Cold Choices

by Larry Bond

  “Doctor Patterson?”

  “Yes? Oh, excuse me, Captain. You were saying?”

  “I said that we’ll be setting Condition Two momentarily.”

  “Excellent, Captain. Thank you. Will you please have Ms. Parker and Mr. Adams meet me in the wardroom? We have another press announcement to make.”

  “Certainly. May I ask what you have in mind?” inquired Baker.

  “There is an old proverb that says if you can’t bring Muhammad to the mountain, then you bring the mountain to Muhammad. Well, I intend to try that with the Russians.”

  Baker looked on as she left CIC, more confused by her answer than before.

  Olga Sadilenko’s apartment, Severomorsk, Russia

  * * *

  Olga heard the commotion in the other room before Irina burst in. “They dropped depth bombs on the American submarine!”

  The older woman was puzzled. “But isn’t it near Severodvinsk? The Americans said they were going to guide our ships to the right spot.”

  “Not anymore. It’s all over the Internet that Seawolf was attacked by our Navy’s helicopters. She may have been damaged.”

  Others had crowded into Olga’s bedroom now to hear the conversation. They all nodded as Irina read several articles from the news sites. She saw several women pull out tissues. With the strain they were all under, tears came quickly.

  “So they dropped depth bombs on the American submarine, with our men trapped underneath.” Olga’s expression mixed anger with disbelief.

  “But there’s more news,” Irina announced. I just got an email from Joyce Parker aboard Churchill. It’s a press release. They are going into the exclusion zone, and she says Rear Admiral Vidchenko has agreed to meet with them aboard Petr Velikiy. The Americans have vital information they wish to give our Navy, and they will also deliver that Norwegian to our ships.”

  One of the women behind Irina snorted. “Right. Use a warship to deliver one person. If he’s even on board at all.”

  “He is on board,” another young woman insisted. “The Norwegian company says he is aboard an American destroyer, and they sent him ahead to prepare for their rescue ship.”

  Olga absorbed it all as quickly as Irina could tell her. “And our Navy has said nothing, of course,” she predicted.

  Everyone nodded knowingly.

  Irina answered, “Well, if the Navy will talk to the Americans, then perhaps we should talk to the Americans as well. Do they have that list of our men?”

  “Yes, I sent it to them earlier today.”

  “And our list of questions for Commander Rudel?”

  “Assembled and ready for your final review.”

  “Whatever they say, post their response to our questions on the website as soon as you get them.”

  Northern Fleet Headquarters

  * * *

  The phone call was from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They weren’t in his chain of command, but reminding them of that hadn’t stopped their incessant questioning.

  Vice Admiral Kokurin listened politely, but finally said, “Deputy Minister, I can only accept instructions from the Main Naval Staff. They’re in Moscow, the same as you . . .”

  He paused to listen, but his body language made it clear he didn’t like what he was hearing. “I’m sure the ministry’s expertise will benefit us in this situation, but you have to speak to Admiral Pucharin. His office can answer all your questions, as well.”

  After another pause, he said politely, “I’m not authorized to discuss the rescue operation over an open line.”

  Kokurin listened for a moment, then hung up. His deputy, Vice Admiral Baybarin, had sat patiently, if curiously, while his superior deflected the Foreign Ministry’s questions and suggestions.

  “Boris, this is going to get messier. The deputy minister said the Americans have formally protested the ‘attack’ on their submarine, and at the same time they’re meeting with Vidchenko aboard Petr Velikiy.” He held up his hands, pleading. “Does this make sense to you?”

  Baybarin laughed. “No. There was no attack. Did the Foreign Ministry agree to the meeting?”

  Kokurin shook his head. “No, nobody will admit to it.”

  “They do have Lindstrom,” his deputy pointed out.

  “He could be transferred by helicopter while they stayed outside the exclusion zone. Instead, Churchill will rendezvous with our ships at the collision site, and there will be a meeting—aboard one of our ships!”

  “What does Vidchenko say?”

  Kokurin made a sour face. “I haven’t asked him. He has his orders. He will follow them.”

  Baybarin waited for Kokurin to say something more, but when he didn’t, he asked, “What will you tell him to do about the American destroyer and the meeting?”

  The fleet commander thought for a moment, pacing, then asked, “So you think I should instruct him?”

  “We have information he doesn’t—about the American’s reaction to the depth bombs.”

  “A distraction. I won’t let a rescue operation be influenced by diplomatic maneuvers.”

  Babyarin offered, “They say they have vital information for us.”

  “Whatever they have, AS-34 is there now, and their data is moot. With any luck, we will know all there is to know about Severodvinsk after his first sortie.”

  “So you don’t think Vidchenko should meet with the Americans?”

  Kokurin shrugged. “Only if it suits his purpose, and that’s his decision to make. I’ve given him the only order he’ll get from me: Find and rescue the crew of Severodvinsk.”

  The White House, Washington, DC

  * * *

  The Oval Office was almost bursting, with the Secretaries of State and Defense, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Chief of Naval Operations, the Director of National Intelligence, Vice President Clemson, and Dr. Wright, the National Security Adviser. Most of their staffs had to wait outside.

  Patterson would have been pleased with the attention Seawolf was getting now. The entire National Security Council was present. By rights, they should have met in the secure conference room. Huber had decided to have it in the White House to avoid making it an official NSC meeting, and perhaps because the Oval Office symbolized the authority of the president. That authority had been challenged, at least indirectly.

  “Dr. Wright, please tell everyone in this room about your conversation with Dr. Patterson.” Huber’s tone wasn’t hostile, but it was formal, and very different from the easygoing air he usually affected.

  Trying not to feel defensive, the national security adviser simply stated, “I’ve just been on the secure phone with Joanna Patterson. She issued the press release you’ve all seen to force the Russians’ hand.”

  “Without any communications from them, or us.” That was from the Secretary of State. His tone was hostile.

  “That’s the point, Mr. Secretary. They weren’t communicating at all. Has your department received any response to her messages?”

  “None,” the secretary admitted. “But what if the Russians called her a liar, which would mean calling us all liars?”

  Wright countered, “They’ve already accused us of far worse.”

  The president asked, “But what is her goal? Why is she doing this? The Russians have made it pretty clear they don’t want us up there.”

  “The sooner they start working with us, instead of depth-charging Seawolf, the sooner they’ll get their people back. Our obligation isn’t to the government of the Russian Federation, it’s to the men in that submarine.”

  “Our first obligation is to Seawolf,” injected Admiral Forrester, the senior officer in the Navy. It made sense that he’d think of his boat and the men aboard her.

  “Then we have two goals. And they’re not mutually exclusive.” Wright felt uncomfortable defending Patterson, but he was really defending their role in Severodvinsk’s rescue.

  State was not convinced. “Mr. President, I’m not sure that Dr. Patterson
will be able to make this work. She has no foreign policy experience, and no background in crisis management. The quickest end to this mess is for you to order Seawolf and Churchill out of the area. No more friction with the Russians. We’ll just be abiding by their wishes. Any information we want to send to the Russians can be delivered to their embassy.”

  “That won’t work anymore, Mr. Secretary. We’re involved, and if this turns out badly, people will ask why we didn’t stay and help. Even if the crew is rescued, the Russians will have been rewarded for bullying one of our subs.”

  “She’s cutting us out of the loop,” Huber complained. Everyone in the room nodded in agreement, which to Wright only reinforced the correctness of her actions.

  Wright threw it in their laps. “What do you want to happen? What do you want her to do?”

  “She has to keep us informed, give us a chance to comment on what she proposes to tell or say to the Russians.” That was the secretary of state again, but defense and the DNI both nodded as well. “We’re running our own operations here, and working at cross-purposes could damage more than just our reputation.”

  “This is a fast-moving situation, and waiting for Washington’s ‘guidance’ could have a high cost.” Wright looked to Huber, who slowly nodded his agreement.

  The Chief of Naval Operations seemed more cooperative. “I’m willing to ‘conform to her movements,’ so to speak, but Seawolf is damaged, and the Russians aren’t respecting her, or international law. Depth charging an undamaged boat would be an incident. Doing it to Seawolf verges on the criminal.”

  Huber stood up and paced. Wright knew the president liked to walk while he thought, or maybe he was just tired of sitting. Everyone waited.

  “If Dr. Patterson is successful in opening talks with the Russians, the risk to Seawolf disappears. And the chance of the crew getting off that stricken Russian sub alive goes up.” He looked at the secretary of state. “That’s got to help our international standing.”

  Before anyone could respond, Huber added, “She’s making things happen, and she’s taking all the risks. As long as she keeps us informed—” He gave Wright a hard look. “—she has my authorization to act freely.”

  Petr Velikiy

  * * *

  Kurganov, Vidchenko, and most of Petr’s wardroom had gathered in the central command post. The sonar officer had calculated the range of their underwater telephone as three miles. Racing ahead of Mikhail Rudnitskiy at thirty knots, and having reached that three-mile distance from “Point Severodvinsk,” the formation had slowed to a bare creep.

  While the big cruiser continued to move slowly and silently toward the location provided by Seawolf, her escorts fanned out, spacing themselves in a ten-mile-diameter circle around the site. They didn’t use their active sonars, but they did listen passively. If a submarine was detected, Vidchenko had issued orders to drive it away.

  At five knots, it would take a while to cover the last three miles, but that time didn’t matter. Rudnitskiy was still two hours behind the warships. They had to slow if they wanted to hear the sub.

  The sonar officer spoke into a microphone, sending Severodvinsk’s pendant number over and over. “K-329, this is Hull 099, over.” He paused for a moment, then repeated the call. “K-329, this is Hull 099, respond.”

  After five minutes, and checking the navigational plot for the distance, the sonar officer began again. Between each call, he paused for sixty seconds. In spite of the crowded room, nobody wanted to make the slightest noise. Vidchenko could hear the small cooling fans inside the electronic equipment, the click every time the sonar officer pressed the microphone.

  It took fifteen minutes and 2500 yards before they heard a response. It was Petrov’s voice, clear and recognizable. “This is Severodvinsk, we are glad to hear you.”

  The cheer almost deafened him. They were in a metal-walled compartment, after all. Both admirals glared and the sound stopped instantly, and they heard the end of a sentence: “. . . our families.”

  The sonar officer managed to say, “Please repeat your last,” before Vidchenko took the microphone.

  “This is Rear Admiral Vidchenko. What is your situation? Over.”

  “We are resting on the bottom at a depth of one hundred ninety-seven meters. We have a thirty-four-degree port list and a nine-degree downward pitch. Compartments one, seven, and eight are completely flooded; compartment six is partially flooded. Over.”

  Vidchenko marveled at Petrov’s coolness and the neat summary, even as he digested the information. The forwardmost compartment, which held mostly berthing, was flooded. That meant a hole in the pressure hull forward. That was bad enough.

  Worse was the news aft. There must have been a second hull breach near the stern, or perhaps the stern tube ruptured. Compartment eight held the auxiliary mechanisms, such as rudder and stern plane actuators and the emergency propulsion motor. Compartment six and seven had the main propulsion turbines, electrical generation turbines, and machinery that supported the reactor. With that one sentence, Petrov had marked the end of his first command, and the newest submarine in the Russian Navy.

  A burst of sadness and grief filled him, and the admiral asked, “Casualties?”

  “Sixty-seven survivors, nineteen have serious injuries, but are currently stable.” Petrov paused, then reported, “Eighteen dead, sixteen during the collision, and two shortly after from their injuries.”

  “Understood,” Vidchenko answered. “We’ll get names shortly. Mikhail Rudnitskiy will arrive in just under two hours and will immediately launch AS-34.”

  “They won’t be able to evacuate us, not with compartment eight flooded.”

  “Agreed,” Vidchenko replied. “Based on your report, we’ll have it survey the bottom and then we’ll determine what is needed to bring the boat level. Is your rescue chamber intact?”

  “Yes!” Petrov’s frustration came though clearly. “If we can right the boat we will be able to bring everyone to the surface. Why are you surveying the bottom again? Seawolf has already performed one. Don’t you have it? They gave a copy to me when they sent us the carbon dioxide chemicals and medical supplies. It was very complete.”

  Vidchenko ignored the question. “What about your atmosphere?”

  “Oxygen is at sixteen percent, carbon dioxide at two point five percent. We have forty-four hours of chemicals remaining, thanks to Seawolf. We’d be near death by now if she hadn’t transferred her own emergency CO2 absorption curtains to us.”

  “We will have you righted and out of there by tomorrow, I promise.” It was surreal, speaking so easily to someone trapped on the ocean floor. Petrov and his men were in mortal danger, but he might as well have been telephoning his wife.

  “Admiral Kuganov will take over now. He can get the details of your dead and injured. I must go see to Rudnitskiy and the submersible.”

  “Thank you, Admiral, we are sure you will save us. And please thank Commander Rudel and the men aboard Seawolf, sir. Not only did they find us, they kept us alive until you could get here.”

  Vidchenko didn’t answer.

  22

  RENDEZVOUS

  9 October 2008

  1915/7:15 PM

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  They surfaced five miles off Churchill’s port beam. Normally, when Seawolf joined on a surface vessel, she did so by announcing her presence with a green flare, a thousand yards astern, in perfect firing position. This time, instead of “bang you’re dead,” a yellow flare broke the surface, indicating that a submarine was coming to periscope depth. But without a periscope or most of her sonars, Seawolf had poor situational awareness of the surface above, and couldn’t safely come up near another ship. Once Churchill’s bridge crew saw the yellow flare, they maneuvered away to give Seawolf all the room she needed. While a little excessive, nobody disagreed with Rudel’s caution.

  Once on the roof, Seawolf began to close on the now fully illuminated destroyer. Jerry was well aware of Se
awolf’s limitations, and he swore at times that he could physically feel them, but this surfacing bruised his already tender submariner’s ego. It was just plain wrong to meekly surface and then hobble over and take station astern of a surface combatant. Just thinking about it made him wince. And it was doubtful that Doc Gallant had anything, other than his cheery bedside manner, to treat it with.

  Even though the weather had improved considerably, Seawolf was still very much restricted in her ability to maneuver on the surface. At anything more than five knots, the large gentle swells caused the heavily damaged bow to vibrate and make some very unpleasant noises. Instead of racing northeast at thirty-plus knots, Churchill would be limited to Seawolf’s glacial pace.

  As the boat rolled slowly from side to side, Jerry was starting to get used to being on the surface. His stomach still complained, and he was sure he was losing weight from missed meals, but he was learning to cope with the nausea. It was amazing how much the weather could change in just over a day. The evening sky topside was magnificent, with a colorful twilight having faded away under clear skies. The main act, however, was the aurora borealis, or northern lights, which put on a spectacular display. The chief of the watch had no problems getting volunteers to man the two lookout positions on the bridge. Despite his doubling the number of lookouts, there were so many who wanted to go up that he’d shortened each watch to just an hour.

  The captain and the XO slowly walked down the ladder into control, having just come down from the bridge, and handed their parkas to the messenger of the watch. Rudel looked much better, having gotten some rest after the depth-charging incident earlier. He still looked depressed over having to retreat from Severodvinsk’s position, but the XO assured Jerry that the captain was finally on the mend. Apparently, being forced to leave was the straw that broke the captain’s resolve and all the emotional baggage he had been holding on to since the collision was thrown overboard all at once. Jerry hoped the XO was right. He’d hate to see a leader like Rudel suffer over the collision. There had been enough casualties already.