Brandon grabbed his tool bag, several cables, and a flashlight, then crouched down and crawled through the dark well toward cell eighty-nine. Upon reaching it, he retrieved a pair of insulated pliers from his tool bag and loosened the nuts attaching the cables on both sides of the cell. He had to be careful, jumpering out the cell in the correct sequence so as not to open circuit the battery in the process, which would interrupt power to every piece of equipment, spelling disaster for the reactor start-up.
It took only a few minutes to jumper out the cell, then Brandon moved to the next one.
“Maneuvering, Forward Compartment Lower Level. All seven cells have been jumpered and Petty Officer Brandon has exited the Battery Well.”
Tolbert’s eyes went to the battery voltage and current meters. Three of the other six cells had reversed while Brandon was in the Battery Well, with the remaining three on the verge. They had gained valuable time for the Engine Room start-up.
The reactor plant heat-up was continuing, with the rate pegged at the maximum permissible. At the current heat-up rate, it would take another two hours before they could commence Engine Room start-up.
It was only an hour later when the Electrical Operator reported, “Engineering Officer of the Watch, multiple battery cell reversals.”
Tolbert checked the Electric Plant Control Panel again; he had never seen battery voltage so low. They were running out of time. He glanced at reactor temperature on the Propulsion Plant Control Plant. They were still a ways from normal operating temperature, but at three hundred degrees, it was hot enough to generate steam. It was against procedure, but he had no choice.
“Engineer, open the port Main Steam Stop and start up the port side of the Engine Room.”
They would bring steam into the Engine Room, but start up only one side to minimize the drain on the battery as additional Engine Room systems were brought on-line.
Lieutenant Commander Swenson gave the order to the Engineering Officer of the Watch, and orders went out to the Engine Room watchstanders, who raced to bring the systems on-line. Tolbert concentrated on battery voltage while he waited. The battery was almost depleted, and voltage began dropping like a rock when the report came over the Maneuvering Room speakers.
“Maneuvering, Engine Room Upper Level. The port turbine generator is ready for electrical loading.”
Thompson didn’t wait for the order. The Electrical Operator shut the port turbine generator breaker and unloaded the port converter, which had been pulling energy from the battery to supply the Vital bus. A few more clicks and the turbine generator was supplying both sides of the electric plant.
Tolbert turned to Swenson. “Bring up the starboard side of the Engine Room, then commence an equalizer battery charge.”
An hour later, Tolbert looked around the brightly lit and crowded Control Room. The Engine Room had been fully restored aside from the main engines, and the electric plant was in a Normal Full Power Line-Up with both turbine generators operating. Their repaired condensate pump was chugging along, giving no indication it was worse for the wear, but Tolbert had no idea how long it would hold out. They had commenced an equalizer battery charge — a heavy-duty version done after a deep discharge — and the atmosphere control equipment was running, making oxygen and purifying the air.
The rest of the submarine systems were slowly returning to life, but the Control Room was still dead. The watchstanders had wiped down the equipment as the sheen of ice melted, preventing moisture from seeping inside. However, moisture had frozen on the inside of the consoles as well, and the tactical systems could not be brought up until they were confident nothing would short out.
The electrical cabinets and consoles in the Control Room had been opened, and the sonar techs were using heat guns to dry out the internals of the sonar consoles and computer servers. Tolbert had focused on Sonar first, expediting its recovery. Although North Dakota’s crew was no longer in extremis, the last thing they had heard on sonar was Yury Dolgoruky plowing into the ocean bottom. Due to sitting on the silted ocean floor, Tolbert doubted their engine room was operational, and if not, Dolgoruky’s crew had no power and was running out of time.
Tolbert figured the U.S. Navy was looking for North Dakota by now, but they had an almost insurmountable challenge, locating a submarine under the ice. Tolbert planned to help.
The Sonar Division Chief made another round, inspecting the Sonar equipment, then directed the cabinet and console panels shut. He approached Commander Tolbert.
“All Sonar gear is dried out,” Chief Bush said. “Request permission to restore Sonar.”
“Start up Sonar.”
Chief Bush ordered a cold start-up, and had a sonar tech standing by with a CO2 fire extinguisher in case a short-circuit started an electrical fire. The servers and consoles energized and the sonar screens flickered to life. There was no indication of anything abnormal.
It took a few minutes for the system to complete its start-up and diagnostics, then Bush called out, “Conn, Sonar. Cold start-up of Sonar is complete. Hold no contacts.”
Tolbert ordered his Officer of the Deck, “Transmit MFA OMNI, maximum range scale.”
A moment later, North Dakota sent a powerful sonar ping into the water.
36
Without the ship’s routine to remind him, Nicholai Stepanov lost all sense of time and day. He continued his rounds through the submarine, doing his best not to stumble. He was numb from the cold, and his movements were uncoordinated. He probably should have told the Medical Officer, but decided it didn’t matter. They had inserted their last cartridge into the air regeneration unit, and it wouldn’t be long before the air could no longer support human life. He figured the toxic air would claim him before the low temperature.
There was only one emergency lantern on in middle level, and the single source of light drew him toward the air regeneration unit. A dozen men were gathered around, sharing a package of the submarine’s emergency rations. The men opened a spot, and Stepanov joined them. As he settled onto one of the makeshift chairs they had created from toolboxes and other equipment, the man beside him handed him an open package of food.
Stepanov took a bite of the galeta, a hardtack cracker made from flour and water, a common ration in navies around the world. The Russian version was softer than most, not that he could tell. At minus two degrees Celsius, the crackers were rock hard, and he had to let the wafer warm up in his mouth before it became soft enough to chew. He was about to take another bite when he heard the distinctive sound penetrate the submarine’s hull.
All eyes turned toward him. He hadn’t imagined it.
He stood abruptly, the open package of crackers falling to the deck. Someone was out there, looking for Dolgoruky or the American submarine. It might even be the American submarine itself, returning to the location of the collision.
Stepanov shouted, “Grab tools and bang on the hull and piping!”
The men scrambled in the darkness, additional lanterns flicking on as the men searched for suitable items. First one, then another man, banged on the hull and piping, the vigorous pounding knocking off chunks of ice that had frozen on the metal surfaces.
37
“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new broadband contact on the spherical array, designated Sierra one, bearing one-seven-zero.”