Ice Station Nautilus
Page 9
“Passing one-five-zero feet,” the Dive announced.
As Michigan ascended, the Dive called out the submarine’s depth in ten-foot increments, and Lake gradually rotated her left wrist forward, tilting the scope optics down toward the horizon. As the Dive called out eight-zero feet, the scope broke the surface of the water and Lake circled with the periscope, searching for nearby contacts. After several revolutions, she announced, “No close contacts.”
Conversation in Control resumed, and Radio reported over the 27-MC, “Conn, Radio. Download in progress.” The Quartermaster followed with, “GPS fix received.”
Lake acknowledged the reports, and a moment later, Radio reported Michigan had received the latest round of Naval messages. “Conn, Radio. Download complete.”
With both objectives completed, Lake called out, “All stations, Conn. Going deep. Helm, ahead two-thirds. Dive, make your depth two hundred feet.”
Each station acknowledged and Michigan tilted downward, leaving periscope depth behind. “Scope’s under,” Lake announced, then turned the periscope until it looked forward. She snapped the handles back to their folded positions, then reached up and rotated the periscope ring counterclockwise, lowering the scope into its well.
As Michigan leveled off at two hundred feet, a radioman entered Control, delivering the message clipboard. Wilson reviewed the messages, studying one in particular. They had received new orders.
He was surprised Michigan had been selected. But after reviewing the locations of the other three SSGNs—USS Florida was in the Persian Gulf, and Ohio and Georgia were in standard maintenance periods—he realized they were the closest submarine with SEALs and Navy divers. He would need to brief the crew on Michigan’s new task, and have the Navigator prepare the charts and plot a course through the Bering Strait.
Wilson turned to Lieutenant Lake. “Come down to five hundred feet, course north. Increase speed to ahead flank.”
21
MOSCOW
With the morning sun streaming through tall Palladian windows behind him, President Yuri Kalinin looked across his desk at his minister of defense, Boris Chernov.
“Mr. President,” Chernov began, “an American submarine has sunk in the Barents Sea, somewhere beneath the polar ice cap.”
“Have they requested our assistance?” Kalinin asked.
“No, Mr. President. The United States is mobilizing their rescue assets.”
“Is there some way we can assist?”
“We do not believe so. The Americans have a robust rescue system, which can be quickly transported where they need it.”
“If we have not been asked for assistance and cannot provide any, then why the urgent meeting?”
“There is a … wrinkle in the situation,” Chernov replied. “Yury Dolgoruky departed on patrol five days ago. American submarines deploy to the Barents to trail ours, and there is no target more desirable than Dolgoruky. It is not unreasonable to assume the Americans were trailing her, and if that is the case, there is the possibility the two submarines collided.”
“Do we have any indications they collided?”
“No, Mr. President, but unless Dolgoruky reports in, we cannot be sure. That is why I am here, to request permission to order Dolgoruky to break radio silence.”
Before Kalinin could respond, his phone rang. His executive assistant would not interrupt a meeting with his defense minister unless it was important.
“What is it?” Kalinin said as he answered the phone.
“The American president is on another line. He wishes to speak to you.”
Kalinin glanced at Chernov as he raised an eyebrow. “Put him through.”
The American president offered a perfunctory greeting, then got straight to the point. An American submarine had gone down under the polar ice cap. He offered what little he knew, then addressed the sensitive issue.
“We believe our submarine trailed Yury Dolgoruky under the ice, and the two submarines may have collided.”
Kalinin eyed his defense minister as he replied, “I am sorry, Mr. President, but you are misinformed. Yury Dolgoruky is not on patrol in the Northern Barents. She is in local waters off the Kola Peninsula for crew training. However, if you need our assistance, do not hesitate to ask.”
He hung up the phone, then directed Chernov, “Order Dolgoruky to report in.”
22
ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA
The Admiralty building, built in Russian Empire style with a quarter-mile-long facade, served as the headquarters of the Imperial Russian Navy under the tsars until 1917, becoming the seat of power for the Russian Navy again in 2012. Sitting atop the building’s 240-foot-high golden spire, the sailing warship weather vane is one of the city’s most recognizable symbols.
On the third floor of the building, Fleet Admiral Georgiy Ivanov stood behind Michman Danil Krasinski, seated at his console in the Communications Center. As the young man scrolled through the messages on his display, Ivanov could tell the radioman was nervous; his supervisor peered over his left shoulder, while the highest-ranking officer in the Russian Navy peered over his right. Krasinski scrolled through the radio messages received from Northern Fleet units in the last week, searching for transmissions from Yury Dolgoruky.
The Communications Center had been transmitting for the last twenty-four hours over every circuit, including VLF and ELF in case Dolgoruky went under the ice, ordering the submarine to report in. Ivanov had grown nervous, the probability that disaster had befallen Dolgoruky becoming more likely with each passing hour. Even if Captain Stepanov had taken Dolgoruky under the ice for some reason, he was far too experienced to have taken her so deep that he couldn’t transit to open water within the required time frame.
Upon reaching the end of the queue, Krasinski announced, “There is nothing, Admiral. Dolgoruky has not transmitted since she left port.”
Ivanov turned to Krasinski’s supervisor. “Initiate Signal Number Six procedures.”
23
MOSCOW
Yuri Kalinin was reviewing the daily intelligence briefing when he heard the heavy knock on his door. He acknowledged, and Russia’s minister of defense entered, striding briskly across the thirty-foot-wide expanse of open space. Chernov stopped in front of the president’s desk, and Kalinin could tell he brought news. He gestured toward a chair.
As Chernov settled into his seat, Kalinin asked, “You have word of Dolgoruky?”
“She has not reported in,” Chernov replied. “The Navy has concluded she has sunk, most likely in a collision with the American submarine. Northern Fleet has initiated Signal Number Six procedures.”
Kalinin was silent for a moment, then asked, “Do we know where she sank?”
“No,” Chernov replied. “Dolgoruky’s operating area is extremely large; over one million square kilometers. Once our ballistic missile submarines reach their operating areas, they can travel in any direction, even under the ice.”
“How do we find her?”
“Northern Fleet is sortieing every ship to look for her, but our ship and submarine sonars are not equipped for bottom searches. We will be lucky to stumble across her. A more likely scenario is that the Americans find her for us. They have a rough idea of where their submarine sank. Once they locate it, we will know where to look for ours.”
“Therein lies the problem,” Kalinin replied. “If the Americans find their submarine, they will likely find ours.”
“But the Americans won’t be looking for Dolgoruky,” Chernov replied.
A confused expression worked its way across Kalinin’s face. “Why not?”
“Because we’re not going to tell them Dolgoruky sank. Let them look only for their submarine, and if they find it, we will set up a base camp nearby, ostensibly to assist. But we will be preparing to rescue Dolgoruky instead. Without America looking for her, the odds we reach her first will increase.”
“I understand,” Kalinin replied. “But what if the Americans do reach her first?”
C
hernov studied Kalinin carefully before he answered. “You know what we must do.”
Kalinin evaluated Chernov’s assessment, then pulled a stationery pad from his desk. Chernov waited as Kalinin wrote and signed the directive, then placed it in an envelope and sealed it. He handed it to Chernov.
“Deliver this to Fleet Admiral Ivanov.”
* * *
As Boris Chernov closed the doors to the president’s office, an idea began to take hold. Tragedy had befallen the Russian Navy again. Yet it was also an incredible opportunity, and it didn’t take long to decide the risk was worth it.
He headed to the Kremlin basement.
Moments later, Chernov entered the Intelligence Center. The senior officer on watch, Captain Second Rank Eduard Davydov, looked up from his console. “Good morning, Defense Minister. How can I help you?”
“Which American submarine is in the Barents Sea?”
Davydov entered several commands at his console, and maps of the Atlantic Ocean, Mediterranean Sea, and Persian Gulf appeared on the monitor at the front of the Intelligence Center. Overlaid on the maps were five blue areas and one green.
“America’s Atlantic Fleet has five attack submarines and one guided missile submarine on deployment. By analyzing underway dates, transit times, and port calls, we can determine where each submarine is deployed. The blue areas indicate the locations of their fast attacks, while their guided missile submarine is in the green area. As you can see, their guided missile submarine and two fast attacks are in the Persian Gulf, with another two fast attack submarines in the Mediterranean. The fifth fast attack is on a northern run. We detected her passing our surveillance arrays near Iceland, which puts her in the Barents Sea.”
Davydov moved the pointer on the display onto the blue area covering the Barents Sea. A text box popped up, displaying the relevant data. Davydov read it aloud. “The American submarine in the Barents is North Dakota.”
Chernov suppressed a smile.
North Dakota was America’s first Block III Virginia class submarine, armed with the latest tactical systems.
It could not have been more perfect.
24
ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA
After a short flight from Moscow, Boris Chernov entered the office of Fleet Admiral Georgiy Ivanov, prepared to discuss not only the directive he was carrying in his suit pocket, but another, more dangerous effort that would require the Admiral’s cooperation.
Chernov settled into the chair across from Ivanov. “These are difficult times,” he began. “Another Russian submarine has sunk, and the challenge we face is more difficult than Kursk. We do not know where Dolgoruky is.”
Ivanov replied, “You are not telling me anything I don’t already know. Get to the point.”
Chernov was taken aback by the Admiral’s brusque response, which he excused, given the circumstances. “I have discussed the situation with President Kalinin,” Chernov replied, “including what to do if the Americans reach Dolgoruky first.” He pulled the sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it to the Admiral.
Ivanov opened the envelope and read the instructions.
“I understand,” he replied. “I will draft the order myself and send it today.”
Chernov held out his hand. There could be no record of what Kalinin had ordered.
Ivanov hesitated, then folded the directive and placed it back in the envelope. “I could destroy it for you,” he said as he returned it.
Chernov said nothing as he slid the envelope into his pocket. There was a strained silence before he broached the second, more sensitive topic.
“There is something else I wish to discuss with you, Admiral.”
Ivanov said nothing, waiting for Chernov to continue.
“The American submarine that sank is their first Block III Virginia class, outfitted with their newest tactical systems. If we reach it first and evacuate the crew, we can harvest the submarine’s technology.” Chernov leaned forward in his chair. “We cannot let this opportunity slip through our fingers.”
Admiral Ivanov stared at Chernov dispassionately, giving no indication he was moved by Chernov’s plea. “What do you want, Boris?”
Chernov took a few minutes to explain his plan, finishing with, “If we are successful, all will be forgiven.”
The Admiral considered Chernov’s proposal. The assets required for the operation were under Ivanov’s command. If he failed, it would be his head on the chopping block.
Chernov tried to assure Ivanov there was no threat of incarceration. “I believe there is no risk to you other than your career. If things do not turn out well, I have no doubt Kalinin will fire you. But that will be the extent of the ramifications. Whether we succeed or fail, Kalinin will publicly deny our involvement while assuaging the Americans.”
After a long silence, Ivanov replied, “You are correct. We cannot let this opportunity pass. I will give the necessary orders.”
25
K-329 SEVERODVINSK
Captain Second Rank Josef Buffanov made his round through his submarine’s Central Command Post, stopping to review the last entry in the Deck Log.
Course: 000, Depth: 100 meters, Speed: 35 knots
Severodvinsk had been in the Barents Sea, headed to the Mediterranean for deployment, when Buffanov received new orders. They were now headed north at maximum speed, preparing to slip beneath the polar ice cap in search of Yury Dolgoruky.
K-329 Severodvinsk was a fourth-generation nuclear-powered submarine, the first of the new Yasen class. Built as a replacement for the Project 971-A attack and 949-A guided missile submarines, dubbed Akula and Oscar by the West, Severodvinsk’s technology was state-of-the-art. Outfitted with a new spherical array sonar, Severodvinsk was also equipped with upgraded flank arrays on the hull and more capable towed arrays. While the sensor suite of the Yasen class submarine was vastly improved, so was her armament. With ten torpedo tubes and eight vertical launchers, each of the latter carrying five antiship or land-attack cruise missiles, Severodvinsk was a formidable ship.
Severodvinsk’s First Officer, Captain Third Rank Anton Novikoff, entered the Command Post, joining Buffanov at the navigation table. Severodvinsk was approaching the Marginal Ice Zone, and they had to slow and set the ice watches before proceeding.
Captain Lieutenant Dmitri Ronin, the Watch Officer, approached the two men, addressing the submarine’s Captain. “I intend to slow and set the Ice Detail,” he said.
Buffanov gave his concurrence and Ronin ordered the submarine to slow to ten knots. As Severodvinsk slowed, its streaming antenna floated toward the ocean’s surface and they regained sync with the message broadcast.
“Command Post, Communication. Have received a Commanding Officer Only message.”
Buffanov entered the Communications Post and stopped by the two printers. “Ready.”
The radioman hit the print button and a message emerged from the left printer.
Buffanov read the message, then reread it. He glanced at the radioman, who was processing the rest of the messages they had downloaded. Buffanov folded the paper and slid it inside the breast pocket of his coveralls.
“Senior Michman,” Buffanov called out. The radioman turned in his direction. “Have we received new waterspace assignments?”
The radioman scrolled through the messages on his display. “Yes, Captain.” He selected the message and hit the print button, and a second sheet of paper slid from the printer.
Buffanov took the message and returned to the Command Post, without revealing his emotions. No doubt, his First Officer and the watchstanders were wondering about the Commanding Officer Only message. The time would come when he would reveal Severodvinsk’s new mission. Meanwhile, they would loiter just outside the Marginal Ice Zone.
“Watch Officer, slow to ahead one-third. We will not be heading under the ice.” He turned to his First Officer and handed him the new waterspace assignment. “Have the Navigating Officer plot our new operating area.”
26
USS MICHIGAN
Lieutenant Mark DeCrispino swung the periscope around, then steadied up for another observation on the contact of interest.
“Iceberg off the port bow. Bearing, mark!”
As Captain Wilson watched from his chair on the Conn, DeCrispino pressed the red button on the periscope handle, sending the bearing to combat control. Petty Officer Chris Malocsay, manning one of the combat control consoles, determined the range by setting the iceberg’s speed to zero and analyzing its bearing rate.
“Range, five thousand yards. CPA range—three thousand, two hundred yards.”
Malocsay had calculated the iceberg’s Closest Point of Approach as it passed down the port side of the submarine. It would remain sufficiently far away; no course change was required.
USS Michigan was in the Marginal Ice Zone just north of St. Lawrence Island, headed toward the polar ice cap. Before slipping under the ice, Wilson had ordered his submarine to periscope depth for a final GPS fix for their inertial navigators.
The Quartermaster reported. “Both inertial navigators have accepted the GPS fix.”
A moment later, DeCrispino called out from the Conn, “Captain, radio download is complete and GPS fix obtained. I intend to go deep.”
“Very well,” Wilson replied. “Deploy the floating wire when you are steady on depth.”
Once Michigan slipped beneath the polar ice cap, she could not head to periscope depth to copy the broadcast. Instead, they would trail the floating wire antenna, monitoring message traffic over the VLF broadcast.
Lieutenant DeCrispino gave the necessary orders and Michigan tilted downward. Their journey beneath the ice would be treacherous, transiting over the shallow Chukchi Shelf in the Pacific and the Barents Shelf in the Atlantic. The ice keels were deep during the late winter months, leaving little room for safe transit. Michigan settled out at two hundred feet, and as Wilson prepared to head beneath the ice, he knew he wouldn’t get much sleep until they reached the deep-water basins of the Arctic Ocean.