Cold Choices

22. RENDEZVOUS

9 October 2008

1915/7:15 PM

USS Seawolf

They surfaced five miles off Churchill’s port beam. Normally, when Seawolf joined on a surface vessel, she did so by announcing her presence with a green flare, a thousand yards astern, in perfect firing position. This time, instead of “bang you’re dead,” a yellow flare broke the surface, indicating that a submarine was coming to periscope depth. But without a periscope or most of her sonars, Seawolf had poor situational awareness of the surface above, and couldn’t safely come up near another ship. Once Churchill’s bridge crew saw the yellow flare, they maneuvered away to give Seawolf all the room she needed. While a little excessive, nobody disagreed with Rudel’s caution.

Once on the roof, Seawolf began to close on the now fully illuminated destroyer. Jerry was well aware of Seawolf’s limitations, and he swore at times that he could physically feel them, but this surfacing bruised his already tender submariner’s ego. It was just plain wrong to meekly surface and then hobble over and take station astern of a surface combatant. Just thinking about it made him wince. And it was doubtful that Doc Gallant had anything, other than his cheery bedside manner, to treat it with.

Even though the weather had improved considerably, Seawolf was still very much restricted in her ability to maneuver on the surface. At anything more than five knots, the large gentle swells caused the heavily damaged bow to vibrate and make some very unpleasant noises. Instead of racing northeast at thirty-plus knots, Churchill would be limited to Seawolf’s glacial pace.

As the boat rolled slowly from side to side, Jerry was starting to get used to being on the surface. His stomach still complained, and he was sure he was losing weight from missed meals, but he was learning to cope with the nausea. It was amazing how much the weather could change in just over a day. The evening sky topside was magnificent, with a colorful twilight having faded away under clear skies. The main act, however, was the aurora borealis, or northern lights, which put on a spectacular display. The chief of the watch had no problems getting volunteers to man the two lookout positions on the bridge. Despite his doubling the number of lookouts, there were so many who wanted to go up that he’d shortened each watch to just an hour.

The captain and the XO slowly walked down the ladder into control, having just come down from the bridge, and handed their parkas to the messenger of the watch. Rudel looked much better, having gotten some rest after the depth-charging incident earlier. He still looked depressed over having to retreat from Severodvinsk’s position, but the XO assured Jerry that the captain was finally on the mend. Apparently, being forced to leave was the straw that broke the captain’s resolve and all the emotional baggage he had been holding on to since the collision was thrown overboard all at once. Jerry hoped the XO was right. He’d hate to see a leader like Rudel suffer over the collision. There had been enough casualties already.

Both of them came over to the chart table, Shimko actually looked like he was in a good mood. “Nice job on the rendezvous, Nav. I particularly liked that little Kabuki dance at the end.”

“Thanks, XO. I think.” Jerry smiled; he knew Shimko was jerking his chain over the delay in meeting up with Churchill. “It’s not my fault that no one told me that Churchill went to afterburner and roared right by us,” he complained defensively. Between their escape course and Churchill’s increase in speed, the two ships had failed to link up as expected, and Churchill had to backtrack to rendezvous with Seawolf. Jerry had taken a little good-natured ribbing once they had realized the destroyer had passed CPA and was opening. “Still, it’s nice to finally operate with a ship from our Navy.”

“I think we all like having a friendly face in the neighborhood,” said Rudel.

“Hear, hear!” Shimko exclaimed. “I’d love to see those helos try a repeat of their antics with an Aegis destroyer around.”

“Listen, Jerry. I want to thank you for all you’ve done to help the XO hold this boat together over the last couple days. I guess I let myself get a little too preoccupied with Severodvinsk,” Rudel admitted quietly.

Jerry, surprised by Rudel’s confession, took a moment to react, and then another when he realized he didn’t know how to respond. Shimko covered for him.

“Skipper, wise man says, ‘Strong feelings precede great movements.’ We all want to help the Russian.”

“Perhaps, Marcus. But I think I need to keep better track of my responsibilities. I just didn’t see the forest fire for the flaming trees. And now that the Russian fleet is finally on station, they are better equipped than we are to rescue Petrov and his crew.”

Rudel studied the nav plot for a moment, then said, “It’s too dark to do anything more tonight, but in the morning some experts on Churchill are going to come aboard to inspect our damage. Then when they leave, I’m going with them to a meeting on board the Russian flagship, Peter the Great”

Jerry absorbed the news. Visitors at sea, the captain leaving the ship.

“And it turns out you know one of them,” Shimko added. “There’s a Dr. Patterson aboard. She’s billed as our SAR coordinator. Apparently, the president’s national security adviser appointed her to the position and she’s calling the shots.” He studied Jerry for a moment, gauging his expression. “She says you and her are old shipmates, which means she must have been with you on Memphis.”

Jerry searched for a moment, then replied simply, “That’s right. ” and after another pause, “She’s a scientist, and she rode with us on our spec op. Since her trip on Memphis she’s become a big fan of submariners. She even married one.”

“She’s Lowell Hardy’s wife?” Rudel asked a little surprised.

“Yes, sir.”

“So ah, do you two keep in touch?” pushed Shimko.

“With her and Captain Hardy? Christmas cards, mostly. I visited them the last time I was in Washington.” Jerry was uncomfortable with Shimko’s interest and tried to move the conversation on. “XO, what time will they be coming aboard?”

“Oh seven hundred, they’ll be guests for breakfast. A woman on a submarine, eh? I’d love to hear some of her sea stories. Yep, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting an old shipmate of yours, Jerry.”

As Rudel and the XO both headed aft, Jerry forced his shoulders to unclench. Joanna Patterson. He would be glad to see her, even after, or maybe because of, everything that had happened aboard Memphis. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t talk to Shimko about Memphis’s last mission, but that wouldn’t stop the XO from trying.

10 October 2008

0630/6:30 AM

Mikhail Rudnitskiy

Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Admiral, sir, they’ll be ready to launch in half an hour.” Light flooded into his brain, and Vidchenko stirred. He shook his head, and then blinked several times.

A senior-lieutenant, one of Rudnitskiy’s engineers, had stepped back, and was offering him a mug of hot tea. The admiral waved it off, saying, “No, thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

The officer left, and Vidchenko rolled out of the bunk and stood carefully. He stretched briefly to work out some of the stiffness in his joints, then dressed and washed. Someone had left him a pair of submarine coveralls, more appropriate for AS-34 than the working uniform he’d worn over. They’d even put his name on them, along with the proper rank insignia.

He’d used the captain’s cabin, and its unfamiliar layout slowed him a little. Gradev had a large family. The photo over his desk showed a gray-haired woman surrounded by seven children, probably taken by Gradev himself. Other shots scattered around the cabin showed the captain with the children at sporting events. The largest photo was of Gradev in some sort of tropical setting, standing next to an incredibly large fish. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

A petty officer was waiting outside the cabin, and he snapped to attention as the door opened. “Would you like to have some breakfast, sir? There’s still time. They’ve just started. ”

“No. I’ll go to the sub.”

“Yessir. Please follow me.”

The petty officer led him down a brightly lit passageway, then down two ladders to the main deck level, and out through a watertight door to the dark weather decks. The cold wind pulled at his coat, but the admiral hardly felt it. He was already absorbed in the dive.

A separate set of ladders took them down to the deck of the hold, now open to the air as they rigged lifting lines to the minisub.

Gradev came running over. “Good morning, sir!”

“How long until we launch, Captain?”

“We will disconnect the charging cables in another five minutes. The instant they are gone, you and the crew will board and we will put AS-34 over the side.”

“Disconnect the cables now. Petrov and his men are on borrowed time. Those final five minutes won’t make any difference.”

“Immediately, Admiral.” Gradev ran to give the orders, and Vidchenko studied the toylike submersible. It would have fit on the deck of his first command, a nuclear sub, and that boat was half the tonnage of Severodvinsk.

Two middle-aged officers in coveralls came up and saluted. “Captain Third Rank Bakhorin, Admiral. I am the officer in charge and pilot. This is Captain Third Rank Umansky, my systems engineer and navigator.”

Bakhorin hadn’t referred to himself as “Captain” because AS-34 was not a commissioned naval vessel. He wore a submariner’s insignia, as did Umansky, and Vidchenko wondered whether it was by choice or circumstance that two middle-grade officers had decided to crew this clumsy craft.

“There’s a jump seat just aft of the conning station, sir. There’s very little room to shift positions with three of us in there, so you’ll have to board first.”

“Will I be able to see out any of the ports?” That was the whole reason Vidchenko was going. The photos taken on the first dive had been so poor that it was hard to visualize Severodvinsk’s situation. He had to see for himself if that was the best they could do, and at the same time find out what he could of Severodvinsk’s plight.

“Yes, comrade Admiral,” Bakhorin replied. “Although the viewports are not very big. Your field of view will be limited. Come, let’s get on board.”

Bakhorin motioned to Vidchenko, pointing to a ladder. “This way, sir.” The three walked over to the ladder that provided access to the submersible’s deck, with crewmen along the way wishing them luck. Some saluted, others clapped them on the back, some even gave obscene encouragements. AS-34 Priz was the reason Rudnitskiy was there — the reason for the entire task force. There was a lot of hope riding on something that looked like a bath toy.

Vidchenko turned to start climbing the boarding ladder, but Bakhorin stopped him. “Your coat, sir. I’m afraid there’s no room for it inside.”The admiral handed it to a petty officer, and then started up the ladder. Vidchenko struggled to keep his feet in the rungs as the ladder flexed and the ship rolled, but found himself quickly and was soon on top. “Just go straight in!” Bakhorin instructed, as he held the ladder extension so the admiral could step straight down into the interior of the minisub.

Stepping onto the hatch rim, Vidchenko grabbed the extension and slowly descended into the opening. It was lit, thank goodness, and he gingerly picked his way into the cluttered interior.

The access trunk was only a meter long, and led into a cylindrical compartment about two meters in length. It was an irregular cylinder, with equipment and consoles invading the space without regard for movement or human convenience. It was impossible to stand fully upright. Behind him, through a hatchway, was another larger cylinder with seating for twenty passengers.

Vidchenko was still surveying the interior when there was a clatter on the hatch rim over his head and a pair of feet appeared in the opening. They were moving quickly, and the admiral shifted aft to give them space.

Bakhorin came down next and took the chair in the bow. After closing and dogging the hatch, Umansky took his seat, just a little forward of the entrance. A loud clang signaled the closing of the hatch.

An air horn sounded and the lines to AS-34 went taut. It sounded again and she came off the cradle, while crewmen with lines steadied her. Vidchenko felt a sudden jerk and then could see that they were being lifted clear of Rudnitskiy’s hull.

Lights followed the white-and-orange-striped vehicle as the crane swung it out of the hold and lowered it into the water. Vidchenko was too busy holding on to notice that they were in the water. AS-34 was now afloat on Rudnitskiy’s lee side, with only a bow and stern line connecting it to the mother ship.

Three measured raps echoed inside the sub. “They’ve released the mooring lines,” Bakhorin announced. “Flooding all tanks.”

“Best course is two four seven, distance twelve hundred meters,” recommended Umansky.

Bakhorin was his own helmsman as well as diving officer. “Course is two four seven.” He turned back to Vidchenko. “We won’t use the motors right now, to save battery charge — we’ll use a ‘gliding’ descent to cover a lot of that distance.”

“Why do you not power your way down?” asked Vidchenko impatiently.

“We do not have sufficient battery power, comrade Admiral,” responded Bakhorin frankly. “The batteries on this submersible are all beyond their service lives and we have only two hours or so of power. We can save energy by just sinking down naturally.”

“How long will this take?” Vidchenko grumbled. It was all about time.

“To one hundred ninety-seven meters? It took us thirty minutes yesterday, but we were proceeding cautiously. Now we are sure there are no obstructions, and know the exact location of the sub. We should be alongside Severodvinsk in twenty minutes.”

“We going to survey the starboard side this time, yes?”

Watching the gauges, Bakhorin sighed. “Correct, sir. We did one complete pass around Severodvinsk, but we only had sufficient time to do a thorough examination of the port side on the last dive.”

“And you’ll have just enough time to examine the other side on this one,” Vidchenko concluded. “Plus any time you save on the dive.”

“Yes sir.”

“We have to make enough time to go back to the port side.” He tapped a sheaf of papers he’d brought. “These photos are fuzzy, at best. They hardly show the shape of the bottom, much less its composition. If we are going to plant charges to right Severodvinsk, it will have to be on the next dive.”

“I wish we had more time, sir. I’d skip surveying this side, but if. ”

Vidchenko waved him off impatiently. The steps they had to take were obvious and mandatory. Even when you cut corners, there were things that couldn’t be skipped.

“Sonar contact.” Umansky’s report came only twelve minutes into the dive. “Four hundred meters, ten degrees to port.”

Vidchenko automatically bent over to look out through one of the ports, it was pitch black; he could see nothing. Umansky saw him look and said, “Our lights aren’t on yet, sir, to conserve power. But even with them on, we will only have a visual range of five to ten meters, and that’s only when the water is clear. The longer we stay in one place, the more silt we will stir up.”

He pointed to the photos Vidchenko held. “These are all the first shots, the best images, of each feature. The second ones were worse, and we didn’t bother with a third.”

Vidchenko asked, “Where are the cameras mounted?”

Umansky smiled sheepishly and held up an old Canon digital camera. “This is it, sir. We take pictures through the front port, which is optically flat, but we have to maneuver the sub to properly face the subject.”

Vidchenko was beginning to write off the chance of getting any decent images. The only worthwhile examination would be his personal observations. He wished he’d brought a demolitions expert on this dive, and chided himself for not being more aware of AS-34’s capabilities and limitations.

“Don’t bother with the photographs,” ordered Vidchenko. “Make one pro forma pass down the port side. Then proceed over to the starboard side.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll be approaching from the bow.”

Bakhorin started the motors, both to slow their downward descent and start them toward the bottomed sub. Umansky reported, “Course is good, two hundred meters. Bottom is in sight, thirty meters.”

“We’ll go down to seven meters off the bottom,” Bakhorin explained. “Any closer and we stir up too much silt, any farther away and the lights won’t illuminate properly.”

“One hundred fifty meters. Recommend we slow.”

“Slowing to two knots, Mother,” Bakhorin teased.

Umansky coached them into position, and they made room for Vidchenko to crouch near one of the forward-facing viewports. They’d closed inside fifty meters, and Bakhorin had slowed to a bare crawl, with nothing but inky blackness in front of them. Vidchenko fought the urge to check his watch. Time could be measured in air or battery charge, and there was precious little of either.

Suddenly, a dull greenish black wall rushed at them, but Bakhorin was ready and backed sharply. He cut the motors after one short astern burst, and AS-34 drifted to a stop surrounded by a cloud of yellow and gray silt.

There was almost no curvature to the hull, and Vidchenko realized they could see only a few square meters of it through the port. It would take at least a dozen dives to thoroughly inspect the submarine and the surrounding area.

Bakhorin was already turning AS-34 to pass close alongside the sub’s hull. Even at a fast walk, it took a while to cover the one hundred and twenty meters. Severodvinsk listed in their direction, so the massive hull crowded over them. All three officers studied the bottom, looking for anything that would interfere with the boat righting itself if the obstructions were removed. Luckily, there was little to see, just an uneven layer of mud with the underlying rock sometimes showing through.

“We’re coming up on the stern, Admiral,” announced Umansky.

Vidchenko continued to watch, although Bakhorin had pulled the minisub up and away from the bottom. He hadn’t stopped moving aft, and one of the stern planes appeared and then passed aft, only a meter from the viewports. As large as the side of a house, Vidchenko remembered seeing them not that long ago, standing on the floor of a drydock before she was launched. Now she’d never leave this place.

“I’ll turn to port, sir.” Bakhorin turned AS-34 tightly. Vidchenko knew what to expect, but was still shocked when he saw the stern. There at the end of the shaft, distorted and bent upward, was the plus-sign-shaped end cap, but not a single propeller blade was on the hub. Only torn, jagged ridges where the scimitar-shaped blades once were. Vidchenko tried to imagine the shaft bending, flexing with the impact of each blade as it struck the American’s hull, the turbines instantly freed from their massive load, water pouring in from the shaft seals.

“Have you found the collision debris field?”

Umansky answered. “It wasn’t on any of our sonar sweeps. Severodvinsk had some way on at the time of the collision. She would have gone some distance, especially since she appeared to be descending when she struck this hillside. There’s a scar in the bottom on the other side. With a little time…”

“Which we don’t have,” Vidchenko interrupted. “We’ll leave the investigation of the bottom to a proper survey vessel, and hopefully Petrov and his men will be able to personally assist in reconstructing the collision.”

“This is where we’d have to plant the first charge, Admiral.”

Bukharin had move the mini-sub around to the starboard side and maneuvered it to an irregular rocky mound next to Severodvinsk’s hull. It had to be removed so that the sub could roll to starboard and right itself. The lights from AS-34 actually cast shadows, showing an empty space on at least one side of the obstruction.

Mud covered most of the underlying rock. But what kind of rock were they dealing with? Solid bedrock or just a small outcropping? How big a charge would they need to break it up?

“Can you use the motors to clear some of the silt? We need to get a sample of that rock.”

Umansky answered again. “We can do better than that, sir, we’ve got a water jet forward, like a fire hose. If Captain Bakhorin can position us. ”

“Already in progress,” Bakhorin answered. The pilot gently maneuvered them closer, and Umansky busied himself with the controls. Vidchenko couldn’t see the results, and impatiently asked, “How’s the battery charge?”

“Over fifty percent, sir, although with all this work you can almost see the indicator needle move.”

“I’ve got a sample!” Umansky exclaimed. “Hah! It’s in the basket.”

“Good work, Captain.” Vidchenko was sparing with praise, but these two men deserved it. But was their hard work going to be worth anything in the end?

“Sir, I recommend taking photos, but we will have to wait for the water to clear.”

“Then let’s move down to the next obstruction.”

“Aye, sir.”

They managed to examine four masses of rock altogether. They had to use the waterjet once more to get a feel for the extent of the formation. Whatever material they were made of, it easily resisted the high-pressure water shot at them. Finally, as the low battery charge alarm rang, they headed back to the surface.

Vidchenko was not a demolitions expert, but he was an engineer. The AS-34 crew had planted charges before, although never under such circumstances. The three of them talked all the way up. How much explosive could AS-34 carry? Could they plant all of them in a single dive? What types of work could the mechanical arm perform? Even as they rose, Vidchenko was already thinking ahead to the next dive, the most important dive. Hopefully, the last dive.

USS Seawolf

The helicopter crew chief was attempting to give her important instructions. She tried to listen, but even over the interphone, she could only make out half of what he said.

Hovering over Seawolf, the rotor wash tugging at her clothes and chilling any exposed skin, Joanna Patterson focused on the crew chief’s face. Truth be told, she was terrified. Flying was fine, even in something as improbably aerodynamic as a helicopter. But the thought of dangling over empty space, hung by a thread…

The crew chief finished speaking, and Patterson nodded vigorously. He waited for a moment, and it looked like he expected her to do something, but when she didn’t move, he took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face the open cabin door.

He hooked the sling to the attachment points in her exposure suit, disconnected the lead for the interphone, and motioned for her to sit on the cabin floor. It took a moment for her legs to obey, and then he motioned for her to swing her legs over the edge.

She was still watching his face, and he pointed to his eyes and then the hoist in front of her. He repeated the motion, and she nodded, this time understanding. Eyes on the hoist.

He nodded and saluted, then pressed a control. The line went taut, and the suit tugged in uncomfortable places, and she was off the cabin floor and hanging in space. She heard a new sound, in spite of the engines. It was the whine of the hoist motor, and she felt herself slowly descend.

The temptation to look down was overwhelming. She wanted to know how far she had to go, even though she’d seen it from the helicopter and the pilot had told them it would be about fifty feet. Rather than look down, she looked up, at the helicopter’s fuselage receding, and the dark disk of the rotor blades. The cold rotor wash buffeted her face, and she welcomed it.

She kept her head titled back until she could hear voices below her, and she looked down to see she was almost there, only fifteen, then ten feet off the deck. One sailor had a long pole that looked like a shepherd’s staff, reaching out for her.

Sailors in safety harnesses stood by to steady her, but she kept her feet. They quickly unbuckled her, then guided her toward a hatch behind the sail. Another sailor inside, at the foot of the ladder, greeted her and led her to the crew’s mess. As sailors helped her out of her exposure suit, her two companions, Ken Bover and Arne Lindstrom, were escorted in.

Lindstrom efficiently peeled off his suit with almost no help, but Bover seemed unable to work the fastenings. He bubbled with excitement as Seawolf’s crewmen helped. “I can’t believe we just did that! I wish someone had taken a photo! Why didn’t someone have a camera? My daughter will never believe me.”

A lieutenant commander appeared and introduced himself as “Marcus Shimko, Seawolf’s XO.” After introductions, he said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Bover, we’ll testify on your behalf. By the way, you’re all out of uniform.” Handing each of them a dark blue ball cap inscribed with Seawolf’s name and crest, he asked, “Please follow me. We’ve got breakfast waiting in the wardroom.”

Patterson followed the XO, with her two companions behind, up to the wardroom. It appeared that almost all of Seawolf’s officers were gathered to welcome them, and Shimko began the introductions. Captain Rudel, Lieutenant Commander Lavoie, and.

“Jerry!” she shouted, and found herself hugging him, surrounded by a crowd of attentive, very curious, but silent officers. Seeing her old shipmate sent emotions cascading through her. There was relief, but then concern, no, more than concern. “I was worried, and I’m so sorry, and it’s so good to see you after everything.. ”

She paused, and then let Shimko complete the introductions. When he finished, about half the officers turned to leave, to make room for the rest, but she spoke up.

“Please wait.” When they had all turned back to face her, Patterson said, “I have a message from the President. He is deeply sorry for Petty Officer Rountree’s death and the injuries to your crew. Captain Rudel, he wants you to know that he believes you and your crew have acted in the best interests of the United States and Russia since the collision. You have his full support.”

She hated to rush through what had obviously been planned as a formal meal. Fresh-baked cinnamon buns beckoned, but she settled for fruit. It was best to eat lightly. This would be a long day.

It was a working breakfast, with different officers assisting each of Patterson’s group. Ken Bover would be working with Chandler on the repairs to the sub’s radios and other systems, Lindstrom would talk to Wolfe and Palmer about the UUVs and what they had seen, and she would brief Rudel.

But first, they all wanted to see the forward bulkhead. She’d already inspected the photos that Rudel had sent back on the helicopter, both of the external damage and the interior.

The reality was so different, she wondered if she’d looked at the right photographs. The charring and the scars from the welds to support the shoring were the last thing she’d wanted to see aboard a nuclear sub.

It was crowded with four people in the small compartment. Only Jerry, responsible for the electronics equipment space, had accompanied them inside. She turned to make sure Bover and Lindstrom could both see clearly. Evidently they could, Bover was pale, almost ashen, his eyes as wide as saucer plates. Lindstrom looked better, but was muttering softly in Norwegian. It could have been a prayer or a curse, but he wasn’t pleased by what he saw.

Jerry answered a few questions, but Patterson asked them more to break the quiet than anything else.

Jerry had been surprised and more than a little embarrassed by Patterson’s sudden affection, but he was glad to see her. She was not only an old friend, but represented the help they desperately needed, both for their own sake, as well as Petrov’s crew.

He was glad to leave the electronics equipment space. Chandler’s men needed to get back to work. Back in the wardroom, the group was supposed to split up. Lindstrom did leave with Wolfe, headed for the torpedo room, but Bover asked to speak with both Patterson and Captain Rudel immediately. Jerry, Chandler, Shimko, and the others all listened.

“Captain Rudel, Dr. Patterson, this sub has to head for the nearest port immediately. I do not understand how you’re still afloat, but Seawolf is not seaworthy. She should head south immediately, on the surface.” Bover was intense, agitated. Jerry thought he was frightened as well.

Chandler started to speak, and looked like he was going to agree with Bover, but Rudel answered first. “Seawolf is tougher than she looks, Mr. Bover. We’ve submerged, weathered a storm, and we’re not done with what we have to do here.” There was firmness in the last phrase, more than Jerry had heard from the captain since the collision.

“Captain, it may be your boat, but I repair ships and subs for a living. Your pressure hull has sustained significant damage. I don’t know of any boat that has taken damage like this that wasn’t immediately put into a dry-dock. Seawolf needs emergency repairs at the nearest port.”

The tension in the wardroom grew as Rudel and Bover argued over Seawolf’s condition. Patterson looked at both men. Bover was shaking and upset, resolute in his professional assessment. Rudel seemed calm, confident, and just as determined. She was about to say something to defuse the situation, when out of the blue Shimko quipped, “It’s just a flesh wound.”

Jerry and the other officers struggled to not burst out laughing. A couple did cough to release the built-up pressure. Rudel and Patterson were dumbfounded, caught completely off guard by Shimko’s off-the-wall remark. Rudel shook his head and gave his XO an exasperated look. Patterson laughed.

“XO, that’s not helping,” Rudel scolded.

“Sorry, sir,” mumbled Shimko apologetically. The twinkle in his eye said he really wasn’t.

“Captain! This is no laughing matter! I implore you to get this boat to a safe port.” Bover’s voice was becoming shrill.

“No, Mr. Bover,” Rudel answered sternly. “Seawolf has capabilities the Russians will need before this is over. The only reason Petrov and his men are alive is because of us.”

“And the only reason they’re on the bottom is because of you.” Bover’s retort might have been meant to undermine Rudel, maybe deflate him, but the immediate result was to make Jerry want to throttle the man. Judging by the looks of some of the other officers present, he’d have lots of help.

Patterson intervened quickly and said, “That’s enough, Mr. Bover. You’ve got work to do with Lieutenant Chandler. I suggest you get to it.” She checked her watch. “And we have to leave in twenty minutes.”

Rudel waited until Bover and Chandler left, then asked, “Dr. Patterson, is that why you’re here, to order me home?” Patterson quickly shook her head, denying the accusation, but she also glanced at Jerry. He did his best to think positive thoughts.

After a moment, she answered, “If you were a different captain, perhaps, but remember President Huber’s message. He read your service record, and spoke with Rear Admiral Sloan before deciding to back your actions.”

“And I didn’t even vote for the guy,” said Rudel, visibly relieved.

“Lowell sends his best.”

Rudel smiled. “Thanks. I need all the friends I can get, right now. And he’s in Congress?”

Twenty minutes later, Churchill’s helicopter reappeared and quickly winched up Seawolf’s three visitors. Last off was Commander Rudel, and Jerry heard the 1MC signal the departure of the ship’s commanding officer. “SEAWOLF, DEPARTING.” It was commonplace enough in port, but more than rare at sea.

Shimko would be in command while Rudel was off the boat. That was the XO’s job, and he was more than capable of doing it. But Jerry could sense that Seawolf knew that something was missing. QM3 Gosnell, standing watch at the navigation plot, said it clearly, “It doesn’t feel right for the Skipper to be gone.”

Jerry thought that was a good thing.

Petr Velikiy

Rear Admiral Vidchenko waited in the flag mess with Rear Admiral Kurganov and Captain Chicherin. There had been some debate as to who should meet the Americans. Kurganov had offered to meet with the visitors. Technically, Chicherin didn’t need to be there either.

This was their idea, Kurganov had argued. They had bullied their way aboard. They were obviously here to gather information. He could meet them briefly, listen to what they had to say, and then get them off the ship before they’d warmed their chairs.

But Vidchenko could not pass up the chance to see them for himself. They’d sent over a list of names this morning. It included Rudel, Seawolf’s captain, and Vidchenko wanted to be there. What was Rudel’s purpose? To apologize? Did he think that would help? Would he try to blame Petrov? The man couldn’t be that stupid.

Vidchenko had brought the photos from the second dive to look at while they waited for the visitors to arrive. The new batch was no better than the first. Vidchenko had expected as much, and his personal observations, along with the AS-34’s crew, had been far more useful to the demolitions experts. While the batteries in AS-34 charged, the technicians were rigging the explosive charges. They would make the dive, plant the charges, and clear the area. With careful planning and a little luck, Petrov’s crew would be eating lunch aboard Petya.

So Vidchenko regarded this visit as a useless, but potentially informative, distraction. The Americans couldn’t know the progress of their efforts, and Vidchenko was more than willing to lead them along. He’d have the meeting, and then get back to work.

They were almost on time, the Seahawk helicopter landing only three minutes late. A video image of the flight deck let Vidchenko and the others watch the five visitors arrive. Two naval officers, two government officials, and the Norwegian. He wondered which was Rudel, and realized that was his main reason for allowing them aboard. He wanted to meet an American submariner, on ground of his choosing. Seawolf was one of their most capable submarines. Rudel should be one of their best.

It took them a few minutes to reach the flag mess after disappearing off the video screen. The woman came in first, followed by two commanders. Deciphering their nametags, the first one was Rudel. He was the right age for a submarine commander, but nothing remarkable. Vidchenko was a little disappointed, although he hadn’t known what he expected.

Petr Velikiy had been built as a flagship, and had separate places for the admiral and his staff to work and eat. The flag mess was appropriately furnished, since admirals’ behinds needed more padding than the lower ranks. Paintings of Peter the Great as tzar and at the Battle of Poltava were matched on opposite bulkheads by photo portraits of the Russian Federation President, the Commander in Chief of the Russian Federation Navy, and Vice Admiral Kokurin, Commander of the Northern Fleet. To enhance the effect, Chicherin had moved in flags and a plaque that normally graced the bridge.

Vidchenko spoke only a little English, Kurganov was fluent, and Chicherin not at all. Introductions were conducted by the U.S. State Department official, Mr. Manning, and monitored by a senior-lieutenant from the weapons battle department who’d studied in Chicago.

“Dr. Patterson, on behalf of President Huber, wishes to convey her personal gratitude for allowing this meeting to take place. She hopes it will be constructive, and that the rescue of the crew of the Russian Federation submarine Severodvinsk can be quickly brought to a successful conclusion.” Manning’s Russian was flawless, and his greeting appropriately dressed with diplomatic overtones.

Vidchenko was impressed, and a little concerned. The Americans were really pushing this. But why? How guilty was this Rudel?

“Tell the lady we are here to listen to what she has to say.”

Manning’s translation was more polite, but it did relay the gist of Vidchenko’s remark. The senior-lieutenant smiled at how Manning phrased the message, but nodded his agreement to his superiors.

Rudel began to speak, looking directly at the Russian admirals. Manning indicated that the senior-lieutenant was to interpret the American captain’s comments. “He speaks about the collision. He is sorry for the dead and injured aboard Severodvinsk. He wishes to do everything he can to help.”

Kurganov muttered, “So he’s apologizing. Fine. He’s done enough,” but Vidchenko was genuinely curious. “How does he think he can help?”

In response to the interpreter’s question, Rudel placed a colored image of a torpedo-shaped device on the table. “He says they have two of these unmanned robotic vehicles on board his submarine. They used one like it to send emergency supplies over to Severodvinsk.”

Rudel spoke again, and the interpreter translated, “The vehicle is equipped with high-precision sonar and photographic systems, which they have used to survey Severodvinsk and the surrounding area. He has a copy of the material for you.”

Vidchenko saw a fat envelope in Rudel’s hand, extended toward him. He looked at Kurganov. His face was hard, made of the same steel as the ship.

“Tell them thank you, but that information has been overtaken by events. I personally surveyed Severodvinsk early this morning, and we are now preparing to free Petrov and his crew.”

Manning looked surprised and provided the American party with Vidchenko’s reason for declining the package. The visitors stirred at this news. The Americans spoke with each other in excited tones. The Norwegian, Lindstrom, turned and asked a question, a one-word question, which the interpreter relayed. “Explosives?”

Vidchenko nodded. “Yes. We will clear some obstructions that prevent Severodvinsk from sitting level on the sea floor. When those are gone, the crew will use the escape capsule.”

Suddenly, the door to the flag mess burst open and Chicherin’s executive officer hurried in. Vidchenko felt a flash of irritation, then curiosity. They’d posted a guard outside to prevent interruptions, but from the look of concern on the starpom’s face, the matter was serious.

Chicherin started to reach for the message, but the starpom took it straight to Vidchenko. As he pressed the paper into the admiral’s hand, he turned his face away from the visitors, and bent down to speak softly to Vidchenko.

“Sir, this is from the Main Intelligence Directorate. It was just decoded.”

Patterson and the others waited while Vidchenko read the message. His face darkened, and he handed the message to the other admiral, Kurganov, as he stood. He looked hard at Commander Silas and spoke in rapid-fire Russian. His voice had an edge to it. Silas and Manning both paled and Manning began to protest.

Patterson began to ask what had just happened, and the interpreter said, “Admiral Vidchenko says you must all leave right away. We have identified one of your party as a CIA agent.”

He turned and spoke in Russian to Vidchenko, who was stepping away from the table. Vidchenko answered, then started to leave the room. “Mr. Lindstrom is welcome to stay, but the rest must leave, now.”

Manning called to Vidchenko in Russian, he spoke rapidly and intently. Vidchenko, still angry but surprised, turned to listen but obviously was unmoved. Patterson watched the exchange without understanding, but finally Manning shrugged. He leaned close to Patterson, and said softly, “There’s nothing more we can do here. I’ve said everything that could be said. We should leave. I’ll explain on the way back.”

Confused and reluctant, Patterson followed the others back to the helicopter.