Ice Station, page 18
It couldn’t have been the French scientists, Champion and Rae. Since the end of the battle with the French, they had been handcuffed to the pole on E-deck.
It could have been one of the scientists from Wilkes – while Schofield was outside with Montana and Hensleigh, they were all in their common room on B-deck, unguarded by any of the Marines. But why? Why on earth would one of the scientists want to kill a wounded Marine? They had nothing to gain from killing Samurai. The Marines were here to help them.
There still remained one other alternative.
One of the Marines had killed Samurai.
The mere possibility that that might have happened sent a chill down Schofield’s spine. The fact that he had even considered it chilled him even more. But he considered it nonetheless, because aside from the residents of Wilkes, a Marine was the only other person in the station who’d had the opportunity to kill Samurai.
Schofield, Sarah and Montana had been outside when it had happened, so Schofield was at least sure about them.
As for the other Marines, however, there were difficulties.
They had all been, more or less, working alone at different places in the station when the murder had occurred. Any one of them could have done it without being detected.
Schofield checked them off one by one.
Snake. He had been on C-deck, in the alcove, working on the destroyed winch controls that raised and lowered the station’s diving bell. He had been alone.
Santa Cruz. He had been searching the station for French erasing devices. That search had turned up nothing but the VLF transmitter that now sat silently at Schofield’s feet. He had also been alone.
Rebound. Schofield thought about the young private. Rebound was the prime suspect. Schofield knew it, Rebound himself knew it. He was the one who had said to Schofield that Samurai was stable enough for him to go down to E-deck and fetch Champion. He was also the only one who had been with Samurai since the battle had ended. For all Schofield knew Samurai had been dead for over an hour, killed by Rebound long ago.
But why? It was this question that Schofield just couldn’t figure out. Rebound was young, twenty-one. He was fresh and green and eager. He followed orders immediately, and he wasn’t old enough to be jaded or cynical. The kid loved being a Marine, and he was as genuine a kid as Schofield had ever met. Schofield had thought that he had a good measure of Rebound’s character. Maybe he hadn’t.
The thought of Rebound as the killer did, however, trigger one other unusual thought in Schofield’s mind. It was a memory, a painful memory that Schofield had tried to bury.
Andrew Trent.
Lieutenant First Class Andrew X. Trent, USMC.
Peru. March, 1997.
Schofield had gone through Officer Candidate School with Andy Trent. They were good friends and after OCS they had risen to the rank of first lieutenant together. A brilliant strategic thinker, Trent was given command of a prized Atlantic-based Marine Reconnaissance unit. Schofield – not quite the tactical genius that Trent was – was awarded a Pacific-based one.
In March of 1997, barely a month after he had taken command of his Recon unit, Schofield and his team were ordered to attend a battle scene in the mountains of Peru. Apparently, something of tremendous importance had been discovered in an ancient Incan temple high in the Andes and the Peruvian President had called upon the United States for aid. Bands of murderous treasure hunters are rife in the mountains of Peru; they have been known to kill whole teams of university researchers in order to steal the priceless artefacts that the researchers find.
When Schofield’s unit arrived at the mountain-top site, they were met by a squad of American troops, a single platoon of US Army Rangers. The Rangers had formed a two-mile perimeter around a particular, rainforest-covered mountain. On top of the mountain stood the crumbling ruins of a pyramid-shaped Incan temple, half-buried in the mountainside.
A Marine Recon unit was already inside the temple, the captain of the Rangers informed Schofield.
Andy Trent’s unit.
Apparently, it had been the first unit to arrive on the scene. Trent and his team had been doing some exercises in the jungles of Brazil when the alarm had been raised, so they had been the first to arrive.
The Army Ranger captain didn’t know anything else about what was going on inside the ruined temple. All he knew was that all other units arriving at the scene had been ordered to secure a two-mile perimeter around the temple and not to enter it for any reason.
Schofield’s unit went about doing what they had been ordered to do and before long they had reinforced the two-mile perimeter around the temple.
It was then that a new unit arrived on the scene.
This unit, however, was allowed to pass through the perimeter. It was a SEAL team, someone said, a bomb squad of some kind that was going in to defuse some mines that had been laid by whoever was in there with Trent’s Marines. Apparently, there had been heavy fighting inside. Trent and his team had prevailed, Schofield was pleased to hear.
The SEAL team went inside. Time passed slowly.
And then suddenly, Schofield’s earpiece had exploded to life. A garbled voice cut through waves of static.
It said, ‘This is Lieutenant Andrew Trent, Commander of United States Marine Force Reconnaissance Unit Four. I repeat, this is Andrew Trent of US Marine Force Reconnaissance Unit Four. If there are any Marines out there, please respond.’
Schofield responded.
Trent didn’t seem to hear him. He could transmit, but he obviously couldn’t receive.
Trent said, ‘If there are any Marines outside this temple, raid it now! I repeat, raid it now! They planted men in my unit! They planted men inside my goddam unit! Marines, those SEALs who came in here before, they said that they were here to help me. They said they were a special unit, sent by Washington to assist me in securing this site. Then they pulled their guns and shot one of my corporals right in the fucking head! And now they’re trying to kill me! Fuck! Some of my own men are helping them, for God’s sake! They planted fucking men in my unit! They planted men in my own goddam unit! I’m being attacked by my own –’
The signal cut off abruptly.
Schofield had quickly looked about himself. No one else, it seemed, had heard the short, sharp message. Trent must have transmitted it over the ‘Officer-Only’ frequency, which meant that only Schofield had heard it.
Schofield didn’t care. He immediately ordered his unit to mobilise, but as soon as they were ready and starting to head for the temple, they were cut off by the Army Rangers. The Rangers were a force of fifty men. Schofield’s was only twelve.
The Ranger captain spoke firmly. ‘Lieutenant Schofield, my orders are clear. No one goes in there. No one. If anyone tries to enter that building, my orders are to shoot them on sight. If you try to enter that building, Lieutenant, I will be forced to open fire on you.’ His voice went cold. ‘Have no doubt that I will, Lieutenant. I won’t think twice about offing a dozen faggot Marines.’
Schofield had glared at the Ranger captain.
He was a tall man, about forty, a career front-line soldier, fit but barrel-chested, with a full head of crew-cut, grey hair. He had cold, lifeless eyes and a weathered, sneering face. Schofield remembered his name – would always remember it – remembered the bastard stating it in a robotic, staccato manner after Schofield had demanded it from him: Captain Arlin F. Brookes, United States Army.
And so Schofield and his team were held back at the perimeter, while Andrew Trent’s voice continued to shout desperately over Schofield’s helmet intercom.
The more Trent shouted, the more furious and frustrated Schofield became.
The SEAL team that had gone inside had killed more of his men, Trent said. Some of his own men had then joined them and turned on him and killed others in his unit from point-blank range. Trent didn’t know what was going on.
The last thing Schofield heard over his helmet intercom that day was Trent saying that he was the last one left.
Andrew Trent never came out of the temple.
About a year later, after making some enquiries, Schofield was told that Trent’s unit had arrived at that temple only to find no one there. There was no battle, Schofield was told, no fighting with anyone. No ‘mysterious discovery’ in the first place. Upon arriving at the temple and finding it empty, Trent and his team had investigated the dark, dank ruins. It was during that search that a few men – Trent included – fell down a concealed plug hole. It was estimated that the plug hole was at least a hundred feet deep, with sheer rock walls. No one had survived the fall. A search had apparently been made and all the bodies had been recovered.
Except Trent’s, Schofield had been told. Andrew Trent’s body was never found.
It made Schofield furious. Officially, nothing had ever happened at that temple. Nothing but a tragic accident that had claimed the lives of twelve United States Marines.
Schofield knew he was the only one who had heard Trent’s voice over the radio system; knew no one would believe him if he ever questioned what had happened. If he said anything, it would probably only win him a quiet court martial and an even quieter dishonourable discharge.
And so Schofield had never mentioned the incident to anyone.
But now, in the cold confines of an underground ice station in the Antarctic, it was coming back to haunt him.
They planted men in my unit! They planted fucking men in my unit!
Trent’s words echoed inside Schofield’s head as he thought about whether Rebound had killed Samurai.
Had they also planted men inside his unit?
And who were ‘they’ anyway? The US Government? The US military?
It sounded like something that might have happened in the old Soviet Union. A government planting ‘special’ men inside elite units. But then, as Schofield knew, the United States and the USSR had not really been all that different. The US had always accused the Soviets of indoctrination, while at the same time they played ‘Star Spangled Banner’ every single morning in schools across America.
The thought of disloyal men inside his unit made Schofield’s skin crawl.
He continued with his mental checklist.
Hell, even Riley and Gant – engaged in the preparation of the scuba gear down on E-deck – had occasionally separated. Every so often, Riley would go and check on Mother.
Schofield couldn’t believe that Book Riley was a traitor. He had known him for too long.
But Gant? Schofield thought he knew Libby Gant, thought he had her measure, too. He had chosen Gant himself for the unit. Could that have been anticipated by someone else? By someone who had wanted her in Schofield’s unit. No . . .
The only other Marine alive at the station was Mother. And the mere prospect that she could have killed Samurai was absurd.
Schofield’s head was spinning. All he knew for sure was that Samurai Lau was dead and that someone among them had killed him. The problem was, they all could have done it.
Montana, Gant and Santa Cruz were ready to dive.
Strapped to their backs were Navy-made, low-audibility air tanks, or as they are more colloquially known in the Marine Corps, ‘stealth tanks’.
Water is a great conductor of sound, and regular scuba tanks make a lot of noise as they pump compressed air through their hoses to a diver’s mouthpiece. Any commercial underwater microphone will detect a diver by the loud hisssssing noise that his breathing gear makes.
With this in mind, the US Navy has spent millions of dollars developing a silent self-contained underwater breathing apparatus. The result is a scuba system known as LABA – low-audibility breathing apparatus. Scuba tanks that are all but noiseless underwater. LABA tanks are undetectable to conventional audio detection systems, hence the comparison with stealth aircraft.
Schofield watched the three Marines as they reached for their face masks and prepared to jump into the murky pool. Then he turned and scanned the pool, empty save for the diving bell that hovered out in the centre. The pod of killer whales had left the area about forty minutes ago and hadn’t been seen since. As he gazed at the pool, however, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Schofield turned.
And saw Sarah Hensleigh standing in front of him. Dressed in a figure-hugging blue and black thermal-electric wetsuit. Schofield was momentarily taken aback. For the first time that day, he noticed just how shapely Sarah Hensleigh was – the woman had a great body.
Schofield raised his eyebrows.
‘This is what I wanted to ask you about before,’ Sarah said. ‘When we were outside. But I never got a chance. I want to go down with them.’
‘I can see that,’ Schofield said.
‘This station lost nine people down in that cave. I’d like to know why.’
Schofield looked from Hensleigh to the three Marine divers on his left. He frowned, doubtful.
‘I can help,’ Sarah said quickly. ‘With the cave, for example.’
‘How?’
‘Ben Austin – one of the divers who went down there at the very start – said it was an underground cavern of some sort, right,’ Sarah said. ‘He said it had sheer ice walls and that it stretched off for several hundred feet.’ Sarah stared at Schofield. ‘My guess is that if the walls in that cave are sheer, then it’s a good bet that the cave was formed by some kind of seismic event in the past, some kind of earthquake or undersea volcanic eruption. Sheer walls are created by sudden upthrusts of rock, not slow, gradual movement.’
‘I’m sure my men will be safe from sudden upthrusts of rock, Dr Hensleigh.’
‘All right then. I can tell you what’s down there,’ Sarah said.
That got Schofield’s attention. He turned to the three divers standing by the edge of the pool. ‘Montana, Gant, Cruz. Just hold on a minute will you.’ Schofield turned back to face Sarah Hensleigh, his eyes serious. ‘All right, Dr Hensleigh, tell me what’s down there?’
‘All right,’ Sarah said, as she collected her thoughts. She’d obviously thought about this a lot, but now Schofield had put her on the spot.
‘Theory One,’ she said. ‘It’s alien. It’s a spacecraft from another planet, from another civilisation. Now, that’s not really my field – it’s not really anyone’s field. But if that thing is alien then I’d give my right arm to see it.’
‘Mother already gave her left leg. What else?’
‘Theory Two,’ Sarah said, ‘it’s not alien.’
‘It’s not alien?’ Schofield raised an eyebrow.
‘That’s right,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s not alien. Now this theory, this theory really is my field. This is pure palaeontology. It’s not a new theory by any means, but until now, no one’s been able to find any evidence to prove it.’
‘Prove what?’
Sarah took a deep breath. ‘The theory goes that once, a long time ago, there was civilised life on earth.’
She paused, not for effect, but rather to wait for Schofield’s reaction.
At first, Schofield didn’t say anything, he just thought about it for a moment. Then he looked at Sarah. ‘Go on.’
‘I’m talking about a long time ago,’ Sarah said, gaining momentum. ‘I’m talking before the dinosaurs. I’m talking four hundred million years ago. Now, when you think about it . . . when you think about it in terms of human evolution, it’s really very possible.
‘Human life as we know it has been on earth for less than a million years, right. Historically speaking, that’s not a long time. If the history of the earth were the twenty-four hours in a day, then the period of modern human presence would amount to about three seconds. What we would call civilised human life – human life in its homo sapien form – has been here for an even shorter period of time, not even twenty thousand years. That’s less than a second on the world’s time clock.’
Schofield watched Sarah Hensleigh closely as she spoke. She was excited, speaking quickly. She was in her element.
‘What palaeontologists usually say,’ she said, ‘is that a whole matrix of factors contributed to the rise of the mammals, and hence the rise of human life on earth. The right distance from the sun, the right temperature, the right atmosphere, the right oxygen levels in the atmosphere, and, of course, the extinction of the dinosaurs. We all know about the Alvarez theory, how an asteroid slammed into the earth and killed all the dinosaurs and how the mammals rose out of the darkness and took their place as the rulers of the world. What if I was to tell you that there is evidence that there were at least four other such asteroid impacts on this planet in the last 700 million years.’
‘Asteroid impacts,’ Schofield said.
‘Yes. Sir Edmund Halley once suggested that the entire Caspian Sea was created by an asteroid collision hundreds of millions of years ago. Alexander Bickerton, the famous New Zealand physicist who taught Rutherford, hypothesised that the sea bed of the entire south Atlantic Ocean – between South Africa and South America – was one great big bowl-shaped crater, caused by a massive asteroid impact over three hundred million years ago.
‘Now, if we assume – as we so readily do in the case of the dinosaurs – that every time one of these cataclysmic asteroids hit the earth, a civilisation died, we can only ask, what other kinds of civilisations, like that of the dinosaurs, have also been destroyed? What several academics have suggested in recent years – Joseph Sorenson from Stanford is the most well known – is that one of these civilisations may have been human.’
Schofield looked at the other Marines on the deck around him. They were all listening to Sarah intensely, rapt in her story.
Sarah went on. ‘You see, on average, the earth tilts on its vertical axis half a degree every 22,000 years. What Sorenson postulated was that about four hundred million years ago, the earth was tilted at an angle not unlike the angle it’s tilted on today. It was also no further from the sun than it is now, so it had similar mean temperatures. Ice core samples, like the ones we get from this station, have shown that the air was a mix of oxygen, nitrogen and hydrogen, in quantities very similar to that of our own atmosphere today. Don’t you see it? The matrix was the same then as it is now.’
