Red Ice

by William Dietz

  Baxter’s eyes were waiting when Soto looked up. “I’m sorry, sir. I know how you feel about her.”

  “Thanks,” Soto said. “You specialize in reading my mind, so what am I going to ask you to do?”

  Baxter grinned. “You’re going to ask me for an upside down crew list with the least critical people on top.”

  “Exactly,” Soto said. “And don’t put the cooks at the top … They’re critical to morale.

  “Next I want you to work with Lieutenant Olson to fly as many people off as you can. Tell her to rotate flights with Drake and to put passengers in the co-pilot’s position. Put Lieutenant Penny in the first load—with orders to organize things on the ground .

  “Then I want you to check the lifeboats. Make sure they’re properly equipped, and ready to launch. Is there anything else that I want you to do?”

  “Yes, sir,” Baxter replied. “You want me to draw up strict criteria as to what people can take with them, you want me to destroy all classified documents, and you want me to check on air cover.”

  “Damn!” Soto said. “I’m pretty smart. Plus there’s one more thing, Leo … Send for Chief Wright. Since we’re going to do this thing, let’s do it right.”

  Soto had no choice but to get on the PA system and inform the crew. His manner was matter of fact. “So,” he concluded. “After more than forty years of faithful service the Dawn is about to complete one last mission. Plans are being drawn up to evacuate the crew. Please do your part to make sure that the process goes smoothly. Thank you.”

  Soto had been to every village up and down the coast of Alaska at least once, and that included the tiny community of Kivalina, Alaska, which lay roughly ninety miles to the east. That was the best place to send his crew. The Dolphin could make a round trip in a little more than an hour, which was important, because there was a limited amount of fuel aboard. And Kivalina was so remote that no one would realize what had taken place until the attack was over. At that point the air force could send planes to take the crew out.

  And so began hours of frantic activity as the Dawn slowed, the Dolphin ferried people to shore, and final preparations were made. Fighters were on call, but not circling above, lest they draw attention to the ship. And the Russians were so busy trying to drive the Americans off Little D that they didn’t send any planes north to look around.

  By the time darkness fell 118 members of the 160 person crew had been taken ashore, and 40 of them were boarding motor lifeboats. The other two, which was to say Soto and Chief Engineer George Chang, were still aboard. Baxter shook hands with Soto prior to leaving the bridge for the last time. “Where’s your dry suit, sir? Shouldn’t you put it on?”

  “Not yet,” Soto told him. “It’s too damned hot. Now quit screwing around and get the rest of our people to shore.”

  Baxter took a step backwards, came to attention, and popped a perfect salute. “I’ll see you in Anchorage, Captain.” Then he was gone.

  Soto took a look around. He had the bridge to himself. The pictures were in his pocket. Maria, Emily, and Joel. He taped them to the console in front of him. Then, after taking hold of the wheel, he released the autopilot. Not because he had to … But because he wanted to be one with his ship. To say goodbye in his own way. The phone was only inches away. Soto lifted the receiver and entered a number. He heard a click. “George? Are you there?”

  “Of course I’m here,” Chang said. “Where else would I be?”

  “In a lifeboat,” Soto replied. “And there’s still time to bail out. What about your husband?”

  “He’s a marine,” Chang replied. “He’ll understand.”

  “Okay,” Soto replied. “Give me everything you have. And I mean all of it.”

  “All of it,” meant the combined power of three Pratt & Whitney gas turbines capable of pushing the ship through the water at 18 knots (21mph). And since the Dawn was 45 miles north of Big Diomede, that meant it would take about two hours to reach the bridge. It would be dark when the icebreaker arrived, which was perfect.

  Russian radars would spot the Dawn , that was a given, but what would they make of her? Would the officer in command understand the threat? Or would he think the vessel was Russian? And way off course? That sort of thing could help, but Soto wasn’t counting on it. All he could do was bore in and let the Dawn do what she did best: Break things in two.

  In the meantime there was an opportunity to remember. The day he married Marie, the births of his children, and sailing on a sunny day.

  There were regrets too … Things he’d said. Things he hadn’t said. And opportunities lost. But all in all Soto had led a happy life, and he was grateful for it.

  So when the time came, and Soto saw the lights ahead, he was at peace. “George? Are you there?”

  “Of course I’m here,” came the same reply that Chang had given earlier. “Where else would I be?”

  Soto laughed. “Nowhere my friend … Just here. With me.”

  The Dawn shuddered and the vibration beneath Soto’s feet increased as Chang gave him full emergency power. Soto saw flashes as the Russian guns opened fire, and watched the tracers arc his way. The shells looked like beads on a string. They hit hard, beating on steel hull like hammers, all searching for a way in. And some succeeded. A fire alarm bleated as a missile struck the ship, and destroyed the 5-inch gun.

  But that wasn’t enough. The Dawn was designed for pushing forward, for riding up onto thick sheets of ice, and for crushing them under her tremendous weight.

  So when the guns failed to stop the icebreaker there was nothing to prevent the ship’s specially shaped bow from sliding up and onto the floating bridge.

  The impact nearly threw Soto to the deck but he managed to hold on. And there, dangling from a cord, was the thumb switch. The one that Chief Wright had rigged with help from one of Chang’s engineers. It was a secret. Their secret.

  Soto held it in his hand, stared into Marie’s eyes, and thumbed the button. The shaped charges went off in quick succession. And, since they were attached to the Dawn’s fuel tanks, there was a series of secondary explosions. The result was a flash of light and a clap of thunder so loud that people in Wales, Alaska heard it.

  Elsewhere, more than a thousand miles away, Maria Soto awoke from a sound sleep. And then, for some unknown reason, she began to cry.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Little Diomede Island, USA, Bering Strait

  T he team had taken refuge in the ruins of an old tumbledown lighthouse on the west side of Little Diomede’s mostly flat plateau. An army H45 space heater provided what warmth there was—and a battery powered lantern threw hard shadows against the stone walls. A camouflaged tarp served as a roof, and gear was stacked all around.

  A hole in the section of the wall that was still standing allowed the JTACs to aim their binoculars and scopes at Big D. And Falco was staring out into the night when he saw a flash of light followed by a loud BOOM. “What the hell was that?” Lee wondered.

  “I don’t know,” Oliver replied. “But it looked like whatever it was took place west of Big D. Maybe we dropped a MOAB (Mother of All Bombs) on those bastards.”

  “Oh yeah,” Lee said enthusiastically. “Eighteen thousand pounds of whup ass! That would slow ’em down.”

  “A MOAB would clear the bridge of traffic,” Falco said. “But MOABs aren’t penetrator weapons. So a single bomb wouldn’t be all that effective against the bridge itself. No, I’d put my money on a missile strike. But regardless of that, it’s time to earn our pay. Let’s launch a Raven.”

  After giving the JTACs their orders, Colonel Waya had arranged for two UAV operators to join the team, and supplied the group with an equal number of Ravens. Each drone had a 5.5 foot wingspan, was 3 feet long, and weighed 4.2 pounds. That made them small and hard to spot. It also made them vulnerable to winds.

  The machines had a range of 6.2 miles—and a cruising speed of roughly18mph. And, thanks to the sophisticated sensor packages they carried, the Rave
ns could complete missions day and night.

  Specialists Cooper and Jenkins were supposed to work twelve hour shifts. But both of the operators were awake and ready to go. Cooper was a twenty-year-old soldier with a tendency to refer to the air force as the “chair force,” even though the JTACs were members of the branch she was poking fun at. Jenkins was forty-something, and one of thousands of reservists who’d been called up to fight. He had a calm, no nonsense manner, and Cooper called him “Dad.” “Come on,” Jenkins said. We’ll put Mutt up and take a look around.”

  None of them knew why Jenkins had chosen to name the Ravens after the cartoon characters Mutt and Jeff—and none of them saw any reason to object. Cooper made a face. “I’m on a break.”

  “Cut the crap,” Oliver said, “or I’ll have the army ship you to Alaska.”

  All of them laughed, Cooper included, as she followed Jenkins out into the night. Either of them could launch Mutt alone, but the process was easier with two people. “Check with Slingshot-One, and Slingshot-Two,” Falco instructed. “Tell them we’ll have missions for them shortly.”

  Slingshot-One and Two were the M777A2 howitzers that Colonel Waya had brought in. They were relatively light at nine-thousand pounds each, capable of firing a variety of “smart” munitions, and could strike targets up to fifteen miles away. That made them perfect for the task at hand. “Both tubes are ready,” Lee reported .

  “Good,” Falco replied. “Check on the D-4s too … Do operators know where the next positions are located? Are they ready to hook up?”

  Once the howitzers began to fire, their shells would appear on Russian radar screens. As that occurred computer programs would calculate where the rounds had come from, and send counter-fire coordinates to artillery, tanks and/or missile batteries which would respond. That meant the M777A2s could fire a limited number of rounds before the CATs towed them away.

  Falco figured that once an American gun began to fire, it would take the Russians about ten minutes to zero in on the weapon’s position and attempt to kill it. Each M777 could fire three rounds per minute. So Falco figured that a tube could send nine rounds down range prior to being towed away. That’s why a tractor was assigned to each unit. “The next positions have been selected, and the D-4s are ready,” Lee reported.

  “Mutt’s up, and all systems are green,” Jenkins announced, as he entered the shelter. Cooper was right behind him.

  “Excellent,” Falco replied. “Let’s take a look at the so-called port on the east side of Big Diomede. That’s as far as the Russians can go, unless they’re able to put the second span in place. Maybe targets are starting to pile up there.”

  Jenkins sat down in front of an open case. The vehicle interface was on the left, with a laptop in the middle, and a UAV datalink positioned on the right. “A strong breeze is blowing in from the west. That’s why Mutt is so slow,” Jenkins explained. “But he’ll be over the target area in ten minutes or so.”

  Waiting was something that JTACs did a lot of. Waiting for the enemy, waiting for friendlies, or waiting for the weather to improve. It was all part of the job. So ten minutes was no big deal. Falco took the opportunity to eat a trail bar, and wash it down with lukewarm coffee. Sugar and caffeine. The breakfast of champions .

  Falco heard planes pass overhead and expected to hear some explosions. There were none. They were friendlies then, providing forces on Little D with air cover, or heading west to battle the Russians.

  How was Parker doing? Falco wondered. Well, he hoped. He found himself thinking about her frequently, even though he knew that was stupid. The woman was a certified man magnet for god’s sake. And bound to have a significant other somewhere. So the fantasies were a waste of time. But Falco couldn’t forget the mocking half-smile and the quizzical look in her eyes. It was as if she wanted to know more. About him? Or was that too much to hope for? “We have targets, sir,” Jenkins said. “A lot of them.”

  Falco went to look over the UAV operator’s shoulder. The Raven was over Big D by then … And as the drone followed the road west a column of heat signatures blossomed on the screen. The Russians were too professional to let their vehicles bunch up, so the targets were spaced out. But there was only so much room on the road, which meant the Americans might be able to score multiple kills. “We’ll start on this side of the island,” Falco said. “And work our way west. Lee, put Slingshot-One and Two on standby … Jenkins, see the big blob? How much you wanta bet that’s a T-14 tank? Mark the target, and send it to Slingshot-One. Lee? Tell them to fire when ready.”

  No sooner had the order been passed, than the howitzer sent a smart round arching high into the sky. Eight more fell in quick succession. The results were spectacular. The entire team gathered around and watched as death fell on target after target. What initially appeared as blobs of heat expanded into clouds, some of which began to merge.

  A cheer went up after each hit. Then, as Slingshot-One fired its ninth round, Slingshot-Two took over. And, as the second howitzer fired, the first gun was towed away .

  Just in time too! What sounded like a freight train passed overhead. That was followed by a BOOM, as the Russian shell exploded to the east of them. More rounds followed.

  But Slingshot-One was not only clear of the target area, but in a new location, where it had to locate itself via GPS. That was required in order to use smart munitions, but consumed very little time. Twenty minutes after leaving its first location the howitzer was ready to sling lead again.

  The Russians tried to run, but there was nowhere to go, so the howitzers had a field day. Then the one-sided battle came to an end when the Russians spotted Mutt and blew the Raven out of the sky. It was hard to say exactly how the feat was accomplished. But it was possible that the Russians had something akin to the American C-RAM (Counter Rocket, Artillery, and Mortar System) which used radar and a Gatling gun to defend against airborne targets.

  That cut the group’s targeting capabilities in half, and forced Falco to consider his options. Should he put Jeff up? And run the risk of losing it? Or save the Raven for later on? The problem was that Falco didn’t have any clear notion of what that “later on” would be. So he went all in. “Okay, launch Jeff … But keep him low, and as far from the target as possible, while continuing to maintain contact. Maybe we can slip under their radar.”

  Jenkins went out to hand launch Jeff, and once the drone was in the air, Cooper took control. The drone took ten minutes to cross the two plus mile gap of water that separated the islands. Cooper called Falco over at that point. And, as the JTAC peered over her shoulder, he could see that the soldier had a fine touch.

  The Raven was low, no more than fifty feet off the ground. That narrowed what they could see. Still, a target was a target, even if the entire array of possibilities wasn’t visible .

  Targeting information was sent to the gun crews, shells began to fall with devastating accuracy, and Jeff was flying so low that Falco feared the Raven would be destroyed by one of the explosions. Fortunately that didn’t happen. What did happen was that the enemy spotted Jeff and shot it down.

  But even though the howitzers couldn’t fire with the same degree of precision, they could continue to fire, and the road was the obvious target. “Tell the redlegs to switch to regular rounds, and follow the road west, and onto the bridge,” Falco instructed. “Colonel Waya told us to mess with their heads and we will. Are we using drones or not? The Russians won’t be sure. We’ll ruin their sleep if nothing else. Oh, and tell them to randomize their firing intervals.”

  Lee passed the orders and, secure in the knowledge that Oliver would be on duty for the next three hours, Falco took the opportunity to grab some shuteye. The ground was hard, but he slept like a rock, until Russian planes delivered a wake-up call two hours later. And they came in force. Bombs landed everywhere … It was as if the enemy was determined scour the mesa clean of all life.

  It was still dark. So when Falco went outside there was nothing to see other than fla
shes of light as the gravity bombs fell—and the crisscrossing lines of tracer which reached up to find the enemy planes. Maybe the shells would hit something, but it didn’t seem likely.

  Fortunately the defenders had plenty of shoulder launched Stinger missiles plus the Humvee mounted Avenger Air Defense units to defend themselves with. Each Avenger system included two, four missile pods, and each weapon was equipped with an infrared homing package.

  Missiles sleeted into the air and went looking for targets. Falco heard a succession of explosions, but had no way to know whether they were the result of hits on enemy aircraft, or bombs hitting the ground.

  The air raid lasted for fifteen minutes or so and, when it finally came to an end, there was no way to know why. Had American planes chased the bombers away? Did the Russian planes need more bombs? Both possibilities were believable.

  An uneasy silence settled over the mesa, as the short artic night came to an end, and the first blush of dawn appeared in the east. There were so many bomb craters that the plateau looked like the surface of the moon. Medics hiked from place-to-place searching for casualties. When two of them passed the shelter Falco took the opportunity to learn what he could. “How’s it going? Did we take a lot of casualties?”

  “A few,” one the medics allowed. “But our people were spread out, and that kept the total number down.” She jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. “They’re taking the wounded out now.”

  Falco nodded, thanked her, and returned to the shelter. The rest of the team was inside grousing about their MREs, and trading meal components. “I’ll trade you my cookies for your M&M’s,” Cooper offered.

  “Forget that,” Lee replied. “But I’ll trade some cheese spread for cocoa.” And so it went. In the meantime Falco was thinking. Random fire had some value … However, like any JTAC, Falco wanted to strike specific targets if possible. But both drones had been destroyed. So what to do? The answer was obvious. If Falco couldn’t pick targets electronically, then he’d do it the old fashioned way, which was eyes-on.