Tolbert nodded. “I’ll thank them when I get a chance. What’s the status of the Engine Room?”
“Main propulsion is out. The propulsor must have been damaged in the collision, bending the shaft, which caused the flooding.”
“Let’s hope the Outboard still works,” Tolbert said. “It won’t move us fast, but two knots is better than zero knots.”
“We’ve got bigger problems,” the XO replied. “The Engine Room is down hard. Both condensate pumps were submerged in seawater and their controllers are soaked as well. Engine Room Forward has been dewatered and the Engineer and E-Division are checking things out, but even if we can restore the condensate system and resume steaming, it’s not going to happen any time soon. Probably a couple of days, and the battery won’t last that long.”
Tolbert assessed the grim scenario. North Dakota was running on the battery now. Unfortunately, nuclear-powered submarine batteries lasted hours instead of days. Once power ran out, they wouldn’t be able to operate their atmosphere control equipment. Even worse, if power ran out before the condensate pump repairs were complete, they wouldn’t be able to start up the Engine Room. It was a paradox—they needed power to restore power.
Under normal circumstances, they would proceed to periscope depth and start the emergency diesel generator. But the diesel generator was a combustion engine. It needed air. The problem was, there was a layer of ice between them and the surface.
Tolbert replied, “Let’s see if the ice is thin enough to break through.” He turned to the topsounder watch. “Report ice thickness.”
Petty Officer Bob Hornsey repeated back the order, then set the topsounder to detect the return from the bottom of the ice and the surface reflection from the top. By measuring the time difference between the two returns, the topsounder calculated the thickness of the ice. Additionally, the topsounder hydrophones could determine if the ice was flat or if there was an ice keel that could damage the submarine.
Hornsey activated the topsounder, then reported, “Ice thickness is ten feet, flat surface.”
Tolbert didn’t respond. Ten feet was too thick to break through. “Measure it again.”
Hornsey acknowledged and sent another set of high-frequency pings toward the surface. His report was the same.
Tolbert stood with his hands on the navigation plot, evaluating the situation. If the repairs to the Engine Room took several days, they were toast.
“We’re going to try to break through anyway,” he announced. “Pilot,” Tolbert ordered, “hover at one-eight-zero feet.”
The Pilot complied, and North Dakota drifted upward.
“Co-Pilot, establish a three-degree up-angle.” To crack the ice canopy, Tolbert would hit it with the reinforced forward edge of the sail. “Line up Emergency Blow to Main Ballast Tanks One-Alpha and Five-Bravo.”
The Co-Pilot pumped water from Forward Trim to After Trim, and a few minutes later, North Dakota was hovering at 180 feet with a three-degree up-angle. The Co-Pilot reported, “Emergency Blow is lined up to One-Alpha and Five-Bravo.”
Tolbert announced, “All stations, Conn. Vertically surfacing the ship. Co-Pilot, establish upward velocity of four-zero feet per minute.”
The Co-Pilot pumped water off, and North Dakota rose toward the ice. “Four-zero feet per minute upward velocity,” he announced.
The Pilot called out, “One hundred feet,” then started reporting depth in ten-foot increments. After passing seven-zero feet, North Dakota shuddered when its sail hit the ice.
“Co-Pilot, Emergency Blow,” Tolbert ordered. Hopefully the sail had cracked the ice and the buoyancy from the Emergency Blow would force the sail through.
As high-pressure air flowed into the ballast tanks, Tolbert waited for the first indication of success or failure. The bounce. When submarines hit the ice canopy, the sheet of ice flexed upward. If the attempt to break through the ice was unsuccessful, the ice canopy flexed back, pushing the submarine down about five feet.
North Dakota bounced downward.
Tolbert continued the Emergency Blow anyway. If the ice was especially thick, sometimes the submarine would bounce and still break through. North Dakota surged upward and hit the ice again, but then depth stabilized. The sail wasn’t pushing through.
Air started spilling from the main ballast tanks, so Tolbert secured the blow. He waited a few minutes with the faint hope the sail would push through, but depth remained stable.
Lieutenant Commander Roger Swenson, the submarine’s Engineer Officer, entered Control with a grim look. He joined Sites and Tolbert.
“The condensate controllers are fried,” he said, “and both pumps are severely damaged. The backup pump kicked on when the primary went down, leaving us with two bad pumps.”
“How long before one is repaired?” Tolbert asked.
“Not sure yet. We’re checking supply for spares. We’ll cannibalize anything else we need from the controller and pump in the worst shape. My best guess is it will take a few days. I’ve got more bad news,” the Eng added. “The Outboard won’t lower. It looks like the Russian submarine hit us along the keel and jammed the fairing.”
They were stuck under the polar ice cap. Even if they restored power, they could not restore propulsion. Additionally, Tolbert couldn’t inform anyone about their predicament. They couldn’t transmit radio messages through the ice, and their high-frequency emergency SEPIRB buoys had the same problem. No one would become aware of North Dakota’s plight until they missed their reporting deadline in two days, and then what? How would they find them under the polar ice cap?
They had enough food for several months, but needed electricity to make water and keep the air breathable. Without power, they could last a week, no more. They had to snorkel or figure out how to make the battery last until they restored the condensate pumps and a turbine generator.
Tolbert decided to give it another try. “We’re going to try to break through the ice again. “Co-Pilot, vent all Main Ballast Tanks. Pilot, hover at three hundred feet.”
As the Pilot tapped in the ordered depth, the XO asked, “Why three hundred?”
“We’re going to come up faster than authorized and hit the ice with more force.”
“How fast?”
“Eighty feet per minute.”
The XO ran his hand through his wet hair. “If we don’t break through, we’ll damage the sail and most, if not all, of our masts and antennas.”
“If we don’t break through, we’ve got bigger problems.”
The Co-Pilot opened the Main Ballast Tank vents and North Dakota descended, steadying up at three hundred feet.
“Co-Pilot, increase up-angle to five degrees.” Tolbert hoped to spare the aft section of the sail, where the snorkel mast was located, from damage.
Tolbert ordered, “Line up Emergency Blow to all Main Ballast Tanks.” This time, they would create the maximum buoyancy to push the sail through the ice.
Shortly after the submarine’s angle increased to five up, the Co-Pilot reported, “Lined up Emergency Blow to all Main Ballast Tanks.”
Tolbert slipped the 1-MC microphone from its clip and informed the crew. He finished by directing all hands to brace for impact, then surveyed the faces of his XO and Engineer. They had nothing to add, so he turned toward the front of the Control Room.
“Co-Pilot, establish an eight-zero-feet-per-minute ascent rate.”
The Co-Pilot began pumping water from the variable ballast tanks, and North Dakota started rising.
The Pilot announced, “Two hundred feet,” then, “one hundred feet.”
After passing seven-zero feet, North Dakota hit the ice hard, the impact accompanied by a metallic crunching sound. There was no doubt the sail had been damaged, but hopefully they had cracked the ice this time.
“Co-Pilot, Emergency Blow,” Tolbert ordered.
As the high-pressure air flowed into the ballast tanks, Tolbert watched the depth gage. North Dakota bounced down again, this time ten feet. T
he submarine surged upward, hitting the ice again. As the Emergency Blow increased the submarine’s buoyancy, Tolbert heard metallic groans from above. North Dakota was straining, pushing against the ice canopy.
Air spilled out of the ballast tanks again and Tolbert secured the blow. The groans from above were louder now, no longer masked by the sound of the high-pressure air. The sail was deforming. Thankfully, North Dakota didn’t have hull-penetrating periscopes and Tolbert didn’t need to worry about flooding into the Forward Compartment from around periscope barrels.
He checked the depth gage. There was no change.
Tolbert waited a few minutes before concluding their second attempt had failed. The ice was too thick. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he ordered the Co-Pilot to vent all Main Ballast Tanks. The Co-Pilot opened the vents, and as air escaped, reducing North Dakota’s buoyancy, the metallic groans ceased.
“Co-Pilot. Maintain the submarine five-zero thousand pounds positively buoyant.”
Rather than pick a depth and float there, Tolbert decided to stay where they were, pressed against the polar ice cap. It was as good a place as any.
Having failed to break through the ice, Tolbert’s thoughts turned to Dolgoruky. “Sonar Supervisor, do you have any indication of what happened to the Russian submarine?”
Chief Bush replied, “We’ll pull up the broadband recording and see what we’ve got.”
Petty Officer Thurlow selected the point where the two submarines collided, then hit play. The sounds of scraping and twisting metal were soon replaced with silence. Tolbert listened as the recording played on, and about a minute later, there was a deep rumbling sound that lasted a few seconds. Bush looked toward Tolbert, the conclusion evident in his eyes.
The Russian submarine had plowed into the ocean floor.
It was quiet in Control again, and the Engineer broke the uncomfortable silence. “The reactor is still up, but it’s not doing us any good without the ability to steam the Engine Room. I recommend we shut down and secure as much equipment as possible.”
“I concur,” Tolbert said. “Shut down the reactor. As far as securing equipment, we’re turning off everything. And I mean everything. All tactical systems and even atmosphere control equipment. That’s the only way the battery will last long enough to repair a condensate pump. For atmosphere control, we’ll bleed oxygen from the banks and scrub carbon dioxide using emergency CO2 curtains.”
The Engineer acknowledged, and as he headed aft, Tolbert realized their predicament was grim, but the resolution simple. They had to repair a condensate pump before the battery ran out.
It was a race against time.
12
K-535 YURY DOLGORUKY
In the yellow emergency lighting, Captain Stepanov picked his way through the crowded compartment, checking on his men as he evaluated his submarine. Dolgoruky had settled on the bottom of the Barents Sea at a twenty-degree down-angle, its bow buried in the silt, with a fifteen-degree list to port. The compartment had shifted to emergency lighting, indicating the Engine Room was down. The good news was the battery was still functioning and hadn’t been shorted out by the flooding.
Stepanov stopped beside Senior Michman Andrei Popovich, the Torpedo Division Leading Petty Officer, who had donned a set of sound-powered phones, establishing communications with the rest of the submarine. Compartments Two and Three were flooded, but Compartments Four through Nine, in addition to Compartment One, were habitable.
The reactor had shut down upon impact with the bottom, and Reactor Department personnel were determining the extent of damage. However, it didn’t matter. The Engine Room condensers had fouled after Dolgoruky settled on the ocean bottom, after the Main Seawater pumps sucked in too much silt. They could not start up the reactor.
There was a modicum of good news, however. They had completed a muster of Dolgoruky’s crew. There were fifty-seven personnel in the aft compartments, and forty-five men in Compartment One, which meant Stepanov’s entire crew had evacuated to safety. There was only one serious injury—Stepanov’s First Officer. Pavlov was lying on a makeshift bed on the empty torpedo decoy stow, where Dolgoruky’s Medical Officer, Captain of the Medical Service Ivan Kovaleski, was tending to him. His head was wrapped in white gauze to stop the bleeding, but a red stain had already seeped through.
“How is he?” Stepanov asked.
“Stable, for now,” Kovaleski replied. “However, I cannot determine the extent of his injury. Hopefully it’s only a severe concussion and not a fractured skull with internal bleeding. Time will tell.”
As Stepanov nodded his understanding, his Chief Ship Starshina, Egor Lukin, joined Stepanov and Kovaleski. “The inventories are complete,” Lukin said. “Food is not an issue and we have enough water for one week.”
“What about the air regeneration units?” Stepanov asked.
Lukin replied, “We have enough potassium superoxide cartridges in Compartment One to sustain us for eight days, assuming the battery will power the regeneration units for that long. The men aft have enough cartridges to last ten days, since they have access to the cartridges in Compartments Five and Nine.”
Stepanov ordered, “Pass the word to secure all unnecessary equipment. We need to ensure the battery can power the air regeneration units until we run out of cartridges. Also, I want every man to minimize his activity to reduce the amount of oxygen consumed and carbon dioxide produced.”
“There is one more issue,” Kovaleski added. “Hypothermia. The water temperature under the polar ice cap is minus two degrees Centigrade, below zero because salt water freezes at a lower temperature than pure water. It won’t be long before temperature in the compartment drops below freezing.”
“We can don our survival suits,” Lukin replied. “They’re designed to protect us during an escape into frigid waters. We have one hundred and sixty-five suits split evenly between the compartments with escape hatches. There should be fifty-five suits in Compartment One, which means we have enough for everyone here.”
“Good idea, Chief Ship.”
They had enough air regeneration cartridges to last eight days, assuming they didn’t freeze to death in the meantime. However, no one would miss Dolgoruky until they failed to report in at the end of patrol. It would be two months before the Fleet realized disaster had befallen them. They would be dead by then.
“What do we do now, Captain?” Lukin asked.
“We wait,” Stepanov answered, “and pray the American submarine also sank and their Navy comes looking for it.”
“If the Americans reach us first, what then? We cannot abandon Dolgoruky and let them board her.”
Stepanov contemplated Lukin’s assertion, then replied, “We will deal with it when the time comes.”
13
SUITLAND PARK, MARYLAND
Established in 1882, the Office of Naval Intelligence is the United States’ oldest intelligence agency. Tasked with maintaining a decisive information advantage over America’s potential adversaries, ONI’s focus on naval weapons and technology was why Christine O’Connor, along with Captain Steve Brackman in the passenger seat of her car, were entering the forty-two-acre compound of the National Maritime Intelligence Center, only a short drive from the White House. Christine stopped in visitor parking, and after retrieving a notepad from her briefcase on the backseat, she and Brackman approached the four-story building.
Waiting inside the lobby was Pam Bruce, a supervisor in the three-thousand-member organization. After introducing herself, she said, “We have the appropriate experts waiting upstairs.”
Pam escorted Christine and Brackman to a third-floor conference room occupied by two men in their fifties. “Greg Hartfield”—Pam pointed to the man on the left—“is our senior expert on Russia’s Borei class submarines, and Stu Berman is our premier expert on the Bulava missile.”
After introductions were complete, Christine spent several minutes providing the background on the new nuclear arms reduction treaty being negoti
ated with Russia, culminating with Russia’s refusal to allow U.S. inspectors to board their Borei class submarines or inspect the Bulava missile. When she finished, she asked, “Why would the Russians take this position?”
“I’ll go first,” Hartfield said, “and provide an overview of the submarine, then Stu can follow up with the Bulava missile.” Christine opened her notepad as Hartfield continued, “Russia has eight active ballistic missile submarines: one Typhoon, a Delta III, and six Delta IVs. All are approaching their end of life, with three slated for retirement in the next eighteen months.
“Enter the new Borei class. Russia plans to build eight total, and the last five will be an improved version with twenty missile tubes instead of sixteen. The first Borei class submarine, Yury Dolgoruky, was launched several years ago, but has been plagued with material problems and software issues with its missile launch system, which delayed its commissioning for five years. Even after it was commissioned, her initial patrol was postponed repeatedly by issues with its new Bulava missile, which is Stu’s area of expertise.”
Greg Hartfield fell silent and Berman began. “Originally, the Borei submarines were supposed to carry an upgraded version of the R-39 missile designed for the Typhoon class. However, after the first three test firings resulted in catastrophic failures, the R-39 upgrade program was terminated. Instead, Russia developed the Bulava, an entirely new missile. It too was plagued with problems, due to the shortened timeline to develop a new missile quickly enough to support the Borei class submarines.
“Each missile has a range of six thousand, two hundred miles, and can be equipped with up to ten warheads, although there is some debate on the maximum number. The warheads are fully shielded against electromagnetic pulse damage and have a yield of one hundred fifty kilotons each. The Bulava is highly advanced, and we believe it is capable of evasive maneuvering and may have decoys that can be deployed to fool anti-ballistic missiles.
“As I mentioned, the Bulava missile was plagued with problems, with six of the first twelve test launches being failures. It appeared they had resolved the problems, because the next six launches were successes, and the Russian Navy accepted the missile into service two years ago. However, missile production was suspended eighteen months ago and all missiles were recalled.”
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