Cold Choices

by Larry Bond

  “Severodvinsk sits between two of these ridges, with the one to starboard holding her in that port list. You’d have to remove this entire ridge to free her. If you look closely, you will also see that ridge is part of this much larger segment that is tens of meters thick. For all intents and purposes, it is impenetrable.”

  Vidchenko stared at the data, almost uncomprehending. The American submarine had gathered data that was superior, far superior to theirs. But it wouldn’t have made any difference. Severodvinsk was held tight in the jaws of an indestructible rock formation.

  Lindstrom brought up another image, a simple line diagram. It showed the sub in cross-section lying on an uneven surface. Arrows showed forces acting on the hull.

  “To right the sub, the hull must be rotated in place, which means overcoming friction. Not only is Severodvinsk’s weight being borne by these two ridges, but by this time it has begun settling into the mud that covers the underlying rock. Both of these work to hold the submarine where it is.

  “The best solution would be to use water jets to clear the length of the hull of mud and silt where it rests on the rock. At the same time underwater robots would weld padeyes to the starboard side of the hull. These would be attached to towlines running to dedicated salvage tugs. We would literally pull Severodvinsk to an upright position.”

  Vidchenko was impressed. It sounded like it would work. “But how long to do the work?”

  Lindstrom answered, “Too long. Four days.” It was a death sentence. Vidchenko couldn’t accept that, having come this far.

  He was still searching for words when Kokurin asked, “Is that our only option?”

  Lindstrom shrugged. “We can measure the forces involved, the strength of the materials. We can even estimate the suction effects of the silt from other work we have done. This will work, with a probability of success in the ninety-percent range.

  “Looking for ways to speed the process, we came up with this alternative approach.” He keyed a new diagram. It showed a row of small explosive charges along the two sides of the sub, and the towlines went to the deck now.

  “Instead of welding padeyes, we use the existing deck fittings. They are not as strong, and even using the maximum number of towlines, we will not have the same lifting force. Instead of using waterjets to clear the silt, we propose running small charges the length of the hull, right where it touches the bottom. Hopefully, they will break the suction when they detonate. Additionally, Captain Petrov will have to put every bit of compressed air he has left into the port main ballast tanks, while simultaneously flooding the starboard main ballast tanks. This will generate a moment that wants to roll the boat to starboard, which should help tremendously to overcome inertia.”

  “And leave him no reserve air at all,” Vidchenko added.

  Lindstrom nodded. “It is the only way to make up the shortfall in lifting power. We have to make the sub want to roll to starboard.”

  Kokurin asked, “How quickly can this plan be put into action?”

  Captain Nakken spoke for the first time. “My crew has already started. We expect to have two robots over the side,” he glanced at his watch, “in forty-five minutes. With your approval,” he added.

  Kokurin smiled, the first time Vidchenko had seen the admiral pleased since he came aboard. He felt it, too. There was another option. There was still hope.

  “Understand that our estimates are less certain with this concept. We give this plan only a sixty to seventy percent chance of success.”

  Vidchenko could feel the tension ease. A good plan now was better than a perfect plan too late. “When will you be able to make the attempt?”

  “Laying the charges and rigging the lines, with everyone working at best efficiency, will take two days.”

  “What?” Almost every Russian was on his feet, shouting, asking questions. Lindstrom seemed to expect it, and stood calmly until Kokurin could make himself heard. “I assume you have a way of keeping the crew alive until then.”

  “They need more air regeneration canisters. Rudnitskiy has ample supplies aboard. The Americans can send more over to Severodvinsk using one of their underwater vehicles. That will give Petrov and his men enough time—barely.”

  “That is unacceptable,” Vidchenko responded automatically. “The Americans caused this disaster.”

  “Do you have another suggestion?” Kokurin demanded sternly.

  “Use one of the Norwegian’s robots.”

  Lindstrom replied, “No, that will not work. We need them to prepare for the rescue. If we lose one we wouldn’t be ready in time. Besides, they are not shaped properly. They couldn’t enter Severodvinsk’s tubes the way the American vehicle can. I’ve already spoken to Dr. Patterson and Captain Rudel. They are willing to make the attempt.”

  The very thought of allowing the Americans near Severodvinsk again appalled Vidchenko. “There has to be another way.”

  Lindstrom didn’t respond immediately, and when no one else spoke, Vice Admiral Kokurin stood and said, “We will use Mr. Lindstrom’s plan as he has explained it. Mr. Lindstrom, Captain Nakken, thank you for your expertise. I am sure that with your help we will rescue Petrov and his men. Dismissed.”

  As the meeting broke up, Kokurin left first, but his aide intercepted Vidchenko. “The Admiral asks you to join him on the fantail.”

  Vidchenko hurried aft. The admiral wanted a word in private. He thought that was wise. Involving the Americans in the rescue could only lead to more trouble. He was still rehearsing his arguments when he reached the fantail.

  The Mil helicopter that had brought Kokurin’s group filled the helicopter pad. It had been tied down and serviced, awaiting its passengers’ departure. Approaching the helicopter from the port side, Vidchenko didn’t see the fleet commander until he was almost at the aft railing. Kokurin stood near the jackstaff, the helicopter bulking over him. He’d chosen a very private place to talk.

  “Reporting as ordered, comrade Vice Admiral.”

  Kokurin had been looking aft, at Petya’s massive wake. Now he turned to face Vidchenko. “I am concerned for our men, Vasiliy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vidchenko stood quietly. He could wait for the admiral to make his point.

  “Others are concerned as well. There was a near-riot in Severomorsk yesterday evening when word of the first attempt’s failure reached the families. I had several hundred people marching on Northern Fleet Headquarters!”

  Vidchenko was puzzled. “How did they find out? We said nothing.”

  “But others did. As I said, we are being watched. The world is watching us, comrade Rear Admiral. The President called and urged me to use every asset, any resource we could to bring our men back safely.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  “But, I just heard you say that you ignored information that the Americans had. You didn’t think it was ‘trustworthy.’ ”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I just heard you reject the idea of the American submarine sending more air-regeneration canisters to Severodvinsk, even though this has worked in the past. In fact, it’s the only reason Petrov and his men are still alive.”

  “Sir, I believe the Americans caused this disaster, possibly deliberately, but even if it were by accident, all they are doing is attempting to expunge their guilt. You can’t shoot a man, then wipe away the crime by giving him first aid.”

  “And if the victim will die without that aid?”

  Vidchenko didn’t have a ready answer. He was aware of the conflict, but trusted to Russian ingenuity. There were always other options. Finally struggling for words, he could only say, “I thought it was better to keep the Americans as far away as possible.”

  “A month ago, even a week ago, I might have agreed with you. But they have already helped, and now we need them.” Kokurin paused for a moment, then repeated, “Petrov needs them. And I need someone who is willing to work with them, who won’t automatically reject their assistance.”

  Vidchenko sudde
nly realized what was happening. He had been so focused on the rescue . . .

  “Vice Admiral Borisov will take over the operation. My chief of staff will inform Kurganov. I’d like you to come back with me to Severomorsk immediately. You can write your report.”

  Vidchenko felt drained, a little lost. “My staff?”

  “They can follow later. I’d like them to stay behind and help Borisov’s people.”

  “Of course, sir, whatever you want.” Vidchenko’s words were flat, almost hollow-sounding.

  “I am sorry, Vasiliy. You’ve done your best. You’ve started the job. Borisov will have to finish it.”

  25

  COORDINATION

  11 October 2008

  0945/9:45 AM

  Churchill’s SH-60 Seahawk en route Petr Velikiy

  * * *

  It was a much shorter helicopter ride this time, just under twenty minutes, flight deck to flight deck. Patterson barely had time to read the hastily written notes thrust into her hand by Silas as they’d boarded the helicopter regarding Vice Admiral Pavel Dimitriyevich Borisov, Commander of the Twelfth Submarine Eskadra, or squadron, which consisted of all nuclear-powered general-purpose submarines in the Northern Fleet.

  He was in his early fifties, came from Belarus, held numerous commands in attack submarines, was married, and had a son at the Frunze Higher Naval School in Saint Petersburg. Solid reputation as a submariner, reasonable admin skills, and most importantly, a close friend of the Northern Fleet commander.

  Obviously the Russian Navy wasn’t happy with the failed attempt. Parker was almost giddy when she showed Patterson the news coverage of the demonstrations in Severomorsk. So this Borisov was the new commander of the rescue force. She wouldn’t miss Vidchenko.

  The almost-familiar stern of Peter the Great filled the pilot’s windscreen, and then they were down on the landing pad. An officer met their party, and in carefully rehearsed English asked them to come to the flag mess.

  This time a smaller group met them, just Borisov, Kurganov, and their aides, along with Lindstrom. Bringing a lot of people to a meeting implied insecurity, or a desire to impress the other side. Did this smaller group imply the opposite?

  Patterson had of course left Silas and Russo behind, but she’d brought Dwight Manning, the State Department liaison, and Captain Baker from Churchill.

  Introductions and tea took only a minute. Borisov was shorter than Vidchenko, with a broad face and blond hair. He smiled more, too. Kurganov wasn’t smiling, and neither were their aides.

  They’d barely sat down before he dove in. “We must discuss the transfer of the air regeneration cassettes and supplies from Mikhail Rudnitskiy to Seawolf. One of our helicopters can pick up the cassettes and supplies, but we need to know how to pass signals from our helicopter to your submarine.”

  Glad she’d brought at least one naval officer along, she let Captain Baker brief them on U.S. Navy communications procedures. Borisov’s English was good, with Manning’s rapid-fire Russian used only once or twice to clarify technical details.

  Borisov passed the information to his aide, who hurried from the room, and referred to what seemed to be a checklist. “Captain Baker, when will your ship and Seawolf join the rescue force?”

  “Sir, Churchill will arrive within the hour. Seawolf, unfortunately, won’t arrive for another four hours. Her speed is limited because of the damage to her bow.”

  “I understand. I will assign the southwest sector to Churchill and Seawolf. Can the transfer be conducted from this position?” Borisov pointed to a chart with the locations of all the ships listed in both Russian and English. Seawolf’s assigned location was two kilometers from Severodvinsk.

  “Yes, Admiral, Captain Rudel and I spoke about this. He will be able to control the underwater vehicles from that position. However, he would like to launch the vehicle from one thousand meters to maximize the cargo pay-load.”

  “That is good. That will let me keep Halsfjord and Rudnitskiy working near Severodvinsk. How much time will Seawolf need to effect the transfer?”

  Halsfjord had already launched her two remote operating vehicles. They were clearing the silt away, getting ready to lay the explosives along Severodvinsk’s hull. Demolition experts on both ships were assembling the line charges and detonators. Borisov’s question resulted in a long discussion about timing the Russian rescue preparations so they would not delay Seawolf’s vital resupply mission.

  It was a very technical discussion, and while Patterson remained involved, she also allowed her attention to wander a little and observe the Russians. There was no confrontation this time. They were matter-of-fact, and open with information about their status and their needs. Part of the worry she’d brought aboard disappeared.

  The admiral marched down a reasonably long and thorough checklist. After making sure their schedules meshed, and that everyone knew their part for the upcoming second attempt, Borisov asked about ship-to-ship communications, deconflicting the ships’ radar transmissions, and even asked about medical facilities on board Churchill. “We may ask you to take some of the submarine’s crew if our sick bay becomes overloaded. Many of the crew are now suffering from hypothermia and may require immediate care,” Borisov explained.

  “I’ll run a casualty drill this afternoon,” Baker replied. “We’ll be ready.”

  “I am glad that we have been able to agree on so much this morning, for the sake of relations between our countries as well as the welfare of Severodvinsk’s crew,” stated Borisov. Patterson could tell a well-rehearsed speech when she heard one. But it didn’t feel like he was winding up the meeting.

  “I hope that same openness will be extended to our investigation of the collision itself. Captain Rudel’s assistance since the collision will be taken into account when his actions are judged.”

  Patterson started to protest, but she felt Dwight Manning’s hand gently squeeze her arm. She refrained, and let Manning do the talking. His statement was carefully worded, “I am concerned, Admiral, that you have already decided the collision was Rudel’s fault.”

  Borisov shrugged. “Seawolf has bow damage, while Severodvinsk was holed both fore and aft. I doubt that Captain Petrov rammed the American submarine with his engineering section. There is also the question of Seawolf’s presence in these waters. We believe he had motive to avoid detection.”

  “These are international waters, ninety miles away from the nearest Russian coastline.”

  “And his purpose here?”

  “He was performing a hydrological survey, as allowed by international convention. Perhaps you can explain why Captain Petrov so strenuously objected to his presence.”

  “We have no evidence that Captain Petrov behaved incorrectly,” responded Borisov defensively.

  “He made several high-speed passes dangerously close to Seawolf. Captain Rudel did his best to avoid a collision with Severodvinsk by attempting to turn away.”

  “Captain Petrov has not reported any of this to me,” Borisov stated, with such finality that Manning didn’t answer immediately. Patterson tried to think of a response that didn’t call Petrov a liar.

  “Admiral, we can provide logs and other evidence to support Rudel’s account,” Manning countered.

  Borisov still wasn’t convinced. “Will that evidence be consistent with Seawolf’s damaged bow?”

  Now he was hinting that the Americans were liars. Patterson had heard enough and spoke up. “Our analysis shows that Seawolf’s bow damage came from an impact with Severodvinsk’s screw. The damage to the other areas of Seawolf’s hull and sail supports the conclusion that Severodvinsk struck Seawolf.”

  “I don’t see how that could possibly happen.” Borisov’s reply lacked Vidchenko’s belligerence, but he was still Russian and he just couldn’t accept their explanation.

  Fine. If he wanted proof, she’d give it to him. “Admiral, would you care to inspect Seawolf’s damage yourself?”

  Patterson’s offer surprised Bori
sov. He paused, as if looking for a hidden trap. Then she looked at Manning and Baker. They both looked just as surprised as Borisov. In fact, Baker seemed alarmed, and she suddenly felt very nervous. Had she missed something? Was she giving something important away?

  “Your offer is most generous, Doctor. I accept. Given our schedule, sooner would be better than later.”

  11 October 2008

  1300/1:00 PM

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  “She did what?” Shimko was surprised by the intensity of Rudel’s reaction. It was the most energy he’d seen in the skipper since the collision. On the other hand, this obviously hit a nerve.

  “They’ll be here in half an hour. She wants us to show Borisov the damage to the boat. Right now he’s convinced you rammed Severodvinsk.”

  Shimko could tell that hurt, and was immediately sorry he’d said it. But Rudel seemed galvanized by the accusation. “Fine,” he announced sharply. “We’ll bring the Russian aboard and let him look wherever he wants. Have Jerry make copies of the timeline and all the other material he collected after the collision. We’ll give that sumbitch so much data he chokes on it.”

  “Or on what it shows,” Shimko added.

  “Get us on the roof, Marcus. And use the low-pressure blower to get the bow as high out of the water as possible. We can all get a good look at the damage. Warn the crew it will be a rough ride. And prepare the ship for an official visitor.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Surface the ship, prepare for an official visitor, and I’ll tell Jerry to double up on his seasick meds.”

  The Ka-27 Helix appeared overhead precisely on time. By this time, Seawolf’s crew was well-drilled in getting visitors safely on deck and then down the escape trunk. There was no room for sideboys or a boatswain topside or in the passageway below, but as Borisov came down the after escape trunk, the 1MC rang with six bells, then, “TWELFTH SUBMARINE SQUADRON, NORTHERN FLEET, ARRIVING.”