Arctic Fire

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Russian Colonel Kamir Rogov braced himself against the icy side of the Kilo diesel submarine’s conning tower. Five hundred meters away, the snow and ice-covered island loomed forbiddingly. Forty-knot winds kicked up loose snow, at times reducing visibility to less than the distance of the island.

Even as he felt the cold cut through the wool scarf wrapped around his face, he welcomed the chance to escape the cold, dark confines of the submarine. After three weeks underway, submerged most of the time, the stench of cooking, diesel fuel, and too many humans packed in too small a space had grown almost unbearable.

“Almost ready, Comrade Colonel,” the submarine’s skipper said.

Rogov acknowledged the report with a sharp nod of his head and glanced down at the yellow inflatable raft slamming into the submarine’s side. The weather was barely within minimum standards for attempting to launch the raft from the submarine, but there was no help for that. Nothing could be permitted to delay this mission — nothing.

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