Chapter 30
Arctic
More than the commanders of any other weapons system, submarine captains made their living off of instinct.
In large part, it was a consequence of operating in the blackest environment on earth.
Enemies were often “seen” in momentary acoustic pings, which meant their movement could only be predicted.
Attempting to highlight an adversary with active sonar meant giving away one’s own position.
There were decoys and false echoes in a sea of acoustic mirrors, and in far-flung regions like the Arctic Ocean, bathymetric data to identify undersea obstacles was of dubious accuracy.
What’s more, unlike most naval assets, support from friendly surface ships and command centers was limited by difficult communications.
The end result was that submarine warfare was little different from what it had always been: a quasi-blind contest of wills between commanders.
And Captain Arkady Khurtin wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“Range to target,” he said to the sonar operator, his voice calm and assured.
“Twelve thousand meters,” came the reply.
“Make speed four knots.”
The command was repeated and carried out. The Aurora slowed to a crawl, giving Khurtin time to assess the situation.
Hours earlier he’d made a decision that many of his crew, judging by the looks on their faces, had found highly questionable.
They’d broken off their pursuit of the USS Cheyenne and were instead chasing down a thundering Chinese icebreaker.
Their success in shadowing the Americans had been an extraordinary triumph and was a testament to the abilities of Russia’s new Laika-class design.
The Aurora had easily caught up with the Snow Dragon 2 and was now ghosting at a safe distance—hardly a challenge, since icebreakers weren’t equipped to detect submarines.
Aside from a brief discussion with his exec, Grekov, Khurtin had not explained his reasoning to the crew.
Initially there had seemed little benefit in chasing after the Chinese vessel, yet the report of the downed airliner had stirred his imagination.
Everything he saw from both the vessels he had been tracking—their speed, their straight-line courses, and a complete lack of defensive measures—supported the idea that they were responding to the crash.
Yet their divergent geometry had transfixed him, and on little more than a hunch he’d broken off to tail the icebreaker.
Now Khurtin was increasingly convinced he’d made the right call, although the benefits of having done so remained elusive.
If his instincts about the vessels responding to the air crash turned out to be correct, he didn’t see how following either boat would further the interests of the Russian Navy.
Still, he felt there was something going on, and like a shark sensing a whiff of blood in the water, he’d taken up pursuit.
Khurtin racked his brain, wondering how he might get more information.
Communication, as ever, was a constraint.
The original message regarding the air crash had been received from a buoy antenna they’d deployed in a patch of open water.
To transmit a message to headquarters from here, perhaps requesting guidance on how to proceed, would mean breaching the ice.
That would give away their position. More to the point, he doubted Pacific Fleet Headquarters would have anything useful to add to the equation.
No, Khurtin was certain he was better off making his own decisions.
To that end, he decided to make use of the Aurora’s onboard sensors, some of which were unlike any he’d previously had at his disposal.
Most relevant at the moment was a new upward-looking camera system.
A network of three low-light lenses, designed expressly for Arctic operations, passively tracked minute variances in ambient light and correlated them to grid coordinates.
The end result was a near-real-time map displaying the thickness of the ice overhead.
Khurtin thought it might be telling. Snow Dragon 2 had paused her search pattern, and ever since had been mapping the bottom with a side-scan sonar device—easily noted by the Aurora’s own passive listening system. This suggested the Chinese ship was zeroing in on what she was looking for.
Which made Khurtin more curious than ever.
He addressed the communications officer. “Was there a new ice map in the download we received from the buoy?”
Russia’s multispectral satellite capabilities were not up to the standards of the Americans, but they were getting better.
And thankfully, Arctic coverage was a high priority.
The most recent ice map in their area of operations was supposed to be included in every burst communication, although reliability was always an issue.
The comm officer confirmed that there were indeed new images. He handed over printouts and Khurtin spread them out on the chart table. What he saw confused him at first, and he beckoned his exec to join him.
“This is the latest surveillance of our area,” the captain said.
Grekov eyed the satellite images. Khurtin eyed his exec.
He watched the younger man’s face, and saw his eyes drift to the same spot, fifteen miles north, that had seized his own attention. A light blue area that denoted very thin ice.
Grekov tapped an index finger on the disparity. “This doesn’t look like a polynya,” he said, the Russian term for naturally occurring gaps in ice coverage. “The shape is wrong—not linear and tapered, but almost perfectly round. It appears to be slowly freezing over.”
They both stared at the great hole in the ice.
Khurtin carried the idea brewing in his mind a step further. He carefully checked the deep water current estimates, and also considered the drift of the ice pack in the current high winds.
Grekov nodded knowingly. “Do you think it is possible? Could the wreckage have drifted that far before it hit bottom?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. The Chinese have clearly found something.”
“I suppose it makes sense. But at this point I would say it’s academic.”
“Probably. But what if—”
Their conversational thread was clipped by the sonar operator.
“Sir, I have a new contact from above. Bearing three five zero. Three echoes, very distinct.”
Khurtin exchanged a surprised glance with his exec. There was nothing to the north but their round patch of thin ice. “Can you tell what made them?” the captain asked.
“Yes. Analysis clearly identifies the sounds as gunfire.”