The Pilot announced another crisis. “Maneuvering reports all stop!”
A 7-MC report from the Engineering Officer of the Watch followed. “Conn, Maneuvering. The shaft has seized. Unable to answer bells.”
Tolbert acknowledged, then called out, “Secure the Fire Control Tracking Party.” He turned to Lieutenant Commander Sites. “Take charge in the Engine Room.”
As the XO headed aft, accompanied by the Engineer Officer, North Dakota’s bow began tilting upward. They were taking on water aft. Tolbert checked North Dakota’s depth on the Ship Control Station. They were at three hundred feet and sinking. The Co-Pilot had lined up the drain pump to the Engine Room bilges, but more water was flooding in than was being pumped off.
Tolbert ordered, “Co-Pilot, line up the trim pump to take a suction on the drain system.”
The Co-Pilot complied and both pumps began dewatering the Engine Room. Tolbert checked the ship’s depth again. They were at 350 feet, still sinking.
The lights flickered in Control, and Tolbert realized Maneuvering had split the vital and non-vital electrical buses. That meant they were about to lose the turbine generators.
The 7-MC report explained. “Control, Maneuvering. Loss of all condensate pumps due to flooding.”
The condensate pumps sent water from the turbine hotwells into the feed system, where it was sent into the steam generators to be turned into steam. No condensate pumps meant no steam, and no steam meant no propulsion or electricity. As North Dakota sank toward the bottom of the Barents Sea, Tolbert realized the situation was spiraling out of control.
Stepanov knew instantly they were in dire straits. The Compensation Officer was flooding all variable ballast tanks to increase Dolgoruky’s descent rate when Stepanov felt the first impact. A metallic grinding from above pierced the Central Command Post, and Stepanov concluded the top of Dolgoruky’s conning tower had impacted the underside of the American submarine, gouging the bottom of its hull as it passed by. Then a second jolt hit, accompanied by a horrible wrenching sound as Stepanov and the other watchstanders were knocked to the deck. Dolgoruky’s conning tower must have caught the edge of the American submarine’s propulsor. As Stepanov landed on the deck, water flooded into the Command Post from around the periscope barrels.
Water sprayed in every direction, bouncing off bulkheads and equipment consoles. Stepanov wiped the cold water from his eyes as he pulled himself to his feet, assessing the damage. The tops of both periscope barrels were deformed. The conning tower must have been severely damaged and the periscopes bent.
They could not stop the flooding. Their only hope was that the flooding was within the capacity of the drain pumps. As Stepanov tried to make that assessment, the submarine’s flooding alarm sounded, followed by reports from Compartments Two and Three. There was flooding from hatches to the escape pod in the conning tower.
As First Officer Pavlov headed aft to check on the escape pod, Stepanov knew this was a disastrous scenario. There was no way to stop the flooding, and an Emergency Blow under the ice would do them no good. He glanced at the depth gage. They were at 160 meters and sinking, and the bow began tilting downward due to the water flooding into the two forward compartments. The drain pumps were not keeping up. Confirming Stepanov’s assessment, water surged into the Command Post from the level below.
They had to abandon the Central Command Post, and in the process, abandon hope they would gain control of the situation. He shouted as loud as he could, hoping he was heard over the roar of the inrushing water.
“Evacuate to Compartment One!” The watchstanders turned toward him and he shouted again, pointing toward the watertight door.
As the frigid water swirled around their knees, the watchstanders abandoned their posts, trying to maintain their balance as Dolgoruky’s down angle increased. Stepanov was the last to leave the Command Post, and as he did, he realized Yury Dolgoruky was lost.
Four hundred feet and still sinking.
It was surprisingly quiet in Control; there was little more Tolbert and the Control Room watchstanders could do. They needed to stop the flooding, and North Dakota’s fate would be determined by personnel in the Engine Room. As Tolbert awaited the outcome, there was a modicum of good news. The submarine’s up angle had steadied. Now that the trim and drain pumps were dewatering the Engine Room bilges, they were keeping up with the flooding. However, North Dakota was still negatively buoyant and continued sinking.
“Passing five hundred feet,” the Co-Pilot announced.
Tolbert tried to imagine what it was like in the Engine Room. At a depth of five hundred feet, pressure was fifteen times greater than at sea level, and the water would shoot into the submarine with such force that personnel could not risk crossing paths with the high-pressure streams, which could cut through flesh and bone. The water would bounce off bulkheads and equipment, making it difficult to see, and the approach toward the flooding would be treacherous.
Lieutenant Commander George Sites leaned back against the hot surface of the port main engine, taking cover from the high-pressure water spraying in too many directions to count. Beside him was the Engineer, along with a phone talker wearing a sound-powered phone headset, while Sites held a WIFCOM radio in his hand. The three men were pinned down by the flooding, unable to get a clear look at the source or approach any closer. On the other side of the Engine Room, Sites spotted Chief Machinist Mate Tony Scalise, head of Machinery Division, and two other machinist mates.
Sites shouted into the WIFCOM so he’d be heard over the inrushing ocean. “Chief Scalise, XO. Have you determined the source of flooding?”
“XO, Scalise. The flooding is from shaft seals.”
A pit formed in Sites’s stomach. That was the one place they could not afford to have flooding. Other hull penetrations had primary and backup valves that could be shut, isolating breaches. The shaft had elaborate seals instead. If they failed, there was no valve to shut, but older submarines had an emergency “boot,” which could be inflated around the shaft to stop flooding. Unfortunately, NAVSEA engineers, in their infinite wisdom, had not designed an inflatable boot into Virginia class submarines.
They were screwed.
Movement on the other side of the Engine Room caught Sites’s attention. Chief Scalise and the two mechanics were moving aft, working their way between the high-pressure streams ricocheting throughout the Engine Room. The two Petty Officers each carried a green tool kit.
Sites shouted into his WIFCOM again. “Scalise, XO. What is your plan?”
Scalise replied, “Our shaft seals are designed so they can be tightened down, mating with the shaft. We just have to get there.”
Scalise and the other two mechanics disappeared as they worked their way aft. A few minutes later, the torrent of water streaming into the Engine Room abated, then slowed to a trickle before ceasing altogether.
“Control, Maneuvering. The flooding is stopped.”
Tolbert acknowledged the report, and he felt the submarine’s deck returning to an even keel as the trim and drain pumps dewatered the Engine Room bilges. Depth was six hundred feet. They were still sinking, but the rate was slowing.
North Dakota returned to an even keel at the same time the submarine stopped sinking, then the numbers on the depth gage reversed. North Dakota began rising toward the surface.