Under the Ice

Executive Officer huddled over a normally insignificant console located behind the chart table. This device was designed around a rotating drum onto which a piece of graph paper was continually fed. Onto this paper a hissing stylus drew a jagged pattern which was activated as a pulse of intense sound energy directed upward to the surface. A thin black line meant open water above. Yet for the last half hour, the only pattern visible was an agitated vertical series, meaning the presence of pack ice topside.

“I don’t like the way this looks, Al,” whispered the captain.

“The majority of this ice is at least ten feet thick, with some of those inverted ridges extending thirty feet or more.”

“The odds are we’ve got to come across an opening eventually. Skipper. After all, this isn’t the frigging North Pole.”

The captain sighed.

“It might as well be as far as the Defiance is concerned. With half our power plant shut down because of that busted circ pump, we’ll be fortunate to crawl out of here by spring.”

“Our luck’s going to change. Skipper, just you watch. We’ll find a nice wide polynya, and the chief and his men will have that pump fixed in no time flat.

And then we can go after the Red bastards responsible for almost giving us the deep six.”

“Let’s just start off by finding some open water,” the captain suggested.

As Colter stood up to stretch his back, he spotted Laurie Lansing standing beside the chart table, intently watching them.

“Feeling better. Doctor?” greeted Colter.

The civilian meekly nodded.

“I guess so. Captain.

You know, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“I know what you mean,” returned Colter.

“I wish I could say that you get used to it, but I’d be a liar if I did. Oh, and by the way, thanks for being in the proverbial right place at the right time back in the engine room. If you weren’t there for me to grab onto, there’s no telling what would have happened if I missed that handrail.”

“I’m just glad to help out in any way that I can, Captain. Though I certainly wish your men would hurry up and get that Nav computer back on line. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is for me to stand here and watch you relying on a piece of outdated equipment designed over thirty years ago. With the laser scanners in operation, surely we would have found a polynya by now.”

“Skipper, I think we might be on to something,” interrupted the XO.

Both Matt Colter and Laurie Lansing arrived at the ice machine in time to see a thin solid line flow off the head of the stylus.

“It’s an open lead all right,” observed the civilian.

“And a big one at that.”

“All stop!” ordered the captain firmly.

“Prepare to surface.”

Back in the ship’s engine room, this command was met with a sigh of relief. No one was happier that Chief Joe Cunnetto, as the roar of venting ballast sent the now lightened vessel ballooning toward the surface.

There was no secret that there was ice topside, and the tension was thick as the chief prayed that the opening the Skipper had picked was large enough for the Defiance to safely fit in.

Another blast of ballast sounded in the distance and this time the boat seemed to leap upward. This alien sensation all too soon passed, to be replaced by the shrill ringing of the nearby intercom.

“Chief here… You bet. Captain. We’ll have that pump fixed in less than six hours, or I’ll personally donate all my retirement to the Navy scholarship fund…. I’ll do that. Captain. And don’t forget to get some fresh air for me.”

As he hung up the handset, the portly chief turned to address his motley bunch of assistants.

“All right, you shirkers, the time for fun and games is over. We’re on the surface now, and there’s work to be done. So let’s get on with it!”

A relieved cheer broke from his shipmates’ lips as they gratefully rolled up their sleeves and turned to begin the repairs. The damaged pump was a vital piece of machinery that was responsible for circulating the water necessary to turn the blades of the ship’s turbines. To get to it, their first task was to remove the storage lockers, wires, and pipes that were set above the pump. Then a block and tackle would be rigged to hoist up the motor itself. After that was done the real repairs would begin.

The clatter of tools was music to the chiefs ears, as he climbed down to give his men a hand. For he had promised the captain that he would have the job completed in six hours’ time, and to Joe Cunnetto, his word wasn’t something he gave lightly.