Under the Ice

The XO could only shrug his shoulders and get on with the task. Meanwhile, the captain instructed the helmsman to proceed on a cautious intercept course with the disabled Soviet vessel. This done, he beckoned his two passengers to join him by the fire-control panel, where a black plastic handset hung on the adjoining bulkhead.

“This is our underwater communications system.

It operates just like a normal telephone, though its range is limited because seawater by itself makes a lousy conductor. Now, if we only had someone who could speak Russian … I don’t believe any of the ship’s crew is familiar with the language.”

“I’d be happy to give it a try,” offered the weathered Canadian.

“My mother was originally from the Ukraine, and though I can’t read or write Cyrillic, I should be able to converse enough to get by.”

Matt Colter was impressed by this revelation.

“I guess it was a good thing that we plucked you off the ice after all. Lieutenant. Now let’s just hope this whole thing isn’t a big waste of time. Or worse, a cleverly conceived ambush.”

“Captain Markova, the men in the engine room don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to hold out. The leak has worsened, and the water there is almost up their knees.”

The chiefs remarks were met by an emotional reply.

“Well tell them that they’re just going to have to do better, comrade. Otherwise the Neva is finished for sure. Perhaps I’d better get down there myself.”

“But who’ll man the attack center while you’re gone?” It was the whining voice of the Neva’s Zampolit.

Sergei turned to face the sweating Political Officer, who had arrived in the control room shortly after the last damage report was received.

“I guess as senior officer, you’ll be the man in charge, Comrade Zinyagin.”

The captain’s words brought horror to the Zampolit’s already pale face.

“But what do I know about running a submarine? Maybe I should go get the admiral out of confinement. In times such as these we could use his expertise.”

Sergei was about to okay this request when the compartment filled with a harsh ringing buzz. The captain had to completely scan the debris-ridden room before spotting the device responsible for this racket.

“What the hell?” muttered the blond-haired officer as he thoughtfully approached the Neva’s underwater telephone receiver. Though he was certain this commotion was only the by-product or a short circuit of some sort, he nevertheless picked up the handset and spoke into the receiver.

“Hello.”

With the Canadian’s invaluable assistance. Matt Colter soon learned the exact nature of the Russian sub’s plight. Even his XO’s suspicions were tempered as the captain shared with his crew a graphic description of their enemies’ difficulties. It proved to be the only civilian present who offered any sort of viable game plan.

“Captain Colter, I’d like permission to activate the surface-scanning lasers.”

“Permission granted,” snapped the captain, who knew exactly what was on her mind.

While Laurie Lansing furiously addressed her keyboard, Matt Colter utilized the only foreign national in their immediate midsts as an intermediary.

“Lieutenant Redmond, find out if the Russian sub can manage any type of forward propulsion at all. I realize their reactor has been scrammed, but they must have some sort of backup system on board.”

With a bit of difficulty, the Canadian managed to translate this query. It took two attempts to get the response clear in his mind.

“Captain Markova says their battery-powered system still appears to be on-line. Though because of the nature of the damage in the Neva’s engine room, they’ll only be able to utilize it for a short duration.”

“If God’s with us, that’s all they’ll need,” retorted Matt Colter, who added, “Tell the captain to stand by.”

Colter’s voice cracked with strain as he pivoted and yelled across the entire length of the control room.

“Dr. Lansing, any luck as yet?”

“It doesn’t look good. Captain,” responded the civilian.

“There’s a massive inverted ridge directly above us, with heavy rafted ice to the south, east, and north. The only possibility lies to the west, approximately a mile distant. It’s not open water mind you, but it looks to be smooth and of fairly recent origin. And there’s more than enough room to fit the both of us.”

“How thick does it appear to be?” quizzed the captain.

Laurie Lansing answered with a shake of her head.

“That’s the tough part, captain. From this depth and range, it looks to be about six inches thick, though I could be off by as much as three inches either way.”

Matt Colter knew that six inches of ice was about the limit that their specially reinforced sail could take. Yet because of the uniqueness of their situation, he replied after the briefest of hesitations.

“Let’s do it. Doc! Lock us on, and we’ll lead our newfound Soviet comrades up out of these depths like a Seeing-Eye dog does its master.”

Chapter Eighteen