“Open outer tubes one and two,” Petty Officer Darnell said aloud. He pushed the sound-powered speaker on the headset and acknowledged the order. The conversation moments earlier abruptly ceased.
Chief Torpedoman Kester acknowledged Darnell, “Opening outer doors tubes one and two.” Not only was Kester the senior person in the torpedo room, but also his job was to work the manifold of valves and levers to open and close the outer torpedo tube doors.
Darnell’s eyes narrowed as he fixed on the gauge board between the torpedo banks. He pulled his gloves off and jammed them into a small crevice between the torpedo tubes. Darnell rubbed the fingers on his right hand together a few times before raising the hand, poised to fire the torpedoes manually if the solenoid firing mechanism in the conning tower failed.
“Outer doors tubes one and two opened.”
Darnell passed the word to the conning tower and the control room.
The Whale was settling hard by the stern. The tilt of the deck caused Anton to hold on to the bridge stanchion to keep from sliding backward. He braced for when the boat hit the rocky bottom, though in the back of his mind he knew—he just knew—that he would get his bow on the rocks before that happened. The speed was slowing, but they were still moving forward.
“The bow is out of the water,” Anton said.
The Whale was less than fifty meters from the rocks and debris that made up the man-made channel. Motion to his left caught his attention. He looked. It was the Soznatelnyy. The destroyer had sped past the stern of the Whale, putting its stern to the submarine port beam. Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes and I will have the stern of the Whale beached and inpositionfor refloating. That’s all I ask. Ten minutes.
A voice filled a megaphone from the Soznatelnyy. “Captain Zegouniov! We are prepared to take you under tow, sir!”
He had no megaphone to answer. The cold waters churned as the Soznatelnyy put on reverse engines. Anton estimated that the destroyer was fifty meters from him.
Anton turned to the signalman. “Tell them we are about to beach the Whale with bow on shore.”
The signalman nodded and flashed the message.
“Captain,” Antipov shouted from the conning tower, “we have slowed to three knots, sir! Making way another minute; maybe two; no more!”
It wasn’t enough. He needed another five to six minutes to make the shore.
On board the Soznatelnyy, sailors were rushing around the stern of the destroyer. Two of the boatswain mates on board had the line-firing guns loaded and aimed at the Whale. Without waiting for direction, the two sailors on the destroyer fired.
“Watch out!” the starshina on the starboard side shouted.
Anton looked up. The monkey fists on the end of the lines were in midair, arching toward the Whale. Why in the hell did they fire? He had no one on deck to grab them, and monkey fists have been known to kill a man. Both lines angled down and splashed in the water on the other side of the stern portion of the Whale.
“What’s our depth?” Anton asked the officer of the deck.
“We have twenty meters beneath us, sir. And our speed is barely making way now. What are your orders?”
Anton nodded. On board the Soznatelnyy, the sailors were hand over fist pulling the lines back on board for another firing.
By now, with the stern settling downward and the bow well above the waterline, it would be impossible for the Soznatelnyy to take the Whale under tow. It would be like pulling an anchor. It would endanger the destroyer.
“Tell them to fire those lines again only with my permission!” a voice shouted across the open water.
The raspy voice on the megaphone told him that was Kat-shora. The admiral must be thinking the same thing. How can you tow a ship already half sunk?
“Captain Zegouniov, this is the admiral. Good luck. We are standing by to evacuate the ship.”
Anton pulled himself around to the side of the bridge where he was more visible to the destroyer. He raised a hand and saluted.
“Depth beneath us?” he asked through the voice tube. Slight waves moved away from the bow area. The Whale was still making way forward.
“We have sixty meters beneath us, sir,” came the reply.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the sound-powered mouthpiece. “Flood the aft ballasts, Lieutenant.” Let’s hope I haven’t taken us to the bottom.
The bow rose above the waterline nearly four feet.
The Whale shook as its stern hit the graveled bottom of the man-made channel. What little forward motion remained came to a slow all stop. He looked at the nearby rocks where he had hoped to beach the bow.
“Lieutenant, tell the men to evacuate the Whale! Open forward main hatch and use the main hatch.”
“Sir?”
“Abandon ship!”
Anton turned to the signalman. “Tell the Soznatelnyy that we are abandoning ship.” Now that he had used the words and made the decision, it became easier to say.
The groan of a ship in distress drew his attention to the bow. What had been several feet above the waterline was beginning to settle down. Even with the forward ballasts empty, the weight of the water in the AFT torpedo room was pulling the boat under.
“The inclinometer shows a two-degree forward change to our trim, Captain!” Gesny cried as he climbed the ladder to the bridge. “Sir, you are wet.”
“It is the Arctic, XO. What should one expect?” He nodded at the bow. “We may not have saved the Whale,” he said.
“But we tried, sir. This is not your responsibility. The intruder did this. When we catch him, he will not live long enough to tell his family of—” Gesny said, his words short and angry.
“No! Not yet. We are not done yet!” Anton shouted. “Quick! Pressurize the aft ballast tanks! Refloat them!”
“Sir, the men.”
“Tell the crew to continue. They have three minutes to abandon ship.” Anton turned to the signalman. “Tell the destroyer to get his boats over here now.”
“Aye, sir,” Gesny said, a slight smile breaking his face. The XO dropped through the hatch.
Anton heard the pressurized air pushing the water from the aft ballast that moments earlier he had flooded. He reached over and flipped the light switch. The light came on. He still had power coming from the reactor in the flooded part of the boat.
Shouts and the sound of hydraulic gears on board the Soz-natelnyy told him the motorboats of the destroyer were being put into the sea. Anton looked at the stern of the destroyer, and standing there, holding on to the safety lines, was Doctor Zotkin. A moment of sadness for the man’s plans filled his thoughts, but the here and now was of more importance. He had a crew and a boat to save.
“Give me speed!”
“We are showing two knots, sir,” Antipov shouted back through the tube.
The forward hatch flew open, and men started pouring out.
The rocks were inching closer. Only a few more minutes. Anton lifted the megaphone. When the Whale beached, the boat would stop abruptly. He did not want his men tossed into the water. He warned them to hold.
Two minutes later the bow of the Whale crashed onto the rocks, knocking the crewmen forward to the deck and tossing Anton against the bridge railing.