The razor-sharp horns of a fully grown musk ox were not something to take lightly. Many times Ootah had seen predators as crafty as the wolf and as strong as the bear fall victim to a fatal gore wound. Yet completely oblivious to the dangers involved, he found himself walking down to meet the beast, with not even a stick to protect himself.
Ootah was actually close enough to smell the musk ox’s strong scent, to see it’s bulging, red-veined eyes, when the first wave of fear possessed him. This fear turned to sheer terror when the beast bellowed loudly and took several bold steps forward. Suddenly halting in his tracks, Ootah sensed his precarious position.
Yet as he turned to run away, he found that his lower limbs were inexplicably weighted down, so that even the most tentative step was impossible to achieve.
Again the angry beast bellowed, and just as the bull lowered its head to initiate the final charge, a deafening boom of thunder filled the air. Looking up into the sky, Ootah viewed an intense, fireball of glowing red light that blotted out even the sun with its intensity.
Another thunderous peal filled the air, and as this blast echoed in the distance, the fireball flared up and then dissipated, until not a trace of it was left above.
An icy gust of wind hit him full in the back, and as
Ootah returned his attention back to the musk oxen, his eyes opened wide with disbelief upon noting that they too had completely vanished. In their place was a wide, circular lake. This pond was completely frozen over, except for a tiny opening in the pool’s exact center. Curious as to what lay exposed inside this hole, Ootah walked over to examine it more closely.
The Inuit was somewhat shocked to find a large eider feather floating on the circular pool’s surface.
Viewing this familiar object, that was designed to fly up into the air and warn the hunter of a surfacing seal, filled Ootah with dread. Ever mindful of his last terrifying seal hunt on the pack ice a week ago, he attempted to back away from the open water. Unfortunately, this simple feat proved impossible, for his boots were frozen solidly to the ice below.
An angry gust of frigid wind scoured the valley, and finding himself chilled to the bone, Ootah had no choice but to look down to the waters of the pool.
Goosebumps formed on his shivering skin as he spotted a myriad of bubbles swirling to the surface. And below, he could just make out a dark menacing shape rising from the black depths. Unable to keep his eyes off this mysterious object, he gasped in horror upon identifying it as a human being. Its puckered hand beckoning him forward, and Ootah cried out in revulsion as he sighted the floating body’s head — for it was that of his dead mother!
It was at this point in the nightmare that he awoke.
The vision of his mother’s white, unseeing eyes was still clear in his consciousness as he stared out into the black depths of the igloo. Surely this was no ordinary dream, but one that had been placed before his eyes by the great deceiver himself — Tornarsuk!
Chilled by this realization, he scanned the darkened interior of the snow house as if seeing it for the very first time. The bare light of a soapstone lamp flickered alive at the igloo’s center, providing just enough illumination for Ootah to see the thick fur pelts covering the adjoining pallet where his father and son slept. Nakusiak’s snores filled the circular room with a resonant roar, while somewhere beyond gusted the ever-present howling wind.
Unable to fall back to sleep, Ootah decided to see how his dogs had weathered the storm. Slipping out of the covers, he dressed himself in his double-thick, caribou-skin parka, pulled on his boots and mittens, and silently crawled through the igloo’s sole exit.
Outside, he was met by a blast of numbingly cold Arctic air. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he peered over a newly formed snowdrift and caught sight of the dawn sun as it just broke the distant horizon. Even at noon, the muted orange ball would not climb much higher into the sky than it already was. Ootah was well aware that all too soon it would not even bother rising at all, as perpetual night ruled the Arctic winter.
The storm that had first arrived two nights ago had finally passed, leaving in its wake a crystal-clear, dark blue sky and mounds of freshly fallen, powdery snow.
The morning star twinkled in the heavens, and Ootah turned to check on the condition of his dogs.
He had built a windbreak for his team on the opposite side of the igloo. Though the drifting snow made finding this protective barrier difficult, he was thankful to find it still standing. He brushed away the loose snow and found his team of seven huskies gathered in a tight embryonic ball. First to open his eyes and spot the gawking human was Arnuk, Ootah’s lead dog. This would be Arnuk’s twelfth winter, and though getting old in years, he was still the dominant member of the pack.
Quick to his feet, Arnuk howled in delight and moved over to playfully nuzzle his master. As the others awakened and shook the loose snow off their backs, Ootah walked over to the igloo, where a large, hollowed-out block of ice protected their cache of walrus meat. Cutting off several large chunks of frozen flesh from the hind quarter, he proceeded to feed his faithful pack. For they needed strength just like humans did, and when meat was available, all was shared equally.
While his dogs gratefully consumed their morning meal, Ootah turned his attention to the new sled that he had been working on when the storm arrived two days ago. He brushed away powdery snow, and found it behind the same barrier that had sheltered his dogs.
Only a few days’ work need be done on it before it was ready to hit the ice.
He had designed it to carry his ailing father.
Though Nakusiak hated to admit it, his illness had greatly sapped his once-formidable strength, and it was a struggle for him merely to stand, let alone keep up with them when they were on the move to new hunting grounds. Built much like the sleds of their ancestors, its runners were formed from frozen char that had been split and tightly wrapped in soaked caribou hides. Walrus tusks and whalebones comprised the body, on which a caribou hide would soon be stretched to hold Nakusiak.
Ootah’s current job was to make the runners as smooth as possible. He did so by chewing up large mouthfuls of snow and then spraying this liquid onto the existing runners. He was well into this tedious task, when a deep voice boomed out from behind.
“Well my son, you’re certainly up early. What demon could possibly have pulled you away from the warm body of your comely wife?”
Noting the unusual manner in which Nakusiak phrased this question, Ootah looked his father full in the eye and explained every detail of his recent nightmare.
When he finished describing his horrifying vision, he looked on as Nakusiak grunted.
“You are correct in ascribing this dream to Tornarsuk, my son. For you see, I had a similar vision.”
Puzzlement etched Ootah’s face as he questioned.
“But what does such a shared nightmare mean, Father?
Is it a presentiment of an even greater evil yet to come?”
Nakusiak somberly nodded.
“I’m afraid that it is, my son. The songs of the grandfathers tell of a time in the not so distant future when a star shall fall to earth. Sent from the Great Spirit, this comet shall explode in the dawn sky for all to see as a signal that the time of prophecy is upon us. As the tail of this comet falls to earth, mankind shall face the final trial.
And if the Great Spirit finds the people unworthy, he shall cleanse the earth with fire, and death will walk everywhere.”
“But how do we insure that such a terrible fate won’t befall us?” quizzed Ootah.
Reaching into the pocket of his parka, Nakusiak removed a hand-sized bone amulet that had a piece of sinew strung through it.
“This holy amulet was carved by my grandfather, Anoteelik, who was a great shaman of the people. He, too, dreamed of the cursed pool and the exploding comet that signaled the end of time. My time on this earth is almost over, my son.
It’s now up to you to wear this holy amulet over your heart, and if
the flow of your spirit is pure, perhaps the Great Spirit will intercede, and the people will be reprieved.”
As he handed the necklace to Ootah, Nakusiak was consumed by a fit of violent coughing. Blood red spittle drooled off his lips and dropped down to stain the white snow below.
“Come, Father, you’ve been out here in the cold long enough. You must take better care of yourself.”
Ootah’s pleas were met with an angry smirk.
“Stop coddling me, boy! Don’t forget who it was who brought you into the world. Now just swear to me that you’ll wear this amulet always, and that your meditations will be as pure as the snow that my life fluid has just violated.”
Well aware of his father’s stubbornness, Ootah meekly nodded, and slipped the sinew necklace over his neck. He could only look on helplessly as Nakusiak was once again consumed by a coughing fit.
Grasping the flat bone amulet with one of his mittened hands, Ootah angled his gaze to the distant horizon. There the fiery, golden-hued Arctic dawn continued to fight off the black tide of winter, in an eternal battle that began at the very beginning of time.
From a windswept plateau eighty-five miles due east of Ootah’s camp, another individual watched the Arctic dawn develop. Bundled in his down parka, Ensign Graham Chapman of the Royal Canadian Navy felt sadly out of place. The Calgary native had originally enlisted in the armed forces as a way of bringing badly needed adventure into his life. And for the first couple of months, he hadn’t been the least bit disappointed.
Having never traveled farther than Edmonton in his home province of Alberta, Graham initially had been sent packing to Halifax, Nova Scotia. There he underwent basic training. His naturally high aptitude got him an invitation to attend the Naval Officer’s training center in Esquimau, British Columbia. Once again he crossed the wide breadth of his native country, seeing magnificent sights he’d never dreamed existed.
He was most impressed with the ultra sophisticated city of Vancouver, and it was in this exciting metropolis that he spent many a cherished weekend leave.
In order to be as close to Vancouver as possible, he took a position on the staff of the vice admiral in charge of the Second Destroyer Squadron based in Esquimalt. Such duty demanded limited sea time, and gave him an opportunity to get his own apartment in nearby Vancouver.
For the son of an itinerant oil-well driller, this was like a dream come true. The petroleum business was in the midst of lean times, and if he’d stayed in Calgary, he’d most likely been on the dole like the majority of the boys he grew up with. Yet here he had a position that commanded respect, he was making a decent wage, and he was living in one of the most exciting cities in all of Canada.
Unfortunately, all too soon his luck was to run out.
It started that morning he was ordered into his superiors office, and asked if he wanted to take a position of the utmost sensitivity. Fooled into thinking that this was some sort of promotion, he immediately accepted.
Little did he realize what he was getting himself involved with.
Graham’s new job certainly started on an upscale beat as he was soon on a plane bound for balmy California. Though he never made it to Hollywood, his duty did take him to Beale Air Force base, north of the city of Sacramento. At this super secret installation he was to learn a whole new craft that would eventually take him from the land of surfers and bikinis to his current forsaken assignment in the frozen wastelands of the Canadian Arctic.
Totally sickened by the abrupt turn in his luck, Graham could only sigh heavily and shrug his broad shoulders. Like a wildcatter he had gambled his future on a single throw of the dice, and he had lost. It was as simple as that. And now he would have to pay the consequences.
Absently gazing out to the eastern horizon as the Arctic dawn continued to take shape, Graham mentally calculated that he had at least one hundred and eighty days left at this icebound outpost. After that time, command had promised he’d be transferred back to Esquimalt with a full rank’s promotion.
Though it didn’t seem like that long a time, six months was an eternity here at the distant early warning station known as Polestar. Making matters even worse was the fact that he was the only Canadian in a complement of fifty-five grubby Yanks. Why the only thing he had to look forward to were the weekly trips into Arctic Bay to pick up supplies and the mail. And even those trips were depressing, for the so-called town was little more than a collection of dilapidated Jamesway huts, holding an odd collection of squalid Eskimos.
If only his work was interesting, at least that portion of his stay would go quickly. But most of his duty time was spent perched before a radar screen, waiting for a Russian sneak attack that in all probability would never come to pass.
Polestar was the newest addition to the legendary DEW line, that was first built in the 1950’s to monitor the approach of Soviet prop-driven long-range bombers. Since that time, the character of the enemy’s strategic forces had drastically changed, and it was the threat of a surprise attack by the so-called Stealth aircraft that most concerned them.
To track these sophisticated planes from their takeoff phase onward, Polestar relied on a revolutionary new technology known as Over-the Horizon-Backscatter, or OTH-B for short. The system could cover airspace for a distance of over 2,000 miles. It did so by projecting a high-frequency signal off the ionosphere.
The reflected echo returned to the sending installation by a similar route, and was all but resistant to enemy jamming because the Soviets were still confused as to the exact frequencies that were being utilized.
Though Graham didn’t doubt the system’s effectiveness, what he did have misgivings about was the necessity of such an installation’s existence in the first place. Just as the strategic delivery systems had changed over the years, so had the statesmen that controlled them. Unlike in the 1950’s, today every responsible citizen of the planet understood the folly of nuclear war. Such a conflict would have no winners, for the resulting radioactivity would poison the atmosphere and create a living hell for any unlucky survivors.
A new generation of enlightened leaders was currently changing the character of enemy number one.
The Soviet Union was no longer the evil empire it had been rumored to be in the past. Socialism was gradually mutating, blending in capitalism and free enterprise to insure its future survival.
Currently leading the Soviets into the twenty-first century was an energetic, charismatic Premier by the name of Alexander Suratov. Graham liked the man from the very first time he saw him speaking on the evening news. He was young, dashing, and full of vigor.
Publicly admitting that the unparalleled arms race that had taken place during the last four decades was decimating the Soviet economy, Suratov was an exponent of total nuclear disarmament. To begin this long, difficult process, he advocated creating nuclear-free zones throughout the globe. One of the first regions he’d picked to ban such weapons was the Arctic. And to prove the seriousness of his intentions, he was about to embark on an unprecedented journey to Ottawa, where he was scheduled to meet with both the Canadian Prime Minister and the US President to sign an Arctic demilitarization treaty. This was a bold first step, and Graham prayed that the three leaders would reach an accord quickly.
Well aware that the plane carrying the Soviet Premier would soon be showing up on their radar screen, Ensign Graham Chapman turned to take in the installation that would be tracking this aircraft. Polestar was comprised of four massive OTH-B radar units.
Each of these flattened, octagonal-shaped radars was as large as a seven-story building, and was pointed northward. An enclosed walkway had been mounted on top of the permafrost. It connected the four separate radar arrays to a central structure. This massive building housed the control room, living quarters, mess hall, recreation room, and power plant. Though all the comforts of home had been included inside its thick walls, Graham still felt suffocated. Thus the reason for this morning’s early, subzero constitutional.
No st
ranger to cold weather, the young ensign surveyed the bleak landscape and disgustedly spit. Last night, thoughts of desertion had actually crossed his mind. Yet in this isolated, godforsaken wilderness there wasn’t even anywhere close by to desert to!
Shivering when a cold gust of Arctic wind hit him full in the face, Graham turned back toward the compound just as a high-pitched whistle broke the frigid air. A single individual wearing a bright orange parka could be seen standing beside one of the structure’s entry ways waving his arms. As he put his ungloved hands to his mouth, this figure’s deep, bass voice clearly boomed out.
“Hey, Canuck, are you going to join me or not?”
Only then did Graham remember his earlier promise to have a drink with one of his coworkers. Signaling that he had heard himself called, the Calgary native began his way back to the compound.
“I heard that you Canadians were a hearty lot, but this is stretching it a bit,” greeted Air Force Master Sergeant Jim Stanfield.
“Do you realize that with the wind chill it’s twenty degrees below zero out here?”
As the likable New Yorker led them inside, Graham replied, “Your blood just needs a little thickening, Sergeant.”
The interior passageway that both of them were soon walking down was so well heated that Graham had to remove his parka to keep from sweating.
“See anything interesting out there. Ensign?”
quizzed the American, who continued leading the way.
“Actually, I was just taking in the sunrise,” returned Graham.
“Pretty soon, we’ll be losing it altogether.”
“Ah, the infamous black Arctic winters,” reflected Stanfield.
“I always was a night person, so this should suit me just fine.”
They passed by a bisecting corridor that led to the central control room, and the American continued.
“I know some would say it’s a bit early, but are you still up for that drink? I don’t know about you, but after that nine-hour shift we just completed, I certainly need to unwind before hitting the chow line and then the rack.”
Under the Ice Page 3
