“Reactor is at normal operating temperature and pressure,” the second captain said. “Commencing steam plant startup.”
“Second Captain, make your depth two-one meters, fifteen-degree up angle, no stern clearance.” If there were a ship above them, it would just have to take 13,800 metric tons of Yasen-M-class submarine ramming it. With all that had gone wrong this watch, Trusov thought, there couldn’t be anything that could make it worse. She rose from the console and grabbed the periscope pole behind her seat.
“Raising number one scope,” she announced, as if there were anyone awake to hear her. She grabbed the hydraulic control ring and rotated it counterclockwise, and the periscope began to rise out of the well.
“Steam plant is online,” the second captain said. “Fifty meters.”
“Second Captain, engine stop, shift propulsion to the main motor.”
“Engine stop, shifting propulsion to the main motor.”
Trusov grabbed the periscope grips as the optics module emerged from the periscope well and snapped them down, putting her eye on the cold rubber of the eyepiece. The view out the scope was only an inky black this deep. She trained the view upwards and began to rotate the periscope in circles, making a complete circle in thirty seconds.
“Propulsion shifted to the main motor,” the second captain said.
“Engine ahead one third, turns for six knots,” Trusov ordered. The view above was getting lighter steadily, but there was still nothing visible.
“Thirty-five meters.”
Trusov could see light from above, shimmering downward. She kept up her circles, looking for the hull of a surface ship above, prepared to order the second captain to dive the ship deep in the emergency of encountering a shape or shadow directly above them.
“Thirty meters.”
Trusov could see the undersides of the waves now, looking silvery, the sunlight from above stronger now as it penetrated the upper layer of ocean.
“Twenty-seven meters.”
The waves farther out were visible now. There were no shapes or shadows. They were apparently alone in the sea.
“Twenty-three meters.”
The periscope view climbed into the waves until a crest was above the view, but the view broke out of a trough, then immediately went back into a crest. The scope foamed up, nothing to see but a thousand bubbles.
“Scope’s awash.”
“Twenty-two meters.”
“Scope’s clear,” Trusov called, doing her collision avoidance circles faster now. “No close contacts,” she called, training the periscope to what she’d seen only briefly as she made a circle. There, at bearing 044, two enormous mushroom clouds were rising from the sea, the tops of them perhaps five kilometers high. “Holy mother of God,” Trusov breathed to herself. If they’d been any closer to the detonation point, they’d have all died instantly. “Goddamned Americans,” she sneered. “Villains. You are all villains and you are all damned to the fires of Hell.” She wished she could get her hands on whoever had launched those cruise missiles. She would enjoy strangling the man and seeing the light in his eyes cloud over as death took him.
“Twenty-one meters.”
“Second Captain, raise the induction mast.”
Hydraulics thumped as the mast came out of the conning tower and reached skyward.
“Induction mast is up.”
“Drain the induction mast.”
“Draining the induction mast,” the AI replied. “Induction mast indicates dry.”
“Very well. Line up to emergency ventilate the first and second compartments with the low-pressure blower.”
“Lining up to emergency ventilate. Ready to emergency ventilate compartments one and two.”
“Start the blower.”
The sound of the low-pressure blower was loud throughout the ship, and would be loud outside it as well. If the Americans were close, they’d hear, Trusov thought. She’d have to recover the battlecontrol and sonar systems next.
“Atmosphere reads nominal in compartments one and two.”
“Shift emergency ventilation to compartments four and five.”
“Emergency ventilating compartments four and five.”
Captain Orlov groaned. Trusov took her face off the periscope just long enough to look at him, then returned to her surface search.
“Atmosphere reads nominal in compartments four and five.”
“Second Captain, line up to emergency ventilate auxiliary machinery room two.”
Out the periscope, Trusov could see sooty smoke emerge from the sea aft of her view. She bit her lip. The auxiliary machinery room had to have been totaled. Hopefully the oxygen banks hadn’t been affected, but there would no longer be any new oxygen generated aboard. Nor would the carbon dioxide be eliminated. The boat was just one big confined space, Trusov thought. Not easy to fight a war in a boat with no atmospheric control. It would be like being in a World War II U-Boat.
“Second Captain, line up to emergency ventilate compartment three.”
It took longer for the atmosphere in compartment three to clear up, but eventually the air in the boat was nominal.
“Second Captain, stop the low-pressure blower and lower the induction mast.”
The loud blower sound stopped. Trusov took a breath. The smoke was gone from the room, but it still didn’t smell right. It probably would only get worse, she thought. They needed to return to base, assuming they could limp there with nothing further breaking, though, the thought of staying in the fight and launching weapons against the Americans would be more to her liking.
She felt a tap at her shoulder. She looked over and stared into Captain Orlov’s eyes. “Nice recovery, Madam Weapons Officer. I heard you from somewhere far away. You saved the ship. You saved me. You have my lifelong gratitude.”
Trusov blushed. “Just doing my duty, Captain. Do you want to look?”
Orlov took the scope and whistled at the size of the dual mushroom clouds. “Damned Americans nuked us,” he said. “How the hell did they detect us?”
“They must have fired blind, sir,” Trusov said. “It’s the only thing that explains why we’re still alive.”
“Take the scope. I’ll write a message to the Admiralty. I take it we have no atmo-control.”
“None whatsoever, Captain. We’ll have to ventilate at periscope depth, probably twice a day or risk collapsing from carbon dioxide poisoning.”
“Odds are, we’ll get orders to get back to base.”
The other watchstanders in the room were awake, but none had the energy of Orlov, all of them seated and holding their heads. Navigator Misha Dobryvnik came into the room from the aft door.
“What the hell happened?” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Navigator,” Orlov said, “plot a course back to Petropavlovsk. Odds are we’ll be ordered home.”
29
Lieutenant Anthony Pacino had been standing watch in the central command post when the detonation rocked the boat. The shock rolled cups off consoles, the sound of glass breaking sounding in the room, the more distant sound of dishes breaking in the pantry coming from below.
“What the hell was that?” Dankleff half-shouted, skidding to a halt in front of the position one starboard console.
“That was either conventional and close or it was nuclear and distant,” Pacino said. “I have an idea. Come with me.” He led Dankleff to the sonar room, where Chief Albanese was training Chief Kim on standing sonar watch. Kim was doubled over, her hands clasped to her ears, tears running down her cheeks.