Ninety Degrees North

by Stephen Makk

  The missile fell from its underwing hardpoint. Through the cockpit window, she saw it rush off into the sky ahead. The missile’s solid rocket boost motor soon ran out and the ramjet kicked in. The missile soon reached its Mach 4 cruise speed, and picked up on the midcourse correction. As it neared the target, the terminal active radar and IR seeker activated. Finally, the target merged in with the no escape zone and then…

  The R77 ran in a Mach 4, it struck the port wing and detonated 22 kilograms of high explosive. The Triton was ripped into three parts and fell onto the white wilderness below. She waited for the V004 passive phased array radar to confirm what she already knew.

  “Target destroyed, sir.”

  “Good shooting.”

  He turned the aircraft and entered the standard patrol pattern. Just under two hours to go and then it would be a top up from Momma barmaid and then home.

  An icy wind blew from the west, it sucked the life out of anyone out on the desolate dark white cap.

  “Anything yet from our friend up there?” Lt Rice asked Konerko.

  “No, sir, it should have by now. In fact, it should have several minutes ago. Sir, I think we have to assume it’s unserviceable.”

  Rice nodded. Bastard.

  “Right, let’s get on our way then.”

  The troop stood and they pushed their way west. One ski after another, push left, push right. On into the white death zone skiied the 20.

  Nineteen men and one woman pushed into the cutting wind. Alone up here, with the Russian VDV hunting them; it chilled the soul. They pressed on towards CFB Alert, far away to the west.

  12

  Forty miles to the east of SEAL force north.

  To anyone looking, up there in the white desolation, there was something odd. It was a black submarine sail protruding from the windswept, snow-covered icefield, an oddly human object out in an open desolate place.

  USS Stonewall Jackson’s batteries were now close to full charge. It was Mexican night in her galley. Sailors dined, laughed and joked in the only Mexican restaurant in this part of the world. Few of them thought of the white hell zone outside.

  In the control room, Lieutenant Commander Lemineux turned to Nathan.

  “Sir, we have a call on Gertrude.”

  This was an acoustic short-range device allowing personnel to speak to each other whilst submerged. He picked up the set.

  “Commander Blake USN.”

  “Hi, Commander. It’s Captain Doug Stanley, USS Minnesota. I believe you have red bastards up here you want some help with?”

  “Captain Stanley. Welcome to the cold place. Yes, we’re expecting they’ll be along soon, sir.”

  “Nathan, I outrank you, but Kamov tells me that you’re in command of operation Ninety Degrees North. That suits me, Blake; just let me at ’em. I eat Soviets for breakfast.”

  “Good to know that we’re fighting alongside the Minnesota, sir. It’s an honour.”

  “Just tell me where they are, and I’ll fillet the bastards. If you see Ivan, tell him his nuts are on my chopping board.”

  Nathan laughed.

  “USS Tucson will be here very soon, and USS 73 Easting will follow in a couple of days.”

  Nathan nodded; there were some good boats on their way.

  “We’re fully charged now, Stanley, and we’ll be down with you soon. We know they’ll be coming from the Polyarny Inlet, so I’m going to meet them as far east as I can. My plan is an ambush: lay in wait and then slaughter them.”

  “Sounds good to me. Blake, Admiral Hayek of Pacific Fleet is sending USS Key West and USS Oklahoma City out; USS Chicago won’t be much behind. Anything heading here from Petropavlovsk will face a nasty foe.”

  “Good, sir. That’s a help. Northern Fleet will be along soon and I’m sure Pacific Fleet will be joining them.”

  “Nathan,” Stanley paused, “it’s your call but let me know where you’ll be, and I’ll wait here for USS Tucson and join the party soon.”

  “Right, I’ll put Lieutenant Koss on, our Navigation Officer.”

  “I’ll put Blind Sally on too. They can talk the talk. Good luck, Blake.”

  “Thanks, sir.” Nathan held the handset out. “Koss, call for you from Blind Sally on Minnesota.”

  SEAL force North. Arctic icecap.

  The 20 of them pushed on against the cutting wind. Lieutenant Rice knew this was a lost cause; CFB Alert was just too far away. Hundreds of miles of unforgiving cold white death. But they had to have a reason to keep going, otherwise they’d all be found up here one day mummified in their Arctic whites.

  The only hope was another drone, and he knew that would take time. His fellow SEALs wouldn’t let the Navy brass forget them. They had friends in this world; it was all they had.

  “Sir, listen,” said Whitt.

  He listened. Just the blowing wind. It was all he could… Then, there it was, aircraft engines, and low too.

  “There, sir,” Whitt pointed.

  A flare trailed smoke and illuminated the parachute above. A man was parachuting down. Then there were more of them, and every third had a flare glowing, smoking downwards. Had the drone passed on their position to MacDill? Was this their rescue force? Yet another aircraft was dropping a second stick of paratroopers slightly further north.

  Two of his men cheered. More followed. Rice broke out into a grin. Yes, yes.

  “Come on down, boys. The water’s lovely,” shouted an operator to his left.

  “Get a flare gun. Give them a position,” shouted Operator Ford.

  One of the aircraft had dropped its stick and circled around. It passed overhead low. Rice’s aircraft recognition skills weren’t the best; it was a turboprop he knew. It looked like an Air Force Hercules. Rice laughed. Even the US Air Force had got out of their warm bunks to join in.

  A SEAL skiied up to him; hard to say who it was with snow goggles on and his hood pulled up and down, all flecked with ice.

  “Sir,” said Konerko, dejected. “That was an Ilyushin. It’s dropping more of the bastards.”

  “Belay that flare,” shouted Rice. “It’s a Russian aircraft. They’re dropping more of the Goddamn VDV.”

  Dear shit, thought Rice, that’s just what we needed.

  He knew it was time to decide; their lives and the mission depended on it. He called together his NCOs. They gathered and squatted down.

  “Ok, if you’ve been on exchange with the SAS, you’ll know what this is: a Chinese Parliament. If you haven’t, just say what you want. Anything goes.”

  “I want a hot broad and a beach, sir,” said Operator Melenko.

  Rice smiled. “If you can find a payphone up here, just call 1-800 H-O-T-B-R-O-A-D-S.”

  “Sir, we double back. Let the Russians go west after us.”

  “We don’t know for sure that they know we’re heading west.”

  The discussion went on; Rice listened. A consensus slowly emerged. It was a small team to take the scientist and the Mossad officer onwards towards alert. The rest would stay and take out as many VDV as possible.

  “Ok,” said Rice, “personnel for this. I really, really want to stay, but I’d be keel hauled by upstairs if I did. So the escape party will be Nils, Marjan, me, Konerko and Carrack.”

  “Let me lead the killing force, sir,” said Whitt.

  Rice nodded. “The rest of you remain behind to kill as many VDV as possible. Platoon Chief Whitt will be your OC.”

  Rice gathered his party together and called over to Whitt, who was already briefing his men.

  “Good luck, Whitt. God speed.”

  They pushed off to the west, and Rice, for one, had a heavy heart.

  USS Stonewall Jackson.

  “Take her down, XO.” Nathan stood back.

  “Chief,” said Nikki, “go up the sail and grab a last smoke and then shut the hatch.”

  The Chief disappeared aft. A few minutes later he was back. “Upper and lower hatches closed, sir.”

  “Thanks.” She act
ivated the intercom.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Chief Engineer, are we charged?”

  “Yes, ma’am, all set.”

  “Pull the masts down. We’re submerging. Planesman, trim for 100 feet, fore and aft.”

  “Aye, sir, 100 feet.”

  The boat slipped slowly deeper and the sail disappeared from the icecap.

  “One hundred feet, sir.”

  “Make your bearing 85 degrees, depth 250, speed 12 knots.” The boat tilted to the bow and slid deeper under the ice.

  A couple of minutes later, she came level.

  “250 feet, sir, 85 at 12 knots.”

  She turned to Nathan. “Commander, the boat is clear of the ice, sir.”

  “Thanks, Nikki. Weaps, war load status.”

  “One to four Mk48, five being loaded with Deputy Dawg, tube six Scooby, sir.”

  Nathan rubbed his temples, he felt tired and he knew it would be a hard time down there. “Weaps, you have the conn. I’m going to grab some sleep. Nikki, come on, meeting now.”

  They entered Nathan’s cabin, and he pulled the bunk down and undressed down to his shorts and tee-shirt then climbed into his bunk.

  “Nikki, what are you waiting for?”

  “What? Here?” She hesitated, then started to unbutton her coverall.

  “Not that.” He grinned. “Sit on the chair.”

  “Nathan, don’t do that. You had me there.” She hit him lightly with the back of her fist.

  “I didn’t.” He frowned. “We need to talk tactics. What do we do when we get down there?”

  “You’re a tease,” she pouted.

  He knew the situation in hand came first. “I’d like to see a survey of the under-ice environment, valleys, peaks etc. I’d like to set up good ambush and know the hiding points, but you know how it is.”

  “Yeah, constantly changing, features forming and being stretched out and reforming somewhere else. We could advance to the area and see what there is?”

  “We could, Nik, but now we have company. We haven’t the time to map out all the reverse topography up there. I favour going deep and silent, linking up with the Minnesota and the Tucson, and waiting for them to come through. When we engage, it’ll be every boat for itself. I know you asked the National Ice Center for a FLAP analysis of new ice leads; I saw it in the log. Any luck? Where can we come up onto the lid to charge?”

  “There’s a couple of possibilities, but they don’t look strong. Our sister ship, the 73 Easting, will be here soon; she’ll be in the same position.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, there’s an idea forming, but let me think it through first. I’m going to get some sleep now. See what you can figure out.” She buttoned up, leaned over and kissed him. “Sleep well, babe.”

  “Night.” He watched her leave. Dear God, what a temptation. Nathan, she’s your XO. He shook his head but had to smile; life could be difficult. Come on, sleep. He was tired and it didn’t take long; he was out quickly, like the proverbial light.

  Thule AFB in Northern Greenland hadn’t seen the like since the sixties. C17 Globemasters were the first, landing men and equipment along with stores. The airbase was taking on a new role as principal control for the new pivot to the north. F35s followed them in, dispersing to whatever shelters there were. Huge tent hangers were flown in and erected as the base mushroomed in size. Aircraft flew in and out around the clock. Naval supply ships gathered off the coast. Patriot air defence missile batteries took up positions around the outsides of the base.

  Keflavik in Iceland also saw the first USAF aircraft in decades fly in. Here, it was mostly tankers and F15 Strike Eagles.

  The carriers Gerald R Ford and John F Kennedy sailed into the Denmark Strait between Greenland and Iceland, with the Nimitz class Harry S Truman hastily being prepared to sail.

  The woman sat in a seat on the right-hand side of the aircraft. A girl tended to her makeup and hair. She wore a headset with a microphone running over her mouth from the left ear.

  “You’re good to go, Hanna.”

  Two cameras were set up, one pointing at her; the other looked out of the aircraft window in the seat behind.

  They were on an Airbus A320 chartered from Scandinavian Air System flying into the Barents Sea from Lulea, Northern Sweden.

  A man stood to one side. “Ready, four, three, two, one, action.”

  She smiled at the camera. “Good morning, Sweden, today. I’m here over the Barents Sea, covering the largest international crisis ever to hit this part of the world. The Russian Navy is mobilising down below and moving up towards the Arctic icecap. Witnesses tell us that Murmansk Fjord and Archangelsk are a buzz with activity. We can’t verify this as the two areas are closed, as the Russians say.

  “Ships and submarines are putting to sea and being readied to move out. It’s a long way from here, but we’re told that United States forces are taking up positions in Greenland and Iceland. It’s difficult to know why, but there’s talk in Norway that it started with an air engagement off the northern coast between the Norwegian and Russian Air Forces, both of whom lost aircraft. NATO has declared northern Norway a no-fly zone and we had to fly into the Atlantic near the Norwegian town of Bodo and circle around to the north and east.

  “There’s long been talk of Russia’s bid to control the Arctic, and this seems the ultimate cause.

  “There’s talk in some quarters of troops being parachuted in and landed by submarine on the icecap itself, but I’m told this is fanciful talk. The fleet is mobilising for certain; we can see warships at sea below.”

  The camera looked down out of the window at warships sailing north.

  “Not since the Cold War has military muscle been flexed up… Just a moment, wait. There it is; yes, I can see it.”

  The camera zoomed into a large warship with a prominent bow.

  “We were told that the Kirov class battle cruiser Pyotr Velikiy, the Peter the Great, has sailed, and there she is. One of the world’s most powerful warships.”

  The camera zoomed in further. Suddenly the view was covered by a Sukhoi SU-30, a Russian fighter. It waved its wings and made an even tighter advance towards the Airbus’s windows.

  The reporter, now with the fighter in the background, looked at the camera.

  “We know exactly what that means. Get away from here; we’re not welcome.”

  The A320 banked to the left and flew away to the west.

  “You’ve seen what’s going on up here and, believe me, it’s ugly and getting worse. We’ve been informed that our armed forces, the Flygvapnet, Svenska Marinen, Armén, are on alert. This is Hanna Vitali, for your news, your nation, your Sweden, today.”

  Nathan awoke and dressed, and walked back aft to the galley for breakfast.

  A young dark-haired girl smiled at him. “Hello, sir. Here for your normal cheese omelette and coffee?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He sat next to Kate LeDonns, a Lieutenant in Engineering. She got up and brought his food to him when it was ready.

  He smiled. “To what do I owe this?”

  “I can see you just got up, sir, and we need you in good shape. We’re under the ice, aren’t we, sir?”

  “Yes. Is the word around?”

  “It is, and I believe we’re not alone either. The Big Bad Wolf is out there.”

  Nathan grinned. He always found it amazing that you couldn’t keep much from the crew. He remembered his time as a junior officer on USS New York City; it had been the same. All the clues from various sources added up and a picture emerged.

  “Kate, have you seen Miss Kaminski recently?” He knew she was a friend of Nikki’s.

  “Yes, she still speaks to me even after her promotion.” Kate gave him a knowing smile. “She’s enjoying the new job. She says her duties have expanded, but it suits her, I know. I suppose if I were a man, sir, I could think of worse people to put me to bed than Nikki.”

  Nathan put on his best poker face. “I suppose so.”
He finished his breakfast. “Well, I’d better be off Lieutenant. See you around.”

  “See you, sir.”

  Nathan left and shook his head. You couldn’t fit a piece of paper between her and Nikki.

  In the control room, Weaps looked over at him.

  “You have the conn, sir.”

  “I have the conn. Where are we?”

  “Approaching 150 miles from the eastern ice edge. No contacts.”

  Nathan walked over to the chart display. We’ll get closer yet. He watched the crew go about their business.

  “Sir, we’re 15 miles from Datum one,” said Koss.

  “Thanks.” He let the boat get to around three miles of Datum one: their rendezvous location with the other boats.

  “Planesman, down bubble five, trim for slow descent, make your depth 850 feet.”

  “Sir, down five, 850 feet.”

  USS Stonewall Jackson made her slow dive deeper into the Arctic Sea.

  After long minutes, the Planesman called out, “Eight hundred and fifty feet, sir.”

  “Thanks, Planesman. Koss, what’s our bearing for datum one?”

  “Ninety seven degrees, sir. Two point two miles.”

  “Make 97 degrees. Call out the position, Koss.”

  The boat sailed on through the blackness, bound for that point in the deeps, that point in the blackness that’d been picked as their start point.

  “Datum one, sir.”

  “All stop. Maintain depth.”

  The boat hung in the silent darkness, waiting.

  After around two hours, Benson called, “We have a call on Gertrude, sir. It’s Minnesota.”

  Nathan picked up the handset. “Commander Blake USN.”

  “Blake, it’s Stanley. We have Tucson with us to port. Any sign of the bad guys?”

  “No, not yet. My sonar wizard has picked up some traces, but not enough yet.”

  “We’ve been dragging the low frequency wire. Fleet says maybe eight or nine boats are coming from the enemy coast, Yasens and Akulas. USS 73 Easting is coming from the south and USS Connecticut and USS Santa Fe are heading here. They’ll be about six hours yet.”