Waylon nodded.
“Clay Huberman,” he said. “He verified the transport aircraft are on their way. A pair of de Havillands out of Punta Arenas.”
Nimec looked at him. “That’s Chile. And aren’t those planes little eight seaters?”
Waylon nodded again.
“Twin Otters,” he said. “They’re flown by a private Canadian outfit that specializes in polar aviation, does a lot of contract work for NSF. Everything from ferrying around researchers to rescue operations. The crews really know their stuff. Brought that doctor out of South Pole station last winter—”
“That’s not the point. The 109th Guard was supposed to handle this from Christchurch. We were expecting a Herc. I
“I know, sir. But the weather’s still spotty around Herbie Alley — that’s out on the South Sea between Black Island and White Island — and it doesn’t look like anybody’s going to be able to take off from Cheech for another couple of days.”
Nimec dropped his eyes to the body bags and then raised them back to Waylon’s face.
“There’s no rush for these men,” Nimec said. “And if it’s only a short time, we can adjust our drinking water rations so the Senators won’t have to worry about getting too thirsty. They’ll just have to give up their showers and smell as bad as the rest of us.”
Waylon was momentarily silent.
“This isn’t a decision we can make here on base, sir,” he said then. “When it comes to emergency extractions, it’s Air Force, NSF, and Department of Interior who get together for the call.” He paused. “They’ve got other considerations. Besides the weather or even our water plant going down, that is.”
Nimec looked at him. “What else is there?”
“Clay tells me it’s the solar flare activity NASA’s been making a fuss about. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Admin’s been consulting with them, thinks it might pan out sometime over the next week. I guess the main concern is that flights could be grounded indefinitely if it’s severe enough to foul radio communications. The bottom line is they want the Senators out right away.”
Nimec shook his head with displeasure.
“NASA,” he muttered. “We’ve got too many cooks standing over the pot. And I don’t like it.”
Waylon was quiet again. He appeared to be waiting for something. Nimec couldn’t tell what it was, but figured the base chief would get around to letting him know.
Meanwhile, he had his own preoccupations.
“Those twin-props,” he said. “How soon they arriving?”
Waylon thought for a moment.
“The trip’s got two legs,” he said. “It takes about five hours for the planes to cross the Strait of Magellan. Then they stop at Rothera station out at the western tip of the peninsula.”
“That’d be the Brits, right?”
“Right,” Waylon said. “They’re being about as helpful as we could ask. The most accessible place to refuel’s a depot outside their base, and Rothera’s providing a thousand gallons.” He moved his shoulders. “After the layover, I’d figure the second half of the flight to take another dozen hours.”
Nimec rubbed his chin.
“Okay,” he said. “The situation’s what it is, and we’ll make the best of it. But I don’t want any passed balls. As far’s what went down here during the storm, the only thing the Senators know is there was a fire at the dome and we lost one of our men putting it out. And that’s all they need to know. When they climb aboard their plane, I don’t want them seeing these four”—he indicated the untagged body bags—“loaded onto the other prop. If they do, and ask us about it, we’ve got no choice except to tell them the truth. UpLink depends on government support. There are relationships we have to protect. If we’re seen as not honoring them, we might as well pack our suitcases and go home. Here and everywhere in the world.”
Nimec left his explanation at that. Waylon seemed to know the stakes well enough on his own.
He also seemed to be still waiting to say something. And having a hard time getting it out.
“What haven’t I covered?” Nimec asked.
Waylon was quiet another few seconds.
“About Sprague,” he said then, struggling to control his emotions. “We want to give him some kind of service.”
Nimec looked at Waylon. How could that have failed to occur to him?
“Sure,” he said. “I mean,
Waylon shook his head.
“MacTown has a fella who tours during the holiday season,” he said. “That’s about all.” He was thoughtful. “A lot of us on the ice, we get to feel religious without observing a particular religion. I don’t know why that is. Or maybe I do and can’t express it just right. But being here kind of shaves the differences between people. You step outside the buildings and tunnels, look at what’s around you, what nature’s really
Waylon swallowed, then looked down the white spun-bonded bag containing his deceased comrade.
“We want a service, but don’t know what the hell kind we’re supposed to give him.”
Nimec was thoughtful in the cold silence of the utilidor chamber.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said.
Nimec was in Megan Breen’s office minutes after arising from the utilidor, his ECW outer garments doffed and stashed in a clothing locker.
“You get a callback from Gord yet?” he said.
Megan regarded him across her desk.
“Yes,” she said. “And he’s heard from the Secretary of State.”
“What’s Bowen’s reaction to what happened to us?”
“I suppose it falls somewhere between worry and utter astonishment,” she said. “But he’s conceded that we’re best able to deal with it ourselves for now.”
“Conceded?”
Megan nodded.
“He isn’t happy about it,” she said. “In the view of the United States we’re a commissioned government outpost that has come under enemy attack. At the same time, Article 1 of the Antarctic Treaty bars, and I quote, ‘all military activities, including weapons testing’ from the continent. It goes on to make an exception for military personnel and equipment used for scientific purposes, but that’s not pertinent. What is, is that the treaty was reinforced by the ’91 Madrid Protocol on Environmental Protection… and that they combine to put DoS in a logistic and political quandary. The U.S. doesn’t have a ready force anywhere close to us that could launch an effective search and counterstrike. And this is so off the board, no one’s ever contemplated a straightforward mechanism that would allow America to launch an armed venture.”
Nimec grunted.
“Not knowing who came at us makes it more complicated,” he said. “You have to wonder whether it’s a foreign government or an independent operator. Maybe even the same sons of bitches who put out a hit on the boss.”
“Agreed,” Megan said. “But let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. The outcome of Gord’s conversation with State is that we got what we wanted. They’re staying out of our way on this. Sword has been given an endorsement to act with broad discretion safeguarding Cold Corners against further threat, and it’s come from the highest level of government.”
Nimec looked at her.
“Deputy Pete,” he said.
Megan smiled thinly. “Something like that.”
Nimec nodded.
“I’m going to snag Russ Granger right away,” he said. “He had the snow-movers digging out his helicopter even before the wheels-down order was lifted this morning. Looks like he intends on flapping back to McMurdo, but
