Under the Ice

Matt struggled to control his gathering rage, and as calmly as possible reiterated his passionate feelings on the subject. As captain of the Defiance, he had been responsible for interpreting the data available to him.

And in his opinion, the polynya that lay beside the weather station was just too narrow and jagged to attempt squeezing the Defiance into it.

“Since when is the captain of a US naval vessel allowed to be second-guessed by the civilian crew of a foreign weather station?” Matt Colter countered firmly.

“As I said before, that open lead was just too tight, and I wasn’t about to risk the ship on an ascent

I deemed a definite safety hazard.”

Unable to contain himself, Matt forcefully continued.

“The day I’m ordered to unnecessarily jeopardize the lives of my crew merely for the sake of adhering to a preplanned mission, that is the day I no longer want to be a part of this man’s Navy!”

Sensing his upset. Admiral Long coolly replied.

“Easy does it. Matt. As you well know, the well-being of our men is still the Navy’s paramount concern. Yet the very nature of submarine duty is full of risks.

Why every time you steam out of Long Island Sound you go in harm’s way. Of course, these dangers are multiplied a hundredfold when dealing with Arctic operations.

“Don’t forget, I’ve surfaced a sub at the Pole myself, and I’ll be the first to admit I was scared as hell all the way topside. No one is questioning your bravery, Matt. But I’ve got to know if I can rely on the Defiance to carry out any mission that might be requested of it, should this Cold War we’ve been locked in for the last four decades ever heat up.”

Matt Colter answered without a hint of hesitation.

“Just give us equipment that can be depended upon and I’ll take care of the rest. Admiral. If it has the slimmest chance of succeeding, the men of the Defiance will pull it off.”

“You know, I believe you’ll do just that,” retorted the white-haired admiral with a sigh.

The tension was suddenly broken, and Long went on to consider Matt Colter’s suggestion that the laser surface-scanning Fathometer be removed, and the old unit be reconnected. A compromise was eventually reached: an attempt would be made to repair the prototype device, while the original unit was to be readied as a backup. On this conciliatory note, the meeting was adjourned.

As the sub pens loomed in the distance. Matt decided that he had pleaded his case to the best of his ability. If command was going to officially censure him for his circumspect approach, then so be it. Yet it aggravated him that not once had the admiral mentioned condemning the one responsible for this meeting in the first place — the designer of the prototype surface-scanning Fathometer. As far as Matt was concerned, this was the individual who should be having his competency looked into, but he was thankful that he had received permission to get their old unit back on-line. Colter’s attention was diverted as his driver braked the car to a halt before a central wharf. The young captain exited the vehicle and momentarily stood on the pier to admire the vessel floating before him.

Looking sleek and deadly, the USS Defiance sat low in the water, with barely half of its black, teardrop-shaped hull exposed. Gathered behind its tall sail were a group of three dungaree-clad sailors. One of these individuals wore a bolstered pistol and alertly carried a combat shotgun. Anxious to return to the environment that he felt most familiar with, Matt Colter briefly scanned the dock site.

Parked in a nearby staging area were the support vehicles that were assisting with the current refit. A large, corrugated steel warehouse stood nearby, with the gray waters of the Thames River flowing in the background. It was a brisk late fall afternoon. The trees on the opposite bank had long since lost their leaves, and a sharp northerly wind hinted at the bitter, New England winter that would all too soon be upon them. Tbrning the collar of his light jacket up to meet these penetrating gusts, Matt gratefully strode forward to return to his floating home away from home.

Below deck in the Defiance’s wardroom, Lieutenant Commander Al Layman was contentedly nibbling away on a fresh cake donut when the sub’s commanding officer entered the compartment. Seated at his usual place at the far end of the rect angularly shaped table, the XO noted Matt Colter’s solemn expression and greeted him cautiously.

“How did it go. Skipper?”

Heavily seating himself at the head of the table, Matt replied.

“The usual cock and bull, Al. As if I had anything to do with that damn Fathometer’s failure.”

From out of the nearby galley, an alert steward soundlessly appeared. He placed a cup of steaming hot black coffee and a platter of fresh donuts before the captain. Warming his hands on the side of his mug. Colter added.

“At least it seems I was able to get a portion of our case across. The admiral has given us permission to hook up the old ice machine as a backup.”