Cold Choices

by Larry Bond

  Shimko handed Sayers the mike. “See if you can establish some useful comms with this guy.”

  Sayers nodded and keyed the switch. He spoke smoothly in Russian for a minute, then released the button. Jerry recognized the words “Seawolf” and “Severodvinsk” as the CT spoke. “I said we were guarding Severodvinsk’s location,” Sayers reported.

  Rudel nodded. “That’s fine.”

  The plane made almost a complete circle before responding. “American submarine. You are in restricted place. Leave at once.” This time it was followed by a medium-length string of Russian.

  Sayers keyed the mike, spoke two words, then turned to Rudel and the XO. “They repeated the same message in Russian, and added, ‘This is our last warning.’”

  Jerry put himself in the pilot’s place. “He’s probably been ordered not to discuss anything with us, just deliver the message.”

  “I don’t care what his orders are. Make the SOB listen,” Rudel ordered. “We have to guide them to Severodvinsk’s location. Tell them.”

  As the captain spoke, the patrol plane had continued its circle until it was dead ahead, then tightened its turn. Even without the binoculars, they could all see doors opening up under the plane’s belly. The Il-38 carried its weapons internally.

  As Sayers spoke a string of rapid phrases, the Ilyushin headed straight for them, descending. Jerry thought, They wouldn’t dare. Professionally, he wondered what ordnance aboard the patrol plane would be appropriate to use against a surfaced sub. Then Jerry saw it was too close to drop anything.

  Whatever Sayers was saying over the radio was drowned out by the plane as it passed overhead. All four engines were at maximum throttle, and the massive aircraft blocked the sun for a moment. It was almost twice as long as a Flanker, with three times the wingspan. Jerry tried to study the open bomb bay as the plane passed overhead. It was visible for only a moment, but he could see dark shapes inside.

  Then it was past, and Jerry and the others all found themselves blinking, looking at each other. “I could see ‘Made in Minsk’ on the depth charges,” Shimko joked. Rudel smiled weakly.

  Jerry tried to reply in kind. “And I left my camera at the hotel.”

  The patrol plane did not turn, but was climbing. “He won’t leave,” Jerry predicted. “He’ll climb to medium altitude and watch us with his radar.”

  “And we’ve been reminded again we’re not welcome.” Rudel added. “But I won’t be driven off. Thank you, Petty Officer Sayers. Let’s go below and give Mr. Hayes and his lookout some elbow room.”

  In control, Rudel gave his coat to a petty officer and asked for the 1MC microphone. Jerry saw him think for a moment, then draw a breath, gathering himself.

  “This is the Captain. We’ve had some visitors, Russian aircraft passing close overhead. We’ve tried to talk to them, and although I’m sure they heard us, they’ve only responded by repeatedly asking us to leave, and they’ve been pretty rude about it. But I am not abandoning the men aboard Severodvinsk until I’m satisfied the Russians are on station. Thank you for your hard work and continued dedication to this rescue mission.”

  Rudel hung up the mike and turned to Jerry. “Nav, make sure we don’t get more than two miles from Severodvinsk’s position.” Grabbing his jacket once again, Rudel snatched the vital satellite phone from its charger near the chart table. “I’m going to report to SUBGRU Two.”

  Petr Velikiy

  * * *

  Vidchenko and Kurganov waited for the reports. Kurganov was still speaking to the Ilyushin’s pilot when the messenger appeared. The rating handed a slip of paper to Admiral Vidchenko. “Intercept reports the American is using his satellite phone.”

  Kurganov hung up the secure phone and took the slip from Vidchenko. He read the report quickly. “He’s reporting in, as he should.”

  Vidchenko asked, “Still no sign of him moving away from the datum?”

  “It’s been less than ten minutes. He may be asking for orders. Their radio receivers still don’t work, after all.”

  Vidchenko shook his head. “Not an American submarine captain. They have more autonomy. He may be telling his commander what he will do, but he won’t ask.” The admiral looked at the clock, then his counterpart and surface group commander. “I say give him another fifteen minutes. If he hasn’t left by then, he’s not going to.”

  Kurganov asked, “Is that an order, Admiral? Or are you asking my opinion?”

  Vidchenko smiled. “I value your opinion greatly, Ivan Aleksandrovich.”

  “You know I have two Kamovs on alert plus fifteen. I think we’ve given the American more time than they deserve.”

  “Then give the order. And increase the formation’s speed to twenty-five knots. We don’t have to steer evasively, either, since we know the American submarine’s location. Leave one escort with that tub Rudnitskiy, but tell her we want maximum speed.”

  Kurganov responded brightly, “Aye, aye, sir! That will cut our time to datum in half. If Rudnitskiy is on the ball, we might get one sortie out of AS-34 before dark.”

  USS Churchill

  * * *

  A radioman knocked on the door to Captain Baker’s day cabin. The enlisted man handed hard copies to Baker and Patterson. “Flash traffic, sir,” he explained. Silas and Lindstrom watched the others quickly scan the page.

  “Rudel’s phoned in to SUBGRU Two. He’ll have a transmitter up this evening, and he reports being buzzed by Russian aircraft.”

  “That’s old news,” Silas commented. “The Seahawk pilot’s been back an hour, and he’s still twitching from seeing those Flankers.”

  Baker shook his head. “No, Commander. According to Rudel, after the fighters left, a May patrol aircraft showed up and buzzed them at very low altitude—with an open weapons bay.”

  Concern flashed through Patterson, and she saw it in the others’ expressions. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “They’ve violated the incidents at sea agreement,” Baker observed. “I wonder what else they’d be willing to do.”

  “This is the first time an American sub has operated openly that far north. As touchy as they are, Seawolf’s mere presence would anger them. Imagine how they must feel after the collision with Severodvinsk. And as far as they are concerned we sank their submarine. And even though it was an accident, they’re bound to be more paranoid than usual.”

  Patterson studied her copy. “Washington’s asking for my recommendations.” She sounded a little amused.

  Baker replied, “You are the mission commander, ma’am.” He smiled, but his tone was serious. “You don’t make ‘recommendations.’”

  “My feelings exactly, Captain. Please take Churchill into the exclusion zone and rendezvous with Seawolf. So far the Russians have threatened an unarmed helicopter and a damaged submarine. Let’s even up the odds and see if that improves their behavior.”

  Baker stood and started to leave, but stopped at the door. “Speed, ma’am?”

  “As fast as you can get us there.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.” He was smiling as he left.

  Silas looked worried, but Patterson didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Get our team in the wardroom right away. We’re going to need to put together messages to State, SUBGRU Two, Wright, Seawolf, and especially the Russians.”

  The deck surged forward as Churchill increased her speed; they felt the deck vibration as all four gas turbines slammed their power into the two shafts.

  “They may not want to talk to Seawolf, but we’ll make them talk to us.” She looked at Lindstrom. “Besides, you’re supposed to be the advance man for Marine Diving and Salvage. You can’t do any good fifty miles from Severodvinsk.”

  21

  TURN-AWAY

  9 October 2008

  1030/10:30 AM

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  Jerry and Shimko were both in control when they received the message. Captain Rudel was still topside, so Jerry volunteered to take it up to him.
The fresh air helped settle his queasy stomach.

  The bridge was roomier with only Hayes, the lookout, and the captain. “Message from USS Churchill, Skipper. They’re coming to join us.”

  Rudel smiled broadly. “It will be nice to see a friendly face.” The message stated Churchill’s intentions and ETA, in a little over two and a half hours.

  “They’re going to ignore the Russians’ exclusion zone,” Jerry observed.

  “I’ll still be glad for the company. Particularly given the Russians’ behavior as of late,” Rudel answered. There was a hint of relief in his tone.

  The lookout called down, “Sir, air contact to the southwest, just above the horizon.”

  Hayes and Rudel instantly turned their glasses in that direction. Jerry had to wait, then borrowed the pair that Hayes was using. He’d anticipated more fighters, but this was worse: two Kamov antisubmarine helicopters.

  “Ka-27 Helixes,” Rudel announced as Jerry got his first look, and of course he was right. These helicopters carried their ordnance externally, but they were still too far away for Jerry to see whether or not they were armed.

  Rudel didn’t wait to find out. “Sound General Quarters.” Hayes passed the order below, and soon thereafter the BONG, BONG, BONG of the general alarm reverberated from the access trunk. As Jerry handed him back his binoculars and stepped toward the open hatch, Rudel told him, “Tell the XO I’m staying up here.”

  “Aye, sir.” Jerry couldn’t see the point in the captain staying topside, but there was little precedent for where the captain of a surfaced nuclear sub should be during General Quarters.

  Jerry ran into the organized chaos of the control room and passed the captain’s message on. The XO nodded, although he didn’t look comfortable with Rudel’s decision. Wordlessly, he pointed to the plotting table by the fire-control displays, Jerry’s GQ station.

  Shimko took station near the useless periscopes. These helicopters were harbingers of the approaching Russian surface task force, a group that contained some pretty significant firepower. Their radar was down, as was the ESM system, and all the bow arrays were useless. They could still use the wide-aperture array on flanks, but they had to steer a beam manually. That was it. They were almost blind.

  Jerry tried to imagine what Seawolf could see or do. She could fire a torpedo while surfaced, since the tubes were still functional, but you couldn’t torpedo a helicopter. Besides, they didn’t want to shoot at anybody. This was supposed to be a rescue mission, not a wartime patrol.

  Rudel’s voice came over the intercom a moment later. “Control, bridge. This is the Captain. I have the deck and the conn.” The watch section acknowledged the relinquishing of command from Mr. Hayes to the captain, but not without an odd look. A couple of minutes later, both Hayes and the lookout came in to control and repeated Rudel’s intention to stay topside. Confused, Will Hayes shrugged his shoulders. Shimko nodded silently. Jerry could see the XO was even less of a happy camper now. Hayes then sat at one of the blank fire-control consoles, his General Quarters station.

  “Control, bridge. Both Helixes are armed.” Rudel’s voice described their movements. “One’s coming straight in. The other’s pacing us a hundred yards to port.”

  Jerry and the others could only wait. Seawolf was out of her natural element, and defenseless. Without her electronic sensors, the watchstanders in control had to rely on Rudel’s running commentary of the events up on deck.

  “The first is passing directly over us. They’re loaded with four depth charges.” That was bad. Russian air-dropped antisubmarine torpedoes only work against submerged subs, but a Helix could set a depth charge to detonate at shallow depth, say thirty feet. Dropped at close range, it would shatter Seawolf’s hull.

  “They’re not responding to my hails on the bridge-to-bridge radio.” Rudel then added, “The helicopter to port is lowering its dipping sonar.”

  Most antisubmarine helicopters either carried a small sonar at the end of a cable or dropped expendable sonobuoys. Ka-27 Helix helicopters could carry sonobuoys along with the dipping sonar, but only at the expense of ordnance. To hunt for a sub, a Helix driver would be directed to a likely spot where the crew would then lower the sonar “ball” into the water, and listen. If they didn’t hear the sub, they could actively search, or ping, for it by transmitting an intense burst of acoustic energy and then listen for the echo. The main advantage of a dipping sonar was that it could change its search depth by raising or lowering the array. This negated a submarine’s ability to hide from a shallow sensor by ducking below the thermocline.

  While nuclear subs are fast and maneuverable compared to other warships, helicopters can run rings around them. They needed a cue from some other sensor on where to start looking, but if they found you, it was hell to get away.

  “Conn, sonar, Lamb Tail sonar on the WLR-9, bearing zero four seven. Signal strength is off the scale.” The intercept repeater in control beeped away angrily, alerting the occupants to the presence of a threat emitter.

  “Well of course,” Jerry muttered cynically. “It’s three hundred feet off our port beam.” “Lamb Tail” was the NATO designation for the dipping sonar on the Ka-27 Helix. The Russian name for it was “VGS-3, Ros-V,” which was probably easier to say in Russian.

  Unlike Severodvinsk’s brutal lashing, the helicopter’s sonar set operated at a higher frequency, but was still within the range of human hearing. The eerily tinny pings hammered away, providing the Helix with precise range and bearing information. But they knew exactly where Seawolf was, unless they were blind and stupid. Why lower the ball and ping?

  Alberto Constantino, still functioning as the contact coordinator, passed the bearing data up to Rudel. The captain answered with “Control, bridge. Concur, bearing matches. The other one’s doing lazy eights half a mile out in front of us.”

  Jerry stared at the meager plot before him, as if it could reveal the Russians’ intentions. One to the front, one to the side, using its dipping sonar.

  “Conn, sonar. The pinging’s stopped.”

  Constantino acknowledged sonar’s report and passed it up to the bridge, then looked around, unhappy at the enforced idleness. There was nothing they could do. They were surfaced, running at five knots, steering a box pattern around a downed Russian sub. And there were Russian ASW helicopters overhead, with unknown intentions.

  Rudel reported, “It looks like the dipper’s shifting positions. He’s moving to keep position off our port beam.”

  Jerry fidgeted with a pencil over the mostly blank sheet of paper laid over the plotting table. This game was completely one-sided. Not only did the Russians own the ball, they owned the ballpark as well.

  “Two minutes to the next turn, new course will be to the left to zero four five.” QM2 Dunn’s report was routine. Seawolf’s track was a square centered on Severodvinsk. Three miles on a side, it was designed to keep Seawolf close to the downed sub.

  “Control, bridge. The helicopter’s dipping again,” Rudel reported. “Same relative position, to the northeast.”

  “And directly in our path,” Jerry added. Constantino looked at the plot and nodded his understanding. “They’ve been watching us. They know where our next turn should be.”

  “The helicopter in front of us just dropped something in the water, about one thousand yards away!”

  The end of Rudel’s report was punctuated by a BOOM that came right through the hull, muffled but definite.

  “That was not a signaling charge,” Constantino observed. Aircraft that operated near submarines often carried small explosive charges, the size of a hand grenade, designed to attract the attention of a submerged sub. They could also be used to simulate an attack.

  This was no simulation. But they could have put it right next to Seawolf, if they’d wanted to. Jerry looked at Shimko and Hayes. Nobody in control said anything for a moment; then Constantino asked, “Where are they going to put the next one?”

  The XO asked Jerry, “How far wa
s that charge from Severodvinsk?”

  Jerry barely glanced at the chart. “We’re at the corner of the box, so it’s a little over two miles.” Laying a ruler across their course, he reported, “The charge was fifty-five hundred yards, two and three quarters miles from Severodvinsk.”

  “Time for the turn, sir,” Dunn reminded Jerry.

  “Belay the turn,” Shimko ordered sharply. “I’m going up. This isn’t working. And the Skipper’s up there all by himself.” The XO was on the ladder to the first deck before he’d even finished his sentence.

  Shimko had barely cleared the last step when another BOOM came through the hull. Jerry tried to convince himself that his imagination made it seem closer, but Rudel’s voice on the intercom confirmed it. “Control, bridge. That one was only five hundred yards away, dead ahead! Hard right rudder! Come right to one eight zero!”

  The helmsman acknowledged the command over the intercom as he threw the rudder yoke over all the way to the right. A moment later, Rudel ordered, “Continue coming right to three one five.” That put them back along their last leg, but in the opposite direction.

  Jerry looked around control, with Rudel and the XO topside, and the engineer back in maneuvering, he was the senior officer present. The younger junior officers, Santana, Miller, and Norris, all looked at him with a mixture of shock, fear, and confusion. He tried to reassure them with a tight smile, but he knew this setup was all wrong.

  Suddenly, the XO’s voice boomed from the intercom loudspeaker. “Navigator, lay to the bridge, on the double. And bring the satellite phone!” Dunn grabbed the phone and semi-threw it to Jerry as he rushed up the ladder well. He didn’t even bother to put on a parka as he started climbing up the access trunk as fast as he possibly could.

  Uncharacteristically, Shimko had left the upper access hatch open. The only reason he’d do that was if his intention was to immediately bring the captain below. Jerry was near the top of the access trunk when he clearly heard Rudel’s voice. Given the circumstances, he seemed remarkably calm. “They’re still not responding on the radio, Marcus, but they know why we’re here. They can only go so far.”