Ice Station Nautilus (18 page)

He had already confirmed the ice flow was ten-feet-thick multiyear ice, capable of supporting an ice camp and even more important, the three-hundred-ton Submarine Rescue Diving and Recompression System. To differentiate between the two camps during the transition, Verbeck had decided to give the new ice camp a different name. He was partial to the name Nautilus, America’s first nuclear-powered submarine, and seeing how the new installation would be much larger than a typical camp, with over one hundred additional submarine rescue personnel, Verbeck decided to name the new location Ice Station Nautilus.

Verbeck shielded his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun as he examined the activity on the ice floe. Their bulldozer had been airlifted to the new camp and was busy plowing a landing strip, and a dozen helicopters hovered nearby, all but one carrying a plywood hut strapped in slings, with the last helicopter carrying a payload of electronic equipment they would need right away.

“Put the command hut there,” Verbeck said, pointing to the nearest ice hole they had drilled, a few hundred feet to the west. The command hut needed access through the ice to lower the RATS hydrophone, plus the ice above
North Dakota
had to be left free for the submarine rescue equipment.

Leone relayed the order over his radio, and the command hut descended from the sky. A layer of light snow billowed toward them, driven by the helicopter’s rotor wash. After lining up the command hut floor with the ice hole, the hut landed and men scrambled atop the plywood building and disconnected one end of each sling. After extracting the slings from under the hut, the helicopter tilted and headed south for another round of ferrying equipment from the old camp, as did the other helicopters after they deposited their berthing huts.

Verbeck inspected the outside of the command hut, then stepped inside. He nodded with satisfaction. His assessment that the huts would survive the short trip in good weather had not been wrong. The smaller berthing huts would be no problem, although the galley and generator tents would have to be dissembled and reassembled, but that was not a difficult task. The rest of the equipment and supplies would be brought north once the landing strip for the C-130s was ready.

For now, Verbeck focused on establishing communications with
North Dakota
. If time was running out, he needed to know what that timeline was. He stepped outside the command hut to check on the electronic equipment. It was carried by the last helicopter, and Leone directed it to land nearby. The RATS gear was the first equipment to arrive at the hut, and the hydrophone was lowered through the ice hole and the equipment connected to a portable generator outside.

As Scott Walworth energized the RATS, the rhythmic beat of helicopter rotors greeted Verbeck’s ears. Their helicopters could not have returned with another load so soon. Verbeck opened the command hut door and peered outside. The sky was filled with a hoard of helicopters headed toward them from the southwest, carrying loads suspended from slings. The rotor tempo was deeper than the helicopters the United States used, and as they grew larger in the sky, Verbeck realized they were Russian MI-26 helicopters, the most powerful cargo helicopters in existence.

The swarm of helicopters skirted Ice Station Nautilus, then continued northeast a half-mile before they slowed to a hover and deposited their loads onto an adjacent ice floe. The Russians had apparently decided to help, or perhaps someone in the administration had requested their assistance. Still, it was unusual for another country to appear on scene without prior coordination. Once he sorted out the details with
North Dakota,
he would include the information about the new Russian ice camp in his next report to COMSUBFOR.

“I’m ready,” Walworth yelled from inside the command hut.

Verbeck stepped inside and gave the go-ahead, and Walworth spoke into the microphone. A hundred feet below the ice, his voice was transmitted by the RATS hydrophone.

“USS
North Dakota,
this is Ice Station Nautilus. Do you read me?”

46

USS
NORTH DAKOTA

Sonar Technician Second Class Reggie Thurlow propped his elbows on his console as he pressed the headphones against his ears.
North Dakota
had resumed its underway watch rotation, and normalcy had returned to the submarine. The lights were on and all tactical systems had been restored. Temperature had returned to normal, and he had shed the SEIE suit and green foul-weather jacket; he was back to wearing just the standard blue coveralls. There was no indication that less than a day ago
North Dakota
had almost become a dark, icy tomb.

North Dakota
had just transmitted another sonar pulse, and Thurlow listened intently for a sign someone had heard them. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was listening for, though. But at least it was quiet under the ice cap, devoid of shipping noise and the chatter of biologics—the especially noisy shrimp were absent.

Although it was quiet under the ice cap, there were all sorts of weird noises, and more than one sonar tech had reported a contact with diesel lines. Further analysis determined the sound was low-frequency tonals produced by the edges of the ice floes as they ground against each other. Thurlow was nearing the end of his watch, and his mind was playing tricks on him. A few minutes ago, he thought he heard the faint beat of helicopter rotors, but then it disappeared. The next sound Thurlow heard, however, left no doubt—it wasn’t his imagination. It was a man’s voice, clear as day.

USS
North Dakota,
this is Ice Station Nautilus. Do you read me?

“Officer of the Deck!” Thurlow shouted, bypassing the Sonar Supervisor in his excitement. “I’ve got something!”

Lieutenant Molitor, seated at the command workstation, turned toward Thurlow as the Sonarman put the audio on speaker.

USS
North Dakota,
this is Ice Station Nautilus. Do you read me?

“Energize the WQC,” Molitor ordered as he grabbed the 1-MC microphone at his workstation. “Captain to Control.”

Tolbert arrived as another transmission emanated from the speakers.

USS
North Dakota,
this is Ice Station Nautilus. Do you read me?

He stopped by the forward port console, and a quick glance told him the WQC was lined up to transmit. He pulled the microphone from the holder and replied, trying to conceal his excitement.

“Ice Station Nautilus, this is
North Dakota
. Read you loud and clear, over.”

“
North Dakota,
we are establishing an ice camp above you. What is your condition?”

Tolbert spent the next few minutes explaining
North Dakota
’s status. As their conversation wound down, Tolbert informed the ice station that the Russian submarine had sunk after the collision, and
North Dakota
’s crew had determined through Morse code communications that
Dolgoruky
’s crew had less than thirty-six hours of viable air remaining.

A rescue would indeed be required, but not for
North Dakota
.

47

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Christine O’Connor was seated in the Oval Office across from the president, along with Chief of Staff Kevin Hardison and Captain Brackman. The president was on the phone with SecDef Don Richardson, and Christine watched several emotions play across the president’s face. It was clear from the one-sided conversation that they had located USS
North Dakota
and the crew was okay. However, Christine was unable to discern the reason for the president’s surprised, then concerned, expression toward the end of the call.

“Thank you, Don,” the president said. “Keep me informed.”

After he hung up, he addressed his staff. “We’ve located
North Dakota
and the crew is safe. They have power and life support, and enough food to last several months. The issue is propulsion. They collided with a Russian submarine and damaged their main and backup propulsion systems and are stuck under the ice. The Navy is working on a plan to tow the submarine to a shipyard for repairs.”

The president paused, and Christine waited for him to explain the reason for his expressions during the end of the call.

“The Russian submarine was also damaged and sank nearby,” the president continued. “Two of the compartments are flooded and they’ve lost power, and they’re using emergency supplies to provide oxygen and remove carbon dioxide from the air. The best estimate is that they have a day and a half left before the air becomes toxic.

“We’ve shifted the focus of our rescue effort to the Russian crew,” the president added. “However, the Russians are also setting up an ice camp a half-mile from ours, preparing for a rescue attempt of their own. The peculiar part is that they started setting up camp before we learned the Russian submarine sank nearby. It’s apparent they’ve known all along their submarine sank and haven’t told us.”

“I thought the Russians learned their lesson after the
Kursk
debacle,” Hardison said. “Why would they keep the sinking of their submarine a secret and risk not only the crew, but another public affairs nightmare?”

“The submarine is
Yury Dolgoruky
?” Christine asked.

“It is,” the president said. “
North Dakota
trailed her under the ice cap.”

“The Russians act oddly whenever their Borei class submarine or Bulava missile is involved. They’re hiding something from us,” Christine said. “The last thing they want is for us to rescue
Dolgoruky
’s crew, then take a walkabout aboard their submarine, loaded with Bulava missiles.”

“I agree,” the president replied. “Your task is to figure out what they’re hiding. In the meantime, I’ll inform Kalinin that we’ve found their submarine and will do our best to rescue its crew.”

Hardison asked, “How are you going to broach the issue of whether they’ve known their submarine sank and kept it from us?”

The president replied, “I’ll state the facts and see what he says, then take it from there.”

He checked his watch. It was 5 p.m. in Moscow, and Kalinin would likely still be in the Kremlin. The president picked up the phone and directed his secretary to put him through. A moment later, the call was connected, and the president put it on speaker.

The two men exchanged pleasantries, and then the president said, “Yuri, I’m sorry to call you unexpectedly, but I have important information to share.”

“It is not a problem,” Kalinin replied with the same light accent Christine remembered from their meeting in Moscow. “What is the issue?”

“We’ve located our submarine under the ice cap. It collided with one of your submarines, which sank nearby.”

“I am already aware,” Kalinin replied. “We have been monitoring ISMERLO and learned of the collision an hour ago. We are preparing to rescue our crew.”

Christine was surprised at Kalinin’s matter-of-fact response. No accusations. An American submarine had been following
Dolgoruky
and disaster had occurred, but the expected finger pointing had not commenced. However, there was no way Russia learned only an hour ago that their submarine had sunk. The president decided to press the issue.

“I noticed you established an ice camp near ours before we learned your submarine had sunk. Why is that?”

Kalinin replied without hesitation, “We were preparing to help. Our submarine rescue equipment is designed to handle the harsh Arctic temperatures, and we were uncertain of your equipment. There must have been a breakdown in communication, and our offer of assistance was not relayed.”

The president looked at Christine, who overrode her impulse to mouth the words, “He’s lying.”

“Thank you,” the president replied. “I appreciate your assistance. We will do the same. If we complete preparations first, we will rescue
Dolgoruky
’s crew.”

This time, there was hesitation on Kalinin’s end. After a few seconds, he replied, “Your assistance is not required. I will contact you if circumstances change. Thank you for the call.”

Without another word, Kalinin hung up.

The president turned off the speakerphone. “That was interesting,” he said.

And consistent, Christine thought. Any time
Dolgoruky
was involved in the conversation, the Russian response was irrational. There was only one way to figure out what was going on. She would need help, though. Greg Hartfield and Stu Berman, the ONI experts on the Borei class submarine and Bulava missile, would be a start. Plus Brackman. As a former commanding officer of a ballistic missile submarine, his insight might prove valuable.

“Mr. President,” Christine said. “I’d like to visit our ice camp, and bring Captain Brackman and two ONI experts with me.”

“What would you do once you got there?” the president asked.

“A walkabout.” Christine smiled, then added, “If we complete preparations first and rescue the Russian crew, we could then return and … take a look around.”

As the president considered Christine’s request, Hardison said, “That’s not a bad idea. If the opportunity presents itself, I recommend we have a team of experts board
Dolgoruky
.”

After a long moment, the president replied, “Coordinate with ONI to assemble a team, and if we rescue
Dolgoruky
’s crew, go back aboard and check things out. I want to find out what they’re hiding.”

48

ICE CAMP BARNEO

Darkness had descended over the wintry landscape, temperatures dipping into the negatives as Julius Raila, Russia’s Chief of Search and Rescue Services, took a sip of hot tea. He was seated in his berthing hut, reviewing his notes scribbled on sheets of paper scattered across the table’s surface. There were no manuals for stripping the rescue equipment from
Mikhail Rudnitsky
and reassembling it atop the polar ice cap. As he scratched his cheek through his thick gray beard, he realized there was an American term for what he was doing. He was winging it.