Chapter 1
The vicious storm raged out of the north, hundred-knot winds lashing the sea, churning waves to the height of a ten-story building before crashing back down with the awesome force of tons of seawater. Wind-driven spray froze into hard bullets that whipped across the maelstrom. Deep gray sky and gunmetal-colored sea blurred into one, the horizon obliterated by the dense fog of driving ice and snow.
Deep beneath the surface of the punishing Barents, the American submarine rocked as gently as a porch swing on a calm summer night. The easy motion was a quiet reminder of the terrible winter storm that raged three hundred feet above. The officers of the USS Miami, SSN 755, were seated around the wardroom table, taking their time finishing their dessert and coffee. The remains of dinner had been cleared. The men still present discussed the day’s events and plans for the next. The sub’s navigator and engineer half listened as they played cribbage at the far end of the table.
Commander Brad Crawford pushed away an empty ice -cream bowl and leaned back in his chair, stretching mightily.
“So, how is the whale watching going, Doctor? Figured out what they’re saying to each other yet?”
Dr. David Croley, lost in his thoughts, looked confused when he glanced up from his own dessert dish. He pushed his reading glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, smoothed down a few wild strands of what was left of his hair, and gave a carefully considered answer to the captain’s offhand question.
“The taping is going very well, Commander. Of course, in the strictest sense of the word, we are not trying to determine the content of their communications, only the modality of the interchange.”
The tall, balding scientist was the lone non-Navy person at the table. Dr. Croley headed a small team of oceanographers from the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution , on board Miami to study the migration patterns of narwhals. While the animals’ summer travels were well documented, little was known about the winter activities of the Arctic-dwelling whales. Few people could see these vocal, sociable, tusked whales during the colder months, the horrible weather up on the surface a prime reason why. The Navy and the Miami were assisting Dr. Croley, allowing him to track the mammals across an entire Arctic winter.
Commander Crawford held up his hands in mock surrender and laughed. “Doc, I just wanted to know how it was going. Are the narwhal’s cooperating?”
“Of course, of course. I understand,” Croley responded. “We are getting some excellent tapes. I think we have found at least six new pods. It is very exciting, doing research out here, being in the same waters with the monodon monoceros. We could never do this type of research without your submarine. Why, just this afternoon we taped and identified several new types of communications sounds, an especially curious manifestation of harmonic— . . .”
Andy Gerson, Miami’s executive officer, jumped to his commander’s rescue. “Skipper, it’s time for the nineteen-fifteen satellite downlink. Remember? You were going to observe Lieutenant Wittstrom going to periscope depth.”
Crawford smiled. The doctor was a nice guy and could even be quite interesting to talk with once you got past all the gobbledygook. When he got wound up on the subject of his favorite whales, the conversations could be interminable. Crawford figured it was much like a submariner talking to civilians. They, too, tended to get verbose, speaking a language not understood by normal folk.
“Yeah, sorry, Doc. I better get up there. Mr. Wittstrom is coming along nicely. He’ll make a good officer of the deck when he qualifies. Tonight will be a special challenge for him, though. You better make sure everything is stowed for sea, XO. We’re going to get knocked around a lot while we’re up there.”
Crawford pointed to the overhead as he rose. He stepped out of the wardroom and into the centerline passageway. Barely shoulder-width wide and running from the chief’s quarters in the bow to the crew’s mess, this hallway was the major artery for the ship. On the port side were the corpsman’s diminutive office and the crew’s berthing spaces. To the starboard were the wardroom and officers’ staterooms. Ladders led from the passageway down to the torpedo room and up to the control room.