To wait any longer would put the working party in danger. But to recall them without freeing the ice might mean the sub wouldn’t escape in time. He shouted through the loudhailer. 'Everyone on board. Leave your tools — get back now!'
The men needed no encouragement, and began clambering up the ladder. The last sailor disappeared down the hatch and the Captain followed. He couldn’t help one final backward glance. Now only 200 metres away, the ship continued to bear down on them.
‘Emergency dive!’
'Sir, the ice is still snagging the conning tower.'
The Captain turned to face his XO. 'The ballast tanks are filling, Thomas. There's nothing more we can do.' When they had first broken through, the sail pushed the ice apart. The same ice had refrozen around the conning tower, jammed between the unbroken ice pack and the steel hull.
There was a loud bang and for a split second the Captain thought the icebreaker had crashed into them. The sub lurched downward, and he gave a sigh of relief. The sound was the boat freeing itself from the clutches of the ice-pack. They were going to be clear.
The sub slowly descended below the ice. But LK-80's keel extended six metres below the surface. The hardened steel of the bow smashed into the conning tower. The submarine shunted sideways as the icebreaker rode up over it, thrusting it towards the sea bed.
CHAPTER TEN
'All crew, this is your Captain.' Captain Gerry White covered the microphone and watched as his XO helped the Admin officer to his feet. 'XO, get a party together to tackle that!' Water cascaded down the sail into the control centre.
The Captain eased his shoulder. He had fallen against a console, and the pain in his back was excruciating. He uncovered the microphone. 'We are descending fast. You must contain the flooding and see to the wounded and injured later.' He snapped off the switch. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he beckoned to his Executive Officer.
'How's it looking XO?'
'We've three reports of major flooding. We're at..' Thomas craned his neck to readout the depth from his console. 'Ninety five metres, still descending.'
'OK. Anything we can do to stop or slow our descent?'
The XO shook his head. 'Everyone's working flat out.'
'What about restarting the reactor?'
'It's too early to say. We have a problem in the main ballast tanks. The Damage Control Assistant has a team looking into it — pressurised air is escaping faster than we can pump it in.'
Captain White considered the options. Whichever way he looked at it, there were no easy solutions. 'Have you got any good news at all?'
The XO paused to assess the various reports coming in before making his reply. 'I'm sorry sir, nothing yet.'
'Well,' Captain White appeared grim. 'At least we are still alive Thomas. We must do our utmost to save this boat and the lives of the crew!'
'Yes sir. Passing 150 metres skipper!'
The Captain compressed his lips. They were on their way to the bottom.
'Grigori!' The Chief Engineer's shout could be heard above the beat of the engines and the groaning ice.
'Captain, we have to stop!' He was screaming. 'We're losing coolant, and the reactor temperature is rising!'
Captain Grigori continued to stare, eyes glazed, as if he had not understood a word. The engineer approached and shook Grigori, trying to rouse him from his stupor. When the Captain did not respond, Pytor sprinted to the controls and rang for 'Dead Stop'.
Within seconds the engine slowed and eventually stopped. In the silence, the Captain stared strangely at his engineer.
Pytor picked up the phone and issued a string of orders to the engine room, attempting to prevent the reactor from over-heating. When he finished he saw the Captain leaving the bridge. He hurried after him, unsure where he was heading. Pytor felt compelled to follow, afraid that the Captain was bent on more damage and destruction.
Grigori clattered down the companionway to his office on Bridge Deck 3, leaving the door open for the engineer. He headed straight for the Vodka bottle on the shelf above his bed.
'Captain, I am going to report the accident.'
Grigori sat quietly, shaking his head. 'No Pytor, you will not.'
'But there must be over a hundred people on that submarine. Whatever possessed you to try and sink it?'
Grigori refused to answer.
Pytor made to go. 'It’s my responsibility to make a report, regardless of your orders.'
'You may not.'
'Captain, after you I'm answerable to commanders of the Northern Fleet. I know my duty.'
Immediately Grigori shot up and quickly intercepted him before he reached the door. Pytor moved to one side to step past, but Grigori prevented him by grasping the Chief Engineer’s lapel. 'Wait.' Grigori’s intense glare halted Pytor.
He ordered Pytor to sit. In the bottom drawer of the bedside table, Grigori found two tumblers and began to pour out a good measure of vodka into each. 'Come on, sit!' he growled over his shoulder.
Reluctantly Pytor sat and accepted the proffered tumbler.
'To our families.' Grigori raised his glass.
Surprised by the toast, Pytor echoed the words and sipped the liquor.
Captain Grigori Burak swallowed a mouthful of the vodka. 'Three weeks ago two Tupolev TU-160 bombers took off from Engels Air Base in southern Russia. They turned north and flew on a straight course for nearly ten hours.' He mimed the flight with his hands. 'Eventually their route carried them towards the Beaufort Sea where they were met by two Canadian interceptors. Usually the pilots would then turn their aircraft around and head back to their bases.'
Grigori splashed an extra slug into both glasses. 'You are probably wondering how I know all this — an icebreaker Captain.' He gulped another mouthful.
'So' he continued. 'The Tupolevs turned for home.' He waited while Pytor drank. 'So far, so good. Everything as normal.'
Grigori wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 'But something occurred after that.' Pytor was afraid to interrupt, in case Grigori stopped altogether. 'Don't ask me what, I don't know. I suppose they received orders. Whatever occurred, they made for the Alaskan coast. They must have been flying for several hours. I later found out there was a storm in the area.' The Captain gazed at the glasses on the table without seeing them.
Pytor waited for Grigori to continue, but when he didn't, he had to ask the question. 'What happened?'
Grigori let out a big sigh. 'They made a simple navigation mistake and approached too close to the coast. Maybe the storm had something to do with it. Anyway, American fighter jets scrambled and forced them to land.'
Pytor leaned backwards, his mind a whirl of questions. 'What has this got to do with you ramming an American submarine?'
Grigori gulped down another slug. 'The crews are still in American custody. None of this was reported in the news. Perhaps the politicians were negotiating with the Americans about some trade deal, or spy-swap.' Grigori almost spat out the words. 'Just because of a small navigation error, they are incarcerated in an American jail.'
Pytor was appalled. 'Even so Grigori, that should not be a reason for you to send men to their deaths!'
Grigori regarded his Chief Engineer, emphasising every word of the sentence. 'One of the co-pilots is my son.'
Captain White grasped the mike with difficulty, massaging his shoulder to ease the pain. 'We are at rest on the sea bottom.' He checked the console. 'Though some of you might argue with the word “rest”.' Even through the noise of the work parties, he thought he detected laughter. In fact the word 'crash' would have been a better description as the submarine shook from end to end when the nose impacted on the sea bed.