The first view wasn’t encouraging: the plane might have been a number of small cargo aircraft, but one thing it wasn’t was one of the Hercules planes the Argentines operated. He kept looking for markings, straining his eyes to see if anything was visible.
It appeared to be descending to land at the Belgrano II landing strip, a patch of ice kept in shape by the station’s crew, albeit seldom used. Most refurbishment was done by airdrop or, in the summer, by the Irizar when she was available, or via icebreakers rented from other countries when the Argentine icebreaker was in dry dock.
The aircraft flew right above them, close enough to see that it was painted grey, but not close enough to make out the lettering. It shouldn’t matter—most planes tended to reveal their operators, especially medium sized cargo haulers like this one. A lot of countries built them, and then couldn’t export them anywhere. He snapped a picture of it and sent it to Fort Belvoir.
Ten minutes later, he received his answer.
You’re slipping. That’s a Curl.
A list of commercial and military operators of the type followed. Specs, which he couldn’t have cared less about were also attached.
He cursed. Not because of the implied failure of his abilities, but because the Antonov An-26 was one of the world’s most ubiquitous military planes. Petty African dictators had them, and so did major players like the Russians and the Chinese—although the Chinese flew a pirated version under a different name. The presence of this plane, here and now, meant that it had probably been chosen precisely because it would lend the operator some degree of anonymity unless you got close enough to read the markings.
Despite dozens of operators, Breen knew who was running that plane: the Russians. In fact, he would have bet his next paycheck that he knew exactly which Russians were landing at the remote Antarctic base: the SVR, Russia’s post-Soviet answer to the KGB… optimized for a more modern world. These guys had military strike capability globally; and they were about to show off that when they said “global” they weren’t fooling around. This was about as global as you could get.
The plane disappeared from view behind a slight rise in the snow just as his phone vibrated.
We believe the plane is Russian. Investigate but stay out of sight. Get a decent picture of the plane’s markings. If possible, take Vodloyeva with you.
Now that was more like it. He was beginning to wonder when the mutually incompatible orders would begin to come down the line.
Well, at least this time they’d equipped him correctly. It was time to open some crates.
Then he would choose between ignoring the plane or kidnapping the girl.
***
A chink in a corner where the concrete that formed two walls hadn’t quite blended together allowed a little light to come into their fortress. It also allowed their warmth to escape. They’d debated whether to block the slit off, but eventually decided not to. No one wanted to sit in the dark and wait for monsters to eat them.
But now the slit served another purpose.
“It’s a grey plane with skis,” Ernesto said. “There’s Russian writing on the side.”
“How do you know it’s Russian?”
“Because of the funny letters.”
“That’s just Cyrillic,” Camila said. “The plane might be from anywhere in Eastern Europe.”
“Yeah, but I doubt Montenegro would send a plane to rescue us. We should tell them where we are.”
“Let me look,” the pilot said. He glued his eye to the small opening for some minutes. “We might not all want to go out there.”
“Why not? Do you think we’re better off waiting for the lizards to knock our door down?”
“Because four guys just stepped off the cargo ramp. They’ve got enough weaponry to start a war and they’re dressed in black jumpsuits complete with balaclavas.” He chuckled. “They really, really don’t look like the Red Cross.”
“Who cares? They’ll help us, won’t they? Any civilized human would,” Camila said. She began to try to budge one of the barrels beside the door. All they needed to do was to explain their plight. The fact that the men were armed, under the circumstances, was a huge plus.
“Wait. They don’t look like they want witnesses.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They have to help us. Come on!”
The pilot sighed. “Then let’s just send one person.”
“Fine,” Camila replied. “I’ll go.”
“No, you won’t. I get paid to risk my life for my countrymen. That means I get to go get myself shot by the Russians.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Just don’t leave without us.”
They struggled with the barrels until the door opened just far enough for the pilot to extricate himself. “Keep this,” he said, handing Ernesto his pistol. “And close the door behind me. I’ll wait here until you finish.”
“That’s silly.”
“Stop arguing.”
Camila watched the pilot cross the open snow and wondered why men were always so dramatic. They saw conspiracies and enemies at every turn. If there was a single place in the world in which ski masks were appropriate attire against the weather, this was it.
About two hundred meters away, the men in black saw him. They watched him approach until he was about fifty meters away, and then one of the men opened fire. The pilot fell immediately.
Camila screamed. “They shot him!” she told the rest of her team as the sound of shots echoed and died away in the distance. “He didn’t do anything, just walked up with his hands in front of him and the animals shot him.”
Silence reigned in the makeshift bunker before Ingrid spoke up. “What are they doing now? Are they coming this way?”
“No. They’re heading towards the sea. They didn’t even bother to check if he was dead. They just left him there. He might be suffering, bleeding out.” Camila tore her eyes from the wall.
“Would it be better if they finished him off?” Ernesto asked.
“No… I mean it would be better if they started acting human. I’m sure they have a doctor on that plane.”
“Like the pilot said, I don’t think they’re particularly interested in witnesses.”
Again they went quiet. Camila seethed at the brutality. She wanted to go out there and scream at the murderers. But all that would achieve was to add her own body to the mounting count. The helplessness infuriated her.
Eventually, Ingrid broke the silence. “So what do we do now?”
Camila sat, head in her hands. “I don’t know. This isn’t what I signed up for. I… I’ve never been in a situation like this one.”
To her surprise, Anderson, the normally quiet Venezuelan spoke up. “I have. Five years ago, before I came to Argentina, I was at a rally against Maduro. It was a peaceful demonstration, but the police attacked us for no reason. Dictatorships hate it when you protest.”
Camila was about to argue. She wanted to tell him that he must have been wrong, that Venezuelan socialism was for the people, and that provocateurs from the right must have been responsible for any violence. But the look in Anderson’s eyes made her suspect that her opinion wouldn’t have been welcome.
“They came after us with hydrant tanks and nightsticks and a few of us, two boys and about six girls, took cover in a small shop. We closed the door and hid behind the counter. The owner let us stay and didn’t give us away even though he looked like he was about to shit his pants. Outside, the cops were attacking the protesters with tear gas. A horse ran past as we watched.
“And you know what? Just by staying inside, we managed to avoid the worst of it. Once he realized we weren’t going to rob him and murder him, the shopkeeper acted like our father, lecturing us about the folly of youth and the fact that street protests never achieve anything.”
“So you’re saying we should stay here?” Ernesto asked.
“Yes. I still remember going back out after everything had blown over. The street looked like it had been bombed. There was even a dead girl, she mu
st have been seventeen, dumped off to one side with a bloody t-shirt covering half her face. But I was fine… except for some irritation from the tear gas. My clothing wasn’t even wrinkled.”
“This is different. If we stay here too long, we’ll either freeze or starve.”
“I know that. But it feels the same. I think we’ll come out of this unscathed, wondering how the whole thing could have passed us by.”
Camila thought it was the first sensible thing she’d heard all day. Everyone else appeared to have bought into the fact that it was a military expedition, and they all seemed hell-bent on going down in a blaze of stupid, useless glory. “I agree with Anderson, but it’s not my call. Does anyone have a better idea?”
“I’d rather wait until they get out of sight and go try to get our pilot back.”
“He’s dead, Ernesto.”
“I won’t believe that until I see it with my own eyes.”
Camila leaned on her years in academia to move the discussion along. “All right. Noted. Ingrid, what do you think?”
“I… I don’t know. I don’t care. This is all so awful.”
“All right. Then we stay here.”
***
Javier’s delight turned to shocked disbelief as the men in balaclavas opened fire. Instead of the expected rescue and evacuation, now there was another group on the ice that wanted to see them dead. He hoped the lizards got them, although with that kind of firepower, it would take a lot of reptiles to do much damage.
“What do we do now?” Clark asked.
Every bone in Javier’s body wanted to sneak up on the bastards who’d shot the pilot and put one bullet into each skull from behind. But tactically speaking, it made no sense. There were four of them and only one of him, and he had to close a gap of three hundred meters which actually meant walking nearly six hundred, because he had to get back to the mainland along the ice. By the time he reached them, he would have been spotted by someone in the plane or by the men themselves. Even if they were blind enough to miss a guy walking in sunlight over a snowfield, there was no way he’d get them all.
Even if it had been possible, it actually made more sense to keep going and let the other group make as much noise as possible… maybe the lizards and the guys in masks would take each other out.
Also, the Irizar had men and weapons on board. These guys certainly looked the part, but there were four of them… and they had no air support, no cover and no particular advantages other than, most likely, superior training. But that only counted for so much when you were caught in a crossfire against a numerically superior opponent.
Of course, they might also have twenty more men in the plane. But there was nothing he could do about that if it happened to be true.
“We keep heading towards the ship.”
“But…”
“Yes, I know. And trust me, I want nothing in the world more than to shoot those bastards. But now isn’t the time. We need to tell the Irizar what’s happening out here.”
Clark and Anna nodded, obviously relieved not to be in command, and they turned to keep walking in the direction they’d been moving. The ice that had appeared as smooth as a billiard table from the ship now showed its true colors. Ridges as tall as they were crisscrossed in their path and the easiest road often led to deep pools.
Every once in a while, they had to climb to the top of a ridge to be certain they were on the correct course.
The closer they got to the Irizar, however, the stronger Javier’s sense that something was very wrong grew. The lumpiness on the upper level of the main structure resolved into obvious damage. It appeared as if the ship had been struck by a missile. The bridge area was a mass of torn and pulled out metal. He said nothing to the others, but he suspected that, perhaps, the airplane had made a pass at the ship before landing. Strangely there had been no exterior launch tubes on the fuselage. The aircraft looked like a cargo plane.
For the first time, it occurred to Javier that the Irizar might need more help than they did. He made them increase their pace. The three slipped down ridges and moved as fast as they could in the conditions.
A roar echoed across the frozen plain. They were still a kilometer away from the icebreaker, but that made no difference. Even at that distance, the enormous creature that shot out of the water and landed on the ship’s aft deck, behind the helipad, could be seen clearly. It could be heard even more clearly, like a dog barking in the yard next door.
Metal screeched as the monster applied its claws to unprotected metal doors and bulkheads. Javier saw a gigantic Sea King dragged out of its hangar, inspected briefly and then torn in half and discarded on the ice.
“Holy crap,” Anna exclaimed. “It’s like the one that attacked us, but bigger.”
The sound of automatic weapons fire carried across the ice and the thing screamed, but didn’t desist. It began to tear chunks out of the decking. It was too far away for Javier to see… but he imagined screaming sailors being scattered like so much confetti, and contemptuously tossed into the terrible maw.
They stood there in utter shock.
“What now?” Anna asked.
Javier didn’t have an immediate answer.
Chapter 10
Breen lurched under the onslaught.
He’d convinced the sailors—who believed he’d lost it completely—to lower his specially modified snowmobile over the side using one of the ship’s cranes. It had barely made contact with the ice when the ship suddenly shuddered in a way that was terrifyingly familiar.
Everyone ran to get their guns. Everyone but Breen, that is. He had other orders.
But he also saw an opportunity.
Clutching his FAL—since the first attack, he’d taken it everywhere he went—Breen sprinted forward along the aft deck. He was lucky: a set of claws that, at close range, looked bigger than a car, landed where he’d been, striking a furrow in the steel. Breen redoubled his pace. The cream-colored cube that held the ship’s cabins might not represent safety, but it was certainly better than standing out in the open. Besides, he was on autopilot, higher functions suspended. All he wanted was to hide behind something, anything.
A couple of sailors opened fire on the monster with small arms, and Breen wondered if there was someone manning the slightly bigger guns the ship supposedly carried. His briefing had indicated that the Irizar was equipped with a couple of 40mm cannons suitable for threatening illegal civilian craft. He hadn’t seen them, but they had to be on board somewhere, probably in storage since this wasn’t a patrol run but an Antarctic expedition. The crew would be well-served to get them out of storage: those might actually do measurable damage.
He reached the cube and sprinted into the infirmary. To his relief, the doctor was nowhere in sight. Breen would have hated to have to hurt the man. He found the doctor to be the most familiar archetype on board. Apparently, all military doctors were exactly the same, no matter where one went.
“Come on, we’re leaving,” he told Natasha.
The Russian woman looked at him with wide eyes. “What are you saying?”
“We’re getting off this ship before that thing tears it apart.”
“The nothosaurs? But they’re not that big…”
“Have you looked out your window lately?”
She did. Her eyes got even wider. “I guess I thought you were exaggerating before. But… how can that be? Nothosaurs can’t get that big. They’d weigh too much for their bone structure. Also, where would they get food to feed a body like that?”
“You can tell me all about why it can’t be done once we’re off the ship. For the time being, I’m more concerned with not getting eaten by your impossible monster.”
“It’s not my monster.”
“Well, you’ll be its lunch if you don’t move. Get dressed.”
“Turn around.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You can’t dress yourself with one arm.”
“Turn around.”
He did so, fuming, wit
h one eye looking out the window and his mind racing furiously in an attempt to figure out which would be the best way to climb off the ship without being seen by the monster… or, if possible, the crew.
The crew was probably the least of his worries. It seemed that every man on board was sniping at the creature from whatever cover they could find but judging by the screams, they were losing. If they even noticed him leaving, they’d probably think he was the smartest fellow on board and his problem would become how to keep the deserters from trying to tag along.
The monster tired of being shot at in the back of the ship and pulled itself all the way out of the water. Then it advanced and, using the helipad as a stepladder, tore into the ship’s central structure. Breen heard glass shattering all around him.
“All right, turn around. Help me,” Natasha said.
She’d barely gotten started. Her snow pants were about halfway up her legs, and her bra was hanging by one strap as she held it in place with her free hand.
“These aren’t my clothes,” she said apologetically.
He didn’t waste time on words. He pulled up the pants, adjusted her bra and grabbed a t-shirt and a sweater from the foot of the bed. Those took precious seconds to put on around the plastic cast the doctors had put on her arm. At least they hadn’t used plaster… even though that would have been much better for her in the long run.
Finally, he added a red jacket. He would have preferred something less visible on the ice, but the clock was ticking, and if she froze out there, she wouldn’t be much use to anyone.
The sound of tortured metal right beside them made him jump. He half-expected to see a claw rushing towards him, and then a mouth, and then nothing, but what he saw was that the wall that led to the exit was crushed.
“It’s kicking in the wall,” Natasha yelled.
“Yeah. We won’t be able to get out that way.”
Which really sucked. He didn’t think breaking the window would be a good idea. The view through the glass was now completely greenish-grey: the monster’s belly blocked everything.
Ice Station Death Page 10