Ice Station Nautilus

by Rick Campbell

  The conversation had been short, and Director Bobby Pleasant hung up the phone with a single thought.

  It was an impossible task.

  Pleasant was the director of the U.S. Navy’s Arctic Submarine Laboratory. Located in warm San Diego, California, the Arctic Submarine Lab was responsible for developing and maintaining the skills, equipment, and procedures enabling the United States Submarine Force to operate safely and effectively in the Marginal Ice Zone and under the polar ice cap.

  Before North Dakota departed for its northern run, Arctic Submarine Lab personnel had trained the crew to operate safely in the unique Arctic environment. Had Pleasant known the submarine was headed under the polar ice cap, he would have recommended they take an ice pilot, which was the normal protocol. However, North Dakota wasn’t supposed to head under the ice; whatever the crew was trailing must have taken her there.

  In addition to training and assigning ice pilots to submarine crews during under-ice missions, the Arctic Submarine Lab was responsible for planning and executing periodic ice exercises, or ICEXs, which included the establishment of Arctic ice camps, especially when submarines were shooting exercise torpedoes under the ice. Exercise torpedoes floated to the surface after completing their run, where the multimillion-dollar weapons were retrieved and sent back to a maintenance facility for refurbishment. However, under the ice cap, the torpedoes didn’t float to the surface; they bumped up against the ice. So Arctic ice camps were established with the personnel and equipment to locate the exercise torpedoes and retrieve them.

  It was the Arctic Submarine Lab’s experience in establishing ice camps, as well as locating torpedoes under the ice, that resulted in the phone call Pleasant had just received. However, locating a sunken submarine was a far different task than finding a torpedo. Exercise torpedoes had end-of-run pingers that were detected by a sonar array laid on top of the ice, plus the ice camp personnel already knew the area in which the torpedoes would be fired; typically only a few square miles. North Dakota’s location was unknown. At this time of year, the polar ice cap was at its maximum extent, and the submarine could be anywhere beneath six million square miles of ice.

  Pleasant picked up his phone and called two men. A moment later, Vance Verbeck, the Arctic Submarine Lab’s Technical Director, and Paul Leone, the Lab’s most experienced ice pilot and a retired submarine commanding officer, entered his office.

  “What’s up?” Verbeck asked.

  “There’s a SUBMISS on the broadcast. North Dakota is twelve hours overdue.”

  Verbeck was silent for a moment, then said, “Since you called us in here, I take it North Dakota went down under the ice cap.”

  Pleasant nodded.

  “Do we know where she sank?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Pleasant replied.

  “What do we know?”

  Pleasant located the SUBMISS message on his computer, then read aloud the pertinent details. North Dakota was last located eighty-five hours ago in the Marginal Ice Zone in the Barents Sea, headed north. Pleasant read off the latitude and longitude, and the three men turned to a laminated map of the Arctic on Pleasant’s far wall.

  Paul Leone pulled the cap off a dry-erase marker and put an X on the LAT/LONG position. Directly north was the gap between Svalbard and Franz Josef Land. He sketched a narrow wedge, widening out from North Dakota’s last known position, constrained by the shores of Svalbard to the west and Franz Josef Land to the East. Once past the two archipelagos, he drew a larger wedge expanding outward at forty-five degrees.

  “Let’s assume an average speed of ten knots,” Leone said. “If she was trailing a ballistic missile submarine, it’s unlikely they were traveling any faster. Assuming she went down somewhere between her last position and seventy-two hours later when she missed her reporting deadline, that gives us a maximum distance traveled of seven hundred and twenty nautical miles.”

  He drew a straight line north from North Dakota’s last known position, then marked off the distance in one-hundred-nautical-mile increments. When he reached 720, he drew a curved top to the wedge and then cut off the bottom, marking the maximum extent of the ice cap at this time of year, then stepped back.

  Leone had drawn an area resembling a slice of pie with the crust at the top, and a bite taken off the bottom. It was approximately six hundred miles long with an average width of two hundred miles.

  “She’s somewhere in here,” Leone said.

  Pleasant did the math. Assuming Leone was correct, they had narrowed the search area from six million to 120,000 square miles. However, the sonar array they laid over the ice covered only four square miles. It would take at least a day to transport, set up, and listen in each of the four square miles. That meant it would take thirty thousand days—more than eighty years—to cover the 120,000 square mile area.

  “Well,” Pleasant said, “it’s a start.”

  He looked up at his technical director. “We need to expand the area we can search with the tracking array. Let’s combine the two arrays we have and add our spare hydrophones. Find a spot for the ice camp as close to the center of the search area as possible, and we’ll start from there. We’ll need multi-year ice, the thickest we can find.”

  Verbeck examined the map. “Let’s stage out of Svalbard. We can fly everything into the airport at Longyearbyen, then transport it to the ice camp from there.”

  “Sounds good,” Pleasant replied.

  He turned to Leone. “Find out what aircraft the submarine rescue equipment is transported in, and what the aircraft weighs fully loaded, so we can figure out if it can land on the ice, or we’ll have to get the equipment there another way. Also, if we locate North Dakota, we’ll need to lower the rescue vehicle through the ice. This won’t be as easy as cutting a three-foot hole for torpedo retrieval. Coordinate with the Undersea Rescue Command and NAVSEA and come up with a way to cut a hole in the ice, large enough for the submersible.”

  Pleasant turned back to Verbeck. “This ice camp will be different than a normal one. For starters, we’re going to need more berthing hooches for the submarine rescue personnel, and who knows who else will be up there. More food, more fuel, more heating oil, more cold-weather gear, more transportation—you get the picture. Get everyone moving and start figuring things out.”

  “Got it,” Verbeck said.

  He headed out the door, but Leone didn’t move. He was contemplating something.

  “What is it?” Pleasant asked.

  “We need a backup plan. Even if we find North Dakota, there’s no guarantee the submarine rescue equipment will work in sub-zero temperatures or we’ll be able to cut through the ice fast enough.”

  “Your backup plan is…?”

  “What if we try to rescue North Dakota from below the ice?”

  “Below the ice? How would we do that?”

  Leone took a moment to outline his plan.

  19

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  It was almost 6 p.m. and Christine O’Connor was about to call it a day. Sitting at her desk, she flipped the next page of the document in front of her. She had spent the last few hours reviewing the New START Treaty, which incorporated many improvements over START I. In addition to reducing the number of deployed nuclear warheads by two-thirds, it also required counting the warheads on each deployed ICBM and SLBM, rather than relying on an assumed number of warheads per launcher. What the Russians proposed in Moscow was a return to START I methodology.

  New START gave the United States the authority to conduct a Type One inspection on all deployed and nondeployed strategic offensive arms sites, giving the United States the ability to verify the number of warheads. There was one fly in the ointment, however. Russia’s new Bulava missile and Borei class submarines were not yet listed in the latest biannual exchange of data. Russia had deliberately kept them off the list. If they were not on the list, they could not be inspected. However, by not including them on the list of strategic arms, Russia was in direct violation of New S
TART.

  As she leaned back in her chair, evaluating how to address the flagrant violation, there was a knock on her door. Christine acknowledged and Captain Brackman entered.

  “The president wants us in the Situation Room.”

  “What’s up?” Christine asked.

  “Richardson and N97 are on the way over from the Pentagon to brief the president.”

  Christine wondered what could be so important as to warrant a visit by the secretary of defense and the Director of Undersea Warfare at 6 p.m. Before she could ask, Brackman added, “Admiral McFarland and Dawn Cabral are on the way too.”

  Something was brewing. The CNO was joining them, and the secretary of state’s presence meant the issue had international implications.

  “Do you know what the topic is?”

  “Yes,” Brackman replied, and Christine could sense the concern in his voice. “They think USS North Dakota has sunk beneath the polar ice cap.”

  * * *

  Christine and Brackman were the first to arrive in the Situation Room, joined shortly by Secretary of State Dawn Cabral, Press Secretary Lars Sikes, and Chief of Staff Kevin Hardison. The president arrived moments later, followed by SecDef Don Richardson and two Admirals: Michael McFarland, the Chief of Naval Operations, and Rear Admiral Gary Riley, the Director of Undersea Warfare. The president took his seat at the head of the table, joined by the eight other men and women in the Situation Room.

  “For those who haven’t been prebriefed,” Richardson began, “we believe one of our fast attack submarines, USS North Dakota, has sunk beneath the polar ice cap. Admiral Riley is here to brief us.”

  Admiral Riley passed around a stack of PowerPoint briefs. As the president received his copy, he asked, “What was the submarine doing up there?”

  Riley replied, “North Dakota is on a northern run in the Barents Sea, tasked with tracking Russian submarines.” He flipped to the first page of the brief, which showed a map of the Arctic Ocean and the northern shore of Russia. “Russia’s first Borei class submarine, Yury Dolgoruky, departed Gadzhiyevo Naval Base five days ago for her first strategic patrol, and North Dakota was assigned to collect intel. We know very little about Borei class submarines—their sound characteristics and operating patterns. North Dakota began tracking Dolgoruky once she entered the Barents Sea, and her last transmission placed both submarines in the Marginal Ice Zone, headed north. We believe North Dakota followed Dolgoruky under the ice, where something happened to North Dakota.”

  “Are we certain North Dakota sank?” the president asked.

  “No, sir,” Riley replied. “That’s why we’ve issued a SUBMISS instead of a SUBSUNK. There are three submarine rescue alert levels,” he explained. “A SUBLOOK message gets issued when a submarine fails to report in on time. Once there’s reason to believe a submarine has sunk or is in distress, a SUBMISS goes out and we begin mobilizing rescue resources. Once we’ve confirmed a submarine has sunk, we issue a SUBSUNK.”

  Riley continued, “It’s possible North Dakota’s crew is okay and unable to report in for some reason, but the likelihood they have suffered a serious casualty increases with each hour.”

  Captain Brackman asked, “Have we detected any explosions or other acoustic events that might provide a clue as to what happened?”

  “We’ve heard nothing so far,” Riley replied. “Which at least means no torpedoes have exploded, either deliberately or by accident.”

  “How long can the crew survive?” the president asked.

  “They have enough emergency supplies to keep the air viable for seven days. In the worst case, if North Dakota went down shortly after her last transmission, the crew has three days left. In the best case, if something happened just before she was due to report in, they have six days left. However, if they have electrical power and can run their atmosphere control equipment, they’d be okay for several months, until they run out of food. For now, we’re assuming they have no power and time is critical.”

  Riley flipped to the next page of his brief, which showed a map of the Barents Sea and the pie-shaped area drawn by Paul Leone, the ice pilot from the Arctic Submarine Lab.

  “This is where we think North Dakota sank. We’ll focus our search over the Barents Shelf, where the water is shallow. If North Dakota went down in the north, in the Nansen Basin, the crew is lost. Water depth in the basin is over twelve thousand feet, and the pressure hull would have imploded. We haven’t detected any implosions, so that means if she’s on the bottom, she’s on the Barents Shelf.

  “Which gets me to the next issue. Our rescue plans.” Riley flipped the page.

  He began with the resources most people were familiar with. “We used to have two Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicles, or DSRVs—Avalon and Mystic, which attached to a mother submarine for transit to the rescue location. However, Avalon was decommissioned in 2001 and Mystic was retired in 2008. Their replacement is the Submarine Rescue Diving and Recompression System, located at the Undersea Rescue Command in San Diego.

  “Our Arctic Submarine Lab will establish a base camp on the ice cap, where we’ll begin our search efforts. Once we locate North Dakota, we’ll transport the rescue equipment onto the ice.” Riley continued, “There are a lot of details still to be worked out, but we have a plan.

  “Additionally, we have a Plan B,” he added. “Our rescue equipment wasn’t designed to operate in the Arctic environment and was also built to deploy from the deck of a support ship, not atop the ice. Even if we find North Dakota and the rescue equipment arrives in time, there’s the possibility it won’t function properly or be too heavy for the ice. Our backup plan is to send one of our guided missile submarines under the polar ice cap. Deployed SSGNs carry two platoons of SEALs and an equal number of Navy divers. If necessary, they may be able to ferry emergency supplies to North Dakota and escort personnel off in small groups. The nearest SSGN will be receiving orders on her next trip to periscope depth.”

  “What do we tell the public?” Press Secretary Sikes asked. He looked to the president, who referred the question to Riley.

  “For now,” Riley answered, “I recommend we say nothing. It’s not uncommon to issue a SUBLOOK, and on rare occasions we issue a SUBMISS and begin mobilizing rescue assets. The last U.S. submarine that sunk was USS Scorpion in 1968. Every SUBMISS since then has been a false alarm. Until we’re confident North Dakota has sunk, I recommend we not mention anything unless we’re queried.”

  “I agree,” the president said. “Draft something for my review,” he instructed Sikes, “in case the story breaks.”

  “There’s one other thing to consider,” Brackman said. “If North Dakota was trailing Dolgoruky, there’s the possibility they collided. If that’s the case, the Russian submarine may have also sunk. You might want to call President Kalinin to inform him we’re initiating rescue efforts and they should verify their submarine is okay.”

  “The Russians already know,” Admiral McFarland said. “They’re a member of ISMERLO, the International Submarine Escape and Rescue Liaison Office, which is a consortium of every country that operates submarines. They know we’re mobilizing to rescue one of our submarines beneath the polar ice cap.”

  The president replied, “I’ll call President Kalinin first thing in the morning, Moscow time.”

  Admiral Riley concluded his brief with sober words. “This is a nightmare scenario—a submarine sunk under the polar ice cap, with no ability to escape to the surface or let anyone know where they are. We’ve narrowed the search area to a hundred and twenty thousand square miles. However, that’s almost as big as California. The probability we’ll find North Dakota in time is slim to none.”

  20

  USS MICHIGAN

  It was just before midnight aboard the guided missile submarine USS Michigan, outbound from the Trident submarine base in Bangor, Washington. Seated in the Captain’s chair on the Conn, Captain Murray Wilson surveyed the watchstanders in the Control Room as they completed preparations for
a trip to periscope depth. The submarine’s Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Barbara Lake, stood on the Conn between the two lowered periscopes, waiting for the towed array to steady after the submarine’s baffle clearance maneuver.

  Michigan was halfway across the Pacific Ocean, headed to its operating area along China’s coast. After China’s recent transgression, attacking Taiwan and Japan, the United States was keeping as much firepower as possible within striking distance. Loaded aboard Michigan, in eighteen of her twenty-four missile tubes, were 126 Tomahawk missiles, seven per tube. Also aboard Michigan tonight were two platoons of Navy SEALs as well as two SEAL Delivery Vehicles inside dual Dry Deck Shelters attached to the submarine’s Missile Deck.

  Lieutenant Lake had ordered Michigan shallow, to 180 feet, preparing to head to periscope depth to catch the broadcast, turning to check for contacts in the baffles.

  “Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts.”

  A few minutes later, Sonar reported, “Conn, Sonar. Hold no contacts.”

  Wilson was not surprised; they had not held a contact for over a day as Michigan traversed the Northern Pacific, not far from Alaska’s Aleutian Island chain.

  After obtaining permission to proceed to periscope depth, Lake announced, “Raising Number Two scope,” then reached up and twisted the periscope ring above her head clockwise. After the periscope finished its silent ascent, Lake snapped the handles down and adjusted the optics, selecting low power with her right hand and maximum elevation with her left. She twisted the periscope left and right, verifying it rotated freely.

  “All stations, Conn,” Lake called out. “Proceeding to periscope depth.”

  Sonar, Radio, and the Quartermaster acknowledged as Lake placed her right eye against the eyepiece. “Helm, ahead one-third. Dive, make your depth eight-zero feet.”

  The Diving Officer repeated Lake’s order, then directed the two watchstanders in front of him, “Ten up. Full rise fairwater planes.”

  Michigan tilted upward and rose toward the surface.