Uskhan shook his head. ‘No better, Captain. There was a bad electrical fire there. The shock of the explosion, you know. It broke circuits, threw switches, blew fuses and…’
‘I know.’ Yenev held up a hand. ‘What’s the damage?’ He asked the question calmly but they all knew what he was thinking.
‘Again, the carbon-dioxide extinguishers functioned at once. The watchkeeper had to evacuate and seal off the compartment. Now there is a serious radiation leak there. From the reactor room.’
Yenev switched to the atmospheric control officer. ‘What’s the situation there, Gallinin?’
‘Bad, Captain. The radiation level is rising steadily. I sent a man in. Fully protected, of course. Apart from the radiation problem, he reports extensive fire damage. I understand a lot of the equipment has melted from excessive heat. He says it’s a shambles.’
‘Why did you not go in yourself, comrade Gallinin?’ Milovych smiled as he put the question.
‘Because he is not allowed to,’ snapped Yenev.
‘Why not, comrade Yenev?’ The fat man’s parted lips revealed uneven yellow teeth.
‘Because the radiation control officer is the only man in Zhukov who knows everything worth knowing about controlling radiation. We can’t afford to lose him.’
‘This is something we may have to look into.’ Milovych rubbed his hands together slowly. ‘I would imagine…’
‘By all means do so, commissar. In the meantime I would remind you that every second counts.’ He turned to the communications officer. ‘So we have no means of communication, Uskhan?’
The Mongolian’s long fingers clenched and unclenched. He was a clever nervous young man and he feared the captain. He felt somehow that the extent of damage in his department might reflect upon his professional competence. ‘No means at present, Captain. But for the submarine indicator buoys.’ These were the emergency buoys which Zhukov could release if she were trapped on the bottom. They would surface and transmit SOS signals automatically. Surface vessels and land stations receiving them would take radio bearings and locate the sunken submarine.
‘They’re no good,’ snapped Yenev. ‘We’ve got thirty minutes, perhaps. Our need is to talk at once to Naval HQ in Leningrad or Murmansk or at least with other Soviet warships at sea. Not to send out SOSs.’
‘What about the radio berthing sets?’ suggested Milovych.
‘Useless,’ said Yenev. ‘Their range is about twenty kilometres.’
Vladimir Ilyitch had been talking in undertones with Feodotik. He broke in. ‘Chief Feodotik has just been examining the bilge and tank gauges and flow meters. Using our full pumping capacity — where it is most needed and switching as necessary — we can do no more than keep Zhukov afloat for between thirty and forty minutes. Forty at best. Thirty at worst. That is our belief.’
Yenev focused his pale eyes on Milovych. ‘Commissar, we must now, at once, make a decision. The alternatives are simple. Either we make for deep water, set the charges, abandon Zhukov and blow her up…’ He paused to let the words sink in. ‘Or…’
‘Or…?’ Milovych’s mouth twitched like a child on the verge of tears. There were no smiles now. He was already wondering what his political masters might think of any decisions he made. It was unfair, he reflected. He should be able to consult with them. Outline the facts. Let them make the decision. There must be gross inefficiency on board. How could both communication systems have been destroyed? How was it that the most modern, the most powerful ballistic missile submarine in the world was without means of communication of any sort?
‘Or…?’ he again demanded.
‘Or we make for the nearest land — that’s the island of Vrakoy — with the chance of grounding Zhukov there.’ Yenev’s eyes challenged the commissar.
‘What? On Norwegian territory? NATO territory?’ The commissar swept his arm round the control-room in a dramatic gesture. ‘This submarine. With its new weapons, new electronics. Secrets our enemies would give anything… I mean anything… to obtain. You don’t know what you’re saying, comrade Yenev.’
Yenev continued to stare at the commissar. ‘Well, perhaps while we sink you’d like to think up alternatives.’ His mouth tightened in the hard line the crew were getting to know. ‘Let me assure you, however, there are none. Now listen. If we destroy Zhukov we not only deprive the USSR of the Soviet Navy’s most powerful warship… the prototype of a new class of eighteen… but we destroy the evidence of the hull failures and we destroy the possibility of ascertaining the cause of the explosion. Evidence which is vital to our designers and constructors. Do you understand the implications?’ He looked at the commissar as if he’d like to throttle him, which happened to be how he felt. He added, ‘Also, though I agree it is of little importance, if we destroy Zhukov and take to inflate life-rafts… well these sudden October gales… you know… get caught in one of them and you can say goodbye to life or anything else important to you.’ Yenev thought it likely that argument might impress the commissar.
‘But if we ground the ship on Vrakoy… on Norwegian territory… that is to say on NATO territory… What then? Think of the security risks.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Yenev. ‘They exist. But let’s examine them objectively. Norway is anxious to maintain good relations with her powerful neighbour. That’s us — the Soviet Union. Norway’s a member of NATO but on qualified terms. She will not, for example, permit NATO troops or NATO nuclear weapons on Norwegian soil. There is, and long has been, mutual respect between the Russian and Norwegian peoples. Particularly in the north, in Finnmark, where there has been inter-marriage.’
‘True,’ said Milovych looking mollified. ‘Very true.’
‘And,’ Yenev continued, ‘the Norwegians have never forgotten that it was Soviet arms which liberated them from German occupation in the Second World War.’
‘So…’ Milovych challenged, once again showing the authority appropriate to his position.
Yenev looked at him with contempt. He could read the man like a book. ‘You should understand the political implications better than I, comrade commissar.’ Yenev emphasized the ‘comrade’. ‘But let me deal with the practical aspects. When we have grounded Zhukov — that is to say, if we succeed in doing so — we will at once inform Leningrad of the situation.’
‘How?’
‘Through our embassy in Oslo. Using Norwegian channels of communication. I’ve no doubt our Navy will at once deploy massive assistance. I’m equally certain that the Soviet Government will, as its first priority, request the Norwegian Government to assist and protect us in every way.’ Yenev paused. ‘But I must apologize. I’m trespassing on your area of authority. The political problem. I deal only with the naval one. Now…’ Yenev’s voice hardened and the pale eyes narrowed. ‘What do we do?’
Boris Milovych pulled at his cheeks with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, drawing down the skin until the lower eyelids revealed the pink membraneous tissue. This was for him a signal of extreme distress. ‘I wonder,’ he mumbled. ‘I wonder what is best?’
‘You mean you wonder what the Kremlin will think?’ suggested Yenev,
‘No. No. Not at all. I am balancing the advantages and disadvantages of the actions open to us, comrade.’
‘Well, you’ll have to do it pretty quickly, commissar. This submarine is sinking. The Kremlin won’t thank you for that.’ Boris Milovych smiled. I’ll get the bastard for that, he thought. I’ll get him sooner than he thinks. But he said, ‘Comrade Yenev. What do you feel we should do?’