It is 1966, and the Cold War is hot! The Prime Minister knows that Canadian Sovereignty is only being given lip service by the world’s two Super Powers, but when a team of Soviet commandos is discovered in Labrador on a mission to disrupt NORAD’s Pinetree Line communications, he realizes he must act swiftly or risk Canada forever becoming a mere puppet on the world stage.

The President of the United States, also aware of the Soviet incursion and brushing aside Canada’s jurisdiction, orders a US Navy SEAL detachment on a clandestine mission to Labrador with the mandate of eradicating the Spetsnaz intruders and returning without being detected by the Canadians.

When the destroyer HMCS Margaree runs afoul of the Soviet and American nuclear submarines responsible for transporting their respective commando units, however, events escalate quickly, driving the world to the brink of nuclear disaster.

With tensions running high, Canada’s Prime Minister ignores his advisers and orders a contingent of Canadian Rangers, accompanied by a regular army sergeant, to attack the Soviets. He knows his generals think him foolhardy, but he is also aware that one Ranger in particular could effect the outcome.

Ted stiffened in his seat. There…barely...a faint but distinct echo reached his ears and he pointed to his headphone, daring not to speak as though the Russians could possibly hear him over the loud rumbling of the Sea King hovering just above the water's surface. “Sir, I have him. Bring us left to course three zero five degrees. He’s about five hundred yards out.” Ted exclaimed, much louder this time. “That sonar guy back on the ship nailed him dead on!” “On the way!” Phillip pulled back on the collective to lift the helicopter high enough so the dipping sonar hanging below them would clear the waves. This would save time as the Sea King could climb faster than the winch controlling the sonar’s cable could haul it back up. Adjusting the controls he brought the craft to the new heading and covered the five hundred yards in a few moments where he again lowered the aircraft to its previous altitude and set the auto pilot. Behind him, George hit the active button once again and this time was rewarded with an immediate echo as the sound wave crashed into the submarine’s hull and reflected back to the sonar head. “Got him! He’s right beneath us! Can’t be more than a hundred feet down!” Ted hollered out. Adjusting his helmet, he called over to Margaree. “Flapjack, this is Buttersquare. Target is directly below us. Depth approximately one hundred feet. Requesting instructions.” The ‘sparker’ at the communications console looked up at Commander Delaney with an expectant expression. “Ask him what the Ruskie’s doing,” Delaney commanded. “Buttersquare, this is Flapjack. What is the submarine up to?” “He’s stopped at the moment,” responded George. “Unless he’s deaf, he knows we have him.” Mere moments passed before the next radio message came from the Canadian destroyer. “Buttersquare, you are clear to drop grenades over his position. Report any activity.” The hand grenades dropped into the sea would alert the Soviet crew that the Canadians were aware of their presence. This was common practice and usually resulted in the ‘found’ submarine surfacing as the crew knew the ship sitting above them would either chase them down or wait them out until they had to surface and charge their batteries. With the transition to nuclear powered submarines, this scenario was now reversed completely. It would now be the surface ship which would eventually have to break off the chase in order to refuel. “Roger that Flapjack. Preparing to drop grenades now.” Looking over his shoulder, Phillip confirmed the crew had heard the instructions and noted that Bob had yanked the pin on one of the old World War II grenades before dropping it out the opening in the door on the helicopter’s port side. “Got it!” Ted exclaimed. “It was close to the sub’s location – wait, he’s powering up!” He heard the unmistakable sounds of the nuclear power plant’s coolant pumps increasing speed. On Margaree, Brent O’Hanlon heard the noises as well. “Sir! Target is moving…fast!” “What’s his heading?” Delaney asked. “East sir. He’s going to pass right below us.” Cold realization of what was about to happen hit Brent at the same time as his commanding officer. “Request permission to retrieve the VDS!”

Daniel Lloyd Little was born in Moncton, New Brunswick in 1956 during the height of the cold war. From an early age he began to show a great interest in military subjects. In later years he travelled extensively throughout North America visiting historic sites and museums. The owner of an extensive collection of books and artefacts on military history, Daniel has continued his study of all aspects of warfare and military history from ancient studies to the current era. Daniel's fascination with all things technical led to a successful twenty-eight year management career with Radioshack, the home electronics chain. He spent many of those years working in Halifax, Nova Scotia, home to Canada's east coast navy. After moving to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia in 2004, one of the locations in the book, he began a new employment adventure with Register.com as a web consultant, a position he thoroughly enjoyed. He has recently returned to Halifax, Nova Scotia, working with the same company as an Account Manager. His hobbies include the restoration of military artefacts, model building, and NASCAR motor sports as well as the extensive reading and study of military history.