In the dark, bitterly cold compartment, Stepanov’s head was pounding and his breathing was shallow and rapid, indications that the CO2 concentration was approaching a toxic level. Stepanov’s mind was becoming sluggish and he had difficulty concentrating. He even imagined he heard the faint rumble of underwater explosions.
In Stepanov’s hand was the last functioning emergency lantern, capable of emitting only a weak yellow light. He had not turned it on for several hours, conserving the remaining energy for one more trip through the compartment, checking on his men one final time. They had abandoned the air regeneration unit, and were huddled together in small groups. Stepanov’s First Officer, who had regained consciousness, was still weak, confined to his makeshift bed on one of the torpedo stows.
Stepanov’s mind was playing tricks on him. He heard a faint clank against the hull. Maybe a metallic fish had bounced into the submarine. He imagined what it looked like; shiny metal scales, a tail that swiveled back and forth like a rudder, and robotic eyes looking in two separate directions. He heard another metallic sound. The fish was persistent, bouncing into the hull again. It should go around. Surely it was smart enough to figure that out.
There was another metal clank, this one louder, and Stepanov’s mind cleared. He pulled himself to his feet and turned his lantern on, aiming its weak yellow beam toward the ladder leading to the access hatch. Other men stirred as Stepanov made his way through the compartment, stopping at the base of the ladder.
There were no more clanks, but he thought he heard a faint humming sound. As he wondered what it was, he was joined by his Chief Ship Starshina, Egor Lukin. Several minutes passed, then loud metal clanks from above echoed through the compartment.
Tap codes.
Someone was on the other side of the hatch, requesting they open it.
There was no cheer from his weakened men, but Stepanov knew they were relieved. He handed the lantern to Lukin, then climbed the ladder, stopping when he was within reach of the hatch handwheel. He reached up carefully and twisted it with both hands, but it wouldn’t budge, and he almost lost his footing on the ice-coated ladder. Stepanov locked his feet inside the ladder rails, gripped the handwheel tightly, then twisted it with all his strength until finally the handwheel broke free, chunks of ice falling from the hatch lugs.
Stepanov twisted the handwheel, fully retracting the lugs. He was exhausted from the effort, but he climbed one rung higher and shoved upward on the hatch. It lifted slowly, and he could see a man’s hands on the edge, pulling the hatch fully open onto the latch. He shielded his eyes from the bright light above as he inhaled fresh air.
He greeted his rescuers, but the response was in English.
Stepanov froze. The fresh air helped clear his mind as he worked through the implications. Another man greeted him in Russian, explaining an American submersible had attached to Dolgoruky, and a Disabled Submarine Entry Team would assist in evacuating Stepanov’s crew. He also explained that they had food and water for his crew, as well as atmosphere support stores to help absorb CO2 and replenish the oxygen in the air. He then requested permission to board the Russian ballistic missile submarine.
Stepanov concurred and climbed down the ladder. Three men followed, each carrying a bag of equipment and an emergency lantern. It didn’t take long for Stepanov’s crew to realize the men weren’t Russian. The American flag was sewn onto the right shoulder of their black parkas.
One American extracted atmosphere monitoring equipment from his bag and began taking air readings, while the other two men approached Stepanov and Lukin. Captain Kovaleski joined them as the American on the right explained he was a translator, the man to his left was a medical corpsman who could assist if there were injuries, and that the submersible would take Stepanov’s men to the surface in batches of sixteen.
Stepanov informed him there were forty-five men in Compartment One and another fifty-seven men aft, and the air situation aft was slightly better. The translator replied the plan was to evacuate everyone from the forward compartment, then rescue the crew members trapped aft.
Kovaleski coordinated with the American corpsman, selecting sixteen sailors for the first journey to the surface. Dolgoruky’s hatch was sealed again, this time with three Americans aboard Dolgoruky and sixteen fewer Russians. As Stepanov waited for the rescue vehicle to complete its round trip, he retreated to the torpedo stow where his First Officer lay, motioning for his Chief Ship Starshina to join him.
Stepanov and Lukin gathered beside Pavlov, and Stepanov briefed his First Officer. Pavlov was as concerned as Stepanov, not wanting Dolgoruky to fall into American hands.
Lukin suggested, “Perhaps we should contact the Engineering Officer and direct him to leave armed volunteers behind, hidden in the aft compartments to prevent access.”
After considering Lukin’s words, Stepanov replied, “If the Americans are intent on boarding Dolgoruky, that would serve only as a temporary delay. We will evacuate the entire crew, and hope the Americans are not inquisitive enough to search the Missile Compartment. Let us pray instead that they let our submarine lie in its grave on the ocean bottom.”
88
It was almost midnight when the president slipped into bed alongside the slumbering first lady, and it seemed he had closed his eyes for only a few seconds when the phone beside his bed rang. It was his chief of staff, Kevin Hardison. The Russians had assaulted the American ice station and taken control of USS North Dakota. The president sat bolt upright. Hardison added that SecDef Richardson was on his way over with more details, and they would be ready in the Situation Room in fifteen minutes. The first lady stirred, turning toward her husband. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep when she asked him what was going on.
Fifteen minutes later, the president strode into the Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing, taking his seat at the head of the rectangular conference table. There were only two others present: Kevin Hardison and Don Richardson. Richardson had a manila folder in front of him, the contents provided by Pentagon staffers on duty, but he kept it closed. They had a better source of information. Captain Brackman was standing by via an Iridium phone.
Hardison called out to the overhead microphone, directing the Situation Room technician to put Brackman’s call through. A moment later, Brackman’s scratchy voice from the Iridium satellite link greeted the president.
Brackman filled in the missing details. In addition to Russian forces assaulting the American ice station and taking control of USS North Dakota, an Akula submarine had attacked USS Michigan. The good news was that Michigan had sunk the Akula, and her SEAL detachment had regained control of Ice Station Nautilus and USS North Dakota, killing or capturing two Spetsnaz platoons, losing six SEALs in the process.
The goal of the Russian assault was clear; they had been stripping North Dakota’s tactical and communication systems, sending them topside to Ice Station Nautilus. Luckily, the SEALs regained control of the station before the equipment was taken any farther, and it had already been transferred back aboard North Dakota. As far as Brackman could tell, nothing had made it permanently into Russian hands. Additionally, they had begun rescuing Yury Dolgoruky’s crew, transferring them into a topside decompression chamber.