Under the Ice

Standing in the compartment’s shadows, sipping on a mug of coffee and intently watching his men at work, was Lieutenant Peter Frystak, the ship’s engineering officer. The six-foot, solidly built officer had originally studied architecture while at UCLA, but became fascinated with nuclear physics while enrolled in the universities NROTC program. To pursue this interest further, he’d chose to fulfill his active service obligation on submarines.

“Good morning. Captain,” Frystak’s eyes never seemed to leave the bank of instruments displayed before him.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

Matt Colter walked over to the engineering officer’s side and responded.

“No thanks, Pete. I already had today’s caffeine fix. And besides, I’m trying to cut back.”

“Good luck,” returned the UCLA grad.

“Because it seems this ship runs on nothing but uranium-235 fuel and piping-hot Java.”

Colter grinned.

“Isn’t that the truth. How’s she running this morning. Lieutenant?”

Frystak made a brief entry in his log before answering, “Smooth as can be, Captain. Old man Rickover would be proud.”

“I’m sure he would,” reflected Colter, in deference to Admiral Hyman Rickover, the visionary father of the nuclear navy.

“From the very beginning. Rickover’s standards were the very highest, and we were extremely fortunate to inherit them. By the way, what’s the scenario for this afternoon’s drill?”

Frystak lowered his voice to a whisper.

“I’m going to simulate a steam leak in the main condenser. Then throw in a fire in the auxilliary turbine unit, to keep the boys honest.”

“Interesting combination,” observed Colter.

“I’m anxious to see how they’ll handle themselves.”

“You never do know, do you, Captain?”

“That’s what these surprise drills are all about, Lieutenant. Let’s just continue to pray that real emergencies are few and far between.”

Finally diverting his eyes from the maneuvering panel, Frystak caught his commanding officer’s direct glance.

“Especially when we’re under the ice, Captain. Since the first step in countering the majority of emergency situations is an immediate order to stand by to surface, a solid covering of ice above you kind of cuts down on your alternatives.”

“That it does. Lieutenant,” replied Colter with a sigh.

“But that’s the unique challenge of Arctic operations.”

“During yesterday’s briefing, you mentioned that the orders you just received from COMSUBLANT were going to put the Defiance on the surface of the ice for a good portion of this patrol. Can that newfangled surface-scanning Fathometer really be relied upon to get us topside safely. Captain?”

Since Frystak had been along on the Defiance’s last cruise, and still had bruises on his back to show for the trio of bone-jarring collisions with the ice. Colter knew where his skepticism was coming from. Thus the captain answered him as directly as possible.

“Our civilian guest has been working sixteen-hour shifts since we left New London to make certain that the system is one hundred percent operational. But I still have nightmares about those collisions, and I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when I know the chiefs finally got the old unit on line as a backup if needed.”

The engineering officer grunted.

“Not taking anything away from Dr. Lansing, but I’ve got a gut feeling that says it will be. Let’s just hope I’m dead wrong with this one. But regardless, any luck with those volunteers for the surface party when we finally do get up to Baffin?”

“You’d be surprised at the excellent response,” answered Colter.

“Though I don’t seem to recall seeing your name. Lieutenant Frystak.”

The UCLA grad grimaced.

“Sorry Captain, but I’m a Southern Californian. This old blood is too thin to stand up to the kind of numbing temperatures we’ll be encountering topside.”

Colter smiled.

“I understand. Lieutenant. Though even if you wanted to go along, I wouldn’t have let you. I need you right here, at the helm of Defiance Power and Light.”

Checking his watch, the captain added.

“Now I’d better get moving along. Good luck with that drill.”

As Matt Colter left maneuvering, he continued aft into that cavernous section of the ship reserved for its massive turbines. Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the heavy gray machinery needed to convert the steam pressure into actual knots of propulsion. A single spinning shaft bisected the room, leading to a complex series of seals that directly connected it to the twin, contra-rotating propellers. Surprisingly quiet, the engine room was spotlessly clean, yet two seamen were busy with rags and mops to insure it stayed that way.

Satisfied that all appeared well, the captain retraced his steps, cutting back through maneuvering, over the reactor vessel, and into a passageway dominated by a single ladder. By climbing up this ladder he would gain entry to the officer’s wardroom, his own cabin, and the adjoining control room. Yet before returning to these familiar environs, he continued forward on the lower level. This brought him directly into the crew’s mess hall.