There was nothing to see through the windshield but the D4’s sledge a few metres ahead, and an occasional aluminium pole left by the ski party to mark the route. The wind-crust glittered in the headlights; the sky had a faint reddish tint from dust particles high enough to reflect the light of the sun.
Penny and Steve sat together on her bunk, talking and laughing with the others. The cabin still smelled of the lamb curry they’d had for dinner, and Don had miraculously produced six bottles of Swan Beer.
They reached the ice island just after midnight on the morning of August 3. It rose only about ten metres above the Shelf, and its sides were mostly gentle slopes. The temperature was rising; another storm would be upon them soon. Carter ordered the ski party out to reconnoitre a safe path up the slopes.
“If you can’t find a good route by 0300, come straight back,” he told them. “I’m not going to lose anybody when we’re this close.”
“If this isn’t Outer Willy,” Howie broke in, “don’t come back at all.”
Penny went outside with Steve and Will; Tim skied up from the D8’s wanigan.
“You guys ready?” he asked.
“All set,” Will nodded. He looked up at the sky: the reddish glow had vanished in a thickening overcast. “We’d better make it fast.”
“Break a leg,” Penny said.
Steve patted her arm, and grinned through his wool mask. “Don’t worry.”
It wasn’t easy for two people in thick anoraks to embrace, but they managed. Then the three men were off, vanishing into the ice fog around the convoy.
They were back in less than two hours, with the storm at their heels. After talking briefly with Carter, they returned to their vehicles. When Steve and Will came into the Nodwell, Carter’s voice was already on the radio:
“—they’ve marked out a route, but if we wait for the storm to blow over, the poles could be buried. And we don’t have enough fuel left to let the engines idle for two or three days. So we’re going up the hill right away. Howie, you’ll go first. Then Tim, then Sean, and John will follow up. Any problems? Any questions? — Right, let’s go.”
The convoy travelled less than a kilometre along the Grid West side of the island before reaching a hard, gradual slope. The fluorescent-orange pennants on the marker poles were snapping violently in the wind, and blowing snow crackled against windscreens, loud enough to be heard even over the engines. Howie was an experienced trailbreaker by now; he found the easiest surfaces and bulldozed right through any unavoidable obstacles without even pausing. But as they neared the top of the slope, the wind increased and snow thickened, blowing horizontally across the top of the island.
Penny had taken a turn at the wheel of the Nodwell, and swore as the tractor bellowed up off the slope on to the flat surface at the top. The snow was so thick and swift that it created a miniature whiteout in her headlights. Outside that wedge of seething white there was nothing but blackness and noise.
Visibility was now almost zero. The interior of the Nodwell was full of snowflakes. Conversations died. Everyone huddled in sleeping bags, trying to keep warm. Despite the hot air forced in between the double panes of the windscreen, frost kept forming on the glass; every few minutes Steve had to scrape it off. Finally he picked up the microphone and called Carter.
“I think we’d better call a halt. We can’t see a thing, not even Tim’s sledges. We could drive right past Outer Willy and never see it.”
“You’re right, Steve. Okay, everybody, we’ll make camp—”
“Nonsense,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Just use your RDF, for God’s sake. You can’t be more than a couple of kilometres away.”
Steve guffawed. “Hugh! You old bugger — why didn’t you call before?”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying. We’ve been picking you up for the last two days, off and on. And trying to raise you.”
“Well,” said Carter. “Well, by God, put another onion in the soup and we’ll be there before you know it.”
Sno-Cat 2 had the best RDF equipment in the convoy, so it replaced the D8 as lead vehicle. The radios were full of crackling and babbling as everyone tried to talk with the people at Outer Willy. Katerina and Will alternately grilled Jeanne and fretted over her; Terry and Suzy exchanged shy, caustic greetings; one of the Russians, probably Yevgeni, kept yelling, “Monopoly! Monopoly! Gordon, we play Monopoly!”
At 0658 hours on August 3 the convoy halted alongside a row of drifted-over Jamesway huts. One of them had a light burning above its doorway, just visible through the blowing snow. Carter sent people inside a few at a time, and made sure all the vehicles were empty before he himself cut off the Sno-Cat’s engine and plunged out into the wind. Twenty steps took him to the door; he went into the cold porch and slammed the door shut behind him. The floor of the cold porch was a trampled mass of snow and discarded anoraks. The interior of the Jamesway sounded like a wild party.
Carter took off his anorak and added it to the pile on the floor. Then he turned and slammed his fist exultantly against the outer door, jubilantly uncaring that bits of skin stuck frozen to it.
“Did it. Did it!”
The celebration lasted all day. Terry took over the cooking from Suzy, and fixed a second breakfast that started with steaks and eggs and ended, several courses later, with pancakes and waffles in strawberry jam. The aroma of fresh-ground coffee overcame even the stink of over thirty unwashed bodies; evilly exquisite cigarette smoke thickened the air. The American geologists were shyly genial hosts and proudly escorted everyone around: the Jamesway was now linked by snow tunnels to three adjoining ones, all snug and warm, that had been used as dormitories for the original station personnel. There was even a separate women’s toilet and shower.
“We got enough water in the snow melter for everybody to take a shower if they want,” Earl said with an embarrassed smile.
Penny and Katerina looked at each other. “Shall we?” asked Penny.
“Of course.”
Somehow it was stranger to stand naked in a stream of hot water than to rot in an anorak. Penny looked down at her body as if it belonged to someone else: it was thinner than she remembered, and harder; her skin was pale and even the freckles seemed to have faded. Her groin and armpits were chafed and reddened, cracked to bleeding in places, and the skin on her hands and face was dry and rough. But the sensation of wrapping a towel around wet, clean hair was worth all the discomfort. Draped in a blanket, she hurried into the cubicle she’d been given and found Steve just dropping off her duffel bag.
“I thought you’d probably want a change of clothes,” he said, “so I went out and got your gear.”
She pushed the door shut with her hip and let her blanket drop.
Katerina and Ivan sat together in the mess hall after she came back, fresh and smiling, from her shower. They wanted to hold hands, but it was nekulturny to do so in front of their celibate companions. She studied Ivan, Yevgeni and Kyril as they talked; all seemed well, though Kyril’s face and hands showed signs of recent frostbite.
“And how is the aeroplane?” said Katerina.
Kyril gave her a golden smile. “What a machine! It is almost ready. The booster hydraulic system was leaking, and there were some minor things as well. We’ve been checking it out for the past week. All the engines are working well. But the plane will have to be dug out, and that will be hard. Especially after these blizzards.”