Under the Ice Page 6

  And in his opinion, the polynya that lay beside the weather station was just too narrow and jagged to attempt squeezing the Defiance into it.

  “Since when is the captain of a US naval vessel allowed to be second-guessed by the civilian crew of a foreign weather station?” Matt Colter countered firmly.

  “As I said before, that open lead was just too tight, and I wasn’t about to risk the ship on an ascent

  I deemed a definite safety hazard.”

  Unable to contain himself, Matt forcefully continued.

  “The day I’m ordered to unnecessarily jeopardize the lives of my crew merely for the sake of adhering to a preplanned mission, that is the day I no longer want to be a part of this man’s Navy!”

  Sensing his upset. Admiral Long coolly replied.

  “Easy does it. Matt. As you well know, the well-being of our men is still the Navy’s paramount concern. Yet the very nature of submarine duty is full of risks.

  Why every time you steam out of Long Island Sound you go in harm’s way. Of course, these dangers are multiplied a hundredfold when dealing with Arctic operations.

  “Don’t forget, I’ve surfaced a sub at the Pole myself, and I’ll be the first to admit I was scared as hell all the way topside. No one is questioning your bravery, Matt. But I’ve got to know if I can rely on the Defiance to carry out any mission that might be requested of it, should this Cold War we’ve been locked in for the last four decades ever heat up.”

  Matt Colter answered without a hint of hesitation.

  “Just give us equipment that can be depended upon and I’ll take care of the rest. Admiral. If it has the slimmest chance of succeeding, the men of the Defiance will pull it off.”

  “You know, I believe you’ll do just that,” retorted the white-haired admiral with a sigh.

  The tension was suddenly broken, and Long went on to consider Matt Colter’s suggestion that the laser surface-scanning Fathometer be removed, and the old unit be reconnected. A compromise was eventually reached: an attempt would be made to repair the prototype device, while the original unit was to be readied as a backup. On this conciliatory note, the meeting was adjourned.

  As the sub pens loomed in the distance. Matt decided that he had pleaded his case to the best of his ability. If command was going to officially censure him for his circumspect approach, then so be it. Yet it aggravated him that not once had the admiral mentioned condemning the one responsible for this meeting in the first place — the designer of the prototype surface-scanning Fathometer. As far as Matt was concerned, this was the individual who should be having his competency looked into, but he was thankful that he had received permission to get their old unit back on-line. Colter’s attention was diverted as his driver braked the car to a halt before a central wharf. The young captain exited the vehicle and momentarily stood on the pier to admire the vessel floating before him.

  Looking sleek and deadly, the USS Defiance sat low in the water, with barely half of its black, teardrop-shaped hull exposed. Gathered behind its tall sail were a group of three dungaree-clad sailors. One of these individuals wore a bolstered pistol and alertly carried a combat shotgun. Anxious to return to the environment that he felt most familiar with, Matt Colter briefly scanned the dock site.

  Parked in a nearby staging area were the support vehicles that were assisting with the current refit. A large, corrugated steel warehouse stood nearby, with the gray waters of the Thames River flowing in the background. It was a brisk late fall afternoon. The trees on the opposite bank had long since lost their leaves, and a sharp northerly wind hinted at the bitter, New England winter that would all too soon be upon them. Tbrning the collar of his light jacket up to meet these penetrating gusts, Matt gratefully strode forward to return to his floating home away from home.

  Below deck in the Defiance’s wardroom, Lieutenant Commander Al Layman was contentedly nibbling away on a fresh cake donut when the sub’s commanding officer entered the compartment. Seated at his usual place at the far end of the rect angularly shaped table, the XO noted Matt Colter’s solemn expression and greeted him cautiously.

  “How did it go. Skipper?”

  Heavily seating himself at the head of the table, Matt replied.

  “The usual cock and bull, Al. As if I had anything to do with that damn Fathometer’s failure.”

  From out of the nearby galley, an alert steward soundlessly appeared. He placed a cup of steaming hot black coffee and a platter of fresh donuts before the captain. Warming his hands on the side of his mug. Colter added.

  “At least it seems I was able to get a portion of our case across. The admiral has given us permission to hook up the old ice machine as a backup.”

  While self-consciously wiping off the excess crumbs of powdered sugar that had gotten left behind in his thick mustache, the XO nodded.

  “That’s certainly good news. Skipper. I’ll get the chief on it at once.”

  As he jotted down a note on the half-filled legal pad resting on the table, Al Layman continued.

  “Speaking of that newfangled Fathometer, we took on some support personnel soon after you left for your meeting. They’re currently up in the sail trying to figure out what went wrong with the frigging thing.”

  Matt Colter seemed impressed with this revelation.

  “Well, I’ll be. Command certainly doesn’t seem to be dragging its feet on this one. I can’t wait to hear what excuses they’ll come up with to save the reputation of the pencil pusher responsible for dreaming up that device.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be good ones,” reflected the XO as he reached into his pocket and removed a well-worn briar pipe and a pouch of tobacco.

  “I still think the laser was improperly calibrated. That would account for the discrepancy between the pictures of the ice conditions fed into our Nav system and those we actually ran into.”

  As the rich scent of vanilla-and rum-soaked tobacco filled the air, the captain responded.

  “But why in the hell do we even need such a system in the first place? Though they might take a bit more sweat and effort on the part of the crew, the old machines have been in service over three decades, and never once have I heard of one of those units failing.”

  “I guess there’s no use trying to buck progress,” the XO offered.

  “You must admit, when the bugs are finally worked out, having such a sophisticated system on board will certainly save a lot of time and worry on our part. Not only will the lasers accurately plot all available surface leads to the tenth of an inch, they’ll determine the pack’s precise thickness as well.

  And then all we have to do is sit back on our duffs while this data is incorporated into our Nav system, and look on as ‘big brother’ automatically handles the ascent from there.”

  “It still sounds like a pipe dream to me, Al. If this system works as planned, pretty soon a human crew won’t be needed at all. Why risk lives when computers can handle the whole damn show?” Thoughtfully taking a sip of coffee. Matt Colter grinned.

  “I imagine many similar conversations filled the wardrooms of past warships when other radical changes were about to be incorporated into the fleet. I’ll bet the sailors of a hundred years ago turned a skeptical eye on the introduction of fossil-fueled engines into ships and preferred sails.”

  “And don’t forget the recent advent of the nuclear reactor,” added Al Layman.

  “If it wasn’t for the vision and tenacity of Hyman Rickover, who knows if under-the-ice missions would even be possible today.

  No, Skipper, though it might take time to smooth out the kinks, I say it’s impossible to ignore the advances technology brings our way.”

  Quietly absorbing this statement. Matt Colter worked on his coffee. He was a good halfway into the mug of strong brew when he again spoke.

  “What do you have planned for your leave, Al?”

  The XO replied while tamping down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe.

  “Actually, this will be the per
fect time for me to make good on that anniversary celebration I missed out on last week. I thought I’d surprise Donna and make a reservation at the inn on Nantucket where we spent our honeymoon.”

  “How long has it been now, Al?”

  “Believe it or not, we’re going on our eighth year, Skipper. Though in that time I’ve only been here twice to celebrate on the actual date of our anniversary.

  “How about you? This would be the perfect opportunity for you to winterize your place in the White Mountains before the first big snows hit.”

  Matt Colter shook his head.

  “Afraid not, Al. You see, the last I heard, Kay and the kids were still living there. Seems she’s got something going with the owner of the lodge she was selling her paintings at this summer, and she asked if it was okay to have the place for the rest of the season.”

  Conscious that he was treading on delicate ground, Al Layman carefully responded.

  “I didn’t realize she had left Boston, Skipper. The last I heard, she had that great teaching position at Wellesley.”

  “So she did,” reflected Colter.

  “But just like Kay, she goes and blows her tenure on a summertime fling.

  I pray this relationship works out for her, at the very least for the kids’ sake.”

  The somber mood that had suddenly descended on the wardroom was broken by the arrival of a smiling, khaki-suited sailor carrying a half-filled duffel bag.

  Quick to note the no-nonsense looks on the faces of the ship’s two most senior officers. Petty Officer First Class Stanley Roth sucked in his slightly bulging gut and stiffened to attention.

  “Sorry to bother you. Captain. But you asked me earlier to give you an update on that sonar system’s checkout before I took off, sir.”

  “That I did, Mr. Roth,” returned Colter, instinctively putting personal concerns out of his mind.

  “But first off, how are you feeling? Did that medicine Pills prescribed for you do the job?”

  The ship’s senior sonar technician nodded.

  “I’m feeling much better. Captain. The fever’s gone, and all I have left is a little discomfort in the lower left portion of my jaw.”

  “Good,” replied Colter.

  “I hope you’re still planning to see the base dentist.”

  “That I am, sir. In fact, I’m headed there right now.

  I talked it over with the guys, and they said if I didn’t go to the clinic right away, I’d most likely put it off until the end of my leave. And that’s not exactly something to look forward to, is it, sir?”

  “No it isn’t, Mr. Roth,” answered the captain.

  “Get that problem looked after professionally and we can all rest easier on our next patrol. After all, I can’t afford to have my best man in the sound shack down with any kind of ailment. Speaking of the devil, how did that equipment check out?”

  Still basking in the warmth of the unexpected compliment his commanding officer had just given him, Stanley Roth quickly replied, “We’re still showing a problem in the aft passive range-determination array,

  Captain. I think it’s merely a software glitch, sir. To find out for certain, I’ve got Seaman Warren running a complete program analysis.”

  “Very good,” the captain nodded.

  “Make certain Warren lets the chief know if it’s anything more serious than a software screw up. There’s no telling how long we’re in for, and if we’ve got a major problem, I’d like to get at it with all due haste.”

  “Captain, I’d be more than willing to do the rest of the check myself,” the petty officer volunteered.

  “I’d like nothing more than that, Mr. Roth. But have you forgotten about that appointment at the dental clinic? Have that tooth looked after, and then go out on the town and enjoy yourself for a night.

  Lord knows you’ve earned it. Besides, Seaman Warren seems like a capable enough fellow. Don’t you agree, XO?”

  Al Layman took the scarred bit of pipe out of his mouth and succinctly answered.

  “He’ll do. So listen to your captain and hit the gangway. Roth.”

  “Yes, sir!” the petty officer snapped as he turned to exit the wardroom.

  Enlivened by the likable sonar technician’s visit, the XO stood.

  “Looks like I’d better get the show on the road myself. Skipper. The crew manifest is on your desk. Lieutenant Marshall is the current officer of the deck. On the way out, I’ll make certain the chief gets the word on hooking up the old ice machine.”

  As Layman began gathering up his belongings, he remembered one last detail.

  “By the way. Skipper, you never did say how you were going to spend your leave.”

  Standing himself, Matt Colter answered.

  “Right now, it looks like I’ll probably just hang around here for a while. I’ve got plenty of paperwork to get caught up on, and if I do get the hankering for some solid land under my feet and a little fresh air, maybe I’ll go up to Mystic for a day.”

  “You do that,” advised Al Layman firmly.

  “Because if there’s anyone on board this ship who deserves some time to himself, it’s you. Skipper.”

  “I don’t know about that, XO. It seems to me you put in your fair share of overtime on this last patrol.

  So get out of here, and enjoy that second honeymoon!”

  Mockingly saluting, the XO smiled and turned for his cabin. Alone now in the wardroom. Matt finished off his coffee and decided to take off for the ship’s conning tower to see how the technicians were doing with the repair of the faulty surface-scanning Pathometer. To get to this portion of the Defiance, he exited through the forward hatchway. This put him in an equipment-packed passageway lined with stainless steel piping.

  With a fluid ease, he passed by the locked radio room, picturing the state-of-the-art receivers and transmitters in this all-important compartment, equipment that allowed them almost instant contact with command even when deeply submerged. Next, he walked by the sonar room, or sound shack as it was affectionately called. The door to this room was open, and Colter could see Seaman Lester Warren hunched over one of the consoles. Though Warren was fairly new to the Navy, he was a self-proclaimed computer nerd, his fascination with such equipment having begun in grade school. A quick learner, the Texan had graduated first in his computer-science class while in basic training, and when it was learned that he had above average hearing, he was steered into the arcane art of sonar detection. So far he showed great promise, and with Petty Officer Roth’s expert guidance, the youngster could have a bright career.

  Confident that the sonarman could find the glitch Roth had suspected, the captain continued forward.

  This brought him into that spacious portion of the vessel where the sub’s central control room and attack center were located. Several members of the crew were gathered around a console under the capable direction of the ship’s current OOD, Lieutenant Don Marshall.

  The slightly built, redheaded Georgian was the Defiance’ full-time diving officer, and was not known for sartorial splendor. Yet in this instance the captain found Marshall dressed in a crisp pair of khakis, his perpetually loose shirt bottom neatly tucked into the sharply creased pants. Noting that the enlisted men working at the OOD’s side were similarly dressed in fresh coveralls, Colter suspected that they had been anticipating a visit from the base commander, and had dressed this way to impress him.

  Certainly not disappointed that his men were suddenly taking an interest in their outward appearances, the captain loudly cleared his throat to announce his presence.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope I’m not breaking in on anything important.”

  “Not at all, sir,” Marshall replied in his deep southern drawl.

  “I was only going over the diving procedures with those seamen interested in qualifying during this tour.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you from continuing,” returned Colter as he looked past the periscope well to the access hatch cut into the bas
e of the sail.

  “Tell me, Lieutenant, the civilian engineers on board, are they still inside the sail working on that Fathometer?”

  There was an unusual gleam in the OOD’s eyes as he answered.

  “That they are, Captain. Shall I call them down for you?”

  Colter shook his head.

  “That won’t be necessary,

  Lieutenant. I think under the circumstances it’s better if I crawl up there unannounced.”

  “Whatever you say, sir. But it certainly won’t be any bother for me to go up there and fetch ‘em for you.”

  A bit puzzled by this reply. Colter turned to the sail.

  “You may return to your business, Mr. Marshall. I’m quite capable of handling this matter on my own.”

  The men’s stares seemed to be following him as he ducked through the hatch and began to go up the narrow, steel-gauge ladder. Putting out of his mind the notion that his men were up to some sort of mischief. Colter made the climb up to the exposed bridge. A whiff of cool, fresh air. rich with the scent of the sea, met his nostrils, and in the distance he could just make out the sounds of muffled voices. In the hope that this repair team could explain precisely what had malfunctioned on the prototype Fathometer unit, he proceeded up the remaining rungs.

  As Colter crawled through the final hatch, he viewed the backs of two workmen, busily digging through an exposed panel that was set near the bridge’s latticed floor. Both were dressed in woolen hats and identical heavy, navy blue coveralls that had Naval Arctic Laboratory stencilled in white below their shoulder blades. It was evident that they were completely unaware of his presence, and Colter took advantage of his surprise appearance by going directly on the offensive.

  “I hope one of you will be able to explain just what went wrong with that damn unit. If the pencil pusher who invented it only knew its malfunction almost cost the lives of one hundred seven men, he’d hopefully be more careful the next time. This is no laboratory experiment that we’re running out here. It’s reality of the harshest sort!”