“Perhaps we can consider that,” said Hugh, “after we’ve heard from Al.”
“I’m willing to go,” Al said quietly, “and I’ll be glad to have Penny come along.”
Hugh stroked his thick red moustache. “Very well. Penny and Al will make a sortie to Cape Hallett in the morning. Now, we’ll need a detail to dig out the hangar doors as soon as the wind drops a little. Any volunteers?”
Chapter 11 – Sortie
“You’re sure you want to go through with this?” Hugh asked. He and Al were the only people in the mess hall; it was about 0600 on the morning of July 3. Each man had a cup of instant coffee; the real coffee had run out a week before.
“Give me an alternative,” Al said. He sipped his coffee, grimaced and lit a cigar.
“Wish I could. At least you’ll have a chance to get back if Hallett’s no use.” He looked hesitant, then: “What about Penny? That all right?”
“Yeah. She’s okay. She doesn’t go nuts when she’s scared, and she’s not dumb.”
“So she’ll be some help.”
Al laughed and coughed on cigar smoke. “If I need help, I’ll be beyond help. She’ll be company, and she’ll be out of people’s hair.”
“Boy, I’m glad to be getting outa here.”
Hugh grunted. He studied the portrait of Shackleton on the wall beside them. “It’s our household god I’ve been thinking a good deal about these days,” he said. “Bloody good man he was. I keep thinking how he got everyone across the ice when the Endurance broke up — hauling their lifeboats, getting them to Elephant Island, and then sailing across the worst ocean in the world to get help. And not a single death. Every last one of ’em brought out safely.”
“Including; one who’d had a heart attack,” Al smiled.
“I take a lot of consolation from that, yes,” Hugh said. “Of course, Shackleton himself died of one a few years later. Good God, this coffee is rotten. Well, we haven’t a lifeboat, so I can’t sail off to South Georgia. But do me a favour — don’t get killed.”
“I won’t. Believe me, I won’t take chances.”
“Good enough.” Hugh put out his hand and rested it lightly on Al’s wrist. “We’ll be praying for you.”
Penny woke; someone was rapping lightly at her door.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Suzy, love.”
“C’mon in… Hi. What time is it?” She looked at her watch: 0717. “I’d better get up. Is the weather still okay?”
“I guess so. Have you talked with Steve?” Suzy asked suddenly. Penny had been expecting the question.
“No.”
“Perhaps you should. He’s worried about you.”
“As well he should be. Why, did he say something to you?”
“Didn’t need to. The poor bastard’s been moping around like Ben on a bad day.”
Penny was pulling on her boots. “I’ve seen him, all right. And a million other guys like him. They’re so out of touch with their real feelings they don’t even know how to feel sorry for themselves. Steve’s more worried about losing the Otter than losing Al and me.”
Everyone showed up for breakfast, and there was a mood of anxious cheerfulness in the mess hall. Penny and Al sat with Hugh, Will, Jeanne and Herm, their meal repeatedly interrupted as people came over to wish them luck. Steve and Tim were among them.
“I think you’re bonkers,” Steve smiled, “but have a good time.”
“We’ll drop you a postcard,” Penny said.
“Do.” He nodded and turned away. Penny was so intent on noticing her reaction to him that she didn’t react at all.
By 0830 the mess hall was emptying: the mechanics left first, to make last-minute checks of the Otter, and soon most of the others were on their way outside to see off the plane. Penny and Al, escorted by Hugh, walked down Tunnel D.
“I almost wish the weather would turn bad,” Hugh said. “We’ll be worrying about you.”
“Don’t bother,” said Al. “We’ll probably be back for supper.”
Penny groaned. “God, if we are, Suzy will make me wash the dishes.” The men laughed.
A few minutes later the Otter stood in the glare of the floodlights outside the hangar. Through the windshield Penny stared at the drifts that had built up, and which Howie had had to bulldoze away during the night. Outside the pool of light everything was pitch black; anyone who stepped into the darkness vanished instantly. The green anoraks of the bystanders were vivid, almost fluorescent, and the fog of their breaths glittered around their heads.
Suddenly the floodlights went out. Al paused in the middle of start-up and slid open his window. “What’s the problem?” he called. Several voices answered at once, and Penny could hear boots crunching in the snow. Light still came from inside the hangar, throwing long shadows across the blue-white surface. A minute or two passed; then Penny could hear the voice of Reg Lewis, the electrician.
“Looks like some kind of wiring problem, Al. Might be awhile before we can track it down and fix it. Can you get off okay anyhow?”
“Sure.”
“Okay — piss off, then, Yank, and don’t come back without a Hercules.”
Al waved and shut the window. Start-up went smoothly. With both engines going, he turned on the taxi lights and moved away from the hangar. The runway was anywhere Al chose; in all directions there was the same undulating surface. It was harder than it looked, and as they accelerated they could feel the plane jolt and sway. Penny refused to let herself be scared, but it was hard for her to keep her eyes off Al’s face. In the dim yellow light of the instruments, he looked old and intent, almost grim. Not until they were airborne did he relax.
“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he remarked as the Otter climbed to two thousand metres. He dimmed the instrument lights and peered out at the sky to the Grid South. “Sky looks good. We should reach Hallett about 1100; there’ll be a little light in the sky by then. Let’s hope it’s a dull flight. Did you bring a book?”
“Forgot. Hey, we’re on our way! We’re really going!”
Al smiled at her. “Are you glad to be leaving?”
“I’m not sure.” She hesitated. “Glad and sad. Like the morning of the icequake, remember? We were all going to evacuate that day.”
“I remember. It seems like a long time ago.” He doused the instrument lights completely; as their eyes adjusted to the dark, the Shelf slowly emerged below them. It was a vast blue-grey plain, seamed with pressure ridges and mottled by sastrugi fields. Ice islands rose steeply from the Shelf in a few places; some were many kilometres long. The air was very clear.
Penny felt an unexpected contentment, a gladness at seeing something so beautiful and new; yet she realised that even the cold and empty grandeur of the ice was as transient as a field of wildflowers. Someday the sea would free itself again, and its waves would run unhindered till they crashed on the ancient rocks of the Antarctic shore. It would not happen in her lifetime, or even that of mankind, but it would happen. Someday rivers would run again in the glaciers’ beds, and trees would take root and grow on old moraines, as they had long ago.
Al turned on the lights again and checked their course. He tried to raise Shacktown, but got only static. Then, as he was about to turn the radio off, he paused.
“Put on your helmet,” he said. Penny yanked it on as he plugged it into the radio, and she heard a fuzzy voice in the earphones:
“Mayday, Mayday! Mayday, Mayday!”
“Mayday, this is Otter Five-Three,” Al said. “We read you. Identify, please. Over.”
“My God.” The voice sounded shocked. “Otter Five-Three, this is Outer Willy. Where are you? Over.”