Arctic Gambit

PROLOGUE

The darkness slowly diminished as the periscope head approached the surface. Fuzzy, indistinct blobs drifted lazily across a dim gray background. By the time they came into focus, the periscope had raced past, emerging from the water, pointed upward into the overcast skies above the Arctic Ocean. A large ice floe was briefly lifted by the periscope head before being pushed aside by the momentum of the unseen submarine below. The subtle shock from the collision was transmitted down the periscope’s barrel, causing the eyepiece to shudder unpleasantly on the operator’s face. A low growl escaped his lips as he announced, “Scope’s clear.”

“You okay, Skipper?” asked the executive officer. He’d seen the periscope shake and knew his captain had been thumped… again.

“Yes, XO,” grumbled the commanding officer, “but I’m developing a severe dislike for ice.” Rotating the periscope to the correct bearing, he paused to shift the optics to high power and focused the image. “Alright, XO, there’s Master Two. Are you getting this?”

“Yes, sir, we’re recording.” The executive officer stared at the video display as the large icebreaker lowered a huge cylindrical object into the water. Whistling quietly he said, “That’s one honkin’ big sewer tube, Skipper. Could that be some sort of structural support member?”

The captain shook his head. “I haven’t a clue, XO. But that’s the second one we’ve seen being unloaded. Whatever it is, it’s obviously a critical component to whatever the Russians are building on the seabed.” Both men continued to watch in silence until the object disappeared below the water.

“Lowering number one scope,” announced the captain as he slapped up the handles and rotated the overhead hydraulic control ring. Reaching over to the intercom, he toggled the mike switch. “Sonar, Conn. Any sign of our friend?”

The speaker crackled with the response. “Conn, Sonar. Negative. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Sierra eight. The ice noise to the east is particularly bad. Contact was last held on a bearing of one zero eight.”

“Sonar, Conn, aye.”

Pausing to consider his next move, the captain ordered the officer of the deck to get the boat back down to one hundred fifty feet and head northeast. Stepping down from the periscope stand, the CO motioned for his executive officer to join him at the navigation plot.

“Still concerned about that Akula?”

The captain nodded sharply. “Absolutely! The only thing worse than having a detected Akula wandering about is an undetected one hiding in the acoustic underbrush, waiting to pounce at the worst possible moment. Been there, done that, and I don’t want to do it again!”

Taking a deep breath, he pointed to their current position on the chart, then traced a line with his finger. “Let’s reposition to the northeast and see if we can’t get a better vantage point to watch the next unloading evolution. Say… about here.”

The XO leaned over to get a better look. His face became uneasy. Grabbing a set of dividers, he measured the distance to Bolshevik Island and ran an arc that nearly touched his captain’s finger. “That’s cutting it awfully close to the twelve-mile limit, sir.”

“Agreed, but we’re still a half mile outside and I don’t intend to linger. We reach this spot, we’ll take a few observations, and if nothing is happening we’ll head north toward the pack ice. Is the SATCOM buoy ready?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the XO. “Everything but the last video has been uploaded, and they’re doing that right now. The video segment is a short one.”

“Excellent! We’ll launch it once we’re clear of the damn ice chunks—” The captain didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence; the loud beeping of the WLR-9 acoustic intercept receiver cut off his words.

“Conn, Sonar. High frequency active sonar, close aboard, bearing one six five. We hold nothing on that… Oh, God! TORPEDO IN THE WATER, BEARING ONE SIX FOUR! WEAPON IS RANGE GATING!”

The commanding officer leapt toward the periscope stand. “Captain has the conn! Helm, left full rudder! All ahead flank, cavitate! Launch countermeasures!”

The submarine’s heading swung northward, its speed building at a painfully slow rate. Looking at the WLR-9 display, the captain realized the incoming weapon was on a steady bearing — right toward them. “Helm, steady on course zero two zero! XO, launch another set of countermeasures and get the SATCOM buoy away!”

“Sir, the ice…”

“To hell with the ice! Launch the damn buoy!”

For a brief moment the captain thought one of the countermeasures had broken the torpedo’s lock on his boat. But the weapon’s electronic confusion lasted but a moment and it swerved back toward the American submarine. Another pair of countermeasures was launched… no effect. The torpedo relentlessly closed the distance.

The explosion shook the boat violently. People were bounced out of their chairs, loose gear went airborne, and a loud roar could be heard aft. The submarine snapped over to port and pitched downward. The helmsman and stern planesman yanked on their yokes… the controls refused to respond.

“Emergency blow!” shouted the captain in desperation.

The lights flickered.

Suddenly, a monstrous jolt rocked the submarine, people and objects were thrown about like rag dolls, the screech of the hull yielding to the impact could be heard above the din. Then the lights went out… and darkness fell.