Glass stared hard at the screen. So Brad Crawford had been right. There was a sunken sub up here, and with survivors on board. Brad had given his life trying to rescue a fellow submariner in distress. Toledo and its crew had almost paid the same price. Now it was up to Glass and Toledo to make certain the sacrifice had not been for naught.

If there were survivors down here, and everything pointed to that conclusion, the Russians would have to be in a bad way by now. Glass shook his head as he added up the days. They had been on the bottom for two weeks! They had to be out of power and air. He could imagine how cold and dark and foul it must be inside the submarine by now.

There wasn’t time to fool around.

On the other hand, if they had not sunk the aggressor that had fired on them, or if there was another boat still around, waiting to ambush them, Toledo could join Miami and this Russian boat on the bottom. He could take the cautious approach and search the area before proceeding. Or he could rush in and start the rescue right away, knowing the stranded men were likely near death.

Glass stood by himself in the corner of the control room. He appeared to be watching his crew as they performed their tasks. He was paying them little mind. He was spinning out each of the options in his head. This wasn’t a decision he could share with Edwards or with anyone else on board. This was one of those knotty judgments that only a skipper could make. He knew that men could live or die based on what he decided in the next few minutes. It would be a decision he would have to make on his own and then stand by, no matter what.

When he ran the possibilities through his mind one more time, there was one correct decision. They hadn’t steamed all this way to sit around while men died down here. It was time for action.

“Eng, tell Lieutenant Perkins to get the robot sub launched and out there over that noise. I want to see what that sub looks like,” Glass ordered. He walked to the back of the control room and studied the navigation charts. O’Malley followed, a small grin on his face, and waited for the skipper’s next order. Meanwhile, he looked over his commander’s shoulder at the charts.

Over fifty years of U.S. submarine operations up here in these frigid waters had resulted in bottom topography charts of very high accuracy. They showed a flat, featureless seafloor in this area.

Glass looked up. “Oh, and, Eng, tell Perkins to get the DSRV ready to go. I think we may be needing it shortly.”