Wilson ordered, “Designate Sierra two-eight as Master one. Track Master one.”
There were two fire control technicians and a junior officer manning consoles dedicated to tracking targets, and each man worked independently toward a target solution. However, Michigan held Master one only on passive sonar. With Michigan immobile, unable to change course and speed to alter the inputs into the combat system algorithms, there were several possible solutions for the Kilo submarine’s course, speed, and range, none of which were accurate enough to launch a torpedo. Nor did Wilson want to, without propulsion to evade counterfire.
The Chief of the Watch announced, “Officer of the Deck. Maneuvering reports the reactor is critical.”
Lieutenant Cody, who had relieved as Officer of the Deck while Captain Wilson assumed the Conn, acknowledged. Control rods had been withdrawn from the reactor core far enough to allow the nuclear fission reaction to become critical, which meant self-sustaining, generating heat in the process. The fuel cells were now heating up, transferring heat to the primary cooling water, which in turn transferred it to the water in the steam generators. The next report came a few minutes later.
“The reactor is in the power range.”
Reactor power was now at one percent. The watchstanders in Maneuvering would slowly increase power, heating the primary and secondary cooling systems until both reached their normal operating temperatures. Wilson had left the steam generators in hot standby, well above 212°F, and with the reactor now adding heat, they could soon send steam to the propulsion and electrical turbine generators. But they had to open the seawater intakes first and start main seawater, which provided cooling water to condense the steam back into water after it passed through the turbines. The water would then be pumped back into the steam generators to repeat the process. To open the seawater intakes without fouling them, Michigan had to come off the bottom.
“Chief of the Watch,” Wilson ordered, “pump all variable ballast and trim tanks to sea.”
The Chief of the Watch complied, and Wilson waited as the trim and hovering pumps emptied the tanks that controlled the submarine’s buoyancy while underway, along with its fore-to-aft tilt. He watched the nearest depth indicator, waiting for the numbers to change, but they remained steady.
“All variable ballast and trim tanks are empty,” the Chief of the Watch reported.
Wilson assessed the situation, which wasn’t unexpected. There was still a lot of water in the Missile Compartment, which would have to be offset. The variable ballast and trim tanks were dry, so that left the water in the main ballast tanks.
“Chief of the Watch. Conduct an emergency blow.”
The Chief of the Watch stood and reached for the Emergency Blow levers. Although it was unlikely they’d blow too much water from the ballast tanks, Wilson wasn’t worried. If Michigan became too light and started to float toward the surface, they could quickly flood water into the variable ballast tanks, reestablishing neutral buoyancy. The bigger concern, by far, was that there wasn’t enough high-pressure air left.
The Chief of the Watch pulled the Emergency Blow levers, and the remaining air in the high-pressure air banks flowed into the ballast tanks. Everyone in Control focused on the depth gauges, waiting for the numbers to change. The red digital numbers and the needle on the analog gauge stared back at them ominously, both immobile.
Wilson examined the air bank pressures as they lowered until they stabilized at the surrounding sea pressure. His eyes went back to the depth readouts.
They were steady at 410 feet.
He waited another minute, hoping for a delayed reaction as the eighteen-thousand-ton submarine freed itself from the bottom.
Still no motion.
After another minute waiting without any change on the depth readout, Wilson accepted defeat. USS Michigan was stuck on the bottom of the Black Sea.
71
BEREGOVOY, RUSSIA
The sun was still climbing into a clear blue sky as Vasily led the way down a narrow path, ambling back toward the river. During this trek through the woods, Christine was better equipped, albeit not fashionably. Tamara had given her a purple and white floral dress, eight sizes too big, to replace her shredded blouse and torn skirt, a sash tied around her waist, and a pair of old boots plus socks. Tamara also offered a wooden hair clip, which Christine had used to bundle her hair behind her head.
Christine spotted the river through the trees, then the path turned and followed the river’s course as it wound toward the Black Sea. They reached a wider but muddier dirt trail, which they followed until it connected with a paved, two-lane road. An occasional van and sedan passed by, to which Vasily paid no notice. They eventually reached the outskirts of a small town and turned down a side road. Vasily stopped at a two-story duplex and knocked on the right-side door. The woman who answered matched Tamara’s picture. Anna hugged Vasily, then her eyes went to Christine. Vasily quickly explained.
Anna stepped aside, beckoning them to enter as she peppered Vasily with more questions. Then she disappeared down a dark hallway, returning a moment later with a man in his mid-twenties, dressed in slacks and a sports jacket and collared shirt, whom Christine surmised was Anna’s husband. His hair was damp and he smelled of cologne. He must have been getting ready for work. He extended his hand.
“I am Ruslan,” he said with a heavy accent.
After Christine introduced herself, Ruslan said, “You need phone, yes?”
Christine answered, then he asked, “Who do you call?”
That was something she didn’t want to reveal. Thus far, Christine had provided only her first name. Her new Russian acquaintances seemed friendly enough, but she had no idea if she could trust them. It was best if they didn’t discover she was America’s national security advisor, who wanted to call the president of the United States.
“A friend,” Christine answered.
Her response didn’t satisfy Ruslan, who asked, “In Russia, or out?”
Christine finally understood Ruslan’s line of questioning. Did she need to make an international phone call? “Out,” Christine said.
Ruslan shook his head. “Not possible.”
“It’s okay,” Christine said, “I can call who I need, no charge. Do you have a smart phone?”
Ruslan pulled an Android phone from his jacket and handed it to Christine.
“I need to talk in private,” she said.
Ruslan pointed to the kitchen opening.
Christine stepped into the kitchen, where she duplicated the procedure she’d used on the phone stolen from the pub; she downloaded the free app again and after entering her username and password, a man answered.
After Christine provided her full name and verification code again, the man asked in the same monotone voice, “How can I help you?”
Christine explained her situation quietly, to which the man said, “Please wait.”
A moment later, he said “We have located you using your cell phone. Someone who can assist will call you shortly. Is this a good number?”
“Yes, but I have to return this phone. How long until someone calls.”
“Not long,” the man said.
Not a helpful answer, Christine thought. “Make it fast.”
“I will see what I can do.”
The man hung up and Christine returned to the living room.
When Ruslan extended his hand for the phone, Christine withheld it, saying, “I’m waiting for a return call.”
“How long?” he asked.