Chapter 36
Arctic
Crash Site
As soon as the all-clear was given, Khurtin climbed to the platform atop the sail.
The cold hit like a tsunami, but as was often the case with submariners, he didn’t find it particularly hostile.
They had been submerged for weeks, and even though the Aurora was a new boat with good ventilation, she was still a sub.
Compared to the stale, recirculated air below, the glacial wind was rejuvenating.
Grekov was right behind him, and both men turned up the collars of their winter jackets.
“It reminds me of Siberia,” Grekov said, looking out across the ice-clad seascape.
“We are a thousand miles north of it.”
The Aurora had surfaced at the edge of the breach, and Khurtin instinctively checked the condition of his ship.
His gaze swept down to the thin pool of ice to starboard.
It looked fragile, a wafer-thin crust slowly congealing on the sea.
What he saw to port was different, the endless sheet ice of the drifting Arctic pack.
Thankfully, he saw no sign of damage to the Aurora.
The newest ship in the Russian Navy, her finish was faultless, and no rust had yet accumulated.
She was as pristine as a warship could be.
Khurtin’s gaze strayed outward, and the scene changed.
He easily picked out shards of debris. A torn sheet of aluminum the size of a canoe testified to the cataclysmic forces of the crash.
Farther out he saw an uninflated life jacket, cracked composite panels, and a shredded seat cushion.
Scorch marks on the ice had been blurred by snow. This was indeed ground zero.
He surveyed the southern horizon and easily found what he was looking for—the swirling black smudge that gave away Snow Dragon 2. “There she is.”
Grekov trained a pair of binoculars on the spot. “I don’t think she’s moved.”
“Hopefully it will stay that way.”
“As soon as we surfaced, her radar sweeps registered.” Aurora’s passive receivers were tuned to sense shipboard radar.
“It makes sense. But I still don’t think she will pick us up through the clutter. All the same, post a lookout topside. If she moves even an inch, I am to be told immediately.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The exec began scanning with his binoculars, and halfway through a wide arc he snagged to a sudden stop. “Captain!” he said excitedly. “Over there!”
Grekov pointed to a dull shadow in the distance and handed over the optics.
Khurtin raised them and studied an irregular shape on the broad field of ice. The cylindrical object was mottled by snow, but there was no question as to what it was. “A section of the jet is intact.”
“Could there be survivors?”
Khurtin kept scanning, and soon he saw them. Two figures standing at the edge of the wreckage. “It would appear so.”
“I wonder how many?” the exec said, seeing them unaided with his sharp eyes.
After a lengthy pause, Khurtin lowered the binoculars and said, “It makes no difference. We have a lawful duty.”
“Are you suggesting we give aid?”
“Are you suggesting we do not?”
“Captain, Aurora is the most closely guarded secret of the Russian Navy. She is the future of our submarine force. We cannot risk bringing foreign civilians on board.”
“What alternative do you propose?”
“Notify the Chinese, tell them to open their eyes. They could secure their equipment and be here in less than an hour.”
Khurtin considered it. “Give them an unearned win?”
“It’s not a game.”
“That is where you are wrong, Grekov,” the captain said, his voice rising but steady.
“I give you great latitude, my friend, and we generally reach the same conclusions. But you forget why we have come to this godforsaken place. The Aurora is, as you say, at the vanguard of the Russian Navy. But that is not something to hide. The world should know it. This is the perfect opportunity to demonstrate what she is capable of. If we are reading the situation correctly, and I think we are, the Chinese and the Americans have been stumbling across the region trying to find this crash site. But the Aurora, with virtually no knowledge of the situation, is the first to arrive on scene.”
The exec argued no further, knowing Khurtin’s decision was made. He said, “If we use the forward hatch, and if there are not too many of them, we could convert the crew’s mess to a holding area. That would keep them from getting a look at the control room and fire control area.”
“It would also force our crew to eat cold meals in their bunks.” Khurtin grinned and put a hand on his exec’s shoulder. “I never said we would take them aboard.”
Grekov looked at him curiously.
“I will lead the shore party. Have the medic join us with supplies, and also Senior Seaman Andreyev—my English is decent, but his is better and he also speaks Mandarin. There is no telling who we will encounter. We will provide aid—medical care, blankets, food, clothing. Most important of all, we will bring a camera to document our good and benevolent work.”
A slow smile. “And I will contact headquarters to advise them of our heroic actions.”
“Now you are seeing it. Headquarters will contact the Chinese, and the Snow Dragon 2 will arrive in due course. By that time, we will have the poor wretches warm, fed, and bandaged, and news outlets around the world will be praising the star of the Russian Navy.”
“But an icebreaker is far better suited to transporting crash survivors than a submarine. They have a helicopter deck in case any critically ill survivors must be transported immediately.”
“You see? It is only common sense.”
“We get the credit,” said Grekov appreciatively.
“And they bear the burden. When the Chinese arrive, we will give them a quick briefing and submerge before anyone begins nosing around the Aurora.”
A flash of motion caught the captain’s eye, and he raised the binoculars again. The two people outside the shattered airplane were waving at him.
Arkady Khurtin grinned and waved back.