Robert Williams: Ice Fortress

Palming a small remote, Colonel Daniels brought the big screen to life, displaying what was clearly a satellite image. As it progressed through a slide show, each image zoomed tighter and tighter as if the photographs were taken from a drone rather than a satellite in low earth orbit. The resolution was staggering in its detail. What was initially a small speck of black in a panoramic vista of white ice took shape as the images continued to zoom in.

“That’s not what I think it is?” Jack quizzed, leaning forward to get a closer look at the screen.

Jack turned to Sam who quirked a brow encouraging Jack to voice his opinion aloud.

“A sail. It’s a submarine sail, right?” Coulson looked from side to side seeking confirmation from either man.

“No,” Sam said as he leaned back in his chair as best he could, “it’s not a sail. Modern nuclear submarines have sails. What you’re looking at is something nobody has seen outside of a maritime museum in over 70 years.” Slapping Jack on the shoulder, he continued, “That, my friend is a conning tower from a Second World War submarine.”

Colonel Daniels nodded in agreement but remained silent to allow Sam to continue.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” Sam added, “judging by its size, shape and the rakish lines of the conning tower, it’s a Kriegsmarine Type XXI U-Boat. But that’s impossible—”

“Far from it, Mr. Krupsky. I’m pleased to see we didn’t waste a berth on the GITMO flight. You may yet live up to expectations.”

Jack raised his hand. Now it was his turn to play the schoolboy. “Am I the only one here who’s surprised that I’m being shown a photograph of what looks like a perfectly preserved Nazi submarine buried in the ice near the South Pole? Why has this just been discovered now?”

“I’m no oceanographer, Captain Coulson, but the squints out there have written some goddam report about thinning of the ice sheet and some kind of subglacial volcanic eruption forcing the sub up through the ice. Then again, the report suggests they don’t really know shit from clay about how it got there, but they need to come up with something, right?”

“Great,” Jack huffed.

“Something to contribute Captain?”

“Sorry sir. It’s just that the pocket protector patrol, the squints as you call them, aren’t my favorite people right now. It’s because of them that my last mission got so royally screwed.”

“Alright, so that explains why I’m here, I guess. You need a navy grunt on board whatever mission you’re planning, right?” Sam threw in, cutting off the discussion between Jack and the colonel.

“In part,” Daniels responded, “we need a navy man on this expedition with a particular skill set and your stock went up ten points thanks to the time you’ve spent volunteering at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry restoring the U-505 submarine. That could prove useful. Plenty of navy men know their way around a nuclear attack submarine, but a Second World War German U-Boat, let’s just say that it proved challenging to say the least when we searched the personnel database.”

“Skill set? You have a skill set?” Jack looked Sam up and down as if to elicit what his special skill could be from his sheer size.

“Let’s not worry about that now. The colonel hasn’t finished his briefing.”

Now he wants to be quiet, Jack thought.

“Speaking of museums,” Jack turned to the colonel, “isn’t this more of a historical shipwreck recovery mission, better suited to a civilian group?”

Now it was the colonel and Krupsky exchanging a look of understanding.

“Ordinarily yes. Sam, do you want to bring the captain up to speed?”

A shit eating grin beamed from Krupsky’s face. “Gladly, sir.”

Sam awkwardly eased himself out of the undersized chair and stood opposite Jack before continuing. “After the Second World War, the Nazis, particularly the SS, reportedly commandeered every functioning submarine they could and loaded them with all the gold, diamonds and art work they could get their dirty little hands on.”

Jack nodded, so far, Sam hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know from watching History Channel. He was less than impressed with what Sam brought to the table from his work at the science museum.

“So, we know many of these subs surrendered. We also know some were torpedoed by Allied ships and submarines. Many more were scuttled by their own captains. The point is that we can account for, more or less, every such German sub. If there’s one thing the Nazi’s did well it was keep meticulous records. Between what we know from their accounts combined with the Allied forces accounts… well, let’s say that the notion of finding a mystery sub full of Nazi gold is highly unlikely, although it might make a good movie.”

“Okay, so there’s no gold. I still don’t see where we come into the equation.”

Krupsky turned to the colonel who nodded for him to take his seat.

“It’s not just gold and art those guys spirited away,” the colonel resumed the briefing, “there were many unconfirmed reports that some of Hitler’s most secret and highly advanced weapons were also bound for Argentina and other secret submarine bases.

“One of those bases was reportedly hidden under the Antarctic Ice Shelf, although that has never been proven. We need to get to that sub and see for ourselves what’s in there. It may be nothing, but we can’t afford to take that chance. If it is significant, we need to secure it before someone else does.

“We need to secure the area and that submarine as the primary objective. After that, we can worry about finding the missing nuclear sub. I’ve been running covert operations too long to believe in coincidences. There’s no such thing.

Jack paused for a moment to digest what the colonel was suggesting. His eyes narrowed as he spoke his mind to the colonel, “And who’s leading this Indiana Jones mission to the Antarctic, sir?”

The colonel pointed a stubby finger directly at Jack’s chest. “You are, captain.”

There was only one thing Jack hated more than the heat and dust.

And that was the cold and snow.

Captain Jack Coulson, like Colonel Daniels, had also been around covert ops long enough to know when something wasn’t quite right. Need to know basis was all well and good but a mission this unique and in such unforgiving terrain and weather, with a missing nuclear submarine thrown into the mix was usually a mission that required all available intel to make it work. There was more to the mission than the colonel had shared at the briefing but Jack doubted even he knew the full story. Someone sure as hell knew what was going on and he hoped it wasn’t going to turn into a complete cluster like his last mission.

No such thoughts went through Sam Krupsky’s mind as he wolfed down mouthful after mouthful of Aussie party pies and sausage rolls piled high on two plates as the two men sat in the mess hall awaiting their equipment to be requisitioned and loaded for transport to the Antarctic.

“Did you leave any for the rest of the base?” Jack asked dryly. The way he devoured his food, barely chewing it at all, Jack was reminded of a county fair hot-dog eating contest.

Wiping a drizzle of ketchup from his chin then licking it from his finger, Sam responded with his mouth full, “These things are delicious. Think they’ll let me take some on the plane? It’s a long flight.”

It took a minute for it to dawn on Jack that he was actually serious. They were about to, quite literally, fly to the ass end of the earth, secure a Nazi U-Boat stuck in a polar ice pack, and then try to find a mislaid U.S. Navy nuclear attack submarine… and this guy was worried about how much food he could take on the flight. Shaking his head slowly, Jack felt the specter of that bad feeling wash over him again. He had no appetite at all.