Ice Hunt

The term skylight had been used by submariners since first venturing under the polar ice cap. An opening in the ice. Somewhere to surface. There was no better sight, especially with the press of time upon them.

His orders were relayed and a slight tremor vibrated the deck plates as the sub hoved around and aimed for their goal. He watched through the scope. “All ahead slow.”

As they neared the opening in the thick ice, he spoke without taking his eyes from the periscope. “Chief, what’s the ice reading above?”

“Looks good. The opening’s frozen over a bit.” The chief peered closer at the video monitor of the top-sounding sonar. “Across the skylight, I read no more than six inches of ice, but no less than three.”

Perry sighed with relief. It should be thin enough to surface through. He studied the dark ice surrounding the aquamarine lake, jagged and menacing, like the teeth of a shark.

“We’re under the skylight,” Bratt reported from the diving station.

“All stop. Rudder amidships.” As his orders were obeyed, he walked the periscope around, checking to make sure there was plenty of room for the sub to surface without brushing against the dragon-toothed walls of the canyon. Once satisfied, he straightened and folded the periscope grips. The stainless-steel pole descended below. “Stand by to surface.” He swung to Bratt. “Bring her up slowly.”

The soft chug of a pump sounded as seawater ballast was forced out of tanks inside the boat. Slowly the sub began to rise.

Bratt turned to him. “That Russian boat will surely hear us blowing ballast.”

“There’s no helping it.” Perry stepped down from the periscope deck. “Is the evac team ready to debark to the station?”

“Aye, sir. They’re suited up. We’ll empty that place in under ten minutes.”

“Make sure you get everyone out of there.” Perry’s thoughts turned to Amanda for the hundredth time.

Bratt seemed to read his mind, staring intently at him. “We won’t miss anyone, sir. That’s for damn certain.”

Perry nodded.

“Ready for ice!” the chief bellowed.

Overhead, the reinforced bridge crashed through the frozen crust, shuddering the boat. A moment later, the bulk of the submarine followed, cracking through to the surface. All around, valves were opened or closed, dials checked. Reports echoed from throughout the boat.

“Open the hatches!” Bratt yelled. “Ready shore team!”

The locking dogs were undone, and men in parkas gathered, rifles shouldered. One held out a blue parka for Bratt.

Bratt yanked into it. “We’ll be right back.”

Perry glanced to his watch. The Russians were surely already under way by now. “Fifteen minutes. No longer.”

“Plenty of time.” Bratt led his men out.

Perry stared as they climbed away. Cold air, fresh and damp, blew down from above. Once the last man was gone, the hatch slammed shut. Perry paced the length of the periscope stand. He wanted to be out there with Bratt, but he knew his place was here.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Chief, you have the conn. I’m going to watch from Cyclops. Patch any communication from the shore team to the intercom there.”

“Aye, sir.”

Perry left the bridge and headed toward the nose of the submarine. He climbed through the hatches and past the empty research suites. He opened the last hatch and entered the naturally illuminated chamber beyond.

He crossed under the arch of clear Lexan. The water sluicing over the glass splintered out in jagged lines of ice, growing visibly into complex fractal designs over the Lexan surface. Beyond the sub, the view was poor. Steam rose off the submarine’s carbon-plate hide, and flurries of snow swirled down in frosted strokes from the heights of the mountainous ice ridges.

Perry stared toward the cavernous opening that led down into the Russian station. He made out the vague shapes of men, trudging, bent against the wind. Bratt’s team. They disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel.

The intercom buzzed. A tinny voice spoke. “Captain, bridge here.”

He crossed and pressed the button. “What is it, Chief?”

“The watch radioman reports no reception from NAVSAT. We’re blanketed under another solar storm, leaving us deaf and dumb for the moment.”

He swore under his breath. With the satellites down, he needed word to reach the outside world. He jabbed the intercom button. “Any ETA on how long we’ll be out of satellite communication?”

“It’s anyone’s guess. Radioman says he expects short bursts of open air, but he can’t say when. Best guess is that the current bevy of solar storms will quit sometime after sunset.” Another long pause. “He’s going to try an ionosphere bounce with the UHF, but there’s no guarantee anyone’ll hear us in this weather. With a bit of luck, we might raise Prudhoe Bay.”

“Roger that, bridge. Have him keep trying as long as we’re surfaced. But I also want a SLOT configured and hidden out on the ice.” A SLOT, or Submarine-Launched One-Way Transmitter, was a communication buoy that could be deployed and set with a time delay to burst a transmitted satellite report. “Set the SLOT to transmit well after sunset.” This should help ensure their message got out after the solar storm passed and reopened satellite communication.

“Aye, sir.”

Perry checked his watch. Five minutes had passed. He stepped back under the Lexan arch. Visibility was mere yards now. He could just make out the line of pressure ridges, but no details. He kept his vigil. After another interminable minute, ghostly shapes pushed through the snow. It was the first of the evacuees.

Through the hollow of the boat, he could hear the outside hatch clang open. He imagined the whistle of wind. More and more shapes appeared out of the squall. He tried to count them, but the swirling snow confounded all efforts to tell one from another, man from woman.

His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.

The intercom buzzed. “Captain, bridge again. Patching through Commander Bratt.”

The next words were scratchy with static. “Captain? We’ve hauled through all the levels. I have two men with bullhorns running the occupied areas of the Crawl Space.”

Perry had to resist interrupting his XO and demanding to know Amanda’s fate.

The answer came anyway. “We learned Dr. Reynolds is still here.”

Perry let out a deep sigh of relief. She hadn’t returned to the drift station and been caught in the attack. She was safe. She was here.