ICE GENESIS

by Kevin Tinto

  “Might not be possible,” Wheeler, said over the satellite phone, his wheezing getting worse. “The energy beam—triggered when you accessed the complex—has created a communication blackout over the Antarctic. Not just communications, all navigational tools necessary for aircraft navigation. We’ve already lost several aircraft under Visual Flight Rules and suffered ten fatalities when a transport went into the sea after losing contact on final approach with the Bush.”

  “Then you better have a few good pilots here at Holloman, because I’m going even if we have to navigate with divining rods. Grant my wishes and you’re rid of me—once and for all.”

  Chapter 63

  Leah stood at the mirror in the bathroom, distantly regarding the stranger staring back. The creases in her cheeks and lines of fatigue around her eyes told a tale that she didn’t care to hear again. Leah leaned heavily on the sink; she didn’t have the strength to stand any longer. Not only was she bone-tired; she also faced an impossible road ahead.

  Even if she got the Ancients to Antarctica, she lacked the skills to search for the second complex. The Ancients, on the other hand, had been bio-engineered to withstand cold temperatures and high altitudes. With Appanoose leading them, perhaps they’d find what he seemed so sure, was there.

  Leah was almost to the point that she didn’t care anymore. Even if it was a certainty the Ancients would die in Antarctica, at least they’d be free and making those final decisions themselves—for themselves. She closed her eyes for a moment. Only the sound of the door to the bathroom opening prevented her from dropping into REM sleep still leaning against the sink.

  “Dr. Andrews?”

  A soft female voice spoke.

  Leah turned around. One of Gordon’s laboratory technicians stood at the door. She held several freshly laundered towels, a fresh flight suit, and toiletries. “We know you must be exhausted. I put together some things for you…. I can take you to our personal shower trailer if you’d like to freshen up?”

  Leah struggled to ignore the cramping quad muscles in the front of her legs. A sure sign she was dehydrated, in addition to the crushing fatigue.

  “That’d be nice,” she said, following the lab tech out of the bathroom and into the adjoining hangar.

  ✽✽✽

  The twenty-minute hot shower, shampoo, soap and skin cream supplied by the lab tech did wonders both for her state of mind and her body. Once she’d dressed in a fresh flight suit, with her hair pulled back into a single ponytail, her next thoughts were food.

  Leah asked where she could get something to eat, and one of the medical personal pointed out a large trailer located in the center of the hangar. Leah walked over toward the trailer, still trying to free her muscles from the cramping. When she opened the door and stepped into the mess-hall-in-a-trailer, she was shocked to see the crew from both the Black Hawk and the Chinook sitting together at one table, drinking coffee and talking non-stop, hands flying as they no doubt described the flight from the meadow back to Holloman and everything that had gone down during said flight.

  “What the hell are you boys doing here? I was pretty sure when I cut off the restraints, I said you were free to go. Why aren’t you being debriefed by the Base Commander?”

  Captain Hutchinson looked at his fellow pilots and crew. They all nodded in agreement. It appeared he’d been tasked with whatever they wanted to say.

  “Spit it out, Captain. You of all people know that I don’t have all day.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, uh…we’d like to go with you—to Antarctica.”

  “Yeah. Right. Look—you guys aren’t in any trouble. You were my hostages. Remember?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s just—well, we’re talking about history here. I mean, history that will stand right up with Moses on the Mount.”

  She looked from Hutchinson to the other officers. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We were all onboard the Hook during the call with the President. We know that you’re headed to Antarctica to return the Ancients to an extra-terrestrial base—if it’s really there. I mean, if that’s not the bomb of all bombs to tell your grandchildren, I don’t know what is.”

  Leah crossed her arms. She had to admire the chutzpah, even it reminded her a bit too much of Jack when he went over the top on some adventure. “If I said yes, you’d be classified AWOL and domestic terrorists. Your military careers would be over. If you survived, and the chances of that are near zero, you’d spend the rest of your life in Leavenworth. There won’t be any grandchildren, Captain.”

  Before Hutchinson could continue, his co-pilot Lieutenant Cruz spoke up. “And we’re helicopter pilots, ma’am. You might need helicopter pilots, you know, to find this place, ferry the Ancients….”

  Strange, it almost sounded as if he were pleading.

  “I guess you guys didn’t hear a word I said… I’ll have to refuse your generous offer....”

  All six of the crew hung their heads in a physical display of infinite disappointment. It wasn’t a stretch to remember how badly she’d wanted to go to Antarctica—how stubborn Jack could be when he had a goal in mind, no matter that it would kill him and whoever else he took along.

  Six young, strong, well-educated men with piloting skills, combat experience, and who say, ‘How high?’ every time I tell them to jump…?

  “Okay. If you guys are trying to win the beat-dog Academy Award, you’ve done it.”

  They looked up, fresh hope in their eyes.

  “This is how it goes down. You are still my hostages. That won’t keep you from getting killed on the ice, but maybe keep you out of prison, on the slim chance you survive and make it home.” She pointed at Hutchinson. “I have a job for your crew. Get on the phone with the Base Commander. Do you know him?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your job is to gather as much cold weather gear as you can. I told Dr. Gordon to do this, but he’s got plenty on his plate already. Those one-piece winter suits the aircraft handlers and mechanic use would be a good start. Parkas, hats, mittens, not gloves. Trust me when I say your hands will freeze in gloves, even during the summer. Kelleher will have already been told by President Wheeler to provide whatever we need. He may ask questions. Remember: You are my hostages. You know nothing.” Leah hesitated. “We’re headed into a war zone. Gather automatic weapons and plenty of ammo and magazines. No bazookas, though—got it?”

  Hutchinson nodded.

  “That was a test, Captain. You CANNOT gather automatic weapons! You’re a hostage. Don’t forget it.”

  The look of horror on Hutchinson’s face would have Leah busting a gut in the old days. Instead, she simply continued, “Make up a list, tell Kelleher what ‘I’ want, then have him deliver it to Gordon.”

  Leah addressed the Chinook crew. “The Ancients have metabolisms working way, way faster than ours. They eat—a lot. I need you to have the mess hall cook up, and package up as much corn and beans as possible. Also, get several cases of the MREs and a hundred gallons of water.”

  The crews sat there, frozen in place. Leah clapped her hands. “That’s it, boys. Get to it!”

  They stood as one.

  “Wait” Leah shouted. They all froze. “Hutchinson. You stay for a second.”

  The other five bolted.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “The warhead is still in the rear inside the Chinook.”

  “Do you want us to load it into the Globemaster?”

  “Negative, Captain.” Leah reached into her flight suit and brought out the two sheets of paper with the codes to the Hafnium warhead. “I think Freddy Kruger’s done his job. Do you have a lighter, Captain?”

  “No ma’am. I don’t smoke.”

  “Excellent, Captain. That was a test. If you smoked, I’d have to leave you behind. Second-hand smoke is a killer.”

  Hutchinson stood frozen for a second, not grasping her sense of humor. Then he grinned. “No ma’am. Never touch those things.”

  �
�Go over to the grill. See if they have wooden matches, or a lighter of some kind.”

  Hutchinson was back in a moment with a standard barbeque-style grill lighter. He handed over to Leah. She lit the two sheets at the bottom with the lighter, allowing them to burn up until she had to drop them on an empty plate on the table. In seconds, all that remained was a pile of smoking ash.

  “Tell Dr. Gordon the warhead is disarmed and now his responsibility. He’ll be thrilled.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”

  “I have a whole list for you. Get to it.”

  Hutchinson disappeared without another word. Leah sat for a moment, catching her breath. Then she stood and pushed away from the table. The mess-hall aroma was better than any Michelin-rated restaurant’s, and suddenly she was starving.

  Chapter 64

  “Dr. Andrews.”

  A hand was on her shoulder, gently waking her. Leah looked up. She was still in the mess hall. After eating the bacon, eggs, and a mound of hash browns, she’d fallen asleep right at the table, her head down on her folded arms.

  Gordon stood over her. “We’re ready to go.”

  “We are?” Leah glanced down at her watch. Had she really slept at the table for nearly three hours?

  “We decided not to wake you—you’re exhausted. The C-17’s fueled, the crew is aboard, the young helicopter pilots have been a godsend. They gathered enough cold weather gear to outfit an entire brigade, the same for hot food in heated containers, plus water. They’ve all had medical training, which allowed me to leave my personnel here—most have families.”

  “What about K’aalógii?”

  “She’s under with Propofol. Doing fine. All her vital signs have fallen into a range I’m comfortable with—I did take a liberty with the Ancients, however.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I gave all of them, with the exception of Appanoose, a sedative. We want to avoid the stress of the flight bringing on symptomatic disorders, if it can be avoided.”

  “Good, thinking, Gordo. What’s left to do?”

  “Get you on board the aircraft—you’re the last one in the hangar on the manifest.”

  Leah stood and stretched. The cramps were gone and the food, along with the deep sleep, made her felt as if she might pull this off.

  “Let’s do it, Gordo. We’re burning daylight.”

  Gordon nodded, but before he could open the door leading out of the mess hall, Leah said. “Coffee. I gotta have coffee.”

  In moments, the mess chef handed her a steaming cup, and a large thermos to go with it. “Thanks,” she told him. “You might have just save Dr. Gordon’s life.”

  ✽✽✽

  The C-17 Globemaster looked large when parked down the tarmac. Now that it was backed up to Dragon Two, it wasn’t simply large, it was massive. Leah stopped for a second and stared at the behemoth. This’ll be like landing a 747 on a frozen lake. What could possibly go wrong?

  Like the Chinook, it featured a cargo-loading ramp large enough to load battle tanks. The interior of the aircraft could have doubled for an airport terminal; it was that enormous. The forward part of the aircraft had been fitted with temporary airline style seating. The Ancients, sporting flight suits, slumped back in the seats, asleep. The exception: Appanoose. He stood with his arms crossed, studying the fuselage.

  When he saw Leah, he ran toward the loading ramp, the excited expression on the normally stoic shaman’s face a shocking change from the norm. He hovered over her like a mother hen as she worked through the fuselage, grabbing he arm twice when she tripped on the equipment tie-downs. Leah whispered to him in Navajo. One head snap said he understood. She’d told him she’d be speaking with the crew, without using that exact terminology. That he should sit, that everything was yisdá. Translation: The Ancients were in a safe place.

  On the way to the cockpit, she motioned to Captain Hutchinson. He jumped up and walked alongside. “You’re with me, Captain. I need to chat with the pilot of this rig.”

  Leah squeezed into the cockpit shocked to see the gray-haired Base Commander in the command pilot seat. “Colonel, Kelleher. You really didn’t need to join us for what might be a one-way trip....”

  Kelleher replied with a mix of arrogance and irritation. “This is an expensive and critical piece of military hardware—and the pilots are not expendable. I’ve got almost 1,500 hours in the Globemaster, and there’s no way I’m letting this aircraft depart without taking personal responsibility for both.”

  Leah noted that, in addition to a co-pilot, three additional pilots were crammed into the cockpit. One man and two women. “Colonel, looks like you invited the entire pilot staff at Holloman. Why?”

  “This is a long and dangerous flight,” he snapped. “I’m not current on air-to-air refueling, so Major Jane West and her crew will handle the refueling. The two other pilots are the primary crew on the second Globemaster. I want to have plenty of relief backing us up in case this gets hairy.”

  Major West, sitting in the co-pilot seat, smiled, and Leah nodded in return. “I don’t know exactly what President Wheeler told you regarding my status and our mission. Care to give me a quick briefing?”

  Kelleher softened a bit. “He said the aircraft was at your disposal, not to ask any questions, and do exactly as Dr. Andrews asked.” He turned around in the command seat. “We have set up navigation to take us direct to MacMurdo. Is there a secondary?”

  “MacMurdo, unless you hear from me otherwise.” She glanced at the pilots. “I know about the geo-magnetic disturbance that is blacking out Antarctica. I told Wheeler I was going to Murdo with divining rods if necessary. I’m not particularly interested in killing everyone onboard, but I am going to Antarctica. What are the chances we can land on the Ross Ice Shelf without crashing?”

  Kelleher nodded in the direction of the pilot sitting in the co-pilot seat. “Major West flew into MacMurdo not long ago, part of the big airlift operation to evacuate MacMurdo personnel after the detonation in Antarctica. She knows more about the approach than I do.”

  Major Jane West held up a chart that featured the Antarctic continent. A number of concentric circles had been printed over the chart. “The geo-magnetic disturbance gets stronger, the closer you get to the original ground zero coordinates. If you said you were flying to Amundsen-Scott in a bird with skis, like a C-130 for instance, I would have taken my wings off and tossed them on the Colonel’s desk. There’s no way I’m flying that route. There have been a number of aircraft who have tried to penetrate deep into Antarctica, that have simply disappeared for unknown reasons. One theory is this disturbance is disrupting the computer-controlled flight control systems, beyond just the loss of GPS signals needed for navigation, causing them to crash.”

  West pointed to the Ross Ice Shelf on the chart. “You can see that we are on the outer circle here. We won’t have GPS or any satellite communications the last two-hundred nautical. That means we’re flying VFR, Visual Flight Rules, into the ice runway at Murdo.” She shook her head. “If the weather goes bad, we can’t do it, without killing everyone onboard and losing the aircraft.”

  Leah nodded. “Thank you, Major. We’ll worry about that problem when we cross it.” She thought about her prepared speech. It didn’t seem necessary, given how much pressure Wheeler had put on Kelleher to ‘get her to Antarctica’, but how often she’d been lied to and double-crossed?

  “I want to issue a warning to you, Colonel, and to your crew.”

  Kelleher couldn’t help himself and rolled his eyes.

  Arrogant bastard, about to get a schooling.

  “Captain Hutchinson. Do you consider me a person that you should test on any level?”

  “No, ma’am,” Hutchinson said crisply.

  “What happened to the last guy who messed with me?”

  “Ah—you had the big fella toss him out the back of the Hook.”

  “Was the Chinook on the ground, Captain?”

  “No, ma’am—at least 3,000 AGL.”


  The change was instantaneous. Kelleher went from arrogant bird-colonel to white-faced and sweating.

  Leah continue to press. “Captain Hutchinson. Do you have any doubt, if Colonel Kelleher, or his crew were to cross me, I would hesitate to drop the ramp and throw the Colonel out?”

  “None whatsoever, ma’am.”

  “What advice would you have for anyone on this flight who decided they wanted to test me?”

  The young captain hesitated, then said, “Ah—don’t fly any higher than you’re willing to fall?”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “Excellent. I couldn’t have selected a better hostage.”

  As Leah was climbing back out of the cockpit, she heard Kelleher ask Hutchinson if she had really ordered a person tossed out of the Chinook. His response, totally uncoached, was precious. “Three traitors went off the ramp. Sir.”

  Leah continued into the cargo bay without comment.

  Chapter 65

  The Citation flew over the Black Sea at an altitude of 10,000 feet. Paulson informed the ATC, as planned, that he carried photographers and would be descending to 500 feet and flying visual flight rules for an undermined period of time.

  Once cleared, Paulson dropped the nose of the X and descended to an altitude of 500 feet over the surface of the Black Sea, flying the heading he’d charted to take them over the coast of Turkey and into Iran just after nightfall.

  At 100 miles out, Paulson shut off the navigation lights and pressed forward on the yoke, dropping the Citation to within two hundred feet of the water’s surface while pushing the throttles until the jet was speeding at more than four-hundred knots.

  “This is it, Mac. Any last words?”

  “Yeah. Don’t hit the ground—or anything else for that matter.”

  “I have the coast in sight,” Paulson said, minutes later.

  He glanced at Ridley, who was holding on for dear life. The nose of the Citation pitched up and then down as Paulson flew it down as low as fifty feet, leapfrogging obstacles at nearly five-hundred knots of indicated airspeed.