Ice Station Nautilus (21 page)

Oliver, who was a sniper and the SEAL team’s unofficial photographer, placed his waterproof camera and a wide-angle dive light into the SDV. Harrison lifted a rebreather from a rack and helped Oliver into it, then Oliver returned the favor. The two men climbed into the front seat of the SDV and Harrison manipulated the controls. The displays energized and Harrison entered
North Dakota
’s location into the navigation console. The two men put their face masks on, then Harrison rendered a thumbs-up to the diver on the other side of the Plexiglas shield.

Water surged into the hangar from vents beneath them, and the chamber was soon flooded. The door behind them opened with a faint rumbling sound, and the two divers on each side of the SDV glided out with a kick of their fins. The divers pulled rails out from the hangar onto the submarine’s Missile Deck, and the SDV moved backward out of the Dry Deck Shelter. Harrison manipulated the controls, and the SDV lifted off its rails and moved forward, passing along the side of
Michigan
’s sail, then over the submarine’s bow into the dark water ahead.

At this depth beneath the polar ice cap, it was pitch dark. Harrison turned the SDV toward
North Dakota
’s position, while Oliver activated the dive light, illuminating the water ahead. A few minutes later, a large object materialized, slowly taking the shape of a submarine. They were approaching the bow, and Harrison angled the SDV for a pass down the port side. The beam of Oliver’s dive light scanned back and forth across the side of the submarine, and there was no detectable damage. When they reached the stern, however, it was clear
North Dakota
had collided with something.

The bottom of the propulsor shroud was mangled, with the leading edge bent backward.

Harrison slowed the SDV, allowing for a more thorough inspection, and Oliver began taking pictures. The welds attaching the bottom of the propulsor to
North Dakota
’s hull had broken and the entire propulsor tilted upward a few degrees.

Oliver gave Harrison a thumbs-up and Harrison maneuvered the SDV for a look at the other side of the submarine. There was no damage, and Harrison made a pass beneath
North Dakota
, starting from the bow. There was a ten-foot-wide gash running along the keel. The Outboard fairing was mangled and jammed into the adjacent section.

Between the bent propulsor and damaged Outboard fairing, there was no quick fix for
North Dakota
’s propulsion problem; repairs in a drydock would be required. Harrison turned the SDV around and headed toward
Michigan
.

*   *   *

Harrison lined up for an approach from astern, gliding over the submarine’s Missile Deck. The SDV coasted to a hover behind the Dry Deck Shelter, slowly sinking until it came to rest with a gentle bump on the rails. Two divers on each side latched the SDV to the rails, and Harrison and Oliver exited the mini-sub. The SDV was retracted inside, and once the divers joined Harrison and Oliver in the shelter, the large chamber door shut with a faint thud. Red lights flicked on and an air pocket appeared at the top of the chamber, the water level gradually lowering.

When the water level fell below their necks, the two SEALs removed their face masks and rebreathers and Harrison led the way into the transfer trunk and down into the missile tube, exiting into Missile Compartment Second Level. Wilson and McNeil were waiting for them in the Battle Management Center behind the Control Room, where Oliver extracted the memory card from his camera and inserted it into one of the SEAL laptops.

Wilson and McNeil reviewed the images, agreeing with Harrison’s assessment;
North Dakota
’s propulsion was down hard. Wilson entered Control and picked up the underwater telephone microphone, relaying what he had learned to
North Dakota
and Ice Station Nautilus.

52

K-157
VEPR

“Underwater communications, bearing zero-zero-five, designated Hydroacoustic two-four.”

Captain Second Rank Matvey Baczewski, seated in the Captain’s chair in the Central Command Post, listened intently to Hydroacoustic’s report. As the announcement faded from the speakers, his Watch Officer, Captain Lieutenant Dolinski, responded as he was trained.

“Steersman. Left full rudder, steady course two-seven-five.”

They had detected an underwater transmission almost dead ahead. The range was unknown, but underwater communications did not travel far. It was prudent to turn away and give fire control an opportunity to determine how close they were.

“Hydroacoustic, Command Post. Send bearings manually to fire control,” Dolinski ordered. As
Vepr
turned to port, Dolinski followed up. “What language is the underwater communication in?”

“English.”

Baczewski stood and joined his First Officer, Captain Third Rank Petr Lukov, at the navigation table. They were four kilometers from the American ice camp.

“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Detect a second transmission of underwater communications, bearing zero-one-eight, designated Hydroacoustic two-five.”

Dolinski acknowledged the report, then Baczewski called out, “Hydroacoustic, Captain. Put the communications on speaker.”

The Hydroacoustic Party Leader complied, and the warbly sound of underwater communications filled the Central Command Post air. Although Baczewski didn’t understand English, his First Officer did, and Petr Lukov listened carefully to the transmission, then informed the submarine’s captain of its content.

There was a second American submarine under the ice—a guided missile submarine carrying Navy SEALs. They had inspected
North Dakota,
reporting that the submarine’s propulsion was severely damaged and would require drydock repairs.

So far, everything was correlating with the intelligence Baczewski had been provided. He checked his submarine’s speed and depth.
Vepr
had slowed to five knots as they approached the American ice camp, and was at 150 meters, well below the ice keels. He had secured their under-ice sonar, and the only emissions they were making were an occasional ping from their secure bottomsounder.

No one would detect
Vepr
’s approach.

53

K-329
SEVERODVINSK

“Central Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold a new submerged contact on the towed array, designated Hydroacoustic four-seven, bearing three-three-zero. Classified Shchuka-B nuclear attack submarine.”

The Hydroacoustic Party Leader followed up a moment later, “Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Contact tonals match K-157
Vepr
.”

Captain Buffanov stood at the back of the Central Command Post, appreciating the advanced tactical systems of his Yasen class submarine. The sonar on older submarines would not have detected the quiet third flight Shchuka-B submarine to the northwest.

While traveling under the ice, Buffanov had received a third Commanding Officer Only message, informing him of
Vepr
’s presence and assigning the waterspace around the American ice camp to
Vepr
.
Severodvinsk
would remain at the boundary until the prescribed time. He checked his submarine’s speed and position; they had slowed to five knots and were less than a kilometer from
Vepr
’s water.

According to the last satellite image received, there was a surface ridge a few hundred meters ahead. Where there was a surface ridge, there would also be an ice keel, although without his under-ice sonar running, he would not know how deep it went. That wasn’t critical, however. It was almost assuredly deep enough to hide behind.

Buffanov addressed his Watch Officer. “Prepare to ice pick.”

Captain Lieutenant Ronin initiated the process. “Steersman, all stop.” As
Severodvinsk
coasted to a halt, he gave the next order. “Topsounder, determine distance to ice canopy.”

The Michman energized the topsounder, sending a single ping from the conning tower hydrophone toward the ice. He reported, “Distance to ice is one hundred twenty meters.”

Ronin followed up. “Compensation Officer, engage Hovering. Set depth to thirty meters.”

Severodvinsk
rose toward the ice, settling out at a depth of thirty meters.

He turned to his commanding officer. “Captain, we are ready to ice pick.”

“Very well,” Buffanov replied. “Set Hovering to twenty meters. Limit vertical velocity to five meters per minute.”

Ronin relayed the order and
Severodvinsk
rose slowly upward, impacting the ice with a dull thud two minutes later. He checked the status of the equipment in the conning tower; as expected, there was no damage.

Severodvinsk
’s floating wire drooped and they lost sync with the radio broadcast. “Communication Post, Captain. Shift to the conning tower VLF antenna.”

Radio acknowledged, and moment later reported, “Command Post, Communications. In sync with the VLF broadcast.”

Buffanov settled into his chair in the Command Post.
Severodvinsk
was resting against the polar ice cap, just outside
Vepr
’s waterspace, in continuous communications.

The only thing left to do now was wait.

54

K-157
VEPR

“Your orders, sir?”

Vepr
’s Watch Officer, Captain Lieutenant Dolinski, stood behind the fire control consoles, waiting for the expected order from Captain Baczewski. The tactical situation could not have been more ideal. Both American submarines were motionless, hovering beneath the ice cap, and would be easy prey for a salvo of torpedoes.

While
Vepr
loitered outside the Marginal Ice Zone, Baczewski had drilled his officers on the capabilities of their potential adversaries, but after receiving the second Commanding Officer Only message, he had concentrated on only one class of submarine. Their target was the SSGN, the less capable of the two submarines.

During the conversion of the first four Ohio class submarines into SSGNs, the United States had modernized their tactical systems. From a weaponry standpoint, the guided missile submarines were as capable as other American submarines, carrying MK 48 Mod 7 torpedoes and the new BYG-1 combat control system. Their sonar systems had been upgraded as well, but only the hardware and software inside the ship. The legacy components outside the submarine, particularly the bow array hydrophones, had not been upgraded. With her towed array either stowed or useless due to the vertical droop, the guided missile submarine’s ability to detect
Vepr
was impaired.

Dolinski waited for the order from his Captain. However, Baczewski spoke to the Electric Navigation Party Leader instead. “Display the latest satellite map.”

An image of the polar ice cap, with latitude and longitude lines overlaid, appeared on the screen beside the navigation table. Baczewski studied the map, identifying the feature he desired. He would not need to find thin ice. There was an open lead of water three kilometers to the northwest.

He gave the order to Dolinski, but not the one his Watch Officer expected. “Come to course three-one-zero. Prepare to surface.”

55

ICE STATION NAUTILUS

Inside the crowded command hut, Christine stood between Verbeck and Brackman, listening to the underwater communications between Vice Admiral Dahlenburg and the American submarines. As the communications drew to a close, Dahlenburg directed
Michigan
to remain on station and monitor the WQC. If the attempt to rescue
Dolgoruky
’s crew from topside was unsuccessful,
Michigan
would be called into service.

Verbeck turned to Christine. “Why don’t we check on the status of rescue preparations?”

Christine glanced at Brackman and Berman, to see if they wanted to join her.

“I’ll come along,” Brackman said, as did Berman.

Verbeck led Christine and the two men from the command hut toward an assortment of metal objects, explaining they were components of the Submarine Rescue Diving and Recompression System. Verbeck headed toward two men standing near a twenty-five-foot-long cylindrical submersible that resembled a giant yellow medicine capsule. An umbilical cord and two metal cables led from the top of the submersible to an immense metal A-frame structure over the vehicle.

The two men turned toward them as they approached. Name tags identified the man on the right as Commander Ned Steel from the Undersea Rescue Command, and the other as Peter Tarbottom from Phoenix International. Verbeck led a round of introductions, and Christine noticed Tarbottom’s Australian accent. Verbeck then asked Steel to explain the SRDRS and provide an update on rescue preparations.

“No problem,” Steel replied. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before the first milestone.” He turned to Tarbottom. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Tarbottom acknowledged, then headed toward men climbing over the A-frame, and Christine listened as Steel explained that the SRDRS, or Submarine Rescue Diving and Recompression System, was actually two systems. The first was the Assessment and Underwater Work System, which was a pilot in an Atmospheric Diving Suit, along with its launch and recovery system. The pilot would be the first in the water, descending to the disabled submarine, where he would inspect the hatch and clear any debris.

The other half of SRDRS was the Submarine Rescue System, which had three main components. The yellow submersible was the Pressurized Rescue Module, or PRM. The second component was the Launch and Recovery System, or LARS, a large hydraulically operated A-frame, which would lift the PRM from the deck cradle and outboard it over the ocean, then lower and retrieve it. The third main component consisted of two decompression chambers for the crew after they were rescued.

The Pressurized Rescue Module was named
Falcon,
in honor of ASR-2 USS
Falcon,
which participated in the first successful rescue of men trapped aboard an American submarine: USS
Squalus
in 1939.
Falcon
was a remotely operated vehicle guided by a pilot from topside, and could transport eighteen persons—two attendants and sixteen sailors—rescuing them from a depth of up to two thousand feet. The PRM could mate with a submarine resting on the ocean floor at up to a forty-five-degree angle or list due to a skirt on the bottom of
Falcon,
which could be adjusted to match the angle of the submarine while the PRM remained level.