A Grue Of Ice

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  " I have been in the Southern Ocean many times," said Bjerko. " This ship is good."

  " You've never steered this course, or ' tried to make Bouvet from the south and west," I replied. " Bouvet is the heart of a fantastic, dynamic weather machine which tosses off more energy into the sea and wind than an atomic e x p l o s i o n . I c o u l d e x p l a i n i t a l l i n t e r m s o f w h a t i s euphemistically called the millibar anomalies of the Westerlies, but what it boils down to is that Bouvet acts as a kind of high-voltage booster station to weather which already has two thousand miles of punch behind it. It is a wild hell of driving water, fog, ice and icebergs, all racing at a hundred knots to God knows where. I repeat, it is suicide to approach Bouvet the way we are doing, particularly in early November."

  " Early November?" echoed Bjerko. " That is the best time in Antarctica. It is the start of the summer. The ice meltspoof, it is gone."

  " Walter says the same," added Upton.

  " And I say simply this," I went on. " This ship will be nipped in the ice and sunk, if we approach Bouvet the way we are doing now."

  " My dear fellow, when the sea is starting to warm up ...?"

  Upton began.

  I cut him short. " On the edge of the continental pack-ice the sea temperature is always just above freezing point at this time. It stays so—until Bouvet. Just south of Bouvet, it rockets."

  Upton shrugged. " I'm not interested in a lecture on sea temperatures. I want to know about Thorshammer."

  I ignored him. " Into that freezing or near-freezing sea, I believe, cuts the other prong of The Albatross' Foot. I have only seen the results, not the cause. It is, with the Southern Lights, the most spectacular of many wonderful sights in the Southern Ocean. In late October and early November you get an explosive warming in the stratosphere shortly after the sun appears over the South Pole. This, coupled with the inrush of The Albatross' Foot, produces a fantastic fall-out of energy and weather. That is what I am warning you about."

  " These are a sick man's fears," said Bjerko.

  " There's a giant glacier in the sea where we are going,"

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  I said. "The pack-ice disintegrates northwards towards Bouvet from the Antarctic mainland. Yet the tip of this vast tongue of ice—it is four hundred miles from the mainland—

  remains untouched. It has a life of its own. It draws its life from the atmospheric machine I'm talking about round Bouvet. The Albatross' Foot and the glacier conspire. There is a grand battle between warm and cold. Bouvet lies in no-man'

  s-land. No-sailor's-sea, I would call it. In a sea of slush and bergy bits, suddenly it freezes like a vice. Bouvet makes its own particular brand of pack-ice. Within hours, before you can escape, the sea is frozen solid. I warn you, if you take this ship the way we are going now, the ice will close and tear her guts out. She'll be nipped along the water-line and be crushed to death."

  " Wait," said Upton. He was back in a minute. The document he handed me sent a tremor of apprehension through

  me. Harmless in itself—my weather knowledge and Kohler's would probably add up to the same thing—it proved beyond doubt that my fears and Sailhardy's about the true purpose of Upton's expedition were well founded.

  I read it aloud so that Sailhardy too would see its significance. " Kapitan zur See Kohler—Oberkommando der Marine." I took my eyes from the heading and watched Pirow as I translated for the islander. " Captain Kohler to High Command, German Navy. Top Secret. Raider Meteor's climatological report on Bouvet Island area."

  In other words, Upton had delved deep—as deep as a top-secret document—in order to get information about Bouvet, or was it about Thompson Island? Had Kohler the sea-wolf not gone down under my fire, Upton might have had no use for Bruce Wetherby

  My face must have given me away, but Upton misread it. " All men have their price," he said jauntily. " Even for top secrets." Was Pirow's price the knowledge of Upton's objective, I asked myself.

  I glanced at the opening sentences in order to compose

  my thoughts. " Situation with a westerly movement. Visibility poor in early summer. Fog and cloud frequency increases.

  I did not need Kohler to tell me about Bouvet's weather, secret and vital though it was to U-boats and raiders. The way we were headed meant certain disaster, but to reveal the fleet's position to Thorshammer, if that were possible, would mean ignominy for me. That is why I did not analyse the

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  underlying motive of Pirow's suggestion. It seemed at the time as if might provide a way out of my dilemma, or information on which to base my future course of action.

  " Why does not the Herr Kapitan take the helicopter and see for himself where Thorshammer is steering? It's hopeless for me to try and get a bearing on her."

  " Yes," I said. If I knew that, I might still avoid Bouvet's death-dealing ice. " You'll come?" I asked Pirow.

  He shook his head. "

  go on trying for a bearing: one

  might be lucky. I can be of more use aboard this ship."

  My ready acceptance of the suggestion seemed to restore Upton's geniality. He tried to be conciliatory, but what he said only added to my suspicions.

  " It will put you at your ease about Bouvet," he said. "

  Once you know Thorshammer's course, you will feel happier. I'll tell you what, Bruce—if we take a bit of a pasting, we'll lie up for a day or two at Bouvet. There's the one landing-place in the south-west. Norris sounded out the Bollevika anchorage, and it's still the best."

  Norris sounded out the Bollevika anchorage! If he knew •

  about Norris and Bouvet, then he must know about Thompson. I could not help feeling it was an oblique bid—in other words, show me Norris' chart. There seemed to be a shade of disappointment about both Upton and Pirow when I replied, " Will you ask Helen to fly off as soon as possible, then? I want Sailhardy to come with me."

  Within a quarter of an hour the helicopter had risen from the flensing platform of the factory ship into the rearguard fragments of cloud that rushed to the north and east to join the main body of the storm. The bucking of the ships far below was evidence of the wild weather which had left the swell behind. I was in the co-pilot's seat. Sailhardy stood.

  Helen swung the machine in a broad circle round the fleet. It was a superb horizon. Its iridescence was mirrored in her eyes, like Thai silk.

  The strange bird from Nightingale clung to the compass

  platform.

  " That lucky bird of yours won't budge from my cockpit,"

  she said. " I've named her Suzie Wong."

  " She's like an African state," I said. " She's grown up to modern ways too quickly." My quip sent Helen right back into herself. I could not make her out.

  " The pressure is ten-twenty millibars," she said, stabbing at the wet-and-dry-bulb thermometer whose rubber tube dis-75

  appeared into the slipstream outside. " Is that normal in the wake of a migrating anti-cyclone cell, Captain Wetherby?"

  I glanced into the withdrawn face, whose high, fine cheekbones were emphasised by the leather helmet. Engine oil had insinuated itself in tiny cracks between her knuckles.

  They were fine hands, I told myself almost in justification of her neglect of them, and they lay easily, confidently, on the controls. She was wearing a fleece-lined leather flying jacket and a pair of crumpled woollen slacks, thrust into salt-stained moccasin half-boots.

  " It is normal," I replied absently. ". . . Why call her Suzie Wong?"

  I thought she wasn't going to reply, she took so long. "

  She's a bit out of the ordinary—something like the circumstances—something like . . . What course, please?"

  I spread the big chart awkwardly. I pointed. " Is that where you think Thorshammer will be, Sailhardy?" I had circled an area to the north-north-west.

  " Maybe half a degree further north," replied the islander. "

  Thorshammer is ice-wise, Bruce. She'll get more benefit from the warmer water by keeping a
shade further north.

  She'll also get clearer visibility. She wants to find us, remember."

  I ringed a new circle. " Fine," Sailhardy said.

  " Three hundred degrees," I told Helen.

  As she brought the machine round and steadied on course, I looked back.

  "South," she said, without looking at me. " You always look south, don't you?"

  The question took me aback. After her resort to abstruse weather jargon, I had been quite willing to treat her as a pair of competent hands only. Now she was slipping a curious psychological punch under my guard.

  " This particular day the South has more meaning for me than usual," I said. I told her about Bouvet's weather, the glacier in the sea, and the danger. She listened in silence. I told her how the sea would freeze.

  She asked one question only. " Does that mean that we all could be stranded on the ice?" "

  yes."

  She turned swiftly to me. A quick burst of terror—

  unalloyed terror—illuminated the strange eyes for a moment.

  Then she leant forward and touched the Island Cock. " Then 76

  I'll go for your lucky bird, Captain Wetherby." He voice was husky with tension.

  I pulled a package from my pocket. " Cigarette?" "

  I don't smoke." She swallowed hard.

  Sailhardy pointed forward. " Whale."

  She could not hide the relief in her voice at being among her professional pursuits. A tiny obelisk graced the sea to mark perhaps another whale-grave in the trackless waters.

  " Blue Whale," she corrected him.

  " All whale spouts look alike to me," I replied.

  " They are not alike," she said, getting a grip on her voice. " The Blue Whale is the easiest to spot—the plume of condensation grows as its spout rises. A Fin Back's is tall and narrow. The Sperm Whale gives himself away every time—he shoots it out at an oblique angle.

  " Would you like a picture of it?" she asked. She didn't wait for me to reply, but hurried on. Her eyes became animated, and for the first time since meeting her I felt aware of a personality behind the accomplished flier. " I've got a camera—two in fact. I begged them from the Japanese who were down at Ongul Island last season. There's a Fair-child K17C for the vertical and a Williamson F24 for the oblique." She started to dip towards the whale's spout.

  My words came automatically, and I regretted them as I

  spoke. " Keep course. Steady as she goes."

  The eyes snuffed out like a lamp. " Steering three hundred degrees," she repeated tonelessly.

  W e f l e w o n s t e a d i l y f o r t h e n e x t t w o h o u r s . H e l e n remained silent, completely withdrawn. Sailhardy and I exchanged technicalities, and when he went through to check the extra fuel we had loaded in drums aft, I fiddled with the radio.

  It was, however, as Pirow had said. All I could get was some jumble from the American base at McMurdo Sound.

  After another twenty minutes' flying, we were on the fringe of the area where I thought I would find Thorshammer. We had overtaken part of the storm clouds, and I became anxious as I peered through the perspex, now clear, now obscured.

  Sailhardy turned his head this way and that, searching. If Thorshammer was to be seen, he would spot her.

  " This is going to be very tricky," I said. " If we stay at this height, the odds are we'll miss Thorshammer. If we duck under the cloud cover, we lose our height advantage, and our ability to see her before she sees us."

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  " The orange and black will make this machine stand out like a sore thumb," said Sailhardy.

  " What both of you have overlooked is Thorshammer's radar," remarked Helen.

  " No," I said. " I've thought of nothing else since she left Tristan. But I'm not particularly worried: Thorshammer hasn't set about trailing us as I would have done. She's been quite open about it—by that, I mean she hasn't kept radio silence like our fleet. She is not to know we have an expert like Pirow aboard. If it weren't for the radio ' dead spot ', there'd have been no need to make this flight. We may find pretty soon that we're close enough to get a D/F bearing on her. Moreover, she doesn't know we have a helicopter.

  Mikklesen never saw one, and Thorshammer left Tristan in too much of a hurry to discuss things with Mikklesen—in fact, we don't know that she even anchored at the island."

  " She'll still be using her radar—she'd be crazy if she didn't," replied Helen.

  " Very soon I'm going to ask you to take us right down to sea-level, and I'm going to try and get a D/F bearing on Thorshammer," I replied. " Radar will pick up nothing at zero feet, as you well know, so we won't be detected. We're almost at the area where I think we'll find her. Thorshammer certainly won't be expecting us to come looking for her."

  " Bruce!" exclaimed Sailhardy. " A ship! Bearing green three-oh!"

  " Get her down!" I rapped out. " Get her down to sea-level, quick !"

  I saw nothing, and by the time I had tried to focus on the spot Sailhardy indicated, the machine was dropping like a lift."I saw nothing," said Helen.

  I knew Sailhardy's eyesight. " How far was she, do you reckon?"

  " I could see forty miles on a day like this," he replied. "

  I caught the flash."

  " Steer thirty degrees," I told Helen. " I'm going to try and get a bearing on her."

  The sea came up to meet the helicopter. We skimmed the wave-tops. At that minimum height, the huge swells were no longer ironed out, as a few minutes before. Helen's eyes took on their colour, a pale turquoise, flecked with deep ginger.

  It was hopeless trying to locate the destroyer by radio.

  Perhaps Pirow could have made some sense out of the jumble 78

  that jarred my ears, but I could not even identify Thorshammer. After five minutes I gave it up and went up forward to the pilot's seat. Sailhardy was craning to see. I reckoned, however, that our height now was no more than that of an average crow's-nest, and although the day was clear below the broken cloud, the horizon was hazy with the aftermath of the storm, which would cut even Sailhardy's keen eyesight to about ten miles.

  " I think there must be some sort of solar disturbance interfering with the radar as well as the Bouvet ' dead spot '," I said. " That means Thorshammer's radar is pretty useless, anyway."

  " We'll be up on her in less than half an hour, if we keep this course," said Helen. " Providing it was Thorshammer Sailhardy saw."

  " It was a ship," asserted the islander.

  " I simply must know her course," I said. " There's only one way, under these conditions, and that is to observe Thorshammer."

  "Ice right ahead," said Sailhardy.

  Helen nodded agreement. " Sea clutter. Nothing very big.

  But some quite sizeable growlers."

  Even from our low altitude, I could see the long line of broken pack-ice strung out in the wake of the storm, marching in orderly columns as the gale thrust them along.

  " Look," I said. " That's how we'll observe Thorshammer."

  " What do you mean?" Sailhardy asked.

  The simplicity of the idea made me laugh. " We'll creep along in the helicopter until we're reasonably close to Thorshammer," I replied. " Then we'll land on one of those big growlers—on the side away from Thorshammer. We can sit and watch her pass."

  Helen bit her lip. " It won't work, Captain Wetherby. As close as that, Thorshammer can't fail to pick us up by radar."

  I shook my head. " It doesn't need Pirow to tell me that even under favourable conditions it is very difficult to get a radar echo from an iceberg, particularly if they're weathered smooth like these. The iceberg itself won't even show on the screen, let alone us."

  She looked at me, and I was astonished to see the anguish in her eyes. " No. I'm sure Thorshammer . . ."

  Sailhardy looked surprised at her reaction. " It's nothing to land on ice, ma'am, and after the way you rescued us . . ."

  She turned so abruptly to the controls that for a moment 79

 
I thought the machine would hit the top of the next swell.

  She was breathing quickly. " I'll land anywhere, but . . .

  but . . ."

  I could not fathom her. Her fear of putting the helicopter down on a stable platform like a small iceberg offered no problems for a flier of her proved competence. I dismissed the idea that somehow her reluctance might tie in with my suspicions about her father. How privy was she to whatever his schemes were? She had said nothing that would have revealed that she knew anything either of Pirow's background.

  " If you're afraid .. ." I started.

  The strange eyes were alive with inner pain. " I'm not afraid of landing." She pulled herself together, but I could see the perspiration along the line of the leather helmet. She swallowed hard. " Which growler?"

  I glanced at Sailhardy. He shrugged at her agitation. " Not yet, eh, Bruce?"

  " Ten minutes more?" I asked him, and he nodded.

  Helen pulled herself upright in her seat. She neither spoke nor looked at us. Her face was drawn and white. She was so tense that I wondered if I should not call the whole thing off. Could she make a landing in the state of nerves she obviously was in? The stakes were too big to turn back now.

  The sea clutter thickened as we flew on. I admired Helen's skill as she dodged between the growlers, keeping the machine just above the waves. Some of the bigger pieces of ice towered twenty to thirty feet above us as we passed. I saw the one I wanted. It was tabular, but there was a small plateau sloping slightly towards us, while the top was as straight as a ruler. The helicopter could land on the shelf and Sailhardy and I would plot the destroyer's course from the summit.

  I pointed. " There!"

  Helen flew straight on, almost as if she had not heard.

  We swept along towards the ice now looming close. The plateau was steeper than I had anticipated. The perspiration splashed from her forehead on to her leather flying jacket. She pulled the controls. We rose slightly and checked.

  Then, like a fly clinging to a wall, we hung on the little plateau.

  " Magnificent!" I said. I stopped short at the sight of her face. It was alive with terror. Her eyes were riveted on the ice. Her hands were shaking almost out of control as she cut the throttles. The engine died.