BLACK COBRA (Aaron Quinn thriller series, No. 2)
Page 10
Uri guessed Aaron to be about eighteen. “Captain Pankov’s daughter will be happy to know she won’t be the only person under twenty at the welcome party tonight,” he said.
Jason had heard about the party, but he hadn't planned on having Aaron hanging around while he and his fellow conspirators conducted business. Uri obviously wasn't concerned, though, so he let it go.
“I wasn’t aware that Pankov had a daughter,” he said.
"He does indeed,” Uri said. “She’s his only child, and with her father’s Russian good looks and a beautiful Korean mother, Ekatarina Vtorakevna Pankova isn’t a woman you’ll easily forget.”
Jason and Aaron tried to picture her ethnic blend but couldn't.
Aaron was stoked to be invited to the welcome party. He had no idea who Captain Pankov was, but he would definitely check out the man’s daughter. He liked the way the name Ekatarina rolled off his tongue.
“Are the Pankovs here yet?” Jason asked.
“I believe Ekatarina arrived yesterday,” Uri said. “However, Captain Pankov had last minute business to attend to back in Russia, and he’s due in later tonight. Fagan should be here around 7:00.”
Jason was curious to see Ekatarina’s beautiful Korean mother. “And Pankov’s wife?”
“Mrs. Pankov succumbed to breast cancer four years ago,” Uri said.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said.
Uri knew that Pankov had never fully recovered from the loss of his wife, and that it was one of the reasons the old Captain was losing his mind; but he didn’t mention it.
“Perhaps while we’re waiting we could explore this beautiful, once top-secret combat submarine?” he said, indicating the b-39.
Jason checked his watch. 4:05 p.m. “You’ll have to pardon me, Captain,” he said, “but I have another appointment. Perhaps Aaron would appreciate a tour.”
Uri looked at Aaron expectantly.
“I’d love it,” Aaron said. He had never seen the inside a real submarine before.
“I’ll be back in time for the party,” Jason said and excused himself.
Chapter 34
“We’ll begin topside and then go below,” Uri said, “working our way from bow to stern.”
“Sounds good,” Aaron said.
“It takes years of specialized training to understand the operations of an attack sub,” Uri said, “but I’ll try and whittle it down. Let me know if I go too fast, as I wouldn’t want you to get lost during the party.”
Aaron laughed. “That would not be good,” he said. He was serious about meeting Ekatarina.
Uri gestured toward a heavy, flat-steel hoop about 3 feet in diameter mounted vertically on the dock near the gangway. “Do you see that big ring mounted there?” he said.
Aaron nodded.
“That’s a mock-up of one of b-39's watertight hatches, or bulkhead doors. The maritime museum installed it so visitors can see if they can fit through Cobra’s real hatches. They don’t want anyone getting stuck inside their submarine.”
“I hate when that happens,” Aaron said, grinning.
He turned to give the mock-up a try. He had to stoop very low, but he managed to step through easily.
“Try doing that in a hurry with eighty other men in flooded conditions while under attack,” Uri said.
“I can’t even imagine,” Aaron said. Then he followed Uri up a ramp onto Cobra’s main deck.
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“What you see when you look at a submarine is just a skin, or shell, which floods with seawater when submerged,” Uri explained. “The skin gives the sub its streamlined shape and helps protect the vital inner hull, or pressure hull, from damage. Like a space capsule, the pressure hull is the main component of the crew’s life support system, and if it is breached, or punctured, things can go bad in a hurry.”
Aaron looked around at Cobra’s heavy, steel-plated skin, painted a dull black.
“Within the pressure hull there are a total of seven compartments,” Uri went on, “lined up end to end, with one long, narrow corridor running through them — just like you would see on a passenger train. Compartment One is up in the bow, followed by Compartments Two, Three, and Four, and so on down the line, ending with Compartment Seven in the stern.”
“That’s a lot of compartments,” Aaron said.
“Yes, and many of the main compartments house smaller compartments,” Uri said. “It may sound confusing, but actually the layout is very simple: Compartment One is the Forward Torpedo Room, Cobra’s primary weapon array, and the main reason for an attack sub like her to exist. Compartment Two contains the Captain's Cabin, the Sonar Room, other Officer’s Quarters, and the Officer’s Ward Room. Compartment Three houses the Control Center, otherwise known as the Control Room — the heart and brain of the sub. Compartment Four houses Midshipmen’s Quarters and the galley. Compartments Five and Six are the Engine Room, and the Electric Motor Room, respectively. And finally, Compartment Seven, in the stern, contains the Aft Torpedo Room.”
“Where are the hatches that trap tourists?” Aaron asked.
“Four of these seven compartments are considered vital,” Uri explained, “and they are secured by watertight hatches which can be sealed off from the rest of the submarine in the event the main pressure hull is compromised. The first vital space is Compartment Two, with watertight hatches at each end — one leading to Compartment One and the other leading to Compartment Three.”
Aaron counted two hatches on his fingers.
“Compartments Four, Five, and Six, are also considered vital, and similar to Compartment Two, they actually grouped into a single module with watertight hatches at each end.”
“One leading to Compartment Three and one to Compartment Seven," Aaron said, picturing it easily now.
"Correct," Uri said. “The crew could move from one end of the sub to the other along the main corridor using just those four hatches.”
“Let me see if I've got this straight," Aaron said. "If the pressure hull fails, the corridor running through the seven compartments can be cordoned off as needed using four watertight hatches, as a last defense against the incoming seawater.”
“Precisely,” Uri said. “But there are more hatches here on deck. For instance the hatch toward the bow, used to load torpedoes into the Forward Torpedo Room with a crane from above, and the escape hatch above Compartment Seven, the Aft Torpedo Room, toward the stern. The fin hatch, here amidships, provides access to the ladder leading to the Control Room in Compartment Three. Think of it as Cobra’s main entrance. I’ll point it out later. Are you ready to go below?”
“Ready,” Aaron said.
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They walked past Cobra’s large, black fin and continued on toward the bow, stopping at a steep, narrow set of steel stairs leading down into the sub’s dark interior.
“These bow stairs were cut through what used to be the torpedo loading hatch I mentioned earlier,” Uri said.
“Above the Forward Torpedo Room,” Aaron said.
“Yes, Compartment One,” Uri agreed. “We submariners didn’t have the luxury of these stairs. We entered the boat through the fin hatch using the ladder to the Control Room. These and most of the handrails and ramps you see on deck were installed by the maritime museum for the benefit of the public. But since they’re here, why not use them. Follow me.”
Aaron and Uri descended the tourist stairs into the Forward Torpedo Room.
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“Foxtrots were armed with high explosive torpedoes with a range of ten miles,” Uri said. “The weapons could be fired from six forward, or four aft 533 millimeter or 21-inch torpedo tubes. You’re looking at the six forward tubes.”
Aaron could not believe the amount of equipment crammed into such a tight space.
He saw what reminded him of a World War I gas mask hanging from a hook. "Is that for if the air in here goes bad?” he asked, pointing at the odd looking device.
“You’re close,” Uri said. “It’s actually a Submerged Es
cape Apparatus. In other words, a lung, for breathing underwater during an escape.” He took it off the hook and handed it to Aaron.
Aaron turned the contraption over in his hands. It consisted of a rubber lung, a steel bottle, a mouthpiece, and goggles. “How does it work?” he asked.
“It combines a CO2 scrubber with supplemental oxygen to hopefully provide enough breathable air for an escapee to make it to the surface.” Uri said. “The museum hung it here, along with other memorabilia, to add realism. That one’s pretty old, though. The scrubbing canister’s probably shot, and I doubt there’s much oxygen left in the bottle. I never had to use one, thank God.”
Aaron hung the lung back on its hook.
“A submarine torpedo tube is like a large naval gun,” Uri said. “It’s basically a barrel with a breech and muzzle. However, a torpedo tube uses compressed air rather than an explosive for the purpose of firing, and the tube's projectile is self-propelling, the tube supplying only the initial boost for the torpedo.”
He indicated one of the heavy torpedo racks. “When fully armed, Cobra carried twenty-two torpedoes. These are two of them.”
Aaron stepped over to take a closer look at the huge, colorful bombs, both over 20-feet long. One of the weapons was painted fire-engine red, with white stripes. It was shaped like a cigar, like the torpedoes he had seen in pictures.
The second torpedo, however, looked quite different: it was painted forest green and was at least two feet longer than the other. It was tipped with an articulating nosecone made of brightly polished metal, and looked much sleeker, faster, and deadlier than its counterpart.
“These torpedoes have been disarmed of course,” Uri said. “Would you like to see how they’re loaded?”
“Sure,” Aaron said. He had always wondered how that was done.
“The gantry crane is used to move the rack and align a specific torpedo with the tube,” Uri said. “Then the pulley system pulls the weapon in.”
He craned the rack over and loaded the red and white torpedo into tube 5. “Did you get how that was done?” he said.
“I think so,” Aaron said.
Uri withdrew the bomb and settled it back onto the rack. “Go ahead, try loading the green torpedo into tube five.”
Aaron followed Uri’s instructions and loaded the weapon, and then he reached up to close the tube’s inner hatch cover.
“You can leave the hatch cover open,” Uri said. “I’ll secure everything later. Let’s move on to Compartment Two.”
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Compartment Two was accessed through the first of the four watertight hatches along the main corridor. Uri led the way and Aaron ducked in behind him. The corridor was very tight, leaving barely enough room for two men to squeeze past each other.
"Daily life was on a three-shift schedule,” Uri said. “On duty, maintenance, sleep. The first door on your right is the Captain’s Cabin, followed by the Sonar Room and a four-berth Officer’s Cabin. Only we officers had our own bunks. Enlisted men hot bunked.”
"What's hot bunked?” Aaron said.
"Fifty four crewmen sharing 27 bunks located in the Electric Motor Room and the Aft Torpedo Room,” Uri said.
Aaron peeked into the various cabins, each with its own thin wood door. He was amazed by how small they all were — he’d been spoiled by the generous accommodations on the Cayman Jewel.
Uri pointed out a tiny conference room with enough space for about six officers tightly packed. “The last room, here in Compartment Two, is the Officer’s Ward Room,” he said. “A Zampolit, or Soviet Political Officer, was assigned to every submarine. He also quartered here in Compartment Two, near the Commander, and near to any meetings held here. Usually a Captain Third Rank, his sole task was enforcing adherence to Communist Party doctrine.”
They continued on, passing through the second watertight hatch and into Compartment Three.
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“This is the Control Center,” Uri said. “The nerve center of the submarine.”
He pointed to a ladder a short distance away. “That’s the main ladder leading up to the fin hatch, the hatch to the bridge. It also leads to the periscope viewing compartment. The periscope was normally not accessible from here in the Control Room, but for safety reasons the conning tower is not open to tourists, so the attack periscope’s well was cut away to permit access at this level.”
Uri had taken that into consideration when calculating the team’s minimum manpower requirements.
Aaron looked up the ladder into the fin longingly.
“There in the corner is one of only two heads on board,” Uri said, pointing to a small open door in the corner of the Control Room. “Two toilets and one shower served 80 or so officers and enlisted men for up to three months at sea. Lingering in the head was considered a crime against humanity, and the men often used the ship’s flooded areas as convenient latrines.”
“Wow,” Aaron said, and then he followed Uri through the third watertight hatch into Compartment Four.
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Uri showed Aaron the Radio Room and the Midshipmen’s Cabin. Next came the pantry and the tiny galley, a space barely large enough for two short cooks to stand. To Aaron the galley looked like an afterthought, which seemed weird, considering the importance of food.
“The chef and his assistants prepared four meals a day here,” Uri said. “Menus were chosen by the Supply Officer and the Chef a week in advance and approved by the Captain. The Captain and Supply Officer also tasted all meals served at dinner and supper to ensure they met the required standard. Officers down through seamen ate the same menu. Chefs were highly prized by submarine captains, because good food meant a happy crew, and Russian submariners enjoyed the best food in the Soviet Navy.
“A typical day would have been breakfast at 7:00, consisting of coffee, bread, cheese, eggs, sausage or bacon. Dinner, midday, was soup or borscht, meat with rice or noodles, or goulash, salad or vegetables. Dinner also included a half a glass of white wine, but they would have much preferred the officially banned vodka that the officers enjoyed. Supper came at around 6:00, with soup, meat with rice or noodles, a soft drink or juice, a chocolate bar, salted fish, tea, caviar, and fruit. Tea followed at 10:00, with cookies or pancakes or piroschki.”
“Piroschki?” Aaron said.
“It’s a type of pie,” Uri said. “Rations for three months were loaded on the boat at the beginning of a patrol, with all available space used for food storage. Officers dined in the Ward Room and the seamen on fold out tables in various corners of the boat. Food scraps were disposed of through a small tube in the galley which fired the refuse into the sea just like a torpedo.”
Aaron pictured schools of fish hanging out by the discharge tube, like underwater seagulls waiting for scraps.
They descended the small set of stairs leading to Compartment Five, the Machinery Control and Engine Rooms.
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“Cobra has three Kolomna 2D24M Turbo Diesel Engines that produce 2,000 horsepower each,” Uri explained, “driving the submarine at up to 8 knots with a maximum range of 20,000 nautical miles. The diesels charge batteries that drive the electric motors in Compartment Six, and the boat can run on either — similar to how a hybrid automobile like the Prius operates. It is essentially the same thing — very quiet when running on battery power.”
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They checked out Compartment Six, the Electric Motor Room, and then ducked through the last watertight hatch into Compartment Seven, the Aft Torpedo Room.
Uri wrapped up the tour by showing Aaron the four aft torpedo tubes and pointing out a few of the crew’s tiny shared berths.
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“That was fascinating,” Aaron said. “It must be quite an adventure going underwater in one of these.”
“Trust me, it is,” Uri said. “Perhaps you’ll get a chance to dive in one yourself someday.”
“That would be amazing,” Aaron said, thinking, Like that’ll ever happen. Only VIPs get those opportunities.
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Uri pointed to a second set of tourist stairs leading out through the overhead bulkhead. “Those stairs lead up to the deck,” he said. “Why don’t you head out and take a look around the waterfront. San Diego’s really very beautiful.”
“I’ll do that,” Aaron said, and he meant it. This was his first and probably last time in San Diego, and he planned to take advantage of it.
They shook hands and Aaron started up the stairs.
“Don’t forget about the welcome party,” Uri said after him.
“Oh, I won’t,” Aaron said over his shoulder. He was still counting on meeting Ekatarina.
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When Aaron emerged from the aft stairway, he was surprised to see that a construction crew had arrived and were busily erecting a large, white-plastic tent, no doubt intending to cover the submarine entirely. Must have to do with Jason’s restoration work, he thought, as he made his way through the debris.
As he stepped off Cobra’s gangway onto the dock, Aaron noticed a sign promoting the Maritime Museum of San Diego gift shop, and since it was located right next door, he decided to check it out.
Chapter 35
The museum gift shop was stocked with books on sailing, local history, and folklore, along with nautically themed gifts, and beautifully framed photos of famous sailing ships and explorers.
Aaron couldn’t help but notice the cute brunette, about eighteen or nineteen, working behind the counter. She wore a baby-blue MMSD T-shirt, white yachting shorts, and a narrow belt that matched her top. When she reached for an item on a high shelf, the T-shirt tugged at her firm breasts, and Aaron found it impossible not to stare.
He stopped and pretended to look at some items in a glass case across the room from her.
“So, what brings you to the Maritime Museum?” the young woman asked, surprising him.
“Oh — hi,” he stammered, looking up. “I-I’m just here to see the Russian submarine.”