Major Bryan and the rest of L.A.S.E.R. were seated in the belly of a twin-rotor RAF Chinook when he received the update from General Scott. Scott wasn’t sure whether a Chinese sighting of three “persons” on the ice was good news, bad news, a deception to scope out rescue efforts, or irrelevant. They could be the only survivors of the disaster; they could be research personnel who just happened to be in the region where the vessels had collided; they could be lookouts, with the rest of the Chinese or American crew in a cave or windbreak inland; they could be tourists who were penguin-watching; they could be Chinese planted there to spread disinformation through an American rescue team. Whoever they were, they may have seen something.
Scott wanted to know.
The HC MkII Chinook was still an hour away from Graham Land when they received the intel. With Capt. Tyler Puckett at the controls, the Chinook was pushing the outer envelope of its speed rating as it raced across the sea. By the time they were just a half mile out, the situation had changed. Radically. Recon specialist Lt. Renny Kodak, who was on forward point in the flight deck with a pair of binoculars, had detected turbulence offshore while they were still five miles out at sea. When they arrived, the turbulence had become what looked like a full-scale shelf-collapse. Even at ten-times magnification—which was enough to pick out a floating baseball cap and read the logo—Kodak could not see anyone in the water. That didn’t mean the three individuals weren’t there. Acres of bobbing slabs of ice and wind-stirred foam were in the way.
“We hook-and-ladder on my go!” Major Bryan said into the builtin radio. The L.A.S.E.R. leader was standing in the open door of the Chinook, his amber visor turned toward the Antarctica coast, his left hand on the strap above the door, his right held in salute position, shielding his face from the knifing wind. The door was little more than a hatch located just aft of the cockpit. This Chinook was a transport, not a rescue helicopter, but it was all the Royal Air Force had that satisfied the mission parameters the major had worked out en route.
The RAF helicopter was the equivalent of the U.S. air force CH47-D, which the Tennessee-born Puckett boasted he knew “better than the alphabet.” Since Major Bryan had never actually seen the laid-back twenty-four-year-old with a book, he did not take comfort from that in itself. But the kid could fly, there was no doubt about that. He never showed any concern, doubt, fear, joy—nothing. He was like a bass player in a jazz band, just hunkering into his job and letting it flow.
Lieutenant Black was busy securing the rolled “rubberungs” ladder to latches at the base of the door. This was a thirty-foot aluminum ladder with rubber rungs for a secure grip. The added weight also kept the ladder relatively steady in high winds and prop wash. Behind her, Captain Gabriel and MCPO Gunther Wingate, USCG, were getting into their long-sleeve wet suits. These were custom-made Rubatex G-231N nitrogen blown neoprene suits. They had backbone cushioning for air cylinders and canister lights. Although it did not apply to their use at the moment, they were extremely warmth-retentive. That would matter when they went after the submarine. In any case, they were the only suits the team had brought. The wet suits also had a thermal lining. This was effectively a dry suit layer beneath the wet suit. The dry suit trapped air between the body and the lining; this kept the diver warm. The wet suit had a thin pocket of heated water between the two suit layers for added warmth. The L.A.S.E.R. team members used coils to heat a half gallon of seawater each, which they poured into the suit lining after it was on. The twin layers made the suit bulky, but the added warmth would give the team time to reach the seabed, execute the mission, then return.
The ladder was rated for eight hundred pounds. One of the men would go into the water, the other would remain halfway up the ladder. According to the communication relayed from NORDSS, a Chinese spy plane had spotted three individuals. Bryan could only make out two of them in the chaos of ice and water. There would be added water weight, which meant they had to get at least one individual into the Chinook before they could rescue the third. That was why Bryan had referred to it as a hook-and-ladder operation. They couldn’t simply get the individuals onto the ladder and fly them to ground. They had to get them inside, the way fire departments pulled people from burning buildings.
The Chinook was less than a quarter mile away. Lieutenant Black indicated that the ladder was secure. Gabriel and Wingate finished suiting up. Captain Puckett dropped to within fifty feet of the sea. He would position himself over the target then do a straight vertical descent to put them in reach of the ladder. That would minimize the horizontal rotor backwash, which would otherwise dislocate and blow the sea into the faces of those in the water.
Gabriel and Wingate stood behind the major. The helicopter door slid open like the door of a van. There was a bar that ran across the top of the hatch and the two officers held that. They ran a sound-check of the earphones and microphone built into the sides of their hoods. The microphones could be fitted into the regulators for dives; at the moment, they were poking from the hood along the right side of the mouth. Though they were wearing masks to protect their eyes from airborne ice and wind, they were not wearing tanks. Lieutenant Black remained crouched behind the ladder, ready to unfurl it at the major’s command. Behind them the rest of the L.A.S.E.R. team was equipping themselves for their primary mission.
The helicopter moved into position above the target zone. Guided by Major Bryan’s radioed commands, Captain Puckett dropped the Chinook to within thirty feet of the sea. Lieutenant Black watched the major as he watched the sea. He held his right index finger out, parallel to the water, studied the target a moment longer, then turned his finger down. The lieutenant pushed the ladder out.
The silver-and-black rubberung dropped to the sea just a few feet from one of the individuals. Major Bryan could still see just the two, though it looked as though one of them, the one they were above, was reaching into the water. Perhaps he was trying to help the third.
Gabriel was the first man out.
“Gabe, it looks as though your guy is fishing,” Bryan said.
“I see that,” the captain said as he went down the ladder. “I’ll hook him, then go in.”
Bryan had not intended for any of his people to go into the water. The major turned and gave a thumbs-up signal to Sgt. Maj. Tony Cowan, USA. Cowan, who was also wearing his wet suit, moved forward. The Ranger was one of the divers Bryan had assigned to the submarine rescue group. Cowan was also a backup for this operation. If anything happened to Gabriel or Wingate, he would step in.
When Gabe was halfway down, Wingate went out. The individual in the water seemed to be pointing to his side. Gabe didn’t bother climbing the rest of the way down. He jumped the last ten feet into the water.
“Go!” Bryan said to Cowan.
The young Ranger started down after Wingate. Bryan’s eyes remained on Gabriel. A few strokes put the big man beside the individual in the water. Ice chunks of all sizes were bobbing around them. Bryan could see the captain nod. Gabriel then grabbed the back of the parka and literally heaved the individual toward the ladder. Then the officer sucked down a breath and descended.
Bryan wished that he himself were the one in the water. He watched as Wingate helped the other man up the ladder. The individual slowed. He seemed to be struggling. Cowan went down a few rungs and pulled off the parka, which was obviously weighing the man down. He was a young man in jeans. With Wingate giving him a push from below, he slowly ascended the rubberung. The major looked out toward the other individual. He was about fifteen feet away and trying to hold on to a slab of ice to stay afloat.
“Puckett—target two!” Bryan ordered.
He didn’t want to abandon the spot where Gabe had gone down, but the other individual was in jeopardy. He needed to be extracted.
The man on the ladder passed Cowan and was within reach of the cabin. Lieutenant Black had donned a leather belt that was attached to an eye-hook low in the doorway. Thus secured, she reached out and offered her hands to the man. He stretched his left hand up and she took it within hers. She pulled as he climbed. His teeth chattering, his eyes wide, he crawled up into the cabin.
The company medic, Lt. Moses Houston, USMC, spread him out on the floor. He threw a blanket over him.
“I. . .I couldn’t hold her,” the man stuttered.
“What’s your name?” Bryan asked, leaning into the helicopter.
“Ensign Warren, s-sir.”
“Vessel?”
“Cl-classified, sir.”
“Sir, let him be for now,” Houston said as he rolled over a blue unit the size of a loaf of bread. A tube and an oxygen mask were attached to it. The medic held up the mask. “Ensign Warren, I’m going to put this over your face to get you some warm, humidified air. Then we’ll get an IV into you. Get some heat and vitamins into your blood.”
“She wasn’t. . . swimming,” Warren went on. “Just. . . screaming.”
“You quiet down,” Houston said softly but firmly. “Captain Gabriel is trying to help her.”
Bryan turned back to the open hatch. He was impressed with the young man. Knew to keep his mouth shut, even among what seemed like friends. Solid training and good instincts. He looked too tall to be a submariner, though. Bryan guessed he was from the surface ship.
The major watched as the ladder edged slowly toward the other individual in the water. Wingate was on the bottom rung. When they arrived, he leaned over, grabbed the person’s upraised hand, and pulled it toward the ladder. Puckett was watching, too. He lowered the Chinook slightly to help the man get his second hand up. They descended just inches to put the bottom rung in the water so, assisted by Wingate, the individual could get a foothold. Wingate swung to the flip side of the ladder so he could help the person climb. He moved up slowly but steadily, dropping the parka on his own as he ascended. Bryan waited until Cowan had a hand on him. The ladder was going to blow out a little when they moved.
“Take us back!” Bryan said into the mouthpiece. “Do you see him?”
“Negative, sir,” Captain Puckett said as he nosed around and moved the Chinook to where Gabriel had gone under.
The man on the ladder struggled the last few rungs and had to be dragged in by Lieutenant Black and the major. He fell on his right side, panting. Houston handed Lieutenant Black a blanket. As Major Bryan looked over, she wrapped it around the newcomer, a silver-haired man who looked to be in his early sixties. He took the blanket, then tried to return to the hatch.
The lieutenant grabbed his shoulder. “Please lie down,” she said.
“Dr. Albertson—”
“We’re searching,” Black told him.
The man seemed to accept that. He sat back against the fuselage, beside the door.
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
“Rear Admiral Kenneth Silver.”
“Sir,” she said, saluting him.
He returned the salute with a trembling hand.
“Are there any other survivors, besides Dr. Albertson?” Black asked.
“No. . .not that we know of.”
Bryan turned back to the sea. According to the thin file Scott had given them, Silver was the commander of the mission. He had been on board the surface vessel, the Abby. Dr. Albertson was the science officer. She was their cover for the mission. Now they knew which group of survivors they had. And which crew was still down there.
Gabriel’s microphone wouldn’t work underwater unless it was part of the subvocal system in the air regulator. It had been a little over three minutes since he’d gone in. Bryan sure as hell hoped he had come up for air. They had lost sight of the region when they’d turned. The ice shelf had stopped collapsing, but ice was everywhere, rocking to and fro. Wingate was still at the bottom of the ladder.
“Sir, I’d like to go in,” the master chief petty officer said through the comm system. He was watching the water intently, his blue-and-black suit glistening in the icy daylight.
“Negative,” Bryan replied. He needed his team. The major felt a sick, sick stirring in his gut. It was far worse than losing the dummies back in the Gulf. Come on you big bastard, he thought.
“Major, drop the ladder—” Wingate yelled suddenly.
“Lower us!” Bryan said to Puckett.
The Chinook began to descend. The bottom of the rubberung was still in the water.
It went deeper into the sea. Wingate stayed dropped to the lowest rung as it started to submerge.
“Stop!” Wingate cried when he was chest deep. He plunged his right arm into the water and held it there. His body was at a forty-five degree angle as he held tightly with his left hand.
Cowan climbed down so he could grab Wingate if he started to slip. The Chinook was hovering at just under twenty-five feet. Puckett was holding it remarkably steady in the strong wind.
Bryan watched, his heart matching the fast beat of the rotors. After a moment, Wingate yelled for them to take the Chinook up. The helicopter began to rise; two sets of hands were on the ladder. Wingate was holding one set, which belonged to a third person in a parka. Gabriel was holding on by himself—using one hand to hang on and the other to support the individual they had rescued. The person did not appear to be conscious.
Bryan’s chest expanded and lightened. He smiled as the three men worked to get the last person up the ladder and into the cabin. It was a woman. She was unconscious and not breathing. Having just finished with Ensign Warren’s IV, Houston turned to her immediately. He got behind the seated woman and executed the Heimlich maneuver. She vomited water, clearing the airway. He did it again and she spit up nearly half as much water. Then he laid her down and performed CPR. While he was doing that, Lieutenant Black helped the other men up. She patted Gabriel on the shoulder before she pulled in the ladder. Bryan told Puckett to head to shore, then saluted Gabriel.
“We didn’t see you come up for breath, Captain,” Bryan said.
“I didn’t,” he admitted, still gasping. “There was an air pocket under the ice. I hit it by dumb luck. Otherwise I’d be playing solo trumpet.”
The rear admiral looked up. “Captain, God bless you.”
“Sir, thank you.”
Rear Admiral Silver continued watching the medic work. Bryan crouched beside him.
“Sir, I’m Major Thomas Bryan. We’re emergency rescue out of Corpus Christi, Texas.”
“Major, I’m pleased to know you.” He was shivering violently and pulled the blanket around himself. “What are your orders?”
“All we were told is that a surface vessel, an experimental sub, and a Chinese sub were involved in some kind of collision, sir,” Bryan replied. “Your people at NORDSS snagged a message from the Chinese air force, said they saw you.”
“The other vessels? Has anyone heard from them?”
“Not a peep, as far as I know.”
Silver seemed to deflate. “They’re the ones that did this,” he said angrily. “They came up through the bottom of our surface ship.”
“At any time did you hear any explosions, see any kind of subsur-face activity?” Bryan asked.
“Not until this shelf collapse or earthquake or whatever it was,” Silver said. His eyes narrowed. “Wait, that’s not true. There was a very distinct pop before the shelf came down.”
“A pop, sir? Like a muffled explosion or a balloon. . .?”
“Neither, major. I’ve heard underwater demolition and this didn’t sound like that. It was less of a bang than a groan.”
A moment later Angela Albertson wheezed down air. She inhaled so hard that she seemed to be filling her toes. Her eyes snapped open, her fingers stretched, and she immediately exhaled. She began to wriggle and cry but Houston steadied her. Lieutenant Black put her hands on her shoulders and gently held her down while the medic prepared to give her Ensign Warren’s oxygen.
Silver smiled. In the direct light of the overhead bulb, Bryan saw the officer’s eyes grow damp with more than seawater.
With a gentle bump, the helicopter touched down well inland, away from where the shelf had collapsed. Puckett cut the engines. Bryan nodded to the crew to get ready. The major’s own gear was stowed in the back. He would have to get suited up in a moment.
“One more question, sir,” Major Bryan said. “This groan—did it come from directly under the shelf?”
“It seemed to. Why? What are you thinking?”
“The Chinese obviously received a distress call or picked up an emergency beacon from this region. We didn’t. I’m told their beacons are attached by a tether and float to the surface. They’re designed to withstand explosions and implosions.”
“That’s correct.”
“Well, about the only thing that would mute the signal would be a pile-on that prevented the signal from escaping.”
“A landslide,” Silver said.
“Yes, sir. If something happened underwater, the tether might have been pulled down, and the beacon dragged in with it.”
Major Bryan stood as Cowan came forward with his gear. The major put the bag down and began removing his leather flight jacket. “We were going to drag a sonar tow-fish through the sea to try and pinpoint the location before going down, but I’m beginning to think that won’t be necessary.”
“You believe they went down on the shelf?”
The major nodded as he took off his shirt. “The Chinese flight path took them close enough to your position to pick up your own emergency beacon and have a look. They were here for a reason.”
“Following their sub’s signal.”
“Yes, sir. That sound you heard could have been one of the subs decompressing. A hull breach might have sent up a bubble that shocked the ice along preexisting faults. The charts show a lot of unstable ice in the area. The good news is that we didn’t see any debris. That could mean the subs are buried, it could mean they’re not in this area, or it could mean they weren’t impacted catastrophically. Perhaps just a compartment or two of one of them.”
“I understand. But, Major, even if they are down there, what do you plan to do? Do you have extraction craft at your disposal? Emergency suits?”
“No, sir. Our team and our overnight bags are it.”
Silver did not seem happy to hear that. The naval officer would be much less happy to learn what Admiral Grantham had instructed L.A.S.E.R. to do if the submarine was unsalvageable.
“Our commanding officer and the brass at NORDSS felt it was more important that we get down here as quickly as possible and reconnoiter,” Bryan said. “They did not want to risk having the Chinese recovery units get here first.”
“I understand,” Silver replied.
“Rear Admiral Silver, my pilot is going to take a run along the coast to see if anyone else from your vessel made it ashore. If there are remains and they can be recovered, he and the aircrew will do so.”
“Thank you, Major,” Silver replied. “What are you and the rest of your team going to do?”
Major Bryan began slipping into his wet suit. “The seabed is 170 feet below us. We’re going to go down and have a look around.”
“They’re a good crew,” the rear admiral said, his eyes misting.
The major smiled. “I’ll do everything I can to help you tell them in person, sir.”
When Bryan finished suiting up, Puckett lifted off and flew them back toward the new section of coastline along the Weddell Sea. As the chopper rose from what was left of the shelf, Bryan asked Silver one more question. He wanted to know something, anything, about the submarine they were going down to try to assist. The rear admiral was—perhaps predictably—unhelpful.
“I can’t tell you about it,” Silver replied flatly.
“I don’t understand, sir,” Bryan said. “Seven of us are about to go down there, hopefully to locate the vessel, and we don’t know anything about what we’re looking for.”
“I know, Major. I’m sorry.”
“Sir, if we find it, we’ll see it.”
“That changes nothing. I am not permitted to tell you about the submarine.”
“So we just look for the one that doesn’t have Chinese markings.” That didn’t come out as sarcastically as Bryan had thought it would, probably because the major cut the edge as he spoke it. The rear admiral was still a senior officer.
“That’s right, Major.”
He did not seem to take offense at Bryan’s remark. Silver added that if the group found nothing, the security of the original mission would not have been compromised.
Silver was moved to one of the benches on the side of the Chinook. Warren and Dr. Albertson were moved to semirigid hammocks slung along the opposite side.
Bryan and his crew moved to the hatch. Ignorant or not, it was time to go. And the major was not sure it would make a difference. A week before they had thought they’d known everything about the destroyer they were boarding. Turned out they didn’t, or they would have been more cautious.
Perhaps knowing you’re ignorant is better than thinking you know something, Bryan thought.
He would soon find out.