Sickened by this sight, Stanley retorted.
“At least your compassion hasn’t spoiled your appetite any.
Christ, Mac, you’re worse than a pig!”
Not taking this remark seriously, the torpedoman attempted to change the subject.
“Lighten up. Roth.
That toothache will go away, and you’ll be right back here wolfing down the chow with the best of ‘em. But until then, you’ve got to get your mind onto something other than what ails you. Otherwise, you’re going to wig right on out of here.”
“I’m afraid that sounds a lot easier to do than it actually is, Mac.”
“I don’t know about that, Stan. You haven’t by any chance seen the latest addition to the Defiance’s crew as yet, have you?”
As Roth shook his head indicating he hadn’t, his grinning shipmate glib’y continued.
“Well you’d better prepare yourself, sailor, because one look at that face and body and you’ll forget all about that damn toothache of yours.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Mac?”
“I’m talking about a young, good-looking dame, living right here inside this very same hull, along with you, me, and the rest of the boys!”
“Aw, come off it, Mac. What kind of sucker do you think I am? Everyone knows that the US Navy doesn’t allow women aboard it’s submarines while they’re on patrol.”
“Are you calling me a liar. Roth? Or perhaps you don’t think I have enough experience to know the difference between a man and a woman when I see one. Because I’m telling you we’ve got a female on board this submarine, and a stone fox at that!”
Though still thinking this all a mind game, Stanley couldn’t help but be impressed by his shipmate’s sincerity.
“So the Defiance has a woman on board. I guess next you’ll be telling me she’s been assigned to share the crew’s berthing facilities.”
The torpedoman snickered.
“Very funny, Stan. Actually, from what I heard from the chief, she’s staying in Lieutenant Commander Layman’s cabin. The XO’s moved in with lieutenants Marshall and Sanger.”
With the sudden realization that this wasn’t a joke after all, Stanley further probed.
“Is this female you’re talking about in the Navy?”
Mac was all business as he answered.
“Again it was the chief who explained that she’s some civilian hotshot with the Naval Arctic’s lab. Seems she was sent on the Defiance to have a look at that surface-scanning Fathometer that was almost responsible for deep-sixing us back under the ice. Since she barely had time to look at the unit before we were ordered back to sea, and since scuttlebutt has it we’re returning to the ice once again, she was sent along to repair it while we’re on the way.”
“Well, I’ll be,” reflected the senior sonar technician.
“I thought the crew looked a bit more dapper than their normal grubby selves when I boarded late this afternoon.”
A sudden thought entered MacMillian’s mind and his eyes widened.
“Say Stanley, isn’t that new Fathometer somehow tied in with your sonar gear?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. Why do you ask, Mac?”
A bit more excitedly, the blond-haired torpedoman answered.
“Because that means she’ll most likely be working in the sound shack. Damn, you lucky stiff!
Say, Stan, if her duty does send her into the sonar room, and your toothache gets too bad, just call the forward torpedo room and 111 be happy to fill in for you.”
“I’ll bet you would,” remarked Roth. He couldn’t wait to see this mysterious woman his shipmate was raving about so, and he suddenly realized that since they’d been talking about her, his tooth had miraculously stopped throbbing.
While sailors throughout the three-hundred-foot vessel were immersed in similar discussions concerning the latest addition to the crew, the woman responsible for this scuttlebutt sat in her cramped, Spartan quarters in officer’s country. Laurie Lansing had been so busy organizing her technical materials, she was just now finding the time to sit back and reflect on more personal concerns. Though she was certainly no stranger to submarines, and had even gone to sea on one before, this would be her first overnight stay on such a craft. Thus her perspective was completely different on this occasion.
The cabin she found herself in was just about the same size as the roomette of a train. It had a similar Pullman-type washbasin that folded up into the wall when not in use. The rest of the furnishings consisted of a built-in bunk, beneath which was a clothing locker, a small desk and chair, and a mounted bookshelf.
Even though cramped, it would allow her space to work in peace, and would give her some semblance of privacy. This last feature was most appreciated, considering that she was the only female in a crew of 107 men. Though she didn’t foresee any problems developing in this respect, it was nevertheless somewhat comforting to have a solid door to shut behind her when she desired to be alone.
Were it not for the digital knot indicator and Fathometer mounted in front of the bunk, she would have found it hard to believe they were currently three-hundred feet beneath the Atlantic, clipping away at a steady twenty knots. Except for a slight tilting sensation that had followed the triggering of the dive klaxon, there’d been absolutely no sensation of movement or instability, though this hadn’t been the case when they were still traveling on the surface. The keelless vessel had incessantly rolled in the endless ocean swells, and for a while there Laurie had thought she might vomit. Fortunately, she had been too busy organizing her work materials to pay her nausea mudh attention, and it soon passed.
Though she had originally intended to try to turn in early, she found herself wide awake. Making the most of this restlessness, she seated herself at the desk, took out a legal pad and pen, and began organizing her work schedule.
With the able help of her assistant, she’d been able to work on the re calibration of the laser almost right up to the moment of departure. Since this procedure would require the Defiance to be on the surface, it would have to be completed long before they reached the ice. Because of the excellent progress they had already made, only a couple of hours more work in the sail would be needed. Earlier, when she had informed Captain Colter of this fact, his relief was most noticeable. Submariners, especially those in the nuclear-powered navy, tended to shy away from surface travel whenever possible. They preferred instead the safety and anonymity of the black, cold depths in which their vessels were initially designed to operate.
Once the work in the sail was completed, the majority of Laurie’s time would be spent in the sonar room. Here a spare console had been reserved for her, where she could initiate the time-consuming task of programming the surface-scanning Fathometer to interact with the Defiance’s navigation system. When this job was completed, the mere punch of a button would automatically guide the submarine upward into an opening in the ice of sufficient size and width to accommodate the vessel.
Because of the newness of the software involved in this program, Laurie didn’t really know what problems she might be facing in the next couple of days.
Thus she was greatly relieved when the captain informed her that he was having the sub’s old surface-scanning unit reconnected, to be used as a backup if needed. Such devices were primitive when compared to the new unit, but crudely effective all the same.
Thirty years ago, Laurie’s father, Dr. Frank Lansing, had been involved in the development of this equipment. In reality, it was but an inverted Fathometer, mounted on a submarine’s topside instead of in its keel. As the sound signals this Fathometer projected echoed off the ice above, a device sketched the ice cover’s actual thickness and shape, and then printed out a profile on an eight-inch piece of graph paper, right in the control room. Utilizing this cross section, it was then up to the captain to find an open lead large enough for his vessel and then to surface in it.
Frank Lansing had worked three decades on improving this
device. For the past five years, Laurie had been actively involved with his tireless effort, and at long last an actual working unit had been placed inside the USS Defiance. As fate would have it, her father did not live long enough to see his dream fulfilled. Now it was up to her to insure that his life’s work was not in vain.
This was a great responsibility, and one that Laurie did not take lightly. Her life, and the lives of one-hundred and seven others, were on the line, for the slightest miscalculation could prove fatal. Only last week, the Defiance had participated in three harrowing collisions with the pack ice. By the grace of God, a submerged ridge hadn’t ripped the submarine’s hull open like a can opener.
The Defiance had been given a reprieve, and in this respite Laurie had one last chance to clear her father’s name. She could not afford to fail this time around.
Setting the pad she’d been scribbling on down on the desk, Laurie glanced at the photograph she had propped up on the nearby bookshelf. She hadn’t seen this particular picture in years, then had found it stuck between the pages of one of her father’s journals, the one she had been skimming through earlier in the day.
Laurie remembered this snapshot well, for it had been taken on her twenty-first birthday. Having just graduated from MIT summa cum laude the month before, she’d been presented with a very special present — a trip to the Virgin Islands. This was to be her first visit to the Caribbean, and the photograph showed her and her father decked out in bathing suits on the deserted, white-sand beach of St. John’s exclusive Turtle Bay resort. These were happy, carefree days, and the spirit of them was conveyed in their joyous expressions.
Though this trip took place over eight years ago, Laurie would never forget how very special it had been. After four years of grueling school work, doing nothing all day but eating, swimming, and sunbathing was a welcome change of pace.
The seawater was warm and crystal clear. Decked out in mask, snorkel, and fins she explored a seemingly untouched realm. A coral reef lay right off the central beach, and it attracted many brightly colored species of tropical fish and marine life. Her favorites were the giant turtles for which the area was known, and the graceful, strangely shaped stingrays.
Her father accompanied her on these underwater excursions, and afterwards, over beach side lunch or dinner, they compared notes. It was during these sessions that a new understanding developed between them. For the first time ever, Laurie felt like his equal.
No longer merely daddy’s little girl. At twenty-one years of age, with four years of college behind her, she was an adult, well on her way to choosing her particular path in life.
It was during one of the dinners they shared, while the full moon rose in all its magnificence over the adjoining bay, that the subject of Laurie’s mother came up. Since she’d died in a plane crash when Laurie was only five years old, she had always been a shadowy, enigmatic character. A nanny had taken her place, and Laurie had grown up with little knowledge of the woman from whom she’d inherited her tall, shapely figure, dark eyes, long, black silky hair, and, as she was soon to learn, her probing, keen intellect.
Her father had always been hesitant to talk about his first and only wife. In fact, there was only one photograph of her in the entire house, and this was but an informal framed snapshot placed on the mantel over the fireplace.
With his tongue loosened by several powerful rum cocktails, he did finally open his soul to Laurie, however.
For the first time she was told that her mother had been an up and coming anthropologist, whose expertise centered on the native peoples living above the Arctic Circle. Her travels took her to such far-off, exotic locations as Norway, Finland, and Siberia. In them she studied the natives’ religious rites, with a particular focus on their musical traditions. While she was on a field trip in Northern Alaska, the small plane she had been flying was lost in a violent snow storm. Her body was never recovered, and for many years Laurie’s father lived with the slim hope that his wife was really not dead. He even made several futile trips up into Brooks Range to investigate, but each time came back with his hopes crushed.
Laurie found it remarkable that in all the years that followed her father had been able to keep so much to himself. He had to have been full of pain, yet heedless of his personal concerns, he’d dedicated himself to his young daughter’s development and to his career.
And somehow he seemed to always find time for Laurie. While growing up, she looked upon him as her best friend, always there with a smile and an interesting story to tell. When she was ready for school, she was sent to the very best available. Science and mathematics always came easiest to her, and for as long as she could remember, her goal was to be a famous scientist like her father.
Through the years, her natural good looks didn’t go unnoticed by members of the opposite sex. In high school, she had her fair share of dates, but for the most part she found those boys boring and vain. Of course, there was always the natural inclination to compare them to her father. And in every instance, none came close to matching Dr. Frank Lansing in brains, charm, or force of personality.
Her social life was almost nil in college. She was much too busy mastering the challenging principles of applied physics or probing into the intricacies of advanced engineering. During summer vacations, she went to work for her father in the Naval Arctic Lab.
Because of the strategic importance of the Arctic Ocean, the US Navy was interested in knowing all it could about the region’s unique physical makeup.
Surprisingly little past research had been done in this area, and her father’s lab was helping to coordinate this new effort.
Advances in technology were changing the character of Arctic research. Exciting new inventions such as the laser-guided surface-scanning Fathometer were finally coming out of the test stage and being applied to actual, operational hardware.
To Laurie, there could be no more exciting field than this. Though she had several other attractive offers, there was never much doubt in her mind as to the direction of her graduate curriculum, and finally, with a doctorate in advanced Arctic studies in hand, she applied for a position on her father’s staff. She was instantly accepted, and spent the next five years assisting her father develop what one senior admiral in the Pentagon called “the most significant advancement in under-the-ice technology since the advent of the nuclear reactor.”
All their hard work came to fruition six months ago, when the US Navy notified the lab that it was accepting one of the laser-guided Fathometers to test on an actual sub. After the briefest of celebrations, they went to work preparing an operational system.
Because they had to meet a sailing deadline, they had little time to tarry. Fourteen-hour work days were not uncommon, and a day off was almost unheard of. Yet during the entire six-month period, never once did Laurie hear one of the staff voice a complaint. For they really believed in the project, and were willing to sacrifice their personal lives to insure its success.
Of course, no one was as dedicated to this effort as Dr. Frank Lansing. Going to the extreme of setting up a cot in the lab, he worked tirelessly for hours on end.
It was a chore for Laurie to even get him to break for meals, and several times she actually had to drag him away from his work in order to get some decent food into his system.
Two weeks before their deadline was upon them, her father moved into the lab permanently. It was at this point that the hundreds of hours of hard work began to show in his eyes and general physical appearance.
He seemed to be uncharacteristically slovenly, and it was obviously an effort for him to drag his tired, bent body around the laboratory. Several times he complained of attacks of what he called heartburn, but whenever Laurie advised that he should see his physician, he inevitably changed the subject.
She knew now that she should have been firmer with him about seeking medical treatment. Yet her work schedule was equally as intense, and when it came time to begin installing the Fathometer into the Defiance,
it was all she could do to find the time to take care of her own personal concerns.
On the morning of the day the installation was to be completed, Laurie found herself on her way to the docks to personally supervise the final calibration of the scanning lasers. Since her father wished to be on the scene also, she stopped at the lab to pick him up.
It was a brisk, clear autumn day, and as she expectantly pulled up to the three-story brick building where their offices were located, she spotted a pair of police cars parked immediately in front of the entranceway.
Not really giving these vehicles much thought, she entered the central foyer and encountered two policemen intently interrogating Will Harper, one of the project’s senior technicians. It only took one look at Will’s face for her to know that there had been some sort of tragedy. But little was Laurie prepared for what she was soon to learn, when the bearded scientist took her aside and with tear-stained eyes explained the grim discovery he’d made that morning.
Also on his way to the Defiance, Harper had stopped off at the lab first to pick up a program manual. Once inside, he’d decided to see if the project’s director needed a lift to the docks. Poking his head into Frank Lansing’s office, he found the white-haired researcher slumped over his desk. At first Will Harper assumed that Lansing had only fallen asleep.
But as he took a step inside, he realized that their venerated director was no longer breathing. Harper called 911, and then began a frenzied attempt at pulmonary resuscitation. His efforts were futile. Ten minutes later the paramedics arrived and pronounced Dr. Frank Lansing dead from an apparent heart attack.
Laurie’s initial reaction was one of shocked disbelief.
She demanded that she be taken to the hospital where her father’s body had been transferred. And only when she had personally viewed his corpse did cold reality suddenly sink in. Numbed into speechlessness, she sat in the morgue and contemplated her loss, and for the first time in her relatively young life tasted the bitter fruit of real loneliness.
Under the Ice Page 12