THE ICE BREAKER INCIDENT

Chapter 1

The small round-hulled ship pitched violently, shuddered momentarily as tons of greenish-black water engulfed the bow and crashed with mammoth force against the Pilothouse  windows, and then the vessel commenced a prolonged roll to starboard. Terrified sailors on watch in the Pilothouse held on to whatever they could grasp as the starboard list increased. Seaman Apprentice Randy Stokes, the Lee Helmsman, clutched  the handles of the Engine Order Telegraph, lost his grip and was saved from being slammed into the starboard bulkhead only by the Navigator's chart table, which fortunately happened to be in his path. Seaman Abraham, the Helmsman, somehow held  on to the ship's wheel, preventing his being flung mercilessly across the Pilothouse by the force of the thirty-to-forty-foot waves.

Lieutenant Bob Stevens, the Officer of the Deck (OOD), clung with arms locked around the steel frame of the  Bridge radar repeater. When the ship reached her maximum list to starboard, she hung precariously for a long second, as if unable to decide whether to right herself or to give in to the relentless sea and founder. Lieutenant Stevens glanced at  the inclinometer and could scarcely believe the reading: 45 degrees, the heaviest roll he had ever endured in his two years aboard the old girl. For a moment, he imagined the top of the mast touching the crest of a massive wave as the ship  slowly reversed direction and began a similar roll to port.

Attempting to survive these turbulent seas had taken its toll on even the fittest man's strength, and almost everyone had suffered the wrath of mal-de-mer, although most members of  the watch team had, after initial bouts of heaving, forced themselves to endure. In these treacherous seas, with the ship rolling such that anything not attached was subject to being slammed into whatever happened to be in its path, no one  could afford to succumb to seasickness.

After nearly four hours of his mid-watch, during which he had continually struggled merely to survive, Lieutenant Stevens could hardly wait to be relieved. Fortunately, it was almost time for the  relieving watch team to arrive on station. Bob only hoped that his roommate and watch relief was awake and would soon arrive on the Bridge. Of course, he's awake, Bob reminded himself. No one could sleep in these dreadful seas.

Lieutenant  Stevens had been on board the icebreaker, USS Polarwind, long enough to know how poorly the ship behaved in open waters, even during moderately heavy seas. Built for one specific purpose, breaking ice, the ship had a rounded hull, which Bob  had inspected firsthand during the ship's dry-docking last year. The sight had reminded him of a watermelon cut in half. The primary purpose of this rounded design was to prevent the ship from being crushed by moving ice floes, but the shape  contributed significantly to the heavy rolling and pitching in rough seas. In the ice, though, the old girl remained as stable as a rock.

Lieutenant Earl Harris had been feeling the increasing force of the heavy seas since before climbing  into his bunk around midnight. He had expected this to be a long, sleepless night, and his prediction had proven true, his only sleep having come in brief fragments. The latest roll to starboard had nearly thrown him from his bunk, and  probably would have had he not grasped the bunk railing and held on with all his strength. Although aware that it was nearly time for him to relieve the watch, Earl dreaded attempting to leave the relative safety of his bunk. Climbing down  from the top bunk while not fully alert and in the darkness could be hazardous, even in moderately heavy seas. But Bob would be watching the clock, counting the minutes, and the mid-watch did not deserve to be relieved late, even under normal  circumstances. Earl nearly always relieved the watch early, and didn't want to break this tradition with his friend and roommate, especially under such adverse conditions.

Duty called, so Earl carefully descended the narrow ladder from his  top bunk down to the cold, damp deck. As he waited for his equilibrium to stabilize, he wondered what the inclinometer had registered during that last big roll. It had to be at least 40 degrees, he imagined. He would try to remember to ask  Bob. Earl had once experienced a 35-degree roll, and that had been devastating. Yet, once the rolling passed the 30-degree mark, the severity of any particular roll was difficult to predict. Even at 20 degrees, everything on board not rigged  for heavy weather would shift, stopping only when it met some immovable object, such as a bulkhead. This applied to the officers and men as well, and everyone on the icebreaker had learned to hold on to something stable, even while attempting  to sleep.

Earl struggled into his khaki trousers, pulled on his black wool sweater and began searching for his shoes. He could barely see with only the red nightlight, but he dared not turn on a white light for fear of destroying his night  vision, which of course could be especially hazardous this morning. Even in the dim glow of the red nightlights, he could tell that the stateroom was a wreck.

After much searching, he located one shoe underneath the small sink, and the  other he found under his desk chair, which had fallen on it. The simple act of tying his shoes presented a challenge as the motion of the ship attempted to hurl him across the small room. Finally succeeding in getting dressed, he quickly  brushed his teeth, grabbed his foul-weather jacket from its hook behind the door and stumbled into the officers' wardroom.

As expected, no one was around. The wardroom looked even worse than the stateroom: chairs toppled, books and  magazines strewn about the deck, and the Acee-Deucee game, the Navy's version of Backgammon, had crashed onto the deck, scattering the red-and-white fake-ivory pieces across the damp carpet. An ever-present stench of diesel fuel, far worse  this morning than usual, caused him to feel nauseated. Of course, there was no hot coffee, either, although perhaps there might be some on the mess decks. He briefly considered that after assuming the watch, he might send the Messenger of the  Watch down for coffee--but of course, the poor kid could be scalded, or worse be flung overboard while attempting to negotiate the precarious ladders between the Bridge and the mess decks. Earl decided he would forgo his coffee this morning  and began making his way toward the Bridge.

Climbing the ladders proved treacherous and was taking twice the normal time and effort. He had to be careful not to be swept overboard or slammed down a ladder, or into one of the many protruding  obstacles, most of which he now knew by feel. Only the dim, red nightlights provided any visibility throughout the darkened ship and the feeling was eerie.

By the time he reached the Pilothouse, three decks above the main deck, Lieutenant  Harris was out of breath and his legs were quavery--and he was only just commencing his four-hour watch. Oh well, it all counts on twenty, as the lifers were prone to say. Earl couldn't imagine spending twenty years in this type life, particularly being away from one's family so much. Yet, as bad as this seemed at times, he found a sense of satisfaction being at sea. He could never have described this feeling to a landlubber, but he had to admit that he already had salt water in his veins. With new challenges every day, life aboard ship was seldom boring, especially on an icebreaker headed for the South Pole. And it should become even more interesting after the ship entered the ice, which would be soon.

Lieutenant Harris could hardly see anything as he stumbled onto the Bridge. Whistling wind, roaring seas and tons of water crashing against the windows sounded menacing as he entered the dimly-lit Pilothouse. He could hear the whack-whack  of the windshield wipers as they struggled valiantly, yet unsuccessfully, to keep blankets of water cleared from the windows. There was, of course, nothing to see outside anyway, other than the vast, wet emptiness.

Only the red lights from  the Bridge electronic equipment and the glow of someone's cigarette penetrated the otherwise eerie blackness. Fortunately, Earl knew instinctively where everything was located in the Pilothouse. As part of their Officer of the Deck  qualifications prior to deployment, the officers had been required to locate and describe the use of every piece of equipment on the Bridge, while blindfolded. Some of the junior officers had thought this exercise useless, but the training was  paying dividends now. Earl imagined the OOD would be somewhere near the radar repeater, probably using it to hold onto rather than as a radarscope. Of course, there would be few if any ships on radar this morning--probably only USS Glacier,  the other icebreaker, which was Polarwind's traveling companion and carried the Officer in Tactical Command, Commodore Julius Carter, Commander, Task Group 43.

As expected, Earl located his roommate clinging to the radar repeater. Stifling  a yawn, Earl mumbled, "Morning, Bob," followed by the traditional acknowledgment: "I'm ready to relieve you, sir."

"Morning, Partner. Man, am I glad to see you! Wasn't sure I could hold on much longer . . .  literally."

"What've you been doing up here? Putting this ole girl into the trough just to see how far she'll roll?" Earl clung to an overhead radio speaker as the ship rolled heavily to port.

"Yeah, right! How'd you  like that wake-up call I sent you a few minutes ago? Biggest roll I've ever experienced . . . forty-five degrees! Couldn't believe it, but that's what the inclinometer registered. Logged it in the deck log for posterity."

"Forty-five, huh? Thought it must've been forty or more. Something to tell our grandchildren, I guess." Earl yawned and asked, "Cap'n been on the Bridge lately?"

"Yeah, about an hour ago. Came up when the task group  commander ordered a course change to one-three-zero degrees. We hoped that heading into the seas might give us some relief, but I guess you can tell it hasn't helped much. The Old Man's in his sea cabin now, probably not sleeping, though. You  get any sleep?"

"Not much. It's pretty bad down below. Stateroom's a wreck. So's the wardroom. Well, I know you're ready to get off your feet. Anything else going on I need to know about?"

"Nah . . . just these  god-awful seas. Must be thirty-foot waves, at least. Barometer's been holding fairly steady for the last hour, though. Wind's from one-two-zero degrees at about thirty knots, occasionally gusting to forty. We're heading one-three-zero at ten  knots. Glacier's off our starboard bow at about four thousand yards. I've been checking in on the radio with her OOD every half-hour. They're having it pretty rough over there, too, but not quite as bad as we are--guess size does count, huh?  Engines two, three, four and five are on line. Cap'n wants to be called at zero-six-hundred. There's a thermos of coffee in the charthouse. It should still be warm."

"Great! I could sure use some of that. Okay, I relieve you then.  Hope you can catch a few winks. See you at officers' call, I guess."

"Right!" Bob stumbled toward the door. "Assuming I decide to show up. Who knows, maybe the OX will be too seasick--don't I wish! Anyway, try to take it  easy up here so I can get a little sleep, okay?"

"Surrrrre! I'll see if I can arrange one of them forty-plus rolls for you around reveille time. Be careful going down those ladders."

As Bob departed, Earl made the  customary announcement: "Attention in the Pilothouse. This is Lieutenant Harris. I have assumed the Deck and the Conn." This required report ensured that all members of the watch team knew who was now in charge of ship control.

The members of the watch team commenced their required responses: "Bos'n Mate of the Watch Hartley, aye-aye, sir."

"Helmsman, aye-aye, sir. Steering one-three-zero degrees true, checking one-three-three degrees magnetic,  sir."

"Lee Helmsman, aye-aye, sir. All engines ahead two-thirds, making turns for ten knots, sir."

"Very well. Bos'n Mate, everybody okay on your watch team?"

"Yes sir, so far. Nobody got no sleep,  though. I got all the lookouts up on the Signal Bridge--too much water comin' crost the foc'sle and fantail."

"Good idea, Hartley. How about having the Messenger get me a cup of that coffee from the charthouse, please. Any  problems with any gear breaking loose on deck?"

"Oh, no sir. Ever'thang's secure. We done spent most the night double-tying ever'thang. Lieutenant Stevens, he ain't gonna take no chances--ya know how he is. Guess he's right,  though."

"Yes, he certainly is, Hartley. How's steering control?"

"Helmsman's having a little trouble maintaining course, but it ain't drifting off more'n 'bout five degrees or so. Abraham here's my best helmsman, so  he'll do okay. Messenger, get the Off'cer the Deck a cup that coffee--on the double."

As Lieutenant Harris settled into his watch, the rolling gradually diminished to a fairly steady 20-to-25 degrees--still enough to make everyone  miserable, but the men could become somewhat accustomed to 20-degree rolls; no one ever got used to 40-degree rolls. Heading into the seas caused the ship to pitch and yaw more viciously, a motion that had always bothered Earl more than did  the rolling. Sometimes the bow lifted completely out of the water and then came crashing down, disappearing beneath the waves for a few seconds, and blanketing the Pilothouse windows with a solid wall of water. Strangely, this didn't seem  quite so harsh in the Pilothouse, because one could usually see or feel it coming, but down below it was ghastly.

Although nearly everyone had been suffering from seasickness, Earl had somehow managed to avoid the awful malady. He could  remember being seasick-one time so severely that he had actually prayed to die. He must not succumb to the affliction in these waters, however, since he had to stay fully alert merely to survive. And of course, he was now responsible for the  entire ship and crew, so it was even more essential that he maintain his senses.

Other than the seas, which seemed to be abating somewhat, this seemed as if it might be a relatively quiet, boring watch. Mid-watches and four-to-eight's  usually provided plenty of time to think. Smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee and thinking--what a combination, Earl mused.

After asking the Messenger to get him another cup of the strong, lukewarm coffee, Lieutenant Harris settled into the  long stretch of watch ahead of him. His mind wandered as he visualized scenes of home: his beautiful wife, Barbara Lynn, and the light of his life, his two-year-old daughter, Lynnie. He already missed them terribly, and the deployment had  barely begun. Thinking of home and his loved ones only increased his loneliness, though, so Earl usually tried to think of other things. Often on boring watches, he reviewed in his mind various emergency procedures that might require quick  reaction, such as a man overboard. He cringed, realizing that should someone fall overboard in these seas, there would be little if any chance of recovering them.

Sometimes Earl forced himself to review the ship's characteristics--anything  to help stay awake and alert. As part of his underway Officer of the Deck qualifications, Lieutenant Harris had been required to learn nearly everything about the icebreaker. USS Polarwind, the second of the seven Wind-class icebreakers, had  been built during the late 1940's. Three belonged to the Coast Guard and the other four to the Navy. The ship's fat-bellied double hull, constructed of inch-and-a-half-thick welded steel, along with her reinforced spoon-shaped bow with its  sloping forefoot, enabled the 6500-ton ship to ride up onto and crush through ice too thick to be broken by her forward motion alone. Bob Stevens had tried to explain icebreaking operations, and Earl had seen pictures of the ship ramming into  the thick ice, the bow riding up onto it and then the weight of the ship breaking through the ice. He doubted, however, that the pictures did it justice and looked forward to experiencing this unique evolution, which should begin soon. He had  calculated that the ship would reach the beginning ice floes and be out of these raging seas sometime during the next few hours.

The icebreaker was also fitted with a helicopter landing platform and a hangar, and carried two helicopters for  use in ice reconnaissance and for transporting men and cargo. Earl could not imagine landing a helicopter on the small Flight Deck, which bounced around constantly while the ship was at sea. He hoped the helos were securely tied down this  morning, but then realized that of course they would be. His friend, Lieutenant Duncan Foster, Officer in Charge of the helo detachment, would leave nothing to chance.

The ship was 269 feet long, 63 feet wide and was propelled by two  20-ton, 17-foot propellers powered by six diesel engines that developed 10,000 horsepower, enabling the breaker to crush ice up to ten feet thick with her weight alone. The ship was equipped with meteorological, oceanographic and photographic  labs, which were primarily used by the six civilian scientists attached to the ship during deployment. Because of the nature of the ship's deployments, requiring months of isolation in the ice and waters of the Arctic and Antarctic oceans, the  icebreaker also had fully equipped medical and dental facilities and carried a medical officer and a dental officer.

When deployed on Operation Deep Freeze, the breaker was manned by a crew of 230 men and 18 officers, including three  helicopter pilots, plus the six civilian scientists. The ship's primary mission was breaking ice to create a channel for cargo ships to deliver supplies to the permanent Antarctic stations. A secondary mission of the icebreakers was to conduct  scientific research on the last unknown continent, thus the reason the civilian scientists were on board.

Polarwind had departed her homeport of Seattle, Washington nearly six weeks ago for an eight-month Operation Deep Freeze deployment to  Antarctica. After short port calls in San Diego, Pearl Harbor and New Zealand, the icebreaker was now en route to the Ross Sea and McMurdo Sound. In their predeployment briefings, the officers had been warned that the waters in which they  found themselves this morning were some of the roughest and most perilous in the world, a fact to which Earl could now attest.

Lieutenant Earl Harris was the ship's Operations Officer. In this capacity, he was responsible for planning,  scheduling and coordinating all shipboard maneuvers and operations. This included operation of the two helicopters as well as all other communications and surveillance equipment. The radar operators and technicians, radiomen, signalmen,  photographers, oceanographers and meteorologists were also assigned to his department.

This had not been Earl's requested duty--far from it. He could scarcely believe it when his assignment officer in Washington had informed him that his  next duty was to be in an icebreaker. The detailer had told him this was because of his degree in Oceanography, but Earl knew better. More likely, his selection was driven by the difficulty in finding anyone who would voluntarily agree to this  most unusual and arduous assignment. Of course, the Navy could assign one to any duty without their agreement, but usually some accord was attempted.

Upon his graduation from the Naval Academy, Earl had reported to Pensacola, Florida for  flight training. He did exceedingly well and was accepted into jet fighter training, which was attainable only by the top 10 percent of the class. Flying jets proved exciting and challenging, and young Ensign Harris thought he had found his  calling. Midway through jet fighter training, however, he became involved in a bizarre incident that ended his flying career forever--and nearly ended his life. Although he tried to avoid thinking of this, he couldn't help wondering why the  accident had happened and if his destiny had been altered for a reason.

After leaving flight training, Earl completed a successful tour as Combat Information Center officer in a destroyer escort homeported in San Diego. Upon completion of  that tour, he had felt certain he would be assigned as a destroyer department head, but instead, six months ago he found himself ordered to USS Polarwind (AGB-2) as Operations Officer.

Because of the designation A.G.B., most members of the  crew referred to the ship as an Auxiliary Garbage Barge. The letter "A" stood for Auxiliary and "B" for Breaker, but Earl had never known what the "G" signified. This morning, he imagined it must stand for  God-awful.

Earl felt fortunate to have been assigned to room with Lieutenant Bob Stevens, the ship's First Lieutenant and Deck department head. The two roommates quickly became friends and Bob had been eager to teach Earl all about  icebreaking operations. Bob had made Deep Freeze Deployments before and, other than the Captain, he was the most experienced officer in icebreaking operations. Because of his seniority, Bob maintained a few privileges, though, such as the  lower bunk.

On most Navy ships, the First Lieutenant was a junior division officer assigned under the Weapons Officer, who was the department head. Of course, most Navy ships carried weapons. Because of the different nature of the  icebreaker's mission, with Deck operations being most significant, the First Lieutenant was designated a department head on an icebreaker. Although the ship had one 5-inch gun mount, the gun hadn't been fired since Earl had been on board.  Other than the requirement that all Navy ships must be fitted with a gun of some sort, Earl couldn't imagine any uses for a gun on an icebreaker, assuming it would even fire.

Earl considered Lieutenant Bob Stevens well suited to his job.  Bob was small in stature-about Earl's size at five-foot-nine and 170 pounds--but he was muscular and frequently worked out as best he could in their cramped quarters. From boxing while at the Naval Academy, Bob had a broken, somewhat crooked  nose that served as a constant reminder. Whenever Earl kidded Bob about his nose, Bob invariably responded by pointing out Earl's pretty-boy features, as he called them: straight nose, smooth skin, blue eyes, blond hair, and lips that Bob  maintained were almost pretty enough to kiss. Well, almost, he invariably added. Bob Stevens had recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday, and Earl Harris was twenty-eight.

Earl considered it fortunate that Bob was strong, both physically  and of character, because strength would be a necessity for controlling the seemingly deranged men assigned to Deck Department. Anyone would have to be tough to endure deck force duties while the ship was in the ice. But Earl had also seen  Bob's softer side. Although Bob often appeared callous on the surface, Earl knew that he felt genuine compassion for the men in his department, and always stood up for them. Consequently, he was well liked and respected, not only by the men  who worked for him, but by nearly every member of the crew--except, of course, the OX, who seemed to respect no one. Bob would have to be tough to survive the OX . . . they all would.

Commander John J. Mitchell, Polarwind's Commanding  Officer, sadly admitted this morning that he might be getting a little old for this duty. This would be his last tour in an icebreaker. After this deployment, he would transfer to Washington, DC--to drive a desk. Boring, he imagined, but the  time had come. He needed to be around more for his wife and teenaged children anyway. Yet, he would miss this duty, even these accursed seas and the ever-present pungent smell of diesel fuel. It saddened him to think that all the Navy  icebreakers would be turned over to the Coast Guard next year.

Commander Mitchell was thirty-nine years old, had been in the Navy for eighteen years, and had participated in two previous Deep Freeze deployments: first as Operations Officer  in one of Polarwind's sister ships, and next as Executive Officer in USS Glacier, Polarwind's traveling companion. He had been in command of Polarwind for the past nineteen months. Commander Mitchell held postgraduate degrees in both  Oceanography and Marine Biology, and in addition to being an outstanding ship-handler and commander, he frequently participated in the scientific experiments, the secondary mission of the icebreaker.

This morning the Captain was not feeling  well. He had slept only briefly, being awakened either by the ship's violent movements or by the OOD calling him to request the Captain's permission for a course change, or some other command decision. Aware that his Operations Officer,  Lieutenant Harris, had the four-to-eight OOD watch this morning, the Captain decided to remain in his bunk for a while longer. Lieutenant Harris and Lieutenant Stevens were his two most qualified Officers of the Deck and could be counted on to  use good judgment under any circumstances. More importantly, the Captain trusted that Lieutenant Harris would call him if he felt the situation required the Commanding Officer's attention. Still, the Captain was uncomfortable, although he  could feel the seas abating somewhat.

A few minutes later, the loud, annoying buzz of the intercom from the Pilothouse startled the Captain from his reverie. He pressed the talk button and said, "Captain."

"Morning, sir. Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Harris, sir. It's zero-six-hundred."

"Morning, Earl. Thanks. Feels like the seas are a little calmer. Everything secure? Anything I need to know about?"

"All's well,  sir. Only taking an occasional twenty-degree roll now. Everything's quiet-no problems. Sky's overcast, but visibility's good. I have Glacier visually off our port bow now at four thousand yards. No other surface contacts on radar. The  engineers took number-two engine off line about an hour ago. I didn't call you since it wasn't an emergency. They just wanted to do some routine maintenance."

"Okay, Earl. Good. I'm going down to breakfast. I'll be in the wardroom  if you need me. Be up there in little while."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Earl thought the Captain sounded unusually exhausted this morning. But why wouldn't he, after the night they'd endured? Earl could not imagine a Commanding  Officer any better than Commander Mitchell. He considered the Captain highly competent, firm but fair, and the man sincerely cared about the welfare and morale of every member of his crew. Consequently, the crew adored and respected their  Captain. Lieutenant Harris idolized the man and the position, and hoped someday to be half as good, although he could never visualize himself as Captain of a ship. That certain aura associated with command, as if the Captain were a god-which  in a way he was when the ship was at sea-remained difficult to comprehend. Earl felt that something special happened to a man when he assumed command-something that could not be fully understood, yet was easy to discern.

After a few  minutes, Lieutenant Harris' contemplation was interrupted by the Boatswain Mate of the Watch, Hartley. "Sir, request permission to sound reveille."

"Very well. Go ahead, Hartley. But let's postpone the sweepdown this morning.  Too much water on the decks."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Hartley reached for the boatswain's pipe that was hanging on a halyard around his neck and placed it to his lips. The shrill sound of the pipe made Earl cringe every time he  heard it, affecting him much as fingernails scratching across a blackboard-and the less experienced the piper, the more irritating the sound. Fortunately, Hartley was one of the better ones. Some of the boatswain calls, such as reveille,  lasted for nearly a minute, and they always seemed longer. Although more traditional than necessary, the piping, which was hard to ignore, served to demand the attention of the crew.

Finally, the boatswain finished piping reveille, and then  in a loud, melodious voice, he commenced the all too familiar announcement: "Now REVEILLE, REVEILLE. All hands heave out and trice up. The smoking lamp is lighted in all authorized spaces. Sweepdown has been postponed due to heavy  weather. Now REVEILLE, REVEILLE." Hartley appeared to relish the power of ordering the awakening of the entire ship. No matter how often he heard the term "heave out and trice up," Earl still chuckled. He knew that "heave  out" referred to the sailors hoisting themselves out of their bunks, and "trice up" was a term pertaining to the method of folding the metal bunks into a vertical position and tying them in place (which was probably left over  from the days of sailing). This morning, he wondered if the term "heave out" might connote a whole different meaning.

And thus commenced another day aboard USS Polarwind. Earl Harris both loved and hated the morning watches. The  best parts were now beginning: sunrise-although it appeared that no sun would be visible this morning; the surge of activity as the ship awakened and the crew began to conduct their normal morning activities--probably not quite so normal  today; the aroma of breakfast wafting up from below, creating an anticipation of fresh coffee, scrambled eggs and bacon; and the exhilaration at the prospect of another day's yet unknown events, always new and exciting.