Cold Choices

28. FINAL PUSH

12 October 2008

1433/2:33 PM

Petr Velikiy

It took only a few sentences for Borisov to tell Petrov what the unmanned vehicles had revealed. No explanations were needed. They both understood exactly what it meant.

“What is your CO₂ level?”

Petrov reported, “Fonarin did an analysis just before we boarded the capsule. It was three point two percent, and he says the chemicals, the cassettes, everything is exhausted. The physical activity of climbing in and out of the escape capsule has also produced more of the gas. We’ve all had headaches for some time now, but many of my crew are starting to complain of dizziness and seeing spots before their eyes. With all the regeneration cassettes depleted, there really isn’t much we can do. Dr. Balanov is attempting to administer another round of sedatives, but some of the men are refusing to take them.”

Borisov could understand men not wanting to end their lives in a drugged trance. “I understand. The Americans have another unmanned vehicle. They’ve offered to send you more cassettes.”

“No. Absolutely not.” At first, the strength of Petrov’s answer surprised Borisov, but then he realized it shouldn’t. One or two more days of lingering cold misery, and for what? To sit around and contemplate a fate that could not be changed? It would be his choice, if he were down there.

“My apologies, Admiral. I appreciate Rudel’s offer, but it wouldn’t matter. My Chief Engineer reports that we are almost out of reserve battery power. We can’t operate the air-regeneration system anymore, even if we had cassettes. I’m afraid we are just running out of time.” Petrov’s voice was remarkably frank, almost mechanical, as he made his report.

“We are not yet ready to concede, Captain. I must go now, to speak with Lindstrom and the others. Everything will be considered. We will speak again afterwards.”

“Thank you, sir. But, I fear it will be a short meeting.” Borisov couldn’t tell if Petrov was joking or not.

USS Churchill

Captain Baker told his crew after the Russians tugs stopped pulling. Most of them already knew. When the tugs had whipsawed, and the escape chamber hadn’t appeared, it was obvious they’d failed. But Baker waited, like everyone else, hoping and praying for a miracle.

Patterson was with him, on the bridge, when he spoke on the 1MC. If the expressions of the bridge watchstanders were typical, the crew took it pretty hard. She tried to understand why the crew of Churchill would care so much about the Russians. They’d even printed pictures of the crew from the Wives and Mothers website and posted them in the mess. Perhaps her husband had best summed it up when he said, “It was a sailor’s thing.”

A short time later, they watched while workboats transferred the cables from the tugs’ sterns back to the buoys, freeing them to maneuver. Saving the cables was pointless, really, but nobody wanted to abandon that physical link to Severodvinsk.

More by mutual agreement than design, many of Patterson’s group had congregated in the wardroom, along with several of Churchill’s officers. It had the feeling of a wake, or a deathwatch. Nobody used either of those words, but they gathered and talked quietly, or simply shared each other’s company. When they did talk, they searched for any alternative, however absurd, that might have been overlooked or dismissed as being too risky.

Some talked of stretching the crew’s breathable air somehow. Others wanted to move the sub. Commander Silas actually suggested detonating a small nuclear weapon on the seabed. “It’s simple physics. Figure out how much force we want to apply to the hull, account for the transmission through the rock formation, and then drop the device far enough away Boom. The sub rolls upright and up they come.”

Unfortunately, the general consensus was that the resulting blast would still crush what was left of Severodvinsk like a dented beer can, and besides, there wasn’t enough time to do all the necessary calculations to figure out if it were truly feasible. Sometimes, physics isn’t quite so simple.

Each scheme, no matter how harebrained, was inspected, measured, and eventually found wanting, either time or technical reasons, sometimes both. It was pointless, but there was nothing else to do while they waited.

USS Seawolf

They listened to the conversation between Petrov and Admiral Borisov over the underwater telephone. Rudel didn’t have anything to add; besides, he wasn’t part of the Russian chain of command. There’d be opportunities to talk later, when Petrov might need it more.

Most of Seawolf’s officers had also gathered in their wardroom. They weren’t as shy as Churchill’s or Patterson’s people. Shimko had called it a “deathwatch” from the start. Men like them, men they could easily have been, were slipping off the edge of existence. Jerry, Shimko, Lavoie, and others sat and talked about what should happen next, or what should have happened.

“The big mistake was getting too cocky,” Shimko declared. “We got complacent and assumed nobody was in the area, so we got sloppy in our searching when we were recovering the UUVs. We could have placed one in a position to cover our blind spot aft, to make sure we weren’t caught unawares.”

Jerry shook his head. “That would have meant less survey time for the UUVs on each sortie, and we have a limited number of sorties. We would have been out here longer, which would have increased our risk of discovery. No, all I had to do was realize that the Russian, Petrov, was trying to cut a tether that Patty didn’t have. If we had sent Patty straight away at max speed, Petrov would have seen his mistake.”

Lavoie disagreed this time. “That only explains the first two passes. By the third pass, he had doped it out. On the third pass he was trying to corral Seawolf!’

“And once he’d made that decision, the result was inevitable.” Rudel’s voice surprised them, and they started to rise, but he motioned for them to sit. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat down wearily. “I don’t like my stateroom right now.” He paused for a moment, contemplating, searching for the right words. “There’s no rule that says there has to be a solution for every problem. Sometimes you’re just going to be on the receiving end, no matter what you do.”

“How do you handle those situations, sir?” Will Hayes asked, frustrated and perplexed.

“Many times, Will, there are answers,” Rudel replied, “but that’s not when you earn your pay. You get paid the big bucks for situations like this— when all the outcomes are bad. Having to choose between rival goods, or worse, rival evils, is when one truly understands the burden of command.”

He paused again; nobody spoke, or even moved. Rudel continued, “Recovering from a complicated, dangerous situation, with no outcomes but lousy choices, requires more than skill. Beating yourselves up over the road not taken is worse than a distraction. It may lead you to believe that you’re no longer able to make a good decision. Learning from the past is the mark of a good officer, but don’t ever think it has all the right answers.”

Rudel leaned back, seeming to sit straighter than before. Looking around the wardroom table, he noticed Lieutenant (j.g.) Williams. As the damage-control assistant, he was responsible for life support on Seawolf and was the resident expert on a sub’s atmosphere. “Todd, what’s your estimate?”

“Based on Petrov’s last report, carbon dioxide is probably near three point four or three point five percent now. It will build up very quickly once it’s over four percent.” He seemed reluctant to give any details, but finally concluded, “I don’t think anyone’s going to be conscious in twelve hours.”

Rudel nodded. “Thanks, Todd. That matches my own estimate.”

“What about balloons? Flotation bags? We could put them in the damaged ballast tanks, or have the Norwegians weld attachment points right to the hull.” Ensign Santana looked excited, hopeful. “There’s room for dozens of lines to be rigged, and it could be done quickly.”

Rudel answered, “No, they thought of that on day one. Putting the bags inside is a good solution, but the ballast tanks would have to be opened up even more to get the bags inside. It would have taken too long, about a week. Now we’ve got less than a day. And just attaching bags to the hull? Severodvinsk displaces some twelve thousand tons submerged, and then add the water in three or four flooded compartments. She probably displaces close to fifteen thousand tons. How many bags would we need to shift her?”

Lavoie added, “That’s more right than you know, sir. I just spoke with Halsfjord’s chief engineer. Lindstrom and the rest of his team are kicking themselves. They’re still trying to figure out why their plan didn’t work. He wanted to run over some of the figures. So many tons from the tugs, so many from flooding the starboard tanks, and so on.”

The engineer explained, “Their problem wasn’t that the mooring point pulled loose from the sub’s hull. At that time, the tugs were at full power, and Severodvinsk hadn’t shifted a single degree! She should have shown some sort of movement. Their bet is that if the fitting hadn’t come off one of the cables would have parted.”

Rudel sighed. “In other words, they just couldn’t couple enough force to Severodvinsk’s hull to do the job.”

Lavoie said, “The only thing they could have changed was to push Severodvinsk from the side with AS-34, but that only increased the total force on her hull by a few percent. And that’s before Priz’s batteries failed. She was never really an option.”

Jerry’s eyes widened a little bit. In that quiet gathering, several people noticed his hopeful expression. “What is it?” asked Shimko.

“What if we did the pushing?” The idea, half-formed, took shape as he spoke. “We don’t ram Severodvinsk. Ease in. We can use Maxine to guide us. Make contact at a slow creep, and then carefully increase power in stages. And unlike tow cables, we apply the force directly, hull-to-hull contact.”

Nobody responded immediately, although from their expressions it was clear they had heard him. “Brute force,” he explained.”Seawolf can generate nearly three times the push of both those tugs.”

Lavoie was the first to respond. “But our bow. ”

Then Chandler said, “They’ll never agree. ”

And Wolfe replied, “Hell, we’re going in the yards anyway.”

Shimko started to speak, then paused, and stated flatly, “The forward pressure hull is not at full strength. It might not hold. If it goes, we’ll be in the hurt locker.”

Jerry answered, “Once we start pushing, it will only take a few minutes to do the job. We’ll be ready for it, and do an emergency blow the moment the escape chamber separates.”

Lavoie speculated, “We’d have to cut away some of the debris forward to make a smoother contact surface. The supporting structure for the forward arrays is like a spear. It would slice right through Severodvinsk.”

“Skipper, we can do this,” Jerry pleaded. Captain Rudel had sat silently through the exchange, listening. Like every other officer in the room, Jerry could see him calculating. Seawolf added almost forty-six thousand shaft horsepower to the equation.

Rudel stood suddenly and headed for the wardroom door. “We’ll meet back here with department heads and chief of the boat in fifteen minutes. ” He paused, since two-thirds of his wardroom was already there, and added, “Others may also attend. Have a rough draft of the procedure and a timeline ready for me.”

He turned to leave, but then looked back. “Mr. Lavoie, calculate how long we can handle flooding forward before we can’t surface from an emergency blow.”

Rudel disappeared, and Jerry helped Shimko summon the few missing officers and chiefs to the wardroom.

USS Churchill

“It’s Seawolf, ma’am, Commander Rudel is on the scrambler phone.” Everyone in the wardroom mirrored Patterson’s puzzled look. All other ship-to-ship communications had been in the clear.

“He says it’s urgent, ma’am. Captain Baker is already in CIC.”

Patterson knew the way well enough by now that the messenger let her set the pace while he followed. In CIC, Baker stood, holding the handset. “All he’d say is that he has to tell you first.”

“Tell me what?” Patterson asked as she took the handset. “This is Dr. Patterson,” she said cautiously

“We’ve got a plan to save Severodvinsk.” His explanation followed so quickly and was so fantastic that she had him repeat it — twice.

By the time he’d finished, Baker had guessed enough from her side of the conversation to understand Rudel’s plan, and he wondered if his expression matched hers.

“And you’re just informing me? Not asking my permission?”

She heard Rudel sigh. “If I ask your permission, you might say no. If you say yes, you could be buying yourself some serious trouble. I don’t want to take anybody else down with me.”

“Forget that, Captain. Are you sure Seawolf will come out of this intact?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”

Rudel sounded defensive, and she quickly said, “I’m sorry, Captain, but I had to ask that question. You not only have my official permission, but my cooperation. What can we do?”

“I’ll know that after my officers tell me. Can you please call Admiral Borisov and Arne Lindstrom? Set up a conference call for thirty minutes from now?”

“When will you be ready?” she asked.

“They’re going to tell me that, too.” After a short pause, he added, “We will be ready in time.”

“Then I will speak with you again in half an hour, Captain, and God bless you.”

“I hope so. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Petr Velikiy

When he heard the topic, Admiral Borisov had followed Patterson’s advice and cleared the flag plot of everyone but Kurganov and their two deputies. He didn’t know what would be worse: Hearing some bizarre scheme that was doomed to fail, or having to hope again.

Lindstrom was on the screen five minutes early, fidgeting in front of the TV camera, then Patterson and Baker sitting together, and finally Rudel, looking hurried, almost breathless. His watchstanders had reported Seawolf surfacing ten minutes earlier.

“Admiral, Doctor, Captain, Mr. Lindstrom, thank you for agreeing to listen to me. My officers and I have a plan that has a good chance of working. But we will need help to make it work, and I’m open to any suggestions that will improve it.”

Borisov spoke first. “Petrov and his men will not be able to move into the chamber for much longer. Even if they move in now, they will not be able to release it if they are unconscious.”

Rudel asked, “What is your best estimate of their CO₂, level?”

“They could start losing consciousness in as little as eight hours. Some perhaps as long as fifteen.”

“Then we need every welder and engineer in the rescue force. It would be best if we tied up alongside Halsfjord. Is that acceptable, Mr. Lindstrom?”

Lindstrom looked off-camera and spoke in Norwegian briefly. “Yes, port side. Bow-to-bow?”

Rudel shook his head. “No sir, bow-to-stern. We need your aft fifty-ton crane to lift out the damaged forward array structure once it is detached. Perhaps Pamir and Altay can moor outboard of us. Detaching the forward arrays and cleaning up the surface will take the most time, and anything we can do to speed that up will help.”

Kurganov added, “Rudnitskiy will join you as well. She has divers for the underwater work.”

“What about cushioning the impact?” Lindstrom asked. “We could construct a framework of timbers that would fit over your bow. My men could fabricate it on deck while others are cutting away the arrays and their mountings.”

“How long?” Rudel asked.

“No longer than it takes to remove the sonar structure,” Lindstrom answered. He looked to the side and spoke in Norwegian. “And we’ve just started.”

The two Russians spoke briefly, then Borisov said, “We assume you will also be reinforcing your pressure hull.”

Rudel shrugged. “We will do what we can, but space is limited.”

Borisov spoke again, smiling. “I noticed during my visit to Seawolf that the shoring in your electronics space was wooden, with brackets spot-welded in place.”

“That’s correct.”

“Russian damage-control shoring is steel, in prefabricated sections, with threaded brackets on the end to ensure a snug fit. Would they be of use to you?

Rudel smiled. “I’d gratefully accept them, gentlemen.”

“Can this be done in time?” Kurganov asked. “On our boats the main hydroacoustic array and its mounting weigh over ten tons.”

Rudel answered, “Things come apart a lot faster than they go together.” He smiled. “And we don’t have to worry about being neat.”

Severodvinsk

Petrov hadn’t expected a call from Borisov so soon. It had been only an hour or so since the last conversation. The final good-byes would come later, so he assumed the admiral wanted to ask about the carbon dioxide levels. Useless, really, but there was nothing else to do.

“Captain Petrov, prepare to get your men back into the escape chamber.”

“What? I just finished getting my men out of it. They will be much more comfortable in the hull.”

“Rudel has a plan to right your boat.” Borisov started describing it, but Petrov grasped it almost immediately, and cut off the admiral. “Is he insane? Have you all lost your minds? We don’t need another boat next to us.”

“He is convinced this will work, and he has convinced all of us as well: Lindstrom, Patterson, everyone. Work has already started.”

“Can I speak to him?” Petrov asked.

“Seawolf is already surrounded by other vessels. With all the noise, I doubt if her underwater telephone would even function. You should see it, Aleksey. It would amaze you. Foreign vessels, including a Russian salvage and rescue ship, surround an American nuclear submarine preparing it for this effort. Workers from three countries cover the bow like ants. And there are over half a dozen divers underwater right now with their cutting torches blazing, a dozen more standing by.”

Borisov’s description fired his imagination. Petrov’s first surprise had worn off, and his mind had begun to consider the plan more dispassionately. Would it work? The problem with believing in that plan was that Petrov and his men had already begun to accept their fate. He didn’t know if they could hope again, or withstand the fear that came with it.

The admiral described Rudel’s plan in more detail, and explained, “You must move up into the chamber as soon as you can, while your men still have the strength to do so.”

Petrov answered, “Some of them have taken sedatives. I’ll have to see what Balanov can do to rouse them. And the extra activity will drive the carbon dioxide levels even higher.”

“We’ve factored that into our calculations. And we’ll need hourly updates, to check those figures.”

“You’ll have them, Admiral. And tell Rudel to make a careful job of it. No rushed work. That’s when accidents happen.”

The White House

President Huber didn’t mind the budget meeting being interrupted, but he had a vital meeting with an industry group in fifteen minutes that he couldn’t ignore. Wright had insisted the call was extremely urgent.

“Sir, I’ve just spoken with Dr. Patterson. There’s to be another attempt to save the Russian sub.”

“What?” Huber’s voice showed more confusion than was expected from a chief executive. “You told me not half an hour ago that there was nothing more to be done. My people are working on a statement of condolence now.”

“They still need two statements. They are making hurried preparations now, and should be ready in about six or seven hours. Petrov and his men could begin to lose consciousness in as little as eight.”

“That’s cutting it a little close,” Huber observed.

“It’s a last-minute thing, Mr. President.” He described how Rudel would use Seawolf to push Severodvinsk upright. “And the Russians are completely on board. There is some risk, sir, but Dr. Patterson says she’s been reassured by Rudel and other qualified engineers that everything will be done to reduce it. And no, she doesn’t have a number.”

“I asked her to keep me informed,” Huber grumbled.

“And she’s doing so, sir.”

“And like before, the only control I have is to order her to stop.”

“You could give that order, sir. You took control of the situation by sending good people.”

“And they’ll try in six hours?”

“That’s the estimate as of now, sir. If this works, it will be successful immediately.”

“Keep me informed.”

Halsfjord

Rudel and Shimko stood on the aft deckhouse, looking down at the fantail. The Norwegian rescue ship had enough room aft to land a large helicopter. Now the floodlit surface was cluttered with men and a gridwork of timbers. The heavy lengths of wood were carried aboard the rescue ship for just such a circumstance. A strong framework could be quickly assembled to reinforce a damaged ship, or construct a cofferdam.

Rudel could see that the box-frame-like structure was well along. Lindstrom explained how it would be attached to the hull. “The welders will attach plates at the front edge of the hull. Stubs on the edge of the framework will be attached with simple pins to those plates. After you’re done it will be simple to detach whatever’s left and cut off the attachment plates.”

“After we’re done,” Rudel muttered. “I like the sound of that.”

“We’ve based it on the blueprints you provided. We will lower it into place and attach it literally in minutes.”

“And it will be ready in time.” Shimko didn’t ask a question, but Lindstrom reassured him. “My chief engineer says they will be finished cutting in two, maybe three more hours. There is a lot of very tough metal to cut through. The framework is actually almost done. Until we need to lift it over to Seawolf, we will reinforce it and improve the design.

“The work on your forward ballast tanks is also proceeding, and will be done in time.”

Rudel answered, “Keeping any air in those tanks at all will be a tremendous help.”

Lindstrom shrugged. “Removing the antisonar coating around the holes is taking time, but as each section is cleared, we start patching it. The patches won’t be completely airtight, of course, but they should help.”

“We’re very grateful,” Rudel said.

Lindstrom grinned. “Don’t thank me. I’m adding all this work to the Russians’ bill.” A shout in Norwegian attracted his attention, and he excused himself, saying “Please, stay as long as you like. I’ll send a messenger when the Russians are ready.”

The two Americans watched the frantic work on Halsfjord’s fantail, then walked over to the port side and looked down at Seawolf. Even though she was lit up by dozens of lights, they could still easily see welding flames and sparks almost covering the bow. The water in front of her glowed with the cutting torches from divers working on the structure underneath, and even more men were at work in the electronics equipment space. Only the Norwegians and Americans were being allowed inside the sub, but there were plenty to do the work.

“They’re working damn fast, XO,” commented Rudel approvingly. “Pretty soon we’ll see if this semi-crazy idea of ours really works.”

“Ah, Skipper? Sir, there’s one thing. That order you gave about nonessential personnel?” There was concern in Shimko’s voice.

“What about it, XO?”

“Nobody will leave, sir. The officers and chiefs say everyone is essential, and when I tell the men individually, they respectfully refuse to carry out my order. All of them.”

“Dammit, XO, I made it an order because I knew nobody would leave voluntarily. It’s no disgrace. We drop them off just before we make the dive, and pick them up as soon as it’s done. They’ll wait on Halsfjord for what? An hour? Fewer lives at risk.”

“ ‘Fewer men to help’ was the universal response,” Shimko reported.

Rudel sighed heavily, leaning on the deckhouse rail. “This could go south in a dozen different ways we can’t imagine.”

“True, sir, so it may be hard to say who’s ‘essential’ and who isn’t.”

“So you disagree with my order as well?” Rudel sounded surprised.

“Disagree, maybe, sir, but never disobey.” Shimko continued, “I think they all appreciated the thought, Skipper, but nobody wants to be left out, so to speak.”

“I think the appropriate word describing this is ‘mutiny,’ Mr. Shimko,” Rudel grumbled.

“Other captains would kill to have a crew this undisciplined,” countered Shimko with a wide grin.

“Then belay my last.”

The “Russians” Lindstrom had referred to were Vice Admiral Borisov and Rear Admiral Oleg Antonovich Smelkov, chief of the Technical Directorate of the Northern Fleet. Both joined by teleconference, Borisov from Petya and Smelkov from his office ashore. Patterson and her group aboard Churchill were also electronically present.

Smelkov didn’t look like an admiral. A harried bank clerk, maybe. Or possibly a university professor during exam week. His uniform coat was off, and he sat at his desk, surrounded by computer printouts. Two voices spoke quickly offscreen.

They had gathered to hear Smelkov answer the big question: Where to push? Smelkov was not only a naval constructor, he had helped describe the fleet’s requirement for Severodvinsk, and then supervised her construction.

Smelkov was pale, with hair so blond that at first glance it seemed white. His thin face added to the first impression of an elderly man, almost frail. Then he spoke, and twenty years disappeared.

He didn’t waste time. “I will hope my English is acceptable. The answer to your first question is no. Not only is it too close to the escape chamber, but the sail’s structure was never designed to withstand that much side force. It would most likely rip clear of the hull.

“So, if you must push on the hull itself, I say here.” He typed for a moment, and the image changed to show a cross-section of Severodvinsk. A heavy black line just inside the outer hull showed the pressure hull, divided into compartments by similar lines.

A circle marked a spot on the lower hull, just aft of the sail. “This is in the center of the third compartment. You must set your depth so you are below the hull’s centerline. It will overhang your bow. When you push, also blow your forwardmost tanks to lift as well. Is this clear?”

“Yes,” Rudel answered simply. “Have you calculated how much force we will need?”

Smelkov shook his head. “There is no way to know. Mr. Lindstrom’s first figures were very reasonable, and his preparations very thorough. It should have worked. The only conclusion I can make is that Severodvinsk’s lower hull has been caught on the uneven surface she lies on.”

“Snagged on the rocks,” Rudel suggested.

“Yes,” Smelkov answered.

“That is our theory as well,” Lindstrom added.

“When you first start to push, the outer hull will give way. This is acceptable. It may even form a ‘pocket,’ or recess that will prevent your bow from sliding to the left or right.”

“When will Severodvinsk’s pressure hull give way?”

Smelkov threw up his hands. “I estimate near two-thirds of your full power, Captain Rudel. The hull is designed to resist the steady pressure of the sea and sudden shocks from torpedoes and depth bombs. This will be localized, like a depth-bomb attack, but longer, and harder. The hull will deform before it fails.”

“Which Petrov and his men won’t be able to see, because he will be in the escape chamber,” Rudel concluded.

“Given Petrov’s situation, the additional danger is irrelevant,” Borisov added. “No, Captain, before Petrov would start moving his men into the escape chamber again, he said he was not climbing out, no matter what happened.

“Also, I have a message from Olga Sadilenko. Do you know her?” Rudel nodded and Borisov read from a sheet of paper. “She says they are praying for the crews of both submarines, and that you and your men are very brave, as brave as her son’s crew. I will add my own prayers to hers.”

“Thank you, Admiral, and thank Mrs. Sadilenko for us.”

“Good luck to us all.”

Severodvinsk

It had taken almost two hours to move the men. Everyone was weak. Some refused to make the climb and had to be bullied, almost dragged to the ladder. As desperate as they were for light, warmth, life itself, they dreaded the thought of climbing into the escape chamber.

This time, he’d sent Lyachin up right away to supervise the loading inside the cylindrical capsule. Kalinin remained at the base of the ladder, cajoling and hectoring the men into climbing faster, or even climbing at all.

Finally, the injured had been moved, the logbooks and classified material stowed, and Petrov reported to the surface. “Comrade Admiral, Severodvinsk is ready.”

“Very good, Captain. What is your CO, level?”

“Fonarin just took a new reading. It’s three point seven percent.”

Borisov didn’t reply immediately, and Petrov added, “We’re still breathing, Admiral.”

“Good. They are getting ready to fit the wooden framework over Seawolf’s bow. Then they will get under way and submerge. It should be no more than half an hour.”

“I would prefer to remain in contact until the Americans are ready. Is that acceptable?”

“As long as you can get into the escape chamber in good order, that will be fine.”

“Yes, sir. We will stand by for your call.”

Petrov hung up the microphone and sat down wearily. It took all his concentration to manage a simple conversation. The constant headache made thought almost impossible. Still, he had to keep thinking.

Only four officers were left in the central post: Petrov, Kalinin, Fonarin, and Mitrov. There was nothing left to do.

“One collision put us here, another will save us.”

“ Will, comrade Captain?”

“I believe in having a positive attitude, comrade Starpom.” He smiled. “Besides, the surface holds its own hazards. The fresh air may finish me off.”

Fonarin chimed in. “I’m willing to risk it, sir.”

“You’re a brave man, Igor Mikhailovich.” Kalinin grinned. “Such sacrifice.”

“And I’ll risk the real food,” Mitrov said.

“And warmth,” Kalinin added.

“As long as they have enough painkillers for our headaches,” Petrov commented, and they all agreed.

“What will you do after we get home, sir?”

“Fill out a great many forms, I fear.” They laughed for a moment at his joke, but it was dark humor. “There must be a lot of paperwork involved with the loss of a submarine — and people.”

“It wasn’t entirely your fault, sir,” Kalinin said.

“Whether or not I was completely or partially at fault is irrelevant, Vasiliy, the safety of this ship and crew is ultimately my responsibility, and mine alone. In any case, there’s a shortage of boats in the fleet. I doubt if I’ll get another command right away.” Petrov saw their expressions, and smiled. “Do not worry, shipmates, I now have a new standard for what to call a ‘bad day.’”

They ran through the checklist again, slowly, just to burn up time, and then speculated about what Admiral Borisov would say in his welcome-aboard speech. He was, after all, an admiral, so there would have to be a speech.

Rudel’s voice jolted them out of the desultory conversation. As Petrov grabbed the microphone, the American reported, “Seawolf to Severodvinsk, we are ready.”

“Seawolf, this is Petrov. Nobody’s ever ready for this. For the record, I still think you’re insane.”

“It will take us about ten minutes to get in position. How long do you need to board the escape chamber?”

“Give us five minutes, starting now, my friend, then give it your best. Severodvinsk out.”

USS Seawolf

Rudel had sounded General Quarters as soon as they’d left Halsfjord. Palmer had Maxine in the water a few minutes later heading for her preprogrammed observation point. The instant she was clear, Jerry said, “Recommend course three two seven to the initial point at ten knots, time to initial point four and one half minutes.”

“I’m going to keep her at five knots, Jerry. No sense stressing the framework,” replied Rudel. For this evolution, the captain had the deck and the conn.

“Understood, sir.” Jerry watched QM1 Peters update the chart and the log.

“Chief of the watch, how are the ballast tanks holding?”

“Better than before, sir,” Chief McCord said cautiously. “One alpha and one bravo were still bleeding a little when we tested them with the low-pressure blower, but I think they will give us enough buoyancy.”

Rudel ordered, “Save the high-pressure air for the right moment, Chief. I don’t mind being heavy by the bow when we start pushing. Once we’ve started, then keep number-one main ballast tank as full as you can.”

“Keep it full when we push aye, sir,” McCord responded automatically.

Jerry updated their position. “Five minutes to initial point. Recommend keel depth of six hundred and forty feet. Recommend port turn at that time to approach course of two seven four.”

“Diving officer, make our depth six hundred and forty feet. Jerry, does that approach course allow for the cross-current?”

“I’ve factored in a two-knot southerly current sir.”

“Very good.”

“No vibration at five knots,” Rudel observed. “The Norwegians did a good job.”

“The pitlog reads four point three knots with turns ordered for five,” Shimko observed. “We may slow down faster than we’d planned.”

Jerry nodded. “We knew there’d be drag, but not this much. I’ll work on it.” He added, “Peters, time the turn, please.” The QM1 nodded.

“Torpedo room, conn. Report on Maxine’s status.”

Palmer’s voice answered immediately. “Conn, torpedo room. In position, in line with both subs. Severodvinsk is one hundred and twenty-three feet in front of her.”

“Excellent,” Rudel answered. “Start feeding us ranges as soon as we make the turn.”

“Conn, torpedo room aye.”

“One minute to turn — mark!” Peters reported. “Recommend slowing to three knots at the time of the turn.” Jerry was still working furiously, calculating Seawolf’s new drag factor.

Rudel divided his gaze between the displays and the clock. “Stand by. Left standard rudder, steady on course two seven four, speed three knots.”

The helmsman repeated the order, and as the bow swung over, Palmer’s voice reported, “Conn, torpedo room. Range one thousand twenty yards.” Chief McCord acknowledged his report.

“Jerry, what’s the drag figure?”

The navigator didn’t reply immediately, but Peters, watching him work, looked up to the XO and nodded reassuringly. Ten seconds later, Jerry announced, “Recommend stopping engines one hundred and forty yards from Severodvinsk.”

“That’s pretty close,” Rudel observed, “just over a boat length.”

“With a smooth bow from three knots, it’s four hundred. We’d figured two fifty, but the drag is greater — much greater than we originally thought.”

“Then we’ll stop at one forty,” Rudel concluded.

“Range is eight hundred yards, bearing of Seawolf from Maxine shows slight left drift.”

“Change your course to two seven six,” Rudel ordered. “Sonar, conn. Watch the bearing to Maxine’s sonar. We need it to be steady.”

“Conn, sonar, aye. Current bearing is two seven five.”

“Depth is six hundred forty feet, sir,” reported Hess.

“Range is six hundred yards,” relayed McCord.

“Casualty-assistance team, report status of the electronics equipment space,” barked Rudel.

The IC man on the phones spoke briefly. Jerry’s people were supposed to be standing by next to the electronics room. With all the extra shoring that had been added, there was barely room for a man to stand. The switchboards were wrapped with several layers of plastic, techs stood by with parts and tools at the ready. Additional personnel were staged just inside the crew’s quarters.

“Seaman Blocker reports they’re ready. Chief Hudson is watching both the packing glands and the reinforcing frames.”

“Very well,” Rudel acknowledged. Mentally, Jerry crossed his fingers.

“Four hundred yards.”

“Sonar, conn. What’s the bearing to Maxine?”

“Steady at two seven five.”

Rudel picked up the 1MC. “All hands, this is the Captain. We are about five minutes from contact. Be ready to brace for impact, and after that, be ready for anything.” Then he keyed the intercom. “Torpedo room, conn. Give me a mark at one hundred forty yards.”

“Conn, torpedo room. Understood. Stand by. Stand by. Mark!”

“Helm, all stop!” It was the only time Jerry heard Rudel speak in louder than conversational tones. “Chief, watch your air. Save enough for the final blow.”

“Save enough for the final blow, aye,” McCord responded.

“Sound the collision alarm!” McCord pulled the lever and SCREE, SCREE, SCREE echoed. In spite of all their careful preparations, Jerry’s chest tightened. His mouth felt like it was filled with sand. Intentionally running into another submarine? This just wasn’t natural.

They waited, while Jerry counted down the carefully calculated two and a third minutes it would take for Seawolf to drift to a dead stop. In a perfect world, that would leave her modified bow just touching Severodvinsk’s hull.

Jerry’s nightmare was that he’d overestimated the drag, that Seawolf would drift to a stop short of her goal, hanging in the water helpless to cover the last ten or thirty yards without using the screws. That meant a low-speed collision, but even walking speed times nine thousand-some-odd tons.

It wasn’t a sound as much as a vibration, a grinding sensation that seemed to push the bow down slightly as they slowed. There was an uneven crackling mixed in — the wooden framework.

Shimko grinned. “Bow down. That means we’re under her — right where we’re supposed to be.”

Rudel fired orders. “Status in the electronic equipment space.” Over the intercom, “Torpedo room, conn. Reposition Maxine.” Then he turned to the control room crew. “But we’re not waiting. All ahead dead slow.”

The talker waited for the helmsman’s echoed reply before reporting, “Electronics equipment space is dry.”

Rudel grinned. “This is a good start.” He held one palm flat against a metal surface, feeling the boat’s engines as well as her contact with the Russian’s hull. Jerry did the same. As the normal-sounding thrum of the screw increased, the grinding, crunching sensation decreased, the relatively light pressure holding the bow in place, preventing further movement.

“Helm, all ahead slow. Torpedo room, conn. Is Maxine in position yet?”

“Conn, torpedo room. She’s moving now, sir. In position in less than a minute.”

“Understood, Mr. Palmer. You know what we’re looking for.”

“I’ll report any rotation of the hull.”

Jerry felt the hull shudder a little as the screw increased its turns from “dead slow” to “slow.” Although it seemed like a small change, at those RPMs the screw had enough power to push nine thousand tons of submarine through the water at three knots.

Severodvinsk

There’d been no warning before the gentle crunch of Seawolf “s bow contacting the hull. Strapped in, Petrov pictured wood and metal being compressed, breaking, bending. The wood structure would press against the rubberized coating.

There. Rudel had added some power, just a little. Petrov was surprised at how clearly he could feel the screw’s effects. That meant a good contact between the two vessels, and an efficient transfer of engine power.

He looked at the inclinometer. It hadn’t moved, but it was early yet. He was optimistic.

USS Seawolf

“Helm, all ahead one-third.”

Rudel’s voice was firm, firmer than Jerry thought his might be giving that order. Real power was beginning to run through the ship’s structure, and the shuddering sped up into a strong vibration. Jerry imagined the boat on hard rubber wheels, rolling over the rumble strips on a highway

But it was just a vibration, steadily increasing. The electronic equipment space was still dry. When he heard the report, Shimko said, “We need to buy those Norwegians a drink.”

“More than one,” Rudel answered. He keyed the intercom again. “Torpedo room, conn. Report.”

“Conn, torpedo room. We’re in position, sir. The image has a lot of static near our bow. That’s probably air bubbles from main ballast tanks one alpha and one bravo.” Palmer sighed, then added, “Severodvinsk has not moved yet.”

“We’re not done yet, Mr. Palmer…” Rudel was interrupted by a piercing groan, a sound of metal being stressed. It was loud enough to make conversation impossible, and it went on for several moments.

Shimko tried to give an order to the phone talker, but couldn’t make himself understood. He was repeating himself when the groan, becoming almost a howl, suddenly stopped.”. report! All compartments report any damage.”

The phone talker, eyes as wide as everyone else’s, passed the word, and immediately reported, “There’s a seawater leak in the electronic equipment space! Chief Hudson says it’s from a packing gland around number two periscope. They’re handling it.”

Rudel seemed artificially calm as he acknowledged the report, then spoke to Shimko. “What do you think, XO? Stresses on the hull adjusting themselves?”

The XO made a face. “Yes, but where? At the bow? Near the mast’s penetrations? Somewhere else? We weren’t designed to push. This may void the warranty.”

“Casualty-assistance team reports they’re having problems slowing the flow of water.”

“Very well. Helm, all ahead two-thirds.”

“What?” Shimko was alarmed. “Skipper, shouldn’t we control the leak first?”

Rudel shook his head. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it quickly.” The deck shuddered again, and for the first time, there was a small sideways lurch. “Chief, how’s main ballast tank one holding?”

McCord replied, “I’m bleeding air in slowly to maintain pressure. We can do this for a little longer — maybe four, five minutes.”

“Level us if you can, Chief. I want our stern no higher than our bow, so we’re pushing up.”

“Pumping water from forward trim to after trim.”

Several of the displays in control suddenly went dark. As Rudel and Shimko turned to the phone talker, he reported, “They’re securing power to the electronic equipment space! The leak’s become a spray.” After a pause, he added, “The gravity drains are handling it, so far.”

The displays went dark again, and stayed that way. Immediately the helmsman reported, “Sir, the rudder has shifted to emergency hydraulic control.”

Severodvinsk

Seawolf must be putting some real power into their engines now. Sitting at the top of the sail, Petrov could feel a back-and-forth vibration, as if the American submarine was straining against some great weight. He was encouraged that the motion was side to side, although now he was worried that when they did finally move, they might roll too far, to end up trapped lying on their starboard side.

To guard against that chance, Petrov kept his hand resting on the red-and-yellow-striped handle that would release the chamber from the sail. It was a simple mechanical release. Normally one wouldn’t rest one’s hand on any control, to prevent it being accidentally triggered. He smiled at the thought of that happening.

It was hardest on the injured. The vibrations were strong enough to cause them real pain, and Balanov had unstrapped himself and was doing his best to cushion their hurts, and administering more painkillers. Petrov watched him, but didn’t caution the doctor about moving around. He had his work, and besides, what was one more risk?

Petrov stared at the inclinometer, willing it to change.

USS Seawolf

“Skipper, I’m losing pressure in main ballast tank one alpha. It’s almost gone.” Chief McCord added, “The Norwegians’ patch must have given way. The other tank is still all right.”

“All engines ahead standard.”

“Electronic equipment space, report.”

“Chief Hudson says there is a half-inch solid stream from the number two scope’s packing. The backup team is on the scene and they are trying to plug it somehow, but there’s a lot of pressure. Robinson got caught in the stream and got pretty banged up. He’s on his way to sickbay.”

“Very well. Tell Hudson to just contain the flooding and watch those frames.”

The phone talker relayed Rudel’s order. The flooding was bad enough. Water would accumulate and weigh down the bow. But they’d told Jerry about Smelkov’s estimate. At two-thirds power, Seawolf would begin to deform Severodvinsk’s pressure hull. But when would Seawolf ‘s start to go?

Seawolf’s hull was already stressed, and weaker as a result of the collision. If the frames started to bend, there would be no more time, no warning.

“All ahead full.” The captain’s voice was calm, but he couldn’t hide his anxiety.

“I’m losing pressure in one bravo,” McCord reported. Rudel nodded acknowledgment. Jerry could see him trying to visualize the two hulls, feeling how they were fitting together. What would make the Russian move?

The vibration was audible now, and so uneven that the control room crew either strapped themselves in or braced themselves as best they could. The deck shifted from side to side, and occasionally pitched up or down, as if the entire sub was fishtailing as it struggled to shift Severodvinsk’s hull.

“All ahead flank. Maneuvering, make maximum turns!” Rudel shouted.

Rudel’s final engine order started to have an effect. Racing through the water at full power, Jerry remembered how Seawolf’s hull seemed almost alive with energy. Now her struggles grew more violent.

An upward jolt almost knocked Jerry from his feet, and some of the watch cried out in surprise. Another followed, and another.

“Control room, torpedo. The sail’s moving!”

Palmer’s report pulled Rudel over to the intercom. “How much?”

“Five degrees, maybe more. Those shocks we just felt were the start. Definitely more, approaching eight degrees now.”

“Captain!” shouted the phone talker. “Chief Hudson reports there are now multiple leaks in the overhead in the electronics equipment space.”

Severodvinsk

When the motion came, Petrov only knew it because of the inclinometer. The vibrations were so strong that he had become almost numb. It was impossible to tell whether they moved him to the left or right or backward.

But his vision had been fixed on the inclinometer, and it had changed. He called out “Thirty degrees!” Then came another shock, hard enough to make some of the uninjured men cry out in alarm, but Petrov called, “Twenty-four degrees!”

He heard cheers and prayers, and encouragements to the Americans to keep pushing. Petrov kept his eyes fixed on the inclinometer. His left hand squeezed the release handle so hard it hurt.

USS Seawolf

A series of sideways jolts made the hull creak, then a sharp downward bump seemed to allow Seawolf to slide forward. Shimko asked nervously, “What are we doing, tunneling under the Russian?”

“A little scared, XO?”

“Sir, a wise man said that fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment!”

Rudel shook his head. His executive officer was a certified loon, for that matter so was the rest of this crew.

Looking over at the chief of the watch, he shouted, “We have to get her bow up. Fill after trim to the mark and blow a little air into main ballast tank two.” As heavy as the bow was, they had to make the stern heavier. Jerry remembered an old submariner initiation. “Skipper, send the crew aft.”

Rudel nodded and grabbed the 1MC microphone. “All hands not on duty, to the shaft alley on the double.” There was no way to tell if it was enough, or if it mattered at all, but it was the best they could do.

“We’re using the boat like a giant crowbar,” Rudel muttered. “A nuclear-powered crowbar. This can’t be good for the hull.” But they all felt another sharp jolt, and it was a welcome sensation.

“That’s doing it!” Palmer’s report on the intercom was encouraging, if nonregulation. But was it enough?

“What about the escape chamber?” Rudel demanded.

“It’s still in place,” Palmer reported. “It looks like the angle is less than twenty degrees. They should have released the capsule. Are they all unconscious?”

“We are not stopping until the chamber is released!”

“Chief Hudson reports leaks from all mast penetrations. He can also see the hull frames starting to bend. He says it’s small, but it’s definite.”

“Sir, I recommend we put her on the roof, now!” Shimko’s request was soft, but urgent.

“Not until that escape chamber leaves,” Rudel insisted.

Their conversation was punctuated by more jolts and another long groan. Suddenly, ET2 Lamberth appeared at the forward door to control. He was soaked to the skin, shivering and breathless, a cut on his arm. “Captain, Chief Hudson reports that some of the shoring arms are starting to buckle. He says to tell you we are officially on borrowed time!”

Severodvinsk

Petrov pulled the release almost before he understood the numbers. First, the inclinometer had jumped from twenty-three to seventeen, then back to twenty-five before he could move his arm. He cursed, afraid he’d missed his chance, when the numbers began to crawl down again, each short jerk counting the angle down a little more each time. Finally, it stayed below fifteen and they were free.

They never heard or felt the clamps release, not with all the other noise and vibration, but to Petrov it felt as if they’d been thrown upward toward the surface. The deck, canted for so long, suddenly felt properly level, and he could sense the upward acceleration as they rose.

The submariner in him wanted to time the ascent, to double-check his calculation of one minute forty-nine seconds, but instead, Petrov started to laugh, almost uncontrollably. Relief flooded through him, and he felt weak, still in a state of astonishment.

It took all his strength to lift his head and look at the men around him. They were mirrors of himself, many laughing or cheering if they weren’t weeping or simply screaming at the top of their lungs. Nobody was cold, or had a headache, or was hungry any longer. They were rising from the dead.

USS Seawolf

“Conn!” screamed Palmer. “I can see the chamber. It’s clear!”

“Helm, all back full!” Jerry heard Palmer’s report, and some part of him was glad, but now it was time to focus on their own immediate concerns.

“All pumps to maximum! Chief, get as much water out of the bow as you can.”

“Working it, Skipper.” McCord’s hand flew over the ballast-control panel, trying to purge the ship of the weight they’d just desperately needed.

Jerry felt the vibrations beneath the deck become weaker, then start again. Lavoie and his engineers had stopped the shaft, and now it was turning in the other direction. Before they could rise, they had to clear Severodvinsk’s hull. It wouldn’t take much, but it would be a good thing if they hurried.

The vibration grew, and for a moment Jerry thought they might be entangled somehow, but the screw bit and he felt the deck shift as they backed away from the Russian’s hull.

Rudel keyed the intercom. “Torpedo room, conn. Report! Are we clear?”

“Conn, torpedo room. We’re clearing the hull, sir. We had almost half our bow under the Russian. I can see sternway on.” Jerry was grateful for Palmer’s report, and Maxine’s ability to track their progress, because right now they were blind. While backing down, the pitlog was worthless. In fact, submarines were pigs with sternway on. Jerry could see the compass heading swing to port and starboard. It was a short trip, but it would have been even shorter if they could have kept the stern pointed in one direction.

“Conn, torpedo room. We are clear of Severodvinsk.”

“Emergency surface! Left full rudder, all ahead flank! Dive, how’s our trim?”

As McCord hit the chicken switches, Hess shook his head. “We’re very heavy forward, with all that water in the bow.”

“Well, for God’s sake don’t let our stern get too light.”

“What we can’t get over the side, we’re moving aft, and the stern planes are starting to bite.”

“Mr. Mitchell, give me a course,” Rudel ordered.

“We can continue this port turn to two two five. That will keep us clear of the rest of the formation.”

“Helm, steady on two two five.”

“We are rising,” Shimko announced, “we’re coming up!”

Jerry felt his own spirits rise, and he studied the rest of the watch. He saw relief, excitement, fatigue, but no fear. They were done.

“All tanks blown, sir.” McCord grinned, an infectious expression.

“Very well.” Rudel answered with his own smile as well.

They surfaced into five-foot swells and a high overcast. Seawolf shot out of the water like a drunken walrus, seesawing back and forth before she settled on the surface, seriously down by the bow. By the time they’d set the bridge watch, Rudel had turned them back toward the rest of the formation, a mile and a half distant.

Jerry and the other officers rook turns coming up to the bridge to watch the rescue. He could see the black tile-covered escape chamber, bobbing like a child’s ball. Pamir and Altay were standing by on each side, and the tug’s sailors were helping the crewmen out and over to their two ships. Helicopters were taking turns lifting the injured from their fantails.

The bridge-to-bridge radio crackled to life while Jerry watched the two tugs go by. “USS Seawolf, this is Petr Velikiy. Please take station one thousand yards to starboard of my position. We wish to see if you have suffered any additional damage.”

He passed the message to control, and Rudel approved the request. Jerry guided Seawolf toward the massive warship. It lay near the center of the Russian formation. Looking aft, he could see USS Churchill falling in trail, half a mile behind them.

Jerry studied the Russian vessel as they approached. It loomed over them, even from nearly a mile away. Being so low to the water didn’t help either. The formation was only steaming at five knots, so they were overtaking slowly.

A shrill whistle blast cut through the air, coming from the battle cruiser’s forecastle. Jerry saw men pouring out of the weather deck hatches. What was going on? Were they sounding General Quarters? Then he saw the crew arranging themselves along the edge of each deck, from the main deck up through the many stories of the superstructure.

They were manning the rails. Jerry hit the intercom. “Captain and XO, lay to the bridge.”

The lookout tapped his shoulder and pointed to a destroyer on their starboard side. Jerry turned and saw its crew taking places along the railings as well. He quickly made a survey of the rest of the ships, and other than the two tugs, every ship in the Russian formation had its crew on deck.

They were only a few hundred yards short of their assigned station. Jerry called “Captain to the bridge!” with more urgency, and seconds later, Rudel appeared, followed by the XO. Both officers looked around frantically, searching. “What’s wrong, Jerry? Is it the bow?”

They relaxed a little when they saw his calm expression, but then Jerry pointed to port, toward Petr Velikiy s starboard bridge wing, two hundred yards ahead and a hundred feet above them. It was filled with blue and gold uniforms, all at attention and facing to starboard.

Rudel took Jerry’s glasses and studied the group. “Migod. That’s Borisov, and Kurganov, and Chicherin, and all their cousins and uncles.” He keyed the intercom. “Chief, send up the XO’s and my combo covers, and do it now!”

Rudel opened the hatch and tossed down his foul-weather coat. The XO followed suit. By that time, the chief had climbed up the ladder holding their uniform covers. They quickly replaced their ball caps.

They turned and faced to port just as Seawolf came abreast of the Russian flagship. Even at half a mile, they heard the shouts. An earsplitting blast from Petr Velikiy’s whistle carried across the water, and was echoed by the other ships in the task force. Led by Vice Admiral Borisov, every sailor in the task force saluted.

Standing stiffly at attention, Captain Rudel and his officers returned the Northern Fleet’s salute.