by Bob Mayer
Devlin looked decidedly unhappy but reluctantly nodded.
“All right. Let’s get our stuff together and we’ll head out to the airport in fifteen minutes.”
AIRSPACE, SOUTH PACIFIC OCEAN
“Roger, Aurora Glacier. Passing point of no return and coming in. Out.” Swenson turned in his seat to face the seven passengers and yelled over the whine of the engines. “Weather is satisfactory all the way, so we’re continuing on.”
Conner didn’t know whether to be relieved or not as she squirmed in the copilot’s seat. It was amazing how such a simple thing could push all other thoughts out of her mind. The urge to urinate had crept over her an hour ago and was now overriding all attempts at higher level cognitive thinking.
She twisted her legs for the fortieth time, taking care not to hit the copilot’s peddles on the floor. At least she had more space up here than the six people in the back. They sat among a jumble of equipment with scarcely enough room to move an elbow. Surreptitiously, she unbuckled her seat belt, hoping that would ease the pressure.
“Here,” a quiet voice whispered in her ear. Riley slipped her a camouflage-patterned poncho liner and a large lidded plastic jar. She turned her head, but he’d already slumped back with his eyes closed. The other four men and her sister also all seemed to be sleeping. She glanced over at Swenson, who was quietly whistling to himself, eyes fixed forward.
Conner’s face was beet red as she briefly debated what to do. The laws of physiology made that determination for her. If she didn’t do it, she knew she’d probably wet her pants well before the remaining four hours of flight were up. She draped the poncho liner over her lap.
It was a difficult process with all the layers of clothing, but she felt much better when done. She screwed the lid on the jar and placed it between her feet on the floor of the plane.
Two hours later, Swenson’s voice intruded on the numbing roar of the plane. ‘There’s Antarctica.”
Conner, along with the others, peered out the right side. “That’s Cape Adare,” Devlin announced.
Dark peaks, streaked with snow and ice, poked through the low-lying clouds. To the left, through a few gaps in the clouds, the sea ice stretched as far as the eye could see.
As they continued south, they flew parallel to the coast, and the ocean turned into the Ross Sea. More peaks appeared, and Devlin called out the ranges as they went by: the Admiralty Mountains, the Prince Albert Mountains, and, finally, the Royal Society Range.
Swenson began to drop altitude as a single massive mountain appeared straight ahead above the clouds, set apart from the others to the right. “That’s Mount Erebus,” Devlin pointed out “Aurora Glacier Station and McMurdo are both set on the base of Erebus on the far side. It and Mount Terror make up most of Ross Island. Captain Ross—for whom the island, the sea, and the ice shelf are all named—christened both mountains after the two ships he used to explore the Antarctic.”
“There isn’t a long runway,” Swenson told them as they descended. “We land on the Ross Ice Shelf itself because it’s the flattest thing around. The reception party should have marked out a reasonably good stretch for us. We don’t need much,” he added in way of encouragement.
Conner watched the slopes of Erebus come closer; then they punched into a thick cloud layer and the view was blanketed. She remembered reading in her notes that an Air New Zealand DC-10 had crashed into Mount Erebus in 1979, killing all on board. She started tapping her fingers against the side of the plane as it was buffeted by the wind. Waiting for the clouds to break, she started imagining a wall of snow-covered stone appearing out of the gray ahead.
Suddenly the clouds parted and they were in the clear again. The plane was low now and Swenson banked hard left, over land.
“That’s McMurdo Station,” Devlin yelled. Conner pushed her nose against the glass and looked below. The sprawl of buildings and numerous large storage tanks surprised her; McMurdo was much larger than she had imagined. Somehow she had pictured the primitive settlement in the old science fiction movie The Thing: a few Quonset huts huddled in the snow. She guessed there were at least forty buildings down there.
“All right. Everyone buckle up.” Swenson swung out over the ice, flying very low. They roared over a snow tractor with a large red flag tied to the top. Swenson pulled up and did another flyby. A man on top of the tractor was holding a green flag pointing in a northeasterly direction.
On the third pass, Swenson finally dipped his wings down. With a hiss and then a steady rumble, the skis touched the ice, and a thin mist of snow plumed up on either side. Gradually, they slithered to a halt. Swenson turned the plane around and taxied it back to the tractor. Conner could now see that the tractor had a flatbed trailer hitched to it with several drums piled on top.
The silence as Swenson turned off the engines was as shocking as any loud sound. They’d lived with engine noise for eight and a half hours. As their senses adjusted, the steady whine of wind bouncing off the skin of the plane became noticeable. With the airplane’s heater off, the temperature immediately started dropping inside.
“Everyone bundle up.” Devlin was cinching down his hood. Conner made sure that everything was on before finally pulling the bulky mittens over her hands. She had arranged for the gear with Devlin over the phone and was very grateful he had followed through. What she called winter clothes back in Atlanta would not have done the job here.
Devlin had also come up with an extra set of gear for Sammy. The only one who did not need to be outfitted in New Zealand was Riley. He had pulled his own cold-weather equipment out of his duffel bag. He was wearing a Gore-tex camouflage parka and overpants that Conner was determined wouldn’t appear in any of their shots—much too militaristic. The three men and her sister were dressed the way she was—a bright orange parka and pants over a pile jacket and bib pants that zipped on the sides and the crotch. The polypropylene underwear next to their bodies would wick away any moisture from their skin. Large boots—Devlin had referred to them as Mickey Mouse boots—covered their feet, which were encased in thick wool socks.
Conner had not introduced Sammy as her sister but had identified Sammy and Riley as a security team sent by SNN. Her crew had taken that in stride, since all of them had worked with security personnel on various overseas assignments.
Swenson swung open his door and Conner took a quick gulp as a blast of cold air slammed into her lungs. Swenson scrambled out and Conner followed suit, her feet crunching in the snow. She’d never felt such cold. The air stung her face, the only exposed part of her body. Her skin rebelled, trying to shrink from the pain of the cold and she felt her muscles tighten as if somehow she might be warmer if she could make herself smaller.
The other members of the party piled out and stood looking around. To the north, Mount Erebus was a solid wall reaching up into the cloud cover. To the south, an endless line of ice disappeared into clouds that seemed to touch the horizon. To the west, the Royal Society Range blotted out the space between cloud and ice. The mountains looked amazingly close, as if you could walk there in an hour or two, yet Conner knew they were almost a hundred miles away. If they got nothing else from their trip here, they’d have some spectacular film footage.
The tractor kicked to life, drawing her attention away from the scenery. It roared up, treads clattering, placing the trailer alongside the plane. The driver, looking like a bear in his garments, waved down at them, pumping his fist. He seemed to be in a rush.
“Let’s off-load,” Devlin called out.
As they busied themselves transferring the gear from plane to trailer, Swenson used a sledge-hammer to drive pitons into the ice— one for each wing, one for the tail, and one for the nose. Rope attached to each piton secured the plane to the ice.
Once all the equipment was off the aircraft, Devlin gave Conner a boost up onto the wooden platform that made up the floor of the trailer. She tried to get as comfortable as possible among the bags and cases. The other members of the part
y climbed on board, and all grabbed on for dear life as the driver threw the tractor into gear and roared off toward the looming form of Mount Erebus.
Devlin leaned over and yelled in Conner’s ear. “Welcome to Antarctica.”
Chapter 10
AURORA GLACIER STATION, ANTARCTICA
Sammy’s first glimpse of Aurora Glacier Station confirmed what she had expected. The large, squat, boxy building looked more like several trailer homes sealed together than a research station. The bright red building sat on the ice, several hundred yards from the base of Mount Erebus; just to the right a cluster of antennas was tied off to a tower. A colorful banner reading “Our Earth” was strung along the front. Aurora was located six miles from McMurdo Station.
It had taken the tractor almost forty-five minutes to get them off the ice shelf and here to the station. They pulled up in front with a clatter, and a couple of people stepped out of the building to greet them. As Devlin did the introductions, Sammy could see Riley hanging back. His camouflage cold-weather suit contrasted with the bright outfits of the station personnel, and their lackluster handshakes on meeting Riley were a predictable reaction.
“Let’s get our equipment indoors,” Devlin ordered.
Sammy helped Riley haul his duffel bag inside. They were directed down a short corridor and into a small room containing three sets of bunk beds and not much else. Riley dumped his gear onto one bed and went back out to help Conner’s crew with the camera and radio gear.
Sammy stood with Devlin, Conner, and Swenson in the mess hall/ meeting room as Devlin briefed a skinny, bearded man on their mission to find Eternity Base. Devlin had introduced him as Peter McCabe, Our Earth’s foremost Antarctic expert. When Conner showed him the faxed photocopy of the picture, McCabe sat down at the table and looked at it for a long time.
“This looks familiar. It’s rare that you have three nunataks that close to one another.” He pulled out a large chart. “Show me again where you think this place might be based on the air time.”
“Two hours by C-130 comes to roughly five hundred miles.” Devlin traced a half arc around McMurdo Station.
“It’s not to the west,” McCabe announced firmly. ‘That would put it very close to the French station there, and I’ve been in that area quite a bit lately so I’d certainly recognize these peaks if they were there.”
He stared at the map, his eyes boring in as if he could see the actual terrain by just looking at the two dimensional paper. Sammy took the opportunity to glance over at Riley, who had just joined the group. He seemed unconcerned about the whole situation. Ever since their conversation at the airport, he had been very quiet, talking only when directly questioned. Sammy had spent most of their many hours in the air sleeping and recovering from her ordeal.
McCabe turned the map around and placed the photo on it. He tapped a spot on the far side of the Ross Sea. “It’s here. I’d be willing to bet that middle peak is Mount Grace. The one on the right is McKinley Peak. The lower one on the left must be this one that has no name.”
Devlin shook his head. “Are you sure? I’d have thought they’d put the base farther south.” He pointed at the map. “Down here along the Shackleton coast, perhaps.”
McCabe looked up. “No. That’s Mount Grace. I knew I’d seen that silhouette before. To the south of it is the glacier where they launched the Byrd Land South Pole traverse in ‘60. When you fly out in that direction you put the glacier on the right and McKinley on your left. Then it’s open ice until you hit the Executive Committee Mountain Range.”
Conner spoke for the first time. “How soon can we take off again?” she asked Swenson.
The pilot was chewing on the end of his bushy mustache. “Ah, well, missy, the plane, it can take off right now. The problem is the pilot. I just put in ten nonstop hours and I could use a couple of hours to rest. How about in four hours?”
Sammy could tell that Conner wasn’t very happy about the delay. She half expected her sister to order the pilot to take off immediately. But Conner sighed and looked around the table. “All right. It’s presently three-fifteen local time here. We take off at seven-fifteen. The—”
“What about darkness?” Lallo interrupted. “We won’t be able to find the place in the dark.”
Devlin laughed. “There is no night in the summer down here. The sun gets a little lower on the horizon, but it never sets.”
“As I said,” Conner continued, “I want everyone gathered in this room ready to go at six. That will give us plenty of time to make it down to the plane and be in the air at seven-fifteen. Are there any questions?” she asked.
Riley leaned forward in his chair. “I’d like about thirty minutes to give a little class on how to operate in the cold—particularly how to properly wear your clothing and about cold-weather injuries.”
Conner frowned and looked at her watch. “I have to do a transmission back to Atlanta in twenty minutes. I need to get ready to do that, and Vickers has to set up his equipment. Then we all need to get a nap, because it might be our last opportunity to sleep for several days. I really don’t see the need for it anyway. We’re going to be inside the plane.”
“As long as things work out, you’ll be inside the plane,” Riley replied. “But if things go to crap, you’re going to be on the ice.”
“Devlin will be with the party, so we’ll be able to draw on his experience,” Conner countered.
Devlin seemed amused by Riley’s comments. “Have you been to Antarctica before, Mr. Riley?” he asked.
“No.”
Devlin’s lips parted. “Ah. Well, then, what background are you drawing upon for all this information you wish to impart?”
Riley looked him in the eye. “I spent some time in the Special Forces, and we did a lot of work in winter environments. I’ve been above the Arctic Circle in Norway and Alaska on operations, and I’ve done quite a bit of work in mountainous regions including the Rockies and the Alps.”
Devlin shook his head. “None of that really compares to what you face down here.”
Riley shrugged, but his voice was sharp. “It’s cold, right? There’s a lot of ice and snow, right?” Sammy felt sorry for Riley; she’d dragged him into this when he probably had no desire to even be here.
Devlin spoke as if to a child. “Yes, but it’s much colder here, and there’s more snow and ice. The terrain is also very unique. I’m not sure that Norway can compare—”
“All the more reason to know what you’re doing.” Riley held up a hand. “But you’re the expert.” He looked over at Sammy. “I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you all at six.”
Riley left the conference room and reappeared almost immediately, his duffel bag over his shoulder. He headed toward the door leading outside.
“Where are you going?” Conner asked.
“I’m going to sleep outside. I’ll be on the lee side of the building when you want me.” With that he stepped outside and the door slammed shut behind him.
“You brought a weird man with you, Sammy,” was Conner’s only comment before turning to her crew and giving some more instructions.
Sammy tugged on her parka and went outside after Riley. She found him on the far side of the building, digging in the snow. He briefly glanced up at her, but she said nothing, watching his actions.
After completing a slit in the snow, he removed the bungee cord from around an insulated sleeping pad and laid the pad in the bottom of the trench. He unscrewed the valve on the top corner and the pad quickly expanded to full size—a foot and a half wide by six feet long and about an inch and a half thick.
Then he pulled his sleeping bag out of a stuffed sack, released the cinches, and unrolled the bag. He stretched a poncho across the top of the trench and secured the ends with snow, leaving an opening just large enough to crawl into. All done, Riley put the shovel down in the hole and put his bag in a place he had dug out near the head.
“Why are you sleeping out here?” Sammy finally asked, unable
to restrain her curiosity.
Riley looked up at her. “I hate sleeping that close to a bunch of people. I’m a very light sleeper, and the slightest noise wakes me up.” He gave the tiniest hint of a smile. “Hell, tell the nature lovers in there that I’m just loving nature.”
“What’s that?” Sammy asked as he started to slip into a thin bag.
“It’s a vapor barrier, or VB, liner that goes inside the sleeping bag,” Riley explained. “The liner keeps my perspiration inside it. Makes for a damp sleep, but it’s better for me to be damp than the bag to be. I can dry out. I might not be in circumstances where I can dry out the bag. And a wet sleeping bag will kill you here.”
He proceeded to slide all the way into the trench until the only thing showing was his face. Sammy leaned over. “I appreciate your help.”
Riley nodded. “No problem.”
“I’m sorry my sister isn’t being very nice.”
Riley closed his eyes. “You’re not responsible for her, Sammy. She’s got a job to do.”
She turned back toward the warmth of the station. “Have a good sleep.”
“You too.” Riley’s muffled voice floated out of the trench in the snow.
“You all set, Ms. Young? I’ve got a clear bounce back from the satellite.” Vickers did a last check on his equipment.
“Yes.” Conner pulled a 3.5-inch diskette with red markings on it from her computer and handed it to him. He slipped it into what looked like an external disk drive for a computer, except it was connected to his satellite communications (SATCOM) transmitter/receiver. The transmitter in turn was hooked—by way of a twenty-five-foot cable snaking out the cracked open window—to the small dish antenna he had placed outside in the snow, oriented at the proper azimuth and elevation to hit the designated satellite.
Vickers checked his watch. At exactly 0600 Greenwich mean, he hit the send key. The disk whirred as its information was relayed to the transmitter and then sent out. After five seconds it stopped.
