Under the Ice

Conscious now of why the American had most likely requested a transfer to such an isolated outpost, Graham turned his attention back to his drink. The rum was strong, and he could already feel its soothing effects. No longer feeling all alone in his misery, the Canadian began tapping his foot to the spirited reggae music that continued to blare forth from the room’s excellent stereo speakers. Ironically enough, he identified the song that was currently playing as Bob Marley’s, “No Woman, No Cry.” While wondering if his suddenly morose drinking companion had ever really listened to the clever lyrics to this piece, Graham became aware of another’s presence behind him. He turned and set his eyes on a tall, khaki-uniformed black man who hurriedly entered the room and spoke excitedly.

“Ah, I should have known I’d find you in here, Stanfield. You asked me to let you know the moment we had the Flying Kremlin on the scope. Well, we’ve got ‘em all right, clear as day, just leaving Siberian air space.”

This surprise revelation served to immediately divert the broad-shouldered New Yorker from his thoughtful reverie. Catching his drinking companion’s eye, Stanfield winked.

“Well, Canuck, shall we go and see what a real live Ilyushin-76 looks like on an OTHB?”

Already standing, Graham polished off the rest of his drink and turned for the exit. Master Sergeant Jim Stanfield followed him, all the while busily ripping off the apron that he had previously neglected to remove.

They arrived in the central control room along with several other curious observers, likewise drawn from other portions of the compound. To facilitate their viewing, the commander had activated the main display screen. Fully occupying one entire wall of the cavernous room, the screen was filled with a large polar projection map. A constant circular blue light, that was set on the northern extremity of Baffin Island corresponded to their current position, while the only other visual illumination was a flashing red star, located off the coast of central Siberia. It proved to be the senior duty officer, Captain Carl Schluter, who provided them with the latest update.

“They should have crossed Severnaya Zemlya by now. From here on in, there’s nothing but the frozen Arctic ocean between them and Ellesmere Island.

“We picked up the first blip about a quarter of an hour ago. Conditions in the ionosphere are excellent today, and we tagged ‘em way beyond the two-thousand-mile threshold. The prearranged flight plan will take them over the pole in another hour. Interestingly enough, they seemed to take off a little early, though there’s a pretty brisk tail wind that could be helping them out a bit. That means in less than three hours they’ll be almost directly overhead. Just to insure that they aren’t carrying any ELINT gear aboard, we’ll be going off-line long before then. Thule will take over for us at that point. We all know the Soviets would just love to get a definite trace of our frequencies, and we’re not about to let them have the opportunity.

“Their ETA in Ottawa…”

While the bespectacled American captain continued his emotionless briefing, Graham couldn’t help but ponder one disturbing element of his discourse.

Even in the midst of peace talks, the paranoid Americans were worried about Soviet machinations. As if the Premier’s plane would be carrying any spying gear on it!

This was the very attitude that promoted the unparalleled arms race of the last four decades. Trust was the key to world peace. Without it, men would always be looking over their shoulders, always fearful that the other side was trying to unfairly gain the advantage.

As far as Graham was concerned, the time to set aside these childish paranoid fears was right now, before a new crisis once again brought the world to the brink of nuclear destruction. Since the Soviets appeared to be sincere with their desire to demilitarize their portion of the Arctic, the Americans could at the very least keep Polestar active as a gesture of international goodwill. For if this Arctic treaty indeed became reality, installations such as the one they currently occupied would eventually become as extinct as the great woolly mammoths that once walked these same frozen plains thousands of years ago. Certain of this fact, the Canadian yawned and discreetly excused himself. He headed for his bunk, lack of sleep and the toddy he had just consumed finally having caught up with him.

Three hours later, Graham was roused out of a sound sleep by a firm hand on his shoulder. Snapped instantly awake, the young ensign looked into the concerned face of Master Sergeant Jim Stanfield.

“Get up and throw on some clothes,” the Yank whispered.

“There’s something you won’t want to miss going on in the control room.”