Under the Ice

“Under normal circumstances, with our heated ski wheel landing system, we could deliver you practically anywhere on the ice, but I’m afraid that’s not going to be the case this afternoon. It looks like we’ve got a hell of a nasty storm moving south over Lancaster Sound even as we speak.”

“How about giving that landing strip at the new Polestar DEW line station a try, Captain?” the copilot suggested.

“It’s on the Brodeur Peninsula and less than a dozen kilometers from the coastline.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jack Redmond said.

With his eyes still peeled to the radar screen, the pilot responded.

“Why don’t we give them a call and see what the weather conditions are like down there.

Because from this vantage point, even Polestar doesn’t look too promising.”

It was the copilot who looked up the DEW line station’s special radio frequency and punched it into their digital transmitter. Seconds later, a small green light lit up on the console, and the pilot himself picked up the microphone and spoke into it with his deep, bass voice.

“Polestar One, this is Canadian Air Defense flight zero-one-alpha requesting emergency landing clearance. Over.”

As the pilot released the transmit button that was recessed into the microphone, nothing but a throaty blast of static boomed forth from the cabin’s elevated speakers. Once again the pilot repeated his request.

This time the static was undercut by the distant, scratchy voice of a man.

“CAD flight zero-one-alpha, this is Polestar One.

How do you copy? Over.”

“I’m afraid the signals a little weak, Polestar,” 5 returned the pilot.

“CAD flight zero-one-alpha, please switch to frequency zulu-foxtrot-bravo. Over.”

As the copilot punched in this new frequency, the pilot of the Aurora once more addressed the DEW line station. This time the response that filtered in through the cockpit’s speakers was crisp and clear.

“What can we do for you, CAD zero-one-alpha?”

“We’re requesting emergency landing clearance, Polestar,” replied the pilot.

“Though we’d love the company down here, I’m going to have to deny that request, zero-one-alpha.

You could say that we’ve got a bit of a blizzard smacking into us at the moment. Wind gusts are up to eighty five miles per hour, with blowing snow, a minus forty degree wind chill and visibility nil.”

As the captain turned his head and caught Jack Redmond’s concerned stare, he again spoke into the microphone.

“Are you absolutely certain we can’t land a plane down there, Polestar? We’re on a mission of the utmost priority.”

“CAD zero-one-alpha,” returned the amplified voiced, “not only do we currently have white-out conditions prevailing, but the wind’s blowing so hard the base commander won’t even allow an emergency response team outdoors to assess any storm damages we might already have sustained. I suggest you come back in a day or two when this thing finally blows over.”

“We copy that, Polestar. Perhaps we’ll take you up on that invitation. This is CAD zero-one-alpha, signing off.”

The pilot hung up the microphone and pivoted to address Jack Redmond.

“I thought that this might be the case, Lieutenant. During this morning’s weather briefing, I saw the low-pressure front responsible for this storm developing over Ellesmere Island. Unfortunately, it seems to have crossed Lancaster Sound sooner than anticipated, making a landing at Polestar out of the question.”

Not about to be perturbed by this news, the Ranger responded.

“Well, if you can’t drop us off at Polestar, where can you land?”

It proved to be the copilot who answered this.

“Arctic Bay still looks clear. Captain. If we crank this crate up, maybe we can get there before the storm does.”

“Is that okay with you, Lieutenant?” the pilot asked.

“Though that won’t put you right on the Brodeur Peninsula, if we can, indeed, get into Arctic Bay, that will only leave you about eighty kilometers from where that homing signal is believed to be originating.”

“That’s a lot shorter hike than walking in from Yellowknife,” returned Jack Redmond “You just get us into Arctic Bay, Captain, and leave the rest to us” “You’ve got it. Lieutenant,” snapped the pilot, as he opened the throttles wide.

The grinding whine of the Aurora’s four turboprops roared in response, and Jack Redmond excused himself to let his sergeant-major in on their destination.

He exited the flight deck, crossed through the equipment-packed sensor bay, and ducked through a narrow doorway.

This brought him into a spacious cabin that stretched all the way from the forward portion of the wings to the plane’s tail. The majority of his twenty-three-man squad sat strapped to the fold-down chairs that lined the cabin. Most were asleep, though a spirited poker game was under way on the floor. His sergeant-major could be seen in the tail-end portion of the cabin, where their equipment was stored. Cliff

Ano, totally absorbed with the snowmobile engine he was in the process of repairing, failed to see Redmond enter and begin picking his way down the bare steel walkway.