The light grew brighter, then moved past her. There was a tug on her parka hood, dragging her backward. The light extinguished and she was hauled upward, and just when she thought she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, her head was lifted above the surface.
As she gasped for air, she heard Brackman’s voice in the darkness, a few feet above her. “Grab on to the ladder.”
Christine felt the ladder behind her and twisted around, grabbing the cold metal and gaining a foothold. Brackman released her parka, then withdrew the flashlight from his pocket and shined it around. They were halfway up the compartment and the water level was rising rapidly; it had already reached her chin again. Brackman aimed the light upward, following the ladder until it reached a walkway in upper level. He began climbing and Christine followed.
She reached the walkway and followed Brackman toward an open watertight door, illuminated in the distance. After entering the next compartment, Brackman tried to shut the door, but the door latch was encased in a layer of ice. Water began surging through the door opening as he hammered the latch with the back of his flashlight, knocking off chunks of ice, and it finally broke free.
Brackman tried to close the door, but was unable to overcome gravity and the force of water rushing through the opening. Dolgoruky had settled with a twenty-degree down-angle and fifteen-degree list, and both were working against him. Christine joined in, pushing with her hands while Brackman put his shoulder into it, and the door began closing. But their feet slipped on the sloping deck, and the door started to inch in the wrong direction.
With the water level halfway up the door opening, Brackman shouted over the roar of the inrushing ocean. “Hold on to the door!”
Brackman gradually let go, and Christine’s feet slid across the deck as the door opened, until her right foot hit a stanchion. Brackman stuck his flashlight in her parka pocket, bulb end out, and he pulled himself through the door opening into the adjacent compartment.
Brackman turned around and grabbed the handwheel in the center of the door from the other side, bracing himself with both feet on the bulkhead. It took a second for Christine to realize what he was doing. They had no leverage pushing the door shut, their feet slipping on the angled deck. So he had climbed into the adjacent compartment where he could use the strength of his back and legs, pulling the hatch closed. The problem was—once the door was shut, Brackman would be on the wrong side.
Christine refused to help, shouting through the door opening instead. “What are you doing?”
“Push the door shut!” Brackman shouted.
“No!”
“This is the only way!”
The terror Christine felt moments earlier as she was about to drown returned, but this time she feared for Brackman. She was unable to will her body into motion; to sentence Brackman to death.
“No!” Christine replied. “Let’s try from this side again.”
“It won’t work,” Brackman shouted. “Either I die, or we both die. There’s no other option!”
Christine realized she had to make a decision. Her strength was fading, while the force of water they were pushing against was increasing.
Reluctantly, she concluded Brackman was right.
She lowered her shoulder and pushed against the door. It moved slowly closed until there was only a fraction of an inch remaining, water spraying out from around the watertight door seal. Christine twisted the handwheel, and as the lugs dogged down, the water spraying past the door seal slowed to a trickle, then stopped.
Christine dropped down to the circular glass viewport in the door, illuminating Brackman on the other side with her flashlight. The water level had risen above the watertight door, and with the downward angle of the submarine, the only pocket of air would be on the far side of the compartment; too far for him to swim to in his bulky Arctic gear.
She stood frozen at the watertight door in disbelief. As she struggled to accept Brackman’s fate, the realization of what she had done settled low and cold in her gut.
Brackman remained on the other side of the door, his eyes locked on hers as he held his breath. He finally exhaled, and Christine watched him choke as he inhaled icy seawater into his lungs. His hands remained on the door handwheel until his eyes glazed over and his grip loosened. Slowly, he drifted into the darkness.
97
K-329 SEVERODVINSK • USS MICHIGAN
SEVERODVINSK
“Captain, Torpedo Tubes One and Two are reloaded, flooded, and muzzle doors reopened. Both tubes are ready in all respects.”
Buffanov acknowledged his Weapons Officer’s report as they approached their target. Fire Control’s new solution held the American submarine a few hundred meters away from its original position, stationary, hiding near the ice. However, Buffanov’s Yasen class submarine was up to the task, with the most advanced sensors ever built into a Russian submarine. His Hydroacoustic Party was also well trained, with significant experience under the ice, and they had locked on to their target’s main tonals from among the ice reflections.
There had still been no counterfire from the American submarine, which meant it was either damaged or its crew had not yet detected Severodvinsk. Buffanov examined the distance to his target.
Two thousand, five hundred meters.
Another three minutes before they closed to two thousand meters.
The American submarine would not get away this time.
USS MICHIGAN
With the Russian torpedo on the other side of Michigan and speeding away, Wilson focused on the flooding and dormant combat control consoles. The Chief of the Watch had lined the drain pump to the Operations Compartment bilges, and the pump was keeping up. Water sprayed from both periscope barrel seals, and Auxiliary Division personnel were on the Conn, adjusting the packing glands around the barrels. Thankfully, the top of Michigan’s sail was at a depth of only ten feet, up against the bottom of the ice cap, and the pressure of the water spraying past the periscope barrels wasn’t dangerous.
Both periscopes were out of commission, and a glance at the Buoyancy Control Panel told Wilson the sail had suffered extensive damage. They had lost the Down indication on several masts and antennas, indicating they’d been jammed downward during the collision and their magnetic indicators were misaligned. However, the damage to the sail was inconsequential compared to the loss of Michigan’s combat control consoles.
The breaker to the submarine’s BYG-1 Combat Control System had tripped, and tripped again each time it was reset. Something was shorted out and it would take time to determine the affected component and isolate it. The entire Fire Control Division was working on the problem, but there was little hope they could solve it while seawater sprayed onto the consoles.
Wilson’s thoughts were interrupted by the Sonar Supervisor’s report. “Conn, Sonar. Hold a new narrowband contact on the spherical array, designated Sierra eight-seven, bearing one-six-zero. Analyzing.”
Wilson examined the narrowband display. There was a weak fifty-Hertz tonal; standard Russian fifty-cycle electrical machinery. As the tonal grew stronger, two more tonals appeared, followed by a fourth.
A moment later, the Sonar Supervisor followed up. “Conn, Sonar. Sierra eight-seven is classified Yasen class nuclear attack submarine.”
A pit formed in Wilson’s stomach. They were going up against one of Russia’s newest attack submarines. Additionally, the tonals were growing stronger.
The Russian submarine was moving in for the kill.
SEVERODVINSK
Range to their target was now two thousand meters. Close enough, Buffanov decided. Their torpedo would detect the American submarine as soon as it went active.
Buffanov called out, “Prepare to Fire, Hydroacoustic four-nine, torpedo salvo from tubes One and Two.”
As his crew readied two more 533-millimeter torpedoes, Buffanov evaluated his adversary’s possible responses; he intended to ensure at least one of his torpedoes homed to detonation this time.
With the American submarine up against the ice, its captain could not pull the same trick as before, launching an acoustic jammer and then emergency blowing to the ice canopy. If he launched a jammer, it would eject into the water only a few meters away. True, the jammer would mask the fainter sounds of the submarine, but it could also be used as a beacon.
Buffanov ordered, “Weapons Officer. Preset torpedo in tube One to Home-on-Jam.”
If the American crew ejected another jammer, it would draw Severodvinsk’s first torpedo close enough to activate its magnetic field exploder. If the American Captain evaded, leaving his acoustic jammer behind, his submarine would be snapped up by Buffanov’s second torpedo.
The expected reports flowed from his watchstanders.
The First Officer called out, “Solution updated.”
“Torpedoes ready, tubes One and Two,” his Weapons Officer announced.
The Watch Officer reported, “Countermeasures armed.”
Severodvinsk was ready.
Buffanov moved to the rear of the Central Command Post, placing himself where he would have a clear view of the hydroacoustic and fire control displays. One final scan convinced him of the pending outcome.
His adversary would not get away this time.
As he prepared to issue the Fire order, he was interrupted by a report from Hydroacoustic, blaring from the Command Post speakers.
“Torpedo launch transients, bearing two-seven-zero!”
Buffanov’s eyes locked on to the hydroacoustic display, trying to figure out what was going on. The American guided missile submarine was to the north, yet Hydroacoustic reported a torpedo fired from the west. It took only a second for Buffanov to understand what had occurred, and his face paled when he realized his failure.
98
USS NORTH DAKOTA • K-329 SEVERODVINSK
USS NORTH DAKOTA
“You forgot about us, didn’t you?”
Commander Paul Tolbert wasn’t sure whether he spoke the words aloud or just thought them. A few hours earlier, the electronic components scavenged by the Russians had been reinstalled and all tactical systems restored, and Commander Tolbert now stood in the Control Room of a fully operational Virginia class submarine. There was the propulsion issue, but the front end was fully functional.
Sonar had picked up the Yasen class submarine, and Tolbert’s crew had monitored its approach toward Michigan. Once the Russian Captain’s intentions became clear, Tolbert had manned Battle Stations and determined a firing solution. With his submarine a sitting duck, Tolbert would normally not have engaged, since counterfire from the Russian submarine would have resulted in the destruction of his submarine. However, he couldn’t stand by as Michigan was sunk, plus he was optimistic the Russian Captain would have insufficient time to counterfire. The Yasen class submarine had maneuvered close to North Dakota, and Tolbert’s torpedo, closing at High One speed, would hopefully detonate before the Russian crew could respond.
Tolbert watched his outbound weapon merge onto the bearing of Sierra one, which was less than a thousand yards away from the torpedo now.
He called out, “Command Enable tube One. Shift speed to High Two.”
His Weapons Officer complied, transmitting the new orders over the torpedo’s guidance wire. Not long thereafter, the Sonar Supervisor reported the expected indications.
“Own ship’s unit has gone active. Increasing speed to High Two.”
A few seconds later, the Weapons Officer called out, “Detect!” followed almost immediately by, “Homing!”
North Dakota’s torpedo was performing well, but Tolbert decided to prepare another one just in case.
“Firing Point Procedures, Sierra one, tube Two.”
SEVERODVINSK
“Incoming torpedo is homing, bearing two-seven-zero!”
Buffanov’s thoughts went in several directions, but he settled on the two most important issues: evading the incoming torpedo and counterfiring.
“Eject torpedo decoy!”
The Watch Officer complied, ejecting a decoy into the water, and Buffanov focused on increasing speed, putting distance between his submarine and the decoy. Unfortunately, Severodvinsk was still operating on the electric drive, which was capable of only ten knots.
“Steersman, shift propulsion to the main engines!”
It would take a minute to complete the shift, and in the meantime, Buffanov prepared to counterfire. Although Severodvinsk had ten torpedo tubes, only two were 533-millimeter ones loaded with torpedoes designed to kill submarines. The torpedoes in both tubes were assigned to Hydroacoustic four-nine, and Buffanov needed a torpedo to fire to the west.
He called out, “Cancel Fire, Hydroacoustic four-nine. Prepare to Fire, tube One, bearing two-seven-zero.”
His crew responded quickly, canceling the solutions sent to the two torpedoes and sending a new firing bearing to the torpedo in tube One. However, precious time was lost resetting the torpedo’s guidance system. Through the submarine’s hull, Buffanov heard the faint sonar pings from the incoming torpedo, growing louder.
The Weapons Officer finally announced the torpedo in tube One was ready to fire. As Buffanov issued the command, his order was drowned out by an explosion that jolted Severodvinsk and knocked him to the deck. A geyser of ice-cold water surged into the Command Post from the level below, shooting up the access ladder and ricocheting off bulkheads and consoles. The wail of the Flooding Alarm filled Buffanov’s ears, followed by emergency reports detailing flooding in Compartments Two and Three.
As Buffanov watched the ocean pour into his submarine, he realized there was little he could do; the flooding was beyond the capacity of their drain pumps, and an Emergency Blow with two flooded compartments would do no good, even if they hadn’t been under the ice.
Severodvinsk was going to the bottom.
Buffanov’s submarine tilted downward and increased speed as it descended. Buffanov struggled to his feet, fighting against the water surging into the Command Post, already waist high. As he clung to the starboard periscope barrel, he glanced at the digital depth detector. Its glowing red numbers increased as Severodvinsk plummeted toward the bottom.
With a jarring impact, water and men surged forward as the attack submarine’s bow plowed into the ocean floor. The screech of twisting metal filled Buffanov’s ears as Severodvinsk’s bow crumpled like paper-mache. The Flooding Alarm, which had fallen silent a moment earlier, wailed again, this time followed by a report of flooding in Compartment One. With flooding on both sides of Compartment Two, Buffanov and his men in the compartment were trapped. As the water level rose above his shoulders, he realized there would be no escape.
99
USS MICHIGAN
“Explosion in the water, bearing one-six-zero.”
Wilson acknowledged Sonar’s report, but in the complex under-ice environment, what he didn’t know was whether North Dakota’s torpedo had homed on the Russian submarine or a nearby ice keel. Sonar’s next report provided the answer.
“Mechanical transient, bearing one-six-one, consistent with bottom impact.”
The immediate threat had been eliminated. However, Michigan had been attacked by a second Russian submarine, and a third might arrive soon. The reason for the first attack was clear; the Akula Captain was trying to stop Michigan’s SEALs from interfering. But why had the second Russian Captain attacked? To avenge the Akula? Wilson then recalled the Yasen Captain had fired two torpedoes and both had exploded. The other torpedo hadn’t hit North Dakota, so what had it hit?
Petty Officer Malocsay looked up as Wilson stopped by his console and examined the bearings to the second torpedo. Wilson directed Malocsay, “Give me an estimated course for a fifty-knot torpedo at a range of three thousand yards.
Malocsay adjusted the scale of electronic speed strip to fifty knots, lining up each bearing with the appropriate time. He finally got a perfect fit and looked up as Wilson’s eyes narrowed. The torpedo course passed directly over Yury Dolgoruky.
/> 100
K-535 YURY DOLGORUKY
In the bitterly cold compartment, Christine peered through the portal in the watertight door, watching Brackman’s body disappear in the murky water. It had happened too fast; she had pushed the door shut, sealing Brackman to his fate. She remained at the door, staring into the darkness as her grief broke, tears falling from her cheeks, her sobs echoing in the deserted submarine. She began shivering, and it took a moment before she realized her predicament.
Hypothermia was setting in. The wet clothing and the twenty-nine-degree temperature were sucking the heat from her body. She wiped the tears away and shifted her focus from Brackman’s death to her own survival. She needed dry clothing. A quick examination of the compartment revealed auxiliary machinery. She pointed her flashlight forward, spotting an open watertight door leading to another compartment.
She was in the seventh of nine compartments. Compartments Eight and Nine behind her were flooded, as were Compartments Two and Three, leaving Compartments Four through Six to explore. If ONI intel was correct, Compartment Six contained the reactor, and Compartment Five was the missile compartment. She prayed Compartment Four contained crew berthing, where she might find something dry to change into. Her bare hands were already numb.
She moved quickly through the watertight doorway and found herself in a long passageway, which she presumed was the Reactor Compartment Tunnel. She continued into the next compartment, where two rows of missile tubes stretched into the darkness.
Christine headed down the starboard side of the compartment, past eight missile tubes, until she reached another open watertight doorway. As she stepped through, her flashlight illuminated electronic equipment on each side of a narrow passageway. She continued forward, finding a ladder, which she followed down to a berthing level filled with several rows of bunks. A search of the crew’s lockers produced coveralls, underwear, socks, and shoes. Still shivering, she shed her wet apparel and donned two sets of clothing and a pair of shoes, then used a blanket to dry her hair.
Ice Station Nautilus Page 27