He would never forget the last time the Defiance attempted surfacing in these same frozen seas. He had been stationed at the very same console during the ascent, and had actually been thrown from his seat when the sub’s sail smashed into a solid wall of impenetrable ice. Fortunately, he hadn’t been injured during this unexpected collision, though several of his shipmates had.
For the last couple of days, a civilian technician had been industriously working at the sound shack’s spare computer terminal to insure that such an accident never again occurred. Dr. Laurie Lansing was one of the hardest-working women Warren had ever met. She was also one of the brightest.
During much of the time, they were the only ones in the sonar compartment, and since both of them had a sincere interest in computers, it was only natural that they discuss their shared passion at coffee breaks.
When his shipmates learned of this fact, they immediately began pestering Warren to tell them all about their newest passenger. Their incessant questions mostly had to do with her personal life, her marital status, and her exact measurements. Quick to dismiss such immature queries, Lester couldn’t understand what the guys were making such a ridiculous fuss about. Big deal if Dr. Lansing was a good-looking lady. She had her job to do just like the rest of them, and deserved her fair share of respect. And this certainly included not gawking at her as if she were some sort of sex goddess.
Lansing’s absence from the sound shack this morning probably meant that she had finally finished the project she had been working on. Either that or she had finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Because nobody on board the Defiance had worked as hard as she had these last couple of days.
Hoping that her laser-guided surface-scanning Fathometer would function properly this time around, Lester directed his attention back to the grinding noise of the ice pack. Like an original musical score, the natural sounds being conveyed into his headphones were unlike any other on this planet.
When combined with the unique cries of the sea life that roamed these frigid depths, a macabre symphony resulted, the likes of which his friends back in San Antonio could never begin to fathom.
In a nearby portion of this same frozen sea, a symphony of a vastly different nature was being appreciated by yet another submariner. Captain Sergei Markova had only recently returned to the stateroom he was currently sharing with the Neva’s senior lieutenant.
Having been up the entire night supervising the transit of the narrow strait through which they were traveling, he gratefully crawled into his temporary bunk to catch a few hours’ sleep.
To properly unwind after his twelve-hour duty stint, Sergei pulled out his prized Sony Walkman. Purchased in Viet Nam, while he was assigned to a Victor class attack sub stationed at Cam Rahn Bay, the portable cassette player had already provided him with hundreds of hours of musical pleasure. Thanks to its miniature headphones, he could enjoy his favorite composers without having to worry about disturbing his shipmates.
By pure chance, the young captain reached into his bag of cassettes and selected Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. It was only as he lay back on his bunk and the first movement began unraveling that he remembered where he had heard this soulful selection last. It had been at his apartment in Murmansk, less than four days ago. This thought unleashed a flood of fond memories that seemed to have taken place in another lifetime.
He had spent a marvelous afternoon with his daughter Sasha. Dressed to the hilt in preparation for the storm that would soon be upon them, they’d made the round of the local stores. With their precious purchases in hand, they walked home in the thickly blowing snow. Once back at the apartment they were greeted by their guests, Viktor and Tanya Belenko. It had been while Viktor and Sergei sat before the fireplace that Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5 in E minor began blaring forth from the room’s mounted radio speakers. Over drinks and appetizers, and the continually developing music, they had all joked, told stories, and relaxed in a casual atmosphere as alien to that of the Neva as day is to night.
The symphony was just reaching its spirited conclusion when the fateful phone call that was to put an abrupt end to their party came. Could Sergei ever forget the look of pained disappointment that painted the face of his dear wife as he revealed that call’s grim purpose? Viktor’s beautiful wife had been equally shocked, and when Sasha had learned that her Poppy was leaving for the sea once again, her tears had been instantaneous.
As it turned out, Sergei had had little time to share their frustrations. He’d been too busy packing his clothes and mentally formulating the long list of tasks that would have to be taken care of before the Neva was able to put to sea as ordered. He last glimpsed his beloved family as he sprinted out the lobby doors to Viktor’s waiting automobile. Even the duty woman seemed to have tears in her eyes as Sasha ran up to the frosted windows to wave one last goodbye.
From that point on, Sergei’s official military duties had occupied him completely. Yet the chance playing of one of the loveliest pieces of music ever written had unlocked precious memories, and Sergei’s heart was suddenly heavy, with a loneliness only a sailor could understand, as his heavy eyelids closed and he surrendered to his exhaustion.
He awoke an hour and a half later when a firm hand shook his shoulder. Reaching up to remove the headphones — he had fallen asleep with them on — Sergei looked up into the concerned face of his senior lieutenant.
“I’m sorry to have had to awaken you, comrade, but we’ve picked up something on sonar that I know you’ll be interested in.”
The captain replied while sitting up and wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“I bet it’s an active sonobuoy from a Yankee P-3 Orion. I knew they’d tag us the moment we exited the Nares Strait.”
Viktor Belenko shook his head.
“I’m afraid your hunch is wrong this time, old friend. For what we’ve discovered in the waters before us is not a mere sonobuoy but another submarine!”
This revelation hit Sergei with a jolt, and he was suddenly wide awake.
“You don’t say, Viktor. Any idea as to its nationality? And have they realized they’re not alone as yet?”
An excited gleam flashed in Viktor’s eyes as he answered, “The computer shows a forty-seven percent probability that this contact is an American Sturgeon class vessel. They’re apparently traveling northward in a hell of a hurry, and it appears that they have no idea we’re out here.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Sergei, who stood and hastily threw on his coveralls. “Let’s sound general quarters and see just what it is that our enemy is doing in these waters.”
“I’ve already taken the liberty of sending the men to their battle stations, comrade. Admiral of the Fleet Kharkov is anxiously waiting for us in the attack center.”
“Then we’d better be quick and join that old fox before he takes out the Yankees with a torpedo salvo,” Sergei jested, as he beckoned his subordinate to lead the way to the Neva’s control room.
A hushed, tense atmosphere prevailed in the attack center as the vessel’s two senior officers hurriedly entered and made their way to the sonar console.
Here they joined Admiral Kharkov and the Neva’s Zampolit. It proved to be the white-haired veteran who anxiously greeted the newcomers.
“Ah, it’s about time, Captain. It appears that we’ve caught ourselves an unwary Imperialist Sturgeon all right. The probability is now up to sixty-eight percent.”