CHAPTER 14
The Russians
THE RADAR OPERATOR aboard the American container ship, Starlight, stared at the image on his scope for a few moments before turning to the large man sipping the strong coffee responsible for the bitter aroma that filled the cabin. “The Russians have arrived, Captain.”
Captain Sergio Ramos wasn’t surprised. The American commander had already informed him they were on their way.
“Shall I pass the news on to the Americans, Captain?” inquired First Mate Phillip Riesman.
The Captain nodded. “Inform them we’re tracking the Russians and they will be alerted if they approach us.”
Riesman picked up the internal telephone and did as instructed.
Norton hung up the telephone linked to the bridge and crossed to the Admiral conversing with one of the men from NASA. “The Russians have arrived, sir.”
Thomson turned, glanced at Norton and walked across the room. “What are they doing?”
Norton followed his superior. “They have turned on a heading towards the iceberg and the captain will let us know if it changes course towards us.”
Thomson paused at the satellite scan laid out on a table to one side of the large room. “I wonder what their plan is. We have the only access to the spaceship covered.”
Norton briefly pondered answering, but held his tongue. It was a habit of the Admiral’s to speak his thoughts aloud. “Will you contact them, sir?”
Thomson shook his head. “Not yet. We know why they are here, so let’s see what they do first.”
The Russian ship, Spasatel Kuznetsov, a MPSV07 class, multi-purpose salvage and icebreaking vessel, approached within sight of its destination, the Antarctic iceberg recently set adrift.
Captain Georgy Brusilov, the man tasked with leading the Russian salvage operation, entered the below-deck storage area and glanced around at the men constructing the equipment designed to gain entry to the spaceship. The large metal hull of the cargo barge that had been stripped of everything that wasn’t needed for the mission ahead, occupied center stage of the spacious room. Streams of molten-metal sparks flew from around the men busy welding extra plates of steel to the square-nosed platform stretching out slightly proud of the bow. The barge would act as a platform for their plan to gain entry to the spaceship entombed in the ice.
Brusilov crossed to the large boring machine and ran a hand over one of its cutting teeth. Though it wouldn’t cut through metal, rock posed it no problem. Because ice was only about ten percent as hard as concrete, the machine would bore through the iceberg as easily as vodka slipping down a thirsty Russian’s throat. He turned on hearing footsteps approach. It was Nikolay Rezanov, his chief engineer.
Rezanov nodded. “Captain.”
Brusilov returned the greeting, “Chief.”
The two men glanced around at the work in progress.
“How long before its ready, Nikolay?”
“We are just adding the final touches. We might have to make a few adjustments once we get started, but I believe what we’ve designed will be more than capable for the task ahead. The only unknown that causes me any concern is the spaceship’s alien metal hull. We have no idea what it’s made from, its thickness, or if our equipment will be able to cut through it.”
Brusilov glanced over at the store of cutting equipment that included thermic lances. It was the best Russia had and they had some of the best metalworkers in the world. He was confident the hull would yield to the men’s expertise, whatever alien metal it was fashioned from. “ETA for reaching the launch position is ten minutes, so before long we’ll find out.”
“One way or another, we’ll get you inside the alien vessel, Captain.”
Brusilov smiled at his chief engineer. “I never doubted it for a moment. Mother Russia is relying on our success. We cannot let the Americans and British be the only ones to possess alien technology and, more importantly, alien weaponry. The outcome for Russia if we fail could be catastrophic for our standing as a world power.” He slapped his chief engineer on the shoulder. “But of course that will never happen, because we will not fail. Ready the barge to be raised as soon as work is completed so it can be moved to the iceberg. We are against the clock here. The Americans and British might have a head start but we can still ensure we don’t leave empty-handed.” He climbed the metal staircase and headed back to the bridge.
When Brusilov entered the bridge, Ivan Chersky, his second-in-command, removed the binoculars from his eyes and glanced at the Captain. “The iceberg is dead ahead, Captain. Range, half a mile.”
Brusilov glanced out the window and through the driving snow that had started an hour ago and caught his first glimpse of the huge iceberg. He took the binoculars and focused on the approaching behemoth. It looked more like a continent than a floating block of ice. “Have the Americans or British moved position or made contact?”
“Apart from keeping pace with the iceberg’s drift, they have made no attempts to intercept or contact us, friendly or otherwise.”
Brusilov lowered the binoculars. “They know why we’re here, the same reason they are. They are also aware they have no more claim on the iceberg or salvage rights on what’s inside than we do.”
“Maybe they will leave us alone,” suggested Chersky. “The Americans, who I understand were the first soldiers to set foot aboard the drifting spaceship, are hardly likely to risk an international incident by using force to keep us away.”
“I agree, but we are all dealing with a unique situation. The Antarctic Treaty states that all knowledge and discoveries are to be shared with all other signed up nations, but I doubt the discovery of an alien spaceship was envisaged when it was drawn up.”
Brusilov stared out at the large iceberg.
“Even though I know there’s an alien spaceship entombed in the ice and…” he waved a hand at the Russian satellite scan of the spaceship laid out on the chart table three-yards away, “…we have proof that it does, I won’t truly believe it until I step foot inside.”
“What about the alien monsters the British scientist reported are inside? Won’t they be a problem?”
“I have read the newspaper accounts of the man’s heroic battle with the aliens and I would be extremely surprised if he hasn’t exaggerated them out of all proportions to make himself seem braver. It’s a typical trait of Westerners, especially the Americans.”
“I’m sure you are right, Captain, but the photographs of the aliens seem formidable.”
“I’m confident it’s nothing the men and Russian firepower can’t handle.” Brusilov turned away from the window, crossed to the chart table and roamed his eyes over the impressive spaceship. He regretted the complete vessel wasn’t salvageable, but even if every nation joined together they couldn’t save it; the vessel was too large and shortly to be at the bottom of the ocean. He concentrated on the markings added to the scan. A tunnel had been drawn where the hull was the closest to the ice. Entry would be through the side of the ship at the opposite end to where the Americans had entered and about half a mile from the front of the ship. They would have to drill a tunnel through the ice a little over one hundred yards long to reach the hull.
He gazed at the helmsman. “Bring us alongside the iceberg’s eastern edge at a distance of two hundred yards.”
The American salvaging operation was progressing as planned. McNally watched the final piece of the sled dangling beneath the approaching helicopter and glanced around the ice ledge to ensure his men were ready to receive it. If everything went to plan the cargo ship would soon be heading for the Starlight. Like all who had set eyes upon the spacecraft, he wondered what their capabilities were and what impact they would have on humans’ thirst to reach out into the unknown and witness the marvels, opportunities and challenges it had to offer. He estimated, depending on the alien vessel’s complexity, it could take between five to ten years before the ships were reverse engineered and replicated and scientists worked out how to pilot one.