Mesmerized by the intense wheel of fire that seemed to be falling toward the earth, Ootah suddenly got an inspiration. Could this be the comet his father had warned of? And if it was, did this blast signal the end of the world that the grandfathers prophesied?
Trembling at this thought, Ootah brought his hand up to the smooth bone amulet that hung from his neck. He had sworn to Nakusiak that he would carry on the tradition handed down by his father’s father.
This was a great responsibility, and to insure that he didn’t fail, he could do but one thing. With his eyes still locked on the smoking debris that continued to fall from the heavens in the distance, Ootah determined that he would initiate a holy pilgrimage to gather these remains and determine if they were indeed from the realm of the Great Spirit.
Chapter Four
Less than twenty-four hours after the USS Defiance returned to her home port, her captain was called to the base commander’s office to explain their early arrival. Matt Colter had just completed this two-hour meeting, and as the car carrying him back to the Defiance returned to the docks, the blond-haired Annapolis grad pondered the rather tense conference that had just taken place.
During his past encounters with Admiral Alien Long, Colter had always found the distinguished, white-haired officer an open-minded, compassionate individual. It had been under Admiral Long’s expert tutelage that Matt had adjusted to the rigors of his first command, and matured as both a naval officer and a human being. Yet for the first time ever. Matt had seen a different side to the admiral’s personality.
Cold and analytical. Long had proceeded as if it were Matt’s fault the mission failed.
Quick to defend himself. Colter did his best to explain the reason why he was forced to cut their mission short. With the assistance of the ship’s log, he described the three separate instances when their prototype surface-scanning Fathometer improperly interpreted the ice conditions topside, causing a trio of bone-jarring collisions. He even displayed a recently taken photograph of the Defiance’s, rudder; it clearly showed the spot where a navigation beacon had been cleanly sheared off by the force of one of these violent confrontations with the pack ice.
Seemingly deaf to this certain proof. Admiral Long continued to probe Matt’s motives for prematurely concluding the patrol. He even pulled out the transcript of the log of one of the Defiance’s earlier Arctic patrols. On that one Matt Colter had also hesitated to bring his command topside because of difficult ice conditions.
Such a move on Long’s part angered the young captain. This past incident had been more than fully explained, and concerned an attempt by the Defiance to surface at the North Pole alongside a British weather station. Though their surface-scanning Fathometer had not failed on that day, in Colter’s opinion, the polynya displayed topside had not been large enough to safely accommodate the Defiance. This was in direct contradiction to the observations of the weather station crew, who’d reported an opening more than sufficient for the three-hundred foot-long vessel.
Matt struggled to control his gathering rage, and as calmly as possible reiterated his passionate feelings on the subject. As captain of the Defiance, he had been responsible for interpreting the data available to him.
And in his opinion, the polynya that lay beside the weather station was just too narrow and jagged to attempt squeezing the Defiance into it.
“Since when is the captain of a US naval vessel allowed to be second-guessed by the civilian crew of a foreign weather station?” Matt Colter countered firmly. “As I said before, that open lead was just too tight, and I wasn’t about to risk the ship on an ascent I deemed a definite safety hazard.”
Unable to contain himself, Matt forcefully continued.
“The day I’m ordered to unnecessarily jeopardize the lives of my crew merely for the sake of adhering to a preplanned mission, that is the day I no longer want to be a part of this man’s Navy!”
Sensing his upset. Admiral Long coolly replied.
“Easy does it. Matt. As you well know, the well-being of our men is still the Navy’s paramount concern. Yet the very nature of submarine duty is full of risks. Why every time you steam out of Long Island Sound you go in harm’s way. Of course, these dangers are multiplied a hundredfold when dealing with Arctic operations.
“Don’t forget, I’ve surfaced a sub at the Pole myself, and I’ll be the first to admit I was scared as hell all the way topside. No one is questioning your bravery, Matt. But I’ve got to know if I can rely on the Defiance to carry out any mission that might be requested of it, should this Cold War we’ve been locked in for the last four decades ever heat up.”
Matt Colter answered without a hint of hesitation.
“Just give us equipment that can be depended upon and I’ll take care of the rest. Admiral. If it has the slimmest chance of succeeding, the men of the Defiance will pull it off.”
“You know, I believe you’ll do just that,” retorted the white-haired admiral with a sigh.
The tension was suddenly broken, and Long went on to consider Matt Colter’s suggestion that the laser surface-scanning Fathometer be removed, and the old unit be reconnected. A compromise was eventually reached: an attempt would be made to repair the prototype device, while the original unit was to be readied as a backup. On this conciliatory note, the meeting was adjourned.
As the sub pens loomed in the distance. Matt decided that he had pleaded his case to the best of his ability. If command was going to officially censure him for his circumspect approach, then so be it. Yet it aggravated him that not once had the admiral mentioned condemning the one responsible for this meeting in the first place — the designer of the prototype surface-scanning Fathometer. As far as Matt was concerned, this was the individual who should be having his competency looked into, but he was thankful that he had received permission to get their old unit back on-line. Colter’s attention was diverted as his driver braked the car to a halt before a central wharf. The young captain exited the vehicle and momentarily stood on the pier to admire the vessel floating before him.
Looking sleek and deadly, the USS Defiance sat low in the water, with barely half of its black, teardrop-shaped hull exposed. Gathered behind its tall sail were a group of three dungaree-clad sailors. One of these individuals wore a bolstered pistol and alertly carried a combat shotgun. Anxious to return to the environment that he felt most familiar with, Matt Colter briefly scanned the dock site.
Parked in a nearby staging area were the support vehicles that were assisting with the current refit. A large, corrugated steel warehouse stood nearby, with the gray waters of the Thames River flowing in the background. It was a brisk late fall afternoon. The trees on the opposite bank had long since lost their leaves, and a sharp northerly wind hinted at the bitter, New England winter that would all too soon be upon them. Tbrning the collar of his light jacket up to meet these penetrating gusts, Matt gratefully strode forward to return to his floating home away from home.
Below deck in the Defiance’s wardroom, Lieutenant Commander Al Layman was contentedly nibbling away on a fresh cake donut when the sub’s commanding officer entered the compartment. Seated at his usual place at the far end of the rect angularly shaped table, the XO noted Matt Colter’s solemn expression and greeted him cautiously.