The Belgorod (K-329)
In position over the transatlantic cable target
North Atlantic
2327 local time
Standing in the middle of the control room, Konstantin surveyed the watch section team with no small amount of pride as the final preparations for Operation Guillotine were made. The Belgorod had completed its seven-thousand-plus-kilometer infiltration trek—traveling from north of the Arctic Circle in the Barents Sea all the way south to a latitude in line with Washington, D.C.—without being detected by the Americans. The next forty-eight hours would be dangerous, and there was a possibility the ship and crew might not survive the aftermath, but Konstantin felt confident they would complete the mission before that happened.
“Captain, the ship is in position. I completed a sonar sweep of the area and hold no submerged contacts or surface ships within twenty nautical miles. Request permission to bring the main engines to all stop and engage the hovering system at a depth of three hundred and fifty meters,” the conning officer said.
The captain walked to the sonar repeater and scanned the display. The Americans were undoubtedly looking for them, but Konstantin saw nothing of concern in their immediate vicinity. The data hub was two nautical miles west of the coordinates where the Finitor had been seized, giving them only a hair’s separation from the Americans.
“Very well, conning officer,” he said. “Order all stop and engage the hovering system.”
“Aye, Captain,” Blok said. “Helm, all stop.”
“All stop, Helm, aye,” the helm said. “Conning officer, the engines are stopped.”
“Very well, Helm. Diving officer of the watch, engage the hovering system. Maintain depth of three hundred and fifty meters and coordinate with the quartermaster to maintain position over the target coordinates.”
The DOOW repeated back the order, then engaged the Belgorod’s special automated hovering system, which had been designed by Rubin and installed during the submarine’s conversion to a special missions boat. The computer-controlled system used the ship’s trim and drain system and a series of small auxiliary pumps to maintain a state of neutral buoyancy, allowing the sub to “hover” at the order depth. It also maintained the sub’s angle of attack, or “bubble,” at zero degrees, and prevented listing to the port or starboard side. Lastly, it utilized special water-jet “thrusters” located near the bow and the stern for low-speed maneuvering and station keeping. Without the thrusters, ocean currents would quickly push the massive submarine off the target—a phenomenon known as set and drift.
What most people didn’t realize was that submarines, like sharks, generated lift as they moved through the water, much like an airplane wing. Bring a submarine’s speed to zero while submerged, and there was a tendency for it to sink. A moving submarine could carry thousands of kilograms of “hidden” weight at speed—weight that only made itself known upon slowing. The next few moments would tell how good of a job the diving officer of the watch had done preparing for hovering by trying to estimate the trim needed to achieve neutral buoyancy at zero speed. The automated system was good, but it could only pump so fast. If the Belgorod started to “sink out,” the conning officer might be forced to restore propulsion and try again after pumping off water weight.
Like everyone else in control, Konstantin kept his eyes fixed on the main depth gauge at the top of the diving control panel. The current depth read 356 meters and was drifting in the wrong direction. When the display changed to 357, the conning officer started to speak, but Konstantin cut him off.
“Give it a moment,” he said.
“Aye, Captain.”
The digital display changed to 358, then flickered back and forth between 357 and 358 for several seconds, before settling back on 357. A long moment later, it came up to 356, then 355.
“Good job, diving officer,” Konstantin said. “You got us damn close. Looks like the system has everything under control.”
“Thank you, sir,” the dive said.
“Quartermaster, report position.”
“Captain, ship is four hundred and twenty meters south-southeast of the target location,” the quartermaster reported.
“Very well,” he said and turned to Blok. “Conning officer, I’m going aft to the UUV hangar control room. I will have the control room supervisor notify you when we are ready to open the bay doors and launch the submersible.”
“Aye, Captain.”
He turned to First Officer Stepanov, who’d just arrived on the conn. “Your timing is perfect. I’m heading aft to supervise the launch and operation of the drone. Stay here and keep an eye on things.”
“Yes, sir,” Stepanov said.
Konstantin left the ship’s control room and made his way to the wet hangar control room, which was located on deck five aft of the sail. Where a regular-build Oscar II submarine had an ICBM missile compartment in the middle section of the ship, the Belgorod did not. Instead of a missile bay, K-329 had been outfitted with a unique module that facilitated a variety of covert, deep-ocean missions that could be conducted by different submersible platforms—some manned like the deep-diving, nuclear-powered, top secret Losharik (AS-31), and others like the unmanned Klavesin-3P-PM they carried aboard in the wet hangar. These special “research” vessels fell under the purview of the Main Directorate of Deep-Sea Research, or GUGI, as did this mission. The Belgorod, for its part, was “on loan” to the GUGI from the Northern Fleet for this operation.
From an organizational perspective, deep submersible and UUV operations fell under the weapons department, which meant that Captain Lieutenant Morozov was the man in charge. When Konstantin arrived at the hangar control room, he found Morozov pacing.
“Captain, the preoperational checklist is complete. We have a good connection with the drone. Batteries have ninety-seven percent charge and the pilot is ready to commence the operation,” Morozov reported the instant Konstantin entered.
Konstantin walked to stand in front of the man, placed his hand on Morozov’s shoulder, and said, “Can you guarantee me that the bay doors will operate silently?”
Despite looking visibly nervous, Morozov answered without hesitation. “No, Captain. I cannot.”
This was the response Konstantin had hoped to hear. Not because it was the news he wanted, but because it was the truth. The wet hangar bay doors sometimes made a “clank” sound during the last ten degrees of travel when opening. Frustratingly, this anomaly did not occur every time the doors were cycled. While the Belgorod had been in dry dock at Sevmash, correcting this problem had been a priority for Konstantin. The previous weapons officer had assigned a maintenance team to identify the root cause of the problem and fix it, but according to Morozov, the sound could not be reliably replicated and thus was never corrected.
Konstantin exhaled. “You understand that there is certainly an American hunter-killer submarine patrolling this area. That the American carrier strike group is operating in this area at this very moment. If the doors clank, it is an advertisement to every pair of sonar tech ears listening for hundreds of kilometers that we are here. It is like standing up on the battlefield, waving your hands, and shouting, ‘Here I am, shoot me.’ ”
“Yes, Captain, I understand this all too well,” the weapons officer answered. “All I can tell you is that before getting underway, I ordered the hinges and operating mechanisms thoroughly lubricated with fresh grease and cycled five times. The noise occurred on the first cycle, but not the next four. In reviewing the logs, it seems this noise happens most frequently upon the initial cycling after periods of inactivity. The bay doors have not been operated since leaving the shipyard. I’m sorry to say, but if it is going to happen, it will probably happen now.”
Konstantin nodded. He’d read the report as well and had come to the same conclusion. “Let me ask you a question, Captain Lieutenant. What if we only open the doors eighty-five percent—stopping them before the point of travel where the noise occurs—can we still attempt to launch the submersible?”
Morozov thought a moment and said, “I considered this option myself and took measurements of the clearance with the doors at eighty-seven degrees open before departing dry dock. What you suggest is possible, but the clearance is small. The pilot will have to ascend perfectly. Ocean currents could easily push the Klavesin’s hull into the doors and that will also make noise.”
“So, it’s a roll of the dice either way.”
“Da, Captain.”
Konstantin looked at the submersible drone pilot sitting at the console nearby. The young man had clearly been listening to the conversation while trying to appear otherwise. “Pilot, what is your opinion on the matter?”
“Sir, I default to Captain Lieutenant Morozov’s decision,” the man said.
He walked to stand beside the console, towering over the seated pilot. “I know you do, just like you have been trained, but that was not my question.”
“Uh . . . I think we should open the bay doors all the way, Captain.”
Konstantin gave a snort. “So you are not confident with your abilities. You would prefer that the captain lieutenant receive my wrath if the doors clank rather than take the risk yourself.”
The drone pilot’s cheeks flushed and he burbled something, but it mattered not. Konstantin had his answer. “We will fully open the bay doors. I am the ship’s captain, and I take responsibility for the outcome of the decision. Captain Lieutenant Morozov, inform the control room that we are opening the hangar bay doors and commencing the operation.”
“Yes, sir,” Morozov said and nodded at their phone talker, who was already in direct communication with a phone talker in the ship’s control room.
The young man passed the information to the conn and a beat later announced, “Captain, control acknowledges and reports that the ship is five hundred and forty-seven meters south-southeast of the target location. The thrusters are struggling to overcome the current.”
“What is the last sounding?”
“Eleven hundred nineteen meters, Captain,” Morozov answered.
“How long is the control wire?” Konstantin asked Morozov.
“Five thousand meters, sir.”
“What is the maximum speed of the drone?”
“Twelve knots, Captain,” the drone pilot and Morozov said at the same time.
“Then we’re fine. We have plenty of cable, and the submersible can overcome the ocean currents. Proceed with the operation.”
“Aye, Captain,” Morozov said. “Pilot, open the wet hangar bay doors.”
The pilot acknowledged the order, silently crossed himself, and pressed the button on his terminal to open the drone hangar doors.