Under the Ice

“Why that’s fantastic news. Chief. You and your men are going to get a commendation for this, I promise you. How soon until we can start up both turbines?… Are you certain that’s all the time you need?… Why of course I’m anxious to get underway, even if the ice has quit closing in on us. Thanks again. Chief, and pass on a job well done to your men.”

Matt Colter hung up the handset and directly addressed his XO.

“They’ve done the impossible yet again, Al. The chief promises full power in another ten minutes.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Skipper!” retorted the astonished XO.

“Why that means they’ve pulled it off a whole two hours ahead of schedule, and their preliminary estimate was far from a conservative one.”

The captain shook his head.

“I hope to God it’s no joke, but that’s what the chief says and I’m not about to call him a liar. Prepare the boat to dive, Mr. Layman.

We’ve got us a little business to settle with a certain Russkie submarine crew.”

“With pleasure. Skipper,” snapped the XO, as he turned to relay this directive to the ship’s diving officer.

Matt Colter was on his way to the plotting table to chart the most logical intercept course, when a sudden disturbance diverted his attention. In the process of sprinting through the aft hatchway was a single ecstatic figure, whom the captain recognized as being their normally reserved senior radio man.

“I’ve done it. Captain!” cried Jules Thornton excitedly.

“I’ve located the black box!”

This surprise revelation was all it took to grab the undivided attention of all the men who heard it.

Relishing the spotlight, the radio operator added, “Those paranoid bastards are transmitting on ultrahigh frequency, yet I got ‘em all the same.”

“For God’s sake, where man?” shouted the captain.

Somewhat sobered by this firm query, Jules Thornton managed a deep calming breath and matter-of factly responded.

“I’ve locked the homing beacon on bearing two-two-zero, sir. Its relative rough range is approximately eighty miles.”

With these figures in mind. Colter looked down to the chart that was spread out before him. Bearing two-two-zero lay to their southwest, and a course in that direction would take them to the northern coast of Baffin Island’s Brodeur Peninsula. Confident that their quarry could most likely be found in these very same waters. Matt Colter barked out to his XO.

“Make our course two-two-zero, Mr. Layman. And get the chief engineer on the horn — let him know that we’re going to call his bluff. It’s going to be a cold day in hell before Ivan gets another cheap shot at the USS Defiance. That I can assure you!”

Chapter Twelve

The first hint that something was wrong came just after they fed the dogs their evening meal. Instead of burrowing into the snow and resting at this point, the agitated huskies restlessly yanked on their canvas tethers and yelped incessantly. Cliff Ano was the first of the Arctic Rangers to notice this unusual behavior.

The commandoes had been chowing down themselves, in the snow house they had hastily built on the floor of the windswept valley. Because of the continuing inclement weather and the unstable nature of the terrain they were crossing, their progress was much slower than anticipated. Exhausted by the constant detours they were forced to take, and hindered by the rapidly falling twilight, the Rangers had decided to bed down for the night and get a fresh start in the morning.

The sergeant-major had just crawled out of the sturdy, snow-block igloo to relieve himself when he heard the barking dogs and walked over to investigate.

Even with his presence, they failed to calm down, and the Inuit intently scanned the icy ridge of snow-covered rocks that surrounded their bivouac.

Through the bare light of dusk, his keen glance spotted no visible trespassers, yet his instincts warned otherwise.

Quick to return to the igloo, he approached Jack Redmond and discreetly commented.

“The dogs are barking up a storm. Lieutenant. I think that we could have some uninvited visitors outside.”

Putting down the tin cup filled with the tea he had been sipping, Redmond curtly queried.

“Wolves?”

The sergeant-major nodded.

“Could be. Yet if that’s the case, our dogs won’t stand a chance. And don’t forget my deal with my uncle.”

Redmond grinned.

“I doubt if you’d let me, Sergeant-Major.

What do you propose we do to scare ‘em off?”

Ano briefly checked the room, taking in the other commandoes as they finished their rations and sipped their drinks. Several exhausted soldiers had already turned in for the night.

“I’d like to reconnoiter the perimeter of our camp,” answered the Inuit.

“Though I’d sure hate to go out there without someone watching my back.”

“You got it,” Redmond retorted. He silently rose to put on his gear.

From their cache of supplies he removed two powerful, waterproof flashlights and a pair of Ml 6 assault rifles. Only after he was certain both weapons were loaded with full clips did he hand one to the Inuit and beckon Ano to join him outside.