“We’ve got four or five days of power at the current battery discharge rate. We could eke out another few days by putting the reactor on emergency cooling, but the recovery for reactor startup would be complicated. At this point, I recommend we leave the steam generators in hot standby, minimizing the time required for reactor and electrical turbine startup.”
Wilson concurred. “Leave the steam generators in hot standby for now.”
Lieutenant Commander Haas, Michigan’s Supply Officer, went next. “We have plenty of food; about two months. Water won’t be a concern for a while either. All potable water tanks are full and uncompromised. We’ve done some calculations and we’ve got enough water for several weeks.
“That addresses the Operations Compartment. The Engine Room is another story. Personnel trapped in the Engine Room have access to potable water and can tap into the Pure Water Tank if required. But we have no way to feed them.”
Wilson turned to Commander Aleo. “How long can they last without food?”
“Your crew is young and healthy, so they should last at least three weeks.”
The Navigator and Weapons Officer went next. All navigation and tactical systems were in working order prior to being shut down. The XO went last, providing a damage assessment.
“The torpedo exploded on the starboard side of the Missile Compartment, between tubes Thirteen and Fifteen, at the five o’clock position looking forward. I couldn’t get a good idea of the hole size, but it’d have to be fairly large based on the rate of flooding. Even if we gained access to the compartment, it’d be impossible to plug a large hole against the sea pressure we’re dealing with. Pumping the water out is pointless, because more water will flood in. I’m afraid the Missile Compartment is a complete loss.”
Wilson looked to Commander McNeil and Doc Aleo, to see if they had anything to add. Both men shook their head.
“Let’s put things in perspective,” Wilson said. “Don’t expect a rescue. The Russians sank us for a reason, and I doubt they’re going to let the U.S. Navy waltz into the Black Sea and rescue us, nor lend a hand themselves.” He looked to Kalinin for input.
Kalinin replied, “That would be a reasonable conclusion, Captain.”
Wilson continued, “That means we’re on our own. I’m not thrilled about escaping to the surface. We’ve got the survival equipment to do so, but I don’t want to put the fate of my crew in Russian hands. That means … we bring Michigan off the bottom. Any suggestions?”
There was silence around the table until the Engineer spoke. “We need to get the water out of the Missile Compartment. We can’t pump it out, but we can push it out.”
“Explain,” Wilson said.
“The Missile Compartment isn’t completely flooded,” Harwi replied. “There’s a bubble of air at the top of the compartment. Essentially, the flooding stopped once the pressure in the air pocket equalized with the surrounding sea. If we can add air and expand the pocket, we can push the water back out the hole.”
“Salvage Air?” Wilson asked.
“Yes, sir. Based on our depth, we’d have to pressurize the Missile Compartment to about one hundred eighty psi. Our high-pressure air banks are still fully charged. A-Gang is looking up air flask volumes and verifying bank pressures, but my best guess at this point is that we can blow the water out until we reach the hole in the hull. The Missile Compartment would still be partially flooded, but we can compensate by pumping water out of the variable ballast tanks and doing a partial emergency ballast tank blow. We’re still running the calculations, but we might have enough air to make it work.”
“Sounds like a plan, Eng. Let me know when we’re ready to give it a shot.”
69
KRASNODAR KRAI, RUSSIA
Christine O’Connor felt the cool, wet earth beneath her body. Her eyes fluttered open and a sideways world came into view, sunlight streaming through trees pointing left, rising from the ground on her right. She realized she was lying on her stomach, the right side of her face pressed against wet sand. There was a sound of running water, and all around her, grass sprouted from the ground. She felt the sun’s warmth on her back, contrasting with the cool earth beneath. As she tried to figure out where she was and how she got there, the memories slowly assembled. Harrison’s eyes came into focus, staring down at her as she dangled from the cliff, her hand in his. Then he let go.
She relived the terrifying fall, ending with a plunge into cold water. She’d fought her way to the surface as the turbulent river swept her downstream. But her memories of the trip down the raging river were vague; clipped images of her struggling to keep her head above water and her legs aimed downstream so she’d hit the boulders with her feet instead of her head. She hadn’t always been successful.
Her body ached all over, with sharp pain in both shins and left thigh, while the left side of her head throbbed. She felt her scalp, wincing as her fingers found a tender knot. She moved each limb cautiously, checking for broken bones. Everything seemed intact. She pushed herself to a sitting position, then inspected herself further. There were dark bruises along her shins, and her knees and elbows were cut and rubbed raw, as was her right shoulder. Her clothes hadn’t fared much better.
She had no shoes and her skirt was torn down the left side up to the waistband, with a thin red cut along her thigh to match. Her shirt was in tatters, barely held together by an inch-wide stitch of material across her right shoulder. The left side had torn completely, exposing her breast and back. She gathered the loose material in front and behind, tying them together in a knot above her shoulder.
Looking up, she examined her surroundings. She was on a riverbank, with both sides sloping up into the thick forest. She had no idea where she was, other than some distance downstream from where she fell. As best she could tell, it was morning, with the sun just clearing the treetops on the opposite bank. She realized she still had her watch on. It was 7 a.m.
Christine waded gingerly into the river, cleaning her wounds and washing the dirt clinging to her body from lying on the ground. After assessing the terrain, she decided to head into the forest rather than remain exposed along the riverbank. She’d have to make it through the forest without shoes, and there was no discernible path to follow. Additionally, she had no weapon, no food, and no way to carry water. She cupped her hands in the clear river and quenched her thirst. Then she took a deep breath and headed into the woods.
It was slow going, since she had to watch every step, avoiding anything that might cut her feet. After a half-hour picking her way through the forest, she came across a path winding down toward the river. She followed it up, making better progress on the smooth ground. A house came into view in the middle of a small clearing.
The house was similar to the one she and Kalinin had spent a day in — a small log cabin, except this one was in good repair and inhabited. Light smoke rose from the chimney. After assessing the risk of revealing herself to the cabin’s occupants, Christine realized she didn’t have a choice. She needed help. Any kind would do for now, starting with food and shelter. Finding a way out of Russia would come next.
Christine approached the cabin and knocked on the door, which was opened by an elderly woman. A shocked expression appeared on her face as she examined the battered woman before her. She asked a question, which Christine didn’t understand. As Christine tried to decide what to do next, the woman took her hand and pulled her inside the cabin — a kitchen on one side, a table and chairs in the middle, then a couch and small coffee table in front of a fireplace.