Anton squinted, reaching up carefully to wipe his eyebrows. The Arctic was nothing anyone could imagine. It would freeze a wet face, killing the skin beneath it, causing it to fall from the face when it melted. He pulled the cape over his hat down tighter, trying to preserve what little body heat he had from escaping.
The bow of the Whale left the entrance channel and entered the bay proper. Water washed across the bow, and Anton felt the first yaw of the water as the stern cleared the channel. Yaw was a condition where wave and wind combined to cause the bow of the ship to move one way and the stern the other. He ordered a ten-degree port rudder to compensate for the wind, and was relieved when the Whale steadied up on a straight course.
He lifted the lid. “Officer of the deck, all ahead ten knots.”
Atomic power meant having no concern about speed when you needed it. It also meant they had warmth beneath the hull. Battery power had no ability to provide much heat to the crew, as nearly every amp was needed to drive the shaft and light the boat. That would be one diesel boat experience Anton looked forward to never experiencing again.
He barely heard the whistle, but he flipped open the metal covering. It stuck briefly to his heavy gloves. “Go ahead!”
“Ten minutes to submerge depth!”
“Roger!”
Ten more minutes of this. He wiggled his toes. A strong wind hit him in the eyes, causing him to shut them briefly. When he tried to open them, eyelashes came off on his cheek, where they had frozen to his skin. He was on the verge of asking the XO to relieve him when Gesny again appeared in the hatch. This time he had a heavy wool cap on top of his head.
“Captain, we have radar contact on the two destroyers!” he shouted. “We are six to seven minutes from submerge depth! Recommend you come belowdecks and we navigate these last two miles!”
Anton nodded. “Brilliant idea, XO!” He turned to the watches. “Get below, you two matrose, before you freeze.” Ma-trose was the rank of seaman in the Soviet Navy.
He watched the few seconds it took for the two men to reach the hatch and almost fall through it in their speed to escape the Arctic attack. Bits of ice decorated the decks around the hatch from their foul-weather coats. As cold as he was and as numb as his feet and hands felt, Anton forced himself to check the bridge to ensure that the caps were locked on the sound-powered pipe. He looked forward to check the deck, but the rain was coming down so hard only the nearest part was visible. Even the bow was hidden beneath the Arctic blast. Ice was beginning to cake the boat. Anton looked aft. Rain hit the deck but bounced up as pellets of ice, sticking to the rough walking area. He could see the stern plane towering several feet above the rudder. They would have to be careful when they returned that no sailor fell overboard from the ice.
Then he turned and hurried down the hatch to the comparative warmth below, stopping just inside to secure the hatch. When he dropped to the deck, he nodded at Chief Starshina Slavik. “Chief, have someone double-check the hatch,” Anton said, his voice chattering from the cold.
Slavik scrambled up the ladder and double-checked the wheel of the hatch. “All secure,” he announced as he hurried down, back to his position near the planesmen.
The conning tower was boiling in comparison to the bridge. He glanced at the thermometer. It was minus ten degrees Celsius in the conning tower, but probably another ten degrees colder on the bridge. His face tingled, turning slowly into pain as the blood rushed into the nearly frozen spots on his face.
“Captain,” Gesny said, handing Anton a small cup of hot chocolate.
He nodded in thanks.
“Up periscope,” Anton said, sitting the cup on a nearby shelf. A short circulation of warm air hit his face. He would have smiled if he had quit shivering.
He wondered briefly if the Americans had discovered this important change of heated conditions within their Nautilus, regardless of where they operated. He had heard that the Nautilus had kept its operations to the Eastern Seaboard of the United States and in the Caribbean. If so, then this was another first for the Soviet Union; the importance of a heated submarine in winter conditions would bring cheer to the crew.
The hydraulics of the periscope rising drew his attention. He squatted, lowered the periscope handles, and put his right eye to the eyepiece. This also meant that in the warmer climates of the world, they should be able to have air conditioning. He had heard the Americans were already experimenting with it on board the Nautilus.
He leaned back from the periscope. “XO, does the Whale have air conditioning?” he asked Gesny.
The XO’s eyes widened. “Comrade Captain?”
Anton shook his head. “Never mind.” He put his eye back to the periscope. It was pointed aft toward the facility, but other than the dark smudge of land, the rain obscured it. He spun the periscope forward, trying to see the two destroyers heading his way, but they, too, were hidden behind the curtain of rain. He knew that all across their decks the icy grip of the Arctic was taking its toll. Sailors would be out on the destroyers, chopping away the ice before it built up to a point where it was useless to try. Ice could capsize a warship as easily as a torpedo taken amidships.
Anton stepped back. “Down periscope.” He stepped to the ladder. “I’m going down to the control room,” he said, then disappeared down the ladder to the compartment below.
Gesny followed.
“Do we have the destroyers on sonar?” he asked the officer of the deck.
Lieutenant Vladimir Antipov stepped forward. Anton grinned. Antipov was what he referred to as his “catchall” officer. The young man from the Ukraine was the navigator, the administrative officer, and the communications officer. The only two officers junior to him were Lieutenant Kalugin and Ensign Ry-bin. Kalugin worked in the reactor room under the chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Tumanov. Rybin was Antipov’s assistant and always seemed to disappear whenever Anton appeared.
“Sonar! Status report, if you please,” Antipov ordered.
“We have reached diving depth, Captain,” Gesny said.
“Two contacts, Captain; ten and twelve degrees off our port bow,” the starshina manning the sonar console reported.
“Let’s go back up,” Anton said, grabbing the ladder and hurrying back up to the conning tower. Gesny was right behind him.
“Sir, we are at diving depth,” Lebedev said.
“Officer of the deck, dive the boat,” Anton ordered.
“Depth, Comrade Captain?”
“Make our depth sixteen meters, Lieutenant Lebedev.”
“Aye, sir. Make depth sixteen meters,” Lebedev repeated to the chief of the watch.
Near the planesmen, Chief Ship Starshina Mamadov grabbed the hydraulics control handles of the ballasts and pulled them back. The sound of the vents opening and water rushing into the ballast tanks rushed through the skin of the boat.
Chief Arkanov acknowledged the order and echoed it to the planesmen. Mamadov leaned over their shoulders, watching the depth gauge as the submarine submerged. He leaned down and mumbled something to them. The two sailors eased up on the planes, and the submarine started to level out.
“Trim forward,” Lebedev said.