Larry Bond - Cold Choices

Once on the roof, Seawolf began to close on the now fully illuminated destroyer. Jerry was well aware of Seawolf’s limitations, and he swore at times that he could physically feel them, but this surfacing bruised his already tender submariner’s ego. It was just plain wrong to meekly surface and then hobble over and take station astern of a surface combatant. Just thinking about it made him wince. And it was doubtful that Doc Gallant had anything, other than his cheery bedside manner, to treat it with.

Even though the weather had improved considerably, Seawolf was still very much restricted in her ability to maneuver on the surface. At anything more than five knots, the large gentle swells caused the heavily damaged bow to vibrate and make some very unpleasant noises. Instead of racing northeast at thirty-plus knots, Churchill would be limited to Seawolf ’s glacial pace.

As the boat rolled slowly from side to side, Jerry was starting to get used to being on the surface. His stomach still complained, and he was sure he was losing weight from missed meals, but he was learning to cope with the nausea. It was amazing how much the weather could change in just over a day. The evening sky topside was magnificent, with a colorful twilight having faded away under clear skies. The main act, however, was the aurora borealis, or northern lights, which put on a spectacular display. The chief of the watch had no problems getting volunteers to man the two lookout positions on the bridge. Despite his doubling the number of lookouts, there were so many who wanted to go up that he’d shortened each watch to just an hour.

The captain and the XO slowly walked down the ladder into control, having just come down from the bridge, and handed their parkas to the messenger of the watch. Rudel looked much better, having gotten some rest after the depth-charging incident earlier. He still looked depressed over having to retreat from Severodvinsk’s position, but the XO assured Jerry that the captain was finally on the mend. Apparently, being forced to leave was the straw that broke the captain’s resolve and all the emotional baggage he had been holding on to since the collision was thrown overboard all at once. Jerry hoped the XO was right. He’d hate to see a leader like Rudel suffer over the collision. There had been enough casualties already.

Both of them came over to the chart table, Shimko actually looked like he was in a good mood. “Nice job on the rendezvous, Nav. I particularly liked that little Kabuki dance at the end.”

“Thanks, XO. I think.” Jerry smiled; he knew Shimko was jerking his chain over the delay in meeting up with Churchill. “It’s not my fault that no one told me that Churchill went to afterburner and roared right by us,” he complained defensively. Between their escape course and Churchill’s increase in speed, the two ships had failed to link up as expected, and Churchill had to backtrack to rendezvous with Seawolf. Jerry had taken a little good-natured ribbing once they had realized the destroyer had passed CPA and was opening. “Still, it’s nice to finally operate with a ship from our Navy.”

“I think we all like having a friendly face in the neighborhood,” said Rudel.

“Hear, hear!” Shimko exclaimed. “I’d love to see those helos try a repeat of their antics with an Aegis destroyer around.”

“Listen, Jerry. I want to thank you for all you’ve done to help the XO hold this boat together over the last couple days. I guess I let myself get a little too preoccupied with Severodvinsk,” Rudel admitted quietly.

Jerry, surprised by Rudel’s confession, took a moment to react, and then another when he realized he didn’t know how to respond. Shimko covered for him.

“Skipper, wise man says, ‘Strong feelings precede great movements.’ We all want to help the Russian.”

“Perhaps, Marcus. But I think I need to keep better track of my responsibilities. I just didn’t see the forest fire for the flaming trees. And now that the Russian fleet is finally on station, they are better equipped than we are to rescue Petrov and his crew.”

Rudel studied the nav plot for a moment, then said, “It’s too dark to do anything more tonight, but in the morning some experts on Churchill are going to come aboard to inspect our damage. Then when they leave, I’m going with them to a meeting on board the Russian flagship, Peter the Great”

Jerry absorbed the news. Visitors at sea, the captain leaving the ship.

“And it turns out you know one of them,” Shimko added. “There’s a Dr. Patterson aboard. She’s billed as our SAR coordinator. Apparently, the president’s national security adviser appointed her to the position and she’s calling the shots.” He studied Jerry for a moment, gauging his expression. “She says you and her are old shipmates, which means she must have been with you on Memphis.”

Jerry searched for a moment, then replied simply, “That’s right. ” and after another pause, “She’s a scientist, and she rode with us on our spec op. Since her trip on Memphis she’s become a big fan of submariners. She even married one.”

“She’s Lowell Hardy’s wife?” Rudel asked a little surprised.

“Yes, sir.”

“So ah, do you two keep in touch?” pushed Shimko.

“With her and Captain Hardy? Christmas cards, mostly. I visited them the last time I was in Washington.” Jerry was uncomfortable with Shimko’s interest and tried to move the conversation on. “XO, what time will they be coming aboard?”

“Oh seven hundred, they’ll be guests for breakfast. A woman on a submarine, eh? I’d love to hear some of her sea stories. Yep, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting an old shipmate of yours, Jerry.”

As Rudel and the XO both headed aft, Jerry forced his shoulders to unclench. Joanna Patterson. He would be glad to see her, even after, or maybe because of, everything that had happened aboard Memphis. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t talk to Shimko about Memphis’s last mission, but that wouldn’t stop the XO from trying.

10 October 2008

0630/6:30 AM

Mikhail Rudnitskiy

Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Admiral, sir, they’ll be ready to launch in half an hour.” Light flooded into his brain, and Vidchenko stirred. He shook his head, and then blinked several times.

A senior-lieutenant, one of Rudnitskiy’s engineers, had stepped back, and was offering him a mug of hot tea. The admiral waved it off, saying, “No, thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

The officer left, and Vidchenko rolled out of the bunk and stood carefully. He stretched briefly to work out some of the stiffness in his joints, then dressed and washed. Someone had left him a pair of submarine coveralls, more appropriate for AS-34 than the working uniform he’d worn over. They’d even put his name on them, along with the proper rank insignia.

He’d used the captain’s cabin, and its unfamiliar layout slowed him a little. Gradev had a large family. The photo over his desk showed a gray-haired woman surrounded by seven children, probably taken by Gradev himself. Other shots scattered around the cabin showed the captain with the children at sporting events. The largest photo was of Gradev in some sort of tropical setting, standing next to an incredibly large fish. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

A petty officer was waiting outside the cabin, and he snapped to attention as the door opened. “Would you like to have some breakfast, sir? There’s still time. They’ve just started. ”

“No. I’ll go to the sub.”