Under the Ice

Had his luck finally run out? Certain that it had, the commando took another series of blows to his back and neck, and was just about to cry out in utter desperation, when a distant, somewhat familiar chopping sound diverted his attention. The bear seemed to be distracted by this constantly increasing noise also, and as it temporarily backed away from its strange find, Jack was filled with a wave of new hope. His expectations further heightened as the throaty grinding roar intensified to a point where he was able to identify this sound as belonging to an approaching helicopter!

Still fearful to break out of his fetal ball, or even open his eyes for that matter, Jack knew his prayers were answered when a powerful, amplified voice boomed down from the heavens.

“Lieutenant Jack Redmond?”

Wondering if this wasn’t some sort of hallucination, Jack gathered the nerve to peer upward, and his gaze focused on a wondrous sight, a hovering Huey helicopter.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” quizzed the resonant voice.

Somehow Jack was aule to move one of his arms and signal that he was, indeed, still amongst the living. And at this sign, the helicopter landed on the plateau to a swirling, earsplitting gust of blowing debris.

Soon afterward, the Huey was once again airborne, this time with an additional passenger in its hold.

“Lieutenant Redmond, I still think it’s a miracle you weren’t even scratched by that grizzly. When we first spotted the bear on top of you, we thought you were a goner for certain.”

His nerves somewhat settled by the flask of brandy he had just consumed. Jack replied in a cracked voice, “You and me both, pardner. May I ask what brought you out to this godforsaken valley in the first place?”

Having to repeat this question to be heard over the whine of the spinning rotors. Jack listened intently as the jumpsuited airman explained their mission.

“Actually, we were sent out here from Calgary to look for you. Lieutenant. Seems you’re wanted back at the Currie Barracks in a real hurry. Command’s sending in a Sikorsky to bring in the rest of your squad.”

“Any idea what this is all about?” quizzed the breathless Ranger.

Momentarily hesitating, the airman shouted, “Though this is all mere scuttlebutt, rumor has it that it’s all tied in with the recent disappearance of the Soviet Premier’s plane somewhere over the Arctic.”

“The disappearance of what?” repeated Jack, his tone filled with disbelief.

Scooting over, the airman cupped his mouth with his hands and spoke right into Jack’s ear.

“Premier Alexander Suratov’s plane has gone down somewhere over Baffin Island, sir. And we believe your squad has been called in to be one of the units sent up there to find out what in hell happened to it.”

Shocked by this sobering revelation, Jack Redmond caught the airman’s glance and knew in an instant that this was no joke. Diverting his gaze to the nearby Plexiglas porthole, Redmond absorbed this astounding disclosure, all the while taking in the quickly passing terrain, his encounter with the grizzly all but stripped from his mind.

Chapter Five

Thirty million years ago, an event of cataclysmic proportions tore apart the heart of central Asia. At this time the continent split in half latitudinally, causing the earth’s crust to buckle and creating a voluminous fissure more than a thousand miles long, thirty miles wide, and as much as three miles deep. Over a period of thousands of years, this chasm filled with the runoff from the surrounding mountains and it was in this manner that Siberia’s Lake Baikal was born.

As Admiral Mikhail Kharkov stood on the windswept ledge gazing out to the lake, he attempted to mentally visualize these great physical forces at work.

The white-haired veteran knew that though erosion had filled in a portion of the original fissure, Baikal was still the world’s largest and deepest freshwater body. And as such was home to hundreds of species of plants and wildlife that were indigenous to this portion of the earth only.

Thus, in this very special part of the Motherland, Kharkov had decided to locate his dacha. Though the great responsibilities of his lofty position in the government kept him sequestered in Moscow or visiting naval bases for most of the year, those rare free weekends and cherished vacations sent him packing for the four-hour plane flight that would bring him to his beloved wilderness home.

Unusual though it was, official State business had brought him to the nearby city of Irkutsk only three days ago. At that time he had participated in an unprecedented meeting of the thirteen members of the ruling Politburo. This conference had several purposes.