Under the Ice

Then, with the briefest of nods, the veteran crawled out of the hatchway and joined his five colleagues on the sub’s frozen deck. Even with their woolen face masks and goggles in place, the blowing ice spicules stung their cheeks and eyelids. Turning their backs to the wind, they utilized a portable hand ladder to descend down to the ice pack.

Mikhail was surprised to find that the Neva was already encrusted in a glistening shroud of solid ice.

The lead into which they had ascended had already frozen over, and from the racket the ice ridge was making, he only hoped the pressure would remain constant until they returned. For if the ice should suddenly close in on the ship, they would be left stranded. To prepare for such a worst-case scenario, it had been established that if the Neva was forced to descend, a supply of additional survival gear would be left topside for those on the ice. And hopefully another polynya would be encountered in the vicinity so the ship might surface and effect a proper rescue.

With compass in hand, Mikhail turned to the southeast and beckoned the others in this direction.

This was all that was needed to get the squad moving.

Fortunately, that put the wind at their backs, and they could concentrate solely on the rugged terrain they were crossing over.

The contorted ice ridges made their progress slow at first. It took them over an hour to travel barely a half kilometer. By this time the submarine had long since disappeared behind them, and it took a bit of imagination just to realize that they were actually walking above the waters of Lancaster Sound. Only occasional encounters with open leads pointed to this fact.

Their point man was a hearty Siberian who had been born and raised in the town of Yakutsk. A torpedoman by trade, he took to the ice like a duck to water. Trusting in his judgment explicitly, Mikhail did not balk when the point man signaled for the group to halt and gather behind an immense shelf of sloping ice. With this obstacle providing a convenient windbreak, the Siberian pointed to yet another ridge that lay immediately before them.

“That looks like the coastline,” he observed firmly.

“From here on in we must stick close together, and constantly be on the alert for crevasses.”

“Are we still on course?” quizzed the admiral.

To answer this question, the seaman who was assigned to carry the receiver slipped off his backpack and removed the compact, battery-powered homing device. A senior radio technician aboard the

Neva, he had little trouble switching on the unit, extending its long whiplike antenna overhead, and adjusting the frequency knob to the desired channel.

Only when a green light began flashing did he speak out.

“That we are. Admiral. The signal seems to be projecting from somewhere over that ridge.”

Following the direction of his outstretched finger, Mikhail made a brief alignment with his compass.

“We will continue on bearing one-four-zero,” instructed the veteran.

As the radio technician stowed away the receiver, he momentarily began brushing away the coating of ice that had formed over his coat’s length. Quick to stop him was their point man.

“Don’t do that, Yuri! That ice serves as an additional insulator, and could turn out to be a real lifesaver.”

Nodding that he understood, the radio man shouldered his backpack and signaled that he was ready to go. As they began to make their way toward the coastline, Mikhail found himself marveling at the professional manner in which the young sailors were behaving. Quick to help each other, they went on with their difficult mission heedless of the biting wind, the frigid temperatures, and the dangerous conditions of the ice itself. These were the kind of men that filled the veteran’s heart with pride.

There were many in the Defense Department who were forever grumbling about the poor quality of troops being recruited into the Motherland’s armed forces. These were the same individuals who complained that the military was not prepared to go to war because it was comprised of a vast mixture of racial and ethnic groups that could never jell as a single, unified fighting unit.

Mikhail begged to differ with such individuals. He knew it was this very racial diversity that gave the Motherland’s military forces their unique edge. This morning’s mission proved his point. For in his present squad were two Siberians, a Ukrainian, an Estonian, and a native Muscovite. Instead of working against each other, they each had a unique quality or talent that made the team that much stronger.