Under the Ice

by Richard P. Henrick

  “Wolves!” exclaimed Cliff Ano.

  “And they’re close.”

  Jack Redmond surveyed the nearby hills.

  “Should we break out the rifles?”

  “They wouldn’t dare bother us while we’re still moving,” the Inuit answered.

  “Although when we bed down for the night, it’s another story.”

  Several additional banshee-like cries resonated through the frigid air and Redmond commented.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here, Sergeant-Major. This place gives me the creeps.”

  With a single crack of his whip, the Inuit got his team moving. Following in a straight line behind him were the six snow cats their engines constantly sputtering and whining.

  Minutes later, as they rounded a broad bend. Cliff Ano once more held up his hand and halted the caravan. Yet this time as Redmond joined his subordinate, one look at the conglomeration of beasts that had gathered on the floor of the valley before them told him the reason for this abrupt stop.

  Approximately one-quarter of a kilometer away, was a large herd of musk oxen. Jack Redmond had once seen such beasts in a zoo, but this was his first sighting of them in the wild. Their long, glossy fur blowing in the still breeze, and their characteristic curved horns appearing much like those of a cape buffalo, they seemed to be standing in a straight line, shoulder to shoulder and flank to flank. A single large bull was slightly forward of the bunch, his attention locked on some sort of disturbance taking place along the ridge of broken rock on the west side of the valley. It proved to be Cliff Ano who pointed to this ridge and explained precisely what was occurring.

  “There are wolves over there. The musk oxen have formed a defensive formation and are awaiting an attack.”

  “Those brutes must weigh well over six hundred pounds each, and the points of their horns look razor sharp. Do the wolves even stand a chance?” questioned Redmond.

  The Inuit’s eyes glistened.

  “The wolves might be smaller physically, but they’re patient and opportunistic.

  What they’ll attempt to do is get behind one of the charging musk oxen and cut it off from the herd.

  Another favorite tactic is to sprint into a momentary opening and snatch a calf.”

  The sled dogs began yelping madly when a pack of over a dozen gray wolves trotted out from behind the rock-strewn ravine where they had been gathered. Ignoring this racket, the shaggy predators began slowly closing in on the herd. The lead bull bellowed in response to this movement, and the musk oxen shifted their positions, gathering in a roughly symmetrical formation, the calves and yearlings wedged in between the adults.

  The wall of outward-pointed horns looked formidable, yet this didn’t appear to intimidate the wolves, who continued creeping forward with short, furtive steps. When they finally attacked, it was with such swiftness that Jack Redmond nearly missed it. It all started with a feint by several of the largest wolves.

  When the dominant bull charged forward to repulse them, the rest of the wolf pack darted into the herd with a snarling, lightning like ferocity. To a chorus of growls and bellows, the valley floor erupted in a primal struggle for survival. And when the blowing snow cleared, the wolves could be seen trotting off triumphantly, dragging a young yearling in their viselike jaws.

  “And only the strong shall survive,” reflected Jack Redmond as he watched the wolf pack disappear behind the ridge to initiate their blood feast. Well aware that this basic law of nature applied to them as well, the senior commando silently lifted his hand and beckoned his men forward to continue their mission.

  Less than a hundred miles north of this wilderness valley, the crew of the Sierra class attack submarine were in the midst of a jubilant celebration. The festivities were particularly joyous in the sub’s wardroom, where a bottle of Ukrainian champagne was being passed around compliments of Admiral of the Fleet Kharkov.

  “And here’s to our brave captain, who made this great victory possible!” toasted the white-haired veteran.

  “To your health, Sergei Markova, and to that of your family.”

  “Here, here,” added Viktor Belenko as he put his glass to his lips and sipped on the slightly sweet, effervescent beverage. As an old friend of the Neva’s captain, Viktor knew that Sergei Markova was not the type of fellow who liked the limelight. Thus, to put his blushing comrade at ease, the senior lieutenant stood to propose a counter toast

  “And here’s to Admiral of the Fleet Mikhail Kharkov.

  For decades you have selflessly served the Motherland, and it is largely because of your visionary efforts that vessels such as the Neva exist. May health and happiness be with you always!”

  This flowery toast served its purpose as all eyes shifted to the head of the table. The old-timer was grinning from ear to ear as the Neva’s Zampolit asked, “Admiral, do you really think that little love tap of ours was enough to put the Imperialist warship out of commission?”

  “Love tap, comrade?” Kharkov repeated incredulously.

  “I would say it was a little more than that, Comrade Zinyagin. Since it appears that our blow caught the Sturgeon squarely in its engine room, I’d say it will take a miracle just for the Yankees to get to the surface, let alone continue with their mission.

  Don’t you agree. Captain?”

  Sergei Markova hesitated a moment before answering.

  “It’s readily apparent that we hit them with enough force to cause severe internal damage. Yet their hull remained intact, and since the Americans build a sturdy vessel with an assortment of redundant systems, I’d say it’s still too early to definitely count them out.”

  “Come now. Captain. Aren’t you being a bit of a pessimist? We hit them square in the stern, and at last report they were just lying there dead in the water.”

  The admiral’s remarks did little to change Sergei’s mind.

  “If I know the scrappy Americans, they’re just taking a moment to lick their wounds. With a bit of luck and a lot of hard work, they’ll get their vessel operational once more. And this time there will be revenge in their hearts.”

  “Then maybe we’d better go back and finish them off with a couple of torpedoes,” the concerned Political Officer suggested.

  “Nonsense!” barked Mikhail Kharkov.

  “We’ve wasted enough valuable time on this crippled vessel, and now a greater mission calls us onward. At our present course and rate of speed, we should be at the northern edge of the Brodeur Peninsula within the next two hours. Then all we have to do is ascend to the surface, activate the homing receiver, triangulate a fix, and march out to retrieve the device whose analysis will change the very world as we now know it. At long last the workers of the planet will be freed, and all men will share equally in the one, great Socialistic state that will follow. Just think of it, comrades, the glorious dreams of the Motherland’s founding fathers will at long last be realized!”

  An excited murmur rose from the admiral’s captive audience. All lifted up their glasses to drink to this day’s coming. Yet two of those present at the table, and were conspicuously somber. Both Sergei Markova and Viktor Belenko knew that their mission still had a long way to go. Beyond the fact that they would soon have to be surfacing in dangerous pack-ice conditions to search for a device that could be in any number of remote places, the two senior officers shared a single concern. Regardless of what the admiral had said, the American Sturgeon class submarine was still a very real threat. Though slow to anger, once their are was provoked, the United States Navy was no force to take lightly. Of this fact, they were certain!

  Beneath another portion of the frozen sea, the men of the USS Defiance valiantly fought to bring their ship back from the threshold of destruction. This tireless effort was particularly intense in the ship’s control room, where Captain Matt Colter and his

  Executive Officer huddled over a normally insignificant console located behind the chart table. This device was designed around a rotating drum onto which a piece of gra
ph paper was continually fed. Onto this paper a hissing stylus drew a jagged pattern which was activated as a pulse of intense sound energy directed upward to the surface. A thin black line meant open water above. Yet for the last half hour, the only pattern visible was an agitated vertical series, meaning the presence of pack ice topside.

  “I don’t like the way this looks, Al,” whispered the captain.

  “The majority of this ice is at least ten feet thick, with some of those inverted ridges extending thirty feet or more.”

  “The odds are we’ve got to come across an opening eventually. Skipper. After all, this isn’t the frigging North Pole.”

  The captain sighed.

  “It might as well be as far as the Defiance is concerned. With half our power plant shut down because of that busted circ pump, we’ll be fortunate to crawl out of here by spring.”

  “Our luck’s going to change. Skipper, just you watch. We’ll find a nice wide polynya, and the chief and his men will have that pump fixed in no time flat.

  And then we can go after the Red bastards responsible for almost giving us the deep six.”

  “Let’s just start off by finding some open water,” the captain suggested.

  As Colter stood up to stretch his back, he spotted Laurie Lansing standing beside the chart table, intently watching them.

  “Feeling better. Doctor?” greeted Colter.

  The civilian meekly nodded.

  “I guess so. Captain.

  You know, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “I know what you mean,” returned Colter.

  “I wish I could say that you get used to it, but I’d be a liar if I did. Oh, and by the way, thanks for being in the proverbial right place at the right time back in the engine room. If you weren’t there for me to grab onto, there’s no telling what would have happened if I missed that handrail.”

  “I’m just glad to help out in any way that I can, Captain. Though I certainly wish your men would hurry up and get that Nav computer back on line. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is for me to stand here and watch you relying on a piece of outdated equipment designed over thirty years ago. With the laser scanners in operation, surely we would have found a polynya by now.”

  “Skipper, I think we might be on to something,” interrupted the XO.

  Both Matt Colter and Laurie Lansing arrived at the ice machine in time to see a thin solid line flow off the head of the stylus.

  “It’s an open lead all right,” observed the civilian.

  “And a big one at that.”

  “All stop!” ordered the captain firmly.

  “Prepare to surface.”

  Back in the ship’s engine room, this command was met with a sigh of relief. No one was happier that Chief Joe Cunnetto, as the roar of venting ballast sent the now lightened vessel ballooning toward the surface.

  There was no secret that there was ice topside, and the tension was thick as the chief prayed that the opening the Skipper had picked was large enough for the Defiance to safely fit in.

  Another blast of ballast sounded in the distance and this time the boat seemed to leap upward. This alien sensation all too soon passed, to be replaced by the shrill ringing of the nearby intercom.

  “Chief here… You bet. Captain. We’ll have that pump fixed in less than six hours, or I’ll personally donate all my retirement to the Navy scholarship fund…. I’ll do that. Captain. And don’t forget to get some fresh air for me.”

  As he hung up the handset, the portly chief turned to address his motley bunch of assistants.

  “All right, you shirkers, the time for fun and games is over. We’re on the surface now, and there’s work to be done. So let’s get on with it!”

  A relieved cheer broke from his shipmates’ lips as they gratefully rolled up their sleeves and turned to begin the repairs. The damaged pump was a vital piece of machinery that was responsible for circulating the water necessary to turn the blades of the ship’s turbines. To get to it, their first task was to remove the storage lockers, wires, and pipes that were set above the pump. Then a block and tackle would be rigged to hoist up the motor itself. After that was done the real repairs would begin.

  The clatter of tools was music to the chiefs ears, as he climbed down to give his men a hand. For he had promised the captain that he would have the job completed in six hours’ time, and to Joe Cunnetto, his word wasn’t something he gave lightly.

  While the engine-room crew industriously immersed themselves in their work, three parka-clad figures climbed up into the vessel’s exposed sail. They were met by a shrieking, frigid wind that sent tiny spears of flying ice whipping through the air with near lethal velocity. Turning their backs to these howling gusts, the trio focused their gazes on the surrounding landscape. For as far as they could see stretched a solid white line ofhummocked ice hills and contorted pressure ridges. The only clear water visible was that which surrounded the Defiance. With barely enough room to fit another similar-sized vessel at their side, the polynya was just beginning to ice over.

  For the ice was far from a static environment, and the constant deep-throated grinding noise that rose beyond that of the wind was proof that the ice pack was in constant motion.

  Shivering in the bitter cold. Lieutenant Commander Al Layman said, “Damn, and I thought Buffalo was cold!”

  “What do you mean, cold?” countered Matt Colter as he bent down to check the thermometer.

  “Why it’s only twenty-five degrees below zero, and it’s not even winter yet!”

  Turning his attention to the figure at his other side, the captain queried.

  “What do you think of your first view of the ice, Dr. Lansing?”

  She had to practically scream to be heard over the howling wind.

  “It’s incredibly beautiful and threatening all at the same time.”

  “That it is,” agreed Matt Colter, who added, “It’s hard to think of the Arctic as a desert, but as you well know it’s one of the driest regions on the planet, with a total yearly precipitation of less than ten inches.

  From what I understand, it’s because such cold air can carry little moisture.”

  “You’re absolutely correct,” returned the scientist.

  “Back in the lab, we tried to create these extreme conditions artificially, and though we could handle the temperature, we had a lot of trouble simulating the ice. The Arctic pack ice is extremely hard because the salt has had time to drain out of it.”

  “I can personally vouch for that,” replied Colter.

  “You should have seen how the ice sheared the welded navigational beacon right off our rudder during our last encounter with it. The thing looked like it had been surgically cut off.”

  A high-pitched whine suddenly sounded behind them, and the XO turned to identify this noise.

  “Here comes the receiver. Skipper. I sure hope it holds together in this wind and all.”

  The thick, whiplike antenna rose upward from the interior portion of the sail. Matt Colter looked up and saw it wildly quivering in the powerful gusts.

  “She’ll hold, all right. I just hope we’re close enough to that black box to pick up its homing signal.

  Otherwise, we could be up here for God knows how long.”

  “Not me. Skipper,” returned the XO.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d like permission to go below before my mustache drops off. Even with all these layers of clothing, I’m freezing!”

  The captain was quick to consent.

  “I think I’ve taken enough punishment myself. Will you join us, Doctor?”

  Laurie Lansing’s teeth were chattering so badly that she didn’t even bother to respond, but merely turned for the ladder that would convey her back to the blessed warmth of the ship’s interior.

  Five minutes later. Matt Colter was in the process of making the rounds of the control room with a steaming hot mug of coffee in hand, when he received word that the engine-room crew had begun hoisting
up the damaged pump. It wasn’t long afterward that the compartment filled with a distant, deep-throated booming noise that sounded much like the report of an exploding artillery shell. When this mysterious sound continued. Colter hurriedly threw on his parka and once again climbed up into the exposed sail.

  He was greeted by a familiar blast of frigid air, and as he turned his back to it, his gaze locked in on the surrounding ice pack and he couldn’t help but gasp at what he saw there. The ice seemed to have moved at least twenty yards closer to the Defiance since his last trip topside!

  Another explosive crack sounded in the distance, this time with an even greater intensity. A grating, shrieking moan followed, and Colter realized that what he was hearing was the sound of the ever-shifting pack ice as it gradually closed in on them. There were many reports of ships trapped in such ice. Some of the vessels were locked in for months, while the less fortunate ones had their hulls crushed by the immense forces at work.

  Because of the unique nature of the Defiance’s design, all Colter had to do was give a single order to send the sub plunging into the relative safety of the depths. But this would mean forcing the engine-room crew to halt their repair effort and then having them resecure the loose equipment. This would leave them with only half their propulsion system on line. And since there was no telling when the next polynya would be encountered, the sub could be in such a crippled state for an indefinite length of time.

  Yet if he didn’t order them to submerge, could Chief Cunnetto and his men finish their work before the surrounding ice had the Defiance in its fatal grip?

  It was a gamble either way he looked at it, and Colter struggled to summon the wisdom to make the correct decision. So deep were his ponderings that he didn’t even notice when someone joined him on the sail.

  “The noise is getting pretty bad inside the ship, Skipper,” observed the XO.

  “Is it coming from the ice?”

  Colter nodded and pointed toward the open water off their starboard bow.

  “It appears the lead is slowly closing. There’s a pressure ridge over there that only formed in the last couple of minutes. It’s obvious that this entire section of ice is under tremendous pressure, and I don’t like the idea of having the Defiance stuck smack in the middle of it.”