Stenseth repeated the call but received no reply.
“When’s the Bloodhound due up?” he asked the helmsman.
“Dahlgren’s last report was that they were still on the wreck site. So they are at least twenty minutes off.”
Stenseth watched the radar screen closely, noticing a gradual increase in speed by the icebreaker as it approached within two miles. There looked to be a slight change in the ship’s course, drifting off the Narwhal ’s bow as if to pass on her starboard beam. Whatever their intent, Stenseth was not in a trusting mood.
“Ahead a third,” he ordered the helmsman. “Bearing three hundred degrees.”
Stenseth well knew that the prospect of a collision in thick fog was one of a mariner’s worst nightmares. With visions of the Stockholm striking the Andrea Doria in his mind, he powered his ship to the northwest, in order to avoid a similar head-on collision. With a minute degree of relief, he saw that the other vessel was holding to its southeast course, widening the angle between their paths. But the appearance of a safe passing was short-lived.
When the two vessels approached within a mile, the icebreaker suddenly accelerated, nearly doubling its speed in short order. Driven by a massive pair of gas turbine engines capable of towing a string of heavy barges, the icebreaker was a behemoth of torque. Freed to run unencumbered, the tow ship turned into a greyhound, capable of slicing through the water at over thirty knots. Under Zak’s order, the ship found its full legs and blasted through the waves under maximum throttle.
It took only a few moments for Stenseth to detect the change in the icebreaker’s speed. He held his course steady until the radar told him that the other vessel was sharply veering to the west.
“Ahead flank speed!” he ordered, his eyes glued to the radar screen
He was aghast at the track of the icebreaker as it swept in a short arc toward his own vessel. He shook off any doubts about the intent of the other vessel. It clearly intended to ram the Narwhal.
Stenseth’s order to accelerate thwarted Zak’s attempt to catch the ship and crew off guard. But the icebreaker still had a decided advantage in speed, if no longer surprise. The Otok had closed to within a quarter mile before the research ship could break twenty knots. Stenseth peered out the aft bridge window but could see nothing through the black fog.
“She’s coming up quick,” the helmsman said, watching the icebreaker’s radar smudge approach the center of the radar screen. Stenseth sat down and readjusted the range to read in hundred-yard increments.
“We’ll let her come in tight. But when she touches the hundred-yard mark, I want you to bring us hard to starboard, on a due east heading. There’s still plenty of sea ice along the shore of King William Island. If we can get close enough, they might lose our radar signature against it.”
He gazed at an open chart, noting their distance to King William Island was over fifteen miles. Much too far away, he knew, but his options were few. If they could parry a bit longer, maybe the pursuers would give up the hunt. He stood and watched the radar screen until the tailing target drew near, then he nodded at the helmsman.
The heavy research ship shook and groaned as the rudder was jammed full over, the vessel heeling onto its new course. It was a lethal game of blindman’s bluff. On the radar screen, the icebreaker seemed to merge with their own position, but Stenseth still caught no sight of the icebreaker. The Otok continued on its westerly course for nearly a full minute before detecting the Narwhal ’s maneuver and turning sharply to the east in pursuit.
Stenseth’s action gave the ship precious seconds to build more speed while the crew was alerted and ordered topside. But it wasn’t long before the icebreaker was closing in on their stern once again.
“Hard to port this time,” Stenseth ordered, when the Otok crossed the hundred-yard mark once again.
The icebreaker anticipated the move this time but guessed wrong and veered to starboard. She quickly took up the chase again as Stenseth attempted to angle closer to King William Island. The faster ship quickly moved in and the Narwhal was forced to juke again, Stenseth opting to turn hard to port once more. But this time, Zak guessed correctly.
Like a hungry shark striking from the depths of a murky sea, the icebreaker suddenly burst through the fog, its lethal prow slashing into the flank of the Narwhal. The shattering blow struck just aft of the moon pool, the icebreaker’s bow slicing fifteen feet in from the rail. The Narwhal nearly keeled over from the impact, shuddering sideways into the waves. A massive spray of freezing water poured over the deck as the ship
struggled to regain its center of gravity.
The collision brought with it a thousand cries of mechanical agony—steel grating on steel, hydraulic lines bursting, hull plates splintering, power plants imploding. As the destruction reached its climax, there was an odd moment of silence, then the wails of violence turned to the gurgling moans of mortality.
The icebreaker slowly slid free of the gaping wound, breaking off a section of the Narwhal’s stern as it backed away. The vessel’s sharp bow had been bludgeoned flat, but the ship was otherwise fully intact, its double hull not even compromised. The Otok lingered on the scene a few moments, as Zak and the crew admired their destructive handiwork. Then like a deadly wraith, the murderous ship disappeared into the night.
The Narwhal, meanwhile, was on its way to a quick death. The ship’s engine room flooded almost instantly, tugging the stern down in an immediate list. Two of the bulkheads fronting the moon pool were crushed, sending additional floodwaters to the lower decks. Though built to plow through ice up to six feet thick, the Narwhal was never designed to withstand a crushing blow to its beam. Within minutes, the ship was half underwater.
On the bridge, Stenseth picked himself up off the deck to find the bridge a darkened cave. They had lost all operating power, and the emergency generator located amidships had also been disabled in the collision. The entire ship was now as black as the foggy night.
The helmsman beat Stenseth to an emergency locker at the rear of the bridge and quickly produced a flashlight.
“Captain, are you all right?” he asked, sweeping the beam across the bridge until it caught Stenseth’s towering figure.
“Better than my ship,” he replied, rubbing a sore arm. “Let’s account for the crew. I’m afraid we’re going to have to abandon ship in short order.”
The two men threw on their parkas and made their way down to the main deck, which was already listing heavily toward the stern. They entered the ship’s galley, finding it illuminated by a pair of battery-operated lanterns. Most of the ship’s skeleton crew was already assembled with their cold-weather gear, a look of fear etched in their eyes. A short man with a bulldog-like face approached the two men.
“Captain, the engine room is completely flooded and a section of the stern has been torn away,” said the man, the Narwhal ’s chief engineer. “Water has reportedly breached the forward hold. There’s no stopping it.”
Stenseth nodded. “Any injuries?”