“While I’m gone, have the men start combing that plateau for other debris. And then you’ve got the somber task of holding a proper burial.
“By the way, in your absence, I made Thomas Etah a corporal. I know he’s young and inexperienced, but he seems to be a quick learner and the men respect him. Give him his fair share of responsibilities, and perhaps he’ll grow into the job like you and I did years ago.”
“Pardon my asking. Lieutenant, but I still don’t understand why you’ll be sailing with the Americans. Isn’t our job over at this point?”
Cliff Ano’s question brought a firm response from Redmond’s lips.
“Most definitely not, Sergeant-Major. Captain Colter feels there’s a chance he’ll be able to intercept the Soviets before they get out into the open sea. Don’t forget, these waters are still Canadian territory. And though both submarines are technically trespassing here, my official presence sanctions the Defiance’s mission while possibly allowing us to complete ours as well.”
The boarding party had made their way safely below deck, when a parka-clad seaman approached Jack Redmond from behind.
“Excuse me, sir. But we’ll be diving soon and the captain requests that all hands clear the deck.”
After nodding that he understood, Redmond took one last look at Cliff Ano.
“I’ve got to be going, Sergeant-Major. Give my regards to the lads, and keep those ruffians busy and out of trouble!”
The last remark was met by a crisp salute. And the last Redmond saw of his subordinate, Ano was positioned behind the runners of the dogsled, spurring the huskies onward with crackling snaps of his whip.
A narrow steel ladder led Redmond down into an alien subterranean world. He soon found himself in a fairly spacious, elongated compartment. A blast of soothing, warm air engulfed him, and as he gratefully stripped off his fur parka and mittens, he checked out his new environment. The walls were completely lined with flashing consoles and snaking steel tubing. Manning this sophisticated high-tech equipment were a number of young men dressed in matching dark blue coveralls. Each of them seemed to give him the briefest of polite stares before industriously returning to their duties.
He was surprised to find one of these sailors a woman. Also clothed in blue coveralls, she sat before a large monitor screen, busily attacking the keyboard. Her dark hair was tied in a knot, and from what he could see of her face, she looked extremely attractive.
“Ah, there you are, Lieutenant.” The deep voice came from his left.
Turning his head, the commando took in the now familiar face and figure of the Defiance’s Captain. At this blond-haired officer’s side stood a tall, thin, mustached figure, who had a scarred bit of a pipe between his lips. It was Matt Colter who initiated the introductions.
“Lieutenant Jack Redmond, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Commander Al Layman, the ship’s executive officer, or XO as we prefer to call him.”
“Pleased to meet you.” The XO, gave Redmond a warm, firm handshake. “From what the Skipper tells me, you had some trouble with some old adversaries of ours topside. I sincerely regret the loss of your men, and hope that we can help you even the score.”
“That would be most appreciated,” returned Redmond. He liked the way this officer looked him right in the eye and spoke directly.
“The bridge is secure. Captain,” said a voice from behind.
“Very well,” retorted the captain as he scanned the control room. “Prepare to dive.”
Taking Redmond by the arm. Matt Colter guided him over to a console covered with dozens of switches and gauges. A dual line of button-sized lights dominated this console, with only the top row currently lit a vibrant green. A slightly built, redheaded sailor watched them approach, and snapped into action the moment the Captain said, “Take us down, Mr. Marshall.”
With fluid ease, the sailor then hit a variety of switches and buttons, and the compartment was filled with a muted, whining sound. It was Colter who explained what this racket meant.
“That noise is coming from the ship’s ballast pumps. In order to dive, seawater is drawn into the specially designed tanks that line our hull. As these tanks fill, the Defiance loses its positive buoyancy and we begin to sink beneath the surface. Special trimming tanks are then utilized to adjust the ship’s weight until it has neutral buoyancy and is balanced fore and aft.”
The captain pointed toward the two sailors seated to the right of the diving console. Both these individuals wore safety harnesses and gripped airplane-like steering columns.
“Over here are our planes men. Once we’re underway at speed, they’ll influence the ship’s up-and-down movement by controlling the tilt of the diving planes located on our sail and at the stern.”
There was a loud grinding noise as the submarine broke free from the grip of the ice and began sinking down into its intended medium.
“Take us down to three hundred feet, Mr. Marshall. All ahead one-third.”
Even as the vessel’s turbines engaged, there wasn’t the slightest hint of forward movement. Yet Colter showed him otherwise as he pointed to the digital speed indicator mounted on the bulkhead before the planes men
They had attained a velocity of ten knots when Colter once more addressed his crew.
“Bring us around to course zero-four-zero. Dr. Lansing, do you see anything that might get in our way overhead?”
This time it was the seated woman who answered.
“We should be fine at this depth. Captain. Though my laser scan shows an inverted ridge off our port bow, that extends some two hundred feet down into the water.”
“We’ll be staying well away from that monster,” returned Colter, who next led his guest over to the chart table.
Here they joined the XO before a detailed bathymetric map of the Lancaster Sound. There were a confusing series of colored lines and x’s on this chart, yet before asking what they all meant, Redmond softly vented his curiosity.
“You know, I never realized that the US Navy had women aboard its submarines.”
“We normally don’t,” answered the captain. “Dr. Lansing is on temporary loan from the Naval Arctic laboratory. She’s currently operating a prototype surface-scanning Fathometer that uses lasers to determine the exact state of the ice conditions topside. It was such a device that helped us surface as close to the northern edge of the Brodeur Peninsula as we did.”
“We’re at depth and on course. Captain,” said a voice from behind.
This revelation seemed to reenergize Colter, whose face suddenly turned in a broad grin.
“Now, Lieutenant Redmond, I’ll show you how we’re going to catch up with a group of very nasty Russians.”
“All ahead, flank speed!” he ordered firmly. “And someone better call the boys in the torpedo room and the sound shack and let them know that the season for Ivan hunting has officially opened!”
In the locked confines of Viktor Belenko’s cramped cabin, both of the Neva’s senior officers were in the midst of an intense hushed conversation.
“I tell you Sergei, as sure as the snows fall in Siberia, our esteemed admiral is holding something back on us. Why did you see his face when he got back to the ship? He looked like a little boy who had just been given the keys to the candy shop!”
Sergei Markova grunted.
“I know what you mean, Viktor. That smirk was painted all over his face, and he could barely tone it down when he matter-of factly informed us of the deaths of all five of the men sent along with him.”
“He certainly was possessive about that cockpit voice recorder,” observed the senior lieutenant. “From what I understand, he wouldn’t even let any of the men help him with it as he whisked it off to the safe in your stateroom. It’s just too bad our Zampolit chose this inopportune moment for the weekly Komsomol meeting. Instead of giving the speech he’d promised to present, the admiral could be analyzing that precious tape that he’s been ranting and raving about ever since we left Murmansk. Do you really think that the Americans would have the audacity to shoot down the Flying Kremlin, Sergei?”