Paul thought about that. “So what happened, then?”
Turning, gazing at the derricks, Red Cloud said, “They attacked from the north. They swept in silently just as the U.S. Marines did in Black Rock country, killing everything. I looked out my window and saw what was happening. I hid, waiting for my chance, just as when Marines struck our camp during the war. When most of the shooters left—leaving the others to rig their explosives—I came out to have my revenge. I think several of those radioed back before we killed them. The others will return. We must leave before that.”
“Yeah, Geronimo, leave to where?”
“I will not go back to Canada,” Red Cloud said. “They have a warrant there for my arrest and execution. Greenland is too far and in Siberia they speak Russian or Chinese.”
“So we hike to the mainland?” asked Paul. “To Dead Horse?”
Nodding, Red Cloud said, “We must hurry before the Chinese return.”
“How do you know they’re Chinese?”
“Look at them,” Red Cloud said, pointing at the dead. “Do you notice the tiger-head patch? These are White Tiger Commandos, China’s fiercest warriors.”
“So how did these Commandos get all the way out here? By walking across the ice?”
“The ‘how’ is unimportant,” Red Cloud said. “They are here. So we must leave—now.”
Paul stared at the bleak snowscape, at the pressure ridges and whispering particles of snow blowing across the ice. “Alaska has to be four hundred miles away,” he said. “We can’t walk that far.”
“A man does what he must,” Red Cloud said. “To live, I will try walking the distance. Better, however, to see if any of the snowcats are operable.”
Paul studied the base. White Tiger Commandos had attacked, huh? He wondered what the point of it was. Had the Chinese attacked the Californian oil rig, too? Paul’s eyes widened. Why would the Chinese be destroying American oil wells? That was an act of war. War with China—this could be the start of World War Three.
“Do not think you can remain here and summon help through the radio,” Red Cloud said. “The White Tigers have used demolitions. They mean to destroy the base. To wait here is to wait for death.”
“Come on,” Paul said, heading for the nearest building. He believed the sneaky Algonquin now. He didn’t like Red Cloud any more than before, but if a man were going to try to cross four hundred miles of polar ice, he’d probably want someone like Red Cloud with him. The Algonquin was more a native of this land than he was, that’s for sure.
“Hurry,” Paul said. “We have to see if anyone else is alive.”
The first barrack held a nasty surprise. Paul opened the door. In the murk, he saw a wire move and heard a click inside.
“Down!” he shouted, twisting and dragging Red Cloud with him.
As Paul hit the ice, the barrack’s roof blew off as flames roared into the Arctic night. One side of the barrack blasted apart, metal screeching. Hot pieces of shrapnel blew through the air.
From where Paul lay, he blinked groggily. The shockwave had rolled him backward ten feet.
“You okay?” he asked.
Red Cloud grunted as he sat up, his fingers probing his torso and legs.
Paul sat up beside him. “We got lucky.”
“We must hurry now, or we are dead forever.”
Dragging themselves upright, they staggered for the main garage. Paul stared north into the Arctic darkness. The stars were bright on the white ice, giving more illumination than seemed possible.
As they reached the garage, Paul said, “I’ll search for booby traps. You keep watch for more Commandos.”
“I will search, too.”
“Listen, Geronimo, I was in the Marines. We set our share of booby traps, so I know what to look for. You’re more used to this ice world and can probably spot something that’s out of place faster than I can. So let’s each stick to our areas of expertise, okay?”
Red Cloud grunted, and he gave a short nod. Slipping the assault rifle from his shoulder, he turned on the infrared scope and walked north.
Paul took out his flashlight. He was breathing hard as he opened the garage door. Washing his beam of light into the interior, he groaned as he spied the snowcats. Most of the tracked vehicles’ hoods were up. That didn’t bode well. He moved carefully around the strewn junk on the floor. Soon, he discovered that all the engines’ hoses and plugs had been cut. These White Tigers were bastards.
There had to be extras hoses and plugs somewhere. Or maybe he could jury-rig something. Paul worked fast as he went from machine to machine. He found a needed hose in the back of one, and there were extra plugs in the storage room. Taking a toolkit from a cat, he began working on the least damaged engine.
Maybe five minutes later, he heard a groan. Pulling his head from out under the hood, Paul cursed softly. He grabbed the rifle and heard the groan a second time. It came from the storage area.
Walking in the murk, with dim light from a derrick shining through a small window, Paul approached a closet. Was a White Tiger Commando waiting in there for him? Should he fire a few rounds through the closed door just to make sure?
Not wanting to call out and alert whoever was hiding, Paul stood indecisive for a moment. Finally, he put his hand on the latch and threw open the door.
Something shiny rose in back. There was a click like a cocking hammer. Paul whirled away, slamming his back against the wall as a boom went off. Despite his ringing ears and tripping heart, Paul heard muttered words. They were spoken in English, and he knew that voice.
“Murphy! It’s me—Paul Kavanagh! Quit shooting!”
He heard another muffled curse and something heavily metallic clattered on the cement floor. A second later, a body thumped onto the cement.
Paul clicked on his flashlight and peered in. Murphy lay face down on the floor, with blood oozing from his parka.
“Kavanagh!” shouted Red Cloud from outside.
“It’s Murphy!” shouted Paul. “He must have thought I was Chinese. Now he’s out. Come in here. I need your help.”
“The Chinese are coming,” Red Cloud said, as he entered the garage.
“What?” asked Paul. Did these guys have long-distance helicopters?
“There’s a platoon of them,” Red Cloud said. “We don’t have much time.”
“Are you sure?”
“I saw their submarines surface.”
“I saw two submarines,” Red Cloud said. “First lasers stabbed out of the ice. Then the submarines broke through. After the subs settled, soldiers boiled out of the towers, climbing down. We have ten minutes before they arrive.”
“We must leave now or we die.”
“Drag Murphy into the cat over there,” Paul said. “I fixed it. Then drive to the mess. Make sure you keep the cat’s lights off.”
Without waiting for an answer, Paul raced for the garage exit. The Algonquin had better not leave without him. “I’m going to scrounge us a bag of grub!” he shouted. “Okay?”
For an answer, Red Cloud disappeared into the closet where Murphy lay.
Panting, and with sweat dripping from his face, Paul heaved three canvas bags into the back of the snowcat. Then he banged the back shut and raced around to the side, piling in on the passenger side. Red Cloud started the vehicle moving as Paul slammed his door shut.
The snowcat’s tank-like treads lurched and the compact vehicle clanked south, leaving the gravel skirt of the oil rig. They left behind the dead and any of those who might be wounded and unconscious. That grated on Paul.
