand,' murmured Grigori.

  The man observed the Captain expectantly.

  'Come 12 degrees to port. Increase speed to 16 knots.'

  The man coughed. 'Captain, the Chief Engineer ...'

  'I know what the Chief Engineer said,' snapped Grigori. 'But I am the Captain, and I make the decisions.' He glared at the helmsman. 'Is that clear?'

  'Yes Captain.'

  Grigori went out to the lookout's post. At this latitude it would not get any lighter. He raised the binoculars again, refocused the lens.

  'I knew it,' he muttered to himself. 'It's a damn sub!' He returned to the bridge and picked up the intercom.

  'Radio operator. Contact Arctic fleet command. Ask them if we are expecting any of our subs in the area. I need an answer fast - a simple yes or no will do.'

  'Yes Captain!'

  The captain continued to inspect the object of his curiosity. A minute later, the intercom buzzed. He listened for a moment and replaced the mike in its cradle.

  'Increase speed to 18 knots!'

  There was a stunned silence on the bridge.

  'Did anyone hear my order?'

  'Er, sir. Yes sir,' the helmsman responded at last.

  Grigori understood what he was thinking. Given the state of the reactor, the Chief Engineer had issued a strong warning not to exceed 14 knots. Grigori calculated the situation demanded immediate action. They might have to stop later to repair the corrosion damage, or even shut down the reactor and start up the second.

  Either way, he needed to get close straightaway.

  Captain Gerry White clapped his gloved hands together to improve the circulation. A chill wind blew around his position atop the conning tower, but it didn't stop the crew on the ice from enjoying themselves. A group were building a snowman using Brussels sprouts for the eyes and a carrot for the nose, while another party had an energetic snowball fight. Two men at the perimeter patrolled with rifles, providing protection against the odd stray polar bear.

  The intercom buzzed, and he picked up the handset.

  'Captain, we spotted a Russian icebreaker heading our way. We were told to look out for one in the area. Do you want us to hail him?'

  'Distance and direction?'

  'Sorry skipper. Distance is just over 5 km. Direction is south-south east.'

  Captain White glanced towards the compass point and lifted his binoculars. Bow-on, the ship almost filled the field of view. The hull was painted a deep rust-like red. The vessel had a rhythmic up and down movement as it bullied a path through the icepack.

  'No need to Matthew, we'll be able to wave to him in a few minutes. Better warn the crew to keep closer to our boat, in case the ice begins to crack.'

  'Yes Captain.'

  Grigori handed the binoculars to the lookout. 'Tell me what you see.'

  'A conning tower, Captain. It's broken through the ice!'

  'Confirm the designation on the side.'

  'Ah, wait a minute Captain. SSN-812.'

  'Thank you. Please make a note in the log.' Grigori turned and walked back into the bridge. He picked up the mike. 'Engine room, I want maximum engine speed.'

  The helmsman stared at the Captain as though he had left his senses. Seconds later the intercom buzzed.

  It was the Chief Engineer. 'Captain, I cannot permit this. I told you not to exceed 14 knots!'

  'I know, Pytor. I need full speed immediately, whatever the outcome.'

  'Grigori, if you do this you will damage the reactor. I cannot be held responsible.'

  'I won’t hold you liable Pytor. You may record your objections in the log. But I must have full power!' Grigori waited for a response.

  After a long moment, the Chief Engineer replied. 'Very well, but I will be making a report.'

  'Do that later - give me the power now.'

  Within seconds, the engine beat increased and LK-80 surged forward into the ice.

  'Helmsman, another two degrees starboard.'

  The Helmsman scrutinised his Captain, weary about speaking out again. Glancing through the bridge window, alarm overcame the need for obedience. 'Sir, may I respectfully suggest we choose another bearing. This course takes us directly to the submarine.'

  'Helmsman, I warned you once. If you persist I will put you on a charge and have you replaced.'

  The Helmsman's face was white with raw emotion. 'Sir! We are heading straight for an American submarine! You are putting their lives - and our crew's - into danger!'

  Grigori's voice took on the quality of steel. 'Steer another two degrees to starboard.'

  For a second there was silence in the room.

  The Helmsman turned back to the wheel. 'Two degrees to starboard. Yes sir!'

  By now the snowball fights had stopped and the crew of the USS Montana stood, all eyes on the ice-breaker smashing its way straight for them. Still about two kilometres away, Captain White could make out details of its superstructure without needing binoculars.

  The XO took up a position next to the Captain. 'Sir, I don't think he's going to stop,' he said tentatively.

  'You're right, he should have altered course by now. Get the COB to order all the men to return immediately. Prepare for an emergency dive!'

  'Yes sir!'

  The Captain picked up the intercom. 'Sparks, signal the icebreaker. He is making for us. Tell them to change course. Comms, get someone up here to fire off flares. XO?'

  'Yes sir.'

  'Go below and make preparations for an emergency dive. As soon as the last man is on board, I want this sub to disappear under the ice. Go!'

  The Chief of the Boat used the loudhailer to order the men back to the sub. Captain White watched anxiously as the group began to return. The COB hectored them and the walk turned into a sprint. Sailors started to climb the ladder to the deck.

  The Captain glanced at the icebreaker. In that short space of time the distance had closed to just a kilometre. The ship appeared enormous.

  The intercom buzzed. 'Sir, we've started to reduce buoyancy, but we think the boat's stuck. We'll need some men to clear the ice around the sail.'

  'Right XO. I'll see to it.'

  The Captain stopped the line of men waiting to descend through the conning tower hatch.

>   'I want all of you to form a party and free the ice. Grab pickaxes and shovels.' The Captain saw hesitation in their faces. 'Immediately!'

  That last urgent command galvanised the men. They all knew the drill, and the men attacked the ice. A red flare ascended into the sky, burning brightly as it floated down on its parachute. Another one went off, and then another. Captain White peered anxiously at the icebreaker. The vessel was so close he could hear the loud hum of its engines.

  To wait any longer would put the working party in danger. But to recall them without freeing the ice might mean the sub wouldn’t escape in time. He shouted through the loudhailer. 'Everyone on board. Leave your tools - get back now!'

  The men needed no encouragement, and began clambering up the ladder. The last sailor disappeared down the hatch and the Captain followed. He couldn’t help one final backward glance. Now only 200 metres away, the ship continued to bear down on them.

  ‘Emergency dive!’

  'Sir, the ice is still snagging the conning tower.'

  The Captain turned to face his XO. 'The ballast tanks are filling, Thomas. There's nothing more we can do.' When they had first broken through, the sail pushed the ice apart. The same ice had refrozen around the conning tower, jammed between the unbroken ice pack and the steel hull.

  There was a loud bang and for a split second the Captain thought the icebreaker had crashed into them. The sub lurched downward, and he gave a sigh of relief. The sound was the boat freeing itself from the clutches of the ice-pack. They were going to be clear.

  The sub slowly descended below the ice. But LK-80's keel extended six metres below the surface. The hardened steel of the bow smashed into the conning tower. The submarine shunted sideways as the icebreaker rode up over it, thrusting it towards the sea bed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  'All crew, this is your Captain.' Captain Gerry White covered the microphone and watched as his XO helped the Admin officer to his feet. 'XO, get a party together to tackle that!' Water cascaded down the sail into the control centre.

  The Captain eased his shoulder. He had fallen against a console, and the pain in his back was excruciating. He uncovered the microphone. 'We are descending fast. You must contain the flooding and see to the wounded and injured later.' He snapped off the switch. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he beckoned to his Executive Officer.

  'How's it looking XO?'

  'We've three reports of major flooding. We're at..' Thomas craned his neck to readout the depth from his console. 'Ninety five metres, still descending.'

  'OK. Anything we can do to stop or slow our descent?'

  The XO shook his head. 'Everyone's working flat out.'

  'What about restarting the reactor?'

  'It's too early to say. We have a problem in the main ballast tanks. The Damage Control Assistant has a team looking into it - pressurised air is escaping faster than we can pump it in.'

  Captain White considered the options. Whichever way he looked at it, there were no easy solutions. 'Have you got any good news at all?'

  The XO paused to assess the various reports coming in before making his reply. 'I'm sorry sir, nothing yet.'

  'Well,' Captain White appeared grim. 'At least we are still alive Thomas. We must do our utmost to save this boat and the lives of the crew!'

  'Yes sir. Passing 150 metres skipper!'

  The Captain compressed his lips. They were on their way to the bottom.

  'Grigori!' The Chief Engineer's shout could be heard above the beat of the engines and the groaning ice.

  'Captain, we have to stop!' He was screaming. 'We're losing coolant, and the reactor temperature is rising!'

  Captain Grigori continued to stare, eyes glazed, as if he had not understood a word. The engineer approached and shook Grigori, trying to rouse him from his stupor. When the Captain did not respond, Pytor sprinted to the controls and rang for 'Dead Stop'.

  Within seconds the engine slowed and eventually stopped. In the silence, the Captain stared strangely at his engineer.

  Pytor picked up the phone and issued a string of orders to the engine room, attempting to prevent the reactor from over-heating. When he finished he saw the Captain leaving the bridge. He hurried after him, unsure where he was heading. Pytor felt compelled to follow, afraid that the Captain was bent on more damage and destruction.

  Grigori clattered down the companionway to his office on Bridge Deck 3, leaving the door open for the engineer. He headed straight for the Vodka bottle on the shelf above his bed.

  'Captain, I am going to report the accident.'

  Grigori sat quietly, shaking his head. 'No Pytor, you will not.'

  'But there must be over a hundred people on that submarine. Whatever possessed you to try and sink it?'

  Grigori refused to answer.

  Pytor made to go. 'It’s my responsibility to make a report, regardless of your orders.'

  'You may not.'

  'Captain, after you I'm answerable to commanders of the Northern Fleet. I know my duty.'

  Immediately Grigori shot up and quickly intercepted him before he reached the door. Pytor moved to one side to step past, but Grigori prevented him by grasping the Chief Engineer’s lapel. 'Wait.' Grigori’s intense glare halted Pytor.

  He ordered Pytor to sit. In the bottom drawer of the bedside table, Grigori found two tumblers and began to pour out a good measure of vodka into each. 'Come on, sit!' he growled over his shoulder.

  Reluctantly Pytor sat and accepted the proffered tumbler.

  'To our families.' Grigori raised his glass.

  Surprised by the toast, Pytor echoed the words and sipped the liquor.

  Captain Grigori Burak swallowed a mouthful of the vodka. 'Three weeks ago two Tupolev TU-160 bombers took off from Engels Air Base in southern Russia. They turned north and flew on a straight course for nearly ten hours.' He mimed the flight with his hands. 'Eventually their route carried them towards the Beaufort Sea where they were met by two Canadian interceptors. Usually the pilots would then turn their aircraft around and head back to their bases.'

  Grigori splashed an extra slug into both glasses. 'You are probably wondering how I know all this - an icebreaker Captain.' He gulped another mouthful.

  'So' he continued. 'The Tupolevs turned for home.' He waited while Pytor drank. 'So far, so good. Everything as normal.'

  Grigori wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 'But something occurred after that.' Pytor was afraid to interrupt, in case Grigori stopped altogether. 'Don't ask me what, I don't know. I suppose they received orders. Whatever occurred, they made for the Alaskan coast. They must have been flying for several hours. I later found out there was a storm in the area.' The Captain gazed at the glasses on the table without seeing them.

  Pytor waited for Grigori to continue, but when he didn't, he had to ask the question. 'What happened?'

  Grigori let out a big sigh. 'They made a simple navigation mistake and approached too close to the coast. Maybe the storm had something to do with it. Anyway, American fighter jets scrambled and forced them to land.'

  Pytor leaned backwards, his mind a whirl of questions. 'What has this got to do with you ramming an American submarine?'

  Grigori gulped down another slug. 'The crews are still in American custody. None of this was reported in the news. Perhaps the politicians were negotiating with the Americans about some trade deal, or spy-swap.' Grigori almost spat out the words. 'Just because of a small navigation error, they are incarcerated in an American jail.'

  Pytor was appalled. 'Even so Grigori, that should not be a reason for you to send men to their deaths!'

  Grigori regarded his Chief Engineer, emphasising every word of the sentence. 'One of the co-pilots is my son.'

  Captain White grasped the mike with difficulty, massaging his shoulder to ease the pain. 'We are at rest on the sea bottom.' He checked the console. 'Though some of you might argue with the word “rest”.' Even through the noise of the work parties, he thought he detected laugh
ter. In fact the word 'crash' would have been a better description as the submarine shook from end to end when the nose impacted on the sea bed.