by Ben Hammott
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.
When the helicopter arrived its downwash battered the men waiting for its payload. When the fourth sled piece was lowered onto the trailer, men rushed forward to unhook the tethers, and the helicopter turned away. McNally signaled to the dozer driver to proceed and the men followed the bulldozer towing the trailer through the ice tunnel.
*****
Brusilov gazed at the iceberg that slid past two hundred yards away. Even from this distance he had to tilt his head back slightly to see its top. It was an awe-inspiring and humbling sight.
“Approaching our point of entry, Captain,” reported Chersky.
The two men glanced down on hearing the cargo deck doors open and watched the crane swing into position. The cable was lowered into the hold and a few moments later the barge rose above the deck with two men onboard. They held on to the rail as the barge swung out over the side and was lowered into the water. As soon as it was afloat and the cables went slack, one of the men aboard released the tethers while the other man entered the small wheelhouse at the stern and started the powerful diesel engine, which belched out a thick cloud of black smoke when it chugged to life.
Brusilov was both apprehensive and excited by what they were about to do. As men scurried across the deck attaching cables to the equipment that would be craned onto the barge, he turned his attention back to the iceberg and scrutinized their landing point. It had been chosen not only for its proximity to the spaceship, but also because of the natural ledge of ice that protruded twelve yards from the wall of ice. The borer required a stable platform to begin its task and the ice ledge fulfilled that requirement.
When all the supplies were aboard the barge hugging the ship's hull, the roll of climbing netting was unfurled over the side and the engineers clambered down and boarded the barge.
As the strange vessel headed for the iceberg, the crew in the ship's hold moved the borer in position below the open deck hatch. When the engineers were ready it would be airlifted to the iceberg.
The barge slowed when it approached the ice ledge and two large harpoon cannons were moved to either side of the bow and locked into place. Beside each was a coil of thin, but extremely strong cable, attached to an electric winch. The harpoons had been designed to spin and in front of the barb at the harpoon's tip was a screw thread that would pull it deep into the ice. When two explosions rung out, the
spinning harpoons shot through the air and struck the ice above the ledge. The winches were powered up and as the slack was taken out of the cables the barge was pulled closer to the iceberg.
Nikolay moved to the bow and shot his gaze from the harpoons to the approaching ice. If one came free and snapped back, it could maim or kill someone, but they held firm and slowly the barge was drawn nearer the ledge. Nikolay ordered the winch operators, Alexei Vanyushin and Kolya Antonoff, to slow down when it was only a few feet away. The men stumbled to keep their footing when the barge struck the ice with a resounding boom a few moments later. When the cables were taut, the winch drums were locked and motors switched off. The metal platform chaffed against the ice as the waves raised and lowered it.
When he was satisfied the tethers would hold and were locked into position, Nikolay pulled out his radio and communicated with the ship, “Barge is secure, bring the borer.”
While four men flipped the wide metal ramp hinged to the bow over from lying flat on the deck to rest on the ice, Nikolay glanced back at the ship and watched the large helicopter lift from the helipad and maneuver above the hold.
The rotors of the large Russian Mi-26M helicopter, known in the West as the Halo, began to spin. It had the load-carrying capability of a C-130 transport plane and a payload capacity of twenty-five tons, making it the world's largest production helicopter. It rose from the helipad and with constant directions from his co-pilot leaning out of the side door, the pilot, Yegor Kristoff, positioned the Halo over the open hold. The co-pilot winched down the cable and when the crew signaled the payload had been attached, he informed Yegor that all was ready.
The pilot applied power to the twin engines and slowly lifted the borer from the hold. As it was drilling through ice and not the rock for which it was originally designed, the borer's frame didn't have to be so strong, so along with any excess weight, some of the frame had been stripped away or replaced with lighter aluminum. Left in its original state the helicopter would have struggled to lift it. After the borer had cleared all obstructions, the Halo turned and headed for the men waiting to receive it on the iceberg.
An overhang of ice prevented the helicopter from hovering directly over the ledge, so it lowered its payload onto the barge. Men grabbed the skids they had added on the bottom and communicated directions to the pilot until the machine faced in the right direction. It clanged onto the deck with a thump that rocked the barge. The lift cable was released and the helicopter swooped away.
Nikolay glanced over at the men on the ice ledge. They had screwed an anchor into the ice and attached a diesel-powered winch. Two men dragged the cable towards the borer and attached it to the front of the machine. The winch was started and slowly the borer slid along the deck. Men positioned around it kept it on course. It reached the top of the gently sloping ramp and when it reached its center of gravity, it tilted forward just as a swell raised the barge a foot. Unable to hold the heavy piece of equipment back, the men released their hold. The borer slid and screeched down the ramp, heading for the winch-operator. The man dived aside a moment before the machine crashed into the winch and the borer skewed to one side before coming to a rest.
Nikolay rushed down the ramp, his view of the winch operator blocked by the borer. When he rounded the machine he saw the man sprawled on the ice. He was about to rush over to check if he was alive, dead or injured, when the man lifted his head and grinned.
A quick inspection of the borer proved it to be undamaged. The same could not be said for the winch that was damaged beyond repair and leaked diesel fuel. Luckily, it had already carried out its task and was no longer needed.
Nikolay glanced at the men who had gathered on the ice ledge. “Babinski and Mikhail, dump the winch into the sea.”
While that task was carried out, Nikolay positioned men around the borer, straightened it up and pushed it against the wall of ice. Metal struts were jammed into the ice at the back to keep the drill teeth pressed against the ice until it bit and dragged itself forward.
A power cable wound around a large drum and connected to the generator aboard the barge was unwound and attached to the borer. After Nikolay had checked all the connections, he flipped the ON switch. The control panel showed all green lights. He pressed the starter and disengaged the clutch. Slowly, at first, the borer cutting drum began to turn. Nikolay turned on the pump that normally sprayed a coolant on the rotating drill, which wasn't necessary in this situation and had been replaced with anti-freeze. The jets spluttered before achieving a steady blast of liquid. The ice sheered from the wall as the borer inched forward was collected on the conveyer beneath the machine and disgorged behind; normally a long conveyer belt would remove the spoils, but in this situation it wasn't possible. The men cheered. It was working.
“Okay, comrades, now the hard work begins,” warned Nikolay. “Remove the props, grab your shovels and clear the scrapings.”
The men shoveled the ice away from the back of the slowly moving borer and tossed it into the sea. When the borer went deeper, freeing up room on the small ice ledge, a mini excavator would be brought from the ship to remove the loosened ice. For the first time in a long while, Nikolay took a moment to relax. There was nothing he could do now until the hull was reached. He lit his pipe and blew a plume of strong-scented smoke into the air. Like the captain, he found it almost impossible to believe they would soon be aboard an alien spaceship. He smiled. You just never knew what surprises the future held in store.
SEAL Team Five
THE ROAR OF the C-130's powerful engines vibrated through the fuselage and the uncomfortable seats occupied by the six men of SEAL Team Five.
“Two minutes to drop,” called out the pilot over the radio headsets they all wore.
The men stood as the large rear exit ramp opened and after the routine safety check of examining each other's gear and parachutes had been completed, they walked to the end of the ramp and waited for the red jump light to change.
As one unit the Navy SEALs rushed forward when the jump light turned green and dived out the back. They spread their arms and legs as they plummeted to stretch their wingsuits. Far below the tiny spec of the American salvage ship was dwarfed by their target, the large iceberg. The men spiraled as they swooped down and headed for the entrance at the end of the iceberg lit by bright halogen lights. At five hundred feet they deployed their rapid-release parachutes and glided towards the ice.
The men working around the entrance had been warned of SEAL Team Five's approach and stood to the side as they stared at parachutists gliding expertly towards them.
The SEALs hit the ice running and detached their parachutes without stopping, letting the wind drag the expensive canopies away and toss them into the sea. The six men glanced disinterestedly at their spectators as they unslung the assault rifles from their backs and headed into the tunnel.
Lieutenant Miller turned towards the entrance when hurried footsteps entered the hangar and stepped forward to introduce himself when the SEALs grew near.
When the SEAL team had been brought up to speed on the latest developments, Richard was reluctantly brought forward.
Miller indicated Richard. “This is Richard Whorley, one of the scientists who discovered the spaceship and your guide to the map room.”
The six men did nothing to hide their skepticism.
Richard, never one not to defend a slight on his abilities, ran his eyes over the men and their weapons. “Yeah, well I'm not impressed by you either. If you think your weapons and training will protect you against all of the alien monstrosities aboard this spaceship, you are wrong―very, very, wrong.”
Commander Nickolas Colbert, the SEAL team officer in charge of the mission, moved forward abruptly, forcing Richard to step back from the invasion of his personal space. “Let's get this straight, Mr. Whorley, it is not my choice and nor do I want you tagging along with us, but you have mission-critical information we need so come with us you will. You are also an unknown that could put
our lives at risk and jeopardize the mission. And make no mistake, if I have to make a choice between my men's safety, the completion of the mission, or you, you will always lose.”
Richard smiled nervously at the man in a lame attempt to show he wasn't afraid. “I've heard more inspirational pep talks, but if you think I am here willingly, then you are mistaken. You have been forced upon me as much as I have you, so I suggest we hurry up and do what needs to be done so I can get out of this hellhole and back to civilization. And let's get this straight, Commander Macho,” Richard stepped closer to Colbert. “I only look out for number one―me―so if a situation arises that threatens my life I will do anything to save it, even if that means putting you and your dick-waving diehards or the mission at risk.”
Colbert smiled at Richard's surprising outburst. It was an indication the man wasn't completely spineless.
“Looks like we got a live one here,” commented Stedman.
Ramirez slapped his assault rifle and smiled. “He won't stay that way for long if he keeps talking like that.”
Richard leaned to the side to see around the Commander and looked at Ramirez.
“Maybe not, but I bet I survive longer than you.”
Miller thought it was advisable to intervene before Richard got himself killed. “Corporal Jenkins and Lance Corporal Talbot will tag along as far as the map room and then return with Richard so he won't be with you for long.”
Commander Colbert nodded. “Probably just as well. Are they ready?”
