Ice Hunt

She began to twist back around when motion caught her attention—not from the base, but out farther. A dark shadow rose through the whiteness, like some breaching whale. She stared a moment longer, unsure what she was seeing out there on the ice.

Then the winds swept the fog clear for a moment. She watched a black conning tower rise past a jagged line of pressure ridges. Its surface steamed in the subzero air like a living creature. From its sides, small spots shone. Tinier red pinpoints of light dazzled and traced over the ice and through the fog. Vague figures scrambled along the ice ridge.

“Is that your submarine?” Jenny asked.

Both seamen swung around. The music critic, the one with the best view, jolted up from his seat. “Fuck!” He tore open the back door. “It’s the goddamn Russians!”

Winds whipped into the cabin. The driver braked the Sno-Cat. Jenny saw the other Cat continuing into the ice fog. They must not have seen the submarine.

She turned to her father. He was staring back at the base, too. “They’re wearing white parkas,” he said calmly.

Jenny noticed, too.

The guard, assault rifle in hand, hopped out the door as their Sno-Cat growled to a stop.

“Keep going,” Jenny suddenly urged the driver. She was ignored.

The guard outside lifted his weapon. He studied the sub and men racing over the ice ridge.

Laser sights glowed in the fog, casting about. Then a fiery flash burst from the top of the Russian submarine. A missile jetted through the air in a tight arc and smashed into one of the smaller outbuildings.

The explosion shattered the hut, blowing it into a hail of flaming fragments. A ten-foot-wide hole was punched through the ice.

“They took out the satellite array,” the seaman in the backseat moaned. He leaned farther out the open door.

Jenny saw a single red laser pointer squiggle across the ice in their direction. It found the Sno-Cat. She swung around. “Move!” she yelled.

When the driver didn’t respond, she punched her foot on the accelerator. The vehicle was still in gear and jolted forward.

“What are you doing?” the driver shouted, and knocked her leg aside.

“They blasted your communication!” Jenny yelled back. “You think they’re gonna let us leave!”

Punctuating her words, gunfire erupted outside. The guard was down on one knee, firing. “Go!” he hollered at them.

The driver hesitated half a breath, then jammed the accelerator himself. “Hang on!”

“C’mon, Fernandez!” the seaman in the backseat yelled to his buddy.

Out on the ice, the guard rose to his feet and backed up. His rifle barrel steamed. More laser sights zeroed in on the fleeing Sno-Cat. He turned and ran for the cab. But when he was within a couple steps, he tripped. His right leg flew out from under him. He hit the ice and slid, leaving a red trail behind him.

“Fernandez!” The seaman leaped from the cab. He raced over to his partner, grabbed his collar, and hauled him after the Sno-Cat.

The driver slowed enough for the pair to catch up.

Jenny rolled into the backseat and helped grab the injured man.

Once both men were hauled inside, Fernandez yelled at the driver. “Kick this piece of crap in the ass!” He seemed more angry at being shot than scared. He pounded a fist on the seat.

The other man kept pressure with both gloved hands on his buddy’s thigh. Blood welled between his fingers.

The Sno-Cat churned across the ice. Jenny stared ahead. The lead vehicle had disappeared into the ice fog. If only they could do the same…

Rockabilly continued to blare from the speakers. Snow crunched. Then a sharp whistling cut through everything.

“Shit,” the driver swore.

The blast erupted just ahead of them, spattering the Sno-Cat with chunks of ice. The windshield cracked with spiderwebs. They were momentarily blinded.

Instinctively, the driver ripped the wheel around. The top-heavy Sno-Cat tilted up on one tread, skidding. Through the smoke, Jenny saw what the driver had been attempting to avoid.

A hole lay blasted through the ice. Ten feet down, water and ice sloshed. Steam roiled up from the edges of the blasted pit.

The Sno-Cat continued its icy slide toward the deadly pit, still up on one tread, fishtailing. Jenny was sure they’d never avoid the fall. Still the driver fought the wheel.

No one breathed.

But miraculously, impossibly, the stubborn vehicle stopped just at the edge of the hole’s shattered lip.

The driver swore—half in relief, half in restrained panic.

The tilted Sno-Cat slammed back down onto both treads, rattling Jenny’s teeth. A booming crack resounded with the impact.

Jenny’s heart clenched. “Out!” she choked, reaching for a door handle—but it was already too late.

Like a glacier calving from a coastline, the section of ice under them fell away. The Sno-Cat followed, rockabilly blaring, and toppled end over end into the icy ocean.

10:38 A.M.

USS POLAR SENTINEL

Perry stood in the control bridge. The entire crew held their breaths. All eyes were on the monitors and equipment. Perry leaned beside one screen. The image was a digital feed from one of the exterior cameras. Half a mile away, the shadow of the Drakon floated, limned within a pillar of light shining through the open polynya. The enemy sub showed no indication that it sensed its smaller shadow.

“Captain.” Commander Bratt spoke from the fire control station, whispering. He wore a pair of headphones. “We’re picking up weapon fire on the hydrophones.”

“Damn it!” Perry grumbled under his breath. A fist formed.

Bratt made eye contact with Perry. “Orders?”

From first sonar contact, the Polar Sentinel had followed the Akula-class submarine as it bore down upon Omega, running silent and fast. Without armaments, they had no way of defending themselves or mounting an offense against the larger, armed vessel. And without surfacing, they had no way to warn the drift station. So they had played ghost with the other boat.

“I’m detecting a missile launch!” the sonar supervisor hissed.

On the screen, a section of the ice roof suddenly blew downward with a bright flash, as if a meteor had punched through from above. They didn’t need the hydrophones to hear the blast echo through the waters.

A moment of stunned silence followed.

“I think that was the satellite shack,” Bratt whispered, one finger resting on a vectored map of the Omega station.

They’re isolating the station, Perry realized. The station’s satellite transmitters and receivers were its only link to the outside world—except for the Polar Sentinel.