Cold Choices

19. HEAVY TRAFFIC

8 October 2008

1300/1:00 PM

USS Winston S. Churchill

Patterson found Captain Baker on the bridge. “I just got a message from SUBGRU Two. They did it.” Patterson handed him the hard copy.

Baker smiled as he read the news. “Three days’ worth of breathable air, medical supplies — Rudel’s done it.” Churchill’s, captain sounded like a proud sibling. “The Russians ought to give him a medal for this.”

“I don’t know about the Russians, but we might,” Patterson agreed. “It gives them time.”

“Not much,” Baker countered. “If the Russian ships arrive on scene tomorrow morning, they’ve got forty-eight hours to come up with and execute a rescue plan.”

“I asked them for their ETA,” Patterson said.

Baker was surprised. “The Russians?”

She nodded. “Through the State Department. I thought it was time to say hello, especially since we’re supposed to be supporting the on-scene search-and-rescue commander.” She shrugged. “Actually, I’ve been trying since we came on board. State says they’re passing the requests on to the Russian embassy, as well as our ambassador in Moscow, but so far there’s been no response.”

“We can try ship-to-ship when they get closer,” Baker suggested. “They haven’t come up on the search-and-rescue radio net. There’s a UN agency called the International Maritime Organization. They have established procedures and radio frequencies everyone’s supposed to use for rescue coordination, but so far Churchill is the only ship using them.” Baker shrugged. “Of course Seawolf can’t, but the Russians should be all over the net.”

Patterson frowned. “Please be careful about communicating with the Russians by radio. As long as it’s coordination, ship movements and such, that’s fine. Anything else is supposed to go through the State Department.”

“Don’t you have a State Department rep on board?”

“Yes, but State wants all our communications to go through the Washington-based staff.”

“Which sounds very clumsy and slow.”

“You’re right. It is,” conceded Patterson.

Baker walked over to the chart table. Both Churchill’s projected course and their best guess at the Russians’ path converged on the collision site. “I’ve scheduled a helicopter launch for 0715 hours tomorrow morning.” He saw her expression and the unasked question. He reassured her, “It is the earliest possible minute we can launch. Lieutenant Ross is a good pilot, but he’s never done a personnel transfer with a submarine before and I want him doing this in daylight. The helicopter will also be carrying a lot of cargo, and we’ll be bringing back several of Seawolf’s injured, which means Doc Spiegel has to ride as well.”

Picking up a pair of dividers, Baker measured the flight distance off the chart for Patterson.

“We’ll be approximately here, one hundred and fifty miles away, by 0700 tomorrow. Once airborne, we expect the helo to reach Seawolf about an hour later, and we’re allowing half an hour overhead to send the parts down and bring the injured aboard. The winds are subsiding, but they’ll still be a major factor. And this type of evolution is never easy. The XO is working on a message telling Seawolf when to surface. He’ll run it by you before we send it.”

Patterson was grateful for the courtesy. “At least we can talk to her.”

International News Network

“Reports of a successful attempt by USS Seawolf to transfer atmosphere control chemicals and other supplies to the crippled Severodvinsk have been confirmed by the U.S. Navy. Although in communication with the downed sub, Seawolf has not provided a list of the dead or injured Russian sailors. Inquiries by International News Network as to the reason for this have not been answered.

“Requests for comment by the Russian Federation government have been referred to the Russian ambassador to the United Nations, Madame Elisaveta Yansanov. A spokesman for the ambassador said that the report of the American submarine’s activities could not be verified. She also said that she has no data on the location or activities of Russian forces, but that the rescue of the sailors aboard Severodvinsk is proceeding according to plan.”

The White House

Jeffrey Wright went in first, followed by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Chief of Naval Operations, and then Rear Admiral Sloan. As National Security Adviser, Wright had been in the Oval Office many times, but was always impressed, and thought carefully before speaking. This was the driver’s seat.

The current occupant, President Nathan Huber, looked up from his desk as Wright and his group were ushered in. An aide was collecting documents as Huber hurriedly signed them. “I’ll finish these later,” he told the aide, and came around from behind the desk.

He greeted Wright, General Hodge, and Admiral Forrester; then Forrester introduced Rear Admiral Sloan.

“This is Commander of Submarine Group Two, sir. Seawolf is one of his boats. We thought his expertise would be useful.” Sloan stood at near-attention.

Huber warmly shook Sloan’s hand. “Welcome, Admiral.” He turned a little to the left, smiling, and automatically, Sloan turned in the same direction. A bright flash filled his eyes, and he heard Huber say, “Thanks, Ray. We’ll take some more a little later.” Huber introduced a young man standing to the right of his desk. “You all know Ed Rain, my press secretary.”

Wright and the other three took seats across from the president, while aides arranged themselves inconspicuously behind the principals. Rain took a seat nearby and began scribbling furiously.

Forrester began his report. “Mr. President, Seawolf’s resupply was successful. Captain Rudel reports Severodvinsk has an additional three days of breathable air. They also gave the Russians medical supplies, lanterns, batteries, and a little food. Our best intelligence on the Russian task group says they will arrive on the scene by tomorrow morning, local time.”

Wright added, “And we’ve forwarded Rudel’s report on to the State Department. They’ve passed it to Moscow and to the Russian ambassador. No official response.”

Rain looked up from his notepad, frowning. “The Russians probably got Rudel’s report the same time that we did. It’s a commercial satellite phone. Every national intelligence service and even some media organizations can listen in whenever he calls us.”

Wright responded, “There’s no need for secrecy. The more open our actions, the less the Russians can accuse us of. Look at what Rudel’s done. That’s great press. He’s bought time for Severodvinsk’s crew, and brilliantly at that.”

“What about this underwater vehicle they used to carry the supplies?” Huber asked. “I won’t quibble about cost in the middle of a rescue operation, but didn’t we just hand them classified technology?”

Wright and Forrester both looked at Sloan, who shrugged. “They may be able to remove some of the components. The computer and sonar are first-rate technology, but none of the hardware is classified and all of it is commercially available. Of course, the pieces would have to be portable enough to take with them when they are rescued.”

General Hodges concluded, “The most they can get are parts of a state-of-the-art UUV. Possibly of some use for their own designers.”

“An unintended consequence of Commander Rudel’s ingenuity,” Rain commented.

“An unavoidable consequence,” corrected Sloan.

Rain made a note. “I like that. ‘Unavoidable’ is good. He simply had no choice.”

“That’s good, Jeffrey.” Huber seemed distracted. “When do we expect the Norwegians to reach the area?”

“The day after tomorrow, the tenth, and Mystic two days after that,” Forrester answered. “If the Russians can’t get their men out, the Norwegians should arrive before their air gets too foul.”

“Barely,” Sloan added, and Hodges nodded agreement.

“And when the Russians arrive, Rudel can pass control to them and leave, correct?” Huber sounded hopeful.

“Unless the Russians ask Seawolf to stay and assist,” Sloan answered. “She still has two UUVs. They would be very useful.”

Huber looked over at his press secretary. Rain observed, “That could be good and bad. Their asking makes us one of the good guys, part of the rescue effort. But if it fails, we’re to blame as well, especially since the collision was our fault to begin with.”

Wright, Hodges, Forrester, and Sloan all looked as if they were going to speak, but Huber quickly beat them to it. “According to the reports, Ed, Rudel did his best to avoid a collision.”

Rain shook his head. “Understood, sir. And that’s the line we’ve taken, but the Russians say it’s our fault, and until an investigation clears Rudel, a lot of people will believe it’s our fault. Our best course of action is whatever gets Seawolf out of the area and out of the news before anything else bad happens.”

“We don’t have a lot of options,” Huber mused. “At least until the Russians take over.”

“Which is why we have to limit our actions, so as to limit our risks.” Rain turned to the officers. “For instance, this something-or-other sulfur chloride they dumped overboard to make room for supplies, this action has already cost us some political capital. I’ve had calls from several environmental organizations complaining about this flagrant violation of international accords. Do you know how toxic that stuff is? We’re talking about alienating some of the President’s core supporters!”

Sloan argued, “It had to be done. If. ”

“Yes, I understand the necessity, but it won’t stop some people with an agenda from second-guessing, and that can do more damage than actual events. There’s no leverage for us in this crisis. We gain nothing, even if Severodvinsk’s crew is rescued.”

Huber stood and paced. “I know we’re working to save lives, but the best we can expect at the end of the day is to break even.” He started ticking off items on his fingers. “First, attention’s been drawn to a classified operation. Second, lives have been lost and a submarine’s been badly damaged in a collision. That means an investigation, and possibly a court-martial. More bad press. Third, relations with Russia are going to suffer, even if Severodvinsk’s crew is rescued.”

Wright broke in. “One other matter, sir. Dr. Patterson is asking permission to contact the Russian government directly, without passing her messages through the State Department here in Washington. She does have someone from the Moscow embassy with her on Churchill.”

Huber looked a little puzzled. “Why would Joanna want to cut State out of the loop?”

“She says it’s interfering with the timely passing of communications. She still hasn’t been able to talk to anyone on the Russian side.”

“That’s probably more the Russians’ fault than State’s,” Rain observed.

Huber shook his head. “I’m glad one of my people is out there, but we’ve got precious little control over events. I’m not ready to give that up. I want to know what Joanna is saying to the Russians before the Russians do.”

Wright looked ready to discuss it further, but Huber cut him off. “Tell her we’ll keep State honest — and Jeff, you tell me the moment they’re not.”

After a moment’s pause, he added, “And tell her to get Seawolf out of there as soon as we legally can.”

Northern Fleet Headquarters

Vice Admiral Kokurin read through the intelligence report, looking for anything he didn’t already know. He’d gotten copies of Rudel’s conversation with his commanders from the Navy Ministry, the Foreign Ministry, and he’d seen news reports about it on the television as well. Now his intelligence specialists sent him the same thing, copied almost verbatim, with “probably” and “possibly” added here and there to cover their bureaucratic behinds. Stamp something secret and they think they own it.

Direction finders had also confirmed the Americans’ location during his last transmission. He was sitting right on top of Severodvinsk’s supposed location.

The Foreign Ministry had received communications from the U.S. government asking for the movements of the rescue ships and for details of Severodvinsk’s construction. The latter request was supposedly on behalf of the Norwegians, but they were still two days away. And why was the request coming from an American warship?

The Foreign Ministry had asked the Main Navy Staff, and they had asked him. Why were they asking these questions? How should they be answered?

Kokurin could imagine many reasons for wanting to know Petr Velikiy s movements. Some of them were reasonable, others were not. As long as it was the Americans asking, he had to assume the worst. As for details of Severodvinsk’s hatches and emergency equipment, that information could be sent to the Norwegians, when it became absolutely necessary.

Both ministries had also asked for his estimate of the destroyer’s intentions. Intelligence said an American front-line Flight IIA Burke-class destroyer was heading north at high speed, loaded with parts to repair Seawolf’s radios and civilian experts as passengers.

They were probably telling the truth about the radio parts. Kokurin smiled. Having to surface and use that idiot satellite phone was probably making the submarine captain and half the U.S. Navy insane. Getting his radios repaired would indeed be a high priority. But after that?

Having a surface ship in the area able to observe and communicate freely would give the American government a big advantage. Seawolf’s sensors and her remote vehicles gave her a good picture of what was happening underwater, but even an undamaged submarine was severely limited in what it could see above the surface.

Seawolf was damaged. Would she go home when the destroyer arrived? He didn’t think so. She’d stayed there so far, and together they made a powerful team. Kokurin didn’t like the idea of the two of them observing and recording.

But if the reports were true, the Americans had bought three days of life for Severodvinsk’s crew. The U.S. submarine captain was resourceful. It was possible they would need the Americans’ help to rescue Petrov and his crew.

The thought was bitter in his mind. The Navy had already lost its newest submarine and eighteen lives. They might still lose the whole crew. But the thought of outsiders being involved in any way almost revolted him. Even if they could help, that help would disgrace them all.

Interfax Press Release

“The Russian Naval Ministry has declared a maritime exclusion zone, effective at 1500 hours Greenwich Mean Time (1800 Moscow Daylight Savings Time) today. Centered on Latitude 73° 10’ North and Longitude 047° 50’ East, it is a circular area fifty nautical miles in diameter. All aircraft and vessels are required to remain clear of this area so that units of the Russian

Navy can conduct submarine rescue operations. The ministry said that the zone will remain in effect until further notice.

“Ministry spokesman Captain Second Rank Aleksandr Perchov was asked about the presence of foreign naval units in the exclusion area. Will they be asked to join the rescue? He stated that foreign naval units would be asked to leave, since they would be unfamiliar with Russian rescue procedures.

“All vessels and aircraft are required to obtain permission from the Naval Ministry before moving through the exclusion area, and the ministry has already stated that permission will only be granted in cases of demonstrated need.”

USS Winston S. Churchill

Parker had been after Patterson for an interview, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Public media could be an unreliable channel, but this time she knew the Russians would get her message.

They’d decided to use the wardroom as the venue. Her stateroom looked more like a college dorm room, and with Baker pushing Churchill at twenty knots, the wind made the weather decks impossible.

Adams had his own small video rig. The small light next to the camera cast an unusual glow over her, but she focused her attention on the reporter, almost shadowed in comparison. She fought the impression that he was an inquisitor. She wanted her story to be told.

“Dr. Patterson, what effect will the Russians’ exclusion zone have on U.S. operations?

“USS Churchill will of course remain outside the zone. We still intend to launch our helicopter tomorrow morning, which will be picking up injured men from USS Seawolf. We have notified the Russian Naval Ministry, through official channels, of our intentions.” She smiled, carefully, just a little, trying to think friendly thoughts. “We are sure they won’t object to a mission of mercy.”

“What about Seawolf herself? She’s right in the center of the exclusion zone. The Russians said she must leave.”

“We disagree. Seawolf has to remain there. According to international convention, the first vessel arriving at a maritime incident is the on-scene commander. International law, as well as common sense, requires that Seawolf remain with Severodvinsk until Captain Rudel can transfer command of the rescue to another, more capable vessel.”

That was a long speech. Patterson was sure none of it would be in the sound byte on the evening news. But she also knew a full transcript would be on the web within hours. She waited for Adams’s next, obvious question.

“What will Seawolf do once Commander Rudel does turn over command? Will she go home? Will there be an investigation?”

Patterson ignored the last question, and focused on her message. “Seawolf was carrying three, now two, advanced unmanned underwater vehicles. They have obviously been very useful. Besides transferring carbon-dioxide-absorbing chemicals to help keep the Russian sailors alive, they have made a detailed survey of Severodvinsk’s damage and position on the seabed. This information would be invaluable to any rescue effort. Seawolf needs to give this information to the Russians.”

“Why haven’t they sent it already?” asked Adams.

Patterson smiled. “Remember? All their radios were damaged and don’t work. The data will have to be hand-delivered to the Russian commander.”

Adams concluded. “So someone from Seawolf has to meet with the Russians personally.”

“Exactly.”

Adams shut off his camera and grinned. He didn’t say anything to Patterson, but she knew he had his sound bite.

Petr Velikiy

The admirals’ plot was a space designed to manage a three-dimensional naval battle. Most of the displays were dark now. They weren’t at general quarters, and aside from a few helicopters aloft, everything was quiet. In spite of an airtight ASW search, they hadn’t found any western submarines, in their path or trailing them.

Admirals Vidchenko and Kurganov ostensibly took turns watching the task group’s progress, but often both were present, planning, refining, and discussing scenarios with each other.

The messenger had found them both there, with another question from Moscow. He had two copies.

Vidchenko spoke first. “Tell Moscow there’s nothing we can do about the helicopter.”

Kurganov nodded his agreement, but after the messenger left, he told Vidchenko, “You know, that’s not exactly correct.”

The submarine admiral looked surprised. “None of our weapons or sensors will be in range of Churchill or Seawolf by the scheduled flight time tomorrow.”

“We will have a Ka-31 radar helicopter up tomorrow morning. Its radar will cover the entire exclusion zone and more.”

“True, so we can track their flight. That’s useful information, admiral, but a radar helicopter can’t stop them.”

Kurganov knew Vidchenko well enough by now to risk a small criticism. “You’re still thinking like a submariner. We could request a pair of Mi-28s from the Army. They could fly out to Petr tonight and refuel. In the morning they would be vectored by the Kamov to an intercept. They could force the American to turn around.”

Vidchenko nodded his understanding. The Mi-28 Havoc was a heavily armed attack helicopter. They wouldn’t even need to carry antitank missiles. Their 30mm cannon would convince a Seahawk pilot to turn around.

Kurganov continued. “We could also request interceptors from the Air Force. They could be guided by the Ka-31 as well, although they wouldn’t have as much time on station as the Army helicopters, and their options would be limited, but. ”

He didn’t have to continue. A helicopter, any helicopter, would stand no chance at all against two jet fighters. If it came to that.

“Good. Request the fighters, and make sure they are armed, but make it clear they will only make an overflight. They will not be interfering with the flight in any way. It will be good training for both the Kamov and the fighters. And it will let the Americans know what we could have done if we had wanted to.”

“Why?” Kurganov asked.

Vidchenko patted the map, right over Severodvinsk’s plotted position. “Because I believe them when they say they transferred air regeneration chemicals to Petrov’s boat. It’s too outrageous a lie to make up. It would have been so much easier for the Americans to just leave. So, since they helped our people, I will let them fix their radios and evacuate their wounded.”

Kurganov looked surprised. Every plan they’d drawn up hinged on finding the American boat and driving her off. This was not a trivial task. Most tactics were designed to kill a sub once it had been detected and localized. Playing underwater keep-away was much harder.

Vidchenko reassured him. “I don’t hate the Americans, but they have no business in the Barents. I know the strategic reasons why they send their boats into these waters, but they are intrusions nonetheless. If Seawolf had kept out, eighteen Russians and one American would still be alive.

“We will make sure the Americans don’t create any more mischief.”

Olga Sadilenko’s Apartment, Severomorsk, Russia

They’d settled on Olga’s apartment. It was closer to the train station, and only two floors up.

Most of the activity was in the living room. Some of her furniture had been pushed aside, or moved into the bedroom. That was Olga’s headquarters, a constant stream of women entering with questions and leaving with wisdom.

The bedroom was small, but like many Russians, she’d filled it with vivid color. She loved tropical fish, and visitors joked about her bedroom looking like the inside of a fishbowl.

Now the bright tropical quilt on her bed was covered with boxes and papers. Someone had moved in the big comfortable chair from her living room. There was just enough space with the bed pushed hard against the far wall. It was a good chair, battered, but it fit her shape. She’d slept in it last night, too tired to move all the clutter off her bed.

In fact, the days had blended together. Word of her meeting with Kokurin and her work afterward had spread. She hadn’t believed her tiny apartment could hold so many people.

Irina Ivanova Rodionov had completely taken over one side of the living room, showing up early in the morning with her computer, scanner, and printer. Since she shared her apartment with her invalid mother, Irina had to move into Olga’s living room to work on updating the website. Once Yelena showed up with a fancy American laptop, the living room looked more like a computer center. Maria, whose son worked with Irina’s Anatoliy, hustled about organizing the flood of photos and papers that had been arriving since last night into neat files.

After Irina scanned the photographs, Maria had started pinning them to the bedroom walls, covering the tropical fish prints and the seaweed wallpaper. Two walls were covered and a third was half filled with the photos of their loved ones. Women would walk in and touch one of the photos. Some prayed. Like a church, the room alternated between a place of hope and a memorial.

Other women had taken over answering the phone, and one of them, somehow, had arranged for a second phone line to be installed. Someone else had brought chairs, and a long plank had turned two of them into a work-table.

Two older women, less savvy with modern technology, took over the kitchen, and there was always something to eat: stew and bread, or pickles or smoked fish.

Irina walked into Olga’s room, carrying a plate full of food. “Olga, you really should eat something. We had a nice lunch, but you were busy with that reporter.”

“That idiot, you mean,” Olga grumbled, sitting up a little straighter. “He was a hack from Interfax, if he was a reporter at all.”

Irina looked alarmed. “Do you think he was from the FSB?”

The older woman shrugged and reached for the plate. “It’s possible. He seemed more interested in where we got our information than our men.”

“There will be others. Yelena says our website is getting more hits by the minute.”

“Hits? It’s being attacked?” Olga asked alarmed.

Irina smiled. “No, darling. Each ‘hit’ is a different person looking at our web page, visiting it in cyberspace. Counting the hits measures how many people have seen our web page.” She patted Olga’s hand. “It’s a good thing, and Yelena says it’s been doubling about every two hours. Lots of people are reading our message.”

“I’m grateful to you and Yelena. All of us are. Without you to help, we’d just be a mob of angry women. Easy for the government to ignore.”

As they talked, Olga ate. “This is a feast, but I can’t eat it all right now. We have to talk.”

She set the plate aside and reached for a stack of papers. “I was reading these American accounts of the collision. Did you know that an American sailor was killed? That they have wounded aboard their submarine?”

Irina nodded. “Yes, but I’ve been looking at the computer screen for hours and hours updating our story. I haven’t been keeping up with the news.”

“I’ve been so worried about my Yakov, and the rest of our men on Severodvinsk. The American government has said, officially, that Seawolf suffered one dead and several injured. And the families were all told within hours!”

“But the American captain could talk to them, with that satellite phone.”

“And that same American captain can talk to Severodvinsk, too!” Olga stormed. “What do they know? Who’s hurt? Who’s dead?”

Irina sighed. “Our Navy doesn’t trust the Americans.”

Olga quickly retorted, “I don’t care. I’d talk to the devil himself if he could tell me how Yakov is. Are those bloated toads afraid of lies from the Americans? They’re so full of lies themselves, a few more shouldn’t bother them.”

Irina leafed through the printouts. “There is another American ship in the area. They are sending a helicopter to their submarine to get the injured sailors.”

“Which means they can talk to Seawolf,” Olga concluded. “I wish we could give the submarine captain our phone number. He could just call me with that satellite phone of his. Or the ship. It’s probably against the law, but I wish we had a radio. I want to talk to that ship.”

Irina smiled. “We have something better than radio, Olga — email.”

Twenty-fourth Independent Long Range ASW Regiment, Severomorsk-1 Air Base, Russia

Four Il-38s made up the first wave. With the weather finally clearing, it was time for the Russian Navy to show they were making an all-out effort. Interfax news crews invited by the Navy filmed the big four-engine patrol planes as they thundered down the runway.

Positioned at the end of the runway, the film crews got dramatic footage of the planes climbing against a backdrop of ragged overcast.

The Navy spokesman, a pilot himself, gave the interviewer a detailed description of the plane’s antisubmarine sensors and its weapons load. He made a point of mentioning that because the search area was relatively close, the planes would be carrying their maximum load of antisubmarine sensors and ordnance. They would be over the collision site in less than an hour.