Larry Bond - Cold Choices

Jonson gave Brewer a strange look, but shrugged and repeated the claim, in English.

Churchill rogered for the explanation, then said nothing more. She slowed and took position a mile off their port side. Above and behind Stavanger, the helicopter continued to fly lazy eights.

As the minutes passed, Brewer began to believe the explanation had worked. After all, the Russians had declared the exclusion zone. The U.S. hadn’t honored it earlier. Now, here they were headed northeast with an American destroyer alongside.

“Stavanger ; this is Churchill. Marine Diving and Salvage and Halsfjord both deny any knowledge of your charter. Halsfjord expects no vessels. Heave to immediately and stand by to be boarded. If you do not cut your engines, we will fire.”

“They can’t mean it,” Brewer protested.

Jonson reached for the throttles. “They mean it. No bluff.”

Stavanger slowed quickly, the boat rolling unevenly as it drifted and turned to face the wind. Brewer watched Churchill slow as well, and take position upwind a hundred yards away. Her forward gun stayed trained on them, and Brewer could see sailors manning other weapons on her decks.

The destroyer lowered a boat on her lee side and it bounced through the waves to Stavanger’s side. Brewer could see men in the boat. Several of them were armed. At Jonson’s orders, a boarding ladder was waiting for them. The first man over the side was not armed, but the second and third were, and took covering positions on the deck while the rest of the group climbed aboard. Jonson and his first mate stood quietly until the leader introduced himself.

“I am Leftenant Keith Figg, Royal Navy. Who is master aboard?”

“I am. Captain Jonson.”

“Captain, what is your business in these waters?” Brewer noticed that as Figg asked his questions, another sailor was videotaping the proceedings— making a legal record.

“I am under charter by INN to carry a reporter and his men to the rescue location.”

“Were you aware that you entered an internationally recognized exclusion zone?”

Jonson didn’t answer immediately, and Figg said, “All mariners are required to know of any exclusion zones.” After a moment, he added, “And the Russians haven’t kept this one a secret.”

Finally Jonson nodded. He’d rather admit to a violation than ignorance. “Yes, I was aware of the exclusion zone.”

“Where are your charters?”

“Here,” Brewer replied. “Harry Brewer, INN.” Reflexively, he offered Figg a business card, then realized the absurdity of the act, standing on a heaving deck in the middle of the night to men with guns pointed at him. “May I ask why a British officer is on a U.S. warship?”

Figg ignored the question and took the card, but didn’t look at it. “Did Captain Jonson inform you of the exclusion zone?”

“Actually, I informed him. I didn’t want to deceive him about where we were going.”

“And you deliberately entered the exclusion zone.”

“As I said, I’m with INN. We’re here to cover the rescue of Severodvinsk’s crew. I’ve got equipment that will let us send the images worldwide, in real time.”

Figg shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. Captain Jonson, what is your best speed?”

“Twelve knots.”

Figg spoke into a handheld radio, then turned back to the two men. “Captain Jonson, Mr. Brewer, you are in violation of Article Twenty-five of the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea. We are confiscating all recording devices aboard — cameras, tape recorders, cell phones, all of it.” Brewer started to protest, but Figg cut him off. “It will all be logged and carefully handled. After your case is disposed, if the Russians choose, they can return your equipment to you.”

“The Russians?” A shocked Brewer started to ask a question, but Figg’s radio barked and he listened for a moment.

“Captain Jonson, you will steer course one nine seven for Severomorsk harbor, where your boat will be impounded by the Russian authorities. At a speed of twelve knots, you are expected to arrive by 1830 tomorrow evening. Senior-Lieutenant Andreyev and Warrant Officer Babochkin of the Russian Federation Navy will remain aboard as liaisons.”

Brewer exploded. “You can’t turn us over to the Russians!”

Figg answered, “This is a legally declared military exclusion zone to effect the rescue of a Russian submarine. You’ve knowingly violated an official announcement by the Russian Federation government, with a senior Russian naval officer in command of the operation. You’re trespassing on their estate. Who did you think you’d be dealing with?”

Figg ordered his team, “Search the boat.” Johnson motioned for his first mate to go with them as Brewer looked on in complete amazement. A pile quickly developed on the aft deck, although it took almost half an hour to find not only the INN video equipment, but also personal cell phones and even a crewman’s personal camera.

While the contraband was loaded into Churchill’s whaleboat, Figg warned Jonson, “If you do not reach Severomorsk by 1830 tomorrow evening, your boat will be confiscated. You will be tracked by aviation assets and from shore until you arrive. If you have difficulties, we will be monitoring the standard international distress frequencies.”

Jonson nodded silently.

Brewer made one last plea. “This is insane. Nobody was hurt. Why can’t we just turn around? We’ll go back to Alesund.”

“You ignored warnings from two different aircraft, and lied to us about your business here. Be grateful it was an American vessel that intercepted you. And by the by, there is a formal billet for a Royal Navy officer on board USS Churchill as a tribute to Sir Winston. Have a good day, sir.”

12 October 2008

0815/8:15 AM

Rescue site, Barents Sea

Borisov and Lindstrom had agreed to wait until it was light to move the cables from the buoys to the tugs. In spite of the urgency, there was no rush to perform this step. The limiting factor, especially after the loss of AS-34 Priz, was still the number of dives needed to lay the line charges and attach the last cables to Severodvinsk. The two Norwegian ROVs had held up so far, which meant they were still on schedule for the second attempt early that afternoon.

Halsfjord’s two vehicles would keep working during the transfer, both laying the charges that would break the Russian sub free of the bottom. On the surface, the salvage tug Altay backed carefully until it was only meters from one of two buoys, each a checkered orange and white sphere almost ten meters in diameter. Cables from Severodvinsk curved up out of the water to huge padeyes on the sides of the buoy. Those cables would be transferred from each buoy to one of the tugs.

A workboat passed close alongside Altay. A crewman on the back of the tug tossed a “monkey fist” to the men in the boat. Nothing more than a ball wrapped with cord, it trailed a thin line. The men on the boat started pulling on the line while the men on the tug payed it out. After a dozen meters, the line became cord, then after another interval rope, then after a longer span, a nylon hawser over an inch in diameter.

Motoring over to the buoy, the workboat’s crew attached the line to the cable, passing it through the six-inch loop on the end. It was difficult work, with the boat and buoy moving in the swells, sometimes banging into each other hard enough to break bones, if anyone was careless enough to get in the way.