Beneath the Dark Ice (32 page)

“Either way, if we want to reach them or bring them up we need to cut through that ice. We can dig through it, blast it or melt it. My guess is that they are sheltering in some sort of cave below that ice and snow layer.” Captain Hicks gave a summary of the pros and cons of each option. “Digging is by far the safest option, but also the slowest. Even if we bring in large-scale boring equipment it would take four days—and add to that another two days just to fly it down there. Blasting could fracture the ice and the impact shock wave could bring the tunnels down. Our engineers believe they can mitigate this through layer blasting, but it’s slow and the risk is still there.” Captain
Hicks handed Major Hammerson pages of statistics and continued talking. “However, my choice would be to melt it. We could burn a hole in the ice fifty feet in diameter and one hundred feet straight down in minutes. We also have the ordnance on site right now.”

Hammerson looked up at Hicks and raised his eyebrows. “Thermite?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hammerson knew that thermite was messy, dangerous stuff but their choices were limited. Thermite wasn’t used in battle anymore, however its high burn temperature meant it was excellent for stealth missions where the enemy armaments needed to be neutralised quickly. Its high temperature and low visual flaming, depending on the barium/sulfur mix, meant that the molten thermite would permanently weld the breech of an artillery piece shut, making it impossible to open and load the weapon. Dirty, portable, and very useful.

Hammerson also knew when it came down to brass tacks they were running out of time, and the U.S. military wasn’t even supposed to be down there; any long-term digging operations and explosions had to be kept to a minimum.

“Talk me through it, Captain.”

Hicks gave Major Hammerson some more notes and continued with the briefing. “We recommend thermite as it contains its own supply of oxygen and does not require any external source of air. Meaning it won’t be smothered by the snow and will even continue burning while wet—it can’t be extinguished with water. That’s a good thing as we expect the melting ice will create a lot of water. Even underwater the molten iron produced from the burning thermite will extract oxygen from water and generate hydrogen gas in a single-replacement reaction.” Hicks flipped a page.

Hammerson interrupted, “TH3 or Standard?”

“Standard, sir; it’s hotter than thermite-TH3. Standard iron-thermite burns with little flame, but enormous heat. It’s a lot dirtier, but it will be a more effective incendiary composition for our purposes.”

“Risks?”

“Computer models recommend three iron-thermite blasts with seven-second intervals between each—the first two containing twenty-seven units of thermite, and the last blast containing just twenty-five. This should take us down between ninety-eight and one hundred feet and leave little residual water. The risks are that if our team under the ice is too close to the burn zone and we are out by just a few feet we’ll cook them. They must be under cover before ignition.”

Hicks paused for a few seconds and rubbed his chin.

“Go on, Captain.”

“There is one more thing. If there are any shallow deposits of petroleum in the vicinity we could light up the whole area. If there’s a big deposit, it could either go off like Hiroshima or create a burn hole that could continue to combust until it is capped or exhausted. Either way, it isn’t going to be a very well kept secret for long.”

“Better make sure you just burn the ice then, Captain.”

“Yes sir, we can do that.”

Alfred Beadman, the Chairman of GBR, was ushered into the room. Hammerson nodded to the chairman and then turned to Private Everson and glared. “Any contact yet?”

Hammerson already knew the answer to his own question, as he asked it just as low-level background noise emanated from the speaker in the centre of the enormous command room’s oak desk. He just wanted to keep the pressure up on the communication team.

“Nothing yet, sir.”

Everson was listening in as the communication team did everything they could to boost the signal and raise a response. The good news was that it wasn’t plain white noise which meant no communication. There was just the soft hiss of non-contact; someone was there, they just weren’t answering yet.

The Russian president looked at the security brief containing the transcript of an intercepted message from the Vostok base at the Antarctic. The Russian base contained some of the most sophisticated electronic surveillance equipment in the Southern Hemisphere, and anything outside of a frequency hopper could be trapped, decoded and digested by the Russians at about the same time as the legitimate receiving party.

The Americans were preparing an extraction from the ice; their mission must have succeeded. That idiot Petrov had failed him one too many times.

Volkov squeezed the briefing paper in his fist, compressing it ever smaller as he mentally sifted through his options.

He spoke to the officer without turning. “I need an extraction from the southern ice. There is a man I want brought back here within twenty-four hours.” Volkov turned his watery stare on the young man. “See to it.”

The Russian president watched the officer leave then opened a desk drawer and removed a small black phone. He dialled a long number and waited as the signal was coded and bounced to the other side of the globe. He spoke softly when the connection was made.

“Comrade Borshov, your job there is finished. I have another for you. Priority.”

On the other side of Moscow, Viktor Petrov jumped into a large black Mercedes and headed for the airport. Several
large diplomatic bags nestled safely beside him on the soft leather seat. Upstairs in his large drawing room the ashes of a copied security brief still smouldered.

Borshov heard the call disconnect and let his hand drop to his side. A priority assignment from the Little Wolf meant other missions were to be immediately abandoned. He reached up and touched the frozen blood around the ragged hole in his face. He ached, not from the raw wound, but for vengeance.

Alex Hunter would die by his hand, this day, next or whenever he got close enough. Borshov had his own priorities; Volkov would never know.

Ping.
Alex’s headset stopped everyone dead.

Aimee bent over and rested her hands on her knees, drawing in deep breaths through clenched teeth to try to filter the dusty air. She tried to spit out the dirt but realised there was no saliva in her dry mouth. She saw Matt stifle a cough, both of them not wishing to make any noise in the suffocating darkness. Their torch beams were nothing but a dull brown now and the reduced peripheral light made her feel the colossal stone blocks in the walls were getting closer and heavier around them. A wave of fatigue and nausea passed through her and she looked up at Alex to see him place the unit over his head, close his eyes and press the receive button. She crossed her fingers.

“Arcadian receiving, over.”

When Alex’s voice came over the speaker in the command centre, everyone stopped what they were doing and then cheered loudly. Though the Hammer felt like leaping to his feet and punching the air, he needed to stay cool and clear-headed as the mission was a long way from being over.

“Good to hear your voice, Arcadian, what is your immediate operational status?” Hammerson smiled to himself; he only just stopped himself from calling Alex “son.” Captain Alex Hunter, the Arcadian, was a HAWC field agent. In dispassionate military terms he was an “asset,” a weapon to be deployed and expended without emotion. However, the Hammer couldn’t help taking pride in the way Alex had grown to be the leader and ultimate professional he was.

There was another crackle of background noise and then: “Are we ever glad to hear you, sir. HAWC unit is down to one member; there are three remaining scientific personnel; two with me, one missing. Plane crash survivors, if there were any, and Hendsen party look to have encountered large indigenous biological. There are no remains and no survivors.”

Hammerson placed large fingers on his forehead and rubbed. His HAWCs, all those men and women, dead. Another bloody mission paid for in flesh, he thought.

Alfred Beadman was shaking his head and muttering to himself. “Who’s missing and what does he mean by indigenous biological? They’re a hundred feet below solid ice.” He stepped towards the conference unit. “Captain Hunter, Alfred Beadman here. Dr. Aimee Weir: is she OK?”

“She’s right here, sir.” Alex removed his comm unit and placed it over Aimee’s head.

Everyone held their breath in the command centre, the silence broken only by a hiss and crackle coming from the speaker in the centre of the large oak table. Then smooth complete silence as a signal was engaged.

“Hello?”

“Aimee! You’re safe, thank God. I was so worried.” Alfred Beadman rocked back on his heels and folded his arms about himself as though to give himself a big hug.

“Alfred, I’m better for hearing your voice.” Aimee
couldn’t help smiling as she spoke to the avuncular chairman.

“Is Adrian there? Is he okay too?” Beadman asked.

Aimee paused for a second, deciding what to tell him, then thought it best to keep it brief. “I’m sorry, Alfred, Dr. Silex didn’t make it. He’s dead.”

“Oh, my dear, you must be shocked. Adrian was a good man; one of the best.” Alfred’s voice was full of pain.

“Yes, Alfred, Dr. Silex really surprised us all.” She turned to Alex and rolled her eyes before changing the subject. “I’ve got bad news on the petroleum signatures, I’m afraid. They were false positives given off from a gigantic body of deep-crustal warm water with a biomass reading that’s off the scale. There are also signs of ongoing geological activity, so I doubt there is anything of interest for GBR in the vicinity.”

“My dear, all I care about is getting you home. Now, what’s this about indigenous biologicals?”

Major Hammerson nodded to Alfred Beadman and leaned forward as a sign that he needed to take control once again. Though he was over the moon about hearing that Aimee Weir was alive, there was a lot to do if they were going to be safely extracted anytime soon.

“Dr. Weir, I’m delighted you’re still with us and I look forward to having you here again in person. Now, though, we have to plan to get you out of there. Can I speak to Captain Hunter again, please?” Aimee passed the headset back to Alex.

“Here, sir.”

“OK, Captain, continue with your update.”

“Sir, as Dr. Weir mentioned, there was no petroleum, but a deep body of warm water. The heat is probably from some geothermic activity. This body of water contains many large non-surface-dwelling aggressive life forms. We are currently being pursued by one of these biological
hostiles that were most likely responsible for the removal of the previous plane crash personnel and termination of the Hendsen party.”

Hammerson leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

“OK, Arcadian. What is your current physical location and operational capabilities?”

“We are currently in the tunnels of an abandoned city that is structurally sound, but we estimate it is buried approximately one hundred feet below high-density ice. Our defensive capabilities are near exhausted. We’re caught between creature and ice and our backs are against the wall. One last thing, sir; we weren’t the only ones under the ice. We encountered several Krofskoya agents, headed by Uli Borshov. They have since been neutralised.”

In the command centre, Hammerson’s jaw worked beneath his cheeks at the thought of the Russian interference. This was Cold War stuff. He knew a few Russian generals and this was off-key. Someone was exceeding orders; someone would pay.

“Captain, Alfred Beadman again. Can you barricade yourself in somewhere until we can reach you?”

“Mr. Beadman, this thing is bigger than a blue whale and is coming through the walls like they are paper. Our plan is to stay ahead of it if we can. However, this strategy will only be successful for a short while until we end up cornered. Major Hammerson, I can’t dig us out from here, can you reach us?”

“We believe so. We’re going to cut a hole using standard thermite. It’ll be approximately fifty feet in diameter and will overlap your beacon signal. You’re correct on your estimation on the ice depth; it’s exactly a hundred and one feet deep. We’re planning a series of detonations that will vaporise approximately one hundred feet of ice. You’ll need to bust through that last foot or so yourself. Any more burn and we’ll flood your chamber with scalding water and
steam; any less and you won’t be able to punch through. Comments, Captain?”

“Works for me, sir. How long until you’re ready?”

Major Hammerson turned and looked at Hicks who put down the phone he was speaking into. “Ten minutes until all charges are calibrated. First charge ready to drop in eleven minutes.”

“Ready, Arcadian, ten minutes on my mark.” Hammerson and Alex counted down from twenty and synchronised their watches. “OK, you need to be away from that transmission device you planted, but in ten minutes twenty-one seconds you need to be back there knocking a hole through. We estimate in another five minutes after the blast, runoff from the walls will start to refreeze at about six inches every twenty seconds. Good luck, soldier.”

“Thank you, sir, we’ll see you soon.” Alex pressed the small stud on his earpiece and drew in a deep breath. Just give us a few more minutes, he thought.