Ice Station Nautilus

by Rick Campbell

K-329 SEVERODVINSK • USS MICHIGAN

  SEVERODVINSK

  “Steady on course three-five-zero.”

  Josef Buffanov acknowledged the Steersman’s report. They were headed toward the American guided missile submarine, only five thousand meters away based on their earlier solution. Hydroacoustic had not yet detected its presence again, but Buffanov was not surprised. If the American submarine was hovering, there would be no propulsion tonals, and the feedwater, cooling, and lube oil systems would be running in slow speed, supporting only the turbine generators.

  Four thousand meters away.

  Finally, Buffanov received the report he’d been awaiting. “Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold a new narrowband contact on the spherical array, designated Hydroacoustic four-nine, bearing three-five-two. Analyzing.”

  Hydroacoustic would perform due diligence, comparing the received frequencies to their database and previous contacts. It didn’t take long.

  “Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Contact four-nine is classified Ohio class submarine, a regain of contact four-eight.”

  Buffanov called out, “Attention in the Command Post.” The watchstanders turned in his direction and he continued, “We will engage Hydroacoustic four-nine once we determine an adequate solution. We will also fire simultaneously at Dolgoruky, in case the American submarine survives and makes our return to the area difficult. Any questions?”

  After no one responded, Buffanov issued the orders. “Prepare to fire salvo from tubes One and Two. Assign tube One to Hydroacoustic four-nine and tube Two to Yury Dolgoruky. Tube One will be fired first.”

  First Officer Novikoff stopped by the navigation table. After examining the location of Yury Dolgoruky on the chart, he sent the coordinates to Weapons Control, then focused on determining a solution for the American submarine. The bearing was known, as was the speed, assuming the guided missile submarine was hovering. Both fire controlmen matched the bearing to the contact and entered zero knots. However, they needed to verify the range.

  Novikoff announced, “Captain, request maneuver to a beam aspect.”

  Buffanov accommodated the request. “Steersman, right standard rudder, steady course zero-eight-zero.”

  Severodvinsk turned to its new course, and both fire controlmen matched the new bearing rate to the American submarine, developing identical solutions. The contact was 3,200 meters away. Novikoff tapped one of the men on the shoulder and ordered, “Send solution to Weapon Control.”

  Novikoff announced, “Captain, I have a firing solution on Hydroacoustic four-nine, and the coordinates for Yury Dolgoruky have been entered into Weapon Control.”

  USS MICHIGAN

  It was just past noon aboard Wilson’s submarine, and the two off-going watch officers—the Officer of the Deck and Engineering Officer of the Watch—had just delivered their after-watch report to Wilson and were sitting down for lunch. Wilson was at the other end of the wardroom table, finishing a cup of coffee before heading to Control to relieve his Executive Officer, who was stationed as Command Duty Officer.

  It was obvious that the Akula had attacked Michigan to prevent the SEAL detachment from interfering with the Spetsnaz’s attempt to scavenge North Dakota, and now that the Russian plot had been thwarted, there seemed no reason for Russia to attack again. As a precaution, however, either Wilson or his Executive Officer would be in the Control Room 24/7 until he became convinced there was no further threat or Michigan departed the area.

  Rescue operations on Dolgoruky had wrapped up, but North Dakota needed a tow from under the ice cap, and Michigan had been tagged. NAVSEA was working on the problem, manufacturing the tow cable and figuring out how to attach it to both submarines. In the meantime, Michigan would wait. Wilson took a last sip of coffee, then headed to the Control Room to relieve his XO.

  SEVERODVINSK

  Buffanov stopped beside his First Officer, evaluating the solution to Hydroacoustic four-nine. The American submarine was hovering three thousand meters away. He retreated to the rear of the Command Post, where he had a clear view of all stations and awaited the remaining reports.

  His Weapons Officer announced, “Ready to Fire, tubes One and Two.”

  Severodvinsk’s Watch Officer followed. “Countermeasures are armed.”

  Buffanov ordered, “Steersman, prepare to shift to the main engines.” He examined the solution for the American submarine and the distance to Dolgoruky one final time.

  Satisfied that all parameters were optimal, he announced, “Fire tubes One and Two.”

  USS MICHIGAN

  Wilson had just stepped from the Wardroom when he heard the 1-MC announcement.

  “Torpedo in the water! Man Battle Stations Torpedo!”

  The loud gong, gong, gong of the submarine’s General Emergency alarm reverberated throughout the submarine as Wilson ascended the ladder to Control two steps at a time, entering as the Chief of the Watch repeated the announcement on the 1-MC. The XO, Lieutenant Commander Sparks, was hunched behind one of the fire control technicians at a combat control console, and the Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Lake, was on the Conn. Wilson stopped beside the OOD and scanned the displays in Control, assimilating the data.

  He could feel the tremors in the submarine’s deck, indicating the main engines were coming to life, and a glance at the Engine Order Telegraph by the Helm confirmed Lieutenant Lake had ordered ahead flank. The navigation repeater confirmed what Wilson already knew; Michigan was on course three-four-zero, depth three hundred feet.

  As Wilson turned toward the sonar display, another announcement blared from the Conn speakers.

  “Second torpedo in the water, bearing one-seven-two!”

  Wilson examined the two white traces on the display. Both torpedoes had been fired from the south. Michigan needed to turn east. He didn’t wait for a turnover from his XO or Officer of the Deck.

  “Helm, hard right rudder, steady course zero-nine-zero.”

  The Helm twisted his rudder hard right, and Michigan turned slowly to the evasion course. The eighteen-thousand-ton submarine had accelerated to only five knots thus far, and Michigan would evade the incoming torpedoes only if they had been fired from long range. As Wilson wondered how far away they were, the announcement over the Control Room speakers gave him an indication.

  “First-fired torpedo is homing!”

  Wilson cursed under his breath. The first torpedo was within two thousand yards and had locked on to Michigan. With the torpedo already homing, a decoy would do little to distract it from the 560-foot-long submarine. However, it could still be jammed.

  “Officer of the Deck, launch acoustic jammer!”

  Lieutenant Lake complied, launching one of the five-inch countermeasures, then Wilson tackled the problem of where to place Michigan. The torpedo would be momentarily blinded, but once it passed the countermeasure, ahead would be clear water. And Michigan.

  “Helm, all stop. Back emergency!”

  Wilson decided to stop-and-drop. Rather, stop-and-rise. The best way to prevent the torpedo from locking on to the submarine was to stay near the acoustic jammer and get as close to the ice canopy as possible, hoping the jammer and sonar reflections from the ice would sufficiently confuse the torpedo. Unfortunately, Michigan was moving too slowly to drive to the surface quickly enough. The Hovering system wasn’t an option, either; it would adjust Michigan’s depth gradually. Wilson needed a radical depth change.

  “Chief of the Watch, Emergency Blow all main ballast tanks!”

  The Chief of the Watch stood and activated the mechanical levers above the Ballast Control Panel, porting high-pressure air to the main ballast tanks. The sound of air rushing into the tanks drowned out the conversations in Control, and Wilson felt Michigan rising toward the surface.

  With the ballast tanks full of air, the submarine’s ascent would be uncontrolled, and it would smash into the ice above. They were either going to mangle the sail, or if the ice was thin enough to break through, they might shear off the fairwater
planes on the sail. This wasn’t going to turn out well, but he had no choice.

  After Michigan began rising rapidly, Wilson ordered the Chief of the Watch to secure the blow, then flood all variable ballast tanks, bringing on weight to decrease the rate of ascent and lessen the submarine’s impact with the ice. As the Chief of the Watch flooded water into the tanks, Wilson turned his attention to the incoming torpedoes, and the submarine that fired them.

  Sonar did not hold a contact, so there was no target solution to send to the torpedo. The best they could do was get a torpedo in the water ASAP, ramming it back down the throat of whoever had attacked them.

  Wilson called out, “Quick Reaction Firing, tube One, bearing one-seven-two!”

  The Control Room was fully manned now, and as the Fire Control Party prepared to launch a torpedo, Wilson checked the submarine’s depth. Michigan’s keel was at one hundred feet and rising rapidly. They were going to smash into the ice cap any second.

  Wilson grabbed on to the Conn railing as he called out, “Brace for impact!”

  94

  K-329 SEVERODVINSK • K-535 YURY DOLGORUKY

  SEVERODVINSK

  Buffanov stood behind his Weapons Officer, monitoring the status of his outgoing torpedoes. The first torpedo was homing on the American submarine, while his second torpedo had descended to a search depth of 175 meters, as close to the bottom as possible, which would increase the probability it detected the sunken ballistic missile submarine. A rocky ocean bottom would have been problematic, but the smooth bottom of the Barents Sea should present no issue. The announcement from his Weapons Officer confirmed his assessment.

  “Detect, second fired torpedo!”

  Buffanov listened to the next report; their torpedo was performing as expected.

  “Second fired torpedo is homing!”

  On the Weapon Launch Console, the parameters updated as the torpedo increased speed and angled down toward its target.

  YURY DOLGORUKY

  As Christine descended the ladder into the abandoned Russian submarine, cold, stale air greeted her. Chief Stankiewicz waited on the deck below, shining his flashlight around the deserted compartment, its surfaces covered in a thin layer of ice. Christine reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped onto an angled deck. As she shined her flashlight around, she realized the Russian submarine had settled on the bottom of the Barents Sea at a twenty-degree down-angle and fifteen-degree list to port.

  They were in the center of what looked like the Engine Room, standing on a walkway suspended in the air. She leaned over the railing and shined her flashlight below; it looked like they were on the upper of two levels. Beneath her sprawled the submarine’s main engines and reduction gears, and in the distance toward the stern of the submarine, she could see the shaft, with water trickling into the submarine from around the shaft seals.

  She moved forward to create room for Brackman and Berman, and after the two men landed on the walkway, they continued forward to make room for the rest of the ONI team. Brackman led the way toward a watertight door, open on the latch. He stepped into the next compartment, followed by Christine and Berman, the white beams from their flashlights cutting through the darkness.

  Christine heard it first. Faint, high-pitched pings. She’d heard the noise before, while aboard USS Michigan off the coast of China. The pitch of these pings was a tad higher, but unmistakable nonetheless. Brackman heard the noise as well, stopping on the walkway, his head cocked as he listened to the distinct sound, growing gradually louder.

  Berman heard it next, and as he stopped to listen to the unusual noise, there was a deafening explosion behind them and the submarine jolted, knocking Christine and the two men to the deck. There was a pressure transient and pain pierced her ears, and the roaring sound became muffled.

  Christine pulled herself to her feet, as did Brackman and Berman, and as all three turned their flashlights toward the compartment behind them, a torrent of water blasted through the watertight door opening, hitting Berman and knocking him backward. He ricocheted off Christine and tumbled over the upper-level walkway, and his impact and the surge of water knocked Christine the other way. She hit the waist-high railing and flipped over it, but managed to grab on to the metal bar with one hand.

  As she dangled from the walkway, her grip started to slip, so she released the flashlight and grabbed on to the railing with her other hand. She tried pulling herself onto the walkway, but the water surging into the compartment buffeted her with too much force. Her left hand lost its grip and she clamped down hard with her right, but the railing slipped away and she tumbled into the darkness.

  95

  USS MICHIGAN • K-329 SEVERODVINSK

  USS MICHIGAN

  Michigan shuddered as she slammed into the polar ice cap. The air was filled with the groan of twisting metal as water sprayed from both periscope barrel seals, dousing Wilson on the Conn. He moved to the port side of Control, turning back to examine the damage. A quick glance told him the flooding was within the capacity of the drain pump, but the bigger concern was that the seawater was spraying on the combat control consoles. The dual screen consoles were water resistant, not waterproof. The watchstanders remained at their consoles, processing the Quick Reaction Fire command as the sound of an explosion rumbled through Michigan’s hull.

  Checking the nearest sonar display, Wilson noted the second torpedo had disappeared from the screen, while the bearing to the first torpedo remained constant, which meant it was on an intercept course with Michigan.

  Sonar called out, “Estimated range to torpedo is five hundred yards.”

  Wilson focused again on firing preparations as seawater doused the four combat control consoles. Petty Officer Malocsay at the Weapon Launch Console was making final preparations, sending presets to the weapon, when his console began to spark. Lieutenant Benjamin and Malocsay stepped away as the XO directed one of the other fire control technicians to reconfigure his console for Weapon Control. As Benjamin moved behind the reconfiguring console, the three remaining workstations dropped off-line.

  Wilson stared at four dead consoles. They could not shoot back.

  “Two hundred yards to incoming torpedo!”

  Their only hope was that the acoustic jammer and Michigan’s proximity to the ice canopy would confuse the torpedo enough.

  “One hundred yards to incoming torpedo!”

  Wilson grabbed on to a nearby piping run, bracing himself for the explosion.

  He counted down the distance, finally reaching zero.

  There was no explosion.

  He waited a few more seconds, then Sonar made the report he’d hoped for.

  “Conn, Sonar. Torpedo bears three-five-zero. Down Doppler.”

  The torpedo was on the other side of Michigan and heading away. However, the Russian submarine was still out there, and its Captain would soon realize his torpedo had missed. It would not be long before he steered the torpedo back toward Michigan or fired another one.

  SEVERODVINSK

  Josef Buffanov stood at the back of his Command Post, listening to the report from his Weapons Officer.

  “Second-fired torpedo has homed to detonation on Yury Dolgoruky.”

  Buffanov was pleased with the report, but destroying a submarine lying on a smooth ocean bottom was not challenging. His first torpedo, however, faced a more difficult task. The Americans had ejected a powerful acoustic jammer, and Hydroacoustic had reported air transients, followed by a loud metallic transient. The American Captain had emergency blown and hit the ice, hoping his proximity to the ice cap would fool the incoming torpedo.

  The Weapons Officer announced, “First-fired torpedo bears three-four-zero, range three-five hundred meters. No detection.”

  Buffanov joined his First Officer, examining the fire control solution. The American submarine was at a range of 3,200 meters. Their torpedo had passed it. He decided against a steer; it would turn their torpedo around, headed not only toward the American submarine, bu
t also toward Severodvinsk. It would be better to launch another torpedo, and keep them both heading away.

  The lack of counterfire from the American submarine was comforting. It must have experienced Command Post damage from the ice impact. Buffanov decided to approach even closer before firing his next torpedo, leaving the America Captain with insufficient time to react, just in case he had another trick up his sleeve.

  Buffanov examined the bearing to Hydroacoustic four-nine, then ordered, “Steersman, left twenty degrees rudder, steady course three-four-zero. Slow to ahead one-third.”

  Severodvinsk turned toward its target, slowing to reduce the sound of its approach.

  Buffanov ordered his Weapons Officer, “Reload tubes One and Two. Make both tubes ready in all respects.”

  96

  K-535 YURY DOLGORUKY

  Christine fell through the darkness, expecting to break her legs when she hit the metal deck. Instead, she plunged into ice-cold water. She kicked her way to the surface and flailed about, hoping to grab on to something. But her heavy boots and Arctic clothing became waterlogged and started to pull her under. Just before she slipped beneath the water, she took a last gasp of air.

  As she sank toward the bottom of the compartment, she ripped off her gloves and tore at her bootlaces, pulling the second boot off as her back hit the deck. She planted her feet and pushed upward, ascending only a few feet before sinking again. Terror tore through her mind when she realized she could not reach the surface while wearing the heavy Arctic clothing, and there wasn’t enough time to remove it; she already felt lightheaded.

  She tried once more, squatting low and thrusting upward, kicking with her legs and pulling herself up with her arms, but a moment later her feet hit the deck again. As she searched frantically for a solution, a light plunged into the water, traveling quickly to the bottom. The light scanned from left to right, and as it illuminated her profile, Christine repressed a scream when she spotted Stu Berman floating beside her, his eyes frozen open and blood flowing from a gash in his head.