“There’s a couple of possibilities, but they don’t look strong. Our sister ship, the 73 Easting, will be here soon; she’ll be in the same position.”
He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, there’s an idea forming, but let me think it through first. I’m going to get some sleep now. See what you can figure out.” She buttoned up, leaned over and kissed him. “Sleep well, babe.”
“Night.” He watched her leave. Dear God, what a temptation. Nathan, she’s your XO. He shook his head but had to smile; life could be difficult. Come on, sleep. He was tired and it didn’t take long; he was out quickly, like the proverbial light.
Thule AFB in Northern Greenland hadn’t seen the like since the sixties. C17 Globemasters were the first, landing men and equipment along with stores. The airbase was taking on a new role as principal control for the new pivot to the north. F35s followed them in, dispersing to whatever shelters there were. Huge tent hangers were flown in and erected as the base mushroomed in size. Aircraft flew in and out around the clock. Naval supply ships gathered off the coast. Patriot air defence missile batteries took up positions around the outsides of the base.
Keflavik in Iceland also saw the first USAF aircraft in decades fly in. Here, it was mostly tankers and F15 Strike Eagles.
The carriers Gerald R Ford and John F Kennedy sailed into the Denmark Strait between Greenland and Iceland, with the Nimitz class Harry S Truman hastily being prepared to sail.
The woman sat in a seat on the right-hand side of the aircraft. A girl tended to her makeup and hair. She wore a headset with a microphone running over her mouth from the left ear.
“You’re good to go, Hanna.”
Two cameras were set up, one pointing at her; the other looked out of the aircraft window in the seat behind.
They were on an Airbus A320 chartered from Scandinavian Air System flying into the Barents Sea from Lulea, Northern Sweden.
A man stood to one side. “Ready, four, three, two, one, action.”
She smiled at the camera. “Good morning, Sweden, today. I’m here over the Barents Sea, covering the largest international crisis ever to hit this part of the world. The Russian Navy is mobilising down below and moving up towards the Arctic icecap. Witnesses tell us that Murmansk Fjord and Archangelsk are a buzz with activity. We can’t verify this as the two areas are closed, as the Russians say.
“Ships and submarines are putting to sea and being readied to move out. It’s a long way from here, but we’re told that United States forces are taking up positions in Greenland and Iceland. It’s difficult to know why, but there’s talk in Norway that it started with an air engagement off the northern coast between the Norwegian and Russian Air Forces, both of whom lost aircraft. NATO has declared northern Norway a no-fly zone and we had to fly into the Atlantic near the Norwegian town of Bodo and circle around to the north and east.
“There’s long been talk of Russia’s bid to control the Arctic, and this seems the ultimate cause.
“There’s talk in some quarters of troops being parachuted in and landed by submarine on the icecap itself, but I’m told this is fanciful talk. The fleet is mobilising for certain; we can see warships at sea below.”
The camera looked down out of the window at warships sailing north.
“Not since the Cold War has military muscle been flexed up… Just a moment, wait. There it is; yes, I can see it.”
The camera zoomed into a large warship with a prominent bow.
“We were told that the Kirov class battle cruiser Pyotr Velikiy, the Peter the Great, has sailed, and there she is. One of the world’s most powerful warships.”
The camera zoomed in further. Suddenly the view was covered by a Sukhoi SU-30, a Russian fighter. It waved its wings and made an even tighter advance towards the Airbus’s windows.
The reporter, now with the fighter in the background, looked at the camera.
“We know exactly what that means. Get away from here; we’re not welcome.”
The A320 banked to the left and flew away to the west.
“You’ve seen what’s going on up here and, believe me, it’s ugly and getting worse. We’ve been informed that our armed forces, the Flygvapnet, Svenska Marinen, Armén, are on alert. This is Hanna Vitali, for your news, your nation, your Sweden, today.”
Nathan awoke and dressed, and walked back aft to the galley for breakfast.
A young dark-haired girl smiled at him. “Hello, sir. Here for your normal cheese omelette and coffee?”
“Sounds good to me.”
He sat next to Kate LeDonns, a Lieutenant in Engineering. She got up and brought his food to him when it was ready.
He smiled. “To what do I owe this?”
“I can see you just got up, sir, and we need you in good shape. We’re under the ice, aren’t we, sir?”
“Yes. Is the word around?”
“It is, and I believe we’re not alone either. The Big Bad Wolf is out there.”
Nathan grinned. He always found it amazing that you couldn’t keep much from the crew. He remembered his time as a junior officer on USS New York City; it had been the same. All the clues from various sources added up and a picture emerged.
“Kate, have you seen Miss Kaminski recently?” He knew she was a friend of Nikki’s.
“Yes, she still speaks to me even after her promotion.” Kate gave him a knowing smile. “She’s enjoying the new job. She says her duties have expanded, but it suits her, I know. I suppose if I were a man, sir, I could think of worse people to put me to bed than Nikki.”
Nathan put on his best poker face. “I suppose so.” He finished his breakfast. “Well, I’d better be off Lieutenant. See you around.”
“See you, sir.”
Nathan left and shook his head. You couldn’t fit a piece of paper between her and Nikki.
In the control room, Weaps looked over at him.
“You have the conn, sir.”
“I have the conn. Where are we?”
“Approaching 150 miles from the eastern ice edge. No contacts.”
Nathan walked over to the chart display. We’ll get closer yet. He watched the crew go about their business.
“Sir, we’re 15 miles from Datum one,” said Koss.
“Thanks.” He let the boat get to around three miles of Datum one: their rendezvous location with the other boats.
“Planesman, down bubble five, trim for slow descent, make your depth 850 feet.”
“Sir, down five, 850 feet.”
USS Stonewall Jackson made her slow dive deeper into the Arctic Sea.
After long minutes, the Planesman called out, “Eight hundred and fifty feet, sir.”
“Thanks, Planesman. Koss, what’s our bearing for datum one?”
“Ninety seven degrees, sir. Two point two miles.”
“Make 97 degrees. Call out the position, Koss.”
The boat sailed on through the blackness, bound for that point in the deeps, that point in the blackness that’d been picked as their start point.
“Datum one, sir.”
“All stop. Maintain depth.”
The boat hung in the silent darkness, waiting.
After around two hours, Benson called, “We have a call on Gertrude, sir. It’s Minnesota.”
Nathan picked up the handset. “Commander Blake USN.”
“Blake, it’s Stanley. We have Tucson with us to port. Any sign of the bad guys?”
“No, not yet. My sonar wizard has picked up some traces, but not enough yet.”
“We’ve been dragging the low frequency wire. Fleet says maybe eight or nine boats are coming from the enemy coast, Yasens and Akulas. USS 73 Easting is coming from the south and USS Connecticut and USS Santa Fe are heading here. They’ll be about six hours yet.”