Larry Bond: Cold Choices

An upward jolt almost knocked Jerry from his feet, and some of the watch cried out in surprise. Another followed, and another.

“Control room, torpedo. The sail’s moving!”

Palmer’s report pulled Rudel over to the intercom. “How much?”

“Five degrees, maybe more. Those shocks we just felt were the start. Definitely more, approaching eight degrees now.”

“Captain!” shouted the phone talker. “Chief Hudson reports there are now multiple leaks in the overhead in the electronics equipment space.”

Severodvinsk

When the motion came, Petrov only knew it because of the inclinometer. The vibrations were so strong that he had become almost numb. It was impossible to tell whether they moved him to the left or right or backward.

But his vision had been fixed on the inclinometer, and it had changed. He called out “Thirty degrees!” Then came another shock, hard enough to make some of the uninjured men cry out in alarm, but Petrov called, “Twenty-four degrees!”

He heard cheers and prayers, and encouragements to the Americans to keep pushing. Petrov kept his eyes fixed on the inclinometer. His left hand squeezed the release handle so hard it hurt.

USS Seawolf

A series of sideways jolts made the hull creak, then a sharp downward bump seemed to allow Seawolf to slide forward. Shimko asked nervously, “What are we doing, tunneling under the Russian?”

“A little scared, XO?”

“Sir, a wise man said that fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment!”

Rudel shook his head. His executive officer was a certified loon, for that matter so was the rest of this crew.

Looking over at the chief of the watch, he shouted, “We have to get her bow up. Fill after trim to the mark and blow a little air into main ballast tank two.” As heavy as the bow was, they had to make the stern heavier. Jerry remembered an old submariner initiation. “Skipper, send the crew aft.”

Rudel nodded and grabbed the 1MC microphone. “All hands not on duty, to the shaft alley on the double.” There was no way to tell if it was enough, or if it mattered at all, but it was the best they could do.

“We’re using the boat like a giant crowbar,” Rudel muttered. “A nuclear-powered crowbar. This can’t be good for the hull.” But they all felt another sharp jolt, and it was a welcome sensation.

“That’s doing it!” Palmer’s report on the intercom was encouraging, if nonregulation. But was it enough?

“What about the escape chamber?” Rudel demanded.

“It’s still in place,” Palmer reported. “It looks like the angle is less than twenty degrees. They should have released the capsule. Are they all unconscious?”

“We are not stopping until the chamber is released!”

“Chief Hudson reports leaks from all mast penetrations. He can also see the hull frames starting to bend. He says it’s small, but it’s definite.”

“Sir, I recommend we put her on the roof, now!” Shimko’s request was soft, but urgent.

“Not until that escape chamber leaves,” Rudel insisted.

Their conversation was punctuated by more jolts and another long groan. Suddenly, ET2 Lamberth appeared at the forward door to control. He was soaked to the skin, shivering and breathless, a cut on his arm. “Captain, Chief Hudson reports that some of the shoring arms are starting to buckle. He says to tell you we are officially on borrowed time!”

Severodvinsk

Petrov pulled the release almost before he understood the numbers. First, the inclinometer had jumped from twenty-three to seventeen, then back to twenty-five before he could move his arm. He cursed, afraid he’d missed his chance, when the numbers began to crawl down again, each short jerk counting the angle down a little more each time. Finally, it stayed below fifteen and they were free.

They never heard or felt the clamps release, not with all the other noise and vibration, but to Petrov it felt as if they’d been thrown upward toward the surface. The deck, canted for so long, suddenly felt properly level, and he could sense the upward acceleration as they rose.

The submariner in him wanted to time the ascent, to double-check his calculation of one minute forty-nine seconds, but instead, Petrov started to laugh, almost uncontrollably. Relief flooded through him, and he felt weak, still in a state of astonishment.

It took all his strength to lift his head and look at the men around him. They were mirrors of himself, many laughing or cheering if they weren’t weeping or simply screaming at the top of their lungs. Nobody was cold, or had a headache, or was hungry any longer. They were rising from the dead.

USS Seawolf

“Conn!” screamed Palmer. “I can see the chamber. It’s clear!”

“Helm, all back full!” Jerry heard Palmer’s report, and some part of him was glad, but now it was time to focus on their own immediate concerns.

“All pumps to maximum! Chief, get as much water out of the bow as you can.”

“Working it, Skipper.” McCord’s hand flew over the ballast-control panel, trying to purge the ship of the weight they’d just desperately needed.

Jerry felt the vibrations beneath the deck become weaker, then start again. Lavoie and his engineers had stopped the shaft, and now it was turning in the other direction. Before they could rise, they had to clear Severodvinsk’s hull. It wouldn’t take much, but it would be a good thing if they hurried.

The vibration grew, and for a moment Jerry thought they might be entangled somehow, but the screw bit and he felt the deck shift as they backed away from the Russian’s hull.

Rudel keyed the intercom. “Torpedo room, conn. Report! Are we clear?”

“Conn, torpedo room. We’re clearing the hull, sir. We had almost half our bow under the Russian. I can see sternway on.” Jerry was grateful for Palmer’s report, and Maxine’s ability to track their progress, because right now they were blind. While backing down, the pitlog was worthless. In fact, submarines were pigs with sternway on. Jerry could see the compass heading swing to port and starboard. It was a short trip, but it would have been even shorter if they could have kept the stern pointed in one direction.

“Conn, torpedo room. We are clear of Severodvinsk.”

“Emergency surface! Left full rudder, all ahead flank! Dive, how’s our trim?”

As McCord hit the chicken switches, Hess shook his head. “We’re very heavy forward, with all that water in the bow.”

“Well, for God’s sake don’t let our stern get too light.”

“What we can’t get over the side, we’re moving aft, and the stern planes are starting to bite.”

“Mr. Mitchell, give me a course,” Rudel ordered.

“We can continue this port turn to two two five. That will keep us clear of the rest of the formation.”

“Helm, steady on two two five.”

“We are rising,” Shimko announced, “we’re coming up!”

Jerry felt his own spirits rise, and he studied the rest of the watch. He saw relief, excitement, fatigue, but no fear. They were done.

“All tanks blown, sir.” McCord grinned, an infectious expression.

“Very well.” Rudel answered with his own smile as well.

They surfaced into five-foot swells and a high overcast. Seawolf shot out of the water like a drunken walrus, seesawing back and forth before she settled on the surface, seriously down by the bow. By the time they’d set the bridge watch, Rudel had turned them back toward the rest of the formation, a mile and a half distant.

Jerry and the other officers rook turns coming up to the bridge to watch the rescue. He could see the black tile-covered escape chamber, bobbing like a child’s ball. Pamir and Altay were standing by on each side, and the tug’s sailors were helping the crewmen out and over to their two ships. Helicopters were taking turns lifting the injured from their fantails.