“Sir, that would take us slightly below test depth. We’re at two hundred feet now.”
“It should be fine, Mr. Vevera,” Seagraves said. “And if it’s not, McDermott Aerospace and Shipbuilding will get a very harsh letter. Take us down to the bottom as quietly as possible.”
“Bottom us out, aye, sir. Pilot, insert a negative twenty feet per second depth rate.”
“Faster than that, Officer of the Deck,” Seagraves said as Quinnivan entered the room.
“Pilot,” Vevera said, “negative depth rate four zero.”
“Trouble?” the XO asked Seagraves.
“Master One is turning to look around. He might see us,” Seagraves said.
“Oh, fuck,” Quinnivan muttered to himself, looking at the periscope display.
“Negative depth rate, forty feet per second,” the pilot announced. “Depth four eight zero feet, passing five hundred.”
The hull above groaned suddenly, then emitted several sharp pops like shotgun blasts as the increasing pressure of the deep caused the hull to compress. As if in sympathy, the ice above them joined the cacophony.
“Hopefully the ice noise masks our hull pops. OOD, ease your negative rate as you get closer to the bottom,” Seagraves said. “No sense slamming us down on the rocks. Could be bad for business. And make noise.”
“Aye, sir, understood. Pilot, mark depth!”
“Nine hundred feet, OOD.”
“Ease your depth rate to negative twenty,” Vevera ordered.
“Depth, eleven hundred.”
“Ease depth rate to negative five,” Vevera said.
There was complete silence in the control room as the watchstanders and senior officers waited for the hull to hit the bottom.
“Steady on three five zero, Watch Officer,” the boatswain called.
“What do we have?” Alexeyev asked, staring at the under-ice sonar display.
“Sir, the pressure ridge wall continues on, fairly straight,” Palinkova said. “I’m not seeing an opening in that wall.”
“Watch Officer,” Alexeyev said to Shvets, “spin us to the reciprocal bearing.”
“Boatswain, turn the ship to the right to bearing one seven zero,” Shvets ordered.
A slight vibration came through the deck as the thrusters engaged. The pressure ridge wall scrolled slowly by on the under-ice sonar as the ship turned. As it had on the other heading, the pressure ridge wall continued fairly straight but ended at a corner, where a second wall intersected with it.
“Captain, going south isn’t an option,” Sobol said to Alexeyev. “It’s just another wall.”
The shifting ice overhead picked that moment to shriek and groan, the noise continuing for a good thirty seconds.
“Fucking ice,” Alexeyev said, looking over and seeing that First Officer Ania Lebedev had joined them behind the under-ice console.
“I recommend we spin back to three five zero and follow the wall that way, Captain,” Lebedev said.
“I concur,” Alexeyev said. “Watch Officer, take us to three five zero and put on revolutions to take us dead slow, parallel to the wall.”
“Boatswain, twist the ship to the left and steady on heading three five zero,” Shvets ordered.
The central command post was quiet but for the low roar of the ventilation ducts and shrill whine of the electronics feeding the consoles.
“Watch Officer, turning past heading north, now heading three five zero.”
“All ahead one third,” Shvets commanded. “Make revolutions for two knots. Maintain present depth.”
The officers waited tensely, watching the wall of ice, looking for an opening that would allow them to continue northeastward.
“Sir, the wall continues,” Palinkova reported.
For endless minutes, the ship moved along the ice wall, the pressure ridge showing no openings.
After half an hour, Palinkova looked back to Alexeyev. “Captain, I have something to the left. I have thin ice.”
The deck jumped as New Jersey’s hull hit the rocky bottom of the Arctic Ocean. The deck heeled over five degrees in a port list and tilted upward by ten degrees.
“Bottomed out, Officer of the Deck,” McGuire reported from the ship control console. “Depth, thirteen hundred and five feet.”
“What is Master One doing?” Seagraves asked Sonarman Mercer.
“Looks he was spinning around to check out the ice, Captain.”
“Good thing we got out of the way of his under-ice sonar,” Vevera said.
“Ask yourself, Mr. Vevera, would we even know if he counterdetected us on his under-ice unit?”
“He’d probably have hit us with his active sonar, Captain,” Quinnivan said. “Just to distinguish us from a chunk of ice or a near-field sonar blur.”
Seagraves nodded. “Still, you should put yourself into the shoes of the Omega captain. Always be thinking about what he’s thinking.”
“Master One has started back up,” Mercer said. “He’s making twenty-five RPM on both screws. I have bearing rate left and diminishing SNR. Bearing three five one.”
“We still have him on the scope?” Seagraves asked Vevera.
“He’s fading, Captain.”
“Get us off the bottom and put on turns to follow him,” Seagraves ordered. “And close the range. We can’t lose him amid all this ice noise.”
“Pilot, insert a positive depth rate, forty feet per second and mark depth twelve hundred.”
The list and incline came off the deck as the ship lifted off.
“Twelve hundred feet, sir,” McGuire called.
“All ahead one third, turns for six knots, steer course three five one, and make your depth two hundred feet,” Vevera ordered. To himself he muttered, “Follow that fuckin’ BUFF.”
“Watch Officer, stop here and spin us left to three zero zero,” Alexeyev ordered.
Alexeyev looked at Lebedev. “Pressure ridge must have shifted and opened up the ice canopy.”
“Sonar Officer, what’s the ice thickness at the thin ice?” Alexeyev asked.
“Less than one meter, Captain.”
Lebedev murmured in Alexeyev’s ear. “Sir, if that ice wall continues, we could hit it with a Gigantskiy torpedo. We don’t know how thick it is. There might be a passage on the other side of it.”
“We don’t have nuclear release authority on the Gigantskiy units,” Alexeyev said. God alone knew why they’d been sent with the nuclear units, if not to break through an ice wall like the one they faced. But that was in keeping with the rest of the stupidity of this mission, he thought.
“I know, but that’s the reason they loaded us up with them,” Lebedev said. “I suppose we could try a Futlyar torpedo or two. See if that does anything.”
“I have another idea,” Alexeyev said. “Watch Officer, drive us to the thin ice and prepare to vertical surface. Sonar Officer, light up the upward-looking under-ice sonar and chart the size of the thin ice. Let’s make sure it’s big enough to allow us to surface.” Alexeyev stepped back to the command console and motioned Lebedev to join him there. In a quiet voice, he said to her, “Let’s call home and see if we can get nuclear weapon release authority. If they say no, we can throw Futlyar units at the wall. But that pressure ridge? I’m guessing we could toss the whole torpedo room at it and it would just laugh at us. One megaton blast on direct contact? It will open up like a door.”
“We could still backtrack, Captain,” Lebedev said. “Turn around and find another way through the ice.”