Yet if he didn’t order them to submerge, could Chief Cunnetto and his men finish their work before the surrounding ice had the Defiance in its fatal grip?
It was a gamble either way he looked at it, and Colter struggled to summon the wisdom to make the correct decision. So deep were his ponderings that he didn’t even notice when someone joined him on the sail.
“The noise is getting pretty bad inside the ship, Skipper,” observed the XO.
“Is it coming from the ice?”
Colter nodded and pointed toward the open water off their starboard bow.
“It appears the lead is slowly closing. There’s a pressure ridge over there that only formed in the last couple of minutes. It’s obvious that this entire section of ice is under tremendous pressure, and I don’t like the idea of having the Defiance stuck smack in the middle of it.”
“Shall I inform the chief to halt work and secure the engine room. Skipper? We can be under this stuff in a couple of minutes flat.”
A deafening, high-pitched shriek rose above the constant howl of the gusting wind, and Colter had to practically scream at the top of his lungs to be heard.
“I hate to do it to them, but I don’t think we have much of a choice right now. Under the circumstances, I think it’s best if I run down there and tell them myself.”
“You do that. Skipper. I’ll tough it out, and keep an eye on things from up here.”
With a fluid ease. Colter climbed down the sail’s internal ladder, ducked into the control room, and began to make his way aft, without even bothering to take off his parka. Inside the ship, the noise of the fracturing ice was further amplified, and the deck was beginning to vibrate with the resulting shock waves This vibration intensified as the captain rushed into the engine room and approached the potbellied, Tshirted figure, working on the damaged pump with a large wrench.
“Chief, I’m afraid I’m going to have to order you to suspend your repair effort. The lead we picked to surface in is rapidly closing in on us, and I have no choice but to take us under.”
“So that’s what all that infernal noise is about,” observed the grease-stained chief engineer.
“And here I thought it was the hordes of hell playing a little Arctic lullaby on the Defiance’s hull. I’ll have this gear stashed and secured in five minutes, sir.”
“Thanks, Chief,” returned the captain as he turned to head for the control room.
Noting that there wasn’t the merest hint of complaint in the chiefs response, even though his work was now to be doubled. Colter passed through maneuvering and climbed up to the deck above. It was as he hurriedly crossed through the wardroom that he realized the noise of the fracturing ice could no longer be heard. This fact was most apparent as he climbed back up to the sail and was met only by the incessant howling of the wind and the excited voice of his XO.
“It stopped, Skipper!”
“So I’ve noticed, Al. It looks to me like those pressure ridges have diminished some.”
“They have, Skipper. And not only that, the ice actually seems to be receding.”
Colter looked out to the ever-widening channel of open water that surrounded them and cursed angrily.
“Damn it! And I just got through telling the chief to close up shop.”
“You never know, Skipper. The ice might just start moving in once again.”
Colter considered this observation and shook his head.
“I don’t think so, Al. As far as I’m concerned, this polynya is as good as any other. So I’m going to call the chief and have them start up again.”
“Whatever you say. Skipper. I’ll get him on the horn for you.”
As the XO bent over and fumbled for the handset with his mittened hands. Matt Colter stared out at the ice pack. Nothing was as dangerous as a captain who had trouble making up his mind. This was the quickest way to lose a crew’s confidence, and once this occurred, a successful command was all but impossible.
Yet an officer also had to be open to the constantly changing variables that influenced a decision, and had to be unafraid to change his mind when new facts were presented to him. Thus, Matt Colter had few reservations as he closely cupped the intercom to his lips and informed the Chief to resume the repair effort.
During this entire sequence of events, the two senior officers were all but oblivious to the industrious efforts of the vessel’s radio man. Locked deep within the bowels of the Defiance, behind an acoustically padded, sealed doorway. Petty Officer Jules Thornton was about to initiate his second consecutive duty shift. Though a junior rating was all set to relieve him, Thornton would have none of it. Well aware of the unique nature of their mission, the Chicago native wanted to spend as much time as possible monitoring the recently activated receiver.
This process was especially important now that they were on the surface. At long last the antenna had been fully extended, and he could begin listening for the homing beacon that had sent them up to these frozen waters.
