“I doubt if you’ll have to worry about another failure,” retorted one of the kneeling figures in an unnaturally high voice.
Only as this individual swiveled around and stood did Colter realize this technician wasn’t a man as he had assumed, but a young woman, and a pretty one at that. With her dark, almond-shaped eyes locked onto his startled gaze, she took a step forward and added.
“You must be Captain Colter. I’m Dr. Laurie Lansing of the Naval Arctic lab, and I believe we just found the problem that caused the unit to malfunction.
It seems that during installation, the lasers weren’t calibrated properly.”
“This is a hell of a time to figure that one out,” snapped Colter.
“That damn machine of yours was almost responsible for our deaths on three separate occasions.”
“You have every reason to be upset,” Dr. Lansing responded in a conciliatory tone.
“I would feel the same way if our situations were reversed. But now that we know the problem, I’m certain it can be rectified.”
Capping these words off with a brave smile, she removed her woolen hat and shook loose a long mop of silky black hair. This feature served to further enhance her natural beauty, and Matt Colter’s wrath was temporarily quieted. Sensing this, Laurie Lansing continued.
“I know excuses are meaningless now, but this whole problem came into being when I was forced to miss the unit’s final fine tuning. I pleaded with Admiral Long to hold off your sailing date, but he said it would be next to impossible to do such a thing for a mere double-check of the equipment. I prayed that the lasers were tuned properly, and when I heard about your close calls under the ice, I felt simply terrible.”
Her sincerity was painfully real, and Matt Colter couldn’t help but be placated. Yet he still found himself with a bone to pick.
“I appreciate your concern. Doctor. But how could the designer of this project allow us to go to sea without making absolutely certain the device was in perfect operating condition? He must have known the risks involved.”
“He certainly did,” replied Laurie Lansing somberly.
“And believe me when I tell you that no one valued human life more than he did. For you see, he was my father, and it was his untimely death that kept me from making those final checks as he would have done.”
Genuinely moved by her revelation. Matt Colter shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea such a thing had taken place.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Captain. I guess I should just have been a bit more forceful in my appeal to the admiral to hold the Defiance in port a little longer. But with my father’s sudden passing and all, I’m afraid that I didn’t put up much of an argument.”
“Understandably so,” reasoned Matt Colter.
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s the admiral for failing to heed your warnings. But that’s water over the dam. We survived our confrontation with the ice pack, and now it appears we’ll both be getting a second chance.
How many hours will the repair effort take?”
“I should be able to give you a fully operational unit in approximately three more days. Most of the work will concern reprogramming the computer interface, though there was a bit of structural damage caused when the sail struck the ice. That must have been some impact.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” observed Matt Colter.
“But fortunately the Defiance was built with just such punishment in mind. Though I wouldn’t want to have to needlessly put my crew through such an experience again. We’re going to be having enough nightmares about those collisions as it is.”
Any response on Laurie Lansing’s part was cut short by the shrill buzz of the sail’s intercom unit.
Quick to pick up the black handset. Matt Colter spoke into it.
“Captain here… Sure, Lieutenant, I’ll be right down.”
As he placed the receiver back in its cradle. Colter politely excused himself, then started to return below.
Only when he was nearly halfway down the narrow ladder did he realize why the control room crew had appeared so dapper earlier. They had seen the type of woman who was working in the sail, and were doing their best to give her a good impression of them.
Grinning at this thought, he jumped off the final two rungs, and expertly slid down the ladder’s shiny steel handrails to the deck below.
Colter was surprised to find his XO waiting for him beside the fire-control panel. Al Layman looked serious, and the captain sensed trouble.
“What are you doing back here so soon, Al? I thought you’d be well on your way to Nantucket by now.”
Meeting the captain’s greeting with a somber scowl, the XO answered him directly.
“I wish that was indeed the case, Skipper. But I bumped into the admiral’s aide while I was in the Officer’s Club making those reservations, and he dropped off this packet he was about to bring over to the Defiance. I’ll bet my pension it’s sailing orders.”
As he handed Matt the sealed envelope, the XO added.
“Thank the lord I didn’t call Donna and let her know about the trip I planned. One more heartbreak like that and it would have meant a divorce for certain.”
Not paying this remark much attention. Colter tore open the envelope and removed several typed documents.
After skimming the top sheet, he handed it to his second-in-command, commenting, “They’re sailing orders all right. And it looks to me like Command wants us out of here as soon as we can restock our stores and get the men back from shore leave.”
“Does it say where we’re off to?” quizzed Al Layman.
Hastily reading the rest of the packet, the captain answered, “Looks like it’s the Arctic again, my friend.
Says here that we’ll be getting additional orders while at sea.”
“But the ice machine,” protested the XO.
“They can’t send us up there again with one unit on the fritz and the other still inoperable.”
Matt Colter replied while studying the packet’s last sheet.
“Command realizes that, and is authorizing us to continue the repairs while we’re underway.”
“They want us to take that civilian repair team to sea with us?” asked the XO incredulously.
“They sure do, Al. And you don’t know the half of it. One of the members of that repair crew is one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Al Layman rubbed his forehead.
“Oh, swell. A dame on board and more ice to boot. Perhaps you could convince the admiral to leave the woman behind where she belongs.”
“I seriously doubt that, my friend,” replied Colter with a sigh.
“Because these, orders aren’t just coming down from COMSUBLANT. They’re originating from no less a place than the White House!”
Approximately 2,100 miles northwest of the sub base at New London, Connecticut, lay the picturesque village of Banff. Situated on the far western border of the Canadian province of Alberta, Banff was cradled in a magnificent Rocky Mountain valley, that was a hiker’s paradise in the summer and a skier’s delight in the colder months of the year.
In addition to a variety of excellent hotels and resorts, Banff was also home to an Army cadet-training facility. Here in the brisk mountain air, young men and women prepared for a career in the military.
Though this compound was usually closed down at summer’s end, it was occasionally opened to accommodate branches of the Canadian armed forces that wished to train troops in the vicinity. This proved to be the case on a cool, crisp fall morning, as a group of twenty-two soldiers lay snug in their bunks catching the tail end of a sound night’s sleep.
Oblivious to their contented snores, a pair of khaki-uniformed figures gathered at the head of the barracks. One of these individuals was tall and thin, with short brown hair and a creased, weatherworn face. The other was several inches shorter, with stocky build, smooth brown skin, and rather long, straight black hair. It proved to be
the taller of the two who stepped forward. With the first light of dawn just visible through the window behind him, this man’s voice boomed out deep and strong.
“Good morning, lads, rise and shine! I hope you enjoyed your little slumber party, because it’s time to do your thing for God, Queen, and country. So out of those bunks boys, and look sharp. Because you’re Arctic Rangers, the best damn soldiers in the north woods
Looking out as his men began groggily stirring from beneath their woolen blankets. Lieutenant Jack Redmond turned and briefly grinned as he caught the black, steady gaze of his second-in-command.
“Sergeant-Major Ano! Get this bunch of worthless scalawags off to the showers and then dressed and into the mess hall. I want them waiting for me on the parade ground in full battle gear by 0800. And then we’ll soon enough see what Canada’s best are made out of!”
Leaving the task of further motivating the young squad of soldiers to his capable Inuit subordinate, Jack Redmond smartly pivoted and left the barracks.
Once outside, he hurriedly crossed the manicured parade ground. The pine-scented air was nippy, and just hinted at the frigid winter that would all too soon be upon them. Proof of this rapidly approaching season lay clearly visible on the lofty mountain tops that surrounded the valley, for the snow line was steadily working its way down the tree-covered slopes.
While wondering if the section of wilderness he had chosen for that day’s maneuvers was snowbound as yet, the forty-three-year-old veteran commando ducked into the adjoining mess hall.
Once inside this cavernous structure, Redmond headed straight for the cafeteria-style serving line. A single, potbellied cook stood behind the steam table.
“Good morning, Angus,” greeted Jack Redmond.
“I hope you had a pleasant enough sleep. What’s for chow?”
“Red River cereal and hot cakes,” replied the cook indifferently. His beard-stub bled chin was gray with several days’ growth.
“And have no fear. Jack Redmond, there’s plenty of hot coffee, brewed extra strong just as you like it.”
At this revelation, a warm smile painted the veteran soldier’s face.
“Bless you, Angus. I’ll be taking the lads on a bit of a hike today, and you’re more than welcome to join us with your pipes.”
Patting his stained, apron-covered belly, Angus McPherson thoughtfully answered.
“So it’s a bit of a hike you’ll be taking. Jack Redmond. Though I would like a chance to work off a bit of this extra baggage, if I know you, you’ll be taking your lads straight up Mount Rundle, and be back in time for tea.”
Redmond replied while filling a white ceramic bowl full of hot cereal.
“Not quite, Angus. I’ll be taking the squad up through Simpson Pass to the Sunshine meadowlands. There we’ll be doing some alpine climbing on the foothills beneath Mount Assiniboine.”
“That’s lovely land you’ve chosen,” reflected the grizzled cook.
“You wouldn’t happen to know if the Sunshine gondola is operating as yet, would you, Jack?”
The veteran commando nodded.
“As it so happens, I talked to the resort manager just yesterday to get clearance for our hike, and she mentioned that the gondola would be in operation all this week in preparation for ski season.”
Satisfied that he would have a way down from the mountain should his legs give out, Angus winked.
“Then it looks like you’ve got the services of one worn-out piper. I’ll be out to join you on the parade grounds in my regimental kilts as soon as the boys have filled their bellies.”
Sincerely happy to have the old-timer’s company, Redmond added to his tray a platter of hotcakes and a large mug of black coffee. He sat himself down at a nearby table and immediately got to work on his breakfast.
Forty-five minutes later, he stood on the parade ground, his men smartly lined up before him. Dressed identically in snow-wnite fatigues, the squad wore backpacks. Unloaded Ml 6 rifles were slung over the men’s shoulders. While Sergeant-Major Ano initiated an intense inspection, a portly latecomer joined the ranks. Unlike his younger comrades, this individual wore gaily colored, red and black woolen kilts. He put the bagpipes he carried to work when Jack Redmond greeted him with a simple nod. To the spirited sounds of Scotland the Brave, the squad marched off to the bus that would take them to the trailhead.
The first portion of the hike took them through a thick wood of lodgepole pine and birch. The terrain here was relatively flat, with a swift-moving stream cascading on their left. To the melodious strains of such age-old pipe favorites as the “Highland Cradle Song,”
“Captain Off-Ewing,”
“Culty’s Wedding,” and “Farewell to the Creeks,” they made excellent time.
Designed to set a marching regiment’s pace and provide inspiration, the bagpipe tunes seemed as home here in the Canadian wilderness as they would back on the heather-covered meadows of Scotland.
The group stopped for a quick lunch of crusty french bread, cheddar cheese, and green apples at Simpson Pass. The weather was cooperating quite splendidly, and they munched away on their food under an almost cloudless blue sky. A gentle wind blew in from the west, while the temperature was so mild that the majority of the men were picnicking in their shirtsleeves.
After lunch, their hike took them up a gradually sloping trail. Unable to play his pipes on this portion of the path, Angus McPherson barely had enough wind to make the climb. Walking immediately behind the likable Scot, and taking up the rear of the pack was Jack Redmond.
Satisfied with their progress, the veteran commando was able to identify several species of passing wildlife. Fat black and white plumed magpies watched them from the branches of the pines, their characteristic long, graduated tails and squeaky voices quick to give them away. Ground squirrels were abundant, and once they startled a family of deer, who were innocently grazing on some green shrubbery at the edge of the trail.
Having grown up in nearby Kamloops, Redmond was most familiar with the rugged terrain they were passing through. Yet each time he ventured into such wilderness, he felt a new appreciation for its raw beauty. It had been his grandfather who’d originally given him his first lesson in woodsman ship A grizzled logger, the old man had known the forest like a close friend, and much of his invaluable knowledge had been passed on to Jack during the frequent camping trips they took on the shores of Lake Okanagan. It was here the youngster had learned the names of the various plants and animals that abounded in this region. The impressionable lad had also heard many a frightening tale told around the fire-circle, such as that of the monstrous, serpent like beast that supposedly lived deep in the lake’s icy depths.
Twenty-five years ago, at the tender age of eighteen, Jack had enlisted in the Army. Never known for his ambition, he’d blossomed in the military’s environment of vigorous physical activity and comradeship.
Several tours had taken him to southern Germany, where he’d helped fulfill Canada’s NATO obligation. In fact, it was in Germany that he’d met the only woman he’d ever really cared for. Gretchen was a willowy blonde, with a quick wit and a keen intellect. Unfortunately, the headstrong Canuck bachelor had feared a permanent commitment, and he’d lost his only love to a dashing Yank from California Since that traumatic experience, he had remained aloof from the opposite sex, preferring instead to focus his energies solely on his military career.
In the 1980’s, Canadians became increasingly concerned with the security of their borders. As the planet’s third largest country in terms of available land space, Canada found itself in the awkward position of having more troops committed to the defense of central Europe than it did to its homeland. To rectify this shocking imbalance, attention began to focus on internal security.
Since much of the nation stretched above the Arctic Circle, special forces squadrons were created to patrol these vast frozen expanses of territory. These patrols became more and more important as the Arctic continued to be developed both co
mmercially and strategically.
It was for such duty that Redmond’s current outfit, the Arctic Rangers came into being. Comprised primarily of trained woodsmen and native Inuit, the Rangers were responsible for patrolling vast portions of northern territory, and were involved in search and rescue efforts and ecological enforcement as well.
To insure that his men could handle themselves in a variety of terrain and under differing climatic conditions, Redmond made sure their maneuvers took them to various regions of the country. Only recently they had stayed one month on isolated Ellesmere Island, Canada’s northernmost territory. Almost directly adjoining the northern tip of Greenland, Ellesmere was a desolate spot that for the majority of the year was frozen over in ice and snow. Since the Rangers stay had been there in the closing days of summer, the weather conditions were a bit more tolerable.
The Inuit members of the squad provided in83 valuable guidance, showing the men how to augment their dull canned diet with an assortment of nourishing local foods such as hare, caribou, and seal.
Jack Redmond couldn’t help but be excited when his recent orders sent them packing for Banff. For these were practically the woods he grew up in, and spending the next couple of weeks exploring the surrounding countryside was like a trip back to the days of his childhood. This especially seemed to be the case when a trail they had been steadily following upward passed by the side of a huge granite mountain that had recently lost a good portion of its bulk to a major rock slide As a lad, Jack had played in similar debris, and he would never forget the many hours he’d spent climbing amongst the rocks, looking for gold and other treasures.
As they came upon a portion of the trail that had been covered by this slide, the squad was forced to pick its way around the fractured rock. Briefly halting before doing so, Angus McPherson pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his soaked brow.
“My lordy. Jack, I guess I’m in worse shape that I ever imagined,” observed the Scotsman between gasps of breath.
“Why just look at your boys up there, climbing onward like this was nothing but a sunday stroll through Stanley Park. Why there was a time not so long ago when I could easily have kept up with those lads and then some.”
Under the Ice Page 7
