Ice Station

'Got it,' Montana said.

'And while you're up there,' Schofield said, 'see if you can get on the radio and raise McMurdo. Find out when our reinforcements are coming. They should've been here by now.'

'You got it,' Montana said. He hurried away.

'Santa Cruz ...,' Schofield said, turning.

'Yes, sir.'

'Eraser check. I want this whole facility swept from top to bottom for any kind of eraser or delay switch, OK? There's no knowing what kinds of little surprises our French friends left behind for us. Got it?'

'Yes, sir,' Santa Cruz said. He broke out of the circle and headed for the nearest rung-ladder.

'Snake...'

'Sir.'

'The winch that lowers the diving bell. Its control panel is up on C-deck, in the alcove. That control panel was damaged by a grenade blast during the fight. I need those winch controls working again. Can you handle it?'

'Yes, sir,' Snake said. He, too, left the circle.

When Snake had gone, Riley and Gant were the only ones left on the deck.

Schofield turned to face them. 'Book. Fox. I want vou two to do a full prep of our dive gear. Three divers, four-hour dive compression, low-audibility gear, plus some auxiliaries for later.'

'Air mix?' Riley asked.

'Saturated helium-oxygen. Ninety-eight to two,' Schofield said.

Riley and Gant were momentarily silent. A compressed air mix of 98% helium and 2% oxygen was very rare. The almost negligible amount of oxygen indicated a dive to a very high-pressure environment.

Schofield handed Gant a handful of blue capsules. They were N-67D antinitrogen blood-pressure capsules, developed by the Navy for use during deep-dive missions. They were affectionately known to military divers as 'the pills.'

By retarding the dissolution of nitrogen in the bloodstream during a deep dive, the pills prevented decompression sickness?better known as the bends?among divers. Since the pills neutralized nitrogen activity in the bloodstream, Navy and Marine Corps divers could descend as quickly as they liked without fear of nitrogen narcosis and ascend without the need for making time-consuming decompression stops. The pills had revolutionized military deep-diving.

'Planning a deep dive, sir?' Gant said, looking up from the blue pills in her hand.

Schofield looked at her seriously. 'I want to find out what's down in that cave.'

Schofield walked quickly around the curved outer tunnel of B-deck, deep in thought.

Things were moving fast now.

The French attack on Wilkes had taught him a lot. Wilkes Ice Station?or, more precisely, whatever lay buried in the ice beneath Wilkes Ice Station?was now officially worth killing for.

But it was the implications of that lesson that gave Schofield a chill. If France had been willing to launch an impromptu snatch-and-grab for whatever was down in that cave, it was highly probable that other countries would be willing to do the same.

There was one additional factor, though, about possible further attacks on Wilkes that caused Schofield particular concern: if someone was going to launch an attack on Wilkes. they would have to do it soon?before a full-strength U.S. force arrived at the station.

The next few hours would be very tense.

It would be a race to see who would arrive first.

American reinforcements or a fully-equipped enemy force.

Schofield tried not to think about it. There were a lot of things to do, and one matter in particular required his attention first.

After the battle with the French had concluded, the remaining scientists from Wilkes?there were five of them, three men and two women?had retired to their living quarters on B-deck. Schofield was heading for those living quarters now. He was hoping to find among those scientists a doctor who might be able to help Samurai.

Schofield continued to walk around the curved outer tunnel. His clothes were still wet, but he didn't care. Like all of the other Marines in his unit, he was wearing a thermal wet suit under his fatigues. It was practically standard attire for Recon Units working in arctic conditions. Wet suits were warmer than long Johns and didn't get heavy if they got wet. And by wearing one's wet suit instead of carrying it, a Recon Marine lightened his load, something very important for a rapid-response unit.

Just then, a door to Schofield's right opened and a cloud of steam wafted out into the corridor. A sleek black object slid out of the haze and into the corridor in front of Schofield.

Wendy.

She was dripping with water. She looked up at Schofield with a goofy seal grin.

Kirsty emerged from the steamy haze. The shower room. She saw Schofield instantly and she smiled.

'Hi,' she said. She was wearing a new set of dry clothes, and her hair was tousled, wet. Schofield guessed that Kirsty had just had the hottest shower of her life.

'Hey there,' Schofield said.

'Wendy loves the shower room,' Kirsty said, nodding at Wendy. 'She likes to slide through the steam.'

Schofield suppressed a laugh and looked down at the little black fur seal at his feet. She was cute, very cute. She had also saved his life. Her soft brown eyes glistened with intelligence.

He looked at Kirsty. 'How are you feeling?'

'Warm now,' she said.

Schofield nodded. From the look of her, Kirsty seemed to have bounced back well from her ordeal in the pool. Kids were good like that, resilient. He wondered what sort of therapy an adult would need after falling into a pool filled with ferocious killer whales.

Schofield gave a lot of the credit to Buck Riley. Riley had been up on C-deck when Kirsty had been whizzed up there on the Maghook, and for the remainder of the battle Riley had kept Kirsty by his side, safe and sound.

'Good,' Schofield said. 'You're one tough kid, you know that? You ought to be a Marine.'

Kirsty beamed. Schofield nodded down the tunnel. 'You going my way?'

'Yeah,' she said, falling into step beside him. Wendy loped down the corridor behind them.

'Where are you going?' Kirsty asked.

'I'm looking for your mom.'

'Oh,' Kirsty said, a little softly.

It was a strange response, and through his reflective silver glasses Schofield cast a sideways glance at Kirsty. She just stared at the floor as she walked. He wondered what it meant.

There was an awkward silence and Schofield searched for something to say. 'So, uh, how old did you say you were? Twelve, right?'

'Uh-huh.'

'What is that, seventh grade?'

'Mm'

'Seventh grade,' Schofield mused. He was at a total loss for something to say now, so he just said, 'I guess you must be starting to think about a career, then.'

Kirsty seemed to perk up at the question. She looked across at him as they walked.

'Yeah,' she said seriously, as though career thoughts had been weighing heavily on her twelve-year-old mind lately.

'So what do you want to do when you leave school?'

'I want to be a teacher,' Kirsty said. 'Like my dad.'

'What does your dad teach?'

'He taught geology at a big college in Boston,' Kirsty said. 'Harvard,' she added importantly.

'And what do you want to teach?' Schofield asked.

'Math.'

'Math?'