Raise the Red Dawn

Chapter Seventeen

“Whooowheee! Will you look at that!” Luke shouted excitedly.

“Red Dawn is clear of the ice keel,” MacKenzie radioed. He had to keep both hands on the steering yoke to control Avalon in the turbulence the twin explosions had created. There were angry scars on Red Dawn’s hull from the shape charges, but she looked intact and most of the ice had been blasted off her. She was floating at a slight downward angle, slowly drifting lower as her ballast tanks filled. Soon she’d be submerged deep enough to tow her under the ice cap’s projections. The air hose had been severed by the blast, but it had served its purpose. Red Dawn had enough air to get out from under the ice cap.

MacKenzie had to admit it was a major show. He and Luke had watched the torpedoes spin through the icy waters and hit with unerring accuracy. Combined with the shape charges going off, the explosions had sent ice meteors spinning out in all directions. Crystal fragments still filled the sea, slowly drifting. It was as if they were in a snow-filled water bubble.

“Good shooting, Tom,” he radioed when the water finally cleared. “Red Dawn’s in the open. Her tanks are filling slow and steady. We’re returning to Seawolf.”

MacKenzie dropped, and skimmed along the eight hundred feet of steel cable stretching from Red Dawn’s tow eye to the twin cleats on Phoenix’s main deck. The line had bowed in the center from the weight of the steel ball, exactly as the engineers had hoped, and the tow line looped down under the boat. Most of the strain would be taken up by Phoenix’s hull. It was another one for the record books. No submarine of this size had ever been towed underwater in such a fashion before.

“Phoenix, can you read me?”

“Arlin here, Mac. How’s it look?”

“I just completed the inspection. Looks letter-perfect. You’ve got a good bow in the line, Phil. Prepare to get under way.”

“Roger, Avalon.”

In a way he was sorry that the spectacle of Red Dawn encased in its icy prison was over. They would never see anything quite like it again. It also meant that the most dangerous part of the mission was about to occur. It was one thing to raise the Red Dawn, another to get her out of here intact. He thought about Justine. There was no word yet from the breakers. But faith was an act of will. He willed himself to believe.

MacKenzie sped back to Seawolf, and within minutes he could see the crosshair-in-circle target over the aft escape trunk illuminated by Avalon’s lights. He settled them down slowly. The crafts mated with a solid thunk. Luke pumped water out of the bell housing. MacKenzie shook his hand gratefully. “What can I say? You did a great job. As always.”

Luke grinned. “Can’t think of anyone I’d rather be made into a malted with in a DSRV than you, Cap. It’s always interesting with you on board.”

“Hightail it back. We’ve got a Russian captain out there who knows how vulnerable Phoenix is with Red Dawn in tow. It’s going to get tricky from here on in.”

“If anybody can get us all out of here in one piece my money’s on you, Cap.” Luke clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, Mac.”

“To us all, Luke. See you home.” Mac slid out of his seat and went back into the aft section. With a final pat on Avalon’s hull, he cycled open the hatches, dropped through the skirt, and climbed down into Seawolf.

In the officers’ mess, Kalik was still smarting from having to pull back from attacking the DSRV. He picked up his mug of coffee and warmed his hands. It was always so damn cold in here. The engineer insisted the ship’s temperature was the same as it always was, but he had refused to believe it till he checked the readings himself. They were right, but rather than look like an idiot he had set the engineer to replacing all the gauges. He grimaced. He wasn’t usually so petty or capricious. Things other captains had said about working under the ice cap filtered through his mind, how it fouled your natural rhythms and sapped your strength until you were edgy and out of sorts. Was it like that on Seawolf too? Were they as tired? Had the cat-and-mouse game they were playing worn down the other captain, too?

Kalik was worried about himself — the problems with Viktor, the petty pique over the gauges. Worse, he was starting to second-guess himself. His doubts had caused him to miss the opportunity to fire on the unprotected DSRV. He had asked too many questions, overanalyzed the situation. The truth was he was afraid to be outmaneuvered again and he’d been too cautious. He promised himself that wouldn’t happen the next time they faced each other. And they would, soon. It took no genius to know that if he let the Americans escape with Red Dawn he would finish his career in disgrace. He might even face a court-martial and prison. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Destroying the Americans’ land base hadn’t done the trick, and the Ural hadn’t arrived in time. He had one choice left. It was a daring move, but if he succeeded he would erase all his past errors in a single blinding moment of glory. Defeat Seawolf then destroy Phoenix and steal Red Dawn, He had no doubt that dispatching Phoenix would be simple enough. With Red Dawn in tow, Phoenix was ridiculously vulnerable. His only worry was Seawolf. Since the beginning, Seawolf and her captain had beaten him at every turn.

He knew how the Americans were faring and had permitted them to continue without interference. Sonar had informed him when the DSRV planted the towing hook, and the sounds of the steel line scraping along Phoenix’s hull gave him a pretty good idea of how they had rigged it. Communications had picked up the SOS for the survivors on the surface. He had hoped that Seawolf might break off from its mission to search for them, but the series of explosions that followed could only mean that they had forsaken the survivors to blast Red Dawn free of the ice. By now Phoenix would be ready to tow.

The contest between him and the American captain had grown keenly personal. Defeating Seawolf would be proof that his prowess remained intact, that his judgment was still strong. The power play in the Kremlin had nothing to do with it.

“Comrade Captain?”

Kalik came out of his reverie. “What is it, Viktor?”

“I feel I must talk to you, Vassily.”

Kalik looked into Volkov’s face. It was just as tired as his own. It gave him pause. He shouldn’t forget he wasn’t the only one under strain. His feelings eased. If he looked at things honestly he had to admit that Volkov had done nothing to undermine him, nothing to deserve being treated so coldly.

“You still have my ear, Viktor,” he said and motioned for him to sit.

“You’ve been making plans?”

“Yes. Have you come to challenge them?” Kalik caught himself. What is wrong with me, he wondered, that I cannot control my own tongue?

“Just the opposite, Vassily. I…” Viktor let out a deep breath. “I wanted you to know that you can count on my full support. I am still your senior lieutenant. Still your… friend. I’ve always been a good ear for you, Vassily. I would like to continue that function. If you wish it, of course.”

Kalik understood in that moment that his own career was over. No matter what the outcome was, he had lost something essential on the ice cap. Half-remembered fragments of Eliot’s “Prufrock” slid across his mind like signposts leading him down the road to understanding… do I have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? He had to face it, the thing that had wormed its way into his belly and stolen his strength… I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, and in short, I was afraid… For the first time in his career, Kalik realized he was afraid. The ice had robbed him. He could never again cross the gangway to his waiting ship and not know that fear lay buried deep within him. He was like a high-wire aerialist: one moment of fear had changed him forever, he could never again walk the wire with the same confidence. Kalik wondered if he could find the strength for the last engagement. Volkov was still watching him carefully, still trying for some. . bridge. Kalik didn’t want to make it tougher on him. He pushed a mug across the table and poured some coffee. “I am going to attack Seawolf, Viktor.”

Volkov took the mug and nodded. “I assumed so.”

Kalik went on, “Once Seawolf is out of the way I will be forced to destroy Phoenix.”

Volkov accepted it impassively. “Sadly I’ve had to come to the same conclusion.”

“It’s the only way I can avoid sinking Red Dawn, a ship manned by our own countrymen. Once Phoenix is destroyed we will pick up the towline and make straight for Kola Base and be done with this infernal region.”

Volkov accepted that, too. He reached out for the deeper understanding they had shared in the past. “Vassily, I—”

“Spare yourself,” Kalik said, pouring another cup of coffee. “I can’t say that I truly understand what it is that happens to a man up here, but we began this mission with a job to do, and no matter how badly I have fouled things up I intend to see it done. I am grateful for your help, Viktor. I always have been.”

Volkov stood, relieved. “You have it, Comrade Captain. In full measure.”

Kalik put a hand on his shoulder. “Then come take your place beside me in the control room. It’s time to write the final chapter of this thing.” He reached out and hit the alarm on the intercom panel.

Volkov felt energy course through their physical connection. They were one again. A partnership with an adversary to best. A mission to complete.

He followed Kalik forward as the sounds of the battle-stations alarm rang stridently throughout the ship.

A quick, hot shower while Tom Lasovic assembled the division officers in the wardroom loosened MacKenzie’s muscles and cleared his mind. He changed into a clean uniform and arrived as Joe Santiago was unrolling the newly completed charts MacKenzie had requested earlier.

“Spread them out on the table, Joe,” he directed. “Everybody gather around.”

Seawolf’s navigator spread out a hydrographic map of the immediate area. “These,” Santiago explained, “were slaved directly from the upward-looking Fathometer and fed into our computer to print the data in chart form. The result is an accurate representation of the ice cap above and the waters around us. Red Dawn’s ice keel is the center point, here.”

“This is our sphere of engagement,” MacKenzie said. The chart depicted the sea for ten miles around them, along with every keel, stalactite, and pressure ridge. “First we’ve got to get Phoenix and Red Dawn safely out of this sphere. Once they move beyond Akula’s range they’ll make for the marginal ice fields. There’s enough noise there to cover them. They’ll have clear sailing till they can rendezvous with a surface escort group. Unfortunately we have several problems.” MacKenzie looked around at his officers grimly. “I can assure you that as soon as we try to tow Red Dawn out of here Akula is going to attack.”

Tom Lasovic scratched his head, thinking aloud. “We’re at a real disadvantage in the noise category, Skipper. No way I can see to muffle Phoenix with Red Dawn in tow. That tow cable is already swishing through the water in the wake from Phoenix’s props. Under speed they’re going to sound like an express train.”

“Sonar’s going to be ineffective,” said Jim Kurstan. “With that much noise in the neighborhood, we won’t be able to get a reliable fix on Akula.”

“At least he’s got the same problem,” Santiago said.

“Not in the same way,” said Kurstan. “He can move quietly and get a series of positions to triangulate. Or he can sit still while we move in tandem with Phoenix. If he does a quick leapfrog we could be heading right into his sights and not know it till he fires.”

“What do we figure Phoenix’s max speed is with Red Dawn in tow?” MacKenzie asked.

Chief Engineer Jake Cardiff answered. “Ten knots, maximum… and that’s pushing it to the limit, Mac.”

“Ten knots means a thousand yards every three minutes. Hmm…” MacKenzie lapsed into private inner computations. “Let me think a minute.”

Lasovic had seen MacKenzie in this hyperaware state before. He was a brilliant tactician, and if there was a way to get Red Dawn out of here Mac would probably find it. He watched thoughts play on his friend’s face as he ran down possibilities, rejecting one after another. He seemed to come to a tentative conclusion, scanned the chart, then nodded more definitely. “Joe, does that big ice keel really extend as far down and across as the chart says?”

“I checked that keel when it first showed up. Even had Sonar take a ping or two at it. It’s a giant, almost seven hundred feet deep and two hundred wide. Say five nautical miles from our present position.”

“We heard some bergy bits breaking off, Skipper. It’s big all right.”

“How thick is the ice over the keel?”

Santiago showed him on the chart. “There’s a fair-sized pressure ridge over it. Twenty feet of ice minimum.”

MacKenzie calculated out loud. “Okay. Ten thousand yards to the keel. At a thousand yards every three minutes it’ll take Phoenix half an hour to reach it. That’s the time we’ve got to cover them. Once they move beyond that keel, it will block Akula’s sonar and Phoenix can tow Red Dawn safely the rest of the way to the zone.”

“Won’t Akula follow?” wondered Kurstan.

“Not if he can’t acquire a contact, and he won’t be able to with what I have in mind,” MacKenzie said firmly.

“We’re all ears, Skipper,” said Lasovic.

“Gentlemen, we are going to take a lesson from the ice cap.” MacKenzie’s smile was grim. “I don’t know about all of you, but I’m damn tired of being predictable. Here’s what I’ve got in mind…”

MacKenzie strode into the conn as the battle-station alarm sounded through the ship. “All right, look alert, everybody.” Crewmen settled stiff-backed into their chairs or stood waiting attentively at their instrument consoles, ready, waiting, days of fatigue banished by the alarm. With Tom Lasovic standing beside him, MacKenzie flipped the IMC switch on the intercom to address the entire ship.

“This is the captain speaking. As you all know by now, we’ve completed attaching the towline between Phoenix and Red Dawn, which is now free of the ice. We are preparing to escort both ships out of this area and back home. However, the Soviet submarine Akula is in the vicinity and knows of our intentions. I expect the Akula to attack. This is no drill. I repeat: I expect the Akula to attack us. But with God’s help and a few tricks of our own thrown in, we are going to take the day. Be prepared for several high-speed maneuvers and a lot of shaking up. You have approximately ten minutes to secure everything possible. One personal aside. No captain could ask for a finer ship or a better crew. Behave as warriors. Captain out.”

MacKenzie stepped off the periscope platform and handed Lasovic a written order. “Tom, transmit this to the Polar Eight along with the ice keel’s coordinates.”

Lasovic read it and looked up, bewildered. “Mac, are you sure? This is going to reduce the survivors’ chances by half.”

“If there were any other way, Tom, I’d do it. But there isn’t. Send it.”

“Aye, Skipper.”

MacKenzie hit the intercom. “Maneuvering, Conn.

“Cardiff here, Skipper.”

“Jake, I’m going to need everything you can muster down there to keep on top of Akula. She’s faster than we are.”

“In a pig’s eye, Captain MacKenzie!”

Mac grinned. “Well, just keep that power plant on the line and watch the big power and pressure transient. We may come to all stop on a moment’s notice. Prepare to answer all bells. I’ll want all ahead flank in”—he checked his watch— “six minutes.”

“Maneuvering, aye. Whatever you need we’ll deliver, Captain.”

“Communications, this is the captain. Inform Phoenix we will be moving out in six minutes. I want constant secure communications with Captain Arlin. Use the ultralow-frequency pulse. At no time are you to turn the ULF carrier off. Keep that line open. Understood?”

“Aye, Skipper. Open line at all times. Informing Phoenix now.”

“Sonar, Conn. Prepare to go active. Max power. Three six zero degrees.”

“Conn, Sonar. All set, Skipper. We’ll give them a major headache.”

MacKenzie felt the familiar sensation of the ship energizing around him, his body replaced by infinitely subtle machines run by men to the terms of his own will. At moments like this the corporate entity that was Seawolf became one and truly inseparable from him. He wondered idly if one day sub captains would be linked directly to their boats by some contrivance that let them control the ships’ movements by thought alone. Now, that would be something to command.

One by one departments reported their readiness. It was no small thing to take men into battle. Torpedoes were loaded, engines primed, machines fine-tuned to the maximum. This was what all the training was about, why you spent time learning tasks over and over again till you could do them in your sleep — or in the violent commotion of combat.

“I’ve got to hand it to you. This is going to be one for the books,” said Lasovic.

“Let’s just hope it’s one Akula doesn’t expect,” replied MacKenzie. “Do what you don’t usually do, Tom. That’s what being up here taught me. That’s how we’re going to beat him. For thirty minutes.”

Kalik took his ship deep and silent. Drifting slowly, he was waiting for Phoenix to move out. With their noise to obscure his movements he would move in, get a fix on Seawolf, and attack in the middle zone.

“Sonar, Control Room. Report your contacts.”

“Comrade Captain, Phoenix and Red Dawn are still in the same positions relative to each other. Minimum rotations. Seawolf is cruising one half mile behind, course two seven zero, speed five knots.”

“They’re heading west.” Kalik began to see how he would attack. He’d bring Akula far enough along course two seven zero to wait for Seawolf to pass, then turn in behind and shoot. “Comrade Navigator, assume Seawolf will proceed along course track two seven zero. In five minutes I want to be in a position about half a mile ahead of where she is now so that she will cross our bow and we can pull in behind her. Plot us a course and speed. Understood?”

“Yes, Comrade Captain.”

It was textbook-perfect. He’d drift Akula down their route and let Seawolf and Phoenix, towing Red Dawn, run right past him. Subs tracked least well when their adversaries were behind them because their sonar was deafened by their own propeller noise. With both American ships ahead of him he’d have ample time to acquire the contacts and compute an attack. A classic maneuver. They’d never hear Akula through all the prop noise until his torpedoes were sliding right up their behinds. And what he liked best was that it was a page from the American captain’s own book: wait silently for the enemy and let him sail right into the trap. Across the control room Volkov heard the orders and nodded slowly. He saw what Kalik was planning and approved. They were a team again, conflicts forgotten, intent on only one thing — defeating the enemy.

Soon. Very soon. Kalik felt it in his bones. He settled in to wait.

Captain Maré read the communication from Seawolf and shook his head. “Renaud, you think you’ve seen everything in this business, but this one has to be unique.” He passed it over to the ice specialist.

“Hmm. They have the Soviet sub in tow. Well, that’s good. To be honest, I always thought this was a fool’s business.” Then Renaud read the rest. “Mon Dieu, est-ce qu’il fou?”

“I wondered when you were going to get to that part,” said Maré “Is he crazy ordering us to break through a twenty-foot pressure ridge?” The captain’s mouth twisted sardonically. “Of course he’s crazy.”

“Do we comply?” Renaud asked.

Maré sighed. “We have been told to offer every assistance to the Americans.” He passed the slip of paper to the navigator. “Can we make these coordinates, Claude?”

The navigator bent over his chart table and worked for a few moments. “We can make the ridge. It’s about five hundred yards ahead of us. The problem is the Ural. If she’s still on course she’s between us and the keel.”

Mare raised an eyebrow. “Renaud?”

“Don’t tell me,” Renaud muttered, looking darkly out the frost-encrusted bridge windows. He didn’t want to go out into that storm again. Wind-blasted ice crystals rattled against the glass. Icicles hung two feet down on the glass. He reached for his parka with a bitter snort. “Get the coffee ready.”

He opened the bridge door and stepped out on deck. Clothing wasn’t made that could keep out cold like this. He went to the railing and peered over toward the Ural. It was still there, he could hear it. But how close? And was it ahead of them or behind them? The big overhead lamps illuminated funnel-shaped bursts of snow, but the light couldn’t reach across to the other icebreaker. Ice was caking up on Renaud’s face. His lungs were on fire.

The noise roared on without interruption, but he still couldn’t see the other ship through the storm. He searched for a light, anything to see where the other ship was. His eyes hurt. He wanted to go back in. But they couldn’t risk crossing Ural’s bow unless they were sure of its position.

His patience paid off. The storm let up for a moment as if catching its breath. For a few seconds snow drifted serenely down devoid of the wind to propel it. Renaud could make out the lines of Ural’s superstructure. She was still perilously close. His instincts as an ice specialist told him they were probably following the same river of thin ice. He decided Ural was sufficiently behind Polar 8. As long as their relative speeds remained constant they could cross Ural’s bow without incident. All, he thought bitterly as he made for the warmth of the bridge, to comply with the crazy request of a crazier American captain.

He shot a last look toward the Ural, hidden once again as the storm renewed its fury, and ducked inside. Break through a twenty-foot pressure ridge? What the hell was the American thinking, anyway?

Stephan radioed Captain Ivanov to increase his speed back to four knots. He had located another river of thin ice. They could pick up some of the distance they’d lost while he was in the trance.

He slid the guy line off his waist and let it drop in the snow. Moving off onto the ice alone Stephan keenly felt the absence of the umbilicus. He was cut off again. He sought the Inuit harmony with the ice cap. The ice could be conquered if one understood it. The snow swirled around him. He let it blow, trying to become one with the storm. Don’t fight it. No one beat such violence. Blend. Merge. Therein lay the strength to go on. Flow through…

He bent low, seeking the small space of calmer air at ground level and followed the sastrugi again. He could hear the sounds of the wolf pack every time the wind faded. There were at least three wolves, maybe four. They would be circling their prey now, waiting to strike, stalking closer and closer till they pounced in a well-coordinated attack.

He stopped for a moment. The noise from the breakers was louder. He tried to see the ships, but the snow obscured them. He squatted and put his hands on the ice to feel the vibrations. They were stronger. His brow furrowed under his hood. Could the ships be moving closer? They were both sailing virtually blind. It was possible they might be on a collision course and wouldn’t see each other till it was too late. He radioed Ivanov and was told they would keep the sharpest lookout possible. Stephan wavered, almost turning back. He had to make up his mind quickly. Duty to his ship warred with responsibility for the poor lost souls out there in the storm.

All his life as a Soviet citizen he had been taught that the collective was everything, the individual meaningless. His teachers would surely have told him that his duty was to his ship. Let these others die. He waited in the storm for guidance. He was Inuit enough to leave it up to the ice cap. It was so cold he felt as if he were standing in a vacuum, in space. His ski poles barely scratched the glass-hard surface of the ice under its snowy cover.

He could hear the wolves more frequently now. He wondered when the storm would lose its power. Weather up here was a sudden thing. Storms could sweep in in a matter of minutes, blast the ice cap for hours or days, and then sweep off again just as quickly, blown by winds that had no surface features to arrest them.

He waited. The noise of the icebreakers surrounded him. A snowflake entered his mouth drawn in on a ragged breath. It dissolved on his tongue with wet sweetness. Such a small thing, an individual snowflake, each one similar yet uniquely different from all others.

Like lives.

He began to understand that the ice cap had made its decision.

Seawolf’s conn was hushed, the crew ready. Sonar was at its highest state of alert. The technicians in the attack center were inputting data steadily into the computers. Helmsman and planesman were poised and ready to respond. The chief studied his board and nodded with satisfaction. Everything read straight and green.

MacKenzie checked his watch again. Three minutes. Time for one last duty. “Mr. Randall, come with me. Mr. Santiago, take his post. Tom, take the conn.”

MacKenzie walked into the forward passageway and Randall followed. The rest of the crew was intent on its tasks. For a brief moment they were alone. “Sir, is something wrong?”

“Just the opposite,” MacKenzie said. “Mr. Randall, you’re a fine officer. I just want to take advantage of an opportunity for your continued education. So listen closely because I believe you are going to captain your own ship someday, and when that time comes you will need this to draw upon. No one can tell you all of it, but if you’re going to command, this much you should know.” He spoke intently, leaning close so that his words fell to Randall alone.

“In three minutes we are going into battle. It’s going to get hot and heavy pretty quickly. First lesson. Remember, there’s no way to be one hundred percent sure of things. You can’t be completely certain what your adversary is planning or how he’ll react. It’s all a bet, an educated guess based on things you’ve observed — the other captain’s psychology, his habits, the strengths of your ship. Understand? No matter how certain you think I am or how I look, I’m just betting on the odds as I see them. Follow?”

“I think so, sir.”

“All right. My first bet is that Akula’s captain is counting on us to continue behaving like an American sub and that he’s going to ignore his training and act like one, too.”

“Sir?”

“Logic and psychology. Up till now we’ve both stayed as quiet as circumstances permitted, to mask our positions. Tactical advantage came from our knowing where Akula was and his not knowing where we were, and vice versa. Out on maneuvers, Russian captains often like to let you know they know you’re there. Our side is content with knowing we know they’re there. See the difference? He expects us to be silent. But with Red Dawn in tow Phoenix is too exposed. We’re in a situation where we can’t go silent to any great degree. So if I do things as my training suggests and try to sneak out of here we’re going to be at a marked disadvantage from the start.

“Second, Akula’s captain has gotten burned twice now with flashy tactics. They lost him Red Dawn and Avalon and almost cost him his ship. He’s got to be feeling conservative. I’m betting he’s out there right now, keeping quiet as hell and drifting slowly into position to intercept our course and deliver a broadside of torpedoes as soon as we try to move out of here as quietly as he expects.”

“But what else can we do?” Randall asked. “We’re boxed in. We can’t leave Phoenix and Red Dawn, and we can’t make them any quieter or more mobile.”

“You ever study judo?”

“Sir?”

“There’s a lesson I learned from watching my wife throw much bigger guys around the gym. As soon as a man grabs her, she takes him where he wants to go faster than he wants to go there. That’s how we’re going to beat Akula.”

Randall’s face mirrored his confusion. “I don’t follow, sir.”

“For almost an hour now I’ve been showing him our route out of here, giving him every indication we’re going to run straight for the marginal ice zone on course two seven zero. He wants us bad, I’m sure of that. How would you feel watching the Soviet navy grab one of our ships right out from under your nose? So I think he’ll take the bait and wait for us to run, then close on our tails as we pass. He’ll think he’s going to get a clean shot. And he might, too. We’ll be blind back there for a while, so there’s a risk, but if we can’t go silent we’ve got to keep him engaged. Right away. He’s got to have his hands filled with us for the full thirty minutes Phoenix needs to reach the ice keel.”

“How does that stop Phoenix’s noise? He can still locate her.”

A slow, feral smile crossed MacKenzie’s features, the look of a warrior. “We’ll give him more than he bargained for there, too, eh? We’re going to fill the ocean with so much noise that even Phoenix’s sound will be covered. It’s going to be a little hairy, but that’s where my second bet comes in. I’m betting on Seawolf herself. Our conformal acoustic sonars are the best in the world, and the new fiber optic sensors give us additional range. When the time comes, I’m betting we’ll be able to hear him before he can hear us. So… time’s short. We’d better get back. And if you’re wondering, yes, someone once gave me this kind of talk. It helped a lot later on. I hope it helps you someday. Questions?”

“Only one. Who was it, sir? I mean, who was your captain?”

“A tough old bird named Ben Garver.”

“Admiral Garver? The CNO?”

“The same.”

Randall gazed at him respectfully. MacKenzie hoped he saw past the veneer to the real truth, that captains were just normal men who learned to come to terms with a long list of uncertainties so they could do their jobs. Someday Randall would have to do the same.

“Thanks for the talk, Skipper. I just don’t think I’ll ever be as good as you.”

MacKenzie smiled. “That’s just what I used to think about Ben Garver.”

Randall thought that over. “I’ll try to remember that.”

MacKenzie looked at his watch. “Okay, time to see if my bets pay off. Ready?”

“My money’s on you, sir.”

MacKenzie clapped him on the back. “All right, back to your station.”

Watching Randall return to his position MacKenzie decided he’d given the young man enough food for thought. He came back to the problems at hand. It was time for action. “The captain has the conn. Sonar, how deep are Phoenix and Red Dawn?”

“Eight hundred feet, Captain.”

“Mr. Santiago, I want to be informed of their time and distance to the ice keel. Every three minutes, every thousand yards.”

“Three minutes and thousand yards, aye.”

“Communications, inform Phoenix she is to proceed. Come up to ten knots, course two seven zero. Helm, steer two seven zero as well. We’ll stay in the middle zone. Mr. Randall, make your depth five zero zero feet.”

“Five zero zero, aye.”

The conn responded smartly to MacKenzie’s orders. There was one thing he hadn’t told Randall — the number of times you crossed your fingers and prayed for a little dumb luck to protect your ship and see you through. They could use some for the next half hour.

“Phoenix is under way, Captain. Speed coming to ten knots. Red Dawn is fully in tow and moving with her.”

“Very well. All ahead one-third. Keep us close.” MacKenzie knew they were still a long way from home.

Ligichev awoke sprawled on the deck. His shoulder was on fire, and he wondered why he wasn’t dead. Where was Galinin? He had to find the captain before he scuttled the ship.

He tried to lever himself off the deck but he lost his balance and fell. It was a minute before he could muster enough strength to try again. There was blood on the deck. A lot of it. His shirt was sodden, but he hadn’t bled enough to create that pool. Was it Galinin’s?

He tried to remember if Galinin had been wounded, too. All he could summon was the image of Galinin’s face rising before him just before he lost consciousness. The captain was bleeding. He used the bulkhead to push himself up and staggered out.

The rest of the crewmen were in the mess eating and playing cards. They had no duties. They were just waiting for whatever came next. Ligichev remembered speaking to some of them days before, and he remembered the big man’s name, the one with a snake and dagger tattoo on his thick forearm. “You! You’re Seaman Boslik, correct?” He spotted another he remembered. “And you, Michman Rostov.”

The michman looked up from his hand. “I’m Rostov.”

“And you’re bleeding,” said Boslik, spotting the blood on Ligichev’s shirt. “What happened?”

“The captain shot me. He is trying to scuttle the ship to prevent the Americans from taking the drive when they board us. We must stop him. Help me.”

Boslik hesitated and looked to his mates. They made no move to go. “Comrade Chief Scientist, why would the captain do such a thing? We have just been rescued.”

“The rescue signed our death warrant,” Ligichev insisted. “Captain Galinin is under orders not to let the Americans get my invention. I tell you he is planning to scuttle us to prevent it.”

The men grumbled uncomfortably. Ligichev heard the word “mutiny.” He looked at their faces. They were conscripts, most just marking time till they could get out of the service. Ligichev wondered how he could expect men who were really no more than uneducated laborers to go against their captain, the symbol of Soviet authority. But he had to try.

“What’s wrong with you all? Are you such sheep you’ll let him kill you without a fight? Think for yourselves for once. You once said I could depend on you. Now I’m asking. Get up. Find Galinin and restrain him. At least put him under guard so he can’t move against the ship. Your lives depend on it.”

Rostov was unconvinced. “And what if the captain says you’re the one who needs locking up?”

“Then lock us both up,” Ligichev said, exasperated, “and decide for yourselves who’s doing the right thing, but for God’s sake, hurry. We haven’t the time to debate it.”

Boslik eyed him closely. He turned to the others. “It isn’t much to talk to the crew, but it’s a damn sight more than any of those other official bastards ever did. If what he says is true—”

Rostov was almost as big as Boslik when he stood up. “And if it isn’t? Things may be changing, but perestroika hasn’t come to Siberia. I have no desire to bring it there.”

Boslik stepped close to the other man. “You think we have it so much better?” He turned back to Ligichev. “Comrade Chief Scientist, are you ordering us to help you?”

Ligichev saw the out and grabbed it. “Of course. As a Party member and the chief scientist on this mission I am ordering you to restrain the captain. The responsibility is mine alone. Your protests are registered.”

Boslik turned to the others. “I’m not dying in this crummy place.”

Hesitantly Rostov nodded. The others rose to follow.

Ligichev clapped them gratefully on the arms. “Be careful. He’s armed.”

Ivanna was working in the engine room. A good part of the drive’s guts lay on the deck, and multicolored wire harnesses spilled from the main unit as if a giant scavenger bird had yanked them out with a sharp beak. She had been forced to close the drive scoop manually, which had been enough of a bitch, but it was taking longest to remove the irinium plates. Each one was a small oblong about the size of a pack of cigarettes, and they were all wired into the electrical system. There were sixty plates in all. All but a few lay stacked on the deck now beside the collection of assorted bins and buckets she’d needed to bail the seawater out of the channel lest it touch the irinium and cause another heat flash. Cursing the awkward quarters one more time she reached in with an adjustable wrench to free the remaining bars and slipped them one by one into the pockets of her coveralls. It was annoying work, but it made sure no one would get home and report she hadn’t done her best to keep everything out of American hands.

She was wondering how to dispose of them when Galinin entered. He was holding a cloth to the side of his head. He looked feverishly aroused.

“Comrade Captain, my father was coming to see you. Did he find you?”

“He found me.” His gaze shifted to the stack of irinium bars and he shook his head in wonder. “It’s remarkable, don’t you think, that a pile of gold the same size would be worthless by comparison.”

“I suppose it all depends on time and place.” Ivanna wiped insulation off her hands. This man was trouble. She could feel tension coming off him in waves. Where was her father? “A few hundred years ago a pile of salt was worth more than anything,” she said.

“Time and place,” repeated Galinin. “Yes, that’s the key.” He leaned over the drive unit and poked around inside it. “You’re a strong girl to be able to close the intake scoop manually. It’s this pressure wheel here, isn’t it?”

“Don’t fool with that. What are you doing?”

Galinin interposed his bulk between Ivanna and the drive. “Go find your father. He needs you. I’ll finish here.” He pushed her aside roughly. The cloth came away from his head, revealing a bloody gash.

“You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Galinin outweighed Ivanna by at least a hundred pounds, but she knocked his hands away. “You’re up to something. Father was right about you. Where is he?”

“Right now he is lying in a pool of his own blood. He tried to kill me. With this.” The .25 automatic appeared in Galinin’s hand, small in his meaty fist. “You should have gone when I told you to. Now stay where you are and don’t move.”

Ivanna looked from the gun to Galinin’s eyes. They were too bright and shiny, like a light just before it burned out. She said quietly, “If you hurt my father I’ll kill you.”

Galinin smiled admiringly. “You are a haughty bitch, but you’ve got more guts than most men I know. I admire that. But I have no choice.” He pointed to the irinium. “Even if you take all of those bars and dump them into the sea it wouldn’t be enough. How many traces are left? One tiny microscopic smear would let the Americans duplicate the formula. And what about the drive itself? How can you dispose of that? My orders are clear. I must prevent these things from falling into American hands. And there’s no way other than this.” He stepped over the buckets and reached for the scoop valve.

“Get away from there!”

“I’m sorry. The end will not be pleasant. But”— something in his eyes changed, softening—“I have come to respect you, Comrade Ligichova, so I will give you this much. If you prefer I will kill you quickly.”

He leveled the gun at her. Ivanna understood that in his own warped way Galinin was offering her something he felt was valuable — a quick death instead of the horror of drowning when he flooded the ship. She squared herself.

“I hate the water. I have no wish to drown. I will accept your offer, Comrade Captain. Gratefully.”

The gleam of admiration grew on Galinin’s face. “As you wish.” He stood back from the drive and pointed the gun at her heart.

“Control Room, Sonar. They are under way, Comrade Captain. Phoenix’s towing speed is ten knots.”

“Course?”

“Still on two seven zero. Depth eight hundred feet.”

“What is Seawolf doing?”

“Trailing at the same speed four hundred meters behind them. They are remaining very quiet, Comrade Captain. We are picking up only the faintest readings.”

Kalik gripped the stanchion tightly, controlling his excitement. Seawolf was moving right into his trap. In a few moments the Americans would sail past him without even suspecting he had moved onto their flank. Then he would pull in behind them to fire.

“Continue to track them, Sonar.”

The navigator looked up from his instrument console. “Phoenix and Red Dawn are passing us. Comrade Captain, you may begin your turn to starboard… now.”

“Helm, bring us to course two seven zero. Use minimum rudder for a slow turn. Speed ten knots,” Kalik ordered. “Torpedo Room, stand ready to fire.” At this speed the reactor relied on natural flow to dissipate its heat, eliminating the need for cooling pumps and their associated noise. The rest of their sound was masked by the commotion of Red Dawn’s progress and Seawolf’s prop noise.

Akula slowly moved into position behind the three submarines, as silently and deadly as the predator shark it was named for.

MacKenzie stood on the deck in the conn and waited. It was going to be close, but he had to give his adversary enough enticement to commit himself. If he held Seawolf any farther back he might alert the Soviet captain to what he was planning. Wait, he thought, sending the thought out like a mental command to his adversary. Wait and savor the moment. This is what you’ve been hoping for. We’re sitting ducks. Don’t shoot yet. Wait just a little while longer. Then I’ll be ready.

“Nine thousand yards to the ice keel. Twenty-seven minutes to go,” Santiago called out.

Every second counted. Every second was five and a half yards closer to the keel, every minute three hundred and thirty. He had to cut it just right. Too little time and he risked alerting Akula to what he planned. Too much and Akula’s torpedoes might catch them before he had a chance to put his plan into effect.

He stepped into the sonar room. Bear Bendel had his headphones on. His hands were making minute adjustments at the controls. The dreamy look on his face told MacKenzie his senses were extended as far out as Seawolf s sonars would allow. Jim Kurstan stood alongside him watching the visual display intently.

“Skipper.”

“Jim, I need a contact. I have to be sure.”

“Bear thought he had one just a few seconds ago, but we lost her. She’s incredibly quiet, and the towing is kicking up a racket.”

“What do the fiber optics read?”

Seawolf s sensors were a long way from simple sound-gathering microphones. Under an outer coating of anechoic tiles to dampen and absorb enemy sonars, Seawolf s entire hull was studded with sheets of a special piezoelectric plastic, which generated electrical impulses in response to acoustic pressure, impulses that went directly to sonar’s computers to be read and deciphered. Even more sensitive were Seawolf s new fiber-optic sensors. The sensing fibers carried beams of laser light, and when sound waves hit them they induced tiny shifts in the phase of the light that was detected by an interferometer and translated by sonar’s computers.

“The F.O.‘s are where we’ve had the most luck. Bear says he can hear a light bulb go on with them. We’ll get him, Skipper.”

“We’re running out of time.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll keep at it.”

MacKenzie returned to the conn. Santiago called out, “Eight thousand yards to keel. Twenty-four minutes remaining.”

Where was Akula? Had he guessed wrong? Maybe he had been too obvious in presenting his unprotected stern to his adversary. Maybe Akula had gone into the shallow zone and was hiding behind a keel. Above two hundred feet, temperature gradients reflected submarine noise upward, preventing it from traveling any great distance. Could he be hiding up there right now? Alternate plans began to form in his mind. Within seconds he was going to have to make up his mind about whether to stay on this course or break away. It had to be now.

“Emergency stop. Maneuvering, all stop. Ultraquiet.”

Abruptly Seawolf’s prop ceased its spin and grew silent. It was an old Russian tactic, stopping suddenly to see if anyone was on your tail hidden by your own prop noise. In the sudden quiet, sonar had access to a full 360 degrees without any prop noise to block their tail.

“Conn, Sonar. Contact bearing zero nine zero. Contact identified as Akula. She’s five hundred yards astern, Skipper. Speed ten knots. Right smack dab in the middle zone. Depth five hundred feet. Slowing rapidly.”

MacKenzie felt relief sweep through him. He had been right after all. He caught Randall’s admiring look. He would never know how close his captain had come to second-guessing himself and breaking off. “Well done, Sonar. Go active. Max power. Continuous ping.”

“Sonar, aye,” In the sonar room Jim Kurstan flicked the sonar onto active and turned the gain up to maximum. Sound beams at the height of their decibel range shot out from Seawolf. Bear Bendel pulled off his headphones before his eardrums burst. He pitied Akula’s sonarman. The ice cap magnified the screeching sounds like an echo chamber, making them amplify and reverberate. At max power Seawolf’s active sonar would render the enemy sonar almost useless.

“Communications, inform Phoenix we are commencing our run. Advise her to switch to course two one zero and good luck.”

“Communications, aye.”

If Akula was slowing she was getting ready to fire. “Helm, on my order we will execute a one-hundred-eighty-degree high-speed turn to starboard. Mr. Randall, maximum cavitation, I want a big knuckle for Akula’s sonar. Steer to course zero nine zero.”

“Sir, but that’s a collision course with—”

“Steer zero nine zero, Mr. Randall,” MacKenzie repeated sharply. “Maneuvering, prepare to answer all bells. Flank speed in five seconds.”

“Maneuvering, aye. We’re ready for you, Captain.”

“Torpedo Room. Status of all tubes.”

“Tubes one through four loaded with MK-forty-eight torpedoes.”

“Flood all tubes amidship and open outer doors.”

“Flood all tubes and open doors, aye.”

The intercom overhead crackled again. “Conn, Sonar. Contact’s still slowing. Speed four knots. Some hull popping. Tubes flooding. She’s getting ready to fire all right, Skipper.”

“Fire Control, keep tracking Akula and be sure you have a constant firing solution. Bear in mind we will be turning to starboard and coming around straight at him. I intend to shoot the first units from tubes one and three.”

“Fire Control, aye. Tubes one and three. Plotting solution.”

“Phoenix is seven thousand yards from the keel. Twenty-one minutes remaining,” Santiago called out.

MacKenzie felt his heart racing from the adrenaline. He’d given Phoenix nine minutes and a 3000-yard head start. They were heading right for the big keel. It was up to him to keep Akula off her track for the next twenty-one minutes.

“Maneuvering, this is it. All ahead flank. Helm, commence high-speed turn to starboard, hard right rudder to new course zero nine zero. Swing her as fast as she’ll turn.”

The helmsman jammed the steering yoke right to its stop. “Hard right rudder, aye. Answers ahead all flank.”

“Fire control, firing point procedures.”

“Fire control, aye.”

Seawolf burst forward at top speed, turning as fast as her mighty engines could push her. Pivoting around through a full 180 degrees, she turned back on her pursuer. All over Seawolf men grabbed handholds to fight the pull of the tight turn. MacKenzie needed both hands on the railing to hold himself steady as Seawolf came around.

“Passing zero eight zero,” Randall announced. “Steady on new course zero nine zero.”

“Contact dead ahead. Range four hundred yards and closing.”

“Very well. Sonar, maintain max power. Continuous ping.”

“Sonar, aye.”

“Maintain present depth, Mr. Randall,” MacKenzie ordered. Akula was at four hundred feet. Where would she go with Seawolf coming right at her? Probably dive deep to avoid collision and give herself room to escape their torpedoes.

“Torpedo Room, enable torpedoes for the deep zone. Unit one for seven hundred feet. Unit three for one thousand.”

“Conn, Sonar. We’re hitting them, Skipper. Full contact at max power.”

“Keep it up, Sonar.”

MacKenzie pictured Akula’s control room. Things ought to be pretty hairy in there right about now.

Kalik and all of the others in the control room had covered their ears in pain when Seawolf’s sonar first began raking them. He was furious. One minute he had a perfect shot straight into a slow and unsuspecting Seawolf‘s tail, and the next the sea was exploding with noise and he had lost his contact. How could the American have known Akula was behind him? “Sonar, what is their new course?” he demanded.

“Comrade Captain, we are still having trouble hearing with this noise. It is a nightmare. The sonar operator is bleeding from the ears.”

“Get another operator, damn it. What were they doing?”

“They were coming around hard at top speed.”

Coming around? They were coming right back at him! Seawolf’s captain was using a tactic Kalik himself had used many times on Americans, suddenly doubling back on your own course to see if anyone was following you. The enemy had to get out of your way or risk collision. It was a double bind, for as soon as they moved, if your sonar was quick, you could hear them. Seawolf must have acquired the contact and was now roaring back on him while Kalik was blinded by the noise from his sonars and the high-speed maneuvering — and all the while Phoenix was slipping farther out of the area with Red Dawn in tow. But he had to deal with Seawolf first.

“Comrade Captain, we may have a very faint contact bearing two nine five. It is uncertain, but—”

Kalik jumped at it. “Weapons Center, prepare to fire on Sonar’s contact. Helm, as soon as the torpedo is released, steer hard left rudder. We’ll shoot, then move at maximum speed up into the shallow zone. Let this clever captain come at us. We’ll fire on his track and escape right over him.”

“Comrade Captain, Weapons Center reporting a lock on target.”

“Set torpedoes for five hundred feet,” Kalik said confidently. “Flood tubes one and three and open outer doors.”

“Ready to fire, Comrade Captain.”

“Fire tubes one and three.”

“Torpedoes away.”

“Full rise on both planes. Take us up into the shallow zone.”

Betting his adversary would avoid the collision by diving deep, Mac set his torpedoes to enable — to become active— four and six hundred feet below Akula’s last position. “Fire Control. Firing point procedures.”

“Ship ready. Weapon ready. Tubes ready. Solution ready.”

“Match sonar bearings and shoot.”

“Set. Stand by. Fire tube one!”

“Set. Stand by. Fire tube three!”

MacKenzie waited. Sonar tracked the shoot. If Akula went deep they had her.

“Conn, Sonar. Our torpedoes running hot and straight. Wait… Captain, two additional high-cycle motors! Torpedoes from Akula on course two nine five. They’re headed for the knuckle. No danger.”

MacKenzie nodded. Akula had fired on the only contact he had given them, a batch of bubbles. Now it was time to see if his own shots ran true.

“Akula sweeping active. God, somebody must have steel ears. Both fish converging on your knuckle… trailing off… lost contact.”

MacKenzie wasted no time in self-congratulations. A burst of bubbles from his propeller to fool enemy sonar wasn’t going to confuse this captain for very long. He had to engage him again, had to keep him too busy to go after Phoenix.

“What about our fish, Sonar?”

“No explosions… trailing off… Lost them both, Captain. No contact.”

“Where did Akula go?”

“We can’t be certain, sir. Bear thinks they might have gone up into the shallow zone. We got some bow noise. They could be turning.”

Santiago looked up from his charts. “Phoenix is more than halfway to the ice keel, Skipper. Three thousand yards left. Nine minutes remaining.”

Justine would never think of hell as hot again. It was cold, like this, and ghostly white from top to bottom without respite. She looked behind her. Only Greene, Jackson, Burke, and one other SEAL named Pollard were left. They shambled after her like mummies wrapped in tattered cloth. She could barely see their faces through the ice crust, but mottled blotches of dead skin told the story. The end was near.

It was beginning not to matter. She had no more strength. I’m sorry, Mac, she said to herself. There was only so much you could do. She thought of all the others who were gone now, especially Captain Hansen, brave men just frozen shapes on the ice cap now. Ashes to ashes… to ice.

And now the wolves. She had been hearing them for a while now and had occasionally seen them circling, moving steadily closer, their howls merging with the crying of the wind. There was nothing she could do but keep moving and hope the wolves found other prey. But every time a howl penetrated the storm, Justine felt a hot liquid fear in her that no reasoning could quell.

She was so deeply engrossed in pushing herself onward that the noise of the icebreakers penetrated her consciousness slowly and it took a while for her to realize that the crashing noise she was hearing came from the other side of the big pressure ridge right in their path. So close. She would have shouted with triumph if she’d had the strength. But she couldn’t. Fate was too cruel. They had made it through the storm only to face what her tired mind thought were statues, until pink tongues suddenly slavered slickly over dark gums, and fear clutched her anew.

The wolves had come. They were staring steadily from an ice shelf jutting out of the pressure ridge. She stood as still as she could, swaying on her feet from exhaustion. The fierce red eyes fixed hungrily on her. People were wrong, she decided. There is no limit to fear.

Greene, Jackson, Burke, and Pollard came up behind her, puzzled she had stopped. “What?” they mumbled. For too long now her moving feet had been their only guide.

“Ships… on the other side.” Her voice was a harsh wheeze. She tried to make her frozen lips work. “Wolves… there.”

Jackson sank to his haunches, shaking his head weakly. Greene said nothing. It was too much. The wolves eyed them without moving. Wind rustled their thick white fur. Clumps of snow stuck to them. They had time and they knew it. Why hurry for dead men?

“Stay together,” Justine whispered, her throat a dry fiery thing. “They’ll go for stragglers. We need something to fight with, anything… weapons.”

The first wolf got up and moved sleekly to one side, shaking its furry head. Suddenly its lips twisted back in a snarl. It sank lower, growling in a low, menacing tone.

She felt a snap as Greene broke something off her back. “Here,” he said, handing her an icicle at least a foot long. It had a dagger-sharp point. He shrugged. “There’s nothing else.”

He broke another off Jackson’s back. Pollard and Burke swayed alongside her, not knowing what to do next. The sound of the breakers was a low and steady crashing.

“You hear that?” Justine said bitterly. “They’re just over this ridge. So close. We would have made it.”

The second wolf slid to one side watchfully. Its mouth held hot yellow teeth.

“Maybe… make a run for it,” said Jackson.

Greene shook his head. “They’ll be all over us. Last stand. Here.”

“So close,” Jackson whispered weakly. “Jesus, behind us—”

Justine turned. Two more wolves were stalking them twenty yards away. They were caught in between. She hefted the icicle, feeling its weight in her hand. She tried to summon the battle rage one last time. One last time. Where was her strength? They had come so close, had almost beaten the ice cap. She cursed the wolves, hissing at their unblinking, measuring gazes. “You come to me!”

She felt Greene’s back press up against hers. “That’s the spirit, ma’am.” His eyes were dark shadows in deep wells. “But like the Indians say, it’s a good day to die, eh?”

Jackson, Burke, and Pollard backed up to them. Strength fading, they all stood together like some ancient phalanx, back to back, ice knives glistening in the diffused white light of the storm, waiting for the wolves to charge.

Pilot Mick Halperin had been fighting the storm for hours to stay over the area. He had never seen weather like this. “I’m going down,” he said, bringing his plane lower.

“We can’t take much more pounding,” pronounced his tired copilot, Bob Polansky.

“I know,” Mick agreed, taking a long pull of hot coffee. It was the only thing propping up his worn-out eyes. “Maybe this time we’ll see something. I didn’t stay up here this long to go back empty-handed.”

“Anybody else would’ve been back in the barn a long time ago.” Polansky squinted out the cockpit window as the plane dropped through the snow. He watched the wings. There was enough ice on them to start a skating rink. “We’re getting serious ice buildup, Mick.”

“Wind’s shifting. May be able to see better now.”

“Last call, Mick,” Polansky said. He shifted around for a better view as Mick brought the plane down even lower. It was true. With the shift in wind, visibility was better. “Look, there are the breakers!”

“I see ‘em. Okay, that’s where they’re supposed to be headed. Look for the people. They’ve gotta be real close by now.”

Polansky grabbed a pair of binoculars hanging overhead. Mick dived low over the ice cap. To Polansky’s anxious eyes he almost skimmed the surface. “Jesus, watch it, Mick.”

The C-130 swooped low over the ice. Polansky fought the g-force and fixed his binoculars on the ice cap. “Hey! I think I see something. Mick, you hear me? Somebody’s out there!”

“Skipper, two thousand yards. Six minutes remaining.”

“Very well. Helm, right full rudder. Steer course one eight zero. Swing her fast. Maintain your depth, Mr. Randall.”

Sonar was still pumping out a racket, and Seawolf’s high-speed maneuvers dumped even more sound into the sea. With the ice cap bouncing it all around, it was still too noisy out there for either ship to hear anything clearly. Six minutes left. His adversary was not without his own tricks. He had outmaneuvered Seawolf by going up into the shallow zone to escape the torpedoes. MacKenzie would remember that.

“Navigation, your best estimate of Akula’s last depth, course, and speed.”

“Somewhere around fifty meters, heading west at around twenty knots.”

MacKenzie frowned. Akula heading west was too likely to pick up Phoenix. “Sonar, report your contacts.”

“Sonar reports no contacts, Skipper.”

“Conn, Communications. C-One-thirty overhead reports spotting people on the ice.”

Concentrating on Akula, MacKenzie almost missed it. It registered a half second later and he pounced on it. “Communications, this is the captain. Repeat that.”

“C-One-thirty pilot reports seeing people out on the ice less than a mile from the breakers. That’s good news, sir.”

There was no way to know if it was Justine, but MacKenzie felt hope burn away his fatigue. If any of them had survived the ice cap, Justine would be among them. He uttered a silent prayer. God, let her make it to the breakers. He had to get through this first. But if Justine was safe…

“Helm, shift your rudder and steady on course two seven zero. All ahead flank. Make our depth three zero zero feet, Mr. Randall.”

“Conn, Sonar. Possible contact bearing one eight zero, speed ten knots, range three thousand yards. Very faint. In the middle zone, Skipper.”

MacKenzie saw he’d guessed wrong about the depth again. “Torpedo Room, enable torpedoes in tubes two and four for middle zone. Two five zero feet.”

“Resetting torpedoes for middle zone, aye.”

“Helm, continue left with hard left rudder to course one eight zero. Head right for him. Sonar, keep raking him max power.”

“Sonar, aye.”

Seawolf turned onto Akula’s track and accelerated to top speed. MacKenzie had no intention of stopping. The trick in playing chicken was never to give your adversary the slightest idea that you would get out of the way first, that you would ever stop. He had to believe in his deepest soul that you were just one damn minute crazier than he was.

“Conn, Sonar. He hears us, Skipper. He’s running. Hard left turn back up into the shallow zone. New course one three five. Contacts! Mines, Skipper. They’ve released mines.”

“Emergency deep. Shift your rudder. Countermeasures, release noisemakers.”

“Countermeasures, aye. Noisemakers away.”

Seawolf dived hard. Seconds passed grimly. “Popping all over the sea, Skipper,” Sonar reported. “Mines are armed, and are all mooring at three hundred meters. There goes one. And another.”

MacKenzie grinned happily. More sound, just what they needed to hide Phoenix. Just a little while longer. Phoenix was almost to the keel. On the other side, Phil Arlin would have its natural properties to protect him, and the marginal ice zone was just hours away. “All ahead two-thirds.”

“All contacts accounted for. We’re clear, sir.”

“Very well. Mr. Santiago, he’s moving hard on course one three five. Plot us an intercept course to engage him again.”

Santiago worked feverishly for a few seconds. “Steer to course zero seven zero.”

MacKenzie gave the order, “All ahead flank. Bring us back up to four zero zero feet. That should take us above the mines. Let’s stay on her. Phoenix isn’t out of danger yet.”

“Explosions, Comrade Captain. No merge.”

Kalik cursed under his breath. He couldn’t get away from the American, and nothing he did seemed to stop him. He moved to where Volkov was studying the undersea charts along with the navigator and looked them over closely. Where might Phoenix be heading?

“We’ve got to get ahead of him, Viktor. Too much more of this and Phoenix will escape with Red Dawn. We must think like he does.” He let his eyes wander over the tracings. Sound. Sound was the key. How else could his adversary plan to make sound work for him? “You know, Viktor, I think the American captain knows he cannot keep up this racket forever. He’s running at high speed with his own sonars at maximum power, making it hard for him to see.

He faces a high risk of running right into a mine or an ice keel or failing to hear us and taking a torpedo. So he plans this noise for a limited time. But until what? Now look at this. Here.”

“Big ice keels. Several hundred feet down. And this one, here, almost to a thousand. They would make a very good wall for sound. Is that what you’re thinking?”

Kalik nodded. “If I were in his shoes I might be kicking up all this fuss to put big keels like these in between Phoenix and us. Once they’re on the other side we would lose their sound completely.”

“We would have to be very lucky to hear them at this range,” agreed Volkov.

“So he’ll come at us again to keep up the noise,” Kalik said, drumming his fingers against the chart. “You can be sure of that. Any time now.”

His words seemed prophetic. Sonar’s anxious voice rang out, “Contact, Comrade Captain. Seawolf is coming fast on an intercept course. High-cycle motors. Torpedoes fired!”

Kalik came to a decision. “We’re faster than she is, and we can dive deeper. We’ll outrun them. Emergency deep. Take us down to our maximum depth. Level off at seven hundred meters. Helm, prepare to reverse course to two seven zero as soon as we lose our pursuers.” He grabbed the periscope housing as Akula dived hard and fast.

“Contact’s fading, Comrade Captain.”

Kalik nodded. “Viktor, I think we’ll find Phoenix and Red Dawn heading for those keels. Helm, bring your rudder to left full and steady on course two seven zero. All ahead full.”

A worried Renaud slid back onto the bridge and shook the snow off his parka. “Captain, they’re coming up fast. I think they must be back to making four knots.”

Polar 8 was still on course attempting to cross Ural’s projected track. Mare picked up the bridge phone. “I’ll be damned if Fm going to let her cut us off.” His practiced eye took in the distances. “Engine Room, this is the captain. I want every bit of steam we’ve got. Every last bit. Navigation, how close are we to that keel?”

“Less than three hundred yards, Captain.”

“How thick is the ice ahead of us, Mr. Renaud?”

Renaud was glued to the big bridge window with his binoculars. “Looks thick. At least ten feet.”

“Increase our speed to six knots,” Mare ordered. “The engines can take it.”

“We’re going to hit that keel awfully hard,” Renaud warned. “We might split the ice cap in this area.

“No ship half our size is going to run us off course.”

Renaud felt a powerful surge under his feet. Fresh black smoke poured out of Polar 8’s stacks. The engine room gang was pushing her hard in response to Mare’s orders. Even through the thick snow he could pick out the pressure ridge on the ice ahead. A hill of big tumbled blocks of ice rose almost fifteen feet high, the result of two big ice plates grinding together hard enough to protrude above the ice cap.

It was going to be close. Like Mare, Renaud felt his pride and his competitive spirit rising within him. He wasn’t about to turn back now either.

“We can make it, Captain,” Renaud said gamely. “If the ice holds, we’ll make it.”

Justine crouched low, ice knife ready. There was something deep and primordially terrifying about facing a hungry animal. She’d known two-hundred-pound guerrillas who wouldn’t balk at facing armed men of equal size but who would cower at the charge of a forty-pound dog. She forced herself to stay calm. She was fast and she’d been using a knife since she was twelve. Forget the fear. Focus.

The wolf crept toward her, a sleek shape in the falling snow. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. She felt clumsy in the heavy boots. Behind her she heard a rush of feet and felt emptiness where Pollard had been. She heard growling and screams… and willed herself not to hear. There was only her wolf. Her wolf stood between her and the pressure ridge and the safety of the icebreakers on the other side.

Her wolf sprang. She leaped to one side, slashing up with the point of the icicle, trying for its exposed underside. The point hit home, but the wolf sailed past. The wound wasn’t deep enough. She rolled across the ice and struggled to her feet to meet the next charge.

She wiped a sleeve across her eyes to clear them of snow. Half blinded, she failed to spot the flying mass of fur until it was too late. It landed on her chest and knocked her down. Sharp teeth closed on her arm. Only the thick clothing saved her, blunting the wolf’s bite. Every instinct screamed for her to push the slavering wild beast away as it clawed at her, but she realized that if she let it free it would just attack her again. Instead, she wrapped her arms around it and hugged it to her with all her strength, plunging the icicle deep into its side. The wolf clawed at her legs and bit wildly, but she held on to it and drove the icicle in again and again.

Blood stained the snow red, the only color on an all-white canvas, and the wolf went slack in her arms. Weakly, she let it drop to the red-splattered snow. Adrenaline pumped her up past the pain and fatigue. Twenty feet away, she saw that Greene and Jackson had killed a second wolf. Blood ebbed from lacerations on Greene’s face and neck, but his powerful arms were locked around the beast’s neck. Justine realized he had probably broken its neck.

Burke hadn’t been so skilled or so lucky. He was a lifeless bundle on the ice that the remaining pair of wolves tore at. His body jerked like a rag doll as their teeth rent his clothing to get at the warm flesh. Justine looked away, sickened.

Greene, Jackson, and Pollard stumbled into a run. Greene pulled at her. “He’s past all caring. Come on. Over the ridge.”

Justine ran. The pressure ridge was at least fifteen feet high. She tried to vault up to the shelf the wolves had been on, but it was too high. Greene went down on one knee. “Up on my leg. Quick.”

She put a foot onto his bent leg and climbed. It was almost enough. Her fingers reached over the lip of the shelf, but suddenly there wasn’t any support under her and she tumbled back into space with the frightening sounds of snarling wolves all around her.

Greene was down, and one of the wolves had sunk its teeth into his leg. He writhed in agony, beating at it in vain. Others had pounced on Pollard and Jackson. A wolf leaped at Justine, but she darted aside, pushing off the ice and righting herself. She found her balance, stepped in, and kicked the wolf on Greene as hard as she could. She heard the gratifying sound of broken ribs. The animal yelped and released Greene, but the move had given the remaining wolf time to charge. It landed on her back with all its weight, and she went down hard. The wolf tore at her with teeth and claws, a berserk fury she could not dislodge. She got her hands over her face and tried to roll away, but it was no use. It clung to her, biting deeply. She felt its teeth tear into her skin through the parka. She managed to get a hand in its fur and execute a throw. It spun across the ice, paws skidding, but she had done no real damage. It stalked back toward her, muzzle low, teeth bloody, snarling.

Justine knew she was going to die. She didn’t have the strength even to lift herself off the ice. The snow felt good on her hot forehead. She was glad it was snowing hard. It would cover her like a blanket. She felt the sticky wetness of her own blood soak her skin. The icicle was long gone. She put her hands up in a last futile gesture of defiance as the wolf charged…

The man flowed across her vision like a wraith. His movements had the flawless grace of a dancer, and he executed his strike as perfectly as anything she had ever seen. From out of nowhere the man seemed to flow under the wolf as it leaped, and he thrust the razor-sharp steel point of his ski pole straight up. It caught the wolf in its vulnerable belly in midair. The yelp of pain ended almost as it began, and only a lifeless mass of red and white fur landed on Justine. She pushed it off her, looking dazedly around in the snow for the man who had saved her life.

It took a second for her to realize that he was wearing the arctic gear of a Soviet naval officer, but that wasn’t what entranced her. The man had already sent the wolves on Pollard and Jackson fleeing and was moving toward Greene with a speed and grace on the ice she wouldn’t have believed possible. He seemed to drift over to where the battered and bloody SEAL was fighting to keep the wolfs teeth and claws from his face. They were wrestling furiously, and Greene was almost at his end.

The Russian slid in like a bullfighter and drove his ski pole down once, sharply. The wolf arched his back as if hit by a cattle prod and rolled off Greene. It bit at the air, snarling at the Russian. Not so much faster, but more smoothly than anyone she had seen on ice, the Russian flashed in and struck it sharply on the hindquarters with his ski pole a second time. The wolf yelped in pain and backed up, still growling but less sure this time. Justine finally understood what the Russian was up to. He didn’t want to kill it. He wanted it to give up! He hefted the ski pole again threateningly and the wolf scampered off. The Russian seemed satisfied.

Greene was torn and bleeding, in shock. He couldn’t get to his feet. Jackson wasn’t in much better shape, and Pollard’s face was a mask of frozen blood. The Russian hefted Greene over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He looked to Justine, searched for words, and seemed to find them. He pointed to the ridge. “Dees way. Da? Dees way.”

“Who are you?”

“Stephan… Speak only little English,” he added shyly.

She pointed to herself. “Justine. And thank you.”

But Stephan was pointing at the ridge again.

“You bet your life,” she said. The world was reeling around her. She had to wait for the waves of blackness to pass. She was light-headed from fatigue and loss of blood.

She and Jackson helped Stephan heft the semiconscious Greene and the depleted Pollard up onto the shelf on the pressure ridge. Then Stephan helped her and Jackson up. She lay there panting while Stephan climbed up the ice wall after them.

It was evident Greene could go no farther. Justine looked to Stephan. He took a deep breath and hefted Greene over his shoulders again. Pollard and Jackson got to their feet weakly. Justine was fading fast, but she got a hand over the top of the pressure ridge, found traction, and scampered over. The rest followed.

The sound hit her like a physical thing. She was so totally unprepared for the sight of the huge icebreaker towering high above her, steaming right toward the ridge, that she almost fell backwards. It flew the Canadian flag, and Polar 8 was stenciled on its prow. Stephan reached out to steady her. He peered into the snow surveying the situation, and she could tell he didn’t like what he saw. But how could he see anything in this blinding snow? She tried to follow his gaze. There was too much snow. Suddenly a big gust of wind shifted the heavy snowfall, and she was able to see the reason for his concern. A second, smaller icebreaker with Soviet markings was steaming up on the big Canadian ship that had apparently crossed the Russian’s bow.

Unable to see the Polar 8 through the snow, the Russian icebreaker was on a collision course.

Stephan was already sliding down the ridge as the snow closed in again. Polar 8’s sound this close was enough to make Justine physically sick as its sharp prow cut through the ice toward them. She could feel the intense vibrations through her boots. They had to get out of the way. She ran with Pollard and Jackson as fast as she could after Stephan, not knowing or caring where he was leading, desperate to get away from the ridge before the icebreaker crashed into it.

On it came, devouring the ice. She couldn’t believe the Russian ship didn’t see the Polar 8 ahead or, worse, that perhaps it did and wouldn’t stop. They would surely collide. There was no room. Justine knew no icebreaker in the world could break through a ridge like the one she had just crossed.

Ahead of her Stephan pulled a radio from his parka, extending the antenna as he ran. The Ural was still back far enough for him to prevent the crash if he notified it in time. They almost made it, but the ice betrayed them.

The Canadian icebreaker rammed the pressure ridge at full speed. Pummeled by the huge ship and the vibrations of both icebreakers, the ice shifted and buckled. A spiderweb of cracks spread out from the ridge. An open lead appeared just ahead of Stephan, and he didn’t see it till it was too late. Overbalanced by Greene’s weight on his shoulders he fell hard. The radio slid into the open chasm and was lost to sight. Stephan sprawled forward sliding toward the hole.

Stephan heroically thrust his charge from him. Greene slid out on the ice away from the lead. Justine dived for Stephan and managed to grab his parka. She dug her feet in and held on with all her strength, stopping his fatal slide toward the icy gray water just as his legs dangled over the edge of the ice sheet.

She might have been able to pull him out if the ice hadn’t continued to shift, but under the force of the breakers a new pressure ridge was building beside the old one, and a huge plate of ice shifted and climbed over the open lead trapping Stephan’s legs under it. She saw his face go white and heard the awful sound of bones breaking. For a moment she thought she had lost him altogether, but the plate rose momentarily, releasing the limp and broken body.

Justine dug in and pulled with everything she had. Pollard and Jackson were trapped on the other side of the open lead, too far away to help. Stephan had saved their lives and had almost given his own to save Greene a second time. She wasn’t about to let him slide into the icy waters. She managed to pull him a few feet out of the lead. She held on. Her fingers cramped and she had no more to give, but she held on. It wasn’t enough. She was losing him. He slipped toward the emptiness. .

Another set of hands took hold. It was Greene. Pale-faced and sweating he had managed to crawl back to help her haul the battered Stephan out of the way. Together they yanked him out of the crevice seconds before the ice plate came crashing down and snuffed the open lead out of existence.

Greene collapsed beside her, done in. Justine knew he had nothing left to give.

Stephan was almost delirious with pain. His broken legs were bent at a sickening, unnatural angle but he managed to raise a hand and point toward the Ural. “My ship… tell them… You… you go… up line.” He tore a naval insignia from his parka and pressed it into her hands. His eyes were imploring. “Pazhalsta—please — climb.”

Justine hoped she understood him. Some kind of lifeline must be trailing from the ship. Would she have the strength to climb it? Pollard and Jackson arrived at her side. “Take care of them,” she ordered. “I’ll be back.”

She took off over the ice. She owed the Russian too much to let his ship founder without trying to save it. The thick snow obscured the icebreaker, barely a quarter of a mile away, but as she got close, she could make it out well enough. It was half the size of the Canadian ship and still coming on fast. In a flash of understanding she realized several things. Of course, they must have been depending on Stephan out on the ice to lead them, and for reasons she might never know he had chosen to leave his post and help her and the others. Judging from the track in the ice the larger ship had changed course only a few hundred yards back. Without a danger signal from Stephan the Russian ship was plowing on unaware of the Polar 8 ahead.

Justine knew she was running on nerve alone because her body was exhausted. Tenacity. One foot in front of the other. Too many lives were at stake to quit now. The noise was a steady thing that pounded at her. This close to the Russian ship it sounded like the legions of hell were screaming.

She saw the line. It hung from the bow of the ship and trailed onto the ice. She squinted up to the main deck. It was at least a sixty-foot climb, and it would take her out over open water when the rope swung back against the ship. If she fell, she would die. Plain and simple.

She wrapped the rope around her leg and started to climb. It was a nightmare. She pulled herself up one arm’s length at a time, releasing the rope around her legs and grabbing it again with her legs to help her tired arms support her. Snow caked on her face, and she had no hands to wipe it off. Once more. Halfway. Keep going. Once more…

When she was about thirty feet up, her weight swung the rope toward the hull and slammed her against it. The metal hit her shoulder like a sledgehammer. It took her breath away. She lost her grip. She slid down, frantically trying to arrest her fall, biting the rope with her teeth, anything to stop her slide. She finally stopped herself and spun slowly in midair.

She climbed again. She heard voices. She ignored them. Once more. Release your legs, pull up, grab hold. There was nothing else but moving up one pull at a time. She pulled with all her strength. She felt the hull slide by with increasing speed without realizing what it meant. She pulled again… and tumbled over the bow railing onto the main deck, drawn up and over by six astonished Russian seamen.

A man with captain’s stripes, wearing a thick parka, elbowed his way through the crowd. A well of blackness was fast engulfing her. “Do you speak English?” she managed.

The captain stared, open-mouthed. “Da. Yes, I do.”

Justine smiled. “Good. Your Stephan and some of my men are badly hurt on the ice. Over there,” she pointed. “And you are about to crash into the Canadian icebreaker dead ahead of you.”

She was about to suggest he stop his ship right away, but that seemed redundant. Besides, the warm blackness was too thick now to shut out. She closed her eyes and dropped down into it gladly, and from a long distance away she heard the yells of men and loud alarms ringing out.

“We’re approaching the ice keel, Comrade Captain,” reported the navigator. “Take us up to two hundred meters. Twenty-degree up angle.” Kalik stepped into the sonar room and leaned over his operator. “Have you located Phoenix? I’m certain they are in this area.”

The sonarman held his headphones pressed tightly against his ears. “The noise is less here—” He listened and turned up the gain. Suddenly his face changed. “We have a faint contact, Comrade Captain. It could be Phoenix and Red Dawn. It is bearing… Comrade Captain!” He tore his headphones off in pain, and his hands went to his head. “My God! What is that?”

The sonar technician grabbed the headphones and held them near his own ear. A wicked screech like electronic feedback emanated from them. His face registered confusion for a few seconds. Then he looked at Kalik and shook his head sadly. “There is an icebreaker directly overhead. This is their propeller noise. I believe they rammed the pressure ridge over the keel and are churning their propellers continually. It is unlikely they can break through or that they really plan to. Their purpose is to make more noise. And between the ice breaking and the propellers… I’m sorry, Comrade Captain. It creates more sound than we can sift through. We could not isolate Phoenix in this racket if it were right alongside us.”

Kalik heard the news and knew that once more he was one step behind the American captain. Under cover of the breaker’s noise, Phoenix and Red Dawn would sail past the ice keel undetected. The distance they would gain on him made it virtually impossible for Kalik to pick up her trail again.

It added a new chapter to the combat as an old one ended. Red Dawn was gone. But there was still a price to pay, and he vowed to himself that the clever American captain would pay it. Red Dawn had divided his attention too long. Now there was nothing but the two of them in their warships under the ice cap, and that was what Kalik knew best.

He walked back into the control room and called Volkov to him. “We have lost Red Dawn, Viktor. There is too much noise. We can’t track her, and I have little hope of picking her up again before she makes the marginal ice zone.”

Volkov took the news stoically. “Then it’s time we headed home.”

“No. Not empty-handed,” Kalik said fiercely.

“Vassily,” Volkov said softly, “the day is not ours.”

“The day is not over. Comrade Navigator, return us to the other side of the keel. And take us deep. Viktor, do you still stand with me?”

Volkov met his gaze. “As always, Comrade Captain.”

“Then let us finish what we started out to do.”