“We’re thousands of tons bigger than the Borei-class. And our effective draft with Losharik docked to Belgorod? Almost thirty-five meters. Talk about a camel through the eye of the needle. One pressure ridge could stop us cold. No pun intended.”
“We may have to undock your Losharik to get through some narrow or shallow passages at the pressure ridges.”
“Great, undocking and re-docking under ice? Losharik has no under-ice capability, Georgy. If we get separated, God help us, we’ll die down there.”
“Well, let’s leave that problem for later, Sergei. Besides, the two Gigantskiy torpedoes can be used to break up a closed passage.”
“Are you insane, Georgy? Detonating a nuclear torpedo under ice? That would be suicide.”
“It’s only a one megaton warhead.”
“Oh, dear God, only?”
“I see your point, Sergei.”
“Leave it to the Navy to rehabilitate an old useless Cold War relic for us to take with us,” Kovalov said. “The Gigantskiy torpedoes haven’t been used since Kaliningrad sank. That torpedo design is older than my wife.”
“Well, you did rob the cradle, Sergei. Can I borrow another cigarette?”
Kovalov smiled for the first time all day. “Borrow?”
“You know what I mean.”
A woman and a man in uniform walked in the front door and took off their greatcoats. The woman was Alexeyev’s first officer, Captain Second Rank Ania Lebedev. The other man was Captain Second Rank Ivan Vlasenko, the Losharik second-in-command. Alexeyev had only met Vlasenko a few times. He seemed competent enough. Medium height, hair too long out of regulation, slightly overweight, he claimed, due to his wife being a master chef. But it was his sunny disposition that irritated Alexeyev. But then, most optimists did.
Alexeyev glanced at his own first officer, standing and shaking her hand. Lebedev was slender and tall for a woman, with a head of mouse-brown chin-length hair, with no makeup, making her seem washed-out and tired. Lebedev and Alexeyev had sailed halfway around the world for the South Atlantic mission, and Alexeyev and she had literally survived Hell, escaping the burning and exploding wreck of Kazan in the crew escape chamber. Before the mission, Alexeyev had had a dim view of Lebedev, having concluded that she was a cold disciplinarian and careerist, who would step on Alexeyev’s very face to climb to the rank of commanding officer of a submarine. But the mission had changed her for the better. After facing death and the loss of their comrades from their engineering spaces, Lebedev seemed to gain some kind of deep empathy as if it had fallen upon her from heaven. She was human now, Alexeyev thought. And just in time for this ridiculous Status-6 errand. He cautioned himself to show his first officer — and Kovalov’s — none of the cynicism and skepticism that had dominated their conversation so far this evening. Pessimism was best confined to the captain’s stateroom.
The two first officers sat at the table, Vlasenko next to Kovalov and Lebedev next to Alexeyev, and after an exchange of pleasantries, Lebedev signaled to one of the guards acting as a waiter to bring more scotch, and she and Vlasenko poured, and once again they did the traditional toast to the fallen. Alexeyev glanced quickly at Lebedev, and she looked back, her brown eyes seeming deep, as if she and Alexeyev were both remembering Matveev.
“So, Captain,” Vlasenko began, addressing Alexeyev. “Any prediction on when we’ll leave on this mission?”
Alexeyev shook his head. “No idea. It could be three days. It could be three weeks. Ania,” he said, addressing Lebedev, “how is the equipment loadout going?”
“Sir, food and arctic supplies are aboard and stowed as of this afternoon. All we’re missing are the special weapons.”
“Have you and the weapons officer reviewed the operation of the Gigantskiy torpedoes?”
“We’ve had to modify the weapon control software extensively to be able to talk to them and program them for antisubmarine operation. I also reviewed with Sobol the loading procedure. We’ve brought aboard and installed the roller cradles.”
“Roller cradles?” Kovalov asked.
“Sevmash inserted and welded in a chassis of supports and rollers,” Lebedev explained, “so the one-meter diameter Gigantskiys could be stable in the two-meter diameter Status-6 tubes. So tubes one, two, and three will be loaded with Status-6 weapons and tubes four and five will house the Gigantskiys. If and when they’re launched, the Gigantskiys will depart their tubes in swim-out mode, and the rollers will keep them from scraping on the bottom of the tubes.”
“What about the command detonate mode?” Alexeyev asked. “In case we need to punch through a pressure ridge or create a polynya where there is thick ice?”
Lebedev frowned. “We’re still working on that, Captain. Sevmash engineers keep saying they have plans A, B and C converging on the problem all at once, but I think they’re having trouble.”
“I’ll talk to Admiral Zhigunov about it tomorrow,” Alexeyev said. “Unless he makes a surprise visit tonight.”
“You think he’s coming?” Kovalov asked.
Alexeyev shrugged. “I don’t know. From what I hear, he’s getting an earful daily from the chain of command. With the president himself running the mission, the defense ministry and high command of the Navy are all breathing down Zhigunov’s neck.”
“He may want to escape for a late drink with his crews, though,” Vlasenko said, smiling. Alexeyev glared balefully at Vlasenko, who seemed too perpetually cheerful. Perhaps Kovalov’s young first officer hadn’t yet grasped the gravity of their present circumstances.
“What about Losharik, Sergei?” Alexeyev asked. “Are you rigged for sea?”
“Sevmash just replaced the evaporator and the electrical still. Nuclear reactors and steam plants, even tiny ones like mine, go through water like, well, water. We can’t test them pier side — the water isn’t clean enough. We’ll have to wait until we reach open water to fire them up.”
“We can feed you deionized water from Belgorod,” Lebedev offered.
Kovalov nodded. “When you think about it, pure water is mission-limiting. When we’re deploying the Status-6 units, we’ll be in littoral waters. Shallow, silty, sandy, muddy waters. We’ll have to shut down the evaporator and still when we undock to place the Status-6s. We’d better place them damn expeditiously, or we’ll run out of water.”
“You have steam leaks or primary leaks that are eating your water?” Lebedev asked Kovalov.
Kovalov shook his head. “Sevmash groomed primary and secondary systems. Losharik is tight. As tight as they can make it, anyway.”
“While we’re on hold, Sergei,” Alexeyev said, “perhaps you can take Losharik out and test your systems in open water.”
Kovalov shook his head. “We’d be out of position if the mission gets ordered to start suddenly. The Status-6 loadout and Gigantskiy load will only take a day. I’d be two days out if I want to do a shakedown.”
Alexeyev nodded. “Nothing to do now but wait,” he said. “I’m hungry.” He checked his wristwatch. “Where the hell are the zhenshchiny dlya utekh?”
“We don’t call them ‘comfort women’ anymore, Captain,” Lebedev said. “They’re ispytatel’nyye zheny. Test wives.”
“Fine. Test wives. Anyway, while we wait, I’ll go to the kitchen and see what they can cook up. I’m sure the fleet guards can’t provide the full menu of the Lamb’s Valhalla. Which is a shame.”