Cain bundled into the tent with Raul, Bell and Hunt. She already had oats swimming in half-melted snow. They took their parkas off in the comparative warmth, sat awkwardly, desperate to eat.
Bell tried to pick ice off his brows, looked at Cain. ‘If the engine’s an ice block, how do we start the vehicle?’
‘On traverse, you’d plug it into a generator for two hours or use a Herman Nelson in condition one. But we don’t have those items.’
‘What if we soaked something combustible in aviation fuel, made a shielded fire under it and . . . ?’
‘You don’t light a match near a Hagg,’ Hunt said with disgust. ‘Do you know the flashpoint of JP8?’
‘Well, the plane’s engines have generators. Wouldn’t the APU drive them?’
‘If it’s not wrecked,’ Cain said, ‘and you could hot-wire it. If you’re an aircraft electrician, go for it.’
‘I don’t care how you do it,’ Raul snapped. ‘Just get us moving.’
‘To where?’
He looked at Cain nastily. ‘What?’
‘I know where we are.’ Bell reached beside the cooking box and pulled out a map. ‘I found this with the navigator’s stuff.’ He unfolded the map, spread it across their knees, pointed to a pencil mark. ‘We’re here. I’ve double-checked the GPS coordinates.’
Cain examined the mark — some 400 kilometres from the pole of relative inaccessibility. ‘Great. Couldn’t be further from anywhere. So, forgetting Alpha, your nearest chance is . . .’ He ran his finger toward the coast. ‘. . . Asuka, a Jap base over 800 kilometres away.’
Hunt distributed mugs. ‘You couldn’t carry the fuel. Even if you struck no sastrugi . . .’
Bell held out his mug for hot chocolate. ‘What’s that?’
‘Wind-scoured snow ridges. They can get as big as tank traps. So if you didn’t strike those and got a litre per kilometre, you’d need 800 litres. It’d be closer to a kilolitre. That’s 220 gallons.’ She frowned, working it out. ‘Five 44-gallon drums.’
‘And we don’t have the fuel.’ Bell looked glum.
‘Yes you do. The Hagg’ll run on JP8. It runs turbines and diesels, too. And the plane’s inboard tanks are full of it.’
‘So we could siphon it out?’
Cain extended his mug. ‘Into what?’
‘There are drums in the plane,’ Raul said. ‘Certainly not five.’
Now Bell was a dog with a bone. ‘How much do the vehicle’s fuel tanks hold?’
Cain looked at Hunt. Haggs hadn’t been around in his day.
She frowned, trying to remember. ‘It has two 80-litre tanks plus the two jerry cans on the front of the back cab with about 20 litres each. So that’s 200 litres.’
‘There must be things we can use as containers.’ Bell’s eyes sparkled. ‘Like water containers in the plane’s galley or . . .’
Hunt glanced at Cain. Her look said ‘fingies’.
He said, ‘Even if we got it started, loaded with fuel and ten people . . .’
‘Now you’ve got the spirit,’ Raul said. Hot chocolate had cheered him remarkably.
‘. . . and we don’t slot it the first day, how do we warm it next morning?’
Bell said brightly, ‘Never shut down. Drive night and day. Drivers take shifts.’
‘I see. So you’re going to have someone walking ahead all night, probing with an ice axe?’
‘No,’ Raul said. ‘Life is risk and the riskiest policy is never to take risks. We drive fast, steer by intuition.’
Hunt snorted. ‘It’s lost a headlight and searchlights on one side. And you’re going to drive at night?’
Raul looked coldly at his nemesis. ‘If we drove twenty-four hours a day, how long would it take us?’
‘If you averaged 20 kilometres an hour, you’d do it in 40 hours.’ She sipped her drink. ‘But you could strike a patch where you could only average 10 kilometres a day.’
‘Still, it’s theoretically possible?’
‘Theoretically,’ Cain said. ‘Except that blizzards here can get up to 200 kilometres an hour.’
‘We haven’t struck one yet,’ Raul said.
‘This is a sucker break. It’ll come.’
‘The thing has radios,’ Bell said. ‘And radar.’
‘Except we wrecked the antenna driving it in.’ Hunt stirred the thickening oats. ‘Anyway, if you transmit, Alpha knows your position. Has to be radio silence.’
‘I can live with that,’ Raul said. ‘By the way, there’s a set of skis in the galley up the front. Must have belonged to one of the aircrew. We take those, too. He beamed at them all. ‘Life’s full of solutions. After breakfast, we get to work.’
Solutions, Cain thought, remembering Rhonda’s maxim, that are simple, neat and wrong.
After he’d eaten, Cain checked on the civilians. Eve was the only one up in her stale-smelling tent. Hair matted, face grave, she sat half out of her bag, priming the stove. ‘I heard a plane. Are we going to be rescued?’
‘No.’ He lifted the pee tin near the entrance, disappeared to empty it outside, came back, replaced it.
She said, ‘How do we survive down here? What do we do now?’ She was a woman in despair — a woman whose child had killed her half-sister.
He passed her one of the small snow blocks Hunt had positioned between the skins of the tent. ‘I’ll get Hunt to come in and help you. How’s John?’ He nodded at the pope who still lay, eyes closed as if exhausted, beside Nina. Both seemed to be dozing.
‘He’s worn out,’ she said. ‘Finds it hard to breathe. And who on earth are you people? This is Pope John Paul I! I thought I’d seen him before. What have you done to our Church? My God, how could you . . .’
‘Can’t always choose who you sleep with. Can you get Nina to make herself useful?’
‘Impossible. Containment’s the aim.’
The pope opened his eyes, gasped, ‘Ray. How are you managing?’
‘Ray?’ Eve looked confused.
‘We’re still alive,’ he told John.
Nina sat up and told the pope, ‘He screws my mum.’
The pope turned to her. ‘Have you ever felt someone loved you?’
‘You’ve got to be kidding. No one gives a stuff about me.’
The pope smiled and took her hand. ‘Don’t be too sure.’ Cain expected her to snatch her hand back. But the powerful presence of the man and perhaps the knowledge of who he was made it difficult for even Nina to deride him. She jerked her head away, not wanting her reaction seen.
Zia half sat up in his single bag and winced. His face had a sickly pearl-like sheen. ‘The helicopter?’ He spoke in Urdu.
‘EXIT.’
‘Why didn’t they attack us?’
‘No need. They know we’ll die.’
He nodded. ‘And which way is Mecca?’
‘You can’t make prostrations with that leg.’
‘Your advice doesn’t interest me. Which way?’
Cain pointed toward the rear corner of the tent. ‘Consider your mirhab to be there. But best now to worship at the Kaaba of the heart.’
‘You infidel. You upstart! Do you presume to tell Zia how to pray?’
‘I’m trying to help, General. I feel for you and your injury. I mean no offence.’
‘I need to — wash.’
He knew Zia wished to wash before praying and pointed to the splitting tips of the dark man’s fingers. ‘This dry air cracks skin. Washing isn’t good.’
Nina said, ‘Wankers. What language is that?’
The old general raised an arm, grimacing with pain. ‘You are insolent, Rahib. The unworthy are promised fire, where they will ever abide without relief. You have profaned Allah and His Apostle and you will burn in fire.’
‘God knows. Consider your own acts, Zia ul-Haq.’
‘I cannot will except by the will of Allah.’
‘Then may I point out that Islam forbids tyranny?’
‘Do not sully this place with your arguments.�
��
Cain shrugged. ‘Keep that leg up. I’ll come back later. You have my good wishes, General. And I’ll help you if I can.’
‘And I will kill you if I can, Rahib Badar.’
‘If Allah wills.’ Cain backed forlornly out of the tent. The old soldier hated him but at least it was keeping him alive. Religions, he thought — all pointing to unity but made lethal by interpretations. He trudged toward the wreck. What did Seng Ts’an’s poem say? ‘Do not seek after the real. Only cease to cherish opinions.’ Zia, who had grown up with state corruption, had probably done his best, as he saw it. And now, displaced, abandoned, dying, self-image was all he had left. Pride — angel and devil. Sometimes nothing was sadder.
‘Cain?’
Bell and his storm troops padded into sight from behind the shattered radome. Mullins carried a piece of dented aluminium panel.
‘Want to get that vehicle up,’ Bell said. ‘Have to find tools.’
‘Then keep your inner gloves on,’ Cain warned. ‘No bare flesh against metal.’
He followed the ungainly figures into the plane, removed his goggles. The Hagg was a mess, the right side of the front cabin bashed in. The mercenaries discussed how to patch it against the weather. The front window was still holding together so it was drivable. He looked at the frozen bodies of the loadmaster and Jane. Their staring eyes were ice.
Bell said, ‘I’ve checked the APU. It’s wrecked. Was it battery start?’
‘Yes.’
‘The battery’s where?’
‘Forward of the crew entry door.’ He adjusted his goggles and followed Bell outside.
They prised the bay open. The battery looked undamaged. The plane’s starboard list had helped.
Bell peered in. ‘You say the Hagglunds’ engine has a coolant warming element. So could we wire that up to this?’
‘Could try.’
They uncoupled the battery. Bell lifted it out, staggered. ‘Heavy.’
‘It’s lead acid. Not nicad.’
‘Voltage?’
‘Around 20 to 30 volts DC, I think.’
‘And what’s the heating element in the Hagg?’
He shrugged.
In ten minutes they’d salvaged enough wiring to connect the battery to the vehicle.
‘It’s cold-soaked,’ Cain said. ‘Got to warm it.’ Then he spotted a packing-carton-sized box in the cargo bay, opened the cardboard lid. ‘Bingo!’
Bell puffed across. ‘What are those?’
He held up colourful plastic envelopes. ‘Chemical hand warmers. You pierce the plastic, scrunch up the sachet, blow into it, whatever, to get oxygen in and it starts a chemical reaction. They’re a one-shot wonder but stay warm for hours.’
‘So if we pack them around the battery. Then insulate it with something . . .’
As they did it, the two mercenaries looked for things to patch the damaged cabin. With the battery warming, they helped the others strip lining from the cargo bay, then searched outside for more panels. Raul’s troops, Cain noted, didn’t seem to believe in face protection. For that they’d pay. On bad days here, exposed skin froze in minutes.
Bell went back to work on the ramp and waved Cain to follow. Aft of the port side paratroop door was a hand-pump and valve. Cain switched the pressure release valve handle to the manual position while Bell read instructions off a control plate. ‘Move door valve handle to OPEN.’
He did it.
‘Pump until door is up and locked.’
Cain pumped. The gauge pressure rose but nothing happened until he found and pulled the door uplock manual release. Slowly, the door began to rise into the upper tail. A black metal flag with a yellow circle swung out and down like some form of congratulation.
Cain said, ‘You know Raul’s not with it, don’t you? That we’re not going to make it?’
‘Energy in all things — road to fortune.’
He was sick of Bell’s dangerous zeal. ‘Get real. We’re stuffed.’
The other turned to him, eyes brilliant with conviction. ‘Gustave Raul is the Master of this Age. We’re tremendously fortunate to have him with us. And if he says we can do it, we can. There are thousands of people on this continent. Permanent bases everywhere. All we have to do is reach someone. There could be some temporary base or expedition just over the horizon.’
‘In your dreams, pal.’
‘I want us singing off the same sheet, Cain.’
‘A requiem?’
‘How do you think we rescued Raul? Against all odds?’
Cain laughed. ‘You call this a rescue?’
‘We did the impossible then. We’ll do it now.’ He turned back to the panel. ‘Now handle to NEUTRAL and we start on the ramp. Move ramp lock valve handle to UNLOCK.’
‘Check.’
‘Move ramp valve handle to UP. Pump until all locks visibly disengage.’
Cain did it, watching Bell. The man’s lips were splitting and there was frost nip on his cheeks. He apparently thought that being inside the plane was enough protection for his face although it had to be 40 below. I’ve told you once, Cain thought. Your next lesson is courtesy of the continent.
‘Now lock valve handle to NEUTRAL.’ Like many zealots, he had an officious streak. ‘Ramp valve handle to DOWN. And pump up to 500 PSI.’
Cain pumped again. The ramp slowly lowered toward the vista of brutal terrain.
‘You see?’ Raul’s disciple blinked at the glare of their graveyard, seeing nothing but a field of opportunity. ‘Now our only problem’s fuel storage.’
They gave the battery two hours but it was useless. The heating element warmed a little but the coolant was unaffected. Cain said, ‘Won’t do it. We’d need more batteries to get the voltage.’
‘So why not pack the engine directly with the warmers? You’ve got enough.’
Cain nodded slowly, again surprised by the man’s quick mind. ‘Okay.’
‘Always a way,’ Bell grinned. He went off to check on the others as Hunt came into the plane holding a thermos salvaged from the galley. ‘Cocoa.’
‘Great.’
She dragged goggles from bloodshot eyes. ‘How’s it coming?’
‘We might get the Hagg running. But we’re still pissing into the wind.’
‘They don’t get it, do they?’
‘How are you tracking with Raul?’
She cracked the ice around the plastic cover of the thermos. ‘He’s playing it cool.’
‘You’re useful to him right now.’
She got the top off, poured hot chocolate in it.
He gulped it down before the crystals spread through the liquid and it froze. ‘What’s the wattage of the Hagglunds’ heating element?’
‘The internal electrics run off 24 volts DC. The heater runs off 24O volts AC.’
He handed the cover back, grateful for the momentary warmth in his gullet. ‘So how do we get Raul’s head out of his arse?’
‘You can’t. He knew he was a phoney once. But now he believes his own press.’
‘Are the civilians okay?’
‘Zia won’t live.’
‘John?’
‘He’s amazing considering his age. He’ll be all right while he’s in the tent. But I’d like to kill that teenage bitch. And I know Raul’s waiting to flay me. So — still want to hold off?’
‘You want to try and take out four armed men?’
‘We could do it.’
‘Perhaps. But why bother?’
‘So go along with their nonsense? Watch them die? Then knock off who’s left?’
Cain saw Jakov emerging from the crew toilet. He seemed to think the plane was still an amenity. ‘Incoming.’
She spotted the Slav. ‘Nice knowing you, Cain.’
As she left, her outer glove brushed his.
* * *
The rest of the day was hell.
There were three 44-gallon drums and various containers. It wasn’t enough. Cain told them to fill them completely to guard aga
inst condensation. Mullins climbed up on the broken wings to try and siphon from the overwing refuel ports. Eventually they discovered the small condensate drains that released water, then fuel from the bottom of the tanks. Mullins used a screwdriver to push the small inner part up and start the flow but got fuel on his gloves, which wasn’t a good idea. By the time they’d finished, he was the worst of them — close to hypothermic, vision blurred, light-headed, hands stiff and unresponsive.
‘Got another night here,’ Cain panted, desperate to defrost his feet and stinging hands. His nose, runny with the cold, was now filled with frozen moisture. That made him gasp through the mouth and the cold air seared his throat. He’d worked too hard, too long.
Bell nodded. Snow had frozen his anorak hood to his balaclava and his goggles were layered with rime. He was shivering, stumbling, barely able to stand. He said nothing, just staggered toward his tent.
Cain followed, wondering about Eve and the others. As far as he knew, they hadn’t emerged all day. He didn’t have the energy to check them and hoped Hunt had. He knew Raul would be in good shape. The bastard had barely left his tent.
He entered his own tent and pulled the draw-cord tight. The wind was stronger, snapping the fabric and making the guy ropes sing. He slumped, too tired to remove his outer layer.
Jakov was pumping the stove. His face had tell-tale white patches and his ungloved hand shook as he lifted the kettle onto the flame.
All of them were shaking, which was good. At least their muscles still had the energy to shiver.
‘Jesus, my hands are killing me,’ Mullins moaned.
Cain said, ‘Be glad. When they stop hurting, you graduate to amputee.’
Jakov glanced at Cain. ‘So, fellah, you think we not make it, huh? So why we kill ourselves?’
‘Because those two mad bastards want you to.’ He wearily got his mukluks off and strung them up on the tent. The stinging was extreme. He could only think of one thing. Food. Soup. A meat bar. Pemmican stew. Like idiots they’d had no lunch — just survival biscuits and frozen chocolate.
Jakov felt his face as if exploring it for the first time. He winced with pain. ‘Jeez, so cold. Is awful. Terrible.’
Cain smiled. ‘Gets worse. Gets so windy that buildings and vehicles blow away. So cold that screwdrivers snap, tracks crack, teeth fillings fall out and if you aim high when you piss, it hits the ground as ice crystals.’
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