Under the Ice

Back in Siberia, such natives were welcomed as an integral part of the Motherland. They were educated and taught a trade, and today their culture flourished like never before. It was on account of them that vast tracts of Siberia were able to be developed, as centers of mining, hydroelectric power, and animal husbandry.

Their Canadian cousins were in vast contrast. Exploited by their government, they were forced to live like wild beasts, dependent upon the fickle whims of mother nature and an occasional government handout.

They lived in incredible squalor, as the igloo Kharkov had just visited amply showed, and drowned their sorrows in vast amounts of cheap alcohol.

Such a waste of humankind was a pity. But the Capitalists only cared about exploiting their ancestral homes for oil and minerals, leaving behind nothing but a legacy of pollution and broken dreams.

Under the new world order that would shortly come to pass, such imbalances would be corrected.

The exploited masses would be freed from their chains, as brotherhood and equality became the chants of the day, Unfortunately, there were many who had to be sacrificed along the way so that this Socialistic dream could come true. Premier Alexander Suratov had been one of these unlucky ones, as were the five brave sailors who would not be returning to the Neva with him, and the pathetic Eskimo as well.

Each of these individuals had been called before his time, to serve as fodder for the great revolution that would soon sweep the world.

The key to this uprising’s success lay locked away inside the snowmobile’s storage compartment. Here a single cassette tape would soon change mankind’s very destiny. Stored in the cockpit voice recorder’s interior was the certain proof that his colleagues in the Politburo had demanded in exchange for their support. And once this support was given, the reins of power would be his!

That thought thrilled the white-haired veteran, who was forced to turn his current means of transport hard to the left when a sudden lead of open water showed itself before him. His heart pounded away as the thin ice beneath him cracked in protest.

Yet the great speed at which he had been traveling kept the ice from fracturing altogether, and he was spared a certain fatal dunking.

As he zoomed over an elevated ice ridge, the horizon suddenly opened up and he spotted the distinctive silhouette of an immense, lowlying, black-hulled object seemingly entombed in the distant ice. Looking like a lonely beached whale, the Neva beckoned like a long-lost friend, and Mikhail dared to open the throttle full.

The snowmobile lurched forward in response, and the Admiral of the Fleet knew that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be returning to the Motherland in utter triumph. And one of his first treats to himself would be a visit to his cherished dacha on the shores of Lake Baikal. With the flat, frozen white landscape whipping by him in a blur, he mentally visualized yet another corner of this great planet. Here an ancient wood stood in all its inspiring glory. And unlike the desolate, ice-encrusted wilderness he currently crossed, this forest was a shrine to life itself.

Surely by now the first real snows had fallen, and the pines would be matted in fluffy shrouds of white. Yet the tumbling brook would still be flowing, the diverse creatures that inhabited its banks now leaving their tracks in the powdery snow.

How he missed this peaceful, pastoral haven! It was the real source of his vision, and without it, he’d be as empty as the jagged ice fields that presently surrounded him. Thus inspired, Kharkov felt a new sense of urgency as he charted the quickest route back to the Neva.

Chapter Sixteen

It was noon, and the Arctic sun still lay low in the heavens, as Matt Colter returned to the Defiance. His weary, bone-chilled party included two new faces. One of these individuals had to be carried aboard on a makeshift stretcher, while the other stood erect on the ice-covered deck where he wished his shore-based coworkers a hearty goodbye.

“I’m leaving the squad in your capable hands, Sergeant-Major. Please try to assure the Inuit woman that her husband appears to be all right.

That bone necklace he was wearing most likely saved the poor bugger’s life, but it will be up to the pharmacist’s mate to bring him back to consciousness.

“While I’m gone, have the men start combing that plateau for other debris. And then you’ve got the somber task of holding a proper burial.

“By the way, in your absence, I made Thomas Etah a corporal. I know he’s young and inexperienced, but he seems to be a quick learner and the men respect him. Give him his fair share of responsibilities, and perhaps he’ll grow into the job like you and I did years ago.”

“Pardon my asking. Lieutenant, but I still don’t understand why you’ll be sailing with the Americans.

Isn’t our job over at this point?”

Cliff Ano’s question brought a firm response from Redmond’s lips.

“Most definitely not, Sergeant-Major.