Ice Station Zebra by Alistair MacLean Read Free Book Online

the loading rails, with heavy chain tackles attached. And that was all. No bunks in here and I didn't wonder: I wouldn't have liked to be the one to sleep for'ard of those collision bulkheads.
      We began to work our way aft and had reached the mess hail when a sailor came up and said that the captain wanted to see me. I followed him up the wide central stairway into the control room, Dr. Benson a few paces behind to show that he wasn't being too inquisitive. Commander Swanson was waiting for me by the door of the radio room.
      "Morning, Doctor. Sleep well?"
      "Fifteen hours. What do you think? And breakfasted even better. What's up, Commander?" Something was up, that was for sure: for once, Commander Swanson wasn't smiling.
      "Message coming through about Drift Station Zebra. Has to be decoded first, but that should take only minutes." Decoding or not, it seemed to me that Swanson already had a fair idea of the content of that message.
      "When did we surface?" I asked. A submarine loses radio contact as soon as it submerges.
      "Not since we left the Clyde. We're close to three hundred feet down right now."
      "This is a _radio_ message that's coming through?"
      "What else? Times have changed. We still have to surface to transmit but we can receive down to our maximum depth. Somewhere in Connecticut is the world's largest radio transmitter, using an extremely low frequency, which can contact us at this depth far more easily than any other radio station can contact a surface ship. While we're waiting, come and meet the drivers."
      He introduced me to some of his control-center crew--as with Benson, it seemed to be a matter of complete indifference to him whether it was officer or enlisted man--and finally stopped by an officer sitting just aft of the periscope stand, a youngster who looked as if he should still be in high school. "Will Raeburn," Swanson said. "Normally we pay no attention to him but after we move under the ice he becomes the most important man on the ship. Our navigation officer. Are we lost, Will?"
      "We're just there, Captain." He pointed to a tiny pinpoint of light on the Norwegian Sea chart spread out beneath the glass on the plotting table. "Gyro and sins are checking to a hair."
      "'Sins'?" I said.
      "You may well look surprised, - Dr. Carpenter," Swanson said. "Lieutenant Raeburn here is far too young to have any sins. He is referring to S.I.N.S.--Ship's Inertial Navigational System--a device once used for guiding intercontinental missiles and now adapted for submarine use, specifically nuclear submarines. No point in my elaborating: Will's ready to talk your head off about it if he manages to corner you." He glanced at the chart position. "Are we getting there quickly enough to suit you, Doctor?"
      "I still don't believe it," I said.
      "We cleared the Holy Loch a little earlier than I expected, before seven," Swanson admitted. "I had intended to carry out some slow-time dives to adjust trim, but it wasn't necessary. Even the lack of twelve torpedoes up in the nose didn't make her as stern-heavy as I'd expected. She's so damned big that a few tons more or less or here or there doesn't seem to make any difference to her. So we just came barreling on up--"
      He broke off to accept a signal sheet from a sailor, and read through it slowly, taking his time about it. Then ho jerked his head, walked to a quiet corner of the control center, and faced me as I came up to him. He still wasn't smiling.
      "I'm sorry," he said. "Major Halliwell, the commandant of the drift station . . . You said last night he was a very close friend of yours?"
      I felt my mouth begin to go dry. I nodded, and took the message from him. It read:

      A further radio message, very broken and difficult to decipher, was received 0945 Greenwich Mean Time from Drift Ice Station Zebra by