Under the Ice

by Richard P. Henrick

  “May God be with you,” offered the Mountie, who continued on to the flight deck, leaving Redmond free to assist four of his men as they unloaded the last of the snowmobiles. Outside the plane’s rather comfortable cabin, frigid air swirled with a breathtaking intensity.

  Snow flurries were already beginning to fall as a line of dark, lowlying clouds gathered on the northern horizon.

  “Corporal Eviki, have the men start loading up the snow cats with our supplies!” Redmond shouted over the howling wind.

  “Divide the food and ammunition up equally. That way if we lose a vehicle, the others will keep us going.”

  As the Inuit got on with this task, Redmond was forced to pull up the collar of his parka when a bitingly cold blast of stinging air hit him full in the face. His exposed cheeks and forehead felt as if they had been slapped, and Redmond momentarily considered the Mountie’s words of warning. Yet his ponderings were brief for a voice cried out from the direction of the airplane.

  “This is the last of our gear. Lieutenant!”

  The soldier responsible for this revelation jumped down onto the runway with two white nylon backpacks in hand. He was followed by Bill Elliot of the RCMP.

  “Lieutenant Redmond, you’re going to have to clear your men from the area,” directed the Mountie.

  “The crew of the Aurora is going to try to get their bird skyward.”

  Signaling that he understood, Redmond informed his men of the air crew’s intentions. As soon as the squad gathered together beside the corrugated steel Jamesway hut that served as the airport’s main terminal, the first of the plane’s engines was started. Three others turned over in quick succession, their grinding roar all but swallowed by the howling wind.

  By this time the snow was falling so heavily that Jack Redmond had to pull down his protective goggles in order to watch the plane taxi out to the ice-covered runway. The pilot of the Aurora, obviously wasting as little time as possible, opened up the throttles and the aircraft lunged forward. It seemed to take forever for it to pick up speed. In fact, the plane was well over halfway down the runway’s length before its wheels finally parted from the icy pavement. Though a particularly violent downdraft sent the lumbering vehicle abruptly back to the earth, it’s stubborn crew fought off the elements and with a roaring whine the plane seemed to leap off the runway and soar into the cloud-filled heavens. Seconds later, it had disappeared.

  “That was cutting it too close for comfort,” observed the relieved Mountie.

  “Now are you certain you won’t reconsider and at least wait until the brunt of this storm passes.”

  Jack Redmond responded by cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out forcefully.

  “All right you shirkers, mount ‘em up! We’ve got us some traveling to do!”

  The Mountie could only shrug his shoulders, as Redmond issued a crisp salute and turned for the lead snowmobile. With a practiced eye, the senior commando double-checked the gear that had been stored inside the locker located beneath the vehicle’s one-piece, molded-plastic seat. He counted four M16 rifles, a dozen clips of spare ammunition, a carton of field rations, a compact butane stove, and several tightly rolled, heavy woolen blankets. Satisfied that all looked in order, he slammed down the seat, locked it in place, and checked the dashboard-mounted fuel gauge. Finding the tank barely three-quarters of the way full, he turned and shouted.

  “Corporal Eviki, you’d better top off these tanks until they’re overfull! It’s going to be a long way until we reach the next service station.”

  While his alert subordinate sprinted off to the adjoining hangar to find a gas can. Jack Redmond inspected the storage compartments of the five remaining snow cats Each of the vehicles were packed almost exactly like his own, except for the last one in line. Instead of spare food or ammunition, this one held a single elongated crate. Inside this padded carton was a battery-powered directional receiver. Such a device would be needed once they reached their ultimate destination and began the search for the black box.

  The sudden barking of dogs drew Redmond’s attention.

  He looked up and expectantly scanned the compound.

  The blowing snow made visibility poor. Yet as the barking grew progressively louder, he viewed the dim outline of a team of harnessed huskies headed toward him. Like a ghostly apparition, the dogs momentarily disappeared in a veil of thick, white snowflakes, only to reappear again, this time with a sled clearly visible behind them. Standing on the runners of this sled was a single figure clad in a fur parka.

  With an expert snap of his wrist, he utilized a long, rawhide whip to motivate the team, whose frantic pace further quickened.

  It had been a long time since Jack Redmond had seen such a team in action. During his childhood, dog sleds were a common sight, particularly in the wintertime. The arrival of the gasoline-powered snowmobile had signaled the doom of such a means of transportation, and today the sleds were all but obsolescent.

  Memories of his childhood rose in his consciousness, and a grin painted Redmond’s face as the sled pulled to a halt beside him. The dogs whined with excitement as the team’s driver stepped off the sled.

  Only when the man pulled back his fur-covered hood and removed his goggles did Redmond identify this previously mysterious personage as his sergeant-major.

  “Sorry it took so long. Lieutenant. But it took a bit of convincing to get my uncle to part with his dogs.”

  “I’m surprised he gave them up, especially to a nephew he hasn’t seen in almost fifteen years,” Redmond replied while inspecting the sled. It was of fairly modern construction, with a pair of razor-sharp, steel runners and an elongated, wooden-slat storage compartment.

  “I’m afraid the price was pretty stiff though,” Cliff Ano added.

  “Not only did I have to promise to bring the team back in decent shape, I had to swear that if anything happened to them, I’d come up to Arctic Bay on my leave time and work for my uncle until the debt was repaid, Talk about driving a hard bargain!”

  Redmond chuckled.

  “By the way, that’s some parka you’re wearing.”

  “That’s compliments of my aunt,” returned the Inuit.

  “It’s my oldest cousin’s actually. Made out of caribou hide on the outside, with a sealskin lining.

  One thing for certain, it’s a lot warmer than the Army-issue parka I had to trade for it.”

  Redmond peered out to the roiling line of dark clouds blowing in from the north.

  “It looks like you’re going to need that parka, Sergeant-Major. This storm has got all the brewings of a full-force blizzard.”

  “The dogs don’t seem to mind it,” the Inuit commented as he replaced his glasses and pulled up his hood.

  “What’s the matter. Lieutenant, are you starting to have second doubts about taking off now?”

  “I’d be a liar if I told you such a thought hadn’t crossed my mind, Sergeant-Major. The trip we’re about to undertake is going to be hazardous enough even without this damn storm.”

  Not used to hearing his senior officer so readily express his fears, Cliff Ano interjected, “Things could be worse. Lieutenant. My uncle tells me he was out on the Brodeur Peninsula a little less than three weeks ago, and even then Admiralty Inlet was frozen as solid as a hockey rink. Though we might have a few snowdrifts to contend with, at least that portion of our trip should go smoothly.”

  “I hope to God that you’re right, Sergeant-Major-and that we haven’t bitten off more than we can chew.”

  The Inuit seemed surprised by such a statement.

  “Come now. Lieutenant. Have you already forgotten that we’re Arctic Rangers, the best damn soldiers in the northland? Why no task is impossible for Canada’s best!”

  Redmond’s grin was a sarcastic one.

  “Thanks for the pep talk, Sergeant-Major. And with that said, how about getting this bunch of ragtag malcontents on the road?”

  As he fit on the white ski mask he had stuffed int
o his parka’s pocket, Jack Redmond turned to check on the status of his squad. The majority of the men were huddled behind the Jamesway hut, using its rounded south face as a windbreak. Corporal Eviki was in the process of gassing up the last of the snow cats and seeing this, Redmond boomed out loudly.

  “Gentlemen, it’s show time! Mount up, and get those engines purring! We’ll be forming a single line behind the sergeant-major. The going might be slow, but it’s a hell of a lot better than dropping off into an open lead of water. So keep your formation tight, and hit those sirens the second you run into any trouble.

  Otherwise we might never be able to find you again.

  Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

  Looking like heavy-handed ghosts in their white parkas and snow pants, the squad sprinted out to their individual vehicles. One by one the ignitions were triggered, and for a second the high-pitched whines of six engines rose above the incessant roar of the wind. Yet the howling gusts all too soon took precedence as the drivers shifted their vehicles into gear and followed the dogsled out of the compound and into the swirling wall of snow that lay beyond.

  Petty Officer First Class Stanley Roth was at his wit’s end. As the headphone-clad senior sonar technician sat at the console with dozens of dials staring back at him, he found his thoughts were far away from his current duties. That throbbing, never-ending pain in his tooth was so unbearable he felt as if the entire top of his head was going to erupt.

  Hardly paying the least bit of attention to the conglomeration of sounds being conveyed through his headphones. Roth reached into his breast pocket and removed a single plastic vial. Inside this small container were a dozen pills. For a fleeting second, he toyed with the idea of popping open the vial and swallowing one of the tablets. The powerful narcotic they contained had already successfully dulled his pounding ache a number of times. Yet in each instance it had inevitably left him drained, irritable, and groggy. And besides, only a few hours later the pain would be back in all its excruciating glory!

  One and a half days ago. Roth had taken his captain’s advice and had visited sickbay. Pharmacist Mate Charles Krommer had been anticipating his visit and, after initiating a cursory examination, had prescribed the mildest pain killer in his medicine chest.

  With the greatest of expectations, Stanley swallowed one of these pills and went off to work. Forty-five minutes later, he was found slumped over his console, in the midst of a sound sleep that took him over ten hours to snap out of. Upon awakening, the conscientious sonar operator swore that he would somehow learn to live with the pain and would stay as far away from the pills as possible.

  “Damn it!” cursed Stanley to himself as he rubbed his throbbing left jaw and resolutely stuffed the unopened vial back into his pocket.

  Desperate to escape from his agony, he attempted to refocus his thoughts on his work. He sat up straight in his chair, and turned up the volume gain to his headphones a full notch. The distinctive whining crack of fracturing sea ice met his ears, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to visualize the monumental forces at work on the surface to create such a racket.

  Unfortunately at about this same moment an excruciating, piercing spasm of pain flared up the left side of his jaw leaving him trembling in pure agony. It was then he realized that he had had enough.

  Roth reached out for the nearby intercom handset and made two quick calls. The first one sent his replacement. Seaman Lester Warren, scrambling from his bunk. The second call pulled Pharmacist Mate Charles Krommer away from a poker game that he had been in the midst of.

  “I don’t give a damn if you are on a hot streak, Krommer,” the desperate sonar technician said forcefully.

  “As God is my witness, you’re going to do something about this friggin’ tooth right now!”

  Stanley Roth had to wait for his breathless replacement to arrive before storming off to meet the perplexed pharmacist mate in the Defiance’s sickbay.

  This infrequently patronized portion of the ship contained a complete operating theater, including a dental chair. Though any number of complicated surgeries could be performed here, the crew of 107 physically fit young men rarely came down with anything more serious than a cold or the flu, so the pharmacist’s mate’s main responsibility was to monitor the radiation badges each crewman wore to insure that his exposure was kept to a minimum.

  “Now are you certain you want to go through with this. Roth?” quizzed Charles Krommer as he changed into his gown and scrubbed up.

  “I’m warning you, I’m not a licensed jaw breaker.”

  “Of course, I’m positive!” Roth retorted passionately.

  “I’m telling you, Charlie, this tooth of mine is just killing me. I’ve got to do something drastic or I’m going to go stark raving bonkers!”

  Quick to sense the extent of his patient’s upset, the medic attempted to calm the senior sonar technician by adopting his best chair side manner.

  “Easy does it, Stan. Just settle down into the chair and relax.

  Though I’ve never actually extracted a tooth before, I’ve seen it done in the clinic a number of times and it didn’t look all that difficult. So just hang in there, buddy, and check out the scenery while I make a quick consultation.”

  Stanley Roth took a series of deep breaths, and following the medic’s advice let his stare wander to the series of cutouts taped to the wall before him. Starting on Miss January, he attempted to lose himself in the buxom, sensuous centerfolds that had been put up to give a whole new dimension to the field of dentistry.

  With the sonar technician thusly occupied. Pharmacist Mate Charles Krommer nervously picked up a manual entitled, The U.S. Navy Guide to Emergency Dental Surgery. The St. Louis native had expectations of becoming a full-fledged M.D. one day in the future.

  His plan was to enroll in premedical studies at St. Louis University, where he also hoped to attend med school. To finance such an expensive endeavor, he’d enlisted in the Navy’s college plan.

  After completing basic in San Diego, Krommer had been accepted into the Fleet medical program. He completed an intensive six-month course in which he learned a full range of skills including first aid, pharmacology, radiology, and elemental surgical techniques.

  For an entire week, he worked as an assistant in a dental clinic, where he acquired knowledge of such basics as treating an abscess and how to temporarily fill a cavity. Yet actually taking out a tooth was a whole different ball game, and he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking slightly as he turned to the chapter marked, “Extraction.”

  With the help of a fold-out diagram of the mouth, he identified the suspect tooth as being the lower left mandibular first bicuspid. He breathed a sigh of relief upon noting that this particular tooth had only a single root, and decided since it was slightly loose already, it shouldn’t be that difficult to remove. On the next page he found a list of the items he would need to facilitate his efforts. They included Xylocaine, a dental syringe and needle, a straight elevator to remove the gum from the bone around the tooth, a lower universal anterior forceps, and a dozen or more four-by-four cotton sponges. Only when he was armed with these items did he turn his attention back to his patient.

  “Well Stanley, here it goes. I want you to open wide and turn your head slightly to the right.”

  The sonar technician willfully obeyed these simple instructions, and Charles Krommer initiated step number one — the administration of the anesthetic.

  With the syringe, he proceeded to inject that portion of the gum that surrounded the tooth. As a kid, needles had always scared the dickens out of the pharmacist’s mate, and he found himself more frightened than his patient as he carried out this far from pleasant task.

  A wide, relieved smile turned the corners of the medic’s mouth as he pulled the empty syringe out and his patient awkwardly mumbled.

  “Hey, Charlie, it finally stopped hurting!”

  A bit more confidently, Krommer proceeded, according to the manual, to take the straigh
t elevator and remove the gingival tissue from the tooth. He then utilized the lower anterior universal forceps, clamping it securely to the tooth. Taking a deep breath, he yanked on the forceps with a slight rotating upward movement, and, unbelievably, the tooth came right out of its socket! Before he could cry out in triumph, the blood started flowing. Here the cotton gauze sponges came into play. After instructing his patient to bite down on them, Krommer waited. In approximately five minutes the bleeding would stop, hopefully. Only then would his first venture into the fascinating world of oral surgery be completed.

  Back in the sound shack. Seaman Lester Warren was completely oblivious to the historic operation that had just been concluded in the Defiance’s sick bay. Though his prayers were certainly with Petty Officer Roth, he had no time to let his thoughts wander. For the myriad of wondrous sounds that were currently streaming into the headphones were unlike any he had ever heard before. The Texan was able to identify the distinctive crackling cries of shrimp, the tremulous, vibrating barks of several species of seal, and the high-pitched clicks and mournful moans of a herd of passing narwhal.

  Since this was only Warren’s second Arctic cruise, many of these noises were still new to him. Under Stanley Roth’s expert guidance, his last patrol in these waters had been a great learning experience, and today Lester readily applied his knowledge during his colleague’s conspicuous absence.

  By and far the dominant noise presently passing through the sub’s hydrophones was the grinding, fracturing sound of the ice topside. This raucous racket was an overriding presence and was unique in its intensity. Try as he could, Lester had a difficult time visualizing what this sea of constantly shifting ice must look like. Back home in San Antonio, Texas, the winters were fairly mild. An ice storm occasionally paid them a visit, but this was definitely an exception to the norm. During his entire childhood, he could only remember it snowing a handful of times. Yet in each instance, he’d been one of the first kids out in the powdery white precipitation, making a snowman or having a snowball fight.