Under the Ice

By and far the dominant noise presently passing through the sub’s hydrophones was the grinding, fracturing sound of the ice topside. This raucous racket was an overriding presence and was unique in its intensity. Try as he could, Lester had a difficult time visualizing what this sea of constantly shifting ice must look like. Back home in San Antonio, Texas, the winters were fairly mild. An ice storm occasionally paid them a visit, but this was definitely an exception to the norm. During his entire childhood, he could only remember it snowing a handful of times. Yet in each instance, he’d been one of the first kids out in the powdery white precipitation, making a snowman or having a snowball fight.

Lester was looking forward to the moment when the Defiance would surface in an open lead in the ice.

At that time he planned to ask the XO for permission to go topside and check out this winter wonderland with his own eyes. Perhaps if he got lucky, he might even get a glimpse of a polar bear or a real live Eskimo! Then he’d certainly have something special to share with the folks back home during his next leave.

He would never forget the last time the Defiance attempted surfacing in these same frozen seas. He had been stationed at the very same console during the ascent, and had actually been thrown from his seat when the sub’s sail smashed into a solid wall of impenetrable ice. Fortunately, he hadn’t been injured during this unexpected collision, though several of his shipmates had.

For the last couple of days, a civilian technician had been industriously working at the sound shack’s spare computer terminal to insure that such an accident never again occurred. Dr. Laurie Lansing was one of the hardest-working women Warren had ever met. She was also one of the brightest.

During much of the time, they were the only ones in the sonar compartment, and since both of them had a sincere interest in computers, it was only natural that they discuss their shared passion at coffee breaks.

When his shipmates learned of this fact, they immediately began pestering Warren to tell them all about their newest passenger. Their incessant questions mostly had to do with her personal life, her marital status, and her exact measurements. Quick to dismiss such immature queries, Lester couldn’t understand what the guys were making such a ridiculous fuss about. Big deal if Dr. Lansing was a good-looking lady. She had her job to do just like the rest of them, and deserved her fair share of respect. And this certainly included not gawking at her as if she were some sort of sex goddess.

Lansing’s absence from the sound shack this morning probably meant that she had finally finished the project she had been working on. Either that or she had finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Because nobody on board the Defiance had worked as hard as she had these last couple of days.

Hoping that her laser-guided surface-scanning Fathometer would function properly this time around, Lester directed his attention back to the grinding noise of the ice pack. Like an original musical score, the natural sounds being conveyed into his headphones were unlike any other on this planet.

When combined with the unique cries of the sea life that roamed these frigid depths, a macabre symphony resulted, the likes of which his friends back in San Antonio could never begin to fathom.

In a nearby portion of this same frozen sea, a symphony of a vastly different nature was being appreciated by yet another submariner. Captain Sergei Markova had only recently returned to the stateroom he was currently sharing with the Neva’s senior lieutenant.

Having been up the entire night supervising the transit of the narrow strait through which they were traveling, he gratefully crawled into his temporary bunk to catch a few hours’ sleep.

To properly unwind after his twelve-hour duty stint, Sergei pulled out his prized Sorry Walkman. Purchased in Viet Nam, while he was assigned to a Victor class attack sub stationed at Cam Rahn Bay, the portable cassette player had already provided him with hundreds of hours of musical pleasure. Thanks to its miniature headphones, he could enjoy his favorite composers without having to worry about disturbing his shipmates.

By pure chance, the young captain reached into his bag of cassettes and selected Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. It was only as he lay back on his bunk and the first movement began unraveling that he remembered where he had heard this soulful selection last. It had been at his apartment in Murmansk, less than four days ago. This thought unleashed a flood of fond memories that seemed to have taken place in another lifetime.