Then, unknowingly, they flew right past a shadowy shape, silently hovering nearby, its sail resting on the bottom of the ice pack, its bulk hidden by the sides of the narrow inverted ice valley where it lay coiled like a snake in its hole. Miami zipped past the hidden Volk much too fast for the Russian to react.

The polynya was right where the chart showed it might be. Miami eased to a stop beneath the thin ice. Crawford maneuvered around, much as Serebnitskiv had done earlier with Volk, making sure that Miami was lined up beneath the gauzy skin of ice so they could surface without hitting the thick pack ice surrounding it.

When he was satisfied, he ordered the ballast tanks blown dry. Miami shot straight upward. She crashed through the foot of ice that covered the polynya, sending shards of frozen ocean flying in all directions. Once she stopped, her sail stood high out of the water in the howling Arctic wind.

Crawford sent the carefully worded message to COMSUBLANT, giving them the limited information that he had about the situation. He ended the message by telling them that he was going back to the helpless sub and that he would be out of radio contact for twelve hours. Crawford knew from experience it would take at least that long for the people back home to react to this shocking news and to figure out what to do next. He also assumed that Miami could be of better use back with the Gepard. From that position, they could offer moral support and guide the sub that was bringing the DSRV to the site.

With the message sent and receipted for, Miami dropped back down into the deep and turned to head back to where the Gepard rested on the bottom.

“No rush, XO. We got time to kill while we wait for help,” Crawford announced. He ordered a safer twelve-knot pace. “I doubt those poor souls are going anywhere, either.”

Now Miami steamed a little more than a kilometer in front of Volk, no longer racing at top speed to summon help. Igor Serebnitskiv had ample time to observe their approach and passing. He could line up his shot at his leisure.

Aaron Miller was the first to hear the unmistakable sound. His mouth dropped open in shock, but he was quick to shout the warning. “Conn, sonar! Torpedo in the water! Bearing zero-two-one!”

Years of intensive training kicked in by instinct. Crawford was stunned, but he went to work without hesitation.

“Ahead flank!” he shouted. “Left full rudder! Steady course one-four-zero!”

Miami leaped ahead in obedient response to his order. They were in a race against death itself.

“Torpedo bears zero-two-one!”

Miami flew through the water, her enormous screw pushing the seven-thousand-ton behemoth forward at better than thirty knots. Still, the torpedo was coming at seventy knots. It wasn’t a fair race at all.