“Aye, aye, sir. Helm, all ahead standard.”
Phillips stood at the console behind Katoris, staring over his shoulder at the video displays, scanning the SHARKTOOTH sonar for ice rafts ahead.
The ridge that came down ahead blocked the way.
The sonar showed it just before the bow-mounted video camera picked it up. Katoris’s eyes were wide as he froze.
“Helm, back full!” Phillips shouted, feeling the deck tremble beneath his feet, the ridge ahead still looming in the sonar and video screens.
SUV–III-987 Curtain of Flames official deck log of underway mission number 118, commencing 20 december Mission 118 Official Deck Log Entry 39: Current position — thirty kilometers west of island Onaharajima, forty kilometers south of the mouth of Tokyo Bay. This unit is at mast-broach depth observing the American aircraft carrier, hull number CVN-76, as it takes the last of the twelve torpedoes launched against it. Ship is taking on water, continues to settle, torpedoes pounding into it. Carrier was a survivable ship, this unit thinks, because it took hit after hit and remained afloat. For a moment this unit thinks even with twelve Nagasakis hitting it carrier will remain afloat. But hull starts listing more, center settling further into the sea. Helicopters lift off deck.
Large boats lowered into water. This unit trains periscope to bearings to destroyer and cruiser to see if sinking from their hits. Cruiser is bow down, sunk to the aft superstructure, screw pointing up to sky, ship sinking lower. Only tip of destroyer’s bow above water. Periscope trained back on carrier. More helicopters leave, then return. This unit not certain regarding reason for this action. They are hovering over deck of carrier, listing now to forty-five degrees. Picking up survivors? Carrier capsizes, forward and aft hulls roll to port, only keel sticking up, bow and stern sinking into water. This unit turns periscope to find destroyer. It is gone. This unit sees cruiser sink.
Periscope trained back to carrier. It is almost gone. A man stands on hull near fracture. Jagged line traverses keel, cuts ship in half. Man stands on hull shaking fist. He must not know that the suction of a hundred and five thousand tons of ship sinking will drag him to the depths with the vessel. Hull goes under water, man going with ship. In ultrahigh optic power, no sign of man shaking fist. Surface of ocean quiet, oil fires going out, sounds from under water violent. This unit listens to sounds on sonar, finally single crash as hulk of carrier hits rocky sea bottom two kilometers deep. Even now, some compartments must have stayed intact, air trapped aboard, men inside trapped. Could explain banging noises that continued for next four hours, banging growing faint, less frequent. Sun rises over Pacific, sea quiet again. arctic ocean, under THE polar icecap USS Piranha The ship had been able to pull back from the ridge, but now there was no place to go but back. It was like finding a way through a cave, Phillips thought. When one path didn’t work he had to backtrack to a common branch and go another way. It could take forever. A claustrophobia seized him, a driving urge to get the hell out of the Arctic and back to open water. He knew what he needed. He looked over at Katoris.
“Hover here and wait for me.”
He went to his stateroom. Deep in his locker he found the bag that he’d packed when he’d thought about this situation two weeks ago. Then, it was just brought along for good luck. Now he’d have to execute his wild scheme. He withdrew the bag and found the dirty jeans.
He pulled them on. They were loose over his butt. He took off his sleeved T-shirt and put on the dingy sleeveless one, stuffing his pillow underneath the generous cut of the material so it looked like he had a beer gut. Next came the work boots, the tool belt and the worn leather gloves. Philips looked at himself in the mirror. Not quite right yet. He took some soap and a razor and cut the soap into dust, smeared it over his face, took some dirt from behind the door hinges and smeared that on his face. Better. The week’s growth of beard helped too.
Finally he put on the old yellow hardhat, the outfit complete.
He opened the door to the control room and strutted in.
All eyes were on him as he walked up and stood on the conn. Even Whatney, who had lived with Phillips for the last two years and thought he’d grown used to his stunts, stared at him.
“Gentlemen,” Phillips said, “the Bruce Phillips construction company is here. Let me amend that. The Bruce Phillips demolition company. Did I ever tell you guys I worked during summer leave with a wrecking ball in center city Philly? No. Well, you know it now. XO, do you have any idea what I’m going to do now?”
“I’m afraid, sir, that I do.”
“Officer of the Deck, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“How about you. Dive?” Phillips asked the diving officer.
“Yes, Captain. You’re going to do some demolition work on the ridge ahead.”
