Under the Ice

by Richard P. Henrick

  “We’ll know for sure soon enough, once the captain gives the order to surface. As of this moment, all the installation and reprogramming have been completed. Now begins the hard part, the waiting.”

  “Any new system is going to have its bugs,” reflected Frystak.

  “If the theory’s correct, you’ll get it right eventually.”

  “I hope a lot sooner than that,” retorted Laurie.

  Matt Colter grinned.

  “If Lieutenant Frystak and his men can keep these engines purring away as they have been, you’ll have that chance soon enough. Doctor.

  Now, how about having a look at the engine room? I’m sure the men there won’t mind a little company, will they. Lieutenant?”

  Well aware of the crew’s undying curiosity whenever the subject of their civilian passenger came up, Frystak responded.

  “I don’t think they’ll mind at all, Captain. Shall I ring the chief and let him know that you’re coming?”

  Shaking his head that this wouldn’t be necessary, Colter escorted his guest through the aft hatchway.

  This brought them directly into the engine room. The cavernous compartment was brightly lit, and Laurie could clearly view the massive gray turbines and the vessel’s single propeller shaft. Though the size of the equipment was impressive, its quietness was even more so.

  “I thought it would be a lot noisier in here. Captain.

  And with all this heavy machinery crowded together like it is, what would happen if something went wrong with one of the machines buried on the bottom of all that gear?”

  Matt Colter was quick with an answer.

  “Practically every piece of heavy machinery you see before you can be hoisted out with a block and tackle and subsequently repaired. From the Nautilus onward, this was a feature each one of our nuclear subs was designed around. I’ve seen the wooden scale models myself, that were built showing each piece of equipment and every square inch of piping in this compartment. Such mock-ups were constructed to make certain that no piece of equipment was inaccessible.”

  By this time, a small group of grease-stained sailors had realized they had company. As they did their best to tidy themselves up, they hesitantly approached the newcomers. Leading this group forward was a potbellied, crewcut sailor wearing a filthy white T-shirt.

  “Good morning to ya’, Captain,” the first man said as he hitched up his trousers and tucked in the tail of his T-shirt.

  Noting that the chief and his crew were unusually quiet and reserved. Matt Colter proceeded with the introductions.

  “Dr. Lansing, I’d like you to meet Chief Engineer Joe Cunnetto and the best bunch of grease monkeys in the entire US Navy.”

  Only after he was certain his palms were clean did the chief shyly step forward and offer his hand.

  “Me and the boys would like to welcome you aboard the Defiance, Doc Lansing. Please feel free to visit anytime, day or night, that you get the hankering.”

  “Why thank you. Chief,” Laurie responded. Then she pointed toward the compartment’s aft bulkhead.

  “Do you mind if I take a look at the way the shaft penetrates the hull? I’ve always wondered what type of seals you utilized to keep the sea out.”

  Genuinely surprised by this request, Chief Cunnetto beamed proudly.

  “Why of course. Doc. I’d love to show you.”

  His men were gathered in a tight group close behind the chief, and when Cunnetto pivoted he practically tripped right over them.

  “Don’t you good-for-nothings have some work to do? At the very least you could give a guy a little breathing room,” the chief complained.

  Matt Colter fought to hold back his laughter as the sailors proceeded to trip over each other while they attempted to disperse. Yet the captain’s moment of levity was abruptly cut short by a piercing, high-pitched warbling tone, whose distinctive sound filled Colter with instant dread.

  “It’s the collision alarm!” cried the chief at the top of his lungs.

  “To your stations, men!”

  Madly grabbing out for the nearest intercom handset, the captain took in the frantic words of the Defiance’s current OOD, Lieutenant David Sanger.

  “It’s another submarine. Captain! It came up on us from out of nowhere and—” The OOD’s report was cut short by a bone-jarring collision that sent Matt Colter crashing hard to the deck. A deafening, screeching noise filled the engine room as the lights blinked off and the Defiance canted hard on to its left side. Blindly groping out in the darkness for something solid to hold on to. Colter slid hard into a prone figure pinned up against the iron railing that lined that portion of the elevated catwalk. As he tightly gripped this figure’s lean torso in an effort to keep from sliding off the passageway altogether and go slamming into the machinery stored below, an unfamiliar perfumed scent met his nostrils.

  And in that instant he realized that his savior was none other than Dr. Laurie Lansing.

  Loosening his grip a bit. Colter knew he could do absolutely nothing until the hull stabilized and he could safely stand. Yet he did manage to whisper some words of encouragement to the woman he found himself so desperately clinging to.

  “Hang in there. Doctor. This ship’s built tough and we’re not licked just yet.”

  As if to emphasize these words, the emergency lights popped on, and the first thing Matt Colter’s eyes were able to focus on was the pale, terror-filled face of his civilian passenger. Doing his best to control his own panic, the captain managed a brave smile.

  “At least we’ve still got lights,” he said.

  “That means that our power system is still on line. Now if only our hull stayed in one piece.”

  The sickening sound of rushing water met his practiced ears, and Colter’s gut tightened. The deck having finally stabilized beneath them, the captain painfully got to his knees and struggled to stand erect.

  Bruised but still in one piece, he helped the civilian to stand.

  Behind them, the deep voice of Chief Cunnetto rose strong and firm.

  “It looks like the port circ pump has busted loose, men, and we’re taking in water. Get those bilge pumps going, Hardesty! And you, Mulroney, quit cowering like a baby and go get a tarp to cover the pump casing motor with, or it’ll be completely ruined!”

  Imagining similar scenes occurring throughout the Defiance, the ship’s captain felt a new self-confidence.

  At long last, the thousands of hours of endless practice drills would finally pay off as the men reacted to save the ship by pure rote.

  With one eye on the geyser that was erupting out of the left side of the engine room, Colter limped over to the intercom.

  “Control room, this is the captain. Do you have a damage report as yet?”

  There was a long pause that was eventually broken by a breathless, high-pitched voice.

  “This is Ensign Mitchell, sir. Lieutenant Sanger is being treated for a bad gash he suffered on his forehead, and I’ve taken over as OOD until the XO shows up.”

  Ensign Ed Mitchell was the ship’s supply officer and was fresh out of sub school. Far from being a seasoned veteran, the ship’s junior-most officer was suddenly being cast into a starring role.

  “What do you hear from the other stations. Ensign?” queried the anxious captain.

  “It looks like we rode out the collision in one piece, sir. Though we’re still waiting to hear from the engine room where the majority of the blow was taken.”

  The supply officer’s report was met by a long sigh of relief on Colter’s part.

  “Well you’re hearing from the engine room right now. Ensign. It appears that we’ve lost our port circ pump, and we’re taking in a lot of water. I don’t think the bilge pumps are going to be able to handle this flooding, so I’m ordering an emergency surface.”

  “But the ice. Captain,” the confused supply officer responded.

  Just as Mitchell was about to continue, another individual replaced him at the microphone. The voice Colter n
ow heard was steady and most familiar.

  “Skipper, it’s the XO. Sorry about the delay in getting up here, but I had to stop and do a little fir staid work while picking my way to the bridge from the wardroom.”

  “Anything serious?” questioned the captain.

  “Just some nasty cuts and bruises. Skipper. They’ll live. What about you? And what’s this I hear about us taking in water?”

  With his glance locked on the frantic efforts of the chief and his men as they tried to stem the rush of flooding water. Matt Colter barked into the intercom.

  “It’s the port circ pump, Al. The chief’s on it now, but it’s flooding pretty badly and I suggest an immediate emergency ascent.”

  “Skipper, as of ten minutes ago, we had a pretty thick sheet of ice above us. Even if we did take her up, there’s no telling how close the nearest lead would be.”

  Redirecting his gaze to take in the nearby figure of Dr. Lansing, Colter responded.

  “This is as good a time as any to give that new laser Fathometer a try, Al.”

  “Can’t do, Skipper. The Nav computers are still out, and without them that device is useless.”

  “Well, crank up the old ice machine, and pray that there’s some open water close by. I’ll be up to join you as soon as I let the chief in on what we intend to do.

  And then I’m going to want to know what in the hell it was that hit us.”

  Briefly catching Laurie Lansing’s worried stare, Matt Colter rushed down into the engine room’s flooded confines as the fight to save the Defiance began in earnest.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Arctic Rangers’ course took them to the northwest, out of the small community of Arctic Bay and over the frozen waters of Admiralty Inlet. Because of the constantly blowing snow, visibility was poor, and they were forced to travel at a minimum speed in order to keep the convoy of six snowmobiles and the single dogsled within sight of each other.

  Hunched down over the steering wheel of the second vehicle in line, Jack Redmond did his best to stay as close to the rear runners of the lead sled as possible.

  Considering his relative inexperience, his sergeant-major was doing an excellent job keeping the dogs moving. Yet even then the snow cats that followed progressed at only a fraction of the speed they were capable of attaining.

  So far, this cautious approach had saved them from certain disaster on two separate occasions. The first of these incidents took place as they were traveling over a particularly smooth portion of the frozen inlet.

  Though the blizzard was still blowing in all its fury, the going here was fast, and they were able to clip along at a good ten kilometers per hour.

  Redmond was mentally calculating that if they could keep up this pace for the rest of the journey they could be at their intended destination in another eight hours. He had initially anticipated a journey of twice this duration. Yet he knew better than to get his hopes up, for the portion of the trip that took them over solid ground was still to come. Here they would have to contend not only with ice and snow but with dangerous crevasses and other geological irregularities.

  The senior commando was in the midst of such a pondering when the sled before him unexpectedly ground to a halt. Reacting as quickly as possible, Redmond released the throttle and hit the hand brake.

  An uncontrolled skid followed, during which time his snow cat missed striking the edge of the sled by only a few centimeters. Sheer instinct had made him steer into the skid, and after an anxious few moments the brakes had finally held.

  His limbs were still trembling as he carefully opened up the throttle and returned to the lead sled’s side. He found Cliff Ano standing beside the dogs and peering out into the veil of white that lay before them.

  “I don’t like it, Lieutenant. The dogs have gotten real skittish lately, and it’s an effort just to keep them moving,” observed the heavily bundled Inuit.

  Shouting to be heard over the wind, Redmond replied.

  “Maybe they’re just tired.”

  His sergeant-major shook his head.

  “It’s not that, Lieutenant. They seem to be consciously holding themselves back. I think there’s open water up ahead.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to see if that’s the case,” returned the senior commando. He pivoted and shouted to the driver of the snow cat parked immediately behind them.

  “Corporal Eviki, I want you to scout ahead on foot. Go out about a quarter of a kilometer, and be extra cautious as there’s a chance there’s open water somewhere ahead of us. Take Private Etah with you, just in case you run into any trouble. And watch your compass reading so that you can find your way back!”

  As the two full-blooded Inuit climbed off the snow-cat and began their exploratory trek, Redmond made a hasty examination of the rest of the squad. Since the majority of them were also Inuit, the raw elements really didn’t bother them that much. Their army-issue clothing was first rate, and they were certainly no strangers to such a snow squall. Utilizing the line of tracked vehicles as a windbreak, they gathered together with their backs to the powerful gusts. Several of them even managed to light up cigarettes.

  Jack Redmond was toying with the idea of setting up the receiver to see if they could pick up the homing beacon as yet when the two scouts arrived back at camp. With white tendrils of breath streaming from his nose and mouth. Corporal Jim Eviki revealed the outcome of their short search.

  “There’s water out there sure enough. Lieutenant.

  It’s less than an eighth of a kilometer ahead, and seems to stretch for a good distance.”

  “So your dogs were right.” Redmond turned to his sergeant-major.

  “But my uncle was wrong,” retorted Cliff Ano.

  “He seemed to think the inlet would remain solidly frozen until the spring thaw.”

  “Go easy on him, Sergeant-Major,” advised Redmond.

  “After all, it was his team that saved our necks. Besides, it’s common knowledge any frozen body of water up here is subject to open leads, no matter how cold the temperature might get.”

  “Where do we go from here?” questioned the corporal.

  Redmond answered firmly.

  “We go north, and skirt the open water until we come across some solid footing.”

  As it turned out, they were forced to travel for two more hours in this direction before finding the type of flat, icy terrain that allowed them to continue on their original course. Here their pace once again quickened, though the dogs took it upon themselves to institute yet another abrupt change in direction as they approached the western shore of the inlet.

  Steering hard to the left to follow the sled, Redmond soon saw for himself why the dogs had turned this way. For a ridge had formed in this portion of the ice, and if they had remained on their original course, they would have smacked right into it.

  Ever thankful to have such a reliable, intuitive team leading the way, Redmond and his men completed their transit of the inlet when they came to an icy, boulder-strewn shoreline. In the shelter of these rocks they broke for lunch.

  Over a hot thermos of tea, Redmond conferred with his second in command.

  “Well, we’re almost halfway there, Sergeant-Major.”

  “But this is where the going gets tough,” returned the Inuit.

  “Once we pick our way over these rocks, there’s a valley on the other side that practically splits the peninsula in half. Uncle says we’ll do best by following this ravine all the way to Lancaster Sound.

  He warned us to be on the lookout for open crevasses here. And it’s also wise to remember that this area is known for its high concentration of polar bears and wolves.”

  “It’s not the wildlife that scares me,” observed Redmond.

  “Is it my imagination, or has this storm further intensified since we stopped here?”

  Dreamily gazing out at the frozen expanse of water they had just crossed. Cliff Ano thoughtfully replied, “This is the type of weather my ancestors gre
eted with open arms. Because such extreme conditions made hunting impossible, they passed the time snuggled warmly in their snow houses telling stories, chewing away on frozen meat, and waiting for the clouds to vent themselves.”

  “Sounds enticing,” said Redmond.

  “But duty calls.

  Shall we get on with it, Sergeant-Major?”

  Hurriedly finishing off their tea, the two commandoes ordered their men to break camp. With little level ground to follow, they were forced to pick up their snowmobiles and carry them over the rocky terrain. Cliff Ano was able to manage his lightweight sled all on his own, while his harnessed dogs noisily followed at his heels.

  Because of the slippery footing, their progress was slow. Frequent rest stops were needed because of the great weight of their equipment. And none of the twenty-four commandoes was disappointed when they finally reached the valley they had been searching for.

  With the dogsled once again taking the lead, the Arctic Rangers began their way northward. Though the snow was deep here, visibility was somewhat better.

  Redmond attributed this welcome fact to the mountainous spine that lay to their left and acted as a partial windbreak.

  Able to safely increase the distance between the vehicles at this point, the column twisted its way down the valley’s snow-covered floor. They had accomplished over an hour’s worth of uninterrupted travel when Cliff Ano held up his right hand and pulled his sled to a halt. Quick to go to his side was Jack Redmond.

  “What’s the matter, Sergeant-Major?”

  The Inuit answered while carefully scanning the surrounding foothills.

  “The dogs are acting up again, Lieutenant.”

  “Could it be a crevasse?” quizzed Redmond.

  “I doubt it,” returned the Inuit.

  “The footing here is fairly firm and this section of the valley appears to be geologically stable.”

  It was at that moment that a high-pitched, mournful cry sounded in the distance. This brought an immediate response from the dogs in the sled team.

  They began barking and yelping.