“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
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
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.