Cold Choices

by Larry Bond

  Lavoie continued. “If he’d wanted to hit us, he could have. He isn’t that crazy.”

  “I sure as hell think he’s nucking futs to get as close as he has,” remarked Shimko.

  “Concur, XO. He’s crazy enough for me as well. Helm, all ahead two-thirds, steady on three zero zero.”

  Severodvinsk

  * * *

  “What about the remote vehicle?” Petrov’s attention was almost entirely fixed on its progress. He’d let Kalinin take Severodvinsk in a right turn this time, paralleling the American’s turn on the outside.

  He might have been unconsciously acknowledging the starpom’s concern. The last pass had been only two hundred meters to port of the American, at an unbelievable thirty-three knots. Even their mine-hunting sonar had been blind at that speed.

  Mitrov answered, “It’s still heading northwest at a steady speed. And we’ve identified the sub’s class. It’s an American Seawolf-class.” Petrov barely acknowledged the report.

  “Even if the tether’s cut, it may have an inertial guidance and its own power supply. Assuming it’s a tethered vehicle to begin with.” Kalinin’s suggestion was certainly possible. It would explain the vehicle’s behavior, but it was unsatisfying. His evidence was slipping away. “We could follow it,” the starpom suggested.

  “And leave the perpetrator?” Petrov retorted. “The remote vehicle can lead us on a wild-goose chase while the American escapes. And we have no way to stop or recover the device. No,” he concluded, “we will stay with the American sub.”

  Petrov studied the tactical display. The American lay ahead of him, to the north. He’d increased speed to fifteen knots and was headed northwest, away from Russian waters. Severodvinsk was in a slow right turn, swinging past south.

  For one moment, he contemplated letting the American go. He had confirmed its existence, identified it, and disrupted whatever they were trying to do. He had met all his mission objectives.

  Even as this thought flashed through Petrov’s mind, he rejected it. He could trail them. He could follow them out of this area, watch them recover their remote, and then leave Russian waters, virtually unscathed. They could deny ever being there, and Russia would have only the word of Severodvinsk and her crew. And they still didn’t know what the Americans’ mission was.

  They needed more proof. “Increase our speed to twenty-five knots and set up an intercept. I want to pass directly in front of the American. I’m not letting him leave the area.”

  As Kalinin acknowledged and turned toward the helmsman, Petrov added, “And Vasiliy—no margin.”

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s blade rate is increasing again. Possible target zig to starboard. He may be getting ready to make another pass.”

  “That’s it,” Rudel announced defiantly. “I’m not betting our lives on his seamanship. Increase speed to twenty knots. XO, prepare a spread of countermeasures. Two ADC Mk 5s, an NAE, and a mobile decoy.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Sonar, conn. We’re speeding up. Stand by to go active on the HF set, but try and keep tracking him passively. Regular reports.”

  Sonar’s first report put the Russian at two thousand yards, off their port quarter. “Blade rate is increasing. Contact has steadied up on a new course.”

  “Sonar, conn. Good job, Stapp, you’re our eyes. Keep the reports coming.” Rudel released the intercom key and looked at the control-room watch. They were silent, expectant.

  “There’s no point in only maneuvering. He can follow our movements and it just increases the chance of a collision. I intend to wait until he’s committed to his run, release a mobile decoy and some countermeasures, then break hard left away at speed. We will then head southwest and break contact. Comments?”

  Jerry felt some of the ice in his chest start to melt. The skipper had a plan. It was reassuring to know the captain could still think clearly with a nuclear sub buzzing them.

  “Captain, Sierra three zero now bears one seven five at fourteen hundred yards. Estimated speed twenty-three knots and increasing,” reported Shimko.

  Rudel watched the display. “Very well, XO. What’s the status of the decoy?”

  “CSA launcher ready, where do you want the mobile decoy to go?”

  “Preset base course three five zero, maximum speed. Jamming function enabled.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s bearing is unchanged! Repeat, constant bearing, decreasing range. Speed now twenty-five knots.” If a contact didn’t change his bearing and the range decreased, there was only one possible result. Jerry wondered if the Russian planned to swerve at the last minute. Or did he really intend to ram them?

  “Sound collision!” Rudel ordered. Once again, the collision alarm’s scream echoed in the boat.

  “Course change, sir?” Lavoie asked to ease his own nervousness, but Jerry knew what the answer would be.

  “Hold this course, Mr. Lavoie. We don’t know his plans, and if we zig while he zags . . .”

  Severodvinsk

  * * *

  “Captain, the American’s speed increase has slowed our overtake.” Petrov could hear the relief in Kalinin’s report. A slower closure rate would reduce the chance of a collision.

  “Increase speed to ahead flank. Continue the intercept, Vasiliy.”

  “Aye, sir. Adjusting for the new speed. We should pass no more than a boat length in front of him. I’ve even factored in the amount of time it will take for us to cross his intended track.” Petrov knew the starpom was nervous, maybe afraid, but he still followed Petrov’s orders exactly.

  “Our speed is now twenty-seven knots.”

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  “Range is eight hundred yards, Captain. Speed is now twenty-seven knots, still building, slight left bearing drift,” said Shimko nervously.

  “Which he would have if he was overtaking,” Rudel mused aloud. “Chief of the Watch, pass the word, all hands stand by for hard maneuvers.”

  “Conn, sonar, Sierra three zero’s speed is still increasing.”

  “Sonar, conn, aye.”

  “XO, tell me when he’s at five hundred yards.”

  “Yessir.”

  That was cutting things awfully close. Jerry wondered exactly what spot on the Russian boat the hull array was measuring its bearing from. And if the skipper ordered a turn, the sub’s pivot point was amidships, with the stern swinging wide . . .

  “Mark, five hundred yards!” shouted Shimko.

  Rudel spit out the orders quickly, as if he’d rehearsed them for days. “Launch NAE and ADC Mk 5s! Helm, all back emergency, left full rudder, steady on course two eight zero. XO, launch the mobile decoy.”

  Severodvinsk

  * * *

  Shubin’s voice overflowed with panic! “Captain, we’ve lost contact with the mine-hunting sonar!”

  “Equipment failure?” Petrov cursed inside. That would be their luck.

  “No sir, it’s flooded with white noise.”

  “A decoy, then. Say so and save us the trouble.” Petrov’s rebuke was deserved, but he checked himself. He was letting his frustration show. His people were excited enough already. “Mitrov, go active on the main sonar. Find them!”

  Petrov could feel Severodvinsk still surging through the water. His boat wasn’t waiting, but he forced himself to wait for the echoes. He needed information to act.

  “Two weak contacts, one to port, bearing red one three zero, and one to starboard, bearing green one two zero. Range to both contacts seven hundred meters.”

  “Ahh, he’s trying to break away.” Petrov glanced at the BIUS display.

  Kalinin looked up to his commander. “Which one do we pursue, Captain? The American could be either contact.”

  “He’s the one to left, Vasiliy! Toward the remote vehicle! Helmsman, rudder hard left. Steady on two three zero. We’ll make a larger circle and head him off. I will not let him leave.”

/>   “Captain, I recommend we slow down. With all this interference we no longer have an accurate tracking solution on the American.”

  “No, Starpom! I will not give up the tactical advantage. We know where he was when he deployed the decoys. Maintain speed.”

  Like everyone else, Petrov held on as Severodvinsk heeled over to port. With the combination of maximum rudder and flank speed, her turning circle would be a bit wide. They hadn’t even done this during sea trials, Petrov remembered. He watched Kalinin trying to calculate the separation between the two boats, but there was no way to know.

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  “Conn, sonar. Contact has passed into our baffles and there is interference from our countermeasures. He went active just before entered the baffles.” Stapp’s report was matter-of-fact, and expected. Seawolf’s stern, and the blind spot for her hull arrays, was now pointed directly at the Russian, while, hopefully, he headed north, chasing the simulator. For a short time, it would move like a submarine, and mimic the noises and sonar signature of one. But if Seawolf moved too fast, it would be a dead giveaway.

  “Helm, all ahead one-third. Mr. Mitchell, can you find us a shallow spot along our course?”

  Jerry only had to glance at the chart. The shallow area where Jerry and Hayes had experienced some trouble was nearby. “That shallow spot is close by, bears two six five, extends for”—he paused to measure—“twelve miles. Current sounding is seventy fathoms.”

  “Helm, come left to two six five, make our depth three hundred feet.” Jerry saw what the skipper was trying to do. Slow to reduce their noise and to make it harder to distinguish Seawolf from the decoy, and hug the bottom to hide from active sonar. If Seawolf could break contact for a moment, Rudel would turn that into a minute, and then ten minutes, and . . .

  Stapp kept up a running commentary. “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is coming out of our baffles to starboard.” As expected, Jerry thought. “He’s still at high speed—very high speed.” Jerry thought he should slow down. Even the Russian’s active sonar would have problems seeing anything, and the countermeasures and decoy would only make things more confusing.

  “Captain, I’m getting a slight left-bearing drift,” said Shimko as he watched the fire-control display. That was wrong, Jerry thought. He should be drawing right if he’s chasing the simulator. Jerry tried to piece together the discordant facts. Once again, the strong pounding from the Russian’s powerful active sonar could be heard through the hull.

  “Sir, I now show constant bearing. He is closing on us! I can’t get a range on the WAA—nearfield effect!” Shimko shouted.

  Jerry’s mental picture flashed into clarity. The Russian hadn’t taken the bait. He was turning with Seawolf, not heading away to the north. And he was very, very close.

  “Helm, hard left rudder, increase speed to . . .”

  Something struck the hull, a monstrous hammerblow that rolled Seawolf hard to port. Jerry struggled to maintain his balance as the deck fell away beneath him. Pencils, books, and every other object on the tables were catapulted into the air. Jerry managed to hang on, but several members of the fire-control party were thrown by the massive shock. One sailor rose and struck the overhead, and another actually flew across the control room at waist level.

  Just as Seawolf started to right herself, a series of smaller but still powerful rapid shocks pushed her even further to port and downward, accompanied by a sound that mixed splitting metal with a horrible grinding noise. Jerry felt his feet go out from under him as the deck seemed to cartwheel. It was impossible to tell up from down. The sledgehammer-like blows and intense sound went on forever, changing from a clanging anvil to a wailing screech.

  The shouted reports of the control party were almost drowned out by the noise. What he heard wasn’t encouraging. Jerry was desperately trying to find his footing when he heard Rudel yell for an emergency surface. Before they could execute the order, Seawolf’s bow again pitched down sharply and Jerry lost his grip. No longer supported, he slid headfirst into one of the plotting tables and all thought ended.

  8

  RECOVERY

  Jerry came to lying on the deck, his head and shoulder throbbing with pain. QM1 Peters was kneeling over him, pressing something on his head and calling for the corpsman. The deck was pitched upward and vibrating badly as the main engines drove them toward the surface. It was dark in control. The lights were out and the emergency battle lanterns were providing the only illumination. Most of the flat-panel displays were blank; the few that were alive displayed reddish fuzz. The air smelled of smoke and burnt insulation. A lot of men were down, crumpled on the deck where they fell.

  The XO was on the sound-powered phones taking in reports from all over the ship. “Personnel casualties in engineering! Sonar reports all systems are down.” As he spoke, the lights flickered, then failed. “Engineering reports there are numerous shorts in the forward compartment. They are trying to isolate the affected circuits.”

  As Jerry’s eyes started to adapt to the low light, he could see that every face in control held the same horrified look. Seawolf had collided with the Russian and they were now fighting for their lives.

  MM1 Bryan, the GQ chief of the watch, had hit the “chicken switches” for the emergency blow system as soon as the captain had ordered “Emergency surface!” High-pressure air blasted into every ballast tank on the boat, giving her an immediate boost of buoyancy. The diving officer, Master Chief Hess, had ordered, “All ahead full,” and then, “Full rise on bow and stern planes.” Jerry could hear Hess controlling the fear in his voice as the ship’s control party executed the well-drilled routine.

  The helmsman repeated the order automatically, “Planes to full rise, aye,” but a moment later reported, “Bow planes are not responding.”

  Hess glanced at the repeater, then the helm controls. Both were down and the bow planes had shifted into emergency, but nothing was happening. The helmsman had the wheel pulled all the way back, but the mechanical angle indicator still read zero.

  The XO cut in again. “Chief Gallant has reached the engine room and is tending to the injured.” Seawolf didn’t carry a doctor, and Jerry prayed there was nothing that required skills beyond that of a chief hospital corpsman.

  The sternplanes were still working, and Jerry felt the deck tilt even more as the boat clawed her way toward the surface. Just as Seawolf had driven herself under, she’d come up using her powerful engines. Normally they wouldn’t even bother blowing the ballast tanks completely dry with compressed air, they’d just drive on up and use the low-pressure blower. But this wasn’t a normal surfacing by any stretch of the imagination.

  Jerry slowly climbed to his feet, despite his leading quartermaster urging him to stay down. He took the cloth and held it to the side of his head. It was warm, wet, and stung like crazy. Jerry could feel enough through the fabric to know he had an ugly cut. He wished for a mirror. On second thought, maybe he didn’t want to know. He motioned for the QM1 to go and assist the XO with the damage reports.

  “Main Ballast Tank One Alpha is not holding pressure,” Chief McCord reported. That meant a leak, more likely a rip, in the forwardmost ballast tanks. “One Bravo is mushy, it’s holding pressure a little better. It probably has a leak as well.”

  The diving officer acknowledged the report, but there was nothing they could do right now. There was no easy way to isolate the air to the leaking tanks; they’d have to rely on the two remaining forward ballast tanks to get them up.

  Jerry looked for the speed and depth displays on the command console. Both were out. The backup mechanical depth gauge reassuringly showed they were going up. Seawolf had been hit forward. What else had she lost besides bowplanes and ballast tanks? The deck vibration was intensifying with the acceleration, and Jerry tried to analyze the unfamiliar sensation. Was Seawolf responding properly?

  Suddenly, the boat started shaking more violently. A series of loud bangs and a grinding noise startled
them all, even Rudel, and Jerry imagined pieces of the hull breaking off. He glanced again at the mechanical depth gauge. They were very close to the surface.

  “It’s the ice,” Shimko announced with relief, and Jerry felt himself breathe again. He tightened his grip as the deck surged below him, then abruptly fell forward. For half a minute Seawolf bobbed up and down and rolled from side to side as their upward inertia dissipated. And then there was nothing but a gentle roll and silence. They were on the roof. They’d reached the surface.

  Rudel slowed the sub to five knots, and the control-room watch busied themselves closing ballast blow valves and balancing Seawolf so she would stay afloat on an even keel.

  A subtler banging and grinding started, and Jerry imagined ice floes, some weighing tons, rubbing against Seawolf’s sides. He also felt the deck rolling under his feet, and wondered what the sea state was. Normally, he took antiseasickness medicine if they planned to operate on the surface, but this had caught him unprepared.

  Jerry was still holding the cloth to his forehead and, experimentally, he gently dabbed the wound. It still hurt, and he could feel a good-sized lump forming. Peters had a first-aid kit, and after treating another sailor who’d gashed his hand, he treated Jerry’s cut with antibiotic. Jerry had only thought the cut stung, but it did feel better once Peters had taped a gauze bandage over it.

  The overhead lights came back on, and Lavoie reflexively checked the breaker panels in the control room. Many of the displays were still dark, and he asked IC2 Keiler, the General Quarters auxiliary electrician forward, to reset the panel. He did, but the breaker popped almost immediately.