Lonnie Denn was a young kid, but his aged skin and wary eyes told stories of his time at sea that only other sailors would believe. He didn’t even notice the cold air or the cracked ice of the sea beneath the rail as he threw up. The oversized engines vibrated the ship again as the hull tilted up and climbed on top of the ice, and he wondered which side the ship would list to this time. The engines relented as the grinding of the ice made sickening sounds against the reinforced hull. The weight of the bow broke through the ice and slammed the vessel back into the icy waters. He had a good grip on the round, iron rails so he wasn’t thrown off his feet this time.

The old salt Alan Fletcher laughed as Lonnie wiped the vomit off his lips. The skinny sailor was in a survival suit as well, and was scraggly. His hair was white and the teeth that he showed when he smiled had been rearranged over the years by scuffles in taverns at unfriendly ports. He patted Lonnie on the back hard as he laughed. He shouted, because the engines had revved up again, and said, “You’re looking a bit green there, lad!”

Lonnie was nauseated. He shouted back, “It wasn’t so bad having to use a sledgehammer to knock all the ice off the rails and superstructure so we wouldn’t capsize, I did that all the time when I fished in the Bering sea. But why does this ship roll so much?”

“This is an icebreaker, as if you hadn’t noticed,” the old sailor laughed. “It has a rounded hull to smashed through the ice. There ain’t any protuberances on the keel for an easy ride. Maybe you should get a contract with a cruise ship next time, but it don’t pay as good,” he bellowed.

The kid didn’t respond as the ship vibrated roughly and and it felt like his bones would shatter as the ship tilted up and climbed up on more ice. He finally said in a queasy voice, “Just as I got used to the storms, the ships rolled in light seas. Then I got used to that, then she started vibrating and smashing up and down in the ice. I can’t take it.”

Fletcher laughed. “Sure you can, kid, you got it in ya’,” he said. “And you better get it together because we’re nearly at the trapped ship, and I stuck my neck out with the Cap getting you on this cruise. Just remember what's important. This gig pays well.”

He handed the young man a battered Kalashnikov AKM-S assault rifle. He had another slung around the back of his white survival suit. Usually the survival suits were bright orange, but for what these sailors did for a living, they elected for something that gave them a bit more stealth.

“It’s showtime,” the old salt grunted, as they pulled white facemasks over their heads and replaced their hoods. They headed for the grappling hook cannons at the bow of the ship.