Under the Ice

“And only the strong shall survive,” reflected Jack Redmond as he watched the wolf pack disappear behind the ridge to initiate their blood feast. Well aware that this basic law of nature applied to them as well, the senior commando silently lifted his hand and beckoned his men forward to continue their mission.

Less than a hundred miles north of this wilderness valley, the crew of the Sierra class attack submarine were in the midst of a jubilant celebration. The festivities were particularly joyous in the sub’s wardroom, where a bottle of Ukrainian champagne was being passed around compliments of Admiral of the Fleet Kharkov.

“And here’s to our brave captain, who made this great victory possible!” toasted the white-haired veteran.

“To your health, Sergei Markova, and to that of your family.”

“Here, here,” added Viktor Belenko as he put his glass to his lips and sipped on the slightly sweet, effervescent beverage. As an old friend of the Neva’s captain, Viktor knew that Sergei Markova was not the type of fellow who liked the limelight. Thus, to put his blushing comrade at ease, the senior lieutenant stood to propose a counter toast

“And here’s to Admiral of the Fleet Mikhail Kharkov.

For decades you have selflessly served the Motherland, and it is largely because of your visionary efforts that vessels such as the Neva exist. May health and happiness be with you always!”

This flowery toast served its purpose as all eyes shifted to the head of the table. The old-timer was grinning from ear to ear as the Neva’s Zampolit asked, “Admiral, do you really think that little love tap of ours was enough to put the Imperialist warship out of commission?”

“Love tap, comrade?” Kharkov repeated incredulously.

“I would say it was a little more than that, Comrade Zinyagin. Since it appears that our blow caught the Sturgeon squarely in its engine room, I’d say it will take a miracle just for the Yankees to get to the surface, let alone continue with their mission.

Don’t you agree. Captain?”

Sergei Markova hesitated a moment before answering.

“It’s readily apparent that we hit them with enough force to cause severe internal damage. Yet their hull remained intact, and since the Americans build a sturdy vessel with an assortment of redundant systems, I’d say it’s still too early to definitely count them out.”

“Come now. Captain. Aren’t you being a bit of a pessimist? We hit them square in the stern, and at last report they were just lying there dead in the water.”

The admiral’s remarks did little to change Sergei’s mind.

“If I know the scrappy Americans, they’re just taking a moment to lick their wounds. With a bit of luck and a lot of hard work, they’ll get their vessel operational once more. And this time there will be revenge in their hearts.”

“Then maybe we’d better go back and finish them off with a couple of torpedoes,” the concerned Political Officer suggested.

“Nonsense!” barked Mikhail Kharkov.

“We’ve wasted enough valuable time on this crippled vessel, and now a greater mission calls us onward. At our present course and rate of speed, we should be at the northern edge of the Brodeur Peninsula within the next two hours. Then all we have to do is ascend to the surface, activate the homing receiver, triangulate a fix, and march out to retrieve the device whose analysis will change the very world as we now know it. At long last the workers of the planet will be freed, and all men will share equally in the one, great Socialistic state that will follow. Just think of it, comrades, the glorious dreams of the Motherland’s founding fathers will at long last be realized!”

An excited murmur rose from the admiral’s captive audience. All lifted up their glasses to drink to this day’s coming. Yet two of those present at the table, and were conspicuously somber. Both Sergei Markova and Viktor Belenko knew that their mission still had a long way to go. Beyond the fact that they would soon have to be surfacing in dangerous pack-ice conditions to search for a device that could be in any number of remote places, the two senior officers shared a single concern. Regardless of what the admiral had said, the American Sturgeon class submarine was still a very real threat. Though slow to anger, once their are was provoked, the United States Navy was no force to take lightly. Of this fact, they were certain!

Beneath another portion of the frozen sea, the men of the USS Defiance valiantly fought to bring their ship back from the threshold of destruction. This tireless effort was particularly intense in the ship’s control room, where Captain Matt Colter and his