“At least we’ve still got lights,” he said. “That means that our power system is still on line. Now if only our hull stayed in one piece.”
The sickening sound of rushing water met his practiced ears, and Colter’s gut tightened. The deck having finally stabilized beneath them, the captain painfully got to his knees and struggled to stand erect. Bruised but still in one piece, he helped the civilian to stand.
Behind them, the deep voice of Chief Cunnetto rose strong and firm.
“It looks like the port circ pump has busted loose, men, and we’re taking in water. Get those bilge pumps going, Hardesty! And you, Mulroney, quit cowering like a baby and go get a tarp to cover the pump casing motor with, or it’ll be completely ruined!”
Imagining similar scenes occurring throughout the Defiance, the ship’s captain felt a new self-confidence.
At long last, the thousands of hours of endless practice drills would finally pay off as the men reacted to save the ship by pure rote.
With one eye on the geyser that was erupting out of the left side of the engine room, Colter limped over to the intercom.
“Control room, this is the captain. Do you have a damage report as yet?”
There was a long pause that was eventually broken by a breathless, high-pitched voice.
“This is Ensign Mitchell, sir. Lieutenant Sanger is being treated for a bad gash he suffered on his forehead, and I’ve taken over as OOD until the XO shows up.”
Ensign Ed Mitchell was the ship’s supply officer and was fresh out of sub school. Far from being a seasoned veteran, the ship’s junior-most officer was suddenly being cast into a starring role.
“What do you hear from the other stations. Ensign?” queried the anxious captain.
“It looks like we rode out the collision in one piece, sir. Though we’re still waiting to hear from the engine room where the majority of the blow was taken.”
The supply officer’s report was met by a long sigh of relief on Colter’s part.
“Well you’re hearing from the engine room right now. Ensign. It appears that we’ve lost our port circ pump, and we’re taking in a lot of water. I don’t think the bilge pumps are going to be able to handle this flooding, so I’m ordering an emergency surface.”
“But the ice. Captain,” the confused supply officer responded.
Just as Mitchell was about to continue, another individual replaced him at the microphone. The voice Colter now heard was steady and most familiar.
“Skipper, it’s the XO. Sorry about the delay in getting up here, but I had to stop and do a little first aid work while picking my way to the bridge from the wardroom.”
“Anything serious?” questioned the captain.
“Just some nasty cuts and bruises. Skipper. They’ll live. What about you? And what’s this I hear about us taking in water?”
With his glance locked on the frantic efforts of the chief and his men as they tried to stem the rush of flooding water. Matt Colter barked into the intercom.
“It’s the port circ pump, Al. The chief’s on it now, but it’s flooding pretty badly and I suggest an immediate emergency ascent.”
“Skipper, as of ten minutes ago, we had a pretty thick sheet of ice above us. Even if we did take her up, there’s no telling how close the nearest lead would be.”
Redirecting his gaze to take in the nearby figure of Dr. Lansing, Colter responded.
“This is as good a time as any to give that new laser Fathometer a try, Al.”
“Can’t do, Skipper. The Nav computers are still out, and without them that device is useless.”
“Well, crank up the old ice machine, and pray that there’s some open water close by. I’ll be up to join you as soon as I let the chief in on what we intend to do. And then I’m going to want to know what in the hell it was that hit us.”
Briefly catching Laurie Lansing’s worried stare, Matt Colter rushed down into the engine room’s flooded confines as the fight to save the Defiance began in earnest.
Chapter Eleven
The Arctic Rangers’ course took them to the northwest, out of the small community of Arctic Bay and over the frozen waters of Admiralty Inlet. Because of the constantly blowing snow, visibility was poor, and they were forced to travel at a minimum speed in order to keep the convoy of six snowmobiles and the single dogsled within sight of each other.
Hunched down over the steering wheel of the second vehicle in line, Jack Redmond did his best to stay as close to the rear runners of the lead sled as possible.
Considering his relative inexperience, his sergeant-major was doing an excellent job keeping the dogs moving. Yet even then the snow cats that followed progressed at only a fraction of the speed they were capable of attaining.
So far, this cautious approach had saved them from certain disaster on two separate occasions. The first of these incidents took place as they were traveling over a particularly smooth portion of the frozen inlet.
Though the blizzard was still blowing in all its fury, the going here was fast, and they were able to clip along at a good ten kilometers per hour.
Redmond was mentally calculating that if they could keep up this pace for the rest of the journey they could be at their intended destination in another eight hours. He had initially anticipated a journey of twice this duration. Yet he knew better than to get his hopes up, for the portion of the trip that took them over solid ground was still to come. Here they would have to contend not only with ice and snow but with dangerous crevasses and other geological irregularities.
The senior commando was in the midst of such a pondering when the sled before him unexpectedly ground to a halt. Reacting as quickly as possible, Redmond released the throttle and hit the hand brake.
An uncontrolled skid followed, during which time his snow cat missed striking the edge of the sled by only a few centimeters. Sheer instinct had made him steer into the skid, and after an anxious few moments the brakes had finally held.
His limbs were still trembling as he carefully opened up the throttle and returned to the lead sled’s side. He found Cliff Ano standing beside the dogs and peering out into the veil of white that lay before them.
“I don’t like it, Lieutenant. The dogs have gotten real skittish lately, and it’s an effort just to keep them moving,” observed the heavily bundled Inuit.
Shouting to be heard over the wind, Redmond replied.
“Maybe they’re just tired.”
His sergeant-major shook his head.
“It’s not that, Lieutenant. They seem to be consciously holding themselves back. I think there’s open water up ahead.”
“Well, there’s only one way to see if that’s the case,” returned the senior commando. He pivoted and shouted to the driver of the snow cat parked immediately behind them.
“Corporal Eviki, I want you to scout ahead on foot. Go out about a quarter of a kilometer, and be extra cautious as there’s a chance there’s open water somewhere ahead of us. Take Private Etah with you, just in case you run into any trouble. And watch your compass reading so that you can find your way back!”
As the two full-blooded Inuit climbed off the snow-cat and began their exploratory trek, Redmond made a hasty examination of the rest of the squad. Since the majority of them were also Inuit, the raw elements really didn’t bother them that much. Their army-issue clothing was first rate, and they were certainly no strangers to such a snow squall. Utilizing the line of tracked vehicles as a windbreak, they gathered together with their backs to the powerful gusts. Several of them even managed to light up cigarettes.
Jack Redmond was toying with the idea of setting up the receiver to see if they could pick up the homing beacon as yet when the two scouts arrived back at camp. With white tendrils of breath streaming from his nose and mouth. Corporal Jim Eviki revealed the outcome of their short search.