Kehla slipped out behind him. “Now where?”
Doc raised an eyebrow. “Seeing as we are at one end of the hallway, I would suggest forward.”
“Couldn't we go back?” She turned back toward the room.
“I don't see the point.” Doc pointed upwards. “We don't know the way back to the surface from where we were, and there's lots of evidence for a way out from where we are now.”
Kehla nodded slowly, then broke out in a wide grin. “You're the boss.”
Doc shrugged, and led the way down the hall. There were a couple of doors on each side, but he bypassed them. This felt like a storage area more than anything else. Better to get an idea of what they were doing, rather than what they weren't using.
After about a hundred feet, they came to a set of stairs leading downwards. Doc paused at the top of the stairs and took a knee. They were made from the same material as the walls and floor, but with a noticeable seam where they met the downward slope.
He listened for a moment, and then started down the stairs.
The next level was wide open, at least two hundred yards across and lit with towers of green flame. A perfectly smooth floor surrounded a central pool some four hundred feet on a side. Beyond the pool was an archway that opened into darkness. A submarine floated in the center of the pool, looking like a steel shark. The air was cold and still, with the faint scent of algae permeating the chamber. Doc glanced around the chamber, straining his senses, but the loudest sound was Kehla's breathing behind him.
The whole place reminded Doc of the view of the Reflecting Pool from the Lincoln Memorial.
Once on the floor, he went right and Kehla went left. No matter how quietly he tried to walk, his footsteps echoed on the stone. The green light bounced off the steel hull, giving the chamber an eerie look.
Passing between the two towers, Doc caught sight of an inflatable boat up against the wall. It was about fifteen feet long, made of black rubber. It had a couple of paddles and a two thwarts across the body. A small chest bearing the Nazi eagle crossed the stern.
The whole place raised more questions than it answered. Why was there an apparently abandoned Nazi base miles beneath the Antarctic icecap? Why was the submarine here? How did it even get this far down? He sat cross-legged on the stone and tried to puzzle things out.
The chamber itself was obviously part of the original construction. The solid glass construction and green towers were proof of that. It wasn't a natural light, but somehow it fit the construction. The strangest part was that none of it was familiar.
Doc thought he knew every major civilization in the history of the planet, or at least over the last few hundred million years, but this was new to him. Could there possibly be something the Archonate had not recorded? He supposed it was possible, but it was surprising.
Not for the first time, Doc wished he had some way to contact the Archonate base.
“Find anything?”
“Just this boat.” Doc smiled. “Feel up to going for a little boat ride?”
Kehla grinned. “You really are pulling out all the stops. My husband will be jealous.”
“Give me a hand with the boat, and let's take a look at that submarine.”
Less than five minutes later, they were on the water. Doc dipped a finger over the side and trailed it in the water for a few seconds. Cold bit his fingertip, just a degree or two above freezing. The water was glassy, rippling only with their passing. They were both strong paddlers, so the submarine was only a few strokes away. The part above the water was only about thirty feet long, with two segments of decking before and behind the conning tower.
Doc pulled up alongside the steel hull, keeping the boat in position with slow strokes. The submarine sat low in the water, with faint streaks of rust running down its sides. The sloping sides were dry, without even a hint of frost. A thin rail surrounded a small rear deck made from wooden slats.
Kehla reached out with one long arm and hauled herself up to the deck in a single smooth movement. Doc quickly threw her a line and she tied off the boat at the bow. A few moments later he had joined her on the submarine's afterdeck. It was about ten feet by six, ending at a short ladder leading up to the conning tower.
The tower rose about two feet above the deck, with a coaming that added another three. A compass and speaking trumpet marked the front of the tower, and a large circular hatch made up the majority of the space. A small quick-firing gun dominated the decking in front.
Raising a finger to his lips, Doc uncapped the speaking tube. Mindful of the cold, he kept his ear clear of the metal. Cool air puffed out. Doc closed his eyes and listened. Nothing. The interior of the submarine was silent.
He waited a few moments, and then replaced the cap on the tube. “I can't hear anything.”
Waving Kehla forward, he bent down and grasped the hatch wheel. It spun easily in his hands, and a few seconds later he flipped the hatch open with a muffled clunk.
Doc put his hands on the ladder and dropped down into the darkness. He bent his knees as he hit the deck. Pulling his flashlight out, he flipped it on. He was in a German submarine control room. Doc played his light across the consoles, everything looked perfect, ready to go whenever the crew returned. Oddly, it didn't seem to have any plane controls, just a wheel and compass for surface navigation. A reflection caught his eye, and he turned his beam on it to see a large Thule Society emblem on one wall.
Kehla joined Doc in the submarine, leaving the hatch open above them so that some of the light filtered down from above.
“I'll keep watch; you figure out what's going on here.”
Still hesitant to talk, Doc gestured with his flashlight and moved forward, bending to avoid banging his head on the ceiling of the compartment, which was only about six feet high. Two hatches provided exits, forward and aft. The front hatch opened onto a small bunkroom with three bunks on each side. It was fitted out for living quarters, with a compact galley in one corner and a head opposite.
A hatch in the middle of the deck led to a small torpedo room with four fixed tubes. The loading door on the far left tube was open, and the tube itself was empty, but there was no space in the compartment for reloads. Doc frowned, and then closed the door.
Forward of the bunk room and above the torpedo tubes was an observation room with a second set of controls. Like the control room, this compartment also bore a large Thule Society emblem holding pride of place. Doc flipped a large, clearly marked switch and a beam of light pierced the stygian gloom in front of them. The water was so clear that he could see more than a hundred yards in front of them. He turned off the light and returned his attention to the rest of the compartment.
After a quick examination, Doc retraced his steps through the main control room and aft. Directly behind lay the main engine spaces, taken up by a large MAN Diesel. and its associated equipment. This compartment was taller than the others, with a second hatch forward, leading under the control room, and a second in the deck plating, clearly marked for batteries.
The bottom compartment, under the control room, proved interesting. It held four diving suits, and a large bell-shaped airlock. This was definitely not a conventional U-boat.
Clang! The sound of the closing hatch echoed through the hull, followed by the unmistakable thump of Kehla landing on the deck above.
“Doc!”
He was already moving by the time he heard his name. Doc entered the control room just in time to see Kehla dogging the hatch shut above her head.
“What's happening?”
“I was just keeping an eye on the boat when a horde of those sea-devils came out of the water and started climbing up the side of the hull.” She shivered in her coat. “We're trapped.”
Doc shook his head, and patted the control panel. “I don't think so.” He shrugged. “They must have seen when I turned on the lights. They may be phototropic.”
“As for being trapped; this submarine wasn't built in this chamber, and I don't see an
y way in or out except under water. We just have to retrace its course.”
She nodded, looking around the small compartment. “This just isn't something I ever expected growing up. Pongo City wasn’t exactly on the seacoast.”
“I am glad to have been able to expose you to new experiences.”
Doc took another look at the controls, and then drove a recessed switch home. A small bulb flickered to life above them, making the compartment look even smaller than it was. Doc dropped into a seat and scanned the gauges in front of him.
“Battery 85 percent, fuel at three-quarters. Looks like we have plenty of power. All we need is a course.”
“Second star on the right, and straight on 'til morning?” Kehla smiled.
Doc shrugged. Sometimes she was just as bad as Vic for not making sense. “No point sitting here and running the Diesel to charge up the rest of the way.”
He swept his eyes across the panel, checking for a green board. One light was red, so he flipped the switch and heard a series of clanks as the deck gun retracted. Satisfied the boat was sealed, he threw a lever home to flood the tanks. As the submarine slowly settled downwards, he rose and headed forward. “Let's see where this goes.”
#
“I knew we should have taken the other airship,” Vic muttered as she watched the newcomers advance across the ice. “A couple of machine gun bursts and we'd be rid of our unwelcome visitors.”
“Machine guns don't take many prisoners,” Gus said mildly. “There are a lot of questions I'd like to see answered. Starting with why are so many people interested in this one spot in the middle of Antarctica.”
“Time to find out,” Vic replied. “Our first houseguest is close enough to ring the doorbell. Once I deal with him, turn the floodlights on his friends so they can't shoot straight.”
Leaving Gus in the control room, Vic grabbed a pistol from the arms locker and made her way back to the entry way. Their visitor had already reached the ramp, and was climbing up to the doorway. Vic slipped in behind the hatch, her back against the outer bulkhead. With a deep breath to calm the pounding in her chest, she pulled the hammer back on her pistol and waited for the gorilla to enter.
A moment later, she got her wish.
The gorilla stepped through the hatchway and into the corridor. Vic slipped in behind him, and pressed the muzzle of her pistol against the back of his head. “Better start holding up the wall unless you want to learn how to breathe through your forehead.”
“You won't get away with this.”
“Just watch me.” Vic grinned. “But if you turn your head, I'll put a hole in it.”
Perhaps wisely, the gorilla stood quietly against the wall.
“Gus,” Vic called. “Could I get a hand here?”
“On my way.”
He was there in less than a minute. Once Gus arrived, he took over the pistol while Vic grabbed a set of manacles. Without letting their captive see them, she fastened first one wrist and then the other. While the manacles were thin, barely thicker than a common set of handcuffs, they were made from a titanium alloy, and much stronger than they appeared. Vic also took the opportunity to relieve him of his rifle, and quickly pat him down for any tools or other weapons.
With their prisoner secured, Vic stepped back and into the gorilla's line of sight.
“You can't break them,” she said conversationally. “Not unless you're a lot stronger than you look.”
The prisoner didn't say anything; he just bared his fangs.
“Fine, be like that,” Vic said. “Though you might want to cooperate if you want your friends to live.”
This time, the prisoner simply snarled.
“On your head be it.” Vic grinned and then nodded to Gus. “Find somewhere to put him, would you?”
“Of course I can.” Gus gave his best English butler impression. “Right this way, sir.”
Leaving Gus to handle the prisoner, Vic returned to the flight deck.
Gus had all the lights going; each one threw half a million candlepower at full blast and the gorilla had locked them all on maximum sweep. Even with the glare shields down, Vic had to squint to see anything. She could only imagine what it was like outside, with the light bouncing off the crater walls.
At least nobody was shooting at them. so it appeared the lights were doing their job.
She was still sitting there when Gus and Ming returned to the flight deck. Ming slipped into the other command seat, her hands a safe distance from the controls. Gus slumped down in the engineer's chair, and spun it around to face the others.
“I have our visitor safely tucked in for the moment,” he said. “I do have to confess I'm not quite sure what we can do about his friends. Doc and I really didn't plan on holding large numbers of unwilling guests when we built the ship.”
“So what can we do?” Ming asked. “I won't leave them out there to freeze to death.”
Vic reached out and covered Ming's hand with hers. “I know, 'do no harm.' We'll bring them in.”
“Good.”
“A-hem,” Gus interrupted. “We still have to find somewhere to put them.”
“What do we have?” Ming leaned forward in her chair. “You obviously found somewhere for the one we already have.”
“Two cells.” Gus rested his chin on his palm. “Each one was built for two, but we could probably double up for a while. It's just going to be crowded in there.”
“Okay.” Vic pushed herself to her feet. “I guess it's my job to go get them. Where's Gilly's welding mask?”
An hour later, Vic was exhausted. Sweat pooled in the middle of her back as she stacked the last of the Germans' rifles inside the airship. The prisoners were all safely stuffed inside the cells, so Gus had finally turned down the floodlights.
“You ready to come in?” Ming asked, looking up from her seat near the top of the ramp..
“Not yet,” Vic replied. “I still need to check out their plane.”
“I'll give you ten minutes, and not one second longer,” Ming told her, tapping her watch. “You really shouldn't have been out there as long as you have but I don't see any way to keep you in here short of tying you down.”
Vic grinned and blew her a kiss. “Yes dear.”
She threw her hood back over her head, and turned to go back into the cold. Ming was right she really should have stayed in, but she just couldn't resist a new airplane. This time she didn't need the welding mask.
Ice crunched under her boots as she approached the aircraft. All three propellers were idle, so either the pilot was on the ground or still blinded by the flood lights. Vic didn't want to take a chance, so she took her time approaching the plane. From its appearance, it was a standard Fokker Tri-Motor. The Germans had winterized it, with skis replacing the wheels.
“So that's how they do it,” Vic muttered.
A pair of rocket pods hung under the wing, welded into place. By the size of them they had more than enough thrust to get the Fokker two hundred feet off the ground from inside the crater.
After circling around the rear of the aircraft, Vic ducked under the tailplane and closed on the open hatch. Blackened rocket bells stared her in the face. She wouldn't even feel it if the rockets lit off. What a way to go; she grinned.
Whoever had been last out must have thrown the hatch wide open so the it lay flat against the fuselage. Nobody would take off in this weather with an open hatch. Vic drew her pistol, sliding her gloved finger through the enlarged trigger guard. Holding the gun behind her, she stepped onto the ladder. She cocked her head, trying to listen, but it was hard to hear anything through her hood.
Putting a broad smile on her face, she stepped up and into the aircraft. The interior was almost bare, with two rows of rope seats down the fuselage. Even the carpet had been ripped out. Anyone on a long flight would likely freeze to death, but the stripping would probably save a hundred feet on takeoff.
Up front, it was the same thing. Even the log book was gone, with just a few
charts for the pilot. Vic stuffed the charts in her pocket and gave the cockpit another look. A message flimsy lay on the floor, so it joined the charts in her pocket. Otherwise, the plane was empty. Her side was already aching, so after one more look she turned around.
Back in the airship, she had her hand wrapped around a mug of hot tea, and the papers she had found spread out on the wardroom table. Gus was just back from checking on the prisoners, and Ming was doing her best to hover despite her injured ankle.
“These are interesting.” Gus looked up from the charts. “Not at all what I would have expected from an aircraft down here.”
He pointed towards the central chart, which he had folded to match the way Vic had found it in the aircraft. “You're the pilot, tell me what's wrong with this chart.”
Vic leaned forward to examine it more carefully. At first glance, it looked like any other chart. The course was clearly marked in German, showing a short flight plan from a base about a hundred and fifty miles away. Apart from the base and crater, there was hardly anything on the chart but contours for altitude. All directions were given relative to true, rather than magnetic north. She frowned, and traced out the route. According to the notes, it was a simple flight at four thousand meters with a short dog-leg about fifty miles out.
Vic took a pull of her tea before saying anything. “The dog-leg.”
She pulled out one of their own charts for comparison, and stabbed a finger down in the blankness that marked the middle of the continent. “No landmarks, constant altitude, no reason to make the dog-leg.”
“Exactly,” Gus replied.
“So what were they avoiding?” Ming scooted forward in her chair.
“That's the question.”
Ming got up and hobbled around the table. “Do we still have a copy of Hansen's maps showing those lakes under the ice?”
Gus shook his head. “I don't think so.” A slow smile passed across the gorilla's face. “What we do have are Doc's maps of Antarctica; they have the same lakes and I expect they're a bit more accurate than the ones Hansen had.”
Attacked Beneath Antarctica (Doc Vandal Adventures Book 3) Page 9
