It was colder still down at sea level, and the squad huddled as tightly as they could around the center of the dinghy to avoid both the biting wind off the waves and the splashing spray that turned to slush on the rubber sides.
Hynd took charge of the piloting, keeping the revs so low that they ran nearly silent across the still waters. There was no banter among the men now. The mission had started as soon as they left the deck and they all had a still, tense expression, coiled and ready for any action required.
Banks pulled on his night-vision goggles. They were not that much more effective than normal sight in the twilight, but they had the added advantage of a zoom function that Banks turned to its fullest extent. As Hynd brought the dinghy cruising around the promontory, he got his first sight of the base ahead.
It didn’t look like much, just a metal jetty on the shoreline, then up to a pathway that led between half a dozen small metal huts. Beyond that, the ice rose in a dome that might be artificial, but looked natural. Beyond that was only a rocky range of windswept hills and beyond that again, the main bulk of the ice sheet, some half a mile high. It looked more like a summer camp for fishermen than any kind of research station.
As they approached shore, Banks checked the radiation detector at his chest. Red meant danger, but the upper circle of the badge was still solid green. He gave Hynd the thumbs-up, and the sarge brought the dinghy in and alongside the rickety jetty.
The metal of the structure looked pitted and rusted, almost eaten through in places, but they managed to find a spot that appeared firm enough to tie up on. Hynd sent Wiggins up the short ladder first.
“Up you go, fat boy,” he said. “If it’ll take your lardy arse, it’ll do for the rest of us.”
“If I’ve got a lardy arse, it’s your wife’s fault, Sarge,” Wiggins said as he climbed up. “Every time I screw her, she gives me a biscuit.”
Hynd slapped the private on the back of his thighs.
“Button your lip, lad,” he said. “And climb. We’re on the clock here.”
Wiggins climbed up onto the surface of the jetty and gingerly tested his footing before turning back.
“We’re okay, as long as we don’t jump up and down. Or have to service the sarge’s missus.”
By the time Banks got up out of the dinghy, Wiggins was already making his way to the shore to avoid getting a clout on the ear.
The small encampment didn’t look any more enticing from closer up. The metal sheds were in better shape than the jetty, but they too showed sign of corrosion and neglect, and there were no other footprints but those of the squad in the snow. The path ahead of them was smooth, white, and pristine
If there is another team here, they didn’t come this way.
At least it wasn’t particularly cold. There was no wind to speak of now that they were off the bay and out of the water, and it would be full dawn soon and warm up farther. Banks guessed it couldn’t be much more than a degree or two below freezing.
“Cheer up, Cap,” Hynd said. “At least it’s not Baffin Island.”
“Don’t fucking remind me,” Hynd said, and meant it. They’d lost three good men in that cluster-fuck. He wasn’t in any mood to recreate the memory. He motioned for McCally to take Wiggins and Parker to the sheds on the right, while he, Hynd, Hughes, Patel, and Wilkes went left.
The door of the first shed was hanging almost off its hinges. Inside, a space the size of a family-car garage, there were two rows of wooden crates, each stamped with a swastika, all still nailed down as if they’d been stored after transit and never opened. A thick layer of frost lay over everything, and again there were no footprints on the floor or around the doorway, no sign that anyone had been here for decades. A single bare electric bulb hung overhead. Patel pulled a string cord at the side of the door, and it came off in his hand, falling in three parts to the floor. He got a clout around the ear from Hynd.
“Behave yourself, lad,” Hynd said. “Save the farting about for when we get back.”
Patel had the good sense to look abashed, and all five of them kept quiet as they left the empty building and moved uphill to the second shed. Banks looked over to his right to see McCally give a thumbs-down at the door of the shed he’d been sent to investigate.
Looks like this will be a short trip.
Banks checked his radiation badge again, relieved to see that it still showed green, then led the other four to the door of the second shed. This one was in better condition, the heavy double door solid and locked against them, not giving way under a hard shoulder shove from Wiggins. But it opened easily enough after the sarge got into the lock with a small pick.
This shed was better insulated than the first, with a timber interior wall. It was, or rather had been, living quarters, with two beds to the right, a table and three chairs in the center, and a large stove against the left wall for heating and cooking. One of the beds looked almost lumpy, and Banks’ first thought was that it must be a body, but when Hynd checked, it was just a bundle of crumpled sheets and blankets. Everything was neat, tidied away, except for a newspaper on the table. It only had a light cover of frost, easily wiped away, and although it was in German, the date was clear enough — November 29th, 1942.
There was a pair of tall lockers, military-style, beside the beds, but they were empty save for some frozen-solid woolens. Reading the room, Banks guessed that the occupants had simply put on their cold weather clothing and left one day, never to return.
They did a quick survey of every corner, but came up with nothing more than what they had already. When they got outside, McCally was at the door of another shed, and once again gave a thumbs-down.
Banks was more and more convinced they were on a wild goose chase.
Any thoughts of a wasted journey were blown away at the third hut. This one was far more solidly built and resembled the other sheds on the hillside, but only in so far as it had been made to look that way from a distance. It had been painted the same institutional green, but it was made of iron rather than thin sheet metal, and rang like the hull of a boat when hit by the butt of a rifle. Similarly, the door wasn’t a door as such, but more of a hatch, like an interior entranceway on a boat or a sub.
McCally brought his team up to join the rest of the squad, and Wiggins tried to turn the metal wheel to engage the locking mechanism. It squealed, but didn’t give.
“Give us a hand here, somebody,” he said. “This bastard’s playing hard to get.”
Parker was first to move, and once both men took a side of the wheel, it moved more easily. The screech of metal on metal echoed around the still bay, causing Banks to look around, checking that the sound had not brought them to anyone’s attention. The door swung outward with another ear-piercing shriek, showing darkness beyond, and a set of metal stairs leading down into the hill, heading inland.
Banks had another look around the bay. Nothing moved; even the water was still and the dinghy sat calmly at its berth. A dome of clear sky hung overhead, the stars fading out and disappearing as the sun began a slow climb over the horizon. Banks had a last gaze at the sun, cursing it for its promise of heat, then turned back to the dark hole beyond the door. He checked his radiation badge and was relieved to see it was still in the green.
“Okay, Cally, you’re on point. Take us in.”
The corporal stepped forward, then immediately stopped, and waved Banks up alongside him to look down the stairwell. Banks saw that they’d need both night-vision goggles and the lights on their rifle once inside fully, but he didn’t need either to see six steps down.