Red Ice

by William Dietz

  The JTACs saluted and Waya tossed one in return. “It’s good to see you again, Major … Who are the vagrants that you brought with you?”

  Once the introductions had been made Waya wasted no time getting down to business. “I’d like to believe that the cruise missile attacks will delay the Russians for two days, but that’s unlikely. The bastards are not only resourceful, they’re under the command of General Baranov, a well-known hard ass.

  “Plus,” Waya added, “it’s important to remember what the Russians are up to. They’re building what amounts to a one-season military bridge. It has to be good, but it doesn’t have to be perfect, so anything goes.

  “In order to slow them down I had a C-17 drop two M777A2 howitzers in last night. And, since Big D is only 2.3 miles away, they can reach targets all over the island. But I want you to put most of our fire here .”

  As Waya stabbed the map with his right index finger Falco saw that he was pointing at the port. The same target that the cruise missiles were aimed at. “Fire on them around the clock,” Waya ordered. “Disrupt their activities and mess with their minds.”

  Falco nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t have any spare artillery officers, so you’ll have to move the howitzers yourself, and do so frequently,” Waya told them. “Because the moment they start firing the Russians will work day and night trying to locate and destroy them. Do you have any questions?”

  ‘Yes, sir,” Oliver put in. “It will be difficult for us to spot impacts, and adjust fires from 2.3 miles away. Is there any chance of getting ahold of some Raven UAVs (Unmanned Aerial Vehicles)? They’re small, they’re hard to spot, and they have enough range. We’d need two of them though … They can only remain aloft for an hour or so.”

  Waya nodded. “That’s a good idea, Sergeant. I’ll see what I can do. Is there anything else? No? I want Operation Slingshot up and running by 0800 tomorrow. Make it happen.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Chukchi Sea

  C aptain Marvin Soto was sitting on his raised chair, staring out over the frost covered bow, as the icebreaker Northern Dawn steamed south. The hull shuddered and spray flew as the ship broke through a six-foot high roller and pitched forward. The bow sank, the stern rose, and the process started over again. Would the temporary repairs to the superstructure hold? Soto hoped so. The Bremerton shipyard was a long way off. Once the Dawn arrived Soto would see Maria and the children for the first time in many months. “Captain?”

  Soto turned to find that the ship’s first officer, Lieutenant Commander Leo Baxter, was standing next to him. “Yeah, Leo … What’s up?”

  “A distress call, sir … An air force F-15E Strike Eagle was shot down southwest of here. The pilot survived. The folks at Elmendorf want us to pick him up.”

  Search and rescue. That was the kind of mission the Northern Dawn specialized in. “The pilot is alive,” Soto said. “That’s good. Is he in the water? Or is he on land?”

  There were islands to the southwest. Tiny things for the most part. But people were shipwrecked on them from time to time.

  “In the water,” Baxter replied. “But he’s wearing a dry suit. ”

  There was reason to hope. Without a dry suit the average person would perish in a matter of minutes. But, with a good suit, the pilot might last for as long as 24 hours. “Excellent,” Soto said. “Set the appropriate course.”

  “We have,” Baxter assured him. “And Lieutenant Olson is preparing to launch the remaining Dolphin. But there’s a problem.”

  Soto made a face. “Oh goody. And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “A Russian trawler is headed for our pilot. At its present rate of speed it’s going to reach the area before the Dawn does. PACOM believes that the trawler is a spy ship.”

  Soto considered that. Had the Russians been able to eavesdrop on American radio communications? Such transmissions were encrypted, so it seemed unlikely.

  But when the Russian pilot shot the F-15E down it would have been SOP for him to report both his victory, and the position of the shoot-down. If they could, the Russians would snatch the American flier, and parade him in front of their cameras. It would make for a nice piece of propaganda. Soto was reminded of the Heath incident. He swore. “Ask the chief if we can make more revolutions.”

  Baxter prided himself on anticipating such orders. “He can, sir … But, because of the six- foot seas, it won’t add more than a couple of knots to our speed.”

  Soto glared at him. “You’re starting to piss me off, Leo … What am I going to have for lunch?”

  Baxter’s face remained expressionless. “A grilled cheese sandwich, sir. And a cup of tomato soup.” The bridge crew laughed.

  “You got lucky,” Soto said. “Increase our speed by two knots. Launch the Dolphin as soon as Olson is ready. Maybe we can snatch the pilot out from under the trawler captain’s nose.”

  The red helo lifted off fifteen minutes later and sped away. Soto put in a call for Chief Petty Officer Wright who, along with his crew of mustachioed gunner’s mates, all of whom had played important roles in sinking the Russian icebreaker Narwhal.

  The petty officer arrived ten minutes later and, as always, appeared to be hyper alert. Soto envied the other man’s square jawed good looks and natural charisma. “Good morning, Chief … I might have a job for you. Is the 5-inch ready for action?”

  Soto saw a gleam appear in Wright’s eyes. “Of course, sir.” The man wanted to fight, whereas Soto preferred not to. After listening to Soto’s briefing Wright hurried away.

  Soto turned to discover that 2nd officer Lieutenant Linda Penny had arrived on the bridge. He nodded. “Good morning, Lieutenant. You’re early.”

  “I heard the helicopter take off, so I came up,” Penny responded.

  “Good, thank you. Please sound general quarters.”

  Once the recording ended Soto spoke to the crew via the ship’s PA system. “This is the captain. An air force pilot is in the drink, and it’s a race to see who will reach him first, the Dawn or a Russian spy ship. The entire crew performed admirably against the Narwhal … And I expect nothing less this time. Carry on.”

  Once general quarters sounded, Baxter was required to leave the bridge for the secondary control station in the stern, where he would assume command if Soto was wounded or killed. Soto turned to Penny. “How long before the Dolphin arrives on scene?”

  “Five minutes, sir.”

  “How long until we have a visual on the trawler?”

  “About fifteen from the crow’s nest, sir. Twenty from the bridge.”

  Soto went over to the check the live video feed. There wasn’t much to see. Just ranks of white caps riding on an endless procession of waves. Soto could imagine how it would feel to slide down into a trough—and be buried under a ton of freezing cold water. A swimmer would have to either hold his breath, or breathe salt water, and drown.

  A squawk of static interrupted Soto’s thoughts. “Bird-Dog-Two to Bird-Cage,” Olson said. “We have a visual on the pilot. Standby … Over.”

  Soto felt a sense of relief. It was damned hard to find something as small as a human in hundreds of square miles of ocean. But pilots, especially military pilots, were equipped with emergency locator beacons. That meant Olson and her copilot had been able to follow the signal to its source. The final sighting was a matter of good eyesight.

  “Bird-Dog-Two to Bird-Cage … We’re lowering the basket. I don’t want to put my rescue swimmer in the water if I can avoid it. Over.”

  Soto understood. Once a rescue swimmer was in the water it would double the amount of time the Dolphin had to spend over the site. “Roger that,” Soto said. “Over.”

  “We have visual contact with the trawler,” Olson said. “It’s coming in from the northwest. Shit! They fired a MANPAD at us … It just sailed past.”

  Soto’s mind was racing. “You have flare pistols … Tell your crew chief to fire them out the door. Over.”

  Attack hel
icopters could fire chaff in order to lure missiles away. But Dolphins weren’t equipped for that, and so long as the helo hovered over the pilot, it was a stationary target. Would the heat generated by a distress flare be enough to draw a shoulder launched missile away? Soto held his breath.

  “The flares worked! They missed,” Olson said. “But we’re running out of flares.”

  “Don’t wait for the basket,” Soto said. “Get the hell out of there.”

  Soto watched via the Dolphin’s nose camera as the horizon tilted and began to swing. He saw waves, a brief glimpse of the trawler, and more waves. A second screen showed the cable slanting back and out of the frame. The air force pilot was getting one helluva ride, that was for sure.

  “The trawler is in range, and Chief Wright requests permission to fire,” Penny said.

  Soto could imagine Wright up in the crow’s nest eyeing the trawler through a pair of binoculars. “Permission granted,” Soto said. “Tell the chief to sink that piece of shit.”

  Penny grinned wolfishly. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  There was no way to know how much information the Russian captain had regarding the Dawn and her capabilities. But Soto figured that the 5-inch shells were a surprise. If it were otherwise, the trawler would be running like hell rather than boring in.

  The gun wasn’t linked to a targeting system other than Chief Wright’s eyes. And even though Soto couldn’t see the enemy vessel yet, the noncom could. Soto heard a dull thud as the first shot was fired. “That was over boys,” Wright told his gunners. “Drop fifty.”

  The Dawn shuddered as the five-incher fired again. “That’s better,” Wright allowed, “but no cigars for you. Left twenty.”

  A third bang was heard as a puff of smoke issued from the five-inch barrel, and another high explosive shell flew down range. “Bingo!” Wright said. “You dropped that one onto her stern. She’s turning. Right ten.”

  The deck gun spoke again, and again , as shells continued to rain down on the spy ship. Soto considered calling an end to it, and giving the Russians a chance to save themselves, but he couldn’t forgive them for firing on a rescue helicopter. I’m changing , Soto thought to himself, as the deck gun continued to fire. And it isn’t pretty.

  Finally, after three additional rounds, Wright made the call. “The target is dead in the water. She’s sinking. ”

  “Cease firing,” Soto said. “Lieutenant? What’s the status on the rescue?”

  “The pilot is aboard the helicopter,” Penny replied. “Dr. Nelson and his team are waiting to receive him.”

  “Turn the ship into the wind,” Soto ordered. “Then, once the Dolphin is on board, we’ll search for survivors.”

  Soto knew the landing would delay the search, but there was the distinct possibility that the pilot was in need of medical attention. And that had priority.

  The better part of twenty minutes elapsed before the Dawn was free to turn and crisscross the area where the trawler had gone down. The initial oil slick had broken up by then, but patches of the black stuff remained, and debris was floating on the water. There weren’t any boats, rafts, or swimmers. There were bodies though … Surging with the waves. But Soto had no intention of risking lives to retrieve them.

  After telling the crew to stand down Soto ordered Penny to put the ship back on its original course and left the bridge. When Soto entered the sickbay five minutes later it was to discover that Dr. Nelson was sitting in his tiny waiting room sipping tea. “It looks like your patient is doing well,” Soto said.

  “Yes,” Nelson replied, “and no.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means that he’s in good shape physically. But emotionally? Not so much. His weapons officer was killed—and he blames himself.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Nelson shrugged. “Yes, but watch what you say.”

  “I will,” Soto assured him. “What’s his name?”

  “Davis. Lieutenant Milo Davis.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  A Health Services tech was with Davis when Soto entered. She said, “Hello,” and left. The lights were dimmed but Soto could see. Davis had a buzz cut, dark skin, and his eyes were closed. A blanket was pulled up under the aviator’s chin. Soto assumed Davis was asleep, and was about to leave, when the pilot opened his eyes. “Hello,” Soto said. “I’m Captain Soto.”

  Davis stirred, as if to get up, and Soto shook his head. “As you were, Lieutenant. If you get up, Dr. Nelson will take my head off.”

  Davis produced something akin to a grin. “Thank you for coming to get me, sir … I understand you sank a Russian trawler.”

  “That’s true,” Soto replied, as he sat on the foot of the bed. “The Russians wanted to take you home for show and tell.”

  Davis made a face. “I’ll bet … Well, thanks, and I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”

  “Don’t be,” Soto told him. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence. Soto stood, and was about to leave, when Davis spoke. “Are you going to submit a report?”

  Soto nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “You need to tell them,” Davis said. His eyes were filled with pain.

  “Tell them what?”

  “Tell them about the pilot who shot us down. His name is Voronov. Adrian Voronov.”

  “Voronov? How do you know that?”

  “I know because he told me,” Davis replied miserably. “He speaks perfect English, and he’s an extremely good pilot. Better than I am. That’s why Mike is dead.”

  “Mike? Your weapons officer?”

  Davis nodded. “Voronov was talking to me the whole time, telling me how good he is, and how he was going to splash us. Maybe he got inside my head. Or maybe he’s that much better than I am. Either way he managed to get on my six. He fired a radar guided missile followed by a heat seeker. It slammed into us. We ejected. I saw Mike’s chute. He was alive sir … All the way down.” Davis choked up at that point and turned his head away.

  Soto waited for the pilot to recover. “I’m sorry, sir,” Davis said. “Tell them … Tell them I saw Mike hit the water. He waved at me as a wave lifted him up. Then I heard a sustained roar, and the water exploded around him.

  “That’s when Voronov flew over. He circled, wagged his wings, and left. I tried to reach Mike, but he was gone.” The pilot’s voice was tight. “He was counting on me sir, counting on me to kill the Russian sonofabitch, and I failed him.”

  Soto was out of his depth and he knew it. Davis needed help, but Soto had none to offer. And, in spite of the pilot’s pain, there was something Soto needed to know. “Voronov waggled his wings? He knew you were alive?”

  “Sir, yes sir,” Davis answered. “He left me to tell the story … To build his rep. I wish he had killed me. I’d be with Mike.”

  What Davis said made a horrible kind of sense. And Soto knew that Davis was correct. People on up the chain of command would want to know about Voronov. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant … I’ll put everything you told me into my report. And one more thing …”

  “Sir?”

  “Not long ago this ship fought an engagement with a Russian ship. Not the trawler … A larger, more dangerous ship. It was the first time I’d been anywhere near a battle. People died. My people. I think about that every day. About what I should, or shouldn’t have done. But ultimately I know this … I did the best I could on that particular day. And that’s all any of us can do. I’ll bet that Mike would agree.”

  Davis nodded. But Soto could tell that the pilot was unconvinced, and knew that the young man would take a long time to heal .

  The rest of the day passed without incident. The wind disappeared during the night and the sea looked like glass the next morning. The Dawn was making good time at that point, and Soto’s mind was on his family, as he carried a mug full of coffee up to the bridge. Baxter was waiting to greet him. “Good morning, Captain … A message arrived from PACOM.”

&nb
sp; Something about the way Baxter said it, and the look in his eyes, signaled trouble. Soto felt a twinge of concern. “Yeah? What now?”

  “I think you should read the full text, sir,” Baxter said as he handed Soto a piece of paper.

  Soto took it over to the raised chair where he began to read. The document was labeled “TOP SECRET,” formatted as a so-called “Five Paragraph Order” except that everything after “Situation,” Mission,” and “Execution” was missing. And Soto saw why.

  “SITUATION :

  ENEMY FORCES HAVE COMPLETED WORK ON A FLOATING BRIDGE THAT CONNECTS LAVRENTIYA, RUSSIA WITH BIG DIOMEDE ISLAND AS THE FIRST STEP OF A PLAN TO INVADE ALASKA. ALL EFFORTS TO STOP, OR TO SIGNIFICANTLY SLOW THEM DOWN HAVE FAILED, AND THE ENEMY IS CONSTRUCTING A SECOND SPAN BETWEEN BIG AND LITTLE DIOMEDE ISLANDS.”

  Soto could hardly believe his eyes. There had been radio traffic, lots of it, indicating that something big was taking place. But a floating bridge! No, two floating bridges … That was news. Soto continued to read.

  “MISSION :

  THE USCGG NORTHERN DAWN WAGB-8 IS ORDERED TO PROCEED TO SPAN ONE OF THE FLOATING BRIDGES AND, BY WHATEVER MEANS NECESSARY, SEVER IT .

  EXECUTION :

  THE DAWN’S COMMANDING OFFICER, OR EXECUTIVE OFFICER SHOULD THE COMMANDING OFFICER BE INCAPACITATED, WILL DETERMINE THE BEST WAY TO FULFILL THE REQUIREMENTS OF THE MISSION—DEPENDING ON THE CIRCUMSTANCES AT THE TIME.”

  “Administration/Logistics” and “Command/Signal” were missing. Soto knew why—and the knowledge made him feel queasy.

  PACOM wouldn’t order him to ram the bridge, because that would amount to a suicide mission, and that wouldn’t look good if a reporter got ahold of it.

  No, it was up to him to “… determine the best way to fulfill the requirements of the mission.” And, if he chose to ram the bridge, then that was his decision.

  As for the Northern Dawn , well she was more than forty years old, and about to go into dry dock. So sacrificing an old icebreaker would make sense if it would slow the Russians down. Soto understood the logic even if he didn’t like it. He sighed.