Under the Ice

“I realize the other decoys only served to temporarily divert the Mark 48’s, but at least there’s a slim chance this one will do better. And even if it doesn’t, at the very least we’ll have a few minutes reprise to come up with something better. Otherwise, my friend, our fate is all but sealed.”

Still intently gazing at the chart, Sergei smashed his fist down onto the table’s Plexiglas top.

“Damn!” he cursed.

“If only we could buy enough time to successfully scram our reactor. That’s the only thing that would save us.”

“Torpedo range is down to eight hundred meters, Captain,” said the sonar operator.

This grim observation was followed by the strained voice of the Neva’s diving officer.

“We’ve attained a depth of seventy-five meters. Captain, and are presently running out of water. Shall I proceed with another dive? For the surface-scanning Fathometer shows a nasty-looking inverted ice ridge above that could be a problem shortly.”

This innocent remark registered in Sergei’s mind, and he was all set to order yet another plunge into deeper waters when an idea suddenly came to him.

“Comrade diving officer, is this inverted ridge that you speak of large enough to shelter a vessel the size of the Neva?”

Not certain of what the captain was getting at, the diving officer answered.

“Most definitely. Captain.

It’s one of the largest and thickest I’ve seen so far, and extends downward well over forty meters.”

“Then that’s it!” exclaimed Sergei.

“We’ll launch our last decoy, then as the Mark 48’s give it their usual brief chase, we’ll ascend into the cover of this ridge, scram our reactor, and when the American torpedoes reinitiate pursuit, they’ll be unable to find us because of the ice!”

Hurriedly crossing the attack center’s length to join the captain was Mikhail Kharkov.

“Why that’s a brilliant plan, comrade! Yet we mustn’t tarry, for time is of the essence.”

With the invaluable assistance of Viktor Belenko, Sergei Markova’s unorthodox maneuver was put into action. In a growling, swirling rush, the Neva’s last remaining decoy was launched. Soon afterward, the trio of attacking torpedoes were fooled into checking this new vibrant signature out for themselves.

Though this deception would only be a temporary one, it gave the Sierra class submarine time to drastically cut its forward speed, level out, and begin the intricate process of inching its way upward until it was nestled beneath the shelter of the inverted ice ridge.

No sooner had the sub’s reinforced sail delicately touched up against the roof of this barrier than the three torpedoes realized the decoy was not their intended prey. With a whining vengeance, they turned back toward the Neva’s last known coordinates and attempted to seek out the vessel that they had been sent to destroy. It was fate alone that allowed the Mark 48’s sensitive acoustic sensors the opportunity of getting one last fix on the Neva’s propeller wash seconds before its turbines were deactivated and its reactor scrammed. Knowing now where the true enemy lay, the torpedoes streaked upward to complete their mission.

Guided solely by acoustic sound waves, the Mark 48’s took the quickest route to their target’s last known fix. Ignoring the fact that the signature suddenly stopped transmitting, the torpedoes surged forward in their final attack run. The trio of weapons impacted almost simultaneously. A blindingly bright, earsplitting detonation followed, during which time over three-thousand pounds of high-density TORPEX explosives bit into the solid wall of ice the warheads had mistakenly run into.

On the surface, this massive blast was hardly noticeable.

As the incessantly howling wind scarred the pack ice smooth with trillions of bits of flying razor-sharp ice pellets, a sudden fracture formed on the ridge’s surface. Immense in size, this rift was fed by the tremendous heat of the explosion that had just occurred a few meters below. As this fracture continued to widen, it eventually tore apart the entire ridge itself with a grinding, gut-wrenching crack. With the ice now open to the sea below, an immense, black-hulled vessel popped up from the depths to fill this sudden gap. And in just such an unlikely manner, the Sierra class nuclear submarine Neva came to rest on the ice-encrusted surface of Lancaster Sound.

Chapter Fourteen

The Arctic dawn broke dull and gray. As the Rangers scrambled from their igloo, they were met by a shrieking gust of frigid wind that provided instant proof the storm had yet to pass. The snow had continued to fall during the night, and many of the drifts were waist high or better. It proved to be an effort just to locate two of the snow cats though the dogs fared better because of the protective berm the soldiers had built for them.

With his snow goggles already covered by a translucent coating of frost, Lieutenant Jack Redmond did his best to break camp with all due haste.