Arctic Firepath (Sean Quinlan Book 2)

by Dominic Conlon

  The officers shuffled uncomfortably as the Captain waited a moment to ensure his message had been received. 'Right, I want a report from each of you about the status of your men and area of responsibility.' The Captain turned to Chief Petty Officer Lambert. 'George, you first.'

  The Independent Duty Corpsman was a qualified doctor. He cleared his throat. 'Sir, I'm sorry to report another two fatalities. That makes five dead. Two more are still critical. I've had a dozen with other injuries, mainly broken bones and concussion. There are others with minor cuts and abrasions. I'm using the Crew's Mess as a patient evaluation and treatment area.'

  'Thank you George. Do you need anything else - supplies or manpower?'

  'No sir, I've managed to get most of the stocks we squirrelled away.' Medical provisions were stashed in several locations throughout the boat to minimise loss from a single incident. 'I don’t need any more help at the moment, though I would like to return to my patients as quickly as possible.'

  The Captain waved his hand. 'Go George. Someone will brief you later - and thank you.' He turned to the Chief Engineer. 'What's the status of the hull David?'

  'There's still some seepage, but the majority of the flooding is under control.' David Purbeck looked towards his Damage Control Assistant. 'We've a major problem with the main ballast tanks. The vents of the two forward and aft of the sail are damaged and are stuck on open. Without the ability to close the valves we won't get enough buoyancy to lift off the sea bed. The other ballast tanks at the stem and stern of the boat are just operational, but even with these and the trim tanks we won’t have enough buoyancy to lift us off the bottom.'

  'What about the reactor?'

  'It SCRAMMED automatically when we were hit. That reduced the output for a short time. Normally it would come back online after a fast insertion of the control rods. However the computer activated a full shutdown because so many alarms were triggered.’

  'How much power can we expect?'

  'About five percent. The fission products are still decaying and they give out some heat. Anything over that and we will need to rely on batteries.'

  'How long have we got?' The chief purpose of the battery back-up was to restart the reactor, but at a pinch it could be used for life-support systems.

  'Altogether, I'd say there’s enough juice for 40 hrs plus. The batteries provide energy to the carbon dioxide scrubbers to remove dangerous CO2 gas from the air. They can also supply the electrolyser machine to produce oxygen from seawater.'

  The Captain glanced at the shocked faces. 'Forty hours is not long David.'

  'It's hard to be certain. The electrolyser requires lots of power to replace the oxygen used up by the crew. We could extend it by turning the heating off.'

  'What’s the downside?'

  'The key problem is the atmosphere inside the sub will cool to the temperature of the surrounding ocean - just above freezing. The crew could wear more clothes, but the biggest issue is the water vapour in the air. It will condense on all metal surfaces and might cause shorting in our electric circuits.'

  'Right, we'll take that chance. How long before we can start the reactor?'

  David shrugged his shoulders. 'We don't know yet. I am working on it, but I need to set expectations. The fact that it failed to resume automatically means there are significant issues. And if we are going to use the battery for life-support, there might not be sufficient energy left to begin the start sequence. We may have to wait until the sub is returned to Groton.'

  Captain White glanced around his officers again. Their faces all told the same story.

  'What else you can do?'

  'We'll have to inspect the support systems fully and assess what happened to the reactor, sir. It’s essential to check the circuits are functioning properly before we can even try a restart. The checklist alone will take at least 24 hours. Any issues we find during the tests are likely to need the services of our home port.'

  'Better get on with it immediately. And keep me up to date, will you?'

  The Chief Engineer nodded and hurried out. The Captain turned next to his Navigator.

  'What's the story, Jago?'

  Jago ran his hands through his short curly hair. 'Comms are a complete mess. Virtually all our communications are routed via the transmission masts in the sail, and the conning tower was crushed by the icebreaker.'

  'So no-one knows we're in trouble?'

  Jago shook his head. 'We can still receive Extra Low Frequency transmissions because ELF doesn't need an antenna above the surface. We're working on trying to repair the damage to the receivers and masts, but it’s going to take a long time.'

  The XO scratched an ear. 'Any possibility of using the dorsal hatchway?' This was a small opening on the upper surface of the sub near the tail.

  Jago frowned. 'We've thought about that. If we patch the cables in the ducts we might be able to send up an aerial through the hatchway. As far as we know it's still operational.'

  The XO faced the Captain. 'Once we get an aerial up, we should be able to communicate in both directions using HF, UHF or VHF.'

  'I agree Thomas.' The Captain made up his mind. 'Make this your first priority Jago. The sooner Groton realises our predicament, the better.' He eyed the remaining officers. 'That's all for now. You've got a lot to do. Let's reconvene in two hours.'

  They began filing out of the meeting, but the XO remained behind.

  'Yes, Thomas?'

  'The icebreaker deliberately rammed us Captain.' The XO could barely conceal his anger. 'All the men will know by now he intended to sink us.'

  'I understand,' he replied softly. ‘But we must concentrate on surviving as long as possible for the rescue.'

  'We still have some power, sir. We could operate our weapons systems - long enough to target the ship.'

  'He can't do any more damage than he already has. And we need all the power for our life support systems. Don't forget your priorities Thomas. Your duty must be to your men first. There will be a reckoning when we get out of this mess. Until then your job is to protect the safety of your officers and crew.'

  The XO glanced down at the water sloshing about his feet. 'Yes sir, I apologise.' After a second he looked up. 'Ah Commander, speaking of survival, you left a few things out of your pep talk - like the rescue will take much longer than we've got.'

  The Captain eyed his Executive Officer. 'I did leave it out Thomas. But I didn't forget.' He paused. 'I don't want to crush everyone's hopes just yet.'

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After identifying a Russian observer at the funeral, DD turned his attention to his pet project TRIP WIRE. It was not working out as he had planned. When he conceived the design he saw himself like a spider, sat on the side of its web, waiting for the slightest tremor to alert him to a lead. But the database he had constructed to find Khostov positively vibrated with alerts– so many he felt overwhelmed.

  He had no option but to plead for resources from the police. One force was tasked with serving Internet Providers with warrants to obtain the contents of emails sent by various ex-Russian residents. Another followed up twitter posts referring to the word Maskhadov. So far, all the TRIP WIRE events were perfectly innocent, and DD was starting to regard the web site as a failure. His mobile rang.

  'Is this Daniel Davis?'

  'Yes, who is this?'

  'Detective Inspector Anita Marshall. I’m working on the murder of two Russian couples. I met one of your colleagues, Sean Quinlan.' She paused, uncertain how to continue. 'Do you know him?'

  'Yes, of course' replied DD.

  'He told me to contact you if any developments occurred.'

  'Something's happened?'

  'Dorset police rang me after I asked them to check on one of the deceased's assets - a yacht called the Anastasia.'

  'OK.'

  'She’s normally berthed at the harbour in Weymouth, but now it’s missing.'

  'Ah. Thank you for the info – is there anything else I should know?'
/>   'Nope - just that. Thought it might be useful to your, ah, research.'

  'Fine, and thank you.'

  'Please be sure to let me know if you discover anything relevant to my investigation.'

  'I will, and thanks again.' DD pocketed his mobile and mentally began to kick himself. Why hadn't TRIP WIRE alerted him to the missing yacht? Nevertheless, it was a good lead; one he would follow up with the coast guard and local shipping authorities. He would also have to contact French coast guards and police and ensure they sent out a bulletin to all harbour and police authorities along the north coast of France. Once completed, there was nothing else he could do except wait.

  So much for the web site, he thought. The idea was great in theory, but when it came to practice it would need more than a few tweaks.

  Captain Gerry White clicked on the intercom to broadcast the message throughout the boat. 'You will all be pleased to learn the flooding has been contained. We also finished pumping out water from the control spaces. The forward section, which took the brunt of the collision with the sea bed, is sealed off.' The Captain didn't mention this was where four of the five deaths had occurred.

  He continued. 'Sparks patched up a communication channel through an undamaged hatchway near the tail. No work has been possible on the masts in the sail because the damage was too extensive. We hope to send up a radio antenna in the next ten minutes, so we can report directly to Groton.'

  Headquarters were already aware the sub was not able to communicate with them because they were unable to return ELF signals. The emergency would be classified as DISSUB, or Disabled/Distressed Submarine. Privately the Captain thought that wasn't much help to them at the moment. Until they made direct communications with base they wouldn’t be able start compiling a shopping list of requirements for the rescue.

  'Yes Thomas?' The XO had come to stand next to him.

  'Sir, there's not much time left.' Thomas spoke quietly so as not to be overheard by the crew.

  Captain White nodded. 'What is your point?'

  'I wondered about the SEIE Mk10.' He was referring to an escape procedure based on a whole body suit called Submarine Escape and Immersion Equipment. This included a one-man life raft and an inner lining to protect against hypothermia.

  The Captain shook his head. 'I did consider it. Even if we could find a way through the ice, the suit wasn't designed for the hostile weather in the Arctic. I fear many would die before being picked up by any passing ship. Right now no-one apart from Groton knows we're at the bottom of the sea. So I discounted the idea - unless you think we might stand a chance?'

  Thomas thought for a few moments and indicated his agreement. He shivered, more from the grim prospect ahead than the cold in the boat.

  Five minutes later he came upon the Captain in the radio room. The communications buoy had been released and the link with the home port was established. The XO overheard the talk on the loudspeaker. 'Hang in there Captain. We've already prepared SRDRS. Should be with you in 72 hours.'

  The Captain glanced at Thomas and spoke into the mike. 'Understood. Please make it sooner if you can.' He regarded the XO. 'I know what you're going to say - 72 hours will be too late for us.'

  Thomas shrugged.

  'Don't give up hope Thomas.'

  'Sir, the temperature has dropped to just above freezing. I'm thinking of the men; could we divert more power from the reactor into heating the sub?'

  'That would compromise the ability of the scrubbers to remove CO2. And we also need the energy to communicate with base. I recommend you break out the survival suits - at least they will keep the crew warmer.'

  'Right, sir. Was there anything else?'

  'Groton asked us to stabilise the air pressure inside the sub before they arrive.'

  'Sir, I don't think it’s such a good idea. The crew are already frightened. They're not going to be too happy when they learn we're letting air out of the boat when they need every last breath.'

  Captain White frowned. 'Headquarters say this is essential in order to minimise the time to transfer crew to the rescue vessel. If we don't do this, many more will die.'

  Thomas paused to think. 'I suppose we could release the air out gradually through the valves. No-one might notice.'

  'No, I'll talk to the crew and explain what is necessary and why we’re taking this measure.'

  'Good luck on that one sir.'

  The Captain glared at his XO. 'I shouldn't need to remind you we are all in this together, Thomas. Give the men credit - once I've talked to them, they will understand.'

  'Sir.'

  'Right now I need maximum cooperation from everyone - especially my second in command.'

  'Yes, sir. There is one more thing. It won't help with the build-up of CO2, but it might provide us all with extra oxygen.'

  'Go on.'

  'The cylinders used to blow the ballast from the main tanks. I'm considering re-routing them to force some air back into the sub.'

  'Good idea.' The Captain paused. 'Keep thinking like that XO, and you'll have your own boat before long.'

  'Thank you skipper. I'll get engineering onto it straight away.'

  Sean’s first beating lasted an hour.

  They struck him with fists, working up to a rhythm. Then they found some rough wooden planks in an outbuilding. One of the men, called Urilenko, took particular enjoyment in causing pain. He stopped occasionally to twist Sean's testicles until Sean thought they would separate from his body. When Urilenko pushed his face up close his acrid breath stank.

  They left to rest and eat. Sean's head hung down on his chest. Blood and saliva dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. The attack on his genitals had caused him to pee, much to the amusement of the gang. Through puffy eyes Sean took in the surroundings. He was alone in the stone built kitchen of the farm, tied to a wooden chair. Rubbish lay on the floor - old newspapers, empty tins, pools of water from the leaky roof. The place had obviously not been occupied for some time. A sturdy rough wooden table stood opposite a large open hearth fire. Once this was the heart of a loving home he thought as he spat out a gob of blood. The pain failed to mask an overwhelming sense of dread.

  The four came back for a second session. By now Sean could identify the individuals. Desny appeared to be the leader who asked the questions while Urilenko worked on Sean. Desny sometimes referred to Markow, and given his responses Sean guessed Markow had access to Russian intelligence. Petrov stood quietly in the background, observing everything, but not speaking throughout the interrogation.

  Urilenko's face was lit up with anticipation. He withdrew a rusty bread knife, presumably one left by a previous occupant. He made cutting motions with it - suggesting he would start by sawing off one of Sean's fingers. As Urilenko advanced, Sean decided now was the time.

  'Stop,' he called out weakly. Desny studied Sean as Urilenko grabbed Sean's left hand, forcing his index finger to lie straight on the wooden arm of the chair.

  'Stop. I'll tell you whatever you want to know.'

  Desny pulled Urilenko roughly away and moved in front of Sean. He questioned Sean directly. 'Why are you looking for us?'

  Sean raised his head with difficulty. 'Our police became upset when you killed two Russian couples.'

  'How did you find us?'

  'We spotted your car at the funeral.'

  'Where is Khostov?'

  Sean stopped. 'Who is Khostov?'

  Desny looked back towards Urilenko. 'Khostov, the Russian traitor who came here.'

  Sean shook his head. 'I don't know him. What is he supposed to have done?'

  Desny nodded to Urilenko. Urilenko picked up the bread knife again with a big grin. Together they forced Sean to spread the fingers of his left hand on the wooden arm of the chair. Urilenko started to saw at his index finger. His face flushed with the effort and he began to pant with excitement.

  Sean closed his eyes and grunted with the pain.

  President Robert Donahue stared angrily at his Secretary of D
efence Brindle Harris. 'What are you saying - a Russian icebreaker sank a state-of-the-art American submarine? Why the hell would they do that?'

  CIA director Henry Alfred Jones was first to respond. 'We’re still holding eight Russian air crews from the two Blackjack bombers.'

  'You're saying the Russians sank one of our submarines because we detained a flight crew?'

  Jones pulled a face. 'Maybe. Our submarine was well outside Russian territorial boundaries and on the surface. The ship deliberately aimed for the sub. The Captain is adamant the icebreaker saw them, and altered course to collide with them.