Larry Bond - Cold Choices

“And I didn’t even vote for the guy,” said Rudel, visibly relieved.

“Lowell sends his best.”

Rudel smiled. “Thanks. I need all the friends I can get, right now. And he’s in Congress?”

Twenty minutes later, Churchill’ s helicopter reappeared and quickly winched up Seawolf’s three visitors. Last off was Commander Rudel, and Jerry heard the 1MC signal the departure of the ship’s commanding officer. “SEAWOLF, DEPARTING.” It was commonplace enough in port, but more than rare at sea.

Shimko would be in command while Rudel was off the boat. That was the XO’s job, and he was more than capable of doing it. But Jerry could sense that Seawolf knew that something was missing. QM3 Gosnell, standing watch at the navigation plot, said it clearly, “It doesn’t feel right for the Skipper to be gone.”

Jerry thought that was a good thing.

Petr Velikiy

Rear Admiral Vidchenko waited in the flag mess with Rear Admiral Kurganov and Captain Chicherin. There had been some debate as to who should meet the Americans. Kurganov had offered to meet with the visitors. Technically, Chicherin didn’t need to be there either.

This was their idea, Kurganov had argued. They had bullied their way aboard. They were obviously here to gather information. He could meet them briefly, listen to what they had to say, and then get them off the ship before they’d warmed their chairs.

But Vidchenko could not pass up the chance to see them for himself. They’d sent over a list of names this morning. It included Rudel, Seawolf’s captain, and Vidchenko wanted to be there. What was Rudel’s purpose? To apologize? Did he think that would help? Would he try to blame Petrov? The man couldn’t be that stupid.

Vidchenko had brought the photos from the second dive to look at while they waited for the visitors to arrive. The new batch was no better than the first. Vidchenko had expected as much, and his personal observations, along with the AS-34’s crew, had been far more useful to the demolitions experts. While the batteries in AS-34 charged, the technicians were rigging the explosive charges. They would make the dive, plant the charges, and clear the area. With careful planning and a little luck, Petrov’s crew would be eating lunch aboard Petya.

So Vidchenko regarded this visit as a useless, but potentially informative, distraction. The Americans couldn’t know the progress of their efforts, and Vidchenko was more than willing to lead them along. He’d have the meeting, and then get back to work.

They were almost on time, the Seahawk helicopter landing only three minutes late. A video image of the flight deck let Vidchenko and the others watch the five visitors arrive. Two naval officers, two government officials, and the Norwegian. He wondered which was Rudel, and realized that was his main reason for allowing them aboard. He wanted to meet an American submariner, on ground of his choosing. Seawolf was one of their most capable submarines. Rudel should be one of their best.

It took them a few minutes to reach the flag mess after disappearing off the video screen. The woman came in first, followed by two commanders. Deciphering their nametags, the first one was Rudel. He was the right age for a submarine commander, but nothing remarkable. Vidchenko was a little disappointed, although he hadn’t known what he expected.

Petr Velikiy had been built as a flagship, and had separate places for the admiral and his staff to work and eat. The flag mess was appropriately furnished, since admirals’ behinds needed more padding than the lower ranks. Paintings of Peter the Great as tzar and at the Battle of Poltava were matched on opposite bulkheads by photo portraits of the Russian Federation President, the Commander in Chief of the Russian Federation Navy, and Vice Admiral Kokurin, Commander of the Northern Fleet. To enhance the effect, Chicherin had moved in flags and a plaque that normally graced the bridge.

Vidchenko spoke only a little English, Kurganov was fluent, and Chicherin not at all. Introductions were conducted by the U.S. State Department official, Mr. Manning, and monitored by a senior-lieutenant from the weapons battle department who’d studied in Chicago.

“Dr. Patterson, on behalf of President Huber, wishes to convey her personal gratitude for allowing this meeting to take place. She hopes it will be constructive, and that the rescue of the crew of the Russian Federation submarine Severodvinsk can be quickly brought to a successful conclusion.” Manning’s Russian was flawless, and his greeting appropriately dressed with diplomatic overtones.

Vidchenko was impressed, and a little concerned. The Americans were really pushing this. But why? How guilty was this Rudel?

“Tell the lady we are here to listen to what she has to say.”

Manning’s translation was more polite, but it did relay the gist of Vidchenko’s remark. The senior-lieutenant smiled at how Manning phrased the message, but nodded his agreement to his superiors.

Rudel began to speak, looking directly at the Russian admirals. Manning indicated that the senior-lieutenant was to interpret the American captain’s comments. “He speaks about the collision. He is sorry for the dead and injured aboard Severodvinsk. He wishes to do everything he can to help.”

Kurganov muttered, “So he’s apologizing. Fine. He’s done enough,” but Vidchenko was genuinely curious. “How does he think he can help?”

In response to the interpreter’s question, Rudel placed a colored image of a torpedo-shaped device on the table. “He says they have two of these unmanned robotic vehicles on board his submarine. They used one like it to send emergency supplies over to Severodvinsk.”

Rudel spoke again, and the interpreter translated, “The vehicle is equipped with high-precision sonar and photographic systems, which they have used to survey Severodvinsk and the surrounding area. He has a copy of the material for you.”

Vidchenko saw a fat envelope in Rudel’s hand, extended toward him. He looked at Kurganov. His face was hard, made of the same steel as the ship.

“Tell them thank you, but that information has been overtaken by events. I personally surveyed Severodvinsk early this morning, and we are now preparing to free Petrov and his crew.”

Manning looked surprised and provided the American party with Vidchenko’s reason for declining the package. The visitors stirred at this news. The Americans spoke with each other in excited tones. The Norwegian, Lindstrom, turned and asked a question, a one-word question, which the interpreter relayed. “Explosives?”

Vidchenko nodded. “Yes. We will clear some obstructions that prevent Severodvinsk from sitting level on the sea floor. When those are gone, the crew will use the escape capsule.”

Suddenly, the door to the flag mess burst open and Chicherin’s executive officer hurried in. Vidchenko felt a flash of irritation, then curiosity. They’d posted a guard outside to prevent interruptions, but from the look of concern on the starpom’s face, the matter was serious.

Chicherin started to reach for the message, but the starpom took it straight to Vidchenko. As he pressed the paper into the admiral’s hand, he turned his face away from the visitors, and bent down to speak softly to Vidchenko.

“Sir, this is from the Main Intelligence Directorate. It was just decoded.”

Patterson and the others waited while Vidchenko read the message. His face darkened, and he handed the message to the other admiral, Kurganov, as he stood. He looked hard at Commander Silas and spoke in rapid-fire Russian. His voice had an edge to it. Silas and Manning both paled and Manning began to protest.