“Co-Pilot,” Tolbert ordered. “Hover at three hundred feet.”
As Dolgoruky headed toward the ocean floor, Stepanov pulled himself into Compartment One. There was no one behind him and he ordered the watertight door sealed. As the door swung shut, he spotted three men in Compartment Two — Michman Glinka and the submarine’s senior enlisted man, Chief Ship Starshina Egor Lukin, dragging their unconscious First Officer. As the rising water began surging through the opening into Compartment One, Stepanov assessed whether they could shut the door if he waited. He ordered the door kept open.
“Hurry!” Stepanov shouted.
When Glinka and Lukin reached the doorway, Stepanov helped drag his First Officer, who was bleeding heavily from a head laceration, into the compartment. Glinka and Lukin followed and Stepanov ordered the door shut. As water surged through the doorway, their feet slipped on the wet, sloping deck. Stepanov lent a shoulder and the door inched shut. Once closed, Stepanov spun the handwheel, engaging the lugs.
Dolgoruky shuddered and Stepanov and the others flew backward, bouncing off equipment, while water burst from the ventilation vents. Lukin clambered to his feet and shut the ventilation isolation valve, completely sealing Compartment One. A moment later, the lights in the compartment extinguished, enveloping Stepanov and his men in darkness.
11
As North Dakota hovered at three hundred feet, Tolbert assessed the condition of his crew and ship. The flooding had been stopped and the Engine Room bilges were being dewatered. A dozen watchstanders in Control had been knocked to the deck by the second impact, but they had picked themselves up and no one appeared injured. The situation could have been far worse.
Lieutenant Commander Sites entered Control. He was soaked through and shivering.
“Damn, that water is cold,” he said as he stopped beside Tolbert.
“Well done, XO,” Tolbert replied.
“The credit goes to Chief Scalise and M-Division. They tightened the shaft seals.”
Tolbert nodded. “I’ll thank them when I get a chance. What’s the status of the Engine Room?”
“Main propulsion is out. The propulsor must have been damaged in the collision, bending the shaft, which caused the flooding.”
“Let’s hope the Outboard still works,” Tolbert said. “It won’t move us fast, but two knots is better than zero knots.”
“We’ve got bigger problems,” the XO replied. “The Engine Room is down hard. Both condensate pumps were submerged in seawater and their controllers are soaked as well. Engine Room Forward has been dewatered and the Engineer and E-Division are checking things out, but even if we can restore the condensate system and resume steaming, it’s not going to happen any time soon. Probably a couple of days, and the battery won’t last that long.”
Tolbert assessed the grim scenario. North Dakota was running on the battery now. Unfortunately, nuclear-powered submarine batteries lasted hours instead of days. Once power ran out, they wouldn’t be able to operate their atmosphere control equipment. Even worse, if power ran out before the condensate pump repairs were complete, they wouldn’t be able to start up the Engine Room. It was a paradox — they needed power to restore power.
Under normal circumstances, they would proceed to periscope depth and start the emergency diesel generator. But the diesel generator was a combustion engine. It needed air. The problem was, there was a layer of ice between them and the surface.
Tolbert replied, “Let’s see if the ice is thin enough to break through.” He turned to the topsounder watch. “Report ice thickness.”
Petty Officer Bob Hornsey repeated back the order, then set the topsounder to detect the return from the bottom of the ice and the surface reflection from the top. By measuring the time difference between the two returns, the topsounder calculated the thickness of the ice. Additionally, the topsounder hydrophones could determine if the ice was flat or if there was an ice keel that could damage the submarine.
Hornsey activated the topsounder, then reported, “Ice thickness is ten feet, flat surface.”
Tolbert didn’t respond. Ten feet was too thick to break through. “Measure it again.”
Hornsey acknowledged and sent another set of high-frequency pings toward the surface. His report was the same.
Tolbert stood with his hands on the navigation plot, evaluating the situation. If the repairs to the Engine Room took several days, they were toast.
“We’re going to try to break through anyway,” he announced. “Pilot,” Tolbert ordered, “hover at one-eight-zero feet.”
The Pilot complied, and North Dakota drifted upward.
“Co-Pilot, establish a three-degree up-angle.” To crack the ice canopy, Tolbert would hit it with the reinforced forward edge of the sail. “Line up Emergency Blow to Main Ballast Tanks One-Alpha and Five-Bravo.”
The Co-Pilot pumped water from Forward Trim to After Trim, and a few minutes later, North Dakota was hovering at 180 feet with a three-degree up-angle. The Co-Pilot reported, “Emergency Blow is lined up to One-Alpha and Five-Bravo.”
Tolbert announced, “All stations, Conn. Vertically surfacing the ship. Co-Pilot, establish upward velocity of four-zero feet per minute.”
The Co-Pilot pumped water off, and North Dakota rose toward the ice. “Four-zero feet per minute upward velocity,” he announced.
The Pilot called out, “One hundred feet,” then started reporting depth in ten-foot increments. After passing seven-zero feet, North Dakota shuddered when its sail hit the ice.
“Co-Pilot, Emergency Blow,” Tolbert ordered. Hopefully the sail had cracked the ice and the buoyancy from the Emergency Blow would force the sail through.
As high-pressure air flowed into the ballast tanks, Tolbert waited for the first indication of success or failure. The bounce. When submarines hit the ice canopy, the sheet of ice flexed upward. If the attempt to break through the ice was unsuccessful, the ice canopy flexed back, pushing the submarine down about five feet.
North Dakota bounced downward.
Tolbert continued the Emergency Blow anyway. If the ice was especially thick, sometimes the submarine would bounce and still break through. North Dakota surged upward and hit the ice again, but then depth stabilized. The sail wasn’t pushing through.
Air started spilling from the main ballast tanks, so Tolbert secured the blow. He waited a few minutes with the faint hope the sail would push through, but depth remained stable.
Lieutenant Commander Roger Swenson, the submarine’s Engineer Officer, entered Control with a grim look. He joined Sites and Tolbert.
“The condensate controllers are fried,” he said, “and both pumps are severely damaged. The backup pump kicked on when the primary went down, leaving us with two bad pumps.”
“How long before one is repaired?” Tolbert asked.
“Not sure yet. We’re checking supply for spares. We’ll cannibalize anything else we need from the controller and pump in the worst shape. My best guess is it will take a few days. I’ve got more bad news,” the Eng added. “The Outboard won’t lower. It looks like the Russian submarine hit us along the keel and jammed the fairing.”
They were stuck under the polar ice cap. Even if they restored power, they could not restore propulsion. Additionally, Tolbert couldn’t inform anyone about their predicament. They couldn’t transmit radio messages through the ice, and their high-frequency emergency SEPIRB buoys had the same problem. No one would become aware of North Dakota’s plight until they missed their reporting deadline in two days, and then what? How would they find them under the polar ice cap?