by Bob Mayer
He was still trying to find it when he hit the ice. His feet had barely touched when his sideways speed, built up by the wind, slammed his head into the ice, the helmet absorbing some of the blow.
Pak blinked as stars exploded in his head. Now the lack of feeling in his hands truly started working against him. He scrabbled at his right shoulder with both hands, trying to find the canopy release; he’d never have been able to find and pop the cover under these circumstances, thus the release in the plane before the jump. The wind took hold of his parachute, skiing him across the surface, his parka and cold-weather pants sliding along the ice, his head rattling on the bumps.
Finally his numb fingers found the cable loop. Pak pushed his mittened right thumb underneath, grabbed his right wrist with his left hand, and pulled with all the strength in both arms. The riser released and the canopy flopped over, letting the wind out. Pak lay on his back, trying to gather his wits. He knew he should be up and moving but his head was still spinning.
Pak had no idea how long he’d been lying there when a figure appeared out of the snow, right wrist held before his face, the receiver guiding in on Pak’s transmitter. The small face of the receiver blipped a red light along the edge, indicting the direction of the team leader’s device. By following that red dot, the team could assemble on Pak.
The bundled-up soldier immediately ran to the apex of Pak’s canopy and started S-rolling the parachute, gathering it in. Pak finally turned over and got up on one knee. He popped the chest release for his harness and slipped it off his back. He pulled out his weapon from the top of the reserve and made sure it was still functioning.
As Pak was stuffing his parachute into his rucksack, other figures appeared out of the blowing snow. He could see that two men were hurt: Sergeant Yong had a broken arm that the medic was working on and Corporal Lee was limping. Pak counted heads. Seven. One was missing.
“Where is Song?” Pak yelled above the roar of the wind.
When there was no immediate answer, Pak quickly ordered the team on line. ‘Turn off all receivers!” He pushed a button on his transmitter and it became a receiver, picking up the different frequency of Song’s wrist guidance device.
Pak headed in the direction the red dot indicated, his team flanking him on either side. His first priority was to account for all personnel. He broke into a trot, his men keeping pace, Yong and Lee gritting their teeth in pain. Pak was actually very satisfied that eight of the nine-man team had survived the jump. He’d expected at least 25 percent casualties.
They found Song; fortunately his body had jammed between two blocks of ice, otherwise it might have been blown all the way to the mountains. As two men ran to collapse the parachute and gather it in, Pak knelt down next to his soldier. Song’s eyes were unfocused and glassy. Pak unsnapped the man’s helmet. As he pulled it off he immediately spotted the caked blood and frozen, exposed brain tissue that had oozed through the cracked skull.
Pak looked up at Senior Lieutenant Kim. “Have two men pull him with us to the target.”
Pak took off his mitten and quickly reset his wrist transmitter/receiver to the transponder frequency. He turned his face into the wind. The target was in that direction.
ETERNITY BASE, ANTARCTICA
“Don’t stay too long,” Riley called from the stove as Vickers zipped up his parka. “The food will be ready in about five minutes.”
Vickers picked up his radio. “Who wants to go with me?” he asked as he headed for the door.
Devlin hopped up from his chair. “I’ll join you. I’d like to take a look outside. Feeling a little cooped up in here.”
“I’ll go too.” Kerns grabbed his parka and hurried out after the other two.
Riley glanced around the mess hall at the remaining members of the party. Lallo had recovered the instruction manual for the nuclear reactor from the control room and was poring through it. Conner was staring intently at whatever was displayed on the screen of her portable computer. Swenson was kicked back in a chair, slowly sipping a cup of hot chocolate. Sammy was sitting at the table reading Conner’s background binder, trying to keep her mind from black thoughts.
Riley lifted the ladle and blew on it. He’d learned the art of expedient cooking from his team; they had put together all sorts of concoctions inside number ten cans and cooked them over a fire in the field. He tasted his stew. It needed more Tabasco sauce.
*****
Pak stopped abruptly and peered through the driving snow. Something large loomed directly ahead. He moved forward ten feet on his hands and knees until he could identify the surface shaft, about forty feet in front of them. Using hand and arm signals, he sent two men scurrying around each flank to encircle the entrance.
There was a black wedge open on Pak’s side, and he could make out some movement there. Staying low, he continued forward, slowly closing the distance. He halted as soon as he saw a small antenna dish set in the snow, just outside the doorway. His team was poised behind him, waiting for his instructions.
Pak stayed in position. He didn’t want to interrupt if a communication was being transmitted. The lack of movement allowed the cold to penetrate his body and coil around his skin, sending sharp pain messages to his brain. Pak ignored them. He silently worked the bolt on his weapon, making sure it wasn’t frozen.
After five minutes, three figures appeared in the doorway. One bent over and hooked something into the satellite dish, then went back in. The other two just stood there peering out, almost directly at Pak.
*****
Devlin shivered under the lash of the cold, but a few minutes’ release from the claustrophobic underground base more than made up for the pain. Vickers had just gone back in, having hooked up the cable to the satellite dish. Kerns was standing next to Devlin, gazing out at the storm.
The shots sounds like muffled pops, and Devlin turned, astounded to see Kerns pirouette into the snow, bullets tearing through his body. Devlin stared at the blood seeping from Kerns for a split second and then looked up, first into the muzzle of an M16 and then at Vickers’ face.
“Please! Don’t,” Devlin begged, raising his hands in futile defense as the man’s finger tightened on the trigger. Devlin stood rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the gaping muzzle, when Vickers suddenly jerked to the side, like a marionette pulled offstage. The sound of gunfire thundered through the howling wind.
*****
Pak moved forward at the run, his team dashing behind him. In two seconds he’d closed half the distance to the door. Pak fired another sustained burst from his AK-47, and the man with the M16 was slammed against the white steel, slowly sliding down to the ground, a long smear of blood on the wall tracking his descent. As Pak shifted his weapon, the second man dove for the door. The man who had been shot was crawling for the opening, yelling after his comrade.
Pak slipped on the ice but immediately rolled back to his feet, keeping his eyes on the door. He was twenty feet away when it started to swing shut. The wounded man reached forward, trying to crawl in; his hand was almost crushed as the door closed with a clang.
One of Pak’s men rolled the wounded man over, kicking his rifle away. A black face stared up with wide eyes. Pak looked at the blood-encrusted parka; the man would soon be dead, from either the cold or loss of blood. Pak lowered the muzzle of his AK-47 and fired twice, then turned as his team gathered around.
He pointed at the door. “Lieutenant Kim! Open this!”
Chapter 21
ETERNITY BASE, ANTARCTICA
Riley met Devlin halfway down the stairs of the shaft. “What the hell happened?”
Devlin slumped down on the metal steps, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “It was Vickers!”
“What?” Riley asked, grabbing him by the arm.
“It was Vickers.” Devlin was dazed. “He killed Kerns and he was trying to kill me! And then they shot him.”
“Who shot him?”
“I don’t know! Some men with guns!”
Ril
ey looked up the stairs. “Where is Vickers now?”
“Outside. He’s dead. Kerns is dead!”
A dull echo sounded from above as two shots rang out. Riley let go of Devlin and sprinted up the remaining stairs. The door was shut. Riley slid the blade of the broken pick through the wheel and jammed it against the side wall.
The rest of the party assembled on the stairs around Devlin, yelling confused questions at him. They’d heard the initial rifle fire and had followed Riley here from the mess hall to see what was happening.
“Everyone shut up!” Riley yelled sharply. He knelt down next to Devlin. “All right. Tell us what happened. Who shot Vickers? Who’s up there right now?”
Devlin took a deep breath. “Vickers had gone inside after hooking up the satellite dish, and I went out with Kerns. Then Vickers came back out with the M16 and shot Kerns. He was getting ready to kill me when someone else shot him. I could see the blood. They kept shooting—I could feel the bullets going by me—so I dove for the door and just got in. I managed to get it shut.” Devlin looked up. “That’s all I know.”
“Did you see who they were?” Sammy asked.
Devlin shook his head. “No. I caught a glimpse of several people moving out there. I think Vickers must have seen them and maybe that’s why he started shooting. Or maybe he just didn’t want the message to go out. I don’t know.”
Riley craned his head up. There were no more sounds from the door. That worried him.
“Who could have done that?” Conner asked.
“Someone who wants us dead or who wants the goddamn bombs, or both.” Even as he answered, Riley knew what the immediate course of action had to be. “All right. Listen up and do what I say. I don’t know who these people are. For all we know they could be Americans, but one thing’s for sure: they aren’t friendly. They’ve already killed Vickers, and I don’t think they’d hesitate to shoot any of us.
“Sammy, you take Conner, Swenson, and Devlin to the reactor. I want you to wait by the first door. If you hear Lallo or me, open it. If it’s anybody else, retreat and shut the second door, securing that one too. You all should be safe in there.”
He turned to the cameraman. “You come with me.”
“What are you going to do?” Conner shook herself out of her shock.
“What I should have done when we first found the bombs.”
“Maybe we can talk to these people,” Devlin suggested tentatively.
Riley grabbed him by the shoulders. “Kerns and Vickers are dead. You would be too if you hadn’t acted so quickly. If they get in and catch us, we’ll all be dead. We don’t have time to stand here and discuss things.” He pushed Devlin toward the corridor. “Move!”
The four headed off down the east tunnel. Riley sprinted for the armory, with Lallo puffing along behind. He threw open the door and headed directly for the cases lining the wall, calling over his shoulder, “Grab two Ml6s and two pistols!”
Riley looked at the bombs. He wasn’t even sure which access panel opened onto the PAL keypad. On the top side of each bomb were at least six metal plates secured with numerous Phillips-head screws. He didn’t have time for that. He needed a more expedient way to neutralize the bombs.
He used a bayonet to open a crate of 5.56mm ammunition. He threw a couple of bandoliers over his shoulder and tossed two more to Lallo. ‘The magazines are in that locker. Start loading.”
Riley then grabbed a crate marked C-4 and tore off the lid. He took out several blocks of the plastique explosive, then looked for caps and a fuse. He found them on the other side of the room. For good measure, he grabbed a few other items.
Lallo was still fumbling with his second magazine, loading it round by round, when Riley finished collecting what he needed.
“There’s a speed loader in each bandolier,” Riley explained. “Here ...” He pulled a small metal piece out of the green bag. Taking ten-round clips, he used the speed loader to slam them down into the magazines, leaving out the last two rounds on the second clip. Eighteen rounds per twenty-round magazine: it echoed through Riley’s brain almost like a chant as he quickly loaded six magazines. The last two rounds were left out to prevent the magazine spring from overcompressing and malfunctioning.
Riley slammed a magazine home in each weapon and handed one to Lallo. “You know how to use this?” Lallo shook his head. Riley was already regretting his decision not to take Sammy or Swenson instead.
“Come on.” As Riley led the way out of the armory, he gave his quickest class yet on the Ml6: “This is the safety. It’s on right now. If you want to fire, you push it to semi. Then you aim and pull the trigger. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Riley kicked open the door to unit A2.
“What are we doing here?” Lallo asked nervously.
“We’re going to destroy the PAL codes and instructions for the bombs. Keep an eye on the corridor.”
Riley knelt down and laid out the explosives before him. As he was unwinding the fuse the sharp crack of an explosion roared through the base. Riley dropped the explosives and grabbed his Ml6. He’d run out of time.
Pak was the first to leap over the door. Kim’s charges had blown the door off its hinges and into the top of the stairwell. Weapon first, Pak sidled down the stairs, his men right behind, the muzzles of their weapons searching every corner.
Stopping short of the first intersection, Pak deployed his men in two-man teams. He’d gotten a sketch of the layout of the base with the OPLAN, so he had an idea of where he was and what lay ahead. He signaled for two teams to head down the east tunnel, clearing in that direction; he would take the rest directly to A2 to secure the codes and then to Al for the bombs.
As the first two men stepped forward into the intersection, a burst of automatic fire ripped into them, slamming both to the floor. Pak slid the muzzle of his AK-47 around the corner and blindly fired a magazine in that direction as Kim pulled one of the men back under cover. The other lay motionless in the center of the intersection.
“Smoke,” Pak ordered.
Lee took a grenade off his combat vest, pulled the pin, and threw it into the north tunnel. Bright red smoke immediately billowed out and filled the corridor.
“Go,” Pak ordered, gesturing his instructions.
Two men stepped out into the corridor and moved slowly forward, while two more sprinted down the corridor to loop around and catch whoever had done the firing from the flank.
*****
Riley was sure he’d hit two of them. All he’d seen were two men bundled up in dark-colored clothes. He and Lallo were just to the south of the intersection of the north and west tunnels, using the corner of B2 to protect themselves.
He gave the smoke enough time to completely fill the corridor and then pulled the trigger, emptying eighteen rounds into the fog. As he smoothly switched magazines, his answer was dozens of rounds of return fire ricocheting off the walls.
“They’re going to try and flank us,” Riley whispered to Lallo. “Let’s go.”
Weapon ready at his waist, Riley moved into the smoke-filled corridor, heading for the door on the north end of B2. He opened it, and just as he slid in, he spotted two figures out of the corner of his eye.
He quietly shut the door behind Lallo as the two men passed by, moving toward their old location.
Riley made his way through the mess hall to the far door. Were the flankers already around, or were they right in front of the door? Screw it, Riley thought. He swung the door open and stepped out. No one.
He opened the door to C2 and hustled Lallo through, then across into the south tunnel. As they moved out into that hallway, Riley could hear voices behind them, yelling in a foreign tongue. He recognized the language with a quiet chill—Han Gul, Korean.
“All right.” He leaned against the outside wall of the library. Lallo was looking at him with large eyes; the knuckles on the hands gripping the M16 were turning white. Riley whispered his plan. “We have to cross and get i
nto the generator room. If these guys have their shit together, they’ve left someone overwatching the east tunnel.
“We go together—you on the right, me on the left. If there’s someone there, I’m going to fire. You keep going no matter what. If I don’t make it, go to the access tunnel to the left of the control panel. Crawl down it until you come to the first hatch. Devlin should be on the other side. Call out and have him open it, then go in and make sure you seal that hatch and the next one. Do you understand?”
Lallo nodded.
“Ready? GO!”
Riley stepped out, weapon tight in against his shoulder, aiming up the tunnel. He and the two Koreans at the other end fired simultaneously. Riley could sense—whether it was by sound or feel, he couldn’t quite say—bullets passing by him.
In the second and a half it took to cross the corridor, he had emptied his magazine, as had the two men. Miraculously, Riley was untouched. He slid into the safety of unit C3.
The scream that tore through the air informed him that Lallo hadn’t been as fortunate. Riley spun around. The cameraman was lying in the middle of the tunnel, hands grasping his left leg, blood pouring over his fingers. His M16 lay on the floor, forgotten.
Even as Riley started to move out to pull him to safety, a burst of automatic fire walked up the floor, sending chips of wood flying. The rounds stitched a pattern across Lallo’s midsection, the velocity of the rounds punching him three feet down the south tunnel where he came to rest, dead.
Riley turned and ran through the door to the power plant, hoping the Koreans would move cautiously down the corridor. He slid into the power access tunnel. There was no way he could replace the grate from the inside, so there would be little doubt about which direction he had gone. He’d have to trust the strength of the double hatches.