Ice Station ss-1

by Matthew Reilly

  It was a waiting game now.

  After Gant had set up the tripods, Montana and Sarah Hensleigh had gone back to examining the spacecraft. Santa Cruz had stayed with Gant a while longer, but soon he, too, went back over to look at the fantastic black ship.

  Gant stayed with the guns.

  As she sat there on the cold, icy floor of the cavern, she gazed at the dismembered bodies on the far side of the pool.

  The amount of damage that had been done to the bodies had stunned her. Heads and limbs missing, whole sections of flesh literally chewed to the bone, the whole scene itself soaked in blood.

  What on earth could have done it? Gant thought.

  As she thought about the bodies, her gaze wandered over to the pool. She saw the round holes in the ice walls above it?the enormous ten-foot holes. They were identical to the ones she had seen in the underwater ice tunnel on the way here.

  Gant had a strange feeling about those holes, about the bodies, about the cave itself. It was almost as if the cave were some kind of?

  "This is absolutely incredible," Sarah Hensleigh said as she came over and stood beside Gant. Hensleigh hurriedly brushed a strand of long dark hair from her face. She was practically brimming with excitement at the discovery of the spaceship.

  "It has no markings on it whatsoever," she said. "The whole ship is completely and utterly black."

  Gant didn't care much for Sarah Hensleigh right now. In fact, she didn't care much for the spaceship either.

  In fact, the more she thought about it?about the spaceship and the cavern and the half-eaten bodies and the SAS up in the station?Gant couldn't help but think that there was no way in the world that she would ever be leaving Wilkes Ice Station alive.

  The SAS team's entry into Wilkes Ice Station was fast and fluid?professional.

  Black-clad men charged into the station with their guns up. They fanned out quickly, moved in pairs. They opened every door, checked every room.

  "A-deck, clear!" one voice yelled.

  "B-deck, clear!" another voice yelled.

  Trevor Barnaby strode out onto the A-deck catwalk and surveyed the abandoned station like a newly crowned king looking out over his domain. He looked down upon the station with a cold, even gaze. A thin smile creased his face.

  The SAS troops made their way down to E-deck, where they found Snake and the two French scientists handcuffed to tihe pole. Two SAS commandos covered them while more black-clad troops poured down the rung-ladders and disappeared inside the tunnels of E-deck.

  Four SAS commandos raced into the south tunnel. Two took the doors to the left. Two took the doors to the right

  The two on the right came to the first door, kicked it in, looked inside.

  A storeroom. Battered wooden shelves. Some scuba-diving tanks on the floor.

  But empty.

  They moved down the corridor, guns up. It was then that one of them saw the dumbwaiter, saw the two stainless-steel doors glistening in the cold white light of the tunnel.

  With a short whistle, the lead SAS man caught the attention of the other two commandos in the tunnel. He pointed with two fingers at the dumbwaiter. The other two men understood instantly. They positioned themselves on either side of the dumbwaiter while the leader and the fourth SAS commando aimed their guns at the stainless-steel doors.

  The leader nodded quickly and the two men on either side of the dumbwaiter instantly yanked it open, and the leader let rip with a sudden burst of gunfire.

  The bare walls of the empty dumbwaiter were ripped to shreds.

  Mother squeezed her eyes shut as the SAS commando's gunfire roared loudly less than a foot above her head.

  She was sitting in complete darkness, at the base of the dumbwaiter's miniature elevator shaft, curled up in a tight ball, in the crawl space underneath the dumbwaiter.

  The dumbwaiter shuddered and shook under the weight of the SAS commando's gunfire. Its walls blew out, and jagged, splintered holes appeared all over it. Dust and wood shavings showered down on Mother, but she just kept her eyes firmly shut.

  And then at that moment, as the gunfire echoed loudly in her ears, a jarring thought hit Mother.

  They could fire their guns safely inside the station again....

  The amount of flammable gas in the station's atmosphere must have dissipated?

  And then abruptly the gunfire ceased and the doors of the dumbwaiter closed and all of a sudden there was silence again, and for the first time in three whole minutes Mother let out a breath.

  Schofield and Renshaw plummeted down the face of the cliff and plunged into the ocean.

  The cold hit them like an anvil, but Schofield didn't care. His adrenaline was pumping and his body heat was already high. Most experts would give you about eight minutes to live in the freezing Antarctic waters. But with his thermal wet suit on and his adrenaline pumping, Schofield gave himself at least thirty.

  He swam upward, searching for air, and then suddenly he broke the surface and the first thing he saw was the largest wave he had ever seen in his life bearing down upon him. The wave crashed down against him and drove him? slammed him?back against the base of the ice cliff.

  The impact knocked the wind out of him, and his lungs clawed for air.

  Suddenly the wave subsided and Schofield felt himself get sucked down into a trough between two waves. He let himself float in the water for a few seconds while he got his breath and his bearings.

  The sea around him was absolutely mountainous. Forty-foot waves surrounded him. A mammoth wave smashed into the cliffs twenty yards to his right. Icebergs?some as tall and as wide as New York skyscrapers, others as long and flat as football fields?hovered a hundred yards off the coast, silent sentries guarding the ice cliffs.

  Abruptly Renshaw burst up out of the water right next to Schofield. The short scientist immediately began gulping in air in hoarse, heaving breaths. For an instant, Schofield worried about how Renshaw would cope with the extreme cold of the water, but then he remembered Renshaw's Neoprene bodysuit. Hell, Renshaw was probably warmer than he was.

  At that moment Schofield saw another towering wave coming toward them.

  "Go under!" he yelled.

  Schofield took a deep breath and dived, and suddenly the world went eerily silent.

  He swam downward, saw Renshaw swimming alongside him, hovering in the water.

  And then he saw an explosion of white foam fan out above their heads as the wave on the surface crashed with all its might against the cliff.

  Schofield and Renshaw surfaced again.

  As he bobbed and swayed in the water, Schofield saw the entire side door of a hovercraft float past him in the water.

  "We have to get farther out," he said. "If we stay here any longer, we're gonna get pulverized against these cliffs."

  "Where to?" Renshaw said.

  "OK," Schofield said. "See that iceberg out there?" He pointed at a large berg that looked like a grand piano on its side, about two hundred yards out from the cliffs.

  "I see it."

  "That's where we're going," Schofield said.

  "All right."

  "OK, then. On three. One. Two. Three."

  On three, both men drew deep breaths and went under. They kicked off the cliff and breaststroked their way through the clear Antarctic water. Explosions of white foam flared out above their heads as they made their way through the water.

  Ten yards. Twenty.

  Renshaw ran out of breath, surfaced, took a quick gulp of air, and then went under again. Schofield did the same, clenching his teeth as he, too, ducked beneath the waves again. His newly broken rib burned with pain.

  Fifty yards out and the two men broke the surface again. They were beyond the breaking waves now, so they stretched out into freestyle, powering over the vertiginous peaks of the towering forty-foot waves.

  At last, they came to the base of the iceberg. It loomed above them, a wall of white, sheer in some places, beautifully curved and grooved in others. Magnificen
t vaulted tunnels disappeared into the virgin ice.

  The big berg leveled off at one point, descending to the ocean, where it formed a kind of ledge. Schofield and Renshaw made for the ledge.

  When they got there, they saw that the ledge was actually poised about three feet above the water.

  "Push off my shoulder," Schofield said.

  Renshaw obeyed and quickly hoisted his left foot onto Schofield's shoulder and pushed off it.

  The little man's hands reached up and clasped the ice ledge, and he awkwardly hauled himself up onto it. Then he lay flat on the edge of the ledge and reached back down for Schofield.

  Schofield reached up and Renshaw began to haul him up out of the water. Schofield was almost on the ledge when suddenly Renshaw's wet hands slipped off his wrist and Schofield fell clumsily back down into the water.

  Schofield plunged underwater.

  Silence. Total silence. Like the womb.

  The blasting explosions of the waves crashing against the ice cliffs no longer assaulted his ears.

  The massive white underbelly of the iceberg filled his vision. It stretched down and down until it disappeared into the cloudy depths of the ocean.

  And then suddenly Schofield heard a sound and he snapped upright in the water. The sound traveled well in the water and he heard it clearly.

  Vmmmmmm.

  It was a low, droning, humming sound.

  Vmmmmmm.

  Schofield frowned. It sounded almost... mechanical. Like a motorized door opening somewhere. Somewhere close.

  Somewhere... behind him.

  Schofield spun around instantly.

  And then he saw it.

  It was so huge?so monstrously huge?that the mere sight of it sent his heart into overdrive.

  It was just hovering there in the water.

  Silent. Huge.

  Looming over Schofield as he hovered in the water alongside the iceberg.

  It must have been at least a hundred meters long, its hull black and round. Schofield saw the two horizontal stabilizing fins jutting out from either side of the conning tower, saw the cylindrical snub nose of the bow, and suddenly his heart was pumping very loudly inside his head.

  Schofield couldn't believe his eyes.

  He was looking at a submarine.

  Schofield burst up out of the water.

  "Are you all right?" Renshaw asked from up on the ledge.

  "Not anymore," Schofield said before he quickly took another breath and submerged again.

  The world was silent again.

  Schofield swam a little deeper and stared at the massive submarine in awe. It was about thirty yards away from him, but he could see it clearly. The enormous submarine just sat there?completely submerged?hovering in the underwater silence like an enormous, patient leviathan.

  Schofield looked it over, looked for the signature features.

  He saw the narrow conning tower, saw the four torpedo ports on the bow. One of the torpedo ports, he saw, was in the process of opening. Vmmmmm.

  And then he saw the colors painted on the forward left-hand side of the bow?saw the three vertical shafts of color: blue-white-red.

  He was looking at the French flag.

  Renshaw watched as Schofield burst up out of the water again.

  "What are you doing down there?" he asked.

  Schofield ignored him. Instead, he thrust his left arm out of the water and examined his watch.

  The stopwatch read:

  2:57:59

  2:58:00

  2:58:01

  "Oh, Jesus," he said. "Oh, Jesus."

  In the bedlam of the hovercraft chase, he had completely forgotten about the French warship hovering off the coast of Antarctica, waiting to fire its missiles at Wilkes, Ice Station. Its code name, he recalled, was Shark.

  It was only now, though, that Schofield realized he had made a mistake. He had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Shark wasn't a warship at all.

  It was a submarine.

  It was this submarine.

  "Quickly," Schofield said to Renshaw. "Get me out"

  Renshaw thrust his hand down and Schofield clasped it firmly. Renshaw hauled him up as quickly as he could. When he was high enough, Schofield grabbed hold of the ice ledge and hauled himself up onto it.

  Renshaw had half-expected Schofield to drop down onto the ice and catch his breath as he himself had done, but Schofield was up on his feet in an instant.

  In fact, no sooner was he up on the ledge than he was running?no, sprinting?out across the flat expanse of the iceberg.

  Renshaw gave chase. He saw Schofield hurdle an ice mound as he bounded for the edge of the iceberg about thirty meters away. There was a slight incline that Schofield ran up, toward the edge of the iceberg. On the other side of the incline, Renshaw saw, was a sheer ten-meter drop down to the water below.

  As he ran, Schofield checked his stopwatch. The seconds continued to tick upward, toward the three-hour mark.

  Toward firing time.

  2:58:31

  2:58:32

  2:58:33

  Schofield was thinking as he ran.

  It's going to destroy the station. Destroy the station.

  Going to kill my Marines. Kill the little girl...

  Got to stop it.

  But how? How does a man destroy a submarine?

  And then suddenly he remembered something.

  He unshouldered his Maghook as he ran. Then he quickly hit the button marked M and saw the red light on the Maghook's magnetically charged head come to life.

  Then he pulled a silver canister from his thigh pocket. It was the foot-long silver canister with the green band painted around it that he had found inside the British hovercraft.

  The Tritonal 80/20 high-powered explosive charge.

  Schofield looked at the silver-and-green canister as he ran. It had a stainless-steel pneumatic lid on it. He turned the lid and heard a soft hiss! The lid popped open and he saw a familiar digital timing display next to an arm-disarm switch. Since it was a demolition device, a Tritonal charge could be disarmed at any time.

  Twenty seconds, he thought. Just enough time to get clear.

  He set the timer on the Tritonal charge for twenty seconds and then held the silver canister out above the bulbous magnetic head of his Maghook. Immediately the steel cylinder thunked down hard against the powerful magnet and stuck to it, caught in its vicelike magnetic grip.

  Schofield was still running hard, sprinting across the rugged landscape of the iceberg.

  Then he came to the edge of the iceberg, and without so much as a second thought, he hit it at full speed and leaped off it, out into the air.

  Schofield flew through the air in a long, wide arc?hung there for a full three seconds?before he splashed down hard, feetfirst, into the freezing-cold water of the Southern Ocean one more time.

  Bubbles flew up all around him, and for a moment Schofield saw nothing. And then suddenly the bubbles cleared and he found himself hovering in the water right in front of the gargantuan steel nose of the French submarine.

  Schofield checked his watch.

  2:58:59

  2:59:00

  2:59:01

  One minute to go.

  The outer doors of the torpedo tube were fully open now. Schofield swam toward it The torpedo tube opened wide in front of him, ten yards away.

  This had better work, Schofield thought as he raised his Maghook, with the Tritonal charge attached to its head. He pressed the arm-disarm switch on the Tritonal charge.

  Twenty seconds.

  Schofield fired the Maghook.

  The Maghook shot out from its launcher, leaving a thin trail of white bubbles in its wake. It sliced through the water toward the open torpedo port...

  ... and hit the steel hull of the submarine just below the torpedo port with a loud metallic clunk! The Maghook?with the live Tritonal charge attached to it?bounced off the thick steel hull of the sub and began to sink limply into the water.

  Schofiel
d couldn't believe it.

  He'd missed!

  Shit! his mind screamed. And then suddenly another thought hit him.

  The people inside the sub would have heard it. Must have heard it.

  Schofield quickly hit the black button on his grip that reeled the Maghook in, hoped to hell that it got back to him before twenty seconds expired.

  Have to get another shot.

  Have got to get another shot.

  The Maghook began to reel itself in.

  And then suddenly Schofield heard another noise.

  Vmmmmmm.

  Off to his left, on the other side of the bow, one of the other torpedo doors was opening!

  This door was smaller than the one Schofield had tried to shoot his Maghook into.

  Smaller torpedoes, Schofield thought. Ones that are designed to kill other subs, not whole ice stations.

  And then with a sudden whoooosh! a compact white torpedo whizzed out from the newly-opened torpedo port and rolled through the water toward Schofield.

  Schofield couldn't believe it.

  They had fired a torpedo at him!

  The Maghook returned to its launcher and Schofield quickly pressed the arm-disarm switch on the Tritonal charge?with four seconds to spare?just as the torpedo shot past his waist, its wash knocking him over in the water.

  Schofield breathed with relief. He was too close. The torpedo hadn't had time to get a lock on him.

  It was then that the torpedo slammed into the iceberg behind him and detonated hard.

  Renshaw was standing on the edge of the iceberg, looking down into the water, when the torpedo hit, about twenty yards away.

  In an instant, a whole segment of the iceberg exploded in a cloud of white and just fell away into the ocean like a landslide, cut clean from the rest of the massive berg.

  "Yikes," Renshaw breathed in awe.

  And then suddenly he saw Schofield surface about twenty yards out, saw him gulp in a lungful of air, and then he saw the lieutenant go under again.

  With the sound of the torpedo's explosion still reverberating through the water all around him, and a large slice of the iceberg plunging into the water behind him, Schofield aimed his Maghook at the torpedo port a second time.