The horizon far ahead was a mass of clouds, but the captain knew that if the clouds lifted, he would be able to see the shore. So far his radio operator had not heard a single transmission on the designated frequency. The captain hoped that the people he was to pick up were ready for him because he did not want to wait, sitting in the ice pack. Ships had been crushed as the ice froze around them. The captain wanted to move in and out quickly and get this mission over with as soon as possible.
Riley opened his eyes and tried to orient himself. He felt strangely warm, which was a very nice feeling. He twitched his fingers and was surprised to find them wrapped around a body. Then it all came back to him — the stopping, the climbing in the sleeping bag with Sammy to warm her up, the talking. He must have dozed off. The thought of giving up the warmth of the bag was extremely discouraging.
Riley waited a few more seconds, then unzipped the bag and crawled out. His movements woke Sammy, who blearily opened her eyes.
“What’s up?”
“Get your boots on before they freeze up,” Riley told her. “They’re in the waterproof bag near your stomach. We need to get moving.”
He peered up — the sky was clearing. The sun hadn’t broken through yet, but the clouds were much higher, and he could see farther along the ice than at any period since the storm started. The wind had also died down. Riley checked his watch — he’d been asleep for almost two hours. He wasn’t happy about losing that time, but he’d had no choice.
He glanced over at the other sleeping bag lying on the ice. There was no movement from Devlin or Conner.
“Wake up!” he called out as he started packing his gear.
Conner heard the voice as if from a far distance. She cracked her eyelids. She could feel Devlin’s weight along her side, and she turned to look at him. His eyes were wide open and staring at her. It took a few seconds before she realized that they were unfocused and glassy. The pupils in the center were black orbs looking into the depths of wherever Devlin had allowed himself to be dragged.
“Oh, my God!” Conner cried as she scrambled out of the bag.
Riley hurried over and quickly examined Devlin. He looked up with a grim face. “He’s dead.”
Conner was shaking but not from the cold. “You mean he died there, right next to me?”
Riley zipped up the sleeping bag, closing it over Devlin’s face. “Yes.”
Sammy looked at the inert bulge in the sleeping bag. Things had gone to crap from the moment she faxed those pictures, and it certainly wasn’t getting any better. There’s only one way to atone for what has happened, she thought. “Let’s go.”
Conner looked at her sister with wide eyes. “We’re just going to leave him here?”
Riley finished stuffing his sleeping bag into his backpack. “There’s nothing else we can do. We can’t haul the body.”
“But you just can’t leave a man like this,” Conner protested.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Riley repeated. “We know the location, and when this is over we can send people here to recover the body.”
Sammy watched the internal debate played out on Conner’s face. Her eyes turned in the direction of Devlin’s body, then back to the north where the sled holding the nuclear bomb had left its trail. Then back to Riley. Then to her. “All right.”
The increasing visibility had an inverse effect on Pak’s optimism about making it to the coast; it revealed a massive ridge lying directly across their path. There was no way around it. The ice rose more than a thousand feet in moderately steep waves for the next three miles.
Pak had given his men a one-hour break earlier, but it had done little to restore the energy they were burning pulling the sled and fighting the cold. He could sense his men looking at him and at the ridge, their eyes shifting from one to the other. Not a word was said.
Pak leaned forward, the rope around his waist pulling tight. The other men joined in, and they began to traverse to the right, angling their way uphill.
The MC-130 Combat Talon leveled out, boring straight in for Mount Erebus, twenty miles away. In the rear, Major Bellamy checked the rigging of the static lines for the two bundles, one hooked to each cable. The bundles were tied down on the back ramp. Bellamy’s men were standing now, parachutes on their backs, close to the edge of the ramp.
They all felt the plane slow down, and the loadmaster looked at Bellamy. “Three minutes out.”
A gap appeared in the top rear of the aircraft, and freezing air swirled in. The back ramp leveled off while the top part ascended into the tail, leaving a large open space. Bellamy stared: the view was spectacular, with the entire Ross Ice Shelf laid out below to the east.
“One minute,” the loadmaster yelled through the scarf wrapped about his face, trying to be heard above the roar of the engines and the air.
“One minute,” Bellamy relayed to his men, all hooked up to the left cable. He edged out, right behind the bundle. The red light glowed in the darkness of the upper tail structure.
“Stand by,” the loadmaster yelled. He leaned over one of the bundles with a knife in his hand, while another air force man did the same on the other side.
The light flashed green, and the loadmaster severed the nylon band holding down the bundle. It immediately was sucked out the rear of the plane. The other bundle went out at almost the same time.
Bellamy waddled out after it, hands over his reserve, chin tucked into his chest. He felt as though he was passing straight through the static line and deployment bag of the bundle as he stepped off the edge of the ramp. Three seconds of free fall were followed by the snap of the deploying chute.
Bellamy guided on the two bright red parachutes of the bundles as he descended. The ice rushed up; he stared straight at the horizon and bent his knees. With a grunt he hit the ice.
Gathering in his chute, Bellamy watched as the rest of his men hit in a long line of white parachutes along the track of the aircraft. He could also see a large snow tractor rumbling toward him, pulling a sled. The tractor stopped and two men hopped off, one wearing an air force parka and the other in civilian garb and sporting a large beard.
The military man introduced himself first. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Larkin. This is Doctor O’Shaugnesy, McMurdo Station leader. We—”
“What is your purpose here?” O’Shaugnesy interrupted.
Bellamy blinked and looked at the civilian, then at Colonel Larkin. “Didn’t you brief him?”
Larkin wearily nodded. “I briefed him.”
“If you expect me to believe that you and your men are conducting rescue practice, then you must take me for a fool,” O’Shaugnesy snorted. “Do you have any weapons with you?”
Bellamy spread his empty hands wide. “Of course not.” Asshole, he thought to himself. O’Shaugnesy and the entire scientific community at McMurdo were almost totally dependent on the U.S. military for support, yet they acted as if they owned the place. Bellamy had not been thrilled about putting all his weapons in the bundles, but he had followed orders. One of these days public relations was going to destroy a mission.
Larkin interposed himself between the two. “Your other aircraft is en route, major. It should arrive in about four hours. In the meantime, we’ll put you up in the airstrip control tower.” He turned to O’Shaugnesy. “Doctor, I did you a courtesy by obliging your request and bringing you out here. I ask that you not harass Major Bellamy and his men. They will be out of your station as soon as possible.”