Larry Bond: Cold Choices

ETC Hudson and Lieutenant Commander Shimko appeared in the door as Jerry was pouring. He offered a cup to the XO, who gratefully accepted one. Peters also had some, but Hudson declined.

Marcus Shimko was second-generation American, born to Andrei and Natalia six years after they’d emigrated from what was then the Soviet Union and now Belarus. He was short, about Jerry’s height, but stocky where Jerry was slim. Shimko had already lost a lot of his hair, but what was left was sandy and cut very short. He was all business, an exceptional organizer and a detail hound — the perfect executive officer.

Jerry teased Hudson about “not stooping to drink wardroom coffee” but kept one eye on the XO. When the executive officer sat down, ship’s business took over. Jerry picked up his notes while Hudson double-checked the wardroom door, making sure it was locked.

With his laser pointer, Jerry highlighted individual sections of the entire mission on the nautical chart taped to the table. The bright blue and yellow chart was overlaid with black lines showing Seawolf’s plotted course, and red top secret labels rubber-stamped on each corner.

“Our projected track takes us out of the Block Island Sound, east, and then northeast. I’ve recommended passing to the west of Iceland, using the Denmark Strait. Once past Iceland, we follow the east coast of Greenland, using shallow water and biologies wherever possible to mask our approach. Assuming an on-time departure on the fifteenth and a speed of advance of sixteen knots, we should arrive at Point Alpha at 1200 Zulu time on the twenty-third.” Jerry pointed to the first of a series of x’s on the chart.

He’d rehearsed the speech several times, and gotten it off smoothly. Shimko just nodded, inviting Jerry to continue. So far, so good.

“I’ve marked the known Russian exercise areas and traffic lanes on the chart. They’ve used these same areas for six years, and there’s no indication that they plan to change them. We have two areas to survey, and a total of eighteen sorties with the three UUVs. Based on what little information we have about this part of the Barents, I’ve chosen sites within each area with potentially good bottom topography and reasonable acoustic conditions, but also a safe route in and out during the survey.”

Shimko and Hudson studied the chart closely. Jerry and Peters, having laid out the courses and knowing them by heart, stayed out of the way to give the XO and chief some room.

“How long for each survey?” Shimko asked.

“I’m planning on forty-five hours. The UUVs have a fifty-hour operational endurance with a ten-hour emergency reserve. That gives us about a twenty-five-percent safety margin.”

“How many UUVs will we have out at any one time?”

“Technically, XO, there are times during the mission, for about an hour, when all three UUVs will be out. One will be deployed surveying sites, while a second unit is launched and the third waits to be recovered.”

“During which Seawolf is tied to one area.”

“Yessir. We’re only constrained in our ability to maneuver when we’re launching or recovering a UUV, which takes no more than half an hour. Once that’s done we can maneuver freely, we just have to stay relatively close to the rendezvous point so the UUV can find us again. ”

“Never mind,” Shimko interrupted. “The critical issue is being committed to one spot while a UUV is deployed. What if we have to abort a rendezvous to evade a transiting vessel?”

Jerry had an answer. “Sea ice will be starting to form in the area by the time we arrive, so there is little risk of running into fishing traffic or even other merchant ships. The only likely problem would be from Russian warships or submarines, and according to the intel weenies, their training cycle is largely over for the year. There may be some small-scale operations before the ports freeze up, but they just concluded a major exercise period. Our mission plan is to get in, do the surveys, and then get out before they start any last-minute training evolutions.”

Shimko was not deflected. “If we have to bug out, we need a plan to rendezvous with the UUV somewhere else.” He pointed to an exercise area, outlined in blue and neatly labeled “R-Two.”

“Overall, you’ve got a good approach route into the area, and the route leading from one survey site to the next is along a good path. You also have an emergency recovery location for each site, but it’s too close to the site itself. I want two alternate rendezvous locations for each survey site, well away from the box.”

“Yessir,” Jerry responded. “For unmanned vehicles, they are pretty smart. If a survey is interrupted, we can give it a new location and tell it to loiter there until we arrive.”

“That’s fine, but I don’t want you hunting all over the chart for a spot when the air is filled with flying excrement. I want it already picked and plotted in calmer times.” Jerry nodded his understanding.

Shimko pushed his point. “This is the Russian Navy’s playground, even if it is international waters. They’re normally touchy about visitors, but since they lost Gepard, they’ve reached new heights of paranoia — even for Slavs.

“You know, they blame us for Gepard’ s loss.” Shimko gave Jerry a look that seemed much longer and more intense than a simple glance. Jerry’s last boat, Memphis , had been very involved with the Russian sub’s demise, but the entire event had been classified, sealed, and was withheld even from the rest of the submarine service. Jerry tried to look innocent.

“We can’t assume they won’t change their routine,” Shimko continued. “Maybe they’ll patrol in the thickening sea ice for a longer period than we think. The hulls on their surface ships are ice-strengthened.” He shrugged, then ordered, “Also, find and plot more than one exit route from each site, and make sure the routes lead to areas with lots of maneuvering room.”

“Yessir.” Jerry acknowledged the order and checked to make sure that Peters was taking notes.

“Now walk me through it,” Shimko ordered, and Jerry began with Seawolf’s careful entrance to the Barents Sea. Framed as it was by the Russian coast to the south and Novaya Zemlya on the east, it was easy to understand why the Russians considered it home waters, the same way Americans might view the Gulf of Mexico.

Seawolf would cross the gap from Greenland to Svalbard, under broken sea ice and hopefully bad weather. Svalbard was a cluster of islands under Norwegian control. It usually hugged the southern edge of the North Pole’s permanent ice cap. The sub would pass south of the islands, then turn southeast to conceal her approach as much as possible.

Once in the Barents Sea, Seawolf would slow, creeping into areas used by the Russians for fleet training and exercises. These were no more than rectangular shapes drawn on a Russian chart, but they were used by the Russian Navy to manage their at-sea training during the Arctic summer.

The U.S. didn’t have those charts, of course. Careful observation of Russian exercises by satellites and submarines and other methods had given U.S. intelligence a pretty good idea of where they were.

American and other Western submarines had prowled those waters for years, watching the Russian Fleet practice their craft, recording signals, sometimes even recovering expended weapons. The Russians watched for outsiders, sometimes finding them, often not. Although the training areas were in international waters and thus theoretically open to anyone, the Russians could make eavesdroppers feel very unwelcome.

Lately Russian antisurveillance measures had become so stringent that it was not only difficult to get close enough to gather any useful intelligence, it had become downright hazardous to anyone making the attempt. And with a shrinking submarine fleet, the U.S. Navy was experiencing difficulties providing comprehensive coverage during the exercise cycle.