Stevan Lozak was unable to contain himself a moment longer. He could picture the thought processes taking place behind the admiral’s eyes and he was anxious to be a part of it. “Should we get the big one out of the way first?”
“No.” The rapid response interrupted Lozak before he could explain himself. “Even damaged, Imperator could occupy all our time… if we were lucky enough to find an opening in her defenses. But she is going to be making a lot of noise when she surfaces, especially when more than a thousand feet of submarine is breaking through all that ice. Houston shouldn’t be able to hear a thing at that point, and she probably can’t hear much beyond her own propeller anyway.”
Danilov rarely made a decision that failed to appeal to Sergoff. The chief of staff had often wondered, as he read the history of submarine warfare, if the greatest captains and leaders were actually as sound under combat conditions as they were when they participated in exercises — from which everyone went home and drank vast quantities of vodka after they were through sinking each other. Danilov had been brilliant but cautious in peacetime, and Sergoff was thankful that these traits followed him into combat. He hoped they would not end up like the others — brave and dead.
“I want a course that will bring us roughly six kilometers from where they intend to surface and I want to keep Houston between us and Imperator as long as possible. If they are going to place their bows in the direction of our last known position, I will settle for a position on their sterns.” That way, Danilov figured, Houston would remain unable to hear them and she would continue as a screen between Imperator and Seratov.
Imperator was almost in position. The lead charted earlier had closed slightly, but the ice around the edges was relatively thin. Houston had now swung through the arc that would bring her into position bow first, and she was closing from astern.
The two American submarines were methodical in carrying out their plan, for they appreciated how valuable each moment was with an enemy submarine lurking somewhere nearby. Realizing how wide Houston’s turn would have to be with only four degrees of rudder available, Snow brought his submarine’s bow into position as quickly as he could to keep his torpedo tubes in Danilov’s estimated direction. He kept his muzzle doors open and torpedoes ready for a snap shot until the last possible second before touching the ice.
For his part, Stevan Lozak marveled at the ease of Imperator’s movement. It seemed impossible that anything that large could move with such grace — if that was indeed the word for the motion of over twelve hundred feet of submarine. Yet for men inured to life beneath the ocean surface, man’s machines were a picture of engineering grace.
Seratov took advantage of her enemies’ weaknesses… of Houston’s howling propeller… of Imperator’s maneuvering. When the giant craft brought her bow around toward the pole sooner than anticipated, Lozak assumed that was to keep her tubes open to the potential threat and was forced to increase his own speed to avoid sonar detection. He was even more respectful when Snow backed the final few thousand yards into position. Lozak maneuvered to keep Houston as much between himself and Imperator as possible. There were ominous moments of anticipation in the Soviet control room, knowing how capable the American sonar was in detecting an Alfa at that speed. A quick snap shot would put Seratov on the defensive. But the howling from Houston masked their maneuvering and they crept into position astern of her, where there was only a minimal chance of being identified.
When Sergoff indicated they had reached the desired position, Stevan Lozak realized for the first time that he had maintained a death grip on the shiny chrome bar behind the helmsman for the entire evolution. Now, as he released his grasp, he could feel the pain of tightened muscles relaxing. There was little color in his hands — his knuckles were pure white.
“Okay… gently now,” Snow ordered. His sail area would surface in open water, but he hesitated to come up too quickly. There would still be heavy ice all around them. Easing more than a thousand feet of submarine through a small hole in the ice was a complex process. Surfacing too quickly would increase the chances for external damage. The entire process was a matter of increasing their bouyancy, blowing sea water from their ballast tanks while maintaining their stability as they slowly rose to the surface.
“Easy now… easy…” The diving officer was talking to himself, oblivious to anyone else in the control room. He was doing the job originally designed for a computer. It seemed to Snow, as he tried to visualize from a position somewhere well above the ice, that it was like running a carrier up a trout stream. It didn’t seem possible that the sweating diving officer was handling the entire thing by himself.
“Heavy ice contact forward.” That meant the bow would hold for an instant while the stern continued to rise. He shifted water to his trim tanks aft to make the bow lighter. Bouyancy accomplished the rest. “Ice contact starboard quarter.” The submarine rolled slightly, enough so that the motion could be felt in the control room.
“Ice all sides, Captain,” the diving officer reported. “My keel is level. Request permission to blow all main ballast tanks.” There were beads of perspiration on the man’s forehead.
“Go ahead.” Snow smiled. “Do it your way. You earned it, Fitz.”
There was a rumble as high-pressure air forced the water from the ballast tanks. This was followed by an even steadier sound as Imperator rose upward through the remaining ice. Huge chunks broke away, rattling down the hull into the water. The sharp splashes echoed through the submarine. It seemed as if they were maneuvering in a tank after days of almost total silence under water.
The submarine continued to rock slightly even after the sound subsided. “On the surface, sir.”
“Captain,” the electronics officer called out, “I’ve got all sorts of stuff in the air — their aircraft, our aircraft. I got military radio circuits going a mile a minute.”
“Do you read anything in the immediate vicinity?” Snow queried.
“Negative. It’s all up in the air… nothing I can find on the surface.”
“Keep a sharp eye… report if anything seems to be closing.” To his XO, Snow indicated the ladder up into the sail. “Come on, let’s see what the North Pole looks like.” He was halfway up the ladder before turning to Carol Petersen. “Have DC Central report to me on the bridge as soon as they know how long it will take to clear those spaces. We don’t belong up here.”
When Imperator broke through the static cold of the arctic ice, satellites silently eyeing the great white expanse activated warning systems in Washington and Moscow. Only one object that large could possibly have been under the ice pack—Imperator. In Washington, not a soul could fathom why she would possibly breach the surface at that moment. In Moscow, no one paused to wonder why she’d reveal her position — at least they now knew where the monster was.
Messages went out to aircraft in both countries. Until the moment Imperator surfaced, there had been no information for either side concerning what had taken place beneath the ice. Now, one of the combatants had appeared. The Russians wished to dispose of it. The Americans raced to Imperator’s defense.