Larry Bond - Cold Choices

Rear Admirals Vidchenko and Kurganov stood together near Petr Velikiy ’s twin-barreled 130mm gun, while Captain Chicherin fussed and the side-boys checked their dress uniforms. The after end of the superstructure loomed above and behind them, with the glassed-in helicopter control station two stories up. A phone talker next to Captain Chicherin gave him constant updates in the helicopter’s distance.

“It’s down to fifteen kilometers, sir. Bearing is Red one two zero.”

Chicherin was the only one with glasses, and swung around to that bearing. “Sideboys, stand by.”

The group waiting with the officers took their places while a petty officer hurried them along, then called them to attention.

Vidchenko spotted the Mi-14 helicopter as the phone talker called “Ten kilometers.” It was a big land-based machine, usually used for coastal ASW, but in this case, as a VIP transport. It passed aft of the ship, lining up on the wake, then slowly overtook them.

When it reached the fantail, the helicopter settled onto the pad as gently as thistle down. Vidchenko was willing to put money down that the best helicopter pilot in the regiment was at the controls.

The instant the wheels touched, the captain gestured, and the petty officer screamed commands over the sound of the engines. The sideboys quickly ran aft to places marked on the deck, forming two lines facing each other.

A fading whine replaced the engine roar and the door swung open. First out was a crewman with a small stepladder. He attached it to the lower edge of the door, and then scrambled down to the deck one and a half meters below.

As soon as he signaled it was safe, Vice Admiral Sergey Kokurin, commander of the Northern Fleet, appeared, followed by Vice Admiral Borisov, commander of the Twelfth Submarine Eskadra. Behind him was a clutch of aides and assistants.

Kokurin hurried down the steps and across the flight deck. He climbed the ladder to the main deck, and paused just long enough to receive the side-boys’ salute before heading toward where Vidchenko and the others waited. The supporting cast hurried to catch up as Vidchenko, Kurganov, and Chicherin all braced and saluted.

Kokurin returned their salutes as he approached, and asked peremptorily, “Is the Norwegian ready?”

“Mr. Lindstrom is ready to brief us in the flag mess, sir.”

“Then let’s get up there. Petrov and his men don’t have much time.”

Lindstrom was waiting, along with Kurt Nakken, captain of the salvage and rescue ship Halsfjord. In a sea of dark blue and gold braid, their civilian clothes seemed almost sloppy, although their manner was professional. They were already set up, and waited patiently as Kokurin and the others took their places and tea was served.

Although Petr Velikiy was Chicherin’s ship, and Vidchenko commanded the rescue effort, this was Kokurin’s meeting. Before Chicherin could begin his welcoming statement, Kokurin pulled a thick sheaf of papers out of his briefcase and plopped them onto the table.

“My staff printed all this material off the Internet. The names of Severodvinsk’s crew, the ships in the rescue force, weather conditions, our progress, are all available to anyone in the world. And they are watching with considerable interest. Web pages like the Wives and Mothers of Severodvinsk website are receiving literally millions of visitors each day. Word of the failure to rescue Severodvinsk’s crew yesterday afternoon was posted within an hour.”

He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. The Russian Navy believed in secrecy, a shield that hid both strengths and weaknesses. Seeing their operations exposed, discussed, and criticized was anathema.

Kokurin completed his thought. “We cannot afford another failure. Losing Petrov and his men would be tragedy, but we would also do it in front of the world.” Kokurin managed to include the entire room in his gaze, but finished by looking at Chicherin. “Whenever you are ready, Captain.”

Chicherin wisely skipped his opening remarks and immediately began by reviewing Severodvinsk’s status. Atmosphere quality was the primary concern. A little less than six hours remained before the C0 2chemicals provided by Seawolf were depleted. The injured crewmen were stable, although the cold was now a major concern as well since it was intimately linked with the carbon dioxide situation. Battery power, food, and water were also becoming significant issues. After a week on the bottom, the crew of Severodvinsk was running out of everything.

Captain Bakhorin briefed Kokurin on AS-34’s material condition. The batteries were still being charged after their latest dive, although he noted that it was taking longer each time to reach a full charge, and that the charge was lasting less each time.

“So AS-34 is almost crippled,” Kokurin acknowledged. “Can you get me one more dive?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Bakhorin answered eagerly. “At least one more.”

Lindstrom was last. He spoke passable Russian, and after introducing Halsfjord’ s captain, pressed a key on his laptop, which was already connected to the fiat-panel display mounted on the bulkhead.

A false-color image of Severodvinsk appeared, lying on the seabed. Contour lines and depths were combined with detailed data on the bottom’s makeup. Lines led from Severodvinsk upward, and lettering in Roman and Cyrillic labeled different parts of the diagram.

Vidchenko was puzzled. The image was very detailed, and even showed the damage to Severodvinsk’s bow and engineering section. Halsfjord had only arrived last evening. They certainly hadn’t had the time to survey the bottom. Was this the work of a computer artist?

The admiral asked that question, but Kokurin cut in before Lindstrom could answer. “I have seen this image before. It is from the American underwater robots.”

Lindstrom added, “Yes, that is correct. We thought it would be the quickest way to diagram out our rescue plan.”

“But that information hasn’t been validated!” Alarm crept into Vidchenko’s voice. “It may have been altered, and even if it hasn’t, we know nothing about the accuracy of their sensors.”

Kokurin’s concern showed in his questions. “Did you find evidence of tampering? How closely does it match your information?”

Vidchenko shook his head. “I do not know, sir. None of us have seen it.”

Now the fleet commander seemed confused. “Has anyone on your staff examined the data?”

Uneasy, but unsure why, Vidchenko quickly answered, “No sir. We didn’t feel we could trust the data.”

Kokurin sat for a moment in thought, then asked the Norwegian, “Have you had any problems with the Americans’ information?”

Lindstrom had stood silently, listening, during the exchange. “No, Admiral. I was provided with a copy when it arrived aboard Churchill and I’ve worked extensively with it since then. It is consistent with the data I’ve seen collected from similar craft.”

“How does it compare with the information we have?”

“Much more complete and detailed.” Lindstrom pressed a key several times and images flashed. “Here is an enlargement of Severodvinsk’s starboard side. Based on Captain Bakhorin’s description, I’ve shown the location of the charges you planted. I’d planned to include this later in the brief, but it shows the rock formations that you mined, and others here and here,” he gestured to screen, “that remained, preventing the sub from righting itself.”

“When did you receive this information?” Kokurin demanded.

“Approximately two days ago, Admiral.”

Kokurin followed the logic. “And if we had seen this data two days ago, AS-34’s first dive would have been able to place charges on those formations as well, freeing the sub.” He shot a hard look at Vidchenko, who sat impassively. Kurganov looked uncomfortable.