Ice Station Nautilus (33 page)

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, the president strode into the Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing, taking his seat at the head of the rectangular conference table. There were only two others present: Kevin Hardison and Don Richardson. Richardson had a manila folder in front of him, the contents provided by Pentagon staffers on duty, but he kept it closed. They had a better source of information. Captain Brackman was standing by via an Iridium phone.

Hardison called out to the overhead microphone, directing the Situation Room technician to put Brackman’s call through. A moment later, Brackman’s scratchy voice from the Iridium satellite link greeted the president.

Brackman filled in the missing details. In addition to Russian forces assaulting the American ice station and taking control of USS
North Dakota,
an Akula submarine had attacked USS
Michigan
. The good news was that
Michigan
had sunk the Akula, and her SEAL detachment had regained control of Ice Station Nautilus and USS
North Dakota,
killing or capturing two Spetsnaz platoons, losing six SEALs in the process.

The goal of the Russian assault was clear; they had been stripping
North Dakota
’s tactical and communication systems, sending them topside to Ice Station Nautilus. Luckily, the SEALs regained control of the station before the equipment was taken any farther, and it had already been transferred back aboard
North Dakota
. As far as Brackman could tell, nothing had made it permanently into Russian hands. Additionally, they had begun rescuing
Yury Dolgoruky
’s crew, transferring them into a topside decompression chamber.

When Brackman concluded his brief, the president decided to contact President Kalinin. His eyes went to one of the clocks on the far wall, with MOSCOW labeled beneath it. It was 8 a.m. in the Russian capital. The president stood. “I’ll call Kalinin from the Oval Office. Join me.”

*   *   *

Once in the Oval Office, the call was made to Moscow and the president switched on the speakerphone, waiting for President Kalinin to be patched through. As Kalinin offered introductory pleasantries, the president cut him off and relayed what he had learned.

When he finished, Kalinin replied, “I am not aware of any Russian forces attacking Americans, and I would be advised if we were even contemplating such action. However, I will look into it.”

“I’ll be happy to provide evidence,” the president said. “Where would you like the body bags shipped?”

“Do you have anything else to add?” Kalinin asked. The ice-cold tone of his voice was unmistakable.

“Not … at … this … time,” the president said, unable to conceal his anger.

After a brief silence, Kalinin replied, “I will call you when I find out what happened.”

There was a click on the other end, and the line went dead.

The president looked across his desk, first at Hardison, then Richardson.

“Let’s hope Kalinin is telling the truth,” Richardson said, “and this was a rogue operation.”

“Does it matter?” the president asked. “They almost pulled it off. If
Michigan
had been sunk instead of the Akula, the Russians would have stripped
North Dakota
and likely murdered the crew and everyone at the ice station.” The president’s anger was palpable.

The three men sat in silence for a moment before Hardison spoke. “Christine is at the ice station with the ONI team. Do you want them to board
Dolgoruky
once the crew has been rescued?”

The president answered with a cold hardness in his voice. “Absolutely.”

MOSCOW

By the time Yuri Kalinin hung up the phone, he was fuming. Russian military forces had been committed without his authorization. He picked up the phone and dialed his minister of defense. When Boris Chernov arrived at Kalinin’s office, he denied everything.

“I assure you I was not involved in any way. If the American president is telling the truth, I will get to the bottom of it.”

“It should be easy to verify,” Kalinin replied, “if indeed one of our attack submarines has been sunk and two platoons of Spetsnaz killed or captured.”

Chernov hesitated before replying, “Do you want me to go through Ivanov and Lipovsky?”

Kalinin evaluated his defense minister’s question. Only Fleet Admiral Ivanov and Admiral Lipovsky, commander of the Northern Fleet, could issue orders to Northern Fleet submarines
and
Spetsnaz units. If Chernov wasn’t responsible, then it was either Ivanov or Lipovsky.

Kalinin replied, “Use the proper chain of command for this query. However, I want Ivanov and Lipovsky in my office by 6 p.m. tonight.”

Chernov nodded. Both Admirals would have to board flights, with Ivanov traveling from St. Petersburg and Lipovsky from his headquarters in Severomorsk.

“We have one additional problem,” Chernov said. “The directive I delivered to Ivanov four days ago. Although I can determine which unit was moved into place, I do not know what instructions Ivanov has issued.”

Kalinin asked, “Are we still monitoring ISMERLO communications?”

“Yes,” Chernov replied. “The Americans are keeping all members apprised.”

“How much longer before
Dolgoruky
’s crew is completely evacuated?”

“A few hours.”

After thinking things through, Kalinin replied, “Let Ivanov issue the final order, then have him report here with Lipovsky.”

89

ICE STATION NAUTILUS

Standing at the edge of the ice hole, Christine waited impatiently as the PRM returned from its final trip to
Yury Dolgoruky,
emerging from the water and rising toward the top of the LARS A-frame. The day had dragged on as Russian crew members were transferred from the PRM to the decompression chambers. The first two loads had gone into the starboard chamber, and the port chamber had been repaired and brought on-line just in time for the third load of crew members. The port chamber was filled to the gills, almost double capacity, but Commander Steel didn’t have a choice. The number of men who could decompress in each chamber was limited by the number of oxygen masks, so Steel decided to use the port chamber as a holding pen, while personnel decompressed in the starboard chamber in groups of thirty-two.

The PRM would deposit the last of
Dolgoruky
’s crew into the port decompression chamber, then take Christine, Brackman, and the ONI team to
Dolgoruky
. Brackman stopped beside Christine as the LARS shifted from the outboard to the inboard position, docking the PRM with the pressurized flexible manway. Stu Berman and Greg Hartfield joined them as the twelve-member ONI team emerged from their berthing huts. Each person carried a small duffel bag and a flashlight, and Berman handed flashlights to Brackman and Christine. Commander Steel emerged from the PRM control van a moment later and stopped in front of the group.

“The PRM is all yours,” he said. “Two attendants are standing by, along with an A-Gang Chief to monitor atmospheres.”

He led the group to the deck transfer lock, which provided access to the flexible manway. A few minutes later, Christine was seated inside the PRM with Brackman and the ONI team, along with the Auxiliary Division Chief and two attendants.

The aft attendant, Bob Ennis, closed the PRM hatch, sealing them inside, and it wasn’t long before the forward attendant, Art Glover, announced, “Standby for launch.”

The submersible was lifted into the latches, then lurched forward as the A-frame moved into position over the ice hole. The A-frame halted at a thirty-degree outboard tilt, and Christine could feel
Falcon
swaying in the air.

Once
Falcon
steadied up, Glover announced, “Coming out of the latches,” and the PRM began its descent. There was a gentle impact as the vehicle hit the water, and not long thereafter, Glover started calling out the vehicle’s depth as it descended toward
Dolgoruky
.

90

ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

On the third floor of the Admiralty building, Fleet Admiral Ivanov waited at the back of the Operations Center, monitoring ISMERLO voice communications and the text messages scrolling down the nearest Michman’s display. The Americans were transferring
Dolgoruky
’s crew to the surface, and Ivanov learned that the submarine’s Commanding Officer, Captain First Rank Nicholai Stepanov, had been transferred off on the third load, the last to leave Compartment One. The Americans then shifted to the personnel trapped in the aft compartments.

Finally, the message Ivanov waited for appeared on the screen. He listened as the operator confirmed the report. “Understand all personnel have been evacuated from
Yury Dolgoruky
. Russia sends its appreciation.”

Ivanov pulled the draft message from his pocket and handed it to the Operations Watch Officer. “Transmit this message.”

The man’s eyes widened as he read it, then he looked up quickly at the Admiral.

Ivanov cut the man’s question off. “You have your order.”

The Watch Officer sat at the nearest vacant console, laying the paper beside the keyboard. He typed the radio message, then looked over his shoulder at Ivanov.

“Transmit,” Ivanov ordered.

The Watch Officer turned and pressed the transmit button on his console.

91

K-329
SEVERODVINSK

Captain Second Rank Josef Buffanov stood in the Central Command Post of his nuclear attack submarine, with his arms folded across his chest as his eyes shifted between watchstanders. His crew was tense, and for good reason, but their communications remained disciplined, his men speaking in subdued tones using the succinct orders and reports they had been trained to use. His First Officer made his round through the Command Post, stopping behind each watchstander as he checked on the performance of their duties, casting an occasional glance in his Commanding Officer’s direction.

Buffanov knew what his First Officer was thinking; he was wondering about the Commanding Officer Only messages
Severodvinsk
had received, messages Buffanov had not yet shared with his crew. Considering what had just transpired, Buffanov figured it would not be long before another message arrived.

A few hours ago, the shock waves of two torpedo detonations had rumbled past his submarine.
Vepr
and the American guided missile submarine had engaged. At first, there was no indication as to which submarine had survived. Perhaps neither, with both submarines sunk in a torpedo exchange. Then Hydroacoustic picked up a bottom impact, followed by the American SSGN returning to the ice hole at ahead flank speed.
Vepr
had been sunk.

Severodvinsk
had been a bystander in the encounter, remaining ice-picked against the polar ice, using the VLF antenna in the conning tower to copy the broadcast as directed. As Buffanov wondered when he would receive the next message, the Communication Party Leader’s voice delivered the awaited report.

“Command Post, Communications. In receipt of a Commanding Officer Only message.”

Buffanov entered the Communication Post, stopping by the printers as he had done twice before. “Ready,” he said, and a sheet of paper slid from the nearest printer.

Buffanov read the message. It was short and the directive clear. He returned to the Command Post, and this time did not withhold the content of the message. He stopped at the navigation table, laying the message face up on its surface.

“First Officer, Watch Officer. Join me.”

Captain Third Rank Novikoff, his First Officer, and Captain Lieutenant Ronin approached the navigation table.

“Read,” was all Buffanov said as he slid the message toward them.

The two men read the message, and Buffanov could tell both men read it again, surprised at the directive. They looked up, awaiting amplification.

“As you can see,” Buffanov began, “we have been ordered to destroy
Yury Dolgoruky
. The Americans will not be allowed to board her and scavenge her tactical and strategic systems, weapons, and countermeasures.”

“However,” Buffanov continued, “we have an issue to address.” He paused, hoping his two officers understood the problem.

When neither man responded, Buffanov asked, “Where is the American guided missile submarine?”

Ronin answered, “We lost her when she slowed from ahead flank, but our solution put her on a bearing of three-five-zero, near the ice hole.”

“How far away from
Dolgoruky
?”

“A few hundred meters.”

“Do you understand the problem?” Buffanov asked.

It took a moment, but then the light came on in his First Officer’s eyes, followed by his Watch Officer. Concern worked its way across their faces.

Buffanov answered his own question. “The American submarine has already been attacked today by a Russian submarine. If we fire at
Dolgoruky
with the American submarine nearby, the American Captain will conclude we are shooting at him and counterfire.”

The commanding officer of
Severodvinsk
paused, then asked a follow-on question. “Which means?”

This time, his Watch Officer knew the answer. “We must surprise and destroy the American submarine first, to ensure it cannot counterfire.”

Buffanov turned to his First Officer. “Attacking the American submarine is not in our directive.” He pointed to the message on the navigation table. “But it is the only way to ensure our survival. Do you concur?”

As Buffanov waited for their concurrence, he hoped they didn’t see through his thinly veiled plan.
Vepr
had been sunk, and she would be avenged, regardless of the American submarine’s threat.

Captain Third Rank Novikoff contemplated the question for a moment before answering, “I concur,” as did Ronin.

Buffanov’s eyes swept across the Command Post again. Like
Vepr,
Severodvinsk
would engage the American guided missile submarine. However,
Severodvinsk
was no
Vepr
. The new Yasen class submarine was vastly superior to
Vepr
and the American submarine, both built in the mid-’80s of the last century.
Severodvinsk
was the more capable submarine by far, and, barring bad luck, the outcome of their duel with the Americans was not in doubt.