Operation Arctic Sting, page 19
THE LYRE—FURY & HECLA STRAIT
As we prepared to get underway, we started to get intermittent but clear indications of Shchuka about thirty nautical miles to the south. She was heading generally to the west, probably trying to track the location of the transponder. Since that was the whole idea, we didn’t do anything to discourage her.
We crept into the mouth of Fury and Hecla Strait under strict ultra-quiet conditions—both Lyre and Teuthis. Over the next fifteen hours, we covered only fifty-nine nautical miles. At first, the current helped us, but then it died away. By the time Sam brought us to the shallow ridge just west of Liddon Island, we were moving over the bottom at a bit more than walking speed. Liddon Island lay about three nautical miles ahead of us as Sam turned his watch over to Potts.
The canopy had thinned to just a few inches as Potts eased us up against the ice. It cracked and broke effortlessly.
“Okay, Potts,” I said, “I’m raising the scope.” To my surprise, I saw the polynya’s quiet surface in the dim twilight. We were near the middle of an eight-hour twilight at this latitude. The sky was overcast, and there was no specific light source, just a general dim skyglow. As I swung around, off our starboard bow I saw several brief white flashes. “What’s Teuthis’ location?” I asked.
“A bit over a mile off our starboard bow,” Potts answered, supplying information from the Akkord console.
“Okay, I got her scope visually,” I said. “She’s flashing a white light.” I took my eye from the scope to look at Potts. “Can we do that?”
“Sergyi,” Potts called. “To control, please.”
“He’s not here, remember…” I grinned at him.
“The DIA guys speak Russian, don’t they?” Potts asked.
“Wyatt does. Call him.”
When Wyatt appeared, I asked, “How can I flash a light from the periscope?”
Wyatt grabbed one of the manuals and flipped the pages. “There’s a switch for that near your right hand,” he told me a couple of minutes later.
Sure enough…I flashed the light several times and got back a responding flash. That was Waverly, finishing up his watch. With that, we concluded our informal comm test using periscopes.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis.” It was the secure Gertrude, and I recognized the skipper’s voice.
“This is Lyre,” I responded.
“We intend to float with the current through Labrador Narrows ten hours from now. In the meantime, we can both bottom, and we can bring half your crew at a time to Teuthis for a hot shower and a meal. That is, of course, only if your guys want to do this.”
By the end of this short conversation, all eight of my guys were in Control, grinning from ear to ear.
“It looks like my crew has decided,” I said. “Oh, by-the-way, Happy New Year!”
I fingered Kate’s ivory cylinder in my pocket, wondering what she was doing on this special night.
First things first. We pulled around to Liddon Island’s southwest side and set down gently on the mud bottom with clear water overhead. We were just inside a relatively permanent polynya. Teuthis bottomed alongside starboard to starboard—our normal protocol. I turned on Lyre’s lights only to find visibility very low because of the mud we had stirred up. For the most part, the currents that raged through Fury and Hecla Strait bypassed the south side of Liddon Island. Even so, by the time the divers had connected us to Teuthis, and we were sucking trons, the surrounding water had started to clear.
While we definitely were in Polar Bear country, I did not expect any close encounters this time. Polar Bears prefer jumbled pack ice relatively close to land. They avoid large flat expanses of ice because they cannot easily break through the ice to fish. Continuously open polynyas often have Orcas, one of the few predators that Polar Bears avoid. The ice in the strait was quite broken up, although jammed together. It would have been fine for the bears, except for the recurring swift currents. The jostling floes and smaller bergies were hazardous for a swimming Polar Bear. Not even a 1,000-pound male can survive being crushed between two large floes or a couple of large bergies.
Borysko didn’t show either.
“Where’s Borysko?” Sergyi, who was one of the deployed divers, asked.
“Borysko can cruise all day at ten knots,” I answered. “If he followed us from the Grindle Islands, he would have had to circumnavigate the south end of Boothia before following us through Fury and Hecla Strait—some five hundred nautical miles. He should have been able to track our progress until we entered the strait, so—if he followed, and we don’t know that—he should be showing up before we leave.” Then I added, “Don’t let my thoughts about Polar Bears lower your awareness.”
“No Ukrainian food for Polar Bears today,” Sergyi said as I watched him scan the surface above them.
“Stand by for Mystic ops,” Barry, who was on watch by this time, announced over the Secure Gertrude.
I had already decided to send the DIA team first along with Bert, so he could relieve me when they returned. The DIA guys had not been sharing watchstanding duties with the five Teuthis crew members, but they had spent virtually all their time when not sleeping or eating, studying the Lyre systems. Even Kendrick Long, the hull specialist, kept himself busy assisting his teammates. As we were awaiting Mystic, I asked Wyatt about it.
“You guys have been keeping pretty busy learning the Alfa systems,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied, “this is the most advanced sub ever built. It has some flaws, but it beats the shit out of anything we got. The automation alone…my God!” He shook his head. “No reason we couldn’t do this—even if we didn’t use titanium. A fleet of these boats built to American standards, using one of our reactors, manned by American submariners…we would be invincible.”
“We pretty much are right now,” I said.
“Not if the Soviets build a bunch of these,” Wyatt said. “They’ll eat our lunch, dinner, and breakfast!”
We heard Mystic making a seal above our after-hatch.
“Okay, guys,” I said to the DIA team and Bert. “Get your butts over there and enjoy a shower, some real chow, and a bit of relaxation. We’ll see you in about three hours.”
Potts was finishing up his watch, and I was next. Other than monitoring the charge and what was happening outside our hull, we didn’t have a lot to do. I called the guys into Control.
“Spook, you will be taking us through the Labrador Narrows. I’ll be here in case you need me, but you will be in the driver’s seat. This will be the most difficult seventeen nautical mile stretch we have done thus far. We’re traveling ultra-quiet—engines shut down, screw not turning. Since we will be moving with the water, your rudder and planes will not work. All you will have are the two little screws on the tips of the stern plane stabilizers. Remember, these guys don’t tilt. Alfa stern planes are like aircraft elevators, moving flaps in a horizontal stabilizer. The auxiliary props are at the outer ends of the stabilizers, so they don’t tilt. You can use them to accelerate, decelerate, and turn. If you gain sufficient forward momentum beyond the current, then you can use the control surfaces.” I stopped to let him absorb what I had said.
“This is gonna be trickier than setting neutral buoyancy on Teuthis. I don’t know how much help Boksit and Akkord will be. If Wyatt is correct, Ivan designed this system to handle something like the Labrador Narrows, but we better be on our toes in case it loses the bubble.”
I could tell that Spook was a bit nervous about the forthcoming assignment. He tried not to show it, but I saw it. “Senior Chief Jones,” I said, putting as much sincerity as possible into my words, “if anyone can do this, you can!” I grabbed his shoulder and grinned at him. “Besides, if we do hit bottom, this baby’s made of titanium. Shouldn’t cause any damage, especially at the slow speed we will be traveling.”
“You’ll do fine,” Sam said.
“Yep,” Potts added
I thought they both were happy it was Spook and not them.
“Seriously, Spook,” I said, “this will be a feather in your hat. Don’t worry. I’ll be right there to help if things get crazy.”
We finished the charge without Borysko making an appearance. The divers were disappointed, but that changed when they found several Greenland Halibut camouflaged by the muddy bottom. Their find was highly unusual since these fish usually stay in much deeper water—over 1,200 feet. They brought three seventy-pound fish for Cedric and his crew. The divers completed their short decompression and were hanging out in Dive Control when I arrived about three hours later. I had left Bert in charge, but despite my having full confidence in him, I found myself a bit nervous at not being aboard Lyre.
I spent a half-hour with the divers, shooting the bull and generally reestablishing our warm rapport, with high-fives for the three halibut. Then I hit the rain locker and must have spent a full fifteen minutes luxuriating in the hot spray.
Cedric Hurst went out of his way to give my crew a great meal. He made it diner’s choice, steak or halibut. Everyone opted for the Greenland Halibut, some of the best eating fish in the world. Cedric baked up a batch of cornbread that we consumed slathered with butter and honey, or in my case, maple syrup. It was definitely good eating and outclassed our LRPs every which way from Sunday.
Just as I sat down for my meal, Ham knocked at the Wardroom door and stuck his head inside.
“What is it, Ham?”
“Borysko just showed up. The captain has given permission for several divers to pay him a visit. I thought that since you have not yet had the pleasure, you might like to join them.” He grinned at me.
There is no doubt—Ham knew his boss.
I checked with the skipper.
“Just make sure you are back and decompressed in time to transfer back to Mystic,” he told me.
A half-hour later, I was in the water with Sergyi and Borysko—thirty feet of 12,000-pound friendly killer whale. Borysko recognized Sergyi, probably by his bright white ID letter—A. Borysko opened his huge mouth, and Sergyi reached in and scratched his tongue. Then he pulled back with me and pointed to my ID letter—M. Borysko approached me and nudged me with his snout. He swam around me, examining me from every angle. Then he approached me front-on, mouth wide agape.
Sergyi gave me two thumbs up, and I heard his voice in my ears. “Go ahead, Mac. Scratch his tongue.”
I did, after which Borysko closed his mouth, put his snout against my chest, and gently pushed me around a large circle bounded by the light from Lyre. I have experienced a lot of things in the water, but this was a first, an absolute first. When we were done, Borysko approached me again and opened his mouth for a tongue scratch.
I was running out of time. Sergyi and I headed back to the DDC. Before we closed the Egress hatch, Borysko squeezed himself under Teuthis and pushed his left eye against the Egress hatch, peering around the lock.
“Don’t close it yet,” I said, as I doffed my helmet and rig so Borysko could see my face. As he watched, I pulled off my hot water suit and stood free in the lock. Borysko rolled over and stuck his tongue through the hatch. I reached down with my bare hand and scratched it, and then pressed my flat hand against his tongue. We remained that way for about a minute, creating an eternal bond between us.
Suddenly, without warning, Borysko moved so that his blowhole was in the hatch opening. He let go a furious blow that covered the entire lock and all of us with a faintly fishy spray. Then he sucked in a lungful of the compressed air from the Egress Lock. It was fortunate that we were using air and not mixed gas. I have no idea what the helium might have done to him. I was worried about the two-and-a-half atmospheres of air he took in, but he didn’t seem to notice. He moved his eye back to the hatch and then stuck his tongue in again. We all scratched his tongue, and then I once more pressed my hand against his tongue. After a minute or so, Borysko pulled back, and we shut the hatch.
I surfaced from my short decompression with five minutes to spare and hurried to join the rest of my crew for the return trip to Lyre. The entire crew had watched my antics with Borysko. As I hurried aft, high-fives slapped my hands the length of the sub. It was kind of fun, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on it as my thoughts turned to our forthcoming passage through Labrador Narrows.
What I didn’t know, what none of us knew, was what actually lay ahead of us.
THE LYRE—LABRADOR NARROWS
After we safely transited to Lyre and Mystic was secured in her cradle, I relieved Bert, and we all assembled in Control.
“Some of you have already heard this,” I said, “but Bert and the DIA guys have not.” I took a deep breath. “Spook is next up on the watchbill, so he’s going to take us through the narrows.” I noticed that Spook winced slightly.
I then explained what I had earlier gone through with Spook. “You all are welcome to hang out in Control. Just don’t get in our way. Things may get exciting. Spook, you’ve got it!”
Teuthis took the lead, moving with her outboards. Ten minutes later, I signaled to Spook, and he lifted us off the bottom and moved us on the auxiliary props into the main channel. As we poked into the stream, water pressure pushed our bow to starboard, and we straightened out in the middle of the flow. I checked the Akkord display. We were moving along at a smart seven knots, a hundred feet above the bottom, with 500 feet of water above us.
“Bring us up to two-hundred feet,” I told Spook. “Let’s keep away from the bottom.”
Things were going well, and Spook was doing a good job. He set our parameters into Akkord, and Akkord automatically fired the props and manipulated our buoyancy so that we remained at 200 feet over the deepest part of the channel. Every now and then, Lyre would swerve a bit to one side or the other, pushed by the current. Spook’s hands hovered over the Akkord console controls, ready to change things manually, but Akkord always seemed to recover quickly. It was pretty impressive. And that’s when things got crazy.
At one hour and forty-three minutes into the run, Lyre went into a wild, counterclockwise spin. One moment we were pointed at 097 degrees. The next, our stern overhauled us to starboard, and the next thing we knew, we were headed backward toward our destination.
I opened my mouth to tell Spook to take Akkord offline, but he did it before I could utter the words.
Spook looked at me with a shocked expression. “Wha’ happened? Wha’ do I do?”
That was a good question, one for which I was not sure I had a good answer. “Try moving us to starboard,” I said, “away from whatever spun us—I mean port the way we are pointed now.” I looked at the Akkord display. “Go back on the port screw and forward on the starboard.”
He did. Not much happened, though the current quickly straightened us out.
“Full power on both screws—port back, starboard forward,” I said.
He did, and after an agonizing minute of ever-so-slow twisting, the current caught our starboard bow and swept us back around.
“Okay, Spook, well done! Now bring us to one hundred feet and steady us back on course.”
Spook grunted a couple of times and then grinned with satisfaction. “Got you, you sonofabitch!” He turned to me, relief evident in his features. “Back under control, Mac.”
Afterward, we reconstructed what must have happened. As accurate as they were, the Soviet charts were not perfect. Trying to map out a narrow, deep canyon that is constantly ice-covered and subject to extreme currents is a difficult task under any circumstances. Simply stated, they got it wrong. The Sozh navigation system missed a finger of shallower water intruding into the otherwise deep channel. We struck it with a glancing blow. No damage to Lyre, just enough to slow us so the current could spin us around. I have no idea whether or not Akkord could have corrected the situation. Spook and I didn’t give it a chance. We preferred to rely on good old seamanship to solve the problem.
Later, when Spook and I explained the matter to the skipper in his cabin, he looked at me and said, “Mac, you continue to amaze me with how you react to emergency situations. Bravo Zulu!”
“Spook had the conn,” I tried to interject.
“No, sir!” Spook interrupted. “I just followed your orders!”
“Seriously,” I said, “Senior Chief Morris played a significant role.”
“I know,” the skipper said. “I know.”
THE LYRE—FOXE BASIN
As we swept out of the Labrador Narrows, the bottom shallowed to about 160 feet and would remain so for the next 440 nautical miles. The canopy consisted of smaller floes and lots of brash, with occasional bergies forming anchor points for pressure ridges topside and downward projecting obstacles that we needed to avoid. The entire mass moved southeast with the tidal current. It would reverse to jam Labrador Narrows in twelve hours as the current-driven ice tried to force its way through the narrows into Fury and Hecla Strait.
Bert assumed the watch as we exited the narrows. While I laid out our track for him, I said, “Set your depth to seventy-five feet so long as you have at least seventy-five feet of water beneath you. Where the bottom deepens, drop to a hundred feet. Keep an eye on the canopy.” I paused, thinking how to say the next. “Now, here’s the thing. I have to believe that Borysko is following us. He seemed at home in Boothia, but I have no idea whether or not he knows anything about Foxe Basin and Foxe Channel. So long as the canopy is loose and slushy, he can follow us, grabbing a breath whenever he feels the need. Once it’s solid, he will drown if we don’t help him out. He can cruise at about ten knots and will need to breathe every forty-five minutes or so.”
Bert grinned at me. “You want to make periodic blowholes,” he said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, it’s gotten kinda personal for the divers and me.” I smiled. “Just slow to a stop for your baffle clear and bump a hole through the ice with the sail. Borysko’s smart. He’ll quickly figure out what we are doing.”
