Under the Ice

  Under the Ice

  Richard P. Henrick

  The Soviet Premier's airplane suddenly veers off course, far above the frozen Canadian wilderness — and shockingly close to a brand new, state-of — the-art NORAD radar installation. Is the Soviet action a simple error or a tactical slap in the face?

  A squadron of crack F-15 interceptors and a squad of Canadian Arctic rangers race to the region where the plane has disappeared. Simultaneously, the new Baffin Island radar station goes active, showing NATO's hand, but poised to fend off a global crisis with the highest stakes. The U.S. Naval Arctic Weapons lab provides support with an untested surface scanning fathometer mounted in the hull of the U.S.S. Defiance, skippered by Captain Matt Colter and monitored by the device's inventor, Dr. Laurie Lansing.

  The Soviets counter by rushing an awesome Akula class attack submarine in the hand of young Captain Sergei Markova to search for signs of the plane beneath the Canadian pack ice — that is, unless the NATO forces get there first. With all of the technological might of East and West homing in on the pressure point in the icebound Davis Straits, cracks appear in ice and men, and a showdown unfolds with terrible stakes — the fate of humanity itself.

  Richard P. Henrick

  Under the Ice

  “The lure of the North! It is a strange and powerful thing. More than once I have come back from the great frozen spaces, battered, worn and baffled, sometimes maimed, telling myself that I had made my last journey thither…. But somehow, it was never many months before the old restless feeling came over me. And I began to long for the great white desolation, the battles with the ice and the gales… the silence, and the vastness of the great, white lonely North.”

  — Admiral Robert E. Peary, USN

  “Star Wars will not work without the early warning system, and that depends on Canada. There is no military scenario in the northern hemisphere in which Canada (or at least Canadian real estate) does not play a crucial role.”

  — William Arkin

  “Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt.”

  — Shakespeare

  Acknowledgments

  The author wishes to thank Calgary’s Glenbow Museum, and the staff of Banff Centre, who helped make my stay at the Leighton Artist’s Colony a comfortable, enjoyable one.

  Chapter One

  The wind blew in cold, northernly gusts. Oblivious to the icy chill, Ootah directed his gaze solely at the narrow pool of open water that lay at his feet.

  Warmed by his double-thick, caribou-skin parka, the twenty-nine-year-old Inuit hunter patiently waited for a ringed seal to surface and breathe. When one of these sleek mammals showed itself, he would spear it with the ivory-tipped harpoon that he carried at his side. And once again his mouth would be filled with the sweet taste of fresh, red meat.

  It had been three days since he had last eaten, and his stomach growled noisily. Since he hadn’t been forced to choose the life of a hunter, he had long since learned to live with his hunger. Yet could he say the same for his wife, young son, and sick father who waited for him back at the igloo? Surely they had consumed the last of the seal meat, leaving them with nothing but frozen snow to fill their empty bellies. It was thus for his family’s sake that Ootah remained at his icy vigil, with nothing but his hunger and the howling wind for company.

  Silently staring into the dark blue depths, Ootah projected his will downward, into the liquid realm of the elusive creature he so desperately sought. It had been his father who long ago taught him the utter importance of treating one’s prey as an equal. To insure a successful hunt, the hunter had to make contact with the animal’s spirit. For it was well known that if animals are not treated with respect, both when alive and dead, they will not allow themselves to be killed.

  Ootah couldn’t help but wonder what force was keeping the seals away. Open water was a rarity in this portion of the ice pack. Even with the constant probing of his harpoon, it was a constant battle to keep the pool from freezing over. Since the seals were dependent upon fresh air, there could be no more convenient spot for them to ascend and refresh themselves.

  With this hope in mind, he began mumbling a sacred prayer designed to call the seals upward.

  The words of his chant came from deep in his throat, and were delivered with a hoarse resonance.

  As the monotonous, atonal chant broke from his chapped lips, he searched the water’s surface with a renewed intensity. Bending over at the waist to get a better view, he momentarily lost his balance when a particularly violent gust of wind hit him full in the back. For a single terrifying moment he found himself teetering on the edge of the ice. To fall forward into the frigid waters of the pool meant almost certain death, and he desperately struck out with his harpoon to regain his balance.

  Fate was with him as the ivory spear point firmly embedded itself in the pack ice. With his heart beating madly away in his chest, Ootah exhaled a long sigh of relief. Only then did he identify the black force that had almost sent him plunging to his watery grave, and was most likely keeping the seals away as well. There was no doubt in his mind that Tornarsuk, the great devil who travels on the wind, had paid him a visit. Ever thankful that he had survived this confrontation, Ootah once again raised his voice in prayer. Yet this time his petitions were directed solely toward the spirits of his deceased ancestors, who had intervened on his behalf in this most eternal of earthly struggles.

  With the life-force flowing full in his veins, Ootah scanned the Arctic heavens, his prayers of thanks barely audible in the still-gusting wind. A sun that had not set for over six moon cycles now lay low in the gray sky, its light muted and diffused. All too soon it would be dropping beneath the horizon altogether, as the winter arrived in a shroud of perpetual darkness.

  The new season signaled a time of change. The cold would intensify, and as the ice pack further solidified, new hunting grounds would form in the waters to the north. Hopefully they would be more prolific than the ones he presently stalked. Otherwise, he would have no choice but to return his family to the white man’s city from which they had originally ventured nine months ago.

  Merely considering such an alternative sickened Ootah. His brief time spent in the white man’s world was far from pleasant. It all began a year ago, when the scarlet-coated policeman arrived from the south and ordered Ootah to convey his family to the city of Arctic Bay on Baffin Island’s northern tip. He did so without question and was somewhat shocked when the Canadian officials there informed him that his son would be taken from them and forced to attend a state-run school. He reluctantly complied with the law, and took up residence in the settlement to be as near to the boy as possible.

  For the first few months the time passed quickly.

  The house that was provided for them was filled with many amazing devices, and Ootah and his wife Akatingwah found themselves with a whole new world to learn of and marvel at. Yet the surrounding land was almost barren of game, and Ootah was forced to take government handouts in order for his family to survive.

  They were not the only Inuit to be called to the city, and Ootah watched how the white man’s culture changed his brothers. Also driven to accepting government welfare, they seemed to readily abandon their ancestral ways to become as much like the whites as possible. Dressed in bluejeans and sweatshirts, the Inuit gave up their dog teams for snowmobiles and pickup trucks. Canned food replaced fresh, red meat, and the men learned to ease their anxieties by consuming vast amounts of alcohol.

  Ootah had fallen into this dangerous trap himself, and was well on his way to completely losing his identity when the hand of fate intervened to save him.

  It had all come to pass nine months ago, when he received word that his mot
her was on her death bed.

  Borrowing a neighbor’s snowmobile, he dressed himself in a nylon ski outfit, that he had purchased on credit from the Hudson’s Bay Company, and took off across the frozen Admiralty Inlet for the Brodeur Peninsula, where his father had set up his spring camp.

  As it turned out, he arrived just in time to view his mother breathe her last breath. Though she had been unconscious throughout most of her brief illness, she awoke from her coma just as Ootah came storming through the door of their ramshackle snow cabin. He would take to his own grave the moment when her pained glance locked onto his face and figure. For instead of acknowledging his presence, she greeted him with the cool indifference of a complete stranger.

  Ootah couldn’t help but be puzzled. Had her illness distorted her mind so that she couldn’t even recognize her only son, or had she indeed not recognized him because of his alien garb? He would never learn the answer to this question, for less than five minutes later she left this earth for all time, to join her ancestors.

  Ootah’s father had been perched in the cabin’s shadows, and as his mate of fifty years passed into the land beyond, he vented his sorrow with a gut-wrenching wail. In all his life, Ootah had never seen Nakusiak lose control like this. Yet his cries of grief were short-lived; all too soon he regained his composure and somberly initiated the burial procedures.

  Hardly a word was spoken between them as they wrapped the still-warm corpse in a shroud of sealskin.

  According to Inuit custom, a stout line was wrapped around her shoulders and the body thusly dragged headfirst out of the cabin. Nakusiak had prepared a shallow grave in a nearby ravine. Here the body was deposited, along with a variety of objects that the deceased would need in the afterlife. These included a soapstone lamp, some flints, a variety of cooking utensils, and some dried caribou meat. Only after the corpse was subsequently covered by a thick mantle of loose stones, to protect it from marauding animals, did Ootah’s father directly address him.

  “What is the identity of this stranger that stands before me? Surely it’s not the same son who crawled from the loins of the proud woman we just buried.”

  Suddenly aware of his alien costume, Ootah blushed with shame, and tears fell from his eyes.

  Sensing his discomfort, Nakusiak continued, this time a bit more compassionately.

  “Though you may have tried to cover it with the clothing of the white man, I sense that the blood of the limit still flows inside you. Never again try to hide this fact, or eternal disgrace shall be your reward.”

  Ootah humbly nodded.

  “I have shamed the family enough for one life, Father. When I first entered the cabin and Mother set her eyes on me, I thought it was her illness that prevented her from identifying me.

  But now I know differently.”

  Ripping off the nylon ski jacket he was wearing, Ootah added.

  “I have been gone too long. The white man’s ways have indeed blinded me. Is it too late for me to return to the path of the people?”

  A wise grin turned the corners of Nakusiak’s cracked lips as he answered.

  “If your heart is pure, of course it isn’t, my son. So come, join me around the fire-circle, and we’ll discuss your homecoming.”

  The two talked long into the night, and as a result of this meeting of souls, a plan was formulated. With Nakusiak’s invaluable assistance, Ootah would return to Arctic Bay. Here he would gather together his wife and son, and as soon as the first opportunity presented itself, free them from the alien world of the white man.

  The scheme worked perfectly, and nine months ago, Ootah and his family returned to the ways of their ancestors. Gratefully, Ootah accepted his father into his camp. Together with a team of powerful huskies, they lived off the land.

  The summer just passed had been a bountiful one.

  The caribou herds ran full, and ducks and hare were abundant just as they had been in the old days. Taking this as a good omen, they moved back into Baffin Island’s rugged Brodeur Peninsula to await the winter.

  It was at the beginning of the last moon cycle that Nakusiak took ill with a deep cough that brought blood to his lips. Powhuktuk the shaman was called in. Yet even the miracle worker’s most potent spells failed to slake the fiery fever that burned in Nakusiak’s brow.

  Without his father’s help, Ootah was forced to go on the hunt by himself. Since the caribou had long since migrated to the south, seal was the meat that would now fill their bellies.

  At first Ootah met with some success; a pair of fat ringed seals fell to his harpoon. Yet now that Tornarsuk had returned, their cache was empty, and would continue to be so until the demon was exorcised. Well aware that his father’s rapidly weakening condition was only that much more aggravated by lack of nourishment, Ootah projected his voice in renewed prayer.

  Utilizing the blunt end of his harpoon to crack the ice that had gathered at the pool’s edges, he returned his ponderings to the hunt. Oblivious to the howling wind, he once again turned his back to the furious, demonic gusts and approached the open water. New purpose filled his being as he directed his chants to the spirit of the seal.

  “To you, whose sweet flesh fills the stomachs of hungry babies, I call. Ascend from the icy depths and surrender your life-giving essence to those in need. I implore you, spirit of the seal, do not forsake us!”

  With one hand still holding the ivory-tipped harpoon, Ootah reached into his parka’s central pouch and pulled out a large eider feather. Bending down at the pool’s edge, he then dropped this object into the deep blue water.

  Ootah’s eyes were glued to the floating feather as he cocked his harpoon above his right ear and cried out passionately.

  “Begone with you, Tornarsuk, you who cause mothers to weep and babies to go to bed hungry!

  Return to the black abyss from which you crawled and bother us no more with your evil presence.”

  This forceful petition was met by an angry gust of frigid wind, and for one fleeing second Ootah doubted his prayer’s effectiveness. Yet this moment of uncertainty was followed by a sudden, unexpected drop in the wind’s velocity. Able to stand fully erect now without fear of being blown over, Ootah watched as a series of bubbles burst onto the pool’s surface.

  Expecting the feather to next fly upward as a result of a seal’s exhalation, he readied himself to plunge the tip of the harpoon downward. More bubbles reached the surface, and when a seal still failed to show itself, Ootah’s voice muttered to the wind.

  “Come on, brother seal don’t be afraid to show yourself.”

  When another series of even larger bubbles broke on top of the pool, the Inuit spoke out excitedly.

  “Perhaps what we have down below is not a seal after all. Could it be that your cousin the whale will soon be making an appearance?”

  Stirred by such a thought, Ootah prepared himself to greet this unexpected visitor. A whale would definitely be more difficult to fatally wound, yet its abundant flesh would feed his family for weeks on end.

  Turning to his right, he bent down and reached out for the coil of sinew rope that lay beside him. With one end of this line already firmly attached to an inflated walrus-bladder float, Ootah tied its free end to his harpoon’s hilt. If the whale wasn’t too large, this crude but effective system would hopefully keep the beast from sinking to the depths once it was speared.

  Returning to the pool, Ootah once again cocked the harpoon above his right ear. The bubbles were breaking the surface with a furious regularity now, and peering intently downward to find their source, the Inuit imagined that he could just view a massive,

  black object ascending with a vengeance.

  Though he was well prepared to strike out at the creature regardless of its size, Ootah never had the chance. For before he could make good his attack, the thick pack ice beneath him shattered with an earsplitting concussion that sent him reeling to the icy ground. He struck the ice with such force that for an agonizing moment he had the breath knocked out of hi
m. Struggling merely to breathe, he impotently looked on as the pack ice beneath him violently shook to yet another rumbling, bone-shattering blow.

  Well aware that no earthly animal was responsible for such an intense disturbance, Ootah dared to think of the true nature of the one responsible. He had heard the tales of the elders, in which Tornarsuk, the devil, took the form of a frightening sea monster that swallowed both men and kayaks whole. Surely the evil one had taken on such an incarnation. And since it was only a matter of time before the great beast was able to crack the pack ice and get to him, Ootah valiantly struggled to regain his breath and stand.

  His lungs were burning with pain as he scrambled to his knees. Unable to fully stand erect because of his trembling limbs, he turned from the ever-widening pool and crawled off on all fours like a terrified infant who had yet to learn to walk. Daring not to look back, he managed to reach his dogsled; he had left it behind a nearby hummock.

  Though his dogs were also weak with hunger, they seemed just as anxious to leave this cursed place as the Inuit. Without even having to put a whip to them, the pack broke for the distant horizon, their excited howls all but swallowed by the maddening beat of Ootah’s pulse and the gusting cry of the rising wind.

  Thirty-five feet below that same Arctic ice pack, the hull of the Sturgeon-class attack submarine, USS Defiance, was still reverberating after its unsuccessful attempt to break through to the surface. In the vessel’s control center, Captain Mathew Colter cried out firmly, his voice deep with concern.

  “Take her down, emergency!”

  Still shaken by their all-too-recent, unexpected collision with the ice, the sub’s diving officer, Lieutenant Don Marshall, reached forward with trembling hands to address his console. Seconds later, the vent to the negative tank opened with a pop of compressed air, and as tons of seawater flooded into the Defiance, the sub shuddered and began to descend.