by James Axler
A question erupted in Russian from one of the two men standing beside a metal lathe. The room was filled with the sound of grinding. Harlan had stated that the solar-powered batteries that powered much of the frigate remained intact, and that most of the electronics and propulsion systems were also intact.
J.B. had pretty much figured that after seeing the remains of the makeshift airwag back where Ryan and Jak had hooked up with the Inuit. The airway had been cobbled together from motors on different pieces of the frigate's equipment, and shaped in a machinist's shop.
He brought up the Uzi and loosed a snarling burst that caught both Russians as they went for their blasters. The room was lit by electric lights, though there were only about one-third the normal number. J.B. figured they were trying to conserve on the number of bulbs they had.
Unfortunately the bullets also ripped into a control panel, starting an electrical fire.
Spotting the red fire extinguisher on the wall, J.B. crossed the room and grabbed it. He pulled the pin and shook it up, then squeezed the trigger. Instead of a blast of chem-suppressor hosing the fire, a little fart of powder jumped at the fire. It did nothing to slow the blaze down. Smoke pooled against the top of the room.
J.B. tossed aside the fire extinguisher and scanned the room, listening to the crash of blasterfire outside the door pick up the pace. He moved at a jog, going deeper into the room.
The comp-assisted solder system was next to a diagnostics tester.
The Armorer switched on the machine. While he waited for the soldering points to warm to the prescribed temperature, he took the mat-trans circuit boards from inside his shirt where he had kept them over his heart. He had figured that his heart would be the last place he would get hit by a bullet and live to regret losing the circuit boards.
He placed the circuit boards on the soldering surface, locking them down with wing nuts specially designed to hold delicate electronics. The soldering iron already glowed red, and wisps of smoke eddied up from the tip as impurities burned off.
The smoke it made, though, was nothing like the smoke coming from the fire starting to ravage the electronics workshop.
Resolutely J.B. leaned in over the comp and used the joystick to start laying in the lines of solder to repair the circuit boards. The comp setup and program were similar to ones he had worked with when the Trader had needed serious work done on communications or munitions systems.
He watched the thin beads of silver solder fit neatly into place.
Then a quiver shook the ship, even stronger than the one that had hit it before. Instinctively he lifted the soldering point from the circuit board's surface to wait until the quiver was over.
But it lasted longer than the previous one.
And this time J.B. felt himself go weightless for a moment as the frigate slipped in the embrace of the iceberg. Ice crushed against the walls outside, and the skidding sounds let him know they were rising.
The Armorer looked through one of the windows near the workstation, not surprised at all to see the broken edge of the ice that had been chopped away from the ship suddenly rise three feet above the railing.
Whatever ice remained below the ship, it was no longer strong enough to support the frigate's weight.
The ship was sinking.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"The ship's going down!"
Krysty watched as Harlan's shout became a reality. The Russian frigate wallowed like a dying animal in the ice trough. Even from a distance, she could hear the splintering of ice around the vessel. "Gaia, protect Ryan," she prayed quietly.
"We've got to go," Dean said from beside her. He pushed himself up from hiding.
"Wait!" Krysty's sharp command froze him into place.
A pained look filled the boy's face.
"We're going," Krysty said, "but we're going to do this just the way Ryan would. If we go rushing in there like chickens with our heads chopped off, you know what's going to be on the lunch menu."
Dean nodded.
"Harlan!" Krysty yelled over the thunder of the breaking ice.
"Yeah," the Inuit chieftain called back.
"Are your people ready?"
"That ship's going down."
"It isn't down yet," Krysty said.
Abruptly the iceberg stopped quivering, and the frigate stopped its plunge.
"Okay," Harlan said, his gaze locked to the ship that barely remained above the rim of ice that had been chopped around it. "But if it goes—"
"If it goes, you're going down with this iceberg," Krysty reminded him.
"I guess we're in it as deep as you are."
"Whether we save Ryan and the others," Krysty declared, "those lifeboats aboard the frigate are all the hope you have left of getting off this iceberg."
Harlan nodded, turning and speaking quickly to his little band of warriors. None of them seemed happy about the prospect. "Whenever you're ready."
Krysty looked at Doc, Mildred and Albert.
"Lead on," Mildred said.
"'Damn the torpedoes—full speed ahead,'" Doc shouted, waving his sword stick toward the foundering frigate.
Krysty pushed up from cover and started for the ship. Her friends followed her, flanked by the Inuit.
RYAN BLASTED the Steyr empty. Having no chance to reload, he cleared leather with the SIG-Sauer and started to fire again. He had put three of the Russians down with the long blaster, but there appeared plenty of them left.
Footsteps rung on metal at his side, slightly behind him. Only his combat senses honed over years of living in the Deathlands and dozens of battles fought while with War Wag One allowed him to sort that new, more threatening sound out from the noise of battle all around him.
He spun, leveling the 9 mm at the end of his arm.
A face, malformed and demonic in intensity, appeared at the top of the stair, followed almost immediately by a rifle barrel.
Ryan fired from less than six feet away. The hollowpoint blasted through the sailor's head, emptying his brainpan in a scarlet rush. The corpse clung stubbornly to the ladder for a moment, then finally lost the fight against gravity.
Even as he was pulling back into position, Ryan's eye caught a flicker of movement arcing through the air. He tracked it, bringing up the SIG-Sauer, then recognized it as an implo gren.
"Fireblast!" He threw himself behind the support struts for the antenna overhead and curled into the protection as much as he could.
The implo gren went up in a thunderclap of noise and a white-hot flash of light.
Partially deafened from the concussion, Ryan forced himself to a standing position. He peered over the railing and took a two-handed grip on the 9 mm blaster as a man broke cover. He led the Russian sailor slightly, then squeezed the trigger and put two rounds through the man's lungs.
The sailor dropped to the deck, then tried to get back to his feet.
Knowing the man was already dead where he was, Ryan moved on, seeking more targets. He fired the blaster dry, then took cover again briefly to change magazines. He tripped the slide release, stripping the top round and feeding it into the breech.
Movement across from him, skylined against the moon hanging against the sable sky, alerted him to the fact that another Russian had climbed to a threatening position. A fully automatic weapon kicked to life, blistering the deck and the railing with sparks.
Ryan rolled left and brought up the SIG-Sauer. Partially covered by the superstructure, he blasted at the gunner. The first four rounds clipped metal all around the sailor before the fifth one bounced from the railing and cut through the man's crotch.
With a shrill scream, the gunman dropped his weapon, sank to his knees and tried to hold his groin with both hands. Even in the dim moonlight, Ryan saw the dark black blood come spilling through.
Then he noticed motion to the left and thought the rest of the companions and the Inuit were closing on the frigate as arranged. A barrage of muzzle-flashes split the night, giving further weight to h
is impression.
Then he noticed they were approaching from the starboard side of the vessel, not the port side. A closer look while under cover showed him that the newly arriving group was twice the size of Harlan's tribe.
Arrows pelted the frigate, letting Ryan know it was another Inuit tribe even before he got a clear look at the leaders.
Then the frigate slipped through the ice, dropping another few feet.
"SOMEONE ELSE is attacking the frigate!" Doc shouted.
Krysty laid down a covering fire with her .38, blasting away at the small knot of Russians grouped around the superstructure where she had last seen Ryan. She glanced across the frigate—it was so low in the ice that she could see the iceberg's terrain on the other side of it.
"It's Dichali's tribe," Harlan said. "The old bastard must have figured on making a last attempt on the Russians himself." He reloaded the weapon he'd taken from one of the dead men earlier.
"Are you friends with him?" Krysty asked.
"Hell no. Dichali would cut his own mother's throat if she couldn't look after herself. He'll try to kill us just to keep us from getting anything from the ship."
Krysty reloaded her pistol, staring into the distance. Dichali's tribe had nearly three times the number of warriors as Harlan's.
Ryan, J.B. and Jak were caught in the cross fire.
"The boats," she said. "If your people don't get them before that ship goes down, you're all dead."
"And you're not?" Harlan demanded.
Krysty gave him a hard stare. "Better be a lot of boats." She pushed up and closed the distance to the frigate.
LOOKING AT THE LAST BEAD of solder he had just finished putting down, J.B. knew it was as close as he was going to be able to manage to getting the circuit boards back to original form. He switched off the soldering iron and shoved the robot arm out of the way.
Before he could pick up the circuit boards, the frigate listed hard to starboard. He crashed up against the table, bruising his injured ribs. Pain almost claimed him, sucking his senses down into a black void.
He made himself breathe, made himself see through the swirling black comets in his vision. Then he became aware of a liquid roar that rushed into the room. The acrid smoke from the electrical fire had already burned his lungs and seared his eyes.
Glancing to the left, he saw water rush into the ship through a tear in the side. Evidently the frigate had been torqued by the ice and broken in two.
With the way it was taking on water, J.B. knew the ship's life expectancy above the ocean could only be measured in minutes now. He unfastened the wing nuts and picked up the circuit boards as water swirled over his feet. He felt the freezing intensity of it at once, feeling his feet almost go numb.
He wrapped the circuit boards in the bubbled plastic he had found at the redoubt, then put them back close to his heart. The Uzi in his hands, he made his way to the door, sloshing through the sea-water.
Outside he caught a Russian sailor flat-footed as he tried to sneak up on Ryan's position above. He cut a blistering figure eight with the weapon and blew the man backward. He raised his voice. "Ryan!"
"Yeah."
"We're done."
"Got a new problem."
As J.B. listened, he realized there was entirely too much blasterfire, even when he added in Harlan's people. "Coming up."
"Come ahead, but watch your ass."
The Armorer climbed the ladder rapidly, letting the Uzi hang by its strap. As he crested the top, he saw the approaching army of Inuit. "This is a bad place to be right now."
"Without a doubt," Ryan agreed. "You got the circuit boards fixed?"
"Won't know until we try to do the jump."
"Then let's see if we can cut and run from here." Ryan blasted another Russian on the deck. "I've got a feeling those men coming up aren't going to call it quits early."
J.B. looked down on the starboard side, seeing the depth-charge launcher below. The approaching Inuit were about two hundred yards away. "Mebbe I can do something about them." He crossed to the starboard side and clambered down.
Ryan provided covering fire instinctively.
The Armorer hoped the frigate's fire controls were still on. He checked over the depth-charge launcher and found the operations panel. He activated it, watching as the launcher shot the explosive drums over the side.
The barrels arched in the air, sailing fifty yards up and nearly that far out. They came crashing down against the ice, throwing up chips and snow in a crystalline haze on impact.
They didn't explode.
The ranks of the Inuit from the second tribe pulled back at first, afraid of getting hit by the barrels even if they didn't recognize what they were.
J.B. pulled up the Uzi and slipped in a fresh magazine. He stood beside the depth-charge launcher as it continued to cycle through its twenty-five-drum supply. Then he opened up with the subgun, targeting the depth charges.
He had no idea what the preset depths were on the drums, but they exploded just fine when they were hit with the bullets. He even caught some of them in the air, sending flames and debris shooting in all directions. Shrapnel dug into the ice and shattered against the steel hide of the frigate.
Then he climbed back up to rejoin Ryan.
The one-eyed man sighted through the Steyr's telescopic lens and set off some of the other barrels that J.B. hadn't hit.
"Time to leave," Ryan growled.
BELOW, KRYSTY REACHED the lifeboat's release switches as a fresh shudder ran through the Russian frigate. The big boat came down, slamming hard against the packed ice. With the deck tilted, the lifeboat didn't touch the ship at all.
"Get the boat," Krysty told Harlan.
The Inuit chief yelled at some of his warriors, motioning them over. They got behind the boat and managed to push it quite easily across the frozen surface. The rounded keel was a natural runner across the ice.
Mildred stood nearby, her ZKR 551 pistol in her hands, blasting methodically at any Russians that became available.
Krysty scanned the ship, tense with worry, wondering where Ryan was. She went forward, climbing onto the ship. She felt it shivering, sinking, but couldn't just stand by and watch it.
Then she felt hands close around her waist from behind. At first she thought it might be Ryan. But when she turned, the lean face definitely wasn't that of her lover.
The man raised a pistol into her throat. "You will please refrain from screaming," he said.
In the confusion swirling around the lifeboat below, she knew no one saw the man take her.
"ICEBERG'S SINKING, TOO," J.B. said. "Explosions and the weight of the ship are too much for it." The dull, roaring echoes of the depth charges continued to roll across the icescape.
Ryan looked down at the black water swirling up out of the dark fissure as they climbed down on the port side of the frigate. "If the whole iceberg goes, we lose the mat-trans unit and possibly our way back to Deathlands."
"Can't be helped," the Armorer said pragmatically. "It'll be there, or it won't."
"Ryan, J.B."
Ryan turned, spotting Jak farther up the crooked deck.
"Found another boat. But need help."
"What kind of boat?" Ryan asked.
"Has motor," Jak said. "Mebbe faster than lifeboats."
Ryan and J.B. followed the albino.
"Ryan!"
The one-eyed man glanced down over the side of the ship, spotting Albert. "What?"
"Krysty's missing. One of Harlan's people said she got taken back into the ship. There." The dwarf pointed toward one of the open doors ahead of Ryan.
"Get her," J.B. said. "Me and Jak will see to the boat."
Ryan unlimbered the SIG-Sauer and entered the door. The corridor ran straight and narrow before him. The creak of tortured metal was loud. The frigate shivered again. He plunged around the corner, looking for Krysty. The lights in the vessel were starting to fail as the power centers went out. The frigate was dying.
"Krysty!" he yelled.
"Here, lover," she said in a strained voice.
"Turn slowly," a man commanded.
Ryan turned.
"Drop your weapon."
Ryan lowered the SIG-Sauer to his side, keeping it in his fist. He saw Krysty in front of him, the mustached man standing just behind her, the corridor of flickering lights extending behind him. The little black pistol in the man's hand looked quite capable of blowing her head off.
"To the ground."
"No," Ryan said in a quiet, deathly voice. "If you wanted her chilled, she'd already be chilled. Means you realize it's only to your advantage that you keep her alive. I'd like to keep you thinking that. If I put my blaster down, mebbe you get too brave, do something stupe. I keep mine, keeps you honest. Gives us common ground."
"I'll take her head off," the Russian sailor said.
Ryan spotted the gold braid on his shoulders. "Captain Vitkin, isn't it?"
"Da."
"You're in command of this situation. Up to you how you handle it, but if you chill her, I chill you next. That's a damn promise. Right now I'm in a position to give you something you want. Otherwise you wouldn't be asking."
"I'm not asking. I'm demanding."
"Sure." Ryan faced the man, reading his features, reading the fear in the man over dying. "But going down in this ship, that's not a fate I'd want to wish on any man. You hurt her, I'll shoot you in the legs, let you see if you can float free somehow. Don't think you can manage it, but mebbe. Guess we'll see."
"I want a boat."
"Get out there soon enough, mebbe you'll find one. I'm not bringing you one."
"You have to."
"No," Ryan said calmly, "I don't. You should have just taken your chances, not grabbed the woman. Same as every other mother's son out here. Right now I'm wondering if that steel bulkhead behind you will ricochet a bullet into your back."
With an inarticulate cry of rage, the Russian frigate captain pulled the trigger.
Only Krysty wasn't there when the bullet cut through the air.
Applying pressure at the proper point, she snapped his gun arm with ease, pushing it away from her. She rotated the arm again, snapping the wrist, as well.