There was no warning. No preemptive cracking of the ice. No sense of it weakening.
Rebound Simmons dropped like a stone into the crevasse.
It happened so fast that Buck Riley almost missed it. One second, he was watching Rebound as he peered out over the edge of the crevasse. The next second, Rebound simply dropped out of sight.
The black rope slithered out over the edge after the young private, uncoiling at a rapid rate, shooting out over the rim.
'Hold fast!' Riley yelled to the two Marines anchoring the rope. They held the rope tightly, taking the strain, waiting for the jolt.
The rope continued to splay out over the edge until
Riley stepped cautiously over to the right, away from the edge of the crevasse, but close enough so that he could peer down into it.
He saw the wrecked hovercraft down at the bottom of the hole and the two bloodied and broken bodies pressed up against the ice wall in front of it. And he saw Rebound, hanging from his rope, two feet above the hovercraft's banged-open starboard door.
'You OK?' Riley said into his helmet mike.
'Just hold on. We'll have you up in a minute.'
Down in the crevasse, Rebound swung stupidly above the destroyed hovercraft, From where he hung he could see in through the open starboard door of the hovercraft. 'Oh,
Schofield knocked loudly on the big wooden door.
The door was set into the square-shaped base structure that supported the main dome of Wilkes Ice Station. It lay at the bottom of a narrow ramp that descended about eight feet into the ice.
Schofield banged his fist on the door again.
He was lying flat on the parapet of the base structure, reaching down from
Ten yards away, lying on his belly in the snow at the top of the ramp with his legs splayed wide, was Gunnery Sergeant Scott 'Snake' Kaplan. His M-16E assault rifle was trained on the unopened door.
There came a sudden
A figure stepped out onto the snow ramp beneath him. It was a man. Wrapped in about seven layers of clothing. Unarmed.
Suddenly the man tensed, presumably as he saw Snake lying in the snow in front of him, with his M-16 pointed right at the bridge of the man's nose.
'Hold it
The man remained frozen.
'
'All right. We're coming in through the front door.'
Schofield slid down from his perch and landed next to the man on the snow ramp and began to pat him down.
Snake strode down the ramp toward them, his rifle up, pointed at the man.
Schofield said to the man, 'You American? What's your name?'
The man spoke.
'Non. Je suis Francais.'
And then in English, 'My name is Luc.'
There is a tendency among academic observers to view Antarctica as the last neutral territory on earth. In Antarctica, so it is said, there are no traditional or holy sites to fight over, no historical borders to dispute. What remains is something of a
Indeed, by virtue of the Antarctic Treaty, since 1961 the continent has been divided up into what looks like an enormous pie chart, with each party to the treaty being allocated a sector of the pie. Some sectors overlap, as with those administered by Chile, Argentina, and the United Kingdom. Others cover monumentally vast tracts of land? Australia administers a sector of the pie that covers nearly a whole quarter of the Antarctic landmass. There is even one sector?that which covers the Amundsen Sea and Byrd Land?that belongs to no one.
The general impression is one of a truly international land-mass. Such an impression, however, is misguided and simplistic.
Advocates of the 'politically neutral Antarctica' fail to acknowledge the continuing animosity between Argentina and Great Britain as to their respective Antarctic claims, or the staunch refusal of
More important, however, such advocates also fail to recognize that a land without clearly defined borders has no means of dealing with hostile foreign incursions.
Research stations can often be a thousand miles apart. Sometimes those research stations discover items of immense value?uranium, plutonium, gold. It is not impossible that a foreign state, desperate for resources, would, upon learning of such a discovery, send an incursionary force to appropriate that discovery before the rest of the world even knew it existed.
Such an incident?insofar as it could be known?had never happened in Antarctica before.
Schofield had heard a recording of Abby Sinclair's distress signal, heard her mention the discovery of a spacecraft buried within the ice underneath Wilkes Ice Station. If the scientists at Wilkes had, in fact, discovered an extraterrestrial spacecraft, it would definitely be something other parties would be interested in. Whether or not they had the nerve to send a strike team in to get it was another question.
In any case, it made him more than a little uneasy to be greeted at the doors of an
The two men emerged from the darkened entry tunnel into brightly lit, wide open space. Schofield found himself standing on a thin metal catwalk overlooking a wide, cylindrical chasm of empty space.
Wilkes Ice Station opened in front of him, a giant subterranean structure. Narrow black catwalks ran around the circumference of the underground cylinder, surrounding the wide central shaft. At the base of the enormous cylinder Schofield saw a circular pool of water, in the middle of which sat the station's diving bell.
'This way,' Luc said, guiding Schofield to the right. 'They're all in the dining room.'
As he entered the dining room preceded by Luc, Schofield felt like an adult entering a preschool classroom: a stranger who by the simple fact of his size and bearing just doesn't fit in.
The group of five survivors sat in a tight circle around the table. The men were unshaven, the women unkempt. They all looked exhausted. They looked up wearily as Schofield entered the room.
There were two other men in the room, standing behind the table. Unlike the people seated at the table,
