Larry Bond: Cold Choices

Petrov heard earnestness in the admiral’s voice, and understood its source. Kursk, their newest and best guided-missile submarine, the pride of the Northern Fleet, had been lost in 2000 with all hands during an exercise. The investigation that followed had found many instances of training requirements ignored, certifications lapsed, procedures not followed. Sloppy maintenance by poorly trained personnel didn’t mix well with explosive torpedoes and volatile oxidizers. In the wake of the disaster, the entire Northern Fleet command structure had been relieved. There were rumors that similar problems were behind the loss of Gepard in 2005, although there were an equal number of rumors that claimed she had been sunk by an American submarine. Regardless, the results were the same and most of the senior officers in the Northern Fleet were relieved for cause. Kokurin was the “new broom.” He meant every word he said.

The fleet commander paused momentarily, which gave Petrov the opportunity to glance over at VADM Vlasov. The chief of combat training was slowly nodding his head, a fully developed frown on his face. Not a good omen, Petrov thought. But at least now he knew why the inspections and training exercises had been so intense, and so difficult. He had always suspected it was due to the ridiculous length of time it took to build Severodvinsk, fifteen years instead of the normal four under the Soviet Union, but no one would ever tell him this outright. All he was told was that his crew displayed deficiencies that were noted in the crews of the Kursk and Gepard. In his heart Petrov didn’t believe this line of reasoning; it seemed too convenient and didn’t square with what he saw on a daily basis. Admittedly he was biased toward his crew, but he knew without a doubt that they were better than what they were being given credit for. And as much as it pained Petrov to sit and listen to the unceasing criticism, arguing with a flag-level inspection team is at best an unwise tactic — even if you’re convinced that their findings are full of shit. As Kokurin continued with his opening remarks, Petrov’s attention was yanked back to the head table.

“Now, there is much material to cover today during our deliberations. And I did promise the young captain that we would get through all of it by the end of the afternoon. However, before I turn this board over to my Chief of Staff, I wish to issue a special welcome to Vice Admiral Borisov, Commander of the Twelfth Submarine Eskadra, Rear Admiral Vidchenko, Commander of the Twenty-fourth Atomic Submarine Diviziya, and Captain First Rank Petrov, Commanding Officer of submarine K-329 Severodvinsk. Gentlemen, I am very pleased that you are here with us today Over the past year you have worked hard; all of you have worked very hard,” stated Kokurin as he gestured toward everyone present, “to bring us to this point. You have my thanks, and that of the Russian people. Today is truly a great day for the Russian Navy and the Northern Fleet. Rear Admiral Radetskiy, if you please.”

As the fleet commander lowered his bulky figure into his chair, still beaming with pride, Petrov suddenly realized that the board was in reality a formality, despite what the admiral had just said. And while there would probably be some unpleasant moments, ultimately the decision had already been made — his crew would get their certification and Severodvinsk would be accepted into the fleet’s combat-ready force. He would finally be able to take his boat to sea without a division babysitter. Confident that his lifelong dream was about to be fulfilled, Petrov felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It took all his discipline to maintain a proper military composure. He’d celebrate later with his crew.

“Gentlemen,” announced the chief of staff, “the binders before you contain all the final inspection reports and training exercise evaluations. They are state secrets and you are to handle them accordingly. We will now commence with the formal boarding process. Each directorate is to read a brief summary of the technical or tactical readiness of K-329 Severodvinsk, along with your final evaluation and certification recommendation. I would ask Rear Admiral Smelkov, Chief of the Technical Directorate, to get us started.”

“Good morning, comrade Admiral,” began Smelkov, looking over at Kokurin. “Over the last year, my directorate has conducted numerous inspections during the state acceptance trials to evaluate the technical readiness of Project 885 PLA Severodvinsk, hull number 160, pennant number K-329. Our findings are as follows.”

What followed was anything but brief as the chief of the technical directorate went through the whole boat, compartment by compartment and system by system, describing how each system met the design specifications established by the Russian Navy and the Ministry of Shipbuilding. He then went on to provide detailed results of the propulsion plant tests, deep diving trials, sonar calibration trials, hydroacoustic and magnetic field measurements, and on and on. Most of the discrepancies noted in technical directorate’s report were minor and had, in fact, already been taken care of. This annoyed Petrov a little, but he understood that it was all part of the game. After a little over an hour, Smelkov finally managed to get around to announcing his directorate’s verdict.

“In conclusion, it is our professional judgment that PLA K-329 Severodvinsk is in compliance with all tactical technical requirements, as well as all submarine design specifications as promulgated by state organs. We therefore recommend that the submarine and crew be certified for independent operations and accepted into the fleet.”

“Thank you, Rear Admiral Smelkov. Your recommendation is noted,” replied Radetskiy nonchalantly. “Next we will hear from the Chief of the Navigation Directorate.”

If there were any hope that the other directorates would heed the “brief summary” instruction, it was soon dashed upon the rocky shoals of administration and self-promotion. Each of the directorate chiefs for navigation, armaments, communications, medical services, and chemical services took their requisite hour or so to deliver a recommendation that could have been done in fifteen minutes or less. Petrov knew that this kind of posturing was common among junior admirals, particularly in front of a fleet commander. He also understood that even admirals had to “wave his flag,” as it were, to gain the kind of senior attention that would benefit their promotion potential. Still, Petrov held this practice of self-centered showmanship in contempt.

By the time the chief of the armaments directorate had finished his report, Petrov’s mind was numb with boredom. He had heard all of this before, many times before. Nothing new was presented in the final reports, and the overwhelming majority of the adverse comments were on nitpicky items that had already been dealt with by his crew or the shipyard. Of course, there was no mention of that fact. To keep up with the schedule, lunch was shortened and hurried. Breaks were few and far between. More than once Petrov cursed his excessive coffee-drinking habit. Just when Petrov thought he would either go mad or fall asleep, he would remember the fleet commander’s specific request for patience. Quietly, he sat and endured one monologue after another.

It was well into the afternoon before the chief of staff made the announcement that Petrov was longing for, and dreading at the same time.

“Our last report will be from the Chief of the Combat Training Directorate. Vice Admiral Vlasov, will you please present your findings.”

“Good afternoon, comrade Admiral,” spoke Vlasov with a severe and deliberate tone. “In accordance with your instructions, my staff exercised the crew of Severodvinsk in as thorough a manner as was humanly possible. We drove them near to the point of breaking, and then we pushed even harder.”