by Larry Bond
They waited, while Jerry counted down the carefully calculated two and a third minutes it would take for Seawolf to drift to a dead stop. In a perfect world, that would leave her modified bow just touching Severodvinsk’s hull.
Jerry’s nightmare was that he’d overestimated the drag, that Seawolf would drift to a stop short of her goal, hanging in the water helpless to cover the last ten or thirty yards without using the screws. That meant a low-speed collision, but even walking speed times nine thousand-some-odd tons . . .
It wasn’t a sound as much as a vibration, a grinding sensation that seemed to push the bow down slightly as they slowed. There was an uneven crackling mixed in—the wooden framework.
Shimko grinned. “Bow down. That means we’re under her—right where we’re supposed to be.”
Rudel fired orders. “Status in the electronic equipment space.” Over the intercom, “Torpedo room, conn. Reposition Maxine.” Then he turned to the control room crew. “But we’re not waiting. All ahead dead slow.”
The talker waited for the helmsman’s echoed reply before reporting, “Electronics equipment space is dry.”
Rudel grinned. “This is a good start.” He held one palm flat against a metal surface, feeling the boat’s engines as well as her contact with the Russian’s hull. Jerry did the same. As the normal-sounding thrum of the screw increased, the grinding, crunching sensation decreased, the relatively light pressure holding the bow in place, preventing further movement.
“Helm, all ahead slow. Torpedo room, conn. Is Maxine in position yet?”
“Conn, torpedo room. She’s moving now, sir. In position in less than a minute.”
“Understood, Mr. Palmer. You know what we’re looking for.”
“I’ll report any rotation of the hull.”
Jerry felt the hull shudder a little as the screw increased its turns from “dead slow” to “slow.” Although it seemed like a small change, at those RPMs the screw had enough power to push nine thousand tons of submarine through the water at three knots.
Severodvinsk
* * *
There’d been no warning before the gentle crunch of Seawolf’s bow contacting the hull. Strapped in, Petrov pictured wood and metal being compressed, breaking, bending. The wood structure would press against the rubberized coating . . .
There. Rudel had added some power, just a little. Petrov was surprised at how clearly he could feel the screw’s effects. That meant a good contact between the two vessels, and an efficient transfer of engine power.
He looked at the inclinometer. It hadn’t moved, but it was early yet. He was optimistic.
USS Seawolf
* * *
“Helm, all ahead one-third.”
Rudel’s voice was firm, firmer than Jerry though his might be giving that order. Real power was beginning to run through the ship’s structure, and the shuddering sped up into a strong vibration. Jerry imagined the boat on hard rubber wheels, rolling over the rumble strips on a highway.
But it was just a vibration, steadily increasing. The electronic equipment space was still dry. When he heard the report, Shimko said, “We need to buy those Norwegians a drink.”
“More than one,” Rudel answered. He keyed the intercom again. “Topedo room, conn. Report.”
“Conn, torpedo room. We’re in position, sir. The image has a lot of static near our bow. That’s probably air bubbles from main ballast tanks one alpha and one bravo.” Palmer sighed, then added, “Severodvinsk has not moved yet.”
“We’re not done yet, Mr. Palmer . . .” Rudel was interrupted by a piercing groan, a sound of metal being stressed. It was loud enough to make conversation impossible, and it went on for several moments.
Shimko tried to give an order to the phone talker, but couldn’t make himself understood. He was repeating himself when the groan, becoming almost a howl, suddenly stopped. “. . . report! All compartments report any damage.”
The phone talker, eyes as wide as everyone else’s, passed the word, and immediately reported, “There’s a seawater leak in the electronic equipment space! Chief Hudson says it’s from a packing gland around number two periscope. They’re handling it.”
Rudel seemed artificially calm as he acknowledged the report, then spoke to Shimko. “What do you think, XO? Stresses on the hull adjusting themselves?”
The XO made a face. “Yes, but where? At the bow? Near the mast’s penetrations? Somewhere else? We weren’t designed to push. This may void the warranty.”
“Casualty-assistance team reports they’re having problems slowing the flow of water.”
“Very well. Helm, all ahead two-thirds.”
“What?” Shimko was alarmed. “Skipper, shouldn’t we control the leak first?”
Rudel shook his head. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it quickly.” The deck shuddered again, and for the first time, there was a small sideways lurch. “Chief, how’s main ballast tank one holding?”
McCord replied, “I’m bleeding air in slowly to maintain pressure. We can do this for a little longer—maybe four, five minutes.”
“Level us if you can, Chief. I want our stern no higher than our bow, so we’re pushing up.”
“Pumping water from forward trim to after trim.”
Several of the displays in control suddenly went dark. As Rudel and Shimko turned to the phone talker, he reported, “They’re securing power to the electronic equipment space! The leak’s become a spray.” After a pause, he added, “The gravity drains are handling it, so far.”
The displays went dark again, and stayed that way. Immediately the helmsman reported, “Sir, the rudder has shifted to emergency hydraulic control.”
Severodvinsk
* * *
Seawolf must be putting some real power into their engines now. Sitting at the top of the sail, Petrov could feel a back-and-forth vibration, as if the American submarine was straining against some great weight. He was encouraged that the motion was side to side, although now he was worried that when they did finally move, they might roll too far, to end up trapped lying on their starboard side.
To guard against that chance, Petrov kept his hand resting on the red-and-yellow-striped handle that would release the chamber from the sail. It was a simple mechanical release. Normally one wouldn’t rest one’s hand on any control, to prevent it being accidentally triggered. He smiled at the thought of that happening.
It was hardest on the injured. The vibrations were strong enough to cause them real pain, and Balanov had unstrapped himself and was doing his best to cushion their hurts, and administering more painkillers. Petrov watched him, but didn’t caution the doctor about moving around. He had his work, and besides, what was one more risk?
Petrov stared at the inclinometer, willing it to change.
USS Seawolf
* * *
“Skipper, I’m losing pressure in main ballast tank one alpha. It’s almost gone.” Chief McCord added, “The Norwegians’ patch must have given way. The other tank is still all right.”
“All engines ahead standard.”
“Electronic equipment space, report.”
“Chief Hudson says there is a half-inch solid stream from the number two scope’s packing. The backup team is on the scene and they are trying to plug it somehow, but there’s a lot of pressure. Robinson got caught in the stream and got pretty banged up. He’s on his way to sickbay.”
“Very well. Tell Hudson to just contain the flooding and watch those frames.”
The phone talker relayed Rudel’s order. The flooding was bad enough. Water would accumulate and weigh down the bow. But they’d told Jerry about Smelkov’s estimate. At two-thirds power, Seawolf would begin to deform Severodvinsk’s pressure hull. But when would Seawolf’s start to go?
Seawolf’s hull was already stressed, and weaker as a result of the collision. If the frames started to bend, there would be no more time, no warning.
“All ahead full.” The captain’s voice was calm, but he coul
dn’t hide his anxiety.
“I’m losing pressure in one bravo,” McCord reported. Rudel nodded acknowledgment. Jerry could see him trying to visualize the two hulls, feeling how they were fitting together. What would make the Russian move?
The vibration was audible now, and so uneven that the control room crew either strapped themselves in or braced themselves as best they could. The deck shifted from side to side, and occasionally pitched up or down, as if the entire sub was fishtailing as it struggled to shift Severodvinsk’s hull.
“All ahead flank. Maneuvering, make maximum turns!” Rudel shouted.
Rudel’s final engine order started to have an effect. Racing through the water at full power, Jerry remembered how Seawolf’s hull seemed almost alive with energy. Now her struggles grew more violent.
An upward jolt almost knocked Jerry from his feet, and some of the watch cried out in surprise. Another followed, and another.
“Control room, torpedo. The sail’s moving!”
Palmer’s report pulled Rudel over to the intercom. “How much?”
“Five degrees, maybe more. Those shocks we just felt were the start. Definitely more, approaching eight degrees now.”
“Captain!” shouted the phone talker. “Chief Hudson reports there are now multiple leaks in the overhead in the electronics equipment space.”
Severodvinsk
* * *
When the motion came, Petrov only knew it because of the inclinometer. The vibrations were so strong that he had become almost numb. It was impossible to tell whether they moved him to the left or right or backward.
But his vision had been fixed on the inclinometer, and it had changed. He called out “Thirty degrees!” Then came another shock, hard enough to make some of the uninjured men cry out in alarm, but Petrov called, “Twenty-four degrees!”
He heard cheers and prayers, and encouragements to the Americans to keep pushing. Petrov kept his eyes fixed on the inclinometer. His left hand squeezed the release handle so hard it hurt.
USS Seawolf
* * *
A series of sideways jolts made the hull creak, then a sharp downward bump seemed to allow Seawolf to slide forward. Shimko asked nervously, “What are we doing, tunneling under the Russian?”
“A little scared, XO?”
“Sir, a wise man said that fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment!”
Rudel shook his head. His executive officer was a certified loon, for that matter so was the rest of this crew.
Looking over at the chief of the watch, he shouted, “We have to get her bow up. Fill after trim to the mark and blow a little air into main ballast tank two.” As heavy as the bow was, they had to make the stern heavier. Jerry remembered an old submariner initiation. “Skipper, send the crew aft.”
Rudel nodded and grabbed the 1MC microphone. “All hands not on duty, to the shaft alley on the double.” There was no way to tell if it was enough, or if it mattered at all, but it was the best they could do.
“We’re using the boat like a giant crowbar,” Rudel muttered. “A nuclear-powered crowbar. This can’t be good for the hull.” But they all felt another sharp jolt, and it was a welcome sensation.
“That’s doing it!” Palmer’s report on the intercom was encouraging, if nonregulation. But was it enough?
“What about the escape chamber?” Rudel demanded.
“It’s still in place,” Palmer reported. “It looks like the angle is less than twenty degrees. They should have released the capsule. Are they all unconscious?”
“We are not stopping until the chamber is released!”
“Chief Hudson reports leaks from all mast penetrations. He can also see the hull frames starting to bend. He says it’s small, but it’s definite.”
“Sir, I recommend we put her on the roof, now!” Shimko’s request was soft, but urgent.
“Not until that escape chamber leaves,” Rudel insisted.
Their conversation was punctuated by more jolts and another long groan. Suddenly, ET2 Lamberth appeared at the forward door to control. He was soaked to the skin, shivering and breathless, a cut on his arm. “Captain, Chief Hudson reports that some of the shoring arms are starting to buckle. He says to tell you we are officially on borrowed time!”
Severodvinsk
* * *
Petrov pulled the release almost before he understood the numbers. First, the inclinometer had jumped from twenty-three to seventeen, then back to twenty-five before he could move his arm. He cursed, afraid he’d missed his chance, when the numbers began to crawl down again, each short jerk counting the angle down a little more each time. Finally, it stayed below fifteen and they were free.
They never heard or felt the clamps release, not with all the other noise and vibration, but to Petrov it felt as if they’d been thrown upward toward the surface. The deck, canted for so long, suddenly felt properly level, and he could sense the upward acceleration as they rose.
The submariner in him wanted to time the ascent, to double-check his calculation of one minute forty-nine seconds, but instead, Petrov started to laugh, almost uncontrollably. Relief flooded through him, and he felt weak, still in a state of astonishment.
It took all his strength to lift his head and look at the men around him. They were mirrors of himself, many laughing or cheering if they weren’t weeping or simply screaming at the top of their lungs. Nobody was cold, or had a headache, or was hungry any longer. They were rising from the dead.
USS Seawolf
* * *
“Conn!” screamed Palmer. “I can see the chamber. It’s clear!”
“Helm, all back full!” Jerry heard Palmer’s report, and some part of him was glad, but now it was time to focus on their own immediate concerns.
“All pumps to maximum! Chief, get as much water out of the bow as you can.”
“Working it, Skipper.” McCord’s hand flew over the ballast-control panel, trying to purge the ship of the weight they’d just desperately needed.
Jerry felt the vibrations beneath the deck become weaker, then start again. Lavoie and his engineers had stopped the shaft, and now it was turning in the other direction. Before they could rise, they had to clear Severodvinsk’s hull. It wouldn’t take much, but it would be a good thing if they hurried.
The vibration grew, and for a moment Jerry thought they might be entangled somehow, but the screw bit and he felt the deck shift as they backed away from the Russian’s hull.
Rudel keyed the intercom. “Torpedo room, conn. Report! Are we clear?”
“Conn, torpedo room. We’re clearing the hull, sir. We had almost half our bow under the Russian. I can see sternway on.” Jerry was grateful for Palmer’s report, and Maxine’s ability to track their progress, because right now they were blind. While backing down, the pitlog was worthless. In fact, submarines were pigs with sternway on. Jerry could see the compass heading swing to port and starboard. It was a short trip, but it would have been even shorter if they could have kept the stern pointed in one direction.
“Conn, torpedo room. We are clear of Severodvinsk.”
“Emergency surface! Left full rudder, all ahead flank! Dive, how’s our trim?”
As McCord hit the chicken switches, Hess shook his head. “We’re very heavy forward, with all that water in the bow.”
“Well, for God’s sake don’t let our stern get too light.”
“What we can’t get over the side, we’re moving aft, and the stern planes are starting to bite.”
“Mr. Mitchell, give me a course,” Rudel ordered.
“We can continue this port turn to two two five. That will keep us clear of the rest of the formation.”
“Helm, steady on two two five.”
“We are rising,” Shimko announced, “we’re coming up!”
Jerry felt his own spirits rise, and he studied the rest of the watch. He saw relief, excitement, fatigue, but no fear. They were done.
“All tanks blown, sir.” McCord grinne
d, an infectious expression.
“Very well.” Rudel answered with his own smile as well.
They surfaced into five-foot swells and a high overcast. Seawolf shot out of the water like a drunken walrus, seesawing back and forth before she settled on the surface, seriously down by the bow. By the time they’d set the bridge watch, Rudel had turned them back toward the rest of the formation, a mile and a half distant.
Jerry and the other officers took turns coming up to the bridge to watch the rescue. He could see the black tile-covered escape chamber, bobbing like a child’s ball. Pamir and Altay were standing by on each side, and the tug’s sailors were helping the crewmen out and over to their two ships. Helicopters were taking turns lifting the injured from their fantails.
The bridge-to-bridge radio crackled to life while Jerry watched the two tugs go by. “USS Seawolf, this is Petr Velikiy. Please take station one thousand yards to starboard of my position. We wish to see if you have suffered any additional damage.”
He passed the message to control, and Rudel approved the request. Jerry guided Seawolf toward the massive warship. It lay near the center of the Russian formation. Looking aft, he could see USS Churchill falling in trail, half a mile behind them.
Jerry studied the Russian vessel as they approached. It loomed over them, even from nearly a mile away. Being so low to the water didn’t help either. The formation was only steaming at five knots, so they were overtaking slowly . . .
A shrill whistle blast cut through the air, coming from the battle cruiser’s forecastle. Jerry saw men pouring out of the weather deck hatches. What was going on? Were they sounding General Quarters? Then he saw the crew arranging themselves along the edge of each deck, from the main deck up through the many stories of the superstructure.