The Polar Dawn moved east through the Beaufort Sea, skirting along the jagged edge of the sea ice that occasionally crumbled into a mass of irregular-shaped floes. The Coast Guard vessel towed a sled-shaped seismic sensor off the stern, which mapped the depth and density of the ice sheet as they steamed by.
The waters held clear of traffic, save for the occasional fishing boat or oil exploration vessel. Sailing through the first brief Arctic night without incident, Murdock slowly began to relax. The crew settled into their varied work schedules, which would serve them for the nearly three-week voyage to New York Harbor.
The sea ice had encroached closer to the mainland as they sailed east, gradually constricting the open waterway to less than thirty miles as they approached the Amundsen Gulf, south of Banks Island. Passing the five-hundred-mile mark from Alaska, Murdock was surprised that they still hadn’t encountered any Canadian picket vessels. He had been briefed that two Canadian Coast Guard vessels regularly patrolled the Amundsen Gulf, picking up any eastbound freighters that hadn’t paid their passage fees.
“Victoria Island coming into view,” Wilkes announced.
All eyes on the bridge strained to make out the tundra-covered island through a damp gray haze. Larger than the state of Kansas, the huge island pressed a four-hundred-mile-long coastline opposite the North American mainland. The waterway ahead of the Polar Dawn constricted again as they entered the Dolphin and Union Strait, named for two small boats used by Franklin on an earlier Arctic expedition. The ice shelf crept off both shorelines, narrowing the open seaway through the strait to less than ten miles. The Polar Dawn could easily shove through the adjacent meter-thick ice if necessary, but the ship kept to the ice-free path melted by the warm spring weather.
The Polar Dawn forged another hundred miles through the narrowing strait as its second Arctic night in Canadian waters approached. Murdock had just returned to the bridge after a late dinner when the radar operator announced first one and then another surface contact.
“They’re both stationary at the moment,” the operator said. “One’s to the north, the other almost directly south. We’ll run right between them on our current heading.”
“Our picket has finally appeared,” Murdock said quietly.
As they approached the two vessels, a larger ship appeared on the radar some ten miles ahead. The sentry vessels remained silent as the Polar Dawn cruised past, one on either flank. As the Coast Guard ship moved on unchallenged, Murdock stepped over to the radar station and peered over the operator’s shoulder. With a measure of chagrin, he watched as the two vessels slowly departed their stations and gradually fell in line behind his own ship.
“It appears we may have trouble passing Go and collecting our two hundred dollars,” he said to Wilkes.
“The radio is still silent,” the exec observed. “Maybe they’re just bored.”
A hazy dusk had settled over the strait, painting the distant shoreline of Victoria Island a deep purple. Murdock tried to observe the ship ahead through a pair of binoculars but could only make out a dark gray mass from the bow profile. The captain adjusted course slightly, so as to pass the ship on his port side with plenty of leeway. But he would never get the chance.
In the fading daylight, they closed within two miles of the larger ship when a sudden spray of orange light burst from its gray shadow. The Polar Dawn’s bridge crew heard a faint whistling, then saw an explosion in the water a quarter mile off their starboard bow. The startled crew watched as the spray of water from the blast rose forty feet into the air.
“They fired a shell at us,” Wilkes blurted in a shocked voice.
A second later, the long silent radio finally crackled.
“Polar Dawn, Polar Dawn, this is the Canadian warship Manitoba . You are trespassing in a sovereign waterway. Please heave to and prepare for boarding.”
Murdock reached for a radio transmitter. “Manitoba, this is the captain of the Polar Dawn. Our transit route has been filed with the Foreign Affairs Ministry in Ottawa. Request you let us proceed.”
Murdock gritted his teeth as he waited for a response. He had been given strict orders not to provoke a confrontation at any cost. But he had also been given assurances that the Polar Dawn’s passage would be uncontested. Now he was getting shot at by the Manitoba, a brand-new Canadian cruiser built expressly for Arctic duty. Though technically a military vessel, the Polar Dawn had no armament with which to fight. And it wasn’t a particularly fast ship; certainly it was incapable of outrunning a modern cruiser. With the two smaller Canadian vessels blocking the rear, there was no place to run anyway.
There was no immediate answer to Murdock’s radio call. Only a silent pause, and then another orange flash from the deck of the Manitoba. This time the shell from the warship’s five-inch gun landed a scant fifty yards from the Coast Guard ship, its underwater blast sending a concussion that could be felt throughout the vessel. On the bridge, the radio crackled once more.
“Polar Dawn, this is Manitoba,” spoke a voice with a kindly charm that was incongruous to the situation at hand. “I m
ust insist that you heave to for boarding. I’m afraid I have orders to sink you if you don’t comply. Over.”
Murdock didn’t wait for another orange flash from the Manitoba.
“All stop,” he ordered the helmsman.
In a heavy voice, he radioed the Manitoba his concession. He quickly had the radioman send a coded message to the Coast Guard sector headquarters in Juneau, explaining their predicament. Then he quietly waited for the Canadian boarders, wondering if his career was all but over.
A HEAVILY ARMED TEAM of Canadian Special Forces pulled alongside the Polar Dawn within minutes and quickly boarded the ship. Executive Officer Wilkes met the boarders and escorted them to the bridge. The leader of the Special Forces team, a short man with a lantern jaw, saluted Murdock.
“Lieutenant Carpenter, Joint Task Force 2 Special Forces,” he said. “I have orders to take command of your vessel and bring her to port at Kugluktuk.”
“And what of the crew?” Murdock asked.
“That’s for the higher-ups to decide.”
Murdock stepped nearer, looking down on the shorter lieutenant. “An Army soldier who knows how to pilot a three-hundred-foot ship?” he asked skeptically.
“Ex-Merchant Marine.” Carpenter smiled. “Helped push coal barges up the Saint Lawrence in my daddy’s tug since I was twelve.”