Blood and Ice by Robert Masello Read Free Book Online Page B

several sailors hustled past them, and Michael heard a few others clattering down the stairs above their heads. He heard some shorthand comments about mooring lines, switching fuel tanks, and some crack about a sonar tech that made no sense to him but made the sailors laugh uproariously. The ship was clearly being readied for immediate departure.
     
�How many men do you have on board?� Michael asked.
     
�The crew consists of one hundred and two men and women, sir.�
     
Michael stood corrected. He hadn't seen any females yet, but apparently some were around. As if to prove the point, a tall, thin woman with a clipboard tucked under one arm of her uniform suddenly emerged from a hatchway; Kazinski immediately stood at attention and saluted.
     
She acknowledged the salute, then extended her hand to Hirsch. �You must be Dr. Hirsch. I'm Lieutenant Commander Healey�Kathleen�the Operations officer on board.� She had a crisp, no-nonsense attitude about her; even the short brown hair peeking out from under her cap seemed cut for maximum efficiency. �And you're the journalist?� she said to Michael. �I'm sorry, I saw your name in the morning report, but I've forgotten it.�
     
Michael introduced himself and said, �Glad to be aboard.�
     
�Yes, we were waiting.�
     
Michael began to get the impression that he and Hirsch had been holding up the works.
     
�You're the last of the NSF contingent,� Healey said.
     
�There are others?� Hirsch asked.
     
�Only one. Dr. Charlotte Barnes. She arrived two days ago.�
     
There was another long, blaring whistle from overhead. Three more sailors went flying by. The deck rumbled with the sound of the starboard engine coming online.
     
�If you'll excuse me ��
     
Michael nodded, and as she strode off, he could hear her calling out orders right and left.
     
�This way,� Kazinski said, disappearing into the hatchway. Michael waited for Hirsch to go through, then followed. The passageway was so narrow it was tough to maneuver with the hugeduffel�especially as it contained his camera equipment, painstakingly packed to protect against breakage; the camera and gear were in metal cases at the core, further insulated by all his clothing wrapped around them. But the bag was damn heavy, as a result.
     
�The Constellation, � Kazinski was saying, �is among the largest icebreakers in the Coast Guard fleet. She weighs just over thirteen thousand tons, and she runs on half a dozen diesel engines and three gas turbines. We're carrying over one million gallons of fuel. At full throttle, she can muster seventy-five thousand horsepower and travel through open water at seventeen knots. In high seas, she has a maximum roll of ninety degrees.�
     
What, Michael wondered, would that feel like? He'd seen some heavy weather off Nova Scotia, and been caught in a squall in the Bahamas, but he'd never been on an icebreaker in an Antarctic storm.
     
�Any chance of that?� Hirsch asked. �Rolling ninety degrees, I mean?� He didn't sound like he'd be looking forward to it.
     
�You never can tell,� Kazinski said, stepping over the threshold of another hatchway, then warning, �Watch your step there. Summer seas are not as bad as winter down here, but it's still Cape Horn. Anything can happen, at any time. Watch your step again.�
     
He took them down another short flight of metal steps, and the portholes suddenly vanished: Michael figured that they had just descended to below water level. Even the air became closer and danker. Fluorescent tubes in the ceiling flickered, and as they continued to make their way toward the stern, the vibrations in the floor got stronger. So did the noise.
     
�And here we are,� Kazinski said, ducking into a cabin door. �Home sweet home.�
     
When Michael and Darryl followed him in, there was barely room for the three of them to stand. There were two narrow bunks attached to opposite walls, with striped woolen