Larry Bond - Cold Choices

Severodvinsk

Shubin’s voice overflowed with panic! “Captain, we’ve lost contact with the mine-hunting sonar!”

“Equipment failure?” Petrov cursed inside. That would be their luck.

“No sir, it’s flooded with white noise.”

“A decoy, then. Say so and save us the trouble.” Petrov’s rebuke was deserved, but he checked himself. He was letting his frustration show. His people were excited enough already. “Mitrov, go active on the main sonar. Find them!”

Petrov could feel Severodvinsk still surging through the water. His boat wasn’t waiting, but he forced himself to wait for the echoes. He needed information to act.

“Two weak contacts, one to port, bearing red one three zero, and one to starboard, bearing green one two zero. Range to both contacts seven hundred meters.”

“Ahh, he’s trying to break away.” Petrov glanced at the BIUS display.

Kalinin looked up to his commander. “Which one do we pursue, Captain? The American could be either contact.”

“He’s the one to left, Vasiliy! Toward the remote vehicle! Helmsman, rudder hard left. Steady on two three zero. We’ll make a larger circle and head him off. I will not let him leave.”

“Captain, I recommend we slow down. With all this interference we no longer have an accurate tracking solution on the American.”

“No, Starpom! I will not give up the tactical advantage. We know where he was when he deployed the decoys. Maintain speed.”

Like everyone else, Petrov held on as Severodvinsk heeled over to port. With the combination of maximum rudder and flank speed, her turning circle would be a bit wide. They hadn’t even done this during sea trials, Petrov remembered. He watched Kalinin trying to calculate the separation between the two boats, but there was no way to know.

USS Seawolf

“Conn, sonar. Contact has passed into our baffles and there is interference from our countermeasures. He went active just before entered the baffles.” Stapp’s report was matter-of-fact, and expected. Seawolf’s stern, and the blind spot for her hull arrays, was now pointed directly at the Russian, while, hopefully, he headed north, chasing the simulator. For a short time, it would move like a submarine, and mimic the noises and sonar signature of one. But if Seawolf moved too fast, it would be a dead giveaway.

“Helm, all ahead one-third. Mr. Mitchell, can you find us a shallow spot along our course?”

Jerry only had to glance at the chart. The shallow area where Jerry and Hayes had experienced some trouble was nearby. “That shallow spot is close by, bears two six five, extends for”—he paused to measure—”twelve miles. Current sounding is seventy fathoms.”

“Helm, come left to two six five, make our depth three hundred feet.” Jerry saw what the skipper was trying to do. Slow to reduce their noise and to make it harder to distinguish Seawolf from the decoy, and hug the bottom to hide from active sonar. If Seawolf could break contact for a moment, Rudel would turn that into a minute, and then ten minutes, and.

Stapp kept up a running commentary. “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is coming out of our baffles to starboard.” As expected, Jerry thought. “He’s still at high speed — very high speed.” Jerry thought he should slow down. Even the Russian’s active sonar would have problems seeing anything, and the countermeasures and decoy would only make things more confusing.

“Captain, I’m getting a slight left-bearing drift,” said Shimko as he watched the fire-control display. That was wrong, Jerry thought. He should be drawing right if he’s chasing the simulator. Jerry tried to piece together the discordant facts. Once again, the strong pounding from the Russian’s powerful active sonar could be heard through the hull.

“Sir, I now show constant bearing. He is closing on us! I can’t get a range on the WAA-nearfield effect!” Shimko shouted.

Jerry’s mental picture flashed into clarity. The Russian hadn’t taken the bait. He was turning with Seawolf, not heading away to the north. And he was very, very close.

“Helm, hard left rudder, increase speed to. ”

Something struck the hull, a monstrous hammerblow that rolled Seawolf hard to port. Jerry struggled to maintain his balance as the deck fell away beneath him. Pencils, books, and every other object on the tables were catapulted into the air. Jerry managed to hang on, but several members of the fire-control party were thrown by the massive shock. One sailor rose and struck the overhead, and another actually flew across the control room at waist level.

Just as Seawolf’s tarted to right herself, a series of smaller but still powerful rapid shocks pushed her even further to port and downward, accompanied by a sound that mixed splitting metal with a horrible grinding noise. Jerry felt his feet go out from under him as the deck seemed to cartwheel. It was impossible to tell up from down. The sledgehammer-like blows and intense sound went on forever, changing from a clanging anvil to a wailing screech.

The shouted reports of the control party were almost drowned out by the noise. What he heard wasn’t encouraging. Jerry was desperately trying to find his footing when he heard Rudel yell for an emergency surface. Before they could execute the order, Seawolf’s bow again pitched down sharply and Jerry lost his grip. No longer supported, he slid headfirst into one of the plotting tables and all thought ended.

Jerry came to lying on the deck, his head and shoulder throbbing with pain. QM1 Peters was kneeling over him, pressing something on his head and calling for the corpsman. The deck was pitched upward and vibrating badly as the main engines drove them toward the surface. It was dark in control. The lights were out and the emergency battle lanterns were providing the only illumination. Most of the flat-panel displays were blank; the few that were alive displayed reddish fuzz. The air smelled of smoke and burnt insulation. A lot of men were down, crumpled on the deck where they fell.

The XO was on the sound-powered phones taking in reports from all over the ship. “Personnel casualties in engineering! Sonar reports all systems are down.” As he spoke, the lights flickered, then failed. “Engineering reports there are numerous shorts in the forward compartment. They are trying to isolate the affected circuits.”

As Jerry’s eyes started to adapt to the low light, he could see that every face in control held the same horrified look. Seawolf had collided with the Russian and they were now fighting for their lives.

MM1 Bryan, the GQ chief of the watch, had hit the “chicken switches” for the emergency blow system as soon as the captain had ordered “Emergency surface!” High-pressure air blasted into every ballast tank on the boat, giving her an immediate boost of buoyancy. The diving officer, Master Chief Hess, had ordered, “All ahead full,” and then, “Full rise on bow and stern planes.” Jerry could hear Hess controlling the fear in his voice as the ship’s control party executed the well-drilled routine.

The helmsman repeated the order automatically, “Planes to full rise, aye,” but a moment later reported, “Bow planes are not responding.”

Hess glanced at the repeater, then the helm controls. Both were down and the bow planes had shifted into emergency, but nothing was happening. The helmsman had the wheel pulled all the way back, but the mechanical angle indicator still read zero.

The XO cut in again. “Chief Gallant has reached the engine room and is tending to the injured.” Seawolf didn’t carry a doctor, and Jerry prayed there was nothing that required skills beyond that of a chief hospital corps-man.