The day started off splendidly. The sky was clear, the air warm, with a moderate breeze blowing in from the west. His uncle was an expert mariner, who handled his thirty-five-foot sloop with the ease of a veteran sailor. He was quick to teach his inquisitive nephew the basics of seamanship, and in no time at all, Matt was at the helm, guiding them through the channel markers.
Invigorated by the warm sun, cool ocean spray, and the ease with which the boat handled. Matt found himself entranced by his uncle’s war stories. He was particularly fascinated by the type of vessel Bill had commanded. He found that the very word submarine had an exotic ring to it. Able to utilize the black ocean depths to sneak up on the enemy and then deliver a fatal blow, the submarine was an effective killer.
In the course of his stories. Bill made certain to explain the submarine’s shortcomings as well. Dependent upon limited battery power when submerged, and air-guzzling diesels when topside, the submarine was a far from a perfect weapon. Yet Bill explained that new technology would change all this.
Matt had a basic understanding of nuclear power from school, yet he’d never dreamed it could be adapted to propel a submarine, thus freeing the craft from having to ascend to the surface at all. The first nuclear-powered submarine was called Nautilus, and was already on sea trials. His uncle was a great advocate of such a warship, and promised to keep Matt informed on its future deployment.
While Matt was visualizing a vessel that could travel around the world submerged, without refueling, a distant rumble of thunder sounded. Quick to point out the rapidly advancing storm. Bill replaced Matt at the helm and turned the sloop back toward port.
Matt could just make out the marina when the first violent gust of wind hit them. Moments later, a torrent of rain soaked them to the bone. Ordered down into the enclosed cabin, he prepared himself to ride out the storm. Confident in his uncle’s ability to see them out of harm’s way, he looked at this experience as a great adventure. Yet as the boat continued to rock to and fro, any such pleasant ponderings on his part were soon replaced by sheer misery for a wave of nausea overcame him.
Never had he been so miserable in his short lifetime!
Even after he’d deposited the remains of his breakfast and lunch on the deck, the nausea would not leave him. Dizzy and flushed, he emptied his stomach completely before succumbing to a disorienting wave of dizziness. As it turned out, his uncle got them safely ashore and Matt returned home with a new respect for the sea. He also found himself with an exciting new goal in life. For he had decided to be a nuclear submariner.
Inwardly grinning at this long-forgotten recollection, Captain Mathew Colter peered out into the black void of his cabin. Over thirty years had passed since that fated day on Sarasota Bay. In that time he had grown to manhood and subsequently followed his childhood dream to the very end. Proud of this fact and never sorry for the difficult career he had chosen, he nonetheless regretted that his Uncle Bill had not lived long enough to see him get his dolphins.
Stricken with cancer. Bill had passed away on the same day that Matt was accepted into the Naval Academy.
Though he wasn’t able to be with his uncle at the end, Matt dedicated his stay at Annapolis to him, and he graduated in the top ten percent of his class. Submarine school followed, and after a decade of hard work, he finally got a command of his own.
The Defiance was the type of vessel that his uncle had dreamed about. Powered by a single water-cooled nuclear reactor that could go years between refueling, Matt’s present command was a first line man-of-war.
Should the Defiance ever be called upon to do so, she could hit the enemy with an awesome amount of firepower that included a mix of Mk48 dual-purpose torpedoes, nuclear-tipped SUBROC antisubmarine missiles. Harpoon antiship rockets, and even a newly fitted complement of long-range Tomahawk cruise missiles. To make certain that these weapons hit their mark, a sophisticated fire-control system had been incorporated into the Defiance’ hull, and she was outfitted with the latest in sonar and communication equipment.
Manned by a crew of one hundred and seven of the US Navy’s best, the Defiance was a proud ship with a proud tradition. Ever grateful for the opportunity to lead these brave men into battle if that should become necessary. Matt Colter restlessly stirred. Only then did he realize that he was lying there completely clothed.
This was not the first time he had fallen asleep in such formal attire, and he stiffly sat up, intending to wash and change into a fresh uniform.
Standing before his pullman-type metal washbasin, Matt soaked his face with cool water. Deciding not to shave, he momentarily caught his reflection in the wall-mounted mirror. Surprisingly enough, the tired face that stared back at him could easily have been a twin of his Uncle Bill in earlier days. He had the same short, spiky blond hair, deep blue eyes, highly etched cheekbones, and rounded, dimpled chin.
With this thought in mind. Matt wondered how his uncle would have handled their present mission.
Would he have ordered them to return over a week early as Matt had done, or would he have attempted yet another series of ascents to the frozen Arctic ice pack?
If it had been wartime, and the success of their mission depended upon such an ascent. Matt did not doubt that he would have given it another try. Yet the way he saw it, they had absolutely nothing to gain by such an attempt at this time and place.
It was evident that the new surface-scanning Fathometer still had quite a few bugs in it. It was a far from a reliable system, and until these flaws were worked out, it placed the entire crew in jeopardy. Thus as captain of the Defiance, Matt had no choice but to cut their mission short before the ship was once again needlessly endangered.
The theory behind such a device was fairly basic. In reality it was but a converted Fathometer, mounted on the topside of the submarine. The older machines utilized sound waves to determine the location of any surface ice. The device that had been installed on the Defiance used a sophisticated laser that was supposed not only to locate the smallest of usable open leads above, but also to interface with the boat’s navigation system to help the sub undergo a precise ascent.
Without such an instrument, the control-room crew had no reliable way of knowing what lay above them. Though sturdily built, a submarine could be readily damaged by a collision. Thick pack ice could be extremely unyielding, its submerged razor-sharp ridges able to easily puncture even the sturdiest of steel hulls.
One unusual feature of the Arctic ice fields was that even in the coldest parts of winter, open leads, or polynyas formed. Such openings extended from a few yards to many miles, and provided a submarine a safe haven in which to surface.
Matt Colter had been on several past Arctic missions during which time ascents to the surface were made. In each instance, even with perfectly functioning equipment, the atmosphere inside the control room had been tense as the submarine rose to meet its fate. Collisions with the ice weren’t unknown, and on one submerged ridge they had even damaged their vulnerable rudder. Yet their hull had remained intact, and after a series of makeshift repairs, they’d continued on with their patrol.
The Defiance had a specially strengthened sail, or conning tower, that could puncture up to a foot of solid ice. During the last week they had attempted to surface in three different, promising polynyas. Yet each time their best efforts were thwarted by an impenetrable sheet of ice that produced a deafening, bone-jarring jolt. Fortunately, most of the damage was limited to their nerves. But would they be so lucky the next time? Determined not to buck the odds. Matt had made the difficult decision to cut short their cruise and return to port. Certain that his uncle would have made the same choice, he mentally prepared himself for the icy reception that would be awaiting him in New London.