“We’re under the skylight,” Bratt reported from the diving station.
“All stop. Rudder amidships.” As his orders were obeyed, he walked the periscope around, checking to make sure there was plenty of room for the sub to surface without brushing against the dragon-toothed walls of the canyon. Once satisfied, he straightened and folded the periscope grips. The stainless-steel pole descended below. “Stand by to surface.” He swung to Bratt. “Bring her up slowly.”
The soft chug of a pump sounded as seawater ballast was forced out of tanks inside the boat. Slowly the sub began to rise.
Bratt turned to him. “That Russian boat will surely hear us blowing ballast.”
“There’s no helping it.” Perry stepped down from the periscope deck. “Is the evac team ready to debark to the station?”
“Aye, sir. They’re suited up. We’ll empty that place in under ten minutes.”
“Make sure you get everyone out of there.” Perry’s thoughts turned to Amanda for the hundredth time.
Bratt seemed to read his mind, staring intently at him. “We won’t miss anyone, sir. That’s for damn certain.”
Perry nodded.
“Ready for ice!” the chief bellowed.
Overhead, the reinforced bridge crashed through the frozen crust, shuddering the boat. A moment later, the bulk of the submarine followed, cracking through to the surface. All around, valves were opened or closed, dials checked. Reports echoed from throughout the boat.
“Open the hatches!” Bratt yelled. “Ready shore team!”
The locking dogs were undone, and men in parkas gathered, rifles shouldered. One held out a blue parka for Bratt.
Bratt yanked into it. “We’ll be right back.”
Perry glanced to his watch. The Russians were surely already under way by now. “Fifteen minutes. No longer.”
“Plenty of time.” Bratt led his men out.
Perry stared as they climbed away. Cold air, fresh and damp, blew down from above. Once the last man was gone, the hatch slammed shut. Perry paced the length of the periscope stand. He wanted to be out there with Bratt, but he knew his place was here.
Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Chief, you have the conn. I’m going to watch from Cyclops. Patch any communication from the shore team to the intercom there.”
“Aye, sir.”
Perry left the bridge and headed toward the nose of the submarine. He climbed through the hatches and past the empty research suites. He opened the last hatch and entered the naturally illuminated chamber beyond.
He crossed under the arch of clear Lexan. The water sluicing over the glass splintered out in jagged lines of ice, growing visibly into complex fractal designs over the Lexan surface. Beyond the sub, the view was poor. Steam rose off the submarine’s carbon-plate hide, and flurries of snow swirled down in frosted strokes from the heights of the mountainous ice ridges.
Perry stared toward the cavernous opening that led down into the Russian station. He made out the vague shapes of men, trudging, bent against the wind. Bratt’s team. They disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel.
The intercom buzzed. A tinny voice spoke. “Captain, bridge here.”
He crossed and pressed the button. “What is it, Chief?”
“The watch radioman reports no reception from NAVSAT. We’re blanketed under another solar storm, leaving us deaf and dumb for the moment.”
He swore under his breath. With the satellites down, he needed word to reach the outside world. He jabbed the intercom button. “Any ETA on how long we’ll be out of satellite communication?”
“It’s anyone’s guess. Radioman says he expects short bursts of open air, but he can’t say when. Best guess is that the current bevy of solar storms will quit sometime after sunset.” Another long pause. “He’s going to try an ionosphere bounce with the UHF, but there’s no guarantee anyone’ll hear us in this weather. With a bit of luck, we might raise Prudhoe Bay.”
“Roger that, bridge. Have him keep trying as long as we’re surfaced. But I also want a SLOT configured and hidden out on the ice.” A SLOT, or Submarine-Launched One-Way Transmitter, was a communication buoy that could be deployed and set with a time delay to burst a transmitted satellite report. “Set the SLOT to transmit well after sunset.” This should help ensure their message got out after the solar storm passed and reopened satellite communication.
“Aye, sir.”
Perry checked his watch. Five minutes had passed. He stepped back under the Lexan arch. Visibility was mere yards now. He could just make out the line of pressure ridges, but no details. He kept his vigil. After another interminable minute, ghostly shapes pushed through the snow. It was the first of the evacuees.
Through the hollow of the boat, he could hear the outside hatch clang open. He imagined the whistle of wind. More and more shapes appeared out of the squall. He tried to count them, but the swirling snow confounded all efforts to tell one from another, man from woman.
His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
The intercom buzzed. “Captain, bridge again. Patching through Commander Bratt.”
The next words were scratchy with static. “Captain? We’ve hauled through all the levels. I have two men with bullhorns running the occupied areas of the Crawl Space.”
Perry had to resist interrupting his XO and demanding to know Amanda’s fate.
The answer came anyway. “We learned Dr. Reynolds is still here.”
Perry let out a deep sigh of relief. She hadn’t returned to the drift station and been caught in the attack. She was safe. She was here.
The next words, though, were disquieting. “But, sir, no one has seen her in the last hour or so. She and one of the geologists went searching for an AWOL student in the ice tunnels.”
He hit the button. “Commander, I don’t want anyone left behind.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Perry checked his watch. “You have seven minutes.”
Before any acknowledgment could be transmitted, the control station cut in again. “Bridge to Captain. For the past few minutes, we’ve stopped picking up any evidence of weapon fire from the hydrophones. Sonar also reports suspicious echoes that could be a sub diving. Air venting, mechanicals…”
It could only be the Drakon. The Russian hunter/killer was on the move. Time had run out. Perry knew he couldn’t risk the lives here. He spoke into the intercom. “Patch me back to Bratt.”
“Aye, Captain.”
A moment later, his XO’s voice scratched out of the speaker. “Bratt here.”
“Commander, company is on the way. We need everyone out of there now!”
“Sir, we haven’t even cleared all of the Crawl Space yet.”
“You have exactly three minutes to empty that station.”
“Roger that. Out.”
Perry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Glancing over his shoulder, he took one last look out Cyclops, then ducked out of the room. He climbed back through the sub and assumed command of the bridge again.
Men milled in ordered confusion, helping wide-eyed civilians down ladders and into the living spaces beyond the control station. The interior of the sub had already dropped a good twenty degrees, open to the blizzard above.
Dr. Willig suddenly appeared at Perry’s side. “I know you’re busy, Captain,” the Swedish oceanographer said breathlessly, snow melting in his hair.
“What is it, sir?”
“Amanda…she’s still down in the Crawl Space.”
“Yes. We know.” He kept his voice clipped, tight. He couldn’t let his own panic show. He had to be leader here.
“Surely we’re going to make sure everyone is out of there before leaving.”