“About time we had a cook-out,” Gordon laughed, and everyone else laughed, too. No one seemed dejected; the mood, as far as Steve could tell, was a mixture of annoyance and excitement.
“All right,” Hugh shouted. “Everyone into the huts. I think the roof is about to go.”
It went before anyone could move. The right-hand wall gave way, and an instant later the roof plates sagged and fell. The lights went out all the way to the junction with Tunnel E; out of the murk came a hissing cloud of smoke, steam and powdery snow, driven by cold outside air. It filled the tunnels like a grey smog, but dissipated almost as quickly as it had come.
Someone went into Tunnel C and came back with some flashlights. Steve, Hugh and Carter took them and walked cautiously into the darkened end of Tunnel D. An irregular mound of snow choked it, rising in places to three or four metres above the floor. Beyond it was the orange glare of the still-burning hangar. Above it was a ragged rectangle of blackness, out of which snow still sifted in tiny cascades. The men could hear the distant hoarse roar of the burning JP4, but other than that there was little sound.
Hugh shivered. “Damned cold. Well, that’ll teach us not to play with matches.”
They became aware of a faint buzzing overhead. Steve looked up, expecting to see a sparking wire. There was nothing. The buzzing turned to a deep drone, and then they saw the Otter’s running lights as it crossed the black rectangle of sky.
With the temperature in the tunnels close to -40°C, the huts were far colder than usual. Everyone at that night’s seminar was warmly dressed, and a few even wrapped themselves in blankets. But Hugh had ordered full rations for supper, and no one seemed unhappy.
Al and Penny reported on their trip to Outer Willy and the possibility of repairing the Hercules. When they had finished, Hugh asked for comments.
“We’ve got to go,” Steve said at once. “As soon as possible.”
“Easier said than done,” Will remarked. “It’d take the Otter at least two trips to ferry everyone there; probably four or five if we took some supplies and our scientific data. I don’t think the weather would co-operate that long.”
“Anyway, we don’t have enough gas now for four or five trips,” Al said. “Almost all the JP4 is gone, except for three or four drums and what’s left in the plane. What we could do is take the mechanics back to Outer Willy, fix the Herc and fly it here to pick up everybody else. But that would take two, three weeks, maybe more — assuming the Herc will fly at all. And Shacktown wouldn’t be a very comfortable place to wait.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Colin Smith. “The next blizzard will fill the tunnels with drift, and maybe even bring down more of the roof. We’d be better off in igloos on the surface.”
Hugh leaned over and spoke quietly with Don Treadwell for a few seconds. Then he said: “We have another choice. One group flies to Outer Willy to fix the Hercules. The other traverses the Shelf.”
“That’s goddamned dangerous,” Gordon said. Hugh nodded.
“It’s three hundred kilometres by air, and a good deal more on the surface, I’m sure of that. But our vehicles are intact, and Don tells me we ought to be able to carry enough food to keep everyone on normal polar rations for three weeks.”
“That’s assumin’ that we don’t have to rely on whatever they got at Outer Willy,” Don added. “If we have to winter over there, and they don’t have much food, then we all go on short rations again.”
“Does my idea meet with your approval?” Hugh asked. “All in favour—” Everyone’s hand went up. “Any opposed? None. Very good. I suggest that the mechanics and the women — and the Russians — all fly. The rest of us will do the traverse.”
Arguments broke out at once over who should fly and who should traverse. Hugh refused to fly, but Katerina overruled him. When he gave in on that, she pressed her advantage and announced that she would be more useful with the traverse party. Jeanne and Suzy didn’t want to be separated from their men, and some of the mechanics argued that they would be more useful servicing the vehicles they knew than trying to help Al with the Hercules. Penny, somehow dreading relegation to the Outer Willy kitchen more than the hazards of the Shelf, insisted on being in the traverse party.
Hugh irritably put an end to the bickering. “I am abiding by the tsarina’s ukase,” he growled, “but I must insist on deciding who’s to fly and who’s to walk. And I’ll be grateful if you would all go along and spare us any more fuss.” He jotted down some names and read them off: “The Otter party will consist of Al, Kyril, Ivan and Yevgeni; Jeanne and Suzy; Reg and Simon; and myself. The rest of you will be on the traverse, with Carter in charge. Colin, what’s the weather like?”
“Wind’s picking up from Grid North. I think we’re in for another blizzard tomorrow.”
“Right. I’d like the Otter refuelled and flown out of here at once. Take the bare minimum of baggage, but you’d better carry along some food and medicine as well. We don’t want to be total sponges on the Americans,” he added drily. “Any tools or spare parts that you think you’ll need should go along as well.” He stared around the room. “Well, don’t just gawp at me — get along!”
It took just over an hour to prepare for the flight. At 1945 hours, the Otter took off in the light of the haloed moon. Steve, Carter, Gordon and three or four others went into the ruins of the hangar, which was still smouldering, and salvaged some big tarpaulins that had been stowed on the roof of the machine shop. They dragged the tarps outside, pounded the folds out of them and stretched them over the gap in the roof. The tarps would not survive a serious storm; if the wind didn’t rip them loose, snow would bear them down into the tunnel. But in the meantime the tunnels and huts could warm up a bit, and salvaging supplies for the traverse would be easier.
Under the tarpaulins Tunnel D was dark and stank of burning. The men groped cautiously over the icy duckboards until they reached the undamaged part of the tunnel. Carter touched Steve and Gordon: “We ought to talk a minute. Hugh’s office will do.”
“Sure,” Steve said.
“The rest of you lads go have a beer,” Carter said; the men, scarcely seeming to have heard him, plodded on down to Tunnel A without a word.
In Hugh’s office Carter dropped into his accustomed seat; Steve and Gordon took two other chairs, leaving Hugh’s empty. “Pretty busy day,” Carter grunted. “Tomorrow will be worse. Look, don’t do a damn thing more tonight. But tomorrow morning I’d like you two to start organising the evacuation. Steve, that means sorting out all the scientific material — computer tapes, whatever — and deciding what to take.”
“What about instrumentation?” Steve asked. “We could do some work on the traverse.”
“Sure, as long as it’s simple, light stuff. Gord — you have a tougher job, in a way. Get your technicians together and figure out every possible thing that could go wrong with those bloody vehicles. Then decide what you’d need to fix it once you’re out on the Shelf.”
“How much time you giving us?” Gordon asked.
“Two days. Maybe more, if Colin’s blizzard is a long one, but don’t count on it.”
“Okay. Listen, we’ll have to build some wanigans that’ll fit on the sledges. Otherwise we’ll never be able to shelter everybody.”
Carter nodded wearily. “Of course, very good. Take whatever steps you need to build them. And I’ll look after the nontechnical support — just Terry and Don now, I guess. Let’s meet tomorrow afternoon — just after lunch, say — and compare notes. With luck, we’ll be ready to go by the evening of the 5th.”