Chapter 20
Arctic
Captain Hansen’s reaction had been to summon the leaders of their guest spec ops detachment for a meeting. Lieutenant Drake and his Finnish counterpart, Captain Raine, joined Hansen in the wardroom.
“We are eighty-two nautical miles from our objective,” Hansen began once the junior officers had taken seats at the table. “At present speed we should arrive in four hours.”
“And what’s waiting for us when we get there?” Drake inquired, eyeing a printout resting next to the captain’s hand.
“We’ve gotten word that an airliner has gone down, Hemisphere Airlines Flight 777. Certain unnamed intelligence agencies have given the Navy a bead on an emergency locator beacon that’s chirping. We’ve been tasked to make best speed toward the crash site and search for survivors.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s what this is all about? A SAR mission?” He was referencing the military acronym for search-and-rescue.
“Apparently.”
“I guess it makes sense,” Drake said. “Not too many first respon- ders in these parts. But wouldn’t air assets reach the site more quickly than we can?”
“The message doesn’t address that, but I would be surprised if we are the only ones being sent to the area.
This search box is beyond the range of helicopters from Canada or Greenland.
It’s very possible there are fixed-wing aircraft en route, but the weather is shit.
And even if an aircraft could locate survivors, they’d have no way to pick them up. ”
“Which makes us the lifeboat,” Drake surmised.
“That would make sense, although our orders are low on details. Headquarters included some ice-thickness projections for the area in question. It’s thinner than where we broke through yesterday, so breaching shouldn’t be a problem.
They want us to surface on these coordinates and stand up a search party. ”
Drake waited. Raine remained silent. Both men were experienced operators, which meant they had a well-developed sixth sense for when commanders were about to drop the hammer of bad news.
“This whole thing feels strange,” the captain finally said.
“I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t expect to find much.
Best case, if this doomed airplane was controllable, the crew might have been able to bring it down in one piece.
But the ice in this area is so thin it would never support the weight of an airliner.
Conceivably the jet might have floated for an hour or two, but by now it’ll be on the bottom—roughly two thousand feet down. ”
“There might have been time for the passengers to evacuate,” Raine ventured.
“Possibly. But carrying that forward, they would find themselves on pack ice in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. They would probably be soaking wet, and according to our surface weather analysis, the temperature is eighteen degrees, and the winds are twenty knots and rising. There’s a storm bearing down, and by tonight the winds will be gale force.
Any survivors would be facing these conditions with little or no protection.
And while the message only gives a window for when they think this crash happened, I estimate they’ll have been exposed for a minimum of ten hours by the time we arrive. ”
“Without proper clothing or shelter, that’s not survivable,” Drake said.
The SEAL’s knowledge of hypothermia wasn’t casual—he taught the course on it at Kodiak and had extensive real-world experience.
He knew the human body functioned in an extremely narrow temperature range.
Lowering the body’s core temperature a mere four degrees introduced shivering and mental confusion.
As internal temperature continued to fall, hallucinations were common and decision-making faltered.
Core temperatures below 80 degrees Fahrenheit brought unconsciousness and, soon after, death.
Age, fitness, and training could mitigate the symptoms, but aside from a bullet to the head, there was no more surefire way to kill someone than putting them in subzero conditions without protection.
“I concur,” Raine seconded. “But the will to survive can be powerful. We must at least try to reach the site.”
“And we will,” Hansen promised. His expression turned pensive. “But now we come to the second message.”
“Second message?” Drake echoed.
The captain picked up the printout and read aloud.
“Advise Captain Raine of pending change of operational command. State Department currently coordinating with Finnish Foreign Ministry for two attached operators deployed on board the Cheyenne to fall under temporary command of Lieutenant Peter Drake. Special operational orders undergoing draft, to include rules of engagement and limited authorizations for use of force.”
Drake sat stunned. Hansen handed over the paper, and he read it through once, then gave it to Raine, who did the same.
“Limited authorizations for use of force?” Raine said when he finished. “What does this mean?”
Hansen addressed Drake. “Honestly, I’m not familiar with the orders you frogmen typically work under. Does this make sense to you?”
“Joint operations are common,” Drake replied.
“It usually involves training, but we sometimes go into hot zones and fight alongside allies. What I can’t figure is how an air crash in the Arctic equates to a combat op requiring a joint forces agreement.
It might make sense if this was a military jet and DOD wanted to safeguard classified equipment.
But we’re talking about a civilian airliner. ”
Raine said, “Is it possible they are not telling us the entire story?”
Drake pushed the message back across the table. “I’d say it’s a damned certainty.”
Raine stated, “I have no issues working with your team, and if the orders come, I will carry them out. But it would be good to know what we are getting into.”
Hansen was about to respond when a petty officer appeared at the open door. “Captain, something you should see.”
MINUTES LATER, ALL three officers were in the control room.
“What have you got?” Hansen asked.
His executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Adam Bennett, nodded to a headphone-clad sonar operator, who said, “Surface contact bearing one-two-four degrees, range four thousand yards.”
“Do we have an ID?”
“We got an instant hit from the library. Chinese icebreaker, Snow Dragon 2. Not only is she chugging along like a diesel train, but she’s bashing through heavy ice. Sounds like a jackhammer on steroids, sir.”
Hansen considered it. There were a finite number of Chinese icebreakers, and all were in the sonar database.
Identifying them by acoustic signature was child’s play—such vessels were built for brute force, not stealth.
If they had crossed paths with Snow Dragon 2 in the mid-Pacific, it would be a notable oddity.
Finding her here, however, was perfectly ordinary.
He canted his gaze toward his executive officer, or XO for short, who’d been running the conn.
“And your thinking as to why this is relevant?”
The XO said, “We’re being sent to investigate the presumed crash of a commercial airliner—one that took off from Macau, and almost certainly has Chinese nationals on board.
Could be a coincidence, but it sounds like Snow Dragon 2 is pushing pretty hard.
I was thinking this icebreaker might be under orders similar to ours. ”
Hansen considered it. “Have you been able to plot her course?”
“Zero-three-five degrees, three knots.”
“Well, XO, if you’re right, they’re headed in the wrong direction. The Chinese will spot this ELT eventually, so we’ve got a head start.”
“Probably. I’m just wondering what they’re basing their course on.” His exec let the thought hang.
Hansen gave him a jaded look. “Okay, point taken. Hold present course, but let’s run this contact up to command. Maybe they’ll have a better idea as to whether it’s relevant.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The orders were given. Hansen turned to leave, but then paused. “Anything more on our shadow?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” Bennett replied. “It vaporized.”
New furrows of skepticism etched the captain’s square features.
“What shadow?” Drake asked.
Hansen nodded for him and Raine to follow, and halfway down the passageway the captain paused and crossed his arms. “Yesterday, right before we surfaced so that you guys could start shooting ice blocks and building igloos, our sonar registered a brief contact. There were only a few hits before it ghosted away, but my best sonar guy thinks it might have been legitimate.”
“Meaning?”
“I think it’s very possible that somebody was tracking us.”
“As in another submarine?”
“Yes.”
“Who could it be?” the Finn asked.
“We didn’t get enough data to make an ID, but in these waters… there’s really only one suspect.”