The most direct route led down the face of a glacier cut by crevasses, but he decided it would be safer to circle to the flank of the volcano and descend its smoother slope into the valley. The hiking was uncomfortable. His feet slipped on snow patches and loose rock and the gauze disease mask warmed his face but also tended to ice up. When he reached the frozen lake at the bottom he confirmed that its ice was as strange as the rest of Antarctica. Pockets of dust had melted into its thick covering at a faster rate than more reflective places, producing a labyrinth of waist-high undulations or frozen waves.
He hurried on. As he neared the site where he'd spotted the sprawled SS soldiers Fritz skittered down a pumice slope to meet him, waving his arms to get Owen to stop short. The sailor was masked with a handkerchief like a bandit. They paused at a cautious distance.
"Don't come any closer, Owen, as much as I'd love to give you a hug, my friend! Your airplane made me happier than a lingerie merchant in a heated harem!"
"Don't be too enthused. Before you get to fly away you have to walk to the Dornier, Fritz. Several miles."
"Better than sitting here! I was about to freeze stiffer than Nazi protocol!"
Hart smiled. "Well, your tongue is still working, at least. Is the rest of you sick?"
He nodded. "I thought maybe I'd escaped but I'm beginning to ache. The truth is, I'm frightened. I'm babbling because I've seen what the disease does to others. It's
monstrous
."
The pilot threw him a canteen. "Drink this. It may save your life."
Fritz lifted the bottom of his mask and took a swig. "Ach!" He sputtered and coughed. "What is it? Penguin pee?"
"Medicine. I know it's vile. I've had some myself."
"So of course you want to share." He cautiously drank again.
"Greta thinks it may be an antidote, an antibiotic, that fights the plague microbes. It's terrible but you've got to drink as much as you can. We found it in that cave."
Fritz drank some more and grimaced. "Marched, diseased, now poisoned: I've had better cruises. Still, if this doesn't help I'm going to die, my friend." His eyes were somber.
"The others?"
"Gone already. Horrible pain. Some of them contorted like pretzels."
"Yet you're too unsociable even for microbes?"
"No, just for Schultz, God rest his soul. He was so tired of my complaining that he left me not far from here while the rest went to the end of the valley. By the time they got back a couple were already coughing. I put on a mask and moved away— you can imagine how popular that was— but it's the only reason I'm still alive. I took the radio up the slope to alert the
Schwabenland
and then came back to try to get the survivors moving before this storm hits. It was too late. Schultz was the last, and he died two hours ago."
"My God."
"We're in hell, Owen. A cold hell."
Hart hoisted his own canteen and drank, wincing. "You're probably contagious. We'll have to share the drug and then be quarantined on the deck of the
Schwabenland
."
Fritz nodded. "Drexler's been dreaming of that the whole voyage, I suspect. Though the best reason to live is to see his face when he realizes I'm the only survivor." He took another mouthful. "But that assumes you can get us out of here." Some snowflakes were beginning to fall. "I suggest we hurry to your plane."
"Why hasn't he returned?"
Greta stared out at a darkening world. Atropos Island was gray, fogged by increasing snow, and the sea was growing rougher. They could see spray hurling skyward at the caldera entrance as the swells built, the
Schwabenland
wallowing miserably as it crept to maintain station in case
Boreas
came back. Icebergs drifted by like dreadnoughts, Heiden periodically snapping orders to change course slightly to stay out of their way. Yet there was no sign of Owen Hart. Nor had the field radio taken by the mountaineers issued any more calls. The crew was anxious. Even high on their bridge the officers could hear the labor of pumps keeping thudding pace with the slow leakage around the iceberg patch in the hull. The leak was still manageable but as the swells had mounded and the ship creaked, the invasion of cold seawater had grown worse.
"I told you it was madness to let him go," Feder fretted. "And madness to stay here waiting when we should be making for a proper port. We seem determined to compound one mistake with another."
"How can you say we shouldn't wait when he may just be pinned down by weather?" Greta demanded.
"Because if we wait too long we may be pinned as well!"
"That's quite enough, Alfred," Heiden growled. "We're in no danger of sinking. And if you two hens want to cackle at each other, do it off the bridge."
Feder scowled. "I just want it on record that I pointed out the dangerous weather the
first
time we got into trouble out here."
"Recorded. Now, silence!"
Drexler saw an opportunity and moved close to Greta, careful not to try touching her yet. "I know how fond you've become of Hart," he offered quietly. "I understand your worry. But he's a resourceful outdoorsman. I'm sure he's all right."
She sighed. "It's just so frustrating to have him all alone out there so soon after— " She stopped. "It's just so hard to wait, Jürgen. And what if I was wrong about the cave organism? What if he trusted me and flew off to his death from the disease?"
"That's nonsense. You acted on the best knowledge you had. We're all struggling. You, Hart, myself. And didn't you try it in your bottle? It must do some kind of good."
"I just wish I was sure."
"Could you try it on the cultures?"
"Owen took all the antidote." She hesitated. "And besides, the cultures are gone."
"What?"
"I destroyed them, Jürgen. I warned you I would. We've had enough death."
He looked at her in shock.
Careful
, he thought.
Control your emotions or you'll lose her. She'll run away
.
"Are you angry?"
He swallowed. "Surprised," he managed. "It seems... unscientific."
She looked away.
"Well." His face twisted in dismay. "I'd hoped to bring something back to Germany, but..."
Preserve what you have
, some instinct told him. He tried a different tack: "You and I have had some differences, Greta. But that hasn't changed my... my feelings for you. Whatever has happened, please remember: I'm
still
your friend."
She nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you. I value that, Jürgen."
He turned away to hide his wince.
* * *
The hike to the plane exhausted Fritz. The
Boreas
was behind a ridge on the opposite side of the lake from where the mountaineers had died and the little sailor insisted on minimizing the distance by cutting across its frozen surface. But as Hart warned, the eroded frozen waves proved a slippery nightmare difficult to scramble over. They both fell several times. Worse, their subsequent direction up the valley wall in the growing snow drifted off course and they got themselves onto the snowy crust of a glacier. They trudged mindlessly up its gloomy slope until there was a crack and Fritz almost dropped out of sight.
"My God!" he cried, scrambling away. "Now the island is trying to devour me!"
Hart cautiously crept to the edge of the crevasse and peered into its blue twilight. From its depths he felt an even deeper chill, from walls as hard as steel. "You're lucky."
"And your guiding skills have not improved."
"Conceded. Are you all right?"
Fritz sighed. "I ache, Owen. It's... frightening." The pilot gave him more of the drug. The supply was already nearly gone.
Hart carefully led their way back off the glacier and up a snow-dusted pumice slope. Eventually, breathing hard, they gained the ridge and came out on the plateau. The wind was shrieking. The seaplane was still there, snow drifting against its ski-converted floats and its wing tugging against the anchored swastika stakes. The ocean beyond was a blur of gray streaked with white. The
Schwabenland
couldn't be seen because it was around the flank of the volcano. Hart was conscious of time draining away. Surely the Germans would realize he couldn't fly back in a storm?
"Can we take off in this wind, Owen?"
"Maybe. And maybe fly in it. Maybe even find our way back to the ship. But landing on the sea, with that scudding ice..."
Fritz shivered. They were cold, dangerously so.
"Should we wait it out in the plane?"
"If we have to. But the skin has no insulation and the fuselage will be freezing." Hart looked around.
"Where else then?"
The pilot pointed. "Inside the mountain, maybe. It's warmer there."
The sailor followed his finger. There was a dark opening in the snow like a lidded eye.
"I noticed that on my hike down and the snow hasn't covered it up. That means it might be an overhang or a cave. If the latter, it's better than the plane."
"And if not?"
"Climbing will keep you warm. Can you manage the pain?"
Fritz paused to take internal inventory. "Actually, I'm beginning to feel better. Maybe that piss of Greta's really works."
They slowly plowed toward the distant eye, breathing hard, their goal lost at times through blowing snow. The wind howled harder as they worked higher, gusts snapping the ends of their parkas. The cold stung their lungs and rasped their throats. Hart's feet and hands were growing numb and he knew the little sailor must be far worse. It hurt to live.
Then they reached a chest-high wall of lava rock, part of an outcrop on the volcano's snowy flank. There was a shelf on top and then the small cave. Owen lifted the weary sailor up onto the ledge and pushed him ahead.
The entry tunnel was tight, forcing them to crawl on hands and knees, but there was a living-room-sized chamber beyond that was floored with sand. They sprawled gratefully. The sound of the wind had abruptly dropped and the temperature had soared.
"I think we're going to make it," Owen said. "Do you want some food?"
The sailor looked at him wearily. "Like your canteen? Yes, book paste and paint thinner, please. I can't get enough of your cooking."
* * *
Hart's promised four-hour absence went by. Greta's six hours. Drexler's eight. Still no sign of the pilot. Night came and the
Schwabenland
uneasily maintained its rocking station at sea, the crew grumbling nervously as large bergs swept by and smaller floes clanked and skittered along the damaged hull. Snow coated the decks before finally stopping at a gauzy dawn. Greta was sleepless, her eyes red. The mood on the bridge was somber.
"It's time to consider our situation," said Schmidt. "We should either reenter the shelter of the harbor or consider going back north. With the season growing to a close the weather can only grow worse."
"Owen asked us to remain out here," Greta said.
There was silence.
"Well, I've said what
I
have to say and I'm not saying it again," Feder reminded.
Heiden drummed his fingers, looking out the bridge windows. "The entrance to the caldera is still stormy." They could all see the spray. "I don't want to risk the fate of the
Bergen
and hit a rock. Now that we're outside I prefer to stay outside until the weather calms."
"And how long do you propose to stay?" Schmidt asked. "The leak has gotten worse again."
"Slightly worse." The captain looked unhappy.
"There can't be any surprise at the pilot's absence," the doctor insisted. "We've all seen what that disease can do."
"We don't know that!" Greta protested.
"We know that every man who has ventured into that valley has failed to return."
Greta looked at the officers imploringly. Most shifted their gaze away. Drexler didn't.
"Listen," he said. "I've been thinking. Our problem is lack of information, not lack of will. We all want to do what's best for the American and the mountaineers but we've no word from any of them so we can't act. Let me try to rectify that."
"What do you propose?" said Heiden.
"Take the motor launch back into the caldera. That way we risk a boat, not the ship."
"You can't even swim!"
"Swimming is pointless in this cold water," he dismissed. "And I don't want it said I abandoned the American." He glanced at Greta. She cast her eyes down.
"Your plan?" asked Schmidt.
"I'll ask for volunteers, we'll go ashore, and climb up to the crater rim. No farther! Hart and Eckermann did it safely when we first arrived so we should be able to as well. I'll see if I can spot any sign of the men or the plane. If we do... we can plan from there."
"And if we don't?"
"Then the best thing is to leave." He heard Greta take a sharp breath. "I'm sorry, but we can't indefinitely endanger the many for the few. Our primary duty to Germany is to return and report our claims."
They waited.
"It's a reasonable course of action," Heiden told her. "Maybe he'll even fly back while Jürgen is scouting."
She nodded miserably.
"This trip will also let me accomplish another task," Drexler said. "I think we should blow up the
Bergen
."
"Why?" asked Feder.
"Two reasons. One, the hull could retain traces of the disease despite our cremation of the corpses. There's no reason to endanger future explorers. And second, its removal would eliminate any competing Norwegian claims to this island. With the bodies burned and the ship gone, no one will know the whalers ever got here. It could still make a splendid German base, once we understand the disease. The cached supplies mark our claim."
"You'd come
back
here?" Greta gasped.
"With proper expertise and equipment. In fact, if the Reich allows, I'll come next season. But first things first. Do I hear volunteers?"
Feder smiled grimly. "I'll go if it will speed our getting out of here."
* * *
"When am I going to learn not to follow your lead? Great God in heaven."