Chapter 48
Captain Yong no longer needed binoculars. He could see the Russian attack sub less than a mile away. Slightly beyond it, intermittently visible through a scudding mist, was the tubular shape that was their objective, the partial remains of the downed airliner.
The ice thickness had been constant, roughly two meters. Just ahead, however, he saw the far thinner floe he had been told to expect—the place where the airliner had crashed the previous night.
“Prepare to reduce revolutions when we encounter the thinner ice. Keep the speed a constant three knots until we identify a place to stop.”
The helmsman acknowledged the order.
A low-frequency tremor caressed the ship as it cleaved ahead, a combination of the rumbling engines and a fracturing ice pack. The wind was down to 20 knots, far less than it had been hours earlier.
At least the sea is on my side, thought Yong.
“Sir,” said the watch officer, “we have a warning light on the port engine. Digital control has gone offline.”
Yong tried to recall the procedure to correct the malfunction.
“Would you like me to activate the standby system?” the watch officer prompted.
“Yes, immediately.” Yong waited one held breath, then asked, “Did that correct the malfunction?”
After an extended silence, the watch officer replied, “No, sir. And now I show the same warning on the starboard engine.”
“How could that—”
Yong’s words were cut off as the engine noise began to rise.
“Both engines are accelerating,” said the helmsman. The roar was getting louder and the deck shuddered violently.
“All stop!” Yong shouted.
The helmsman transmitted the commands. Nothing changed.
“Engines not responding to commands. Approaching red-line revolutions!”
It felt like the ship was tearing herself apart as the propellers exceeded their maximum rotational speed.
The watch officer said something else, but Yong couldn’t hear it over the thundering of the engines and the rattling of fixtures.
The floor shook as if from an earthquake, and cups of tea spilled over and shattered on the deck.
Yong grabbed the chart table to keep from falling.
Everyone on the bridge was shouting—the watch officer, the helmsman, the navigator.
All seemed to have a different idea about what to do.
Cut electrical power. Steer in a circle.
Take an axe to the fuel lines. It was like a team of surgeons arguing over a flatlining patient.
To Yong it was nothing more than noise, accelerants to the madness.
Snow Dragon 2 was gaining speed. The gauge showed only 6 knots, but in heavy ice such forces on the bow could prove catastrophic. Yong looked ahead and saw the thinner ice approaching. That will save us, he thought.
When the ship reached the thin patch, her bow, which had been riding high on the thicker ice, dropped noticeably. The vibrations lessened somewhat, but then the props dug in and speed began to build.
Ten knots.
Twelve.
“Shut the engines down!” Yong shouted.
The watch officer replied, “Captain, chief engineer reports the engine controls are not responding!”
Yong had never felt so powerless. He was riding a ship that wasn’t responding to his commands.
The crew kept working to shut down the runaway engines, but Snow Dragon 2 seemed to have a mind of her own, countering every input.
Yong ventured a look ahead. What he saw was catastrophic.
They were headed straight for the Russian submarine.
“Come hard to port, twenty degrees!” he said.
The helmsman responded, “Sir, rudder is jammed.”
With the submarine less than 100 meters away, the impending disaster was clear.
“Speed sixteen knots,” said the watch officer. “Sir, we must sound the collision alarm!”
Yong stood rooted, immobilized. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The black hull of the sub filled the forward windshields. He saw men scrambling down from its sail, others running across its deck and jumping onto the ice.
“Activate the collision alarm!” said the watch officer.
The alarm siren blared. Red warning lights flashed. Lost to the bedlam, Captain Yong Shiu stood statue-like, his hands white as they knuckled the chart table in a death grip.
Fifty meters.
Twenty.
Steel met steel in a titanic collision of forces.
Snow Dragon 2’s reinforced bow slammed into the nuclear attack submarine 30 meters from its own bow.
The inches-thick steel plating of the icebreaker tore through the sub’s pressure hull like a razor blade through a sheet of paper.
Everything inside the Aurora—its wiring, its ductwork, its stringers—was instantly crushed and severed.
Pipes spat steam and lights flickered to emergency power.
What didn’t remain attached sank in a long journey to the bottom of the ocean.
When the submarine was carved completely through, Snow Dragon 2 slammed into the heavy ice beyond.
A deckhand tumbled over the safety rail and plummeted overboard.
Her bow vaulted out of the water and everyone on the bridge was thrown to the deck.
Captain Yong flew head over heels into the base of the helm. His head struck something hard.
And then the world went black.