by Larry Bond
“They still need two statements. They are making hurried preparations now, and should be ready in about six or seven hours. Petrov and his men could begin to lose consciousness in as little as eight.”
“That’s cutting it a little close,” Huber observed.
“It’s a last-minute thing, Mr. President.” He described how Rudel would use Seawolf to push Severodvinsk upright. “And the Russians are completely on board. There is some risk, sir, but Dr. Patterson says she’s been reassured by Rudel and other qualified engineers that everything will be done to reduce it. And no, she doesn’t have a number.”
“I asked her to keep me informed,” Huber grumbled.
“And she’s doing so, sir.”
“And like before, the only control I have is to order her to stop.”
“You could give that order, sir. You took control of the situation by sending good people.”
“And they’ll try in six hours?”
“That’s the estimate as of now, sir. If this works, it will be successful immediately.”
“Keep me informed.”
Halsfjord
* * *
Rudel and Shimko stood on the aft deckhouse, looking down at the fantail. The Norwegian rescue ship had enough room aft to land a large helicopter. Now the floodlit surface was cluttered with men and a gridwork of timbers. The heavy lengths of wood were carried aboard the rescue ship for just such a circumstance. A strong framework could be quickly assembled to reinforce a damaged ship, or construct a cofferdam.
Rudel could see that the box-frame-like structure was well along. Lindstrom explained how it would be attached to the hull. “The welders will attach plates at the front edge of the hull. Stubs on the edge of the framework will be attached with simple pins to those plates. After you’re done it will be simple to detach whatever’s left and cut off the attachment plates.”
“After we’re done,” Rudel muttered. “I like the sound of that.”
“We’ve based it on the blueprints you provided. We will lower it into place and attach it literally in minutes.”
“And it will be ready in time.” Shimko didn’t ask a question, but Lindstrom reassured him. “My chief engineer says they will be finished cutting in two, maybe three more hours. There is a lot of very tough metal to cut through. The framework is actually almost done. Until we need to lift it over to Seawolf, we will reinforce it and improve the design.
“The work on your forward ballast tanks is also proceeding, and will be done in time.”
Rudel answered, “Keeping any air in those tanks at all will be a tremendous help.”
Lindstrom shrugged. “Removing the antisonar coating around the holes is taking time, but as each section is cleared, we start patching it. The patches won’t be completely airtight, of course, but they should help.”
“We’re very grateful,” Rudel said.
Lindstrom grinned. “Don’t thank me. I’m adding all this work to the Russians’ bill.” A shout in Norwegian attracted his attention, and he excused himself, saying “Please, stay as long as you like. I’ll send a messenger when the Russians are ready.”
The two Americans watched the frantic work on Halsfjord’s fantail, then walked over to the port side and looked down at Seawolf. Even though she was lit up by dozens of lights, they could still easily see welding flames and sparks almost covering the bow. The water in front of her glowed with the cutting torches from divers working on the structure underneath, and even more men were at work in the electronics equipment space. Only the Norwegians and Americans were being allowed inside the sub, but there were plenty to do the work.
“They’re working damn fast, XO,” commented Rudel approvingly. “Pretty soon we’ll see if this semi-crazy idea of ours really works.”
“Ah, Skipper? Sir, there’s one thing. That order you gave about nonessential personnel?” There was concern in Shimko’s voice.
“What about it, XO?”
“Nobody will leave, sir. The officers and chiefs say everyone is essential, and when I tell the men individually, they respectfully refuse to carry out my order. All of them.”
“Dammit, XO, I made it an order because I knew nobody would leave voluntarily. It’s no disgrace. We drop them off just before we make the dive, and pick them up as soon as it’s done. They’ll wait on Halsfjord for what? An hour? Fewer lives at risk.”
“ ‘Fewer men to help’ was the universal response,” Shimko reported.
Rudel sighed heavily, leaning on the deckhouse rail. “This could go south in a dozen different ways we can’t imagine.”
“True, sir, so it may be hard to say who’s ‘essential’ and who isn’t.”
“So you disagree with my order as well?” Rudel sounded surprised.
“Disagree, maybe, sir, but never disobey.” Shimko continued, “I think they all appreciated the thought, Skipper, but nobody wants to be left out, so to speak.”
“I think the appropriate word describing this is ‘mutiny,’ Mr. Shimko,” Rudel grumbled.
“Other captains would kill to have a crew this undisciplined,” countered Shimko with a wide grin.
“Then belay my last.”
The “Russians” Lindstrom had referred to were Vice Admiral Borisov and Rear Admiral Oleg Antonovich Smelkov, chief of the Technical Directorate of the Northern Fleet. Both joined by teleconference, Borisov from Petya and Smelkov from his office ashore. Patterson and her group aboard Churchill were also electronically present.
Smelkov didn’t look like an admiral. A harried bank clerk, maybe. Or possibly a university professor during exam week. His uniform coat was off, and he sat at his desk, surrounded by computer printouts. Two voices spoke quickly offscreen.
They had gathered to hear Smelkov answer the big question: Where to push? Smelkov was not only a naval constructor, he had helped describe the fleet’s requirement for Severodvinsk, and then supervised her construction.
Smelkov was pale, with hair so blond that at first glance it seemed white. His thin face added to the first impression of an elderly man, almost frail. Then he spoke, and twenty years disappeared.
He didn’t waste time. “I will hope my English is acceptable. The answer to your first question is no. Not only is it too close to the escape chamber, but the sail’s structure was never designed to withstand that much side force. It would most likely rip clear of the hull.
“So, if you must push on the hull itself, I say here.” He typed for a moment, and the image changed to show a cross-section of Severodvinsk. A heavy black line just inside the outer hull showed the pressure hull, divided into compartments by similar lines.
A circle marked a spot on the lower hull, just aft of the sail. “This is in the center of the third compartment. You must set your depth so you are below the hull’s centerline. It will overhang your bow. When you push, also blow your forwardmost tanks to lift as well. Is this clear?”
“Yes,” Rudel answered simply. “Have you calculated how much force we will need?”
Smelkov shook his head. “There is no way to know. Mr. Lindstrom’s first figures were very reasonable, and his preparations very thorough. It should have worked. The only conclusion I can make is that Severodvinsk’s lower hull has been caught on the uneven surface she lies on.”
“Snagged on the rocks,” Rudel suggested.
“Yes,” Smelkov answered.
“That is our theory as well,” Lindstrom added.
“When you first start to push, the outer hull will give way. This is acceptable. It may even form a ‘pocket,’ or recess that will prevent your bow from sliding to the left or right.”
“When will Severodvinsk’s pressure hull give way?”
Smelkov threw up his hands. “I estimate near two-thirds of your full power, Captain Rudel. The hull is designed to resist the steady pressure of the sea and sudden shocks from torpedoes and depth bombs. This will be localized, like a depth-bomb attack, but longer, and harder. The hull will deform before it fails.”
“Given Petrov’s situation, the additional danger is irrelevant,” Borisov added. “No, Captain, before Petrov would start moving his men into the escape chamber again, he said he was not climbing out, no matter what happened.
“Also, I have a message from Olga Sadilenko. Do you know her?” Rudel nodded and Borisov read from a sheet of paper. “She says they are praying for the crews of both submarines, and that you and your men are very brave, as brave as her son’s crew. I will add my own prayers to hers.”
“Thank you, Admiral, and thank Mrs. Sadilenko for us.”
“Good luck to us all.”
Severodvinsk
* * *
It had taken almost two hours to move the men. Everyone was weak. Some refused to make the climb and had to be bullied, almost dragged to the ladder. As desperate as they were for light, warmth, life itself, they dreaded the thought of climbing into the escape chamber.
This time, he’d sent Lyachin up right away to supervise the loading inside the cylindrical capsule. Kalinin remained at the base of the ladder, cajoling and hectoring the men into climbing faster, or even climbing at all.
Finally, the injured had been moved, the logbooks and classified material stowed, and Petrov reported to the surface. “Comrade Admiral, Severodvinsk is ready.”
“Very good, Captain. What is your CO2 level?”
“Fonarin just took a new reading. It’s three point seven percent.”
Borisov didn’t reply immediately, and Petrov added, “We’re still breathing, Admiral.”
“Good. They are getting ready to fit the wooden framework over Seawolf’s bow. Then they will get under way and submerge. It should be no more than half an hour.”
“I would prefer to remain in contact until the Americans are ready. Is that acceptable?”
“As long as you can get into the escape chamber in good order, that will be fine.”
“Yes, sir. We will stand by for your call.”
Petrov hung up the microphone and sat down wearily. It took all his concentration to manage a simple conversation. The constant headache made thought almost impossible. Still, he had to keep thinking.
Only four officers were left in the central post: Petrov, Kalinin, Fonarin, and Mitrov. There was nothing left to do.
“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.