Larry Bond - Cold Choices

Jerry heard Rudel begin his report to SUBGRU Two; then the XO suddenly called down the trunk. “They’re dropping another charge close by. All hands brace!”

Rudel’s voice came over the intercom. “Hard left rudder! Course two seven zero.”

Jerry grabbed onto the ladder as he heard the chief of the watch pass the warning on the 1MC. The KA-BOOM and vibration that followed wasn’t as bad as he’d dreaded, but it filled his mind with images of the shoring giving way, of the forward compartment filling with seawater. Had the last-second turn-away helped to deflect the shock?

The slam of a hatch and an urgent “Down ladder!” caused Jerry to slide down the rest of the access trunk ladder, followed immediately by the XO and the captain. Shimko bolted for the ladder down to control and shouted, “Submerge the boat, take us to three hundred feet, steady on course two seven zero, speed seven knots.”

The watchstanders hesitated, confused as to who should be giving the orders, who they were supposed to listen to. The last they knew, the captain had the deck and the conn. Lieutenant Wolfe saw the confusion and jumped up to the conning station. “You heard the XO. Chief of the Watch, over the 1MC ‘Dive, Dive.’ Diving officer, make your depth three hundred feet. Helmsman, all ahead one third.”

Jolted out of their inaction by Wolfe’s forceful presence, the men acknowledged their orders and began to follow through on the procedure to take Seawolf down.

As Shimko entered control he quickly pointed to Wolfe and announced, “The XO has the conn, Mr. Wolfe has the deck.” Without waiting for the control room watchstanders to respond, he twirled around and pointed at the damage control assistant. “Mr. Williams, check the hull and the shoring for the slightest sign of new damage. Report back here as soon as you’ve completed the inspection.”

A flurry of “Aye, aye, sir” echoed throughout control. Williams disappeared up the ladder, nearly running over a passive, despondent Rudel, who appeared to be muttering to himself.

With a pained and frustrated expression, Shimko looked over to Master Chief Hess, the battle stations diving officer. “COB, get the Skipper to his stateroom.” Then, pointing toward Constantino by the command displays, “Al, you’re my diving officer.”

“Yes, sir,” replied both men simultaneously as they exchanged places. Hess then gently grabbed Rudel and threw his arm over his shoulders. The captain seemed confused, dejected, weak. “C’mon, Skipper,” coaxed the COB. “You need a little rest.”

Once Hess had escorted Rudel out of control, Shimko turn to the chief of the watch and ordered, “Have Chief Gallant report to the CO’s stateroom on the double.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Chief McCord, as he picked up the phone and dialed sickbay.

Shimko paused a moment and took stock of the situation in control, allowing himself a deep breath or two. Satisfied that things were well in hand, he pressed the intercom switch. “Sonar, conn. Hear anything from our friends?”

“Conn, sonar. No, sir. If they’re dipping, they’re doing it passively.”

“I’m sure they are. They’ll have no trouble following us.” Shimko sounded resigned, but not discouraged.

“Jerry, what’s the endurance of a Ka-27 Helix?”

Pulling out an ONI reference sheet, Jerry ran his finger down a table. “Two, maybe two and a half hours, at cruise speed, fully loaded.”

“If the Russian ships are now about seventy miles away. When will they have to turn for home?”

Jerry checked his watch and did the math. “Half an hour, forty-five minutes tops, XO.”

“Good. Then we’ll turn in forty-five minutes to rendezvous with Churchill. Give me your recommendation for an intercept course.”

Severodvinsk, K-329

Petrov, Kalinin, and the other senior officers made their way to the central post after they heard the active sonar transmissions. It took a little longer than usual, as they had to dodge all those plastic curtains that seemed to be hanging everywhere. The first explosion caught them all off guard. By the second, they were standing around the underwater communications station wondering what the hell was going on.” Seawolf, this is Petrov. Do you hear me? What is happening?”

There was no response, only the reverberating echo from the explosions crackled over the loud speaker.

“Those aren’t signaling charges,” Kalinin stated. “The explosions are far too loud for that.”

Petrov shook his head wearily, a look of disappointment on his face. “I fear one of our helicopters is trying to persuade Commander Rudel to leave.”

“With live ordnance!?! What kind of moron would authorize dropping depth bombs on a badly damaged submarine!?!” Kalinin’s outraged expression was shared by several of the others. “Don’t they realize what Rudel and his crew has done for us?”

“Calm yourself, Vasiliy. I agree with you that it is an unwise action, but I’m sure the pilot is not dropping the depth bombs too close.”

A third explosion was heard. This one was not as loud, farther away.

“Comrade Captain, I do not share your confidence in the abilities of our airmen. Those are the same idiots that displayed horrible tactical proficiency during our acceptance trials. They couldn’t find their ass with either hand! They are just incompetent enough to misjudge the distance and actually lay a depth bomb alongside Seawolf’s hull!”

Petrov had to struggle not to laugh. Kalinin’s backhanded compliment was as damning as it was accurate. He appreciated his starpom’s strong concern for the crew of Seawolf. Indeed, he shared it. But this was to be expected.

“Vasiliy, we knew this would happen. It’s standard procedure to establish an exclusion zone around a rescue site, and then drive off any foreign vessels. I had hoped that our superiors would see the logic of allowing Seawolf to remain. But the fact is they are doing what they think is best.”

A fourth louder explosion, even farther away, caused Petrov to wince. “All we can do is hope and pray that our overzealous countrymen didn’t inflict any more damage on Seawolf.”

Skynews editorial office, London, England

Befuddled by sleep, Ed Fellowes answered his stapler and his electric shaver before finally locating his cell phone. He hurriedly flipped it open. “This is Fellowes.”

“This is Nicholas Hertz, Mr. Fellowes.”

“Nicholas, I’ve asked you call me ‘Ed.’”

“Thanks, Mr. Fellowes. Ed. I forgot. I’m still so excited with the new equipment you ordered for me, it’s so expensive, but it works great! No more analog displays, and the direct link to my laptop. ”

Nicholas Hertz bubbled with excitement, like any teen with a new toy. In Nick’s case, the “toy” was a signal analyzer that could dismantle a radio transmission almost to its component electrons. And he knew how to use it.

“What have you got for me, Nick?” Shaking off fatigue, Fellowes sat up straighter and woke up his laptop. He’d just sent off a piece on the last intercept to his bosses, and that followed a very long night covering the Seawolf collision. Sleeping at his desk wasn’t a choice, it was inevitable.

“Another satellite phone call, transmitted 0844 our time, and lasting three and a half minutes. It was Rudel, like always. I’m sending you the sound file now. Ed, I think he was under attack. He said the Russians were dropping depth charges on Seawolf!”

“What?” Fellowes had heard Hertz clearly, but he had trouble comprehending his words. Had the Russians actually fired on the American submarine?

“And the conversation just stopped, in midsentence, while he was reporting to the admiral’s staff. There may even be the sound of an explosion in the file.”