The captain thought he knew what he had seen, but could not fully comprehend it.
Then he thought of the ships below them and wondered if they could see the massive wall of water rising up from the ocean. They had to. It was impossible to miss. In the time it took him to reach for his radio, the damage was already done.
Although the radio message from the bombers was sent too late, the planes themselves were responsible for lessening the wave’s damage to the containment operation. As the three Herculean aircraft roared overhead at low altitude, every eye aboard the three icebreakers turned skyward to watch. Then, as the planes moved overhead, those below turned to the west to watch the bombing run.
That was when they saw the wave rising suddenly out of the ocean.
The wall of water reached sixty feet. Those who were close enough to a hatchway quickly ducked inside; the rest found some object bolted to the deck and hung on for their lives. The wave struck within seconds, heaving the three ships upward at the stern and smashing into the ice strung between them. The sea momentarily washed over the afterdecks, then cascaded over the rear of the superstructure before rejoining the wave as it rolled past. Only the orientation of the vessels directly east and perpendicular to the wave front kept them from capsizing against the monstrous force. A dozen bodies were thrown into the water and cries of “Man overboard!” began to ring out even before the wave had finished passing. The ice nets twisted and buckled against their rigging and the booms holding them screamed in protest. All available hands moved to the railings to begin pulling people from the water. On the Phoenix, Zubov began barking orders to have everyone exposed to the water taken to see Junko in the infirmary. Then he learned that Junko herself was one of those exposed. He ran the length of the vessel just as the petite woman was pulled from the water. She looked like a child in her oversized cold-weather suit and smiled weakly when she saw him.
“Oops,” she said. “That first step was a doozy.”
Zubov kneeled beside her as she tried to regain her faculties.
“What happened? What were you doing on deck?”
“I was bored,” she admitted. “I came out to watch my man work. One minute the boat was under me, the next it wasn’t.”
Through his concern, only two of Junko’s words stood out to Zubov: my man.
“Get her inside,” Zubov said to the two crewmen who had retrieved Junko. “Move!”
“It’s all right, Sergei,” she assured him. “I’m fine. I’m sure I wasn’t in the water long enough for anything to happen. Besides, I think there’s going to be a few other cuts and bruises for Susan and me to look at.”
Unconvinced, Zubov started to follow her back inside. The two crewmen returned to the afterdeck and suddenly the two confidants were left alone in the airlock.
“It’s okay, Sergei,” Junko repeated. “I’m fine, really.” Even as she said this, her teeth began chattering from the frigidity of her saturated clothing. She nodded over toward the Vagabond, where at least a dozen hands were trying to keep the ice nets from tearing away completely.
“You’re needed out there,” she said. “I’ll still be here when you get back. Promise.”
At that moment, nothing mattered more to Zubov than to press his lips against hers. He drew her close and kissed her deeply.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be. Go now. You’ve got more important work to do.”
On the bridge of the Phoenix, Carol picked herself up from the deck and looked through the large windows at the carnage around the ship. She knew that the icebreaker was designed to be able to roll almost completely on its side without capsizing, but that design had just been well tested. The mate reported that everyone swept overboard had been accounted for and was being treated. Her second-worst fears seemed to be equally unfounded: all three vessels were still afloat and upright.
Most of the collected ice had been pushed out of the nets, scattered forcibly to the east, but had remained in an extended line between the hulls. Assuming the nets could still be used, it would be an easy matter to gather up the pieces.
As the shock subsided, she tried to piece together exactly what had happened.
The wind had been strong and erratic, but certainly not enough to generate a rogue wave.
But that soliton meant something had happened to get an awful lot of water moving very fast. Like an earthquake. Or a detonation gone wrong.
She was suddenly very afraid about what might have happened. If a wave this size had traveled a hundred miles, what was left of B-82?
“The bombers are on the radio,” the mate said. “They’re ready to come around on final approach.” It seemed absurd to Carol that with all the sudden destruction on the water, she still had to confirm the release of the Ulva, a highly suspect operation itself.
The mate read the look on her face.
“They know,” he said. “But it’s now or never. They have to off load or head back to base and try it another day.”
Carol looked out at the operations area, at the ships and machinery that now looked about as capable and coordinated as toys in a child’s bathtub. Their best hope to stop the slick was circling above them, and it wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.
“Do it,” she finally told the mate. “Tell them to start the bombing.” There’s got to be something we need more urgently than another twenty thousand gallons of seawater, she thought. Outside, the ocean continued to surge around the bobbing vessels and splintered ice.
Carol felt numb. Then the word came up that Junko had been one of those washed overboard and Carol started to head down to the infirmary. As she passed the communications room, she heard the radio crackle.
“Who is it?” Carol automatically asked Frisch. She expected it to be the North Sea or the Vagabond checking in, or perhaps a final confirmation from the water bombers. Incredibly, it was the Hawkbill, for the first time in nearly four hours. Carol was disappointed it wasn’t Garner’s voice but Krail’s.
“Scott, it’s Carol,” she said, taking a headset from Frisch.
“Thank God. Better late than never.”
“Hey, solitons are like horseshoes and hand grenades, right? Close is good enough.”
There was a palpable strain in Krail’s voice.
“How bad was it?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Sergei and Patrick are outside with the others, checking the nets. A few folks got wet, and exposed, and we’re looking at them. The Ulva is being dumped right now.”
“Otherwise you’re okay?” Krail was trying to reassure her with understatement.
“For the time being, but we’ve likely lost all track of the slick and will have to move this little circus back into Foxe Basin. What the hell happened?”
“There was an accident — an incident with the charges. We’re still examining the wreckage “
“Wreckage!”
“Yes. B-82 is gone — at least, it’s burning. The platform was badly damaged, possibly destroyed, but we’ve got the fire under control and there doesn’t appear to be any oil leakage.”
Carol’s mind was reeling.
“Slow down, Scott. What happened?”
“It looks like sabotage. Charon did it and we don’t know yet how successful he was.”
“What does Charon say about it?”