by Andy Lucas
Yucel had strict instructions from Fiona to deliver Hammond to the group and leave. James Pace was not to be harmed, she had repeated. Biting his tongue, he span on his heels without another word and quickly strode from the room, followed by his men who backed out slowly before closing and locking the door behind them.
Two of the scientists were trained medics and took control, helping Hammond over to a nearby bed and removing his survival suit. The stink of stale sweat filled the room and Pace absently wondered if he smelled the same beneath his own suit.
As he watched, with concern etched onto his own red and peeling face, Pace resolved to get everyone out as soon as he could. Normally, having Hammond by his side would have doubled the chances of success but he was an added liability at that point; more of a hindrance than a help. They would have to carry him out as he was obviously in no state to walk.
Leaving his now unconscious friend to the medics, he stepped over to where Thatcher and Sharpe were standing, talking quietly together. They stopped as he approached but it was no secret that they’d been discussing possible escape plans. Unfortunately, every option they came up with also came with a dozen chances of failure.
‘If we’re not out of here in the next couple of hours, I don’t think we’ll get the chance,’ Pace predicted in hushed tones. ‘What are your thoughts, gents? Should we just go out of the window?’
‘The windows don’t open and they’re made from reinforced glass several panes thick, to enhance insulation. We might be able to smash one with a steel bar, if we had one, but otherwise no way. It was designed for the Antarctic,’ Sharpe explained simply.
‘So we can’t get out that way. We can’t barge the door either because but it opens inwards,’ added Thatcher.
‘So what’s left?’ wondered Pace, feeling his fiery optimism take a backwards step.
‘There’s always the fire escape,’ ventured Sharpe suddenly, as though struck by a distant memory.
‘Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Fire escape? Here?’ Pace was confused and the look on his face must have shown it. Sharpe, spotting it, explained himself quickly.
‘All the buildings here are up on platforms. I don’t know if you had time to notice when they brought you in, especially in a storm.’
‘I didn’t take much notice,’ Pace conceded.
‘They’re built like this so snow and strong wind can move beneath the buildings and not bury them, or move them. It’s a great system. We’ve never had any issues living in them, even in some of the worst storms ever recorded.’
‘That makes sense,’ agreed Pace, ‘but what does that have to do with a fire escape?’ A quick glance around the room showed no other emergency exit door.
‘Every building was designed with an emergency exit, or fire escape hatch, exactly because the windows can’t be broken easily and the internal doors are a tight fit. If a fire broke out, there’s always a risk that a door might jam, or be blocked. Each room, with only one door, has an escape hatch built into its floor. Quite a few of the dormitories and offices have communal doors, as well as entry doors, so there isn’t one for every room.’
‘But this room only has one door,’ said Sharpe happily. ‘Staff are shown them during the induction tour, on their first day here, so we don’t signpost their presence like a standard fire exit. They aren’t really meant to be used unless a situation becomes critical.’
‘This is my tenth winter here,’ added Thatcher, ‘and I have never seen them used.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ grinned Pace, his spirits resurging. ‘The fact that this lot,’ he nodded towards the mercenaries beyond the door, ‘haven’t clocked it, means that we have a chance.’
‘Getting out of this room, we can do, I’m confident the escape hatch will work,’ said Thatcher. ‘The snow will be up to the floor beneath us at this time of year, perhaps with a small gap, but it won’t have been compacted so we’ll have little trouble pushing our way through.’
‘Good,’ said Pace.
‘We just need to agree where we’re going to go once we’re outside. None of us have our outdoor clothing in here with us. We’ll have to make a dash for it in our normal clothes. The temperature out there will kill us within a minute unless we can get somewhere sheltered pretty quickly.’
‘You live here,’ offered Pace quietly. ‘Where can we go that’s close enough for everyone to survive? I know this place has a few different buildings. Which is the closest?’
‘They’re all fairly close by. If we can access any of them, they are all joined with weatherproof tunnels so we’d be able to go anywhere on the base without being exposed to the outside.’
‘That’s fine until we run into our friends,’ Pace challenged Sharpe politely. ‘Far better that we stay outside because none of them will be posted out there.’
‘Then,’ sighed Thatcher slowly, ‘I think we’re sunk.’
‘Even if we get to one of the buildings, but can’t go inside, we’ll freeze to death. We may as well just wait for a bullet in the head.’ Sharpe said.
‘I’m not going to let that happen,’ promised Pace grimly. ‘I didn’t slog my guts out for weeks in a steaming jungle, dodging bullets and blades, to end up rolling over and presenting my jugular for these bastards to slice open. No way.’
‘That’s a nice sentiment but it changes nothing,’ said Thatcher. ‘Unless you know a way of heat up the Antarctic.’
21
Pace thought for a moment, allowing the seed of idea of germinate deep inside his consciousness. Something he had read about Scott Base when he was doing some internet research, back aboard the doomed Sea Otter. ‘That’s exactly what we have to do, you’re right.’
‘Now I’m confused,’ whispered Stacey, joining the conversation. ‘And keep your voices down.’ She was becoming concerned that they were forgetting themselves a little and the volume was rising dangerously. The men nodded their understanding and carried on in a noticeably quieter manner.
‘When I was researching this place, I saw some aerial images that showed a garage, with some small, tracked vehicles outside. Am I remembering it right? Are they still here?’
‘The garage is fairly close. We run three Hagglunds normally but one of them is out of service at the moment, with engine problems. The other two are used every day, ferrying people out to the ice shelf or the dive shack.’
‘Then that’s our answer,’ stated Pace flatly. ‘They have heaters and we can use them to make a run for McMurdo Station.’
Sharpe and Thatcher nodded in unison. ‘That journey is only a fifteen minute ride, even in these conditions. There is still only a small winter team at McMurdo Station but far more people than we have here,’ Sharpe exclaimed.
‘That would work,’ agreed Thatcher.
‘It’s definitely worth a shot,’ agreed Stacey.
‘It might be our only chance,’ said Pace. ‘Max is in no shape to walk out of here and I’m not leaving him behind. I’ve still got my survival suit. I’ll use the escape hatch to get out. If I can make it to the garage and get one of the vehicles started, I’ll drive it back here and pick everyone up. With the cabin heater pumped up on full, everyone should be nice and warm for our getaway.’ Then another thought struck. ‘Will we get everyone inside one of them?’
‘Easily,’ beamed Stacey. ‘They are a double-unit.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There come in two parts. The front vehicle is the driving part, with the engine and traction. It pulls a rear unit, attached by a strong umbilical. We normally use the rear section to cart equipment. It isn’t fitted with seats but it’s definitely big enough to take us all. We’ll just have to hold on tight,’ she added, her face breaking out into a relieved smile.
With the decision made, Pace wasted no time in finding out how to operate the Hagglund. According to Sharpe, who drove them a lot, they were very simple. The gearbox was automatic, so there was no need to worry about a clutch, an
d they were fitted with Mercedes-Benz diesel engines which allowed them to operate in temperatures as low as minus fifty-five degrees. It drove pretty much like a car, Sharpe told him. There was no starter key to worry about and its doors had no locks on.
‘The garage doors slide open easily. We keep them well greased,’ explained Thatcher. ‘Again, we don’t lock anything in case someone finds themselves in trouble outside. We don’t want to trap them and have them freeze to death.’
Pace was eager to get started, conscious that their window of opportunity was closing. He didn’t know, for sure, how long they had left but Fiona’s brutal act, followed by Hammond’s beating, told him that it wasn’t long.
Two minutes later, with a final glance over at the inert form of his friend, still being tended to by the medics, he moved towards the centre of the room. A small, thin rug had been placed over the hatch years before. Easily removed if needed, it served not to remind the scientists of its presence. Sharpe loitered off by the door, listening for the sound of anybody coming. Thatcher also stood off to one side, ready to spring in to action to distract any guard that might decide to check on them.
A small group of the New Zealanders stood around Pace, feigning a deep conversation, while he dropped quickly to his knees and pulled the rug aside. Set into the epoxy floor beneath was a large, circular trapdoor. A small metal ring sat inside a recess, along one of the inner lips. Hooking a finger in, Pace prayed it would work, after over a decade of being closed.
He needn’t have worried. The door lifted with his first tug, rising up and locking in place at a ninety degree angle, on silent hinges.
‘Close it after me,’ he ordered one of the huddled scientists and then he was gone, allowing himself to drop down into the dark hole, landing in soft snow after falling barely four feet. He had expected as much and rapidly dropped to his knees, allowing the door to close firmly above his head, where he heard the satisfying sounds of the rug being hastily replaced and feet moving away.
Burrowing frantically with his gloved hands, he dug out enough snow so he could lie flat before working his way out, constantly smacking his head against the floor of the building as he crawled. Trying to move like a snake, he eventually managed to worm his way completely beneath the floor until he was rewarded by the sight of daylight; streaked with heavily falling snow.
Knowing that he was safe to push himself out, with guarding the external area a dangerously pointless task for the mercenaries, Pace rolled clear of the building and sat up in the thick snow.
He already knew he had headed the right way. Thatcher had instructed him on which direction to tunnel. The garage was a couple of buildings down. He could only see vague outlines of the structures, such was the power of the blizzard, but it was enough for him to jump up and begin ploughing his way across open ground as fast as he could.
The snow was fresh, and up to his shins, which was surprisingly useful. It covered the compacted ice layer beneath and allowed him to keep his footing. He reached the first building without incident and followed its walls around until he reached the garage, recognisable by the huge, hangar-style double doors. The glass panels, set into the top of each door, appeared black which told him there were no lights on inside the garage. Perfect.
Pace wasted no time watching. Instead, sucking in a deep breath of bitterly cold air, he powered his way across to the doors, gripped one of the large handles and heaved. The door slid open easily on its runners and he darted inside, sliding it closed behind him.
Pace left the light switch alone and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
After a couple of minutes, the wall of darkness slowly solidified into shapes and spaces. In the middle of the garage floor, the squat shapes of the Hagglunds became easily recognisable and he made his way over to the one that was parked closest to the doors, feeling the urge to touch its solid reliability the moment he was within reach.
Working his way around to the back, he nodded to himself when he saw the rear unit tucked neatly behind the tractor unit. He risked a very quick flash with his emergency light, to check that the two parts were actually still connected, which they were.
Behind the lead Hagglund, he noted the shapes of two more, double units. One was directly behind the first vehicle but the other shape was off to the side, right at the back of the garage. That had to be the one that was being repaired, he assumed.
There was nothing around the lead vehicle that needed to be moved clear so he made his way back around to the front, where he opened the cabin door and climbed inside.
Risking another quick flash of his light, he familiarised himself with the very rudimentary controls until he was confident that he would be able to drive it. With an automatic gearbox, and separate drives running to each of the four tracks, there would be no risk of stalling or getting stuck in the snow, for which he was grateful.
The only danger was if it did not start straight away. In the teeth of such a storm, even the loud whining of a large diesel engine attempting to turn over should go unnoticed but if any of the mercenaries happened to be nearby, he could be undone. Pace also had no idea of how far the sound would travel down the covered, connecting passageways that allowed the base staff to move between buildings without ever heading outside.
Cursing himself silently for not checking that particular fact with Thatcher before he left, all he could do was hope the engine caught on the first attempt.
Exiting the cabin, Pace was committed to action and focused himself grimly on the task ahead. Not waiting a moment longer, he heaved open both of the main doors fully, giving him plenty of space to drive out and was chased back to the Hagglund by a delighted flurry of snow.
Wasting no time, he kept the running lights switched off and hit the starter button. The powerful engine sprang to life with the roar of an excited lion, suddenly released from a cage. Pausing only long enough to switch on the cabin heater, Pace engaged the gears and drove the little tracked vehicle out into the blizzard, finding which switch operated the windscreen wipers just in time.
Tearing around the corner of the next building, he powered the Hagglund across the open area, stopping it close to his little tunnel. Leaving the engine running, he dived out, making sure to shut the door behind him and let the cabin air start to warm. The scientists, in their indoor clothes, would need it although he was already pouring with sweat beneath his survival suit.
As soon as he reached the tunnel, he dropped to his belly and repeated his snaking crawl until he came out beneath the emergency hatch, where he stopped to listen for any signs of danger. He heard nothing at all, although the pounding of blood in his own ears and his laboured breathing didn’t help.
The signal had been agreed at the start. One firm tap on the bottom of the trapdoor would signal his return. They had reasoned that a single noise could be overlooked, or covered up, by the people above in case any guards had decided to enter the room at the wrong time. If the coast was clear, he should hear two knocks back and he could push the floor up from underneath. He knocked.
Immediately, Sharpe knocked back twice. As soon as Pace had disappeared underneath the building and the hatch had been closed, he had taken position nearby, leaving Thatcher to wait by the door. Sharpe wanted to help with their escape as much as he could. He was surprised to hear the knock so quickly. Checking his watch, Pace had only been gone for seven minutes.
Sliding the rug clear, he yanked up the door excitedly, popping it up so fast with the combined force of him pulling and Pace pushing, that the hinges sheared and it flew a couple of feet away, crashing down noisily against the metal frame of one of the beds before sliding to the floor. It was the last thing they needed.
‘What’s going on in there?’ shouted a gruff voice. ‘You’ve been told not to give us any trouble so don’t start playing me up.’ The tone grew nasty. ‘If I come in there, you’ll be sorry.’
‘My fault,’ replied Thatcher, stepping closer to the door and jamming one foot against
the bottom of the door, crushing his toes up against the door while pressing his heel firmly against the floor, creating a pressure lock. ‘We were just playing a game of catch, to pass the time. Sharpe tripped over the bed, the stupid twat.’
While Thatcher spoke to the guard, Pace clocked the situation and clambered out of the hatch before starting to aggressively hustle terrified scientists down through the floor. He didn’t risk speaking but his frantic hand waving left them in no doubt about the urgency.
Sharpe had already gone. First down the hole, he pulled the unconscious form of Hammond after him, with the Greenpeace scientist following to help manhandle him to the safety of the vehicle. Hammond was soon laid out on the floor of the rear unit, where he was quickly joined by the fleeing scientists, one by one.
Sharpe then jumped into the driving seat of the tractor unit, shivering uncontrollably from even the briefest exposure to the sub-zero temperature of the outside.
‘I’m coming in,’ the guard decided. He had been around frightened people enough in his military career to detect the well-camouflaged traces of subterfuge in someone’s voice. Something about Thatcher’s words did not add up. ‘Step away from the door.’
‘Okay,’ said Thatcher, casting a look of accepting despair across at Pace. Their eyes locked in understanding, and mutual respect. ‘Keep everyone safe,’ he said.
‘What?’ asked the guard.
‘I will,’ replied Pace, as he manhandled the final scientists roughly down the hole.’ He swallowed down the lump that threatened to rise up in the back of his throat. ‘Do you want me to stay? Maybe together...’
Thatcher shook his head vigorously. ‘No. I appreciate the offer but you’re their only hope. Now go, please.’
‘Good luck,’ was all Pace could think to say before he jumped into the hole and wormed his way down the snow tunnel. Three breaths later, he was up and running for the safety of the Hagglund. The cabin door flung open and he tumbled inside, just as Sharpe gunned the powerful engine.