“This is our underwater communications system. It operates just like a normal telephone, though its range is limited because seawater by itself makes a lousy conductor. Now, if we only had someone who could speak Russian … I don’t believe any of the ship’s crew is familiar with the language.”
“I’d be happy to give it a try,” offered the weathered Canadian. “My mother was originally from the Ukraine, and though I can’t read or write Cyrillic, I should be able to converse enough to get by.”
Matt Colter was impressed by this revelation.
“I guess it was a good thing that we plucked you off the ice after all. Lieutenant. Now let’s just hope this whole thing isn’t a big waste of time. Or worse, a cleverly conceived ambush.”
“Captain Markova, the men in the engine room don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to hold out. The leak has worsened, and the water there is almost up their knees.”
The chiefs remarks were met by an emotional reply.
“Well tell them that they’re just going to have to do better, comrade. Otherwise the Neva is finished for sure. Perhaps I’d better get down there myself.”
“But who’ll man the attack center while you’re gone?” It was the whining voice of the Neva’s Zampolit.
Sergei turned to face the sweating Political Officer, who had arrived in the control room shortly after the last damage report was received.
“I guess as senior officer, you’ll be the man in charge, Comrade Zinyagin.”
The captain’s words brought horror to the Zampolit’s already pale face.
“But what do I know about running a submarine? Maybe I should go get the admiral out of confinement. In times such as these we could use his expertise.”
Sergei was about to okay this request when the compartment filled with a harsh ringing buzz. The captain had to completely scan the debris-ridden room before spotting the device responsible for this racket.
“What the hell?” muttered the blond-haired officer as he thoughtfully approached the Neva’s underwater telephone receiver. Though he was certain this commotion was only the by-product or a short circuit of some sort, he nevertheless picked up the handset and spoke into the receiver.
“Hello.”
With the Canadian’s invaluable assistance. Matt Colter soon learned the exact nature of the Russian sub’s plight. Even his XO’s suspicions were tempered as the captain shared with his crew a graphic description of their enemies’ difficulties. It proved to be the only civilian present who offered any sort of viable game plan.
“Captain Colter, I’d like permission to activate the surface-scanning lasers.”
“Permission granted,” snapped the captain, who knew exactly what was on her mind.
While Laurie Lansing furiously addressed her keyboard, Matt Colter utilized the only foreign national in their immediate midsts as an intermediary.
“Lieutenant Redmond, find out if the Russian sub can manage any type of forward propulsion at all. I realize their reactor has been scrammed, but they must have some sort of backup system on board.”
With a bit of difficulty, the Canadian managed to translate this query. It took two attempts to get the response clear in his mind.
“Captain Markova says their battery-powered system still appears to be on-line. Though because of the nature of the damage in the Neva’s engine room, they’ll only be able to utilize it for a short duration.”
“If God’s with us, that’s all they’ll need,” retorted Matt Colter, who added, “Tell the captain to stand by.”
Colter’s voice cracked with strain as he pivoted and yelled across the entire length of the control room.
“Dr. Lansing, any luck as yet?”
“It doesn’t look good. Captain,” responded the civilian. “There’s a massive inverted ridge directly above us, with heavy rafted ice to the south, east, and north. The only possibility lies to the west, approximately a mile distant. It’s not open water mind you, but it looks to be smooth and of fairly recent origin. And there’s more than enough room to fit the both of us.”
“How thick does it appear to be?” quizzed the captain.
Laurie Lansing answered with a shake of her head.
“That’s the tough part, captain. From this depth and range, it looks to be about six inches thick, though I could be off by as much as three inches either way.”
Matt Colter knew that six inches of ice was about the limit that their specially reinforced sail could take. Yet because of the uniqueness of their situation, he replied after the briefest of hesitations.
“Let’s do it. Doc! Lock us on, and we’ll lead our newfound Soviet comrades up out of these depths like a Seeing-Eye dog does its master.”
Chapter Eighteen
It was a loud explosive crack that broke Ootah from his deep coma. The limit awoke with a start, and as his eyes adjusted to the alien brightness that surrounded him, he realized that he was in a strange place, the likes of which he’d never known existed.
Hoping that this was only some sort of horribly realistic dream, he attempted to sit up. Yet when he did so, an agonizing pain shot through his chest. Only then did his hands reach under the crisp white sheet that covered him, and he became conscious that he was stark naked and his cherished amulet was gone.
With this dispiriting realization, he scanned the room in which he found himself. No bigger than an average-sized snow house it held a variety of strange equipment, and several empty cots like the one he lay on, stacked on top of each other. The only thing he could compare it to was the white-man’s house he had once visited in Arctic Bay. But this place was even stranger still, for it didn’t have a single window.
The air was warm and had a peculiar odor to it.
Doing his best to ignore the pain that left him breathless and weak, Ootah sat up. It was then he spotted his clothing hanging on the wall on the other side of the room.
The floor beneath him seemed to be rolling back and forth like a floating floe of ice, and it took a concentrated effort on his part to cross the room without falling. Once, when the entire room rolled hard on its side, the Inuit was forced to reach out for a hand hold in order to steady himself. The object that kept him from losing his balance altogether was known to the white man as a sink. Hanging above its smooth, white basin was a mirror. It only took a single glance into the shiny reflective surface for Ootah to see the fist-sized bruise that stained the central portion of his chest. And seeing it, a long string of forgotten memories rose up in his consciousness.
In the blink of an eye, he remembered the magical flashing object that had fallen from the heavens. And then there were the evil white men who had somehow made their way onto the ice to take the object from him. Other whites had appeared from the opposite direction, and a horrifying gun battle had ensued.
Caught in the crossfire, Ootah could but dig into the snow beneath his sled, and wait for the whites to kill each other off. They didn’t, and when the last bullet whined overhead, he arose out of the snow and saw an even more terrifying sight than the legions of gun-toting strangers that still surrounded him. For emerging from his snow house was the white-haired stranger who had visited him earlier in a dream. And in this mysterious elder’s evil grasp was Ootah’s beloved Akatingwah and their only son!
The Inuit could only silently petition the ancestors to intercede at this point, and his desperate prayers were indeed answered when the white-haired elder asked for Ootah to replace Akatingwah as hostage.