The Zhukov Briefing

CHAPTER FOUR

Shortly after surfacing Yenev handed over the bridge-watch to Lomov. Back in the control-room he summoned a conference of key officers. To it came Vladimir Ilyitch, the senior engineer officer; Krasnov, the torpedo and sonar officer; Yusof, the missile systems officer; Uskhan, the communications officer; Gallinin, the atmospheric control officer; Feodotik, the chief diving systems technician. And, of course, Boris Milovych, the commissar.

Yenev was brief and to the point. ‘There is little time. First a quick summary of the damage state. Commissar?’ The muscles in Milovych’s face twitched. ‘My staff tell me there is no serious damage in the missile-compartments and systems. There are certain electrical and hydraulic failures which they are working on and some damaged instruments. You have no real cause for worry on account of my department.’

Smug bastard, thought Yenev. Everyone in the submarine knew that the real responsibility and technical know-how for the ship’s missilry came under Yusof and his assistant, Vatutin. Yenev turned to Krasnov. ‘Your department?’

‘The torpedo-compartment remains sealed off, Captain. There is no evidence of life there. We still do not know what caused the explosion. It was not a warhead.’

‘Obviously,’ said Yenev dryly. ‘We wouldn’t be here if it was. Continue.’

Krasnov jerked his chin nervously. He was only doing his duty. The captain’s comment was surely unnecessary. ‘Using eighty-five per cent capacity, the pumps are just containing the inflow of water. The remaining fifteen per cent has been diverted to other bilges. The sonar systems are still unserviceable. The transducers have suffered severe shock. They are close to the torpedo-compartment.’

Yenev’s mouth shut in a tight line. He nodded towards the senior engineer officer. ‘You, Ilyitch?’

‘The main motor rooms, the turbo generators, secondary propulsion units, the boiler and reactor rooms, hydraulic power plants and auxiliary machinery spaces are in reasonably good shape. Various circuit and pressure line failures, of course — damaged switchgear and blown fuses. Also some minor leaks from glands in the pressure hull. But there is serious damage in the air-conditioning and emergency generating centres on the lower deck forward of the missile-compartment.’

‘Briefly, what’s the trouble?’

‘A big inflow of water. Must have been a failure in the pressure hull welding under both compartments. At first I thought it came from leaks through cable and pipe glands. But it’s more than that. Whatever it is, the inflow is increasing. The fracture is probably extending.’

‘Has it been possible to make any sort of detailed examination?’

Ilyitch shook his head. ‘Impossible. The break is in the bilges themselves. Possibly between frames. But there is another complication.’

‘For Christ’s sake, what’s that?’

The commissar made a mental note of Yenev’s blasphemy. The Party didn’t like that sort of thing. A bad example to the men. Effete religious habits asserting themselves in times of crisis.

Yenev’s pale eyes held Ilyitch’s. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Chlorine fumes from the battery spaces are leaking into the air-conditioning and emergency generating compartments. Also into the seamen’s bunk-deck. We have evacuated those compartments, but for men with respirators who are checking the extent of the damage.’

‘Any idea of that extent?’

‘Not really. We’ve had to shut down the air-conditioning plant and emergency generators.’

‘Can you get them going again?’

‘Not without dockyard or other outside assistance.’

‘So,’ said Yenev grimly. ‘Nothing but disaster. Has no one a favourable report? What about communications, Uskhan?’

The dim red light of the control-room emphasized the communications officer’s Mongolian features. ‘The situation in my department is very serious, Captain. There is a leak in the pressure hull over the main communications centre. Water flooding in and the shock of the explosion started numerous electrical fires. The carbon-dioxide cylinders operated automatically. The compartment was then evacuated and sealed off. Later I went in with my senior technician. We had respirators. The damage is considerable. There is no possibility of on-board repair of the transmitters. There will have to be complete stripping and overhaul of the entire system.’

‘And the emergency communications aft?’

Uskhan shook his head. ‘No better, Captain. There was a bad electrical fire there. The shock of the explosion, you know. It broke circuits, threw switches, blew fuses and…’

‘I know.’ Yenev held up a hand. ‘What’s the damage?’ He asked the question calmly but they all knew what he was thinking.

‘Again, the carbon-dioxide extinguishers functioned at once. The watchkeeper had to evacuate and seal off the compartment. Now there is a serious radiation leak there. From the reactor room.’

Yenev switched to the atmospheric control officer. ‘What’s the situation there, Gallinin?’

‘Bad, Captain. The radiation level is rising steadily. I sent a man in. Fully protected, of course. Apart from the radiation problem, he reports extensive fire damage. I understand a lot of the equipment has melted from excessive heat. He says it’s a shambles.’

‘Why did you not go in yourself, comrade Gallinin?’ Milovych smiled as he put the question.

‘Because he is not allowed to,’ snapped Yenev.

‘Why not, comrade Yenev?’ The fat man’s parted lips revealed uneven yellow teeth.

‘Because the radiation control officer is the only man in Zhukov who knows everything worth knowing about controlling radiation. We can’t afford to lose him.’

‘This is something we may have to look into.’ Milovych rubbed his hands together slowly. ‘I would imagine…’

‘By all means do so, commissar. In the meantime I would remind you that every second counts.’ He turned to the communications officer. ‘So we have no means of communication, Uskhan?’

The Mongolian’s long fingers clenched and unclenched. He was a clever nervous young man and he feared the captain. He felt somehow that the extent of damage in his department might reflect upon his professional competence. ‘No means at present, Captain. But for the submarine indicator buoys.’ These were the emergency buoys which Zhukov could release if she were trapped on the bottom. They would surface and transmit SOS signals automatically. Surface vessels and land stations receiving them would take radio bearings and locate the sunken submarine.

‘They’re no good,’ snapped Yenev. ‘We’ve got thirty minutes, perhaps. Our need is to talk at once to Naval HQ in Leningrad or Murmansk or at least with other Soviet warships at sea. Not to send out SOSs.’

‘What about the radio berthing sets?’ suggested Milovych.

‘Useless,’ said Yenev. ‘Their range is about twenty kilometres.’

Vladimir Ilyitch had been talking in undertones with Feodotik. He broke in. ‘Chief Feodotik has just been examining the bilge and tank gauges and flow meters. Using our full pumping capacity — where it is most needed and switching as necessary — we can do no more than keep Zhukov afloat for between thirty and forty minutes. Forty at best. Thirty at worst. That is our belief.’

Yenev focused his pale eyes on Milovych. ‘Commissar, we must now, at once, make a decision. The alternatives are simple. Either we make for deep water, set the charges, abandon Zhukov and blow her up…’ He paused to let the words sink in. ‘Or…’

‘Or…?’ Milovych’s mouth twitched like a child on the verge of tears. There were no smiles now. He was already wondering what his political masters might think of any decisions he made. It was unfair, he reflected. He should be able to consult with them. Outline the facts. Let them make the decision. There must be gross inefficiency on board. How could both communication systems have been destroyed? How was it that the most modern, the most powerful ballistic missile submarine in the world was without means of communication of any sort?

‘Or…?’ he again demanded.

‘Or we make for the nearest land — that’s the island of Vrakoy — with the chance of grounding Zhukov there.’ Yenev’s eyes challenged the commissar.

‘What? On Norwegian territory? NATO territory?’ The commissar swept his arm round the control-room in a dramatic gesture. ‘This submarine. With its new weapons, new electronics. Secrets our enemies would give anything… I mean anything… to obtain. You don’t know what you’re saying, comrade Yenev.’

Yenev continued to stare at the commissar. ‘Well, perhaps while we sink you’d like to think up alternatives.’ His mouth tightened in the hard line the crew were getting to know. ‘Let me assure you, however, there are none. Now listen. If we destroy Zhukov we not only deprive the USSR of the Soviet Navy’s most powerful warship… the prototype of a new class of eighteen… but we destroy the evidence of the hull failures and we destroy the possibility of ascertaining the cause of the explosion. Evidence which is vital to our designers and constructors. Do you understand the implications?’ He looked at the commissar as if he’d like to throttle him, which happened to be how he felt. He added, ‘Also, though I agree it is of little importance, if we destroy Zhukov and take to inflate life-rafts… well these sudden October gales… you know… get caught in one of them and you can say goodbye to life or anything else important to you.’ Yenev thought it likely that argument might impress the commissar.

‘But if we ground the ship on Vrakoy… on Norwegian territory… that is to say on NATO territory… What then? Think of the security risks.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Yenev. ‘They exist. But let’s examine them objectively. Norway is anxious to maintain good relations with her powerful neighbour. That’s us — the Soviet Union. Norway’s a member of NATO but on qualified terms. She will not, for example, permit NATO troops or NATO nuclear weapons on Norwegian soil. There is, and long has been, mutual respect between the Russian and Norwegian peoples. Particularly in the north, in Finnmark, where there has been inter-marriage.’

‘True,’ said Milovych looking mollified. ‘Very true.’

‘And,’ Yenev continued, ‘the Norwegians have never forgotten that it was Soviet arms which liberated them from German occupation in the Second World War.’

‘So…’ Milovych challenged, once again showing the authority appropriate to his position.

Yenev looked at him with contempt. He could read the man like a book. ‘You should understand the political implications better than I, comrade commissar.’ Yenev emphasized the ‘comrade’. ‘But let me deal with the practical aspects. When we have grounded Zhukov — that is to say, if we succeed in doing so — we will at once inform Leningrad of the situation.’

‘How?’

‘Through our embassy in Oslo. Using Norwegian channels of communication. I’ve no doubt our Navy will at once deploy massive assistance. I’m equally certain that the Soviet Government will, as its first priority, request the Norwegian Government to assist and protect us in every way.’ Yenev paused. ‘But I must apologize. I’m trespassing on your area of authority. The political problem. I deal only with the naval one. Now…’ Yenev’s voice hardened and the pale eyes narrowed. ‘What do we do?’

Boris Milovych pulled at his cheeks with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, drawing down the skin until the lower eyelids revealed the pink membraneous tissue. This was for him a signal of extreme distress. ‘I wonder,’ he mumbled. ‘I wonder what is best?’

‘You mean you wonder what the Kremlin will think?’ suggested Yenev,

‘No. No. Not at all. I am balancing the advantages and disadvantages of the actions open to us, comrade.’

‘Well, you’ll have to do it pretty quickly, commissar. This submarine is sinking. The Kremlin won’t thank you for that.’ Boris Milovych smiled. I’ll get the bastard for that, he thought. I’ll get him sooner than he thinks. But he said, ‘Comrade Yenev. What do you feel we should do?’

Yenev said, ‘Neither course is easy. But I believe it is our duty to make every attempt to save Zhukov. The only chance of doing that is to make for Vrakoy.’

Vladimir Ilyitch’s deep voice broke into the sudden silence. ‘Captain. We have now only twenty-five to thirty-five minutes in which we can remain afloat.’

Yenev looked at the clock over the chart-table, then back at Ilyitch. ‘You are right. Now. Tell me. Can we safely increase to fifteen knots? If so it will assist in two ways. First, it will help to keep the bows up. Second, it will cut down the time taken to reach Vrakoy.’

Ilyitch thought for a moment. ‘I cannot say whether it will be safe, Captain. We do not know the nature or location of the damage. It may be dangerous. It may make little difference. Why not try fifteen knots? We can always reduce.’

Yenev touched the engineer officer’s shoulder. ‘Well said, Vladimir.’ They were old friends. He went to the chart-table, looked at the large scale chart of the Vesteralen Islands, and consulted the Soviet Navy’s Pilotage Guide to the Norwegian Sea. He saw that Vrakoy, a mountainous island rising steeply from the sea, was shaped like a prawn. Strangely twisted about its long east-west axis, it was ten kilometres in length with an average width of two. The southern side was heavily indented by the bay at Uklarvik, and by Kolfjord. At the head of Kolfjord, recorded the Pilotage Guide, would be found the fishing harbour and village of Kolhamn which supported the local community. The principal activity was fishing. It occurred to Yenev that Vrakoy — Wreck Island — was well named. How many wrecks, he wondered, had this craggy islet claimed?

Abandoning those thoughts, he checked the features of the western end of the island, that which lay closest to the Zhukov. It was dominated by a mountain, Fyrberg, of which the highest peak was Bodvag. The mountain’s south-westerly slopes led down to the lighthouse at Fyrbergnes, the northwesterly to a line of rocks off Knausnes. The safest course, he decided, would be to get Zhukov into the bay at Uklarvik. Ground her at its head where the water shoaled in a small inlet. But to get there would add ten kilometres to the distance. There wasn’t time for that. Yenev decided to make for the light at Fyrbergnes. In that way he would keep his options open. With luck they might just succeed in rounding Fyrbergnes and making the shelter of Uklarvik. If they couldn’t, he’d have to head for the rocks off Knausnes. The large scale chart showed a long rockshelf to the south and west of these with water of a more-or-less even depth over it. An indentation at its north-east corner bit into the foot of the cliffs. It was an unpleasant alternative for the rocks were exposed to the north-westerly gales which blew at that time of year. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The decision made, Yenev laid a course for Fyrbergnes. ‘Steer one-five-zero,’ he ordered. ‘Revolutions for fifteen knots.’

The coxswain was repeating the order when Boris Milovych’s high-pitched voice interrupted. ‘I must request, comrade Yenev, that the decision to make for Vrakoy be recorded in the log-book as yours. Taken after I had drawn attention to the grave security risk involved in grounding on the territory of a NATO power. It must also be recorded, please, that I withdrew my opposition solely on account of your professional advice.’

‘By all means,’ said Yenev. ‘Record it yourself. Anything you like. Important to keep one’s yard-arm clear.’

‘My yard-arm,’ Milovych smiled uneasily, ‘What has that to do with it, comrade Yenev?’

‘Nothing,’ snapped Yenev irritably. ‘Nothing you’d understand.’ Turning to the navigating officer he said, ‘Bring up the chart and pilotage guide, Kulchev. We go now to the bridge.’ Yenev looked at his watch. It was 0027.