Ice Station, page 29
‘You can open your eyes now,’ Schofield said, as he stepped forward – over the body of the dead SAS commando – and bent down beside Kirsty.
Slowly, Kirsty opened her eyes.
Schofield saw the bruise forming around her left cheekbone. ‘Are you all right?’ he said kindly.
‘No,’ she said, tears welling in her eyes. She pulled her asthma puffer out from her pocket and took two deep, sobbing puffs on it.
‘Me neither,’ Schofield said, taking the asthma puffer from her and gulping down a couple of puffs himself before putting the puffer in his pocket.
Then he stood up and grabbed the steering vane of the British hovercraft. As he drove, he popped the clip of his Desert Eagle and jammed in a fresh magazine.
Kirsty stepped up alongside him. ‘When you . . . when you went under the hovercraft,’ she said, ‘I thought . . . I thought you were dead.’
Schofield jammed his pistol back into its holster and looked down at Kirsty. He saw the tears in her eyes.
As he looked down at her, Schofield realised that he was still wearing his silver anti-flash glasses. He took the silver glasses off, and crouched down in front of Kirsty.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘It’s okay. It’s all right. I’m not going to die on you. I am not going to die on you.’ Schofield smiled. ‘I mean, hey, I can’t die. I’m the hero of this story.’
Despite herself, Kirsty smiled. Schofield smiled, too.
And then, to his surprise, Kirsty stepped forward and hugged him. Schofield returned her hug.
As he held her, though, he heard a strange noise. A noise that he had not heard before.
It was a loud, rhythmic, crashing noise.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
It sounded to Schofield like –
Like waves crashing on a beach.
With a sickening rush, Schofield realised where they were. They were near the cliffs. Their evasive manoeuvres during the hovercraft chase had taken them out near the sheer, three-hundred-foot cliffs that towered over the bay. The loud, booming noise that he was hearing was the sound of the mountainous waves of the ocean smashing against the ice cliffs.
Schofield was still holding Kirsty in his arms. As he held her, though, something behind her caught his eye.
Attached to the side of the British hovercraft’s dashboard was a small compartment, mounted on the wall. Its door hung ajar. Inside the compartment, Schofield could see two silver canisters. They were each about a foot long, and cylindrical in shape. Each silver canister had a wide green band painted across its mid-section. Schofield saw some lettering stencilled onto the side of one of the silver canisters:
TRITONAL 80/20.
Tritonal 80/20? Schofield thought. Why on earth would the British bring that to Wilkes?
Tritonal 80/20 was a highly concentrated explosive poxy – a highly combustible liquid filler that was used in air-launched drop bombs. Tritonal wasn’t nuclear, but when it blew, it blew big and it blew hot. One kilogram of the stuff – the amount contained in each of the canisters Schofield was now looking at – could level a small building.
Schofield released Kirsty gently, put his glasses back on and moved toward the compartment near the dashboard. He pulled one of the silver-and-green canisters from it.
He came back to Kirsty. ‘Are you all right, now?’
‘Yeah,’ Kirsty said.
‘Good,’ Schofield said, sliding the Tritonal charge into one of his long thigh pockets. ‘Because I really have to get back to –’
Schofield never saw it coming.
The impact threw him off his feet.
His whole hovercraft lurched suddenly to the left.
Schofield looked out through the gaping hole in the right-hand side of his speeding hovercraft and saw one of the two remaining British hovercrafts racing across the ice plain right alongside him!
It rammed them again.
Hard.
So hard, in fact, that Schofield felt his hovercraft slide sideways, to the left.
‘What the –’ Schofield said aloud.
He looked left and in a sudden terrifying instant he realised what they were doing.
‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Oh, no . . .’
The British hovercraft rammed them again, and once again Schofield and Kirsty’s hovercraft was pushed to the left.
Schofield looked out through his destroyed forward windshield and saw the flat ice plain stretching endlessly away from him. But off to the left, he saw that the flat ice plain ended abruptly. In fact, it looked as if it just fell away . . .
The cliffs.
With every impact, the British hovercraft was pushing Schofield and Kirsty closer to the edge.
They were trying to ram them off the cliff.
Schofield began to wrestle with the steering vane of his hovercraft, but it was no use.
There was nowhere he could go.
With no room to move – no room to get a run-up – he just found himself shunting the speeding British hovercraft ineffectually.
Schofield snapped to look forward again, and he saw the cliff edge racing by less than ten yards off to his left. He caught a glimpse of tiny white-crested waves beyond the cliff edge. They were a long way down.
Jesus. . .
Suddenly another impact hit them and Schofield’s hovercraft jolted further to the left, slid closer to the cliff edge.
The edge was barely eight yards away.
A few more hits, Schofield thought, and that would be it.
Schofield instinctively reached for his helmet mike to call for help. But it wasn’t there. It had been attached to his helmet and he wasn’t wearing his helmet anymore.
Shit.
No helmet. He couldn’t get in contact with the others.
Another impact. Harder this time.
The hovercraft slid sideways again.
Five yards from the edge.
Schofield looked out to his right, out through the hole in the side of his speeding hovercraft, and saw the black British hovercraft whipping across the ice plain beside him. He saw it widen the gap between the two hovercrafts and then suddenly rush back in at them.
The two hovercrafts collided again and Schofield felt his hovercraft jolt another couple of yards towards the edge.
Two yards to go.
The two hovercrafts raced along the edge of the clifftop, three hundred feet above the churning white waves of the Southern Ocean.
Schofield was still watching the British hovercraft alongside him.
As it widened the gap between the two hovercrafts once more – like a boxer pulling his arm back in preparation for the next blow – suddenly Schofield saw another hovercraft materialise in the distance beyond the black British hovercraft.
Schofield blinked.
It was the orange French hovercraft.
The orange hovercraft? Schofield thought.
But the only person in that hovercraft was . . .
Renshaw.
Schofield saw the gaudy orange hovercraft pull alongside the speeding British hovercraft. Now there were three hovercrafts travelling side-by-side along the edge of the ice cliff!
Suddenly, the British hovercraft rammed them again and the skirt of Schofield’s hovercraft jutted out over the edge of the cliff. Large chunks of snow were thrown off the edge. They became tiny specks of white as they disappeared into the churning foam of the sea three hundred feet below.
‘Come on,’ Schofield suddenly grabbed Kirsty’s hand.
‘What are we –’
‘We’re leaving,’ Schofield said.
Schofield pulled Kirsty over to the gaping hole in the right-hand side of his hovercraft.
He saw the British hovercraft pull away from them again, preparing itself for the killing blow.
Schofield swallowed. He would have to time this just right . . .
He drew his Desert Eagle pistol.
The British hovercraft rushed in toward them.
The two hovercrafts collided and in that instant, Schofield leapt across onto the skirt of the British hovercraft, pulling Kirsty with him.
They landed on the skirt of the speeding British hovercraft just as their own went careering off the edge of the cliff. The empty hovercraft rolled through the air for an instant before it plummeted three hundred feet straight down. It hit the water with a stunning impact and smashed into a thousand pieces.
Schofield and Kirsty never stopped moving.
They skipped across the roof of the British hovercraft and as they did so, Schofield pointed his pistol straight down and fired three quick shots into the roof beneath him and then suddenly they were on the other side of the hovercraft and Schofield could see Renshaw’s hovercraft in front of them.
The orange hovercraft swung in closer just as Schofield and Kirsty leapt off the skirt of the British hovercraft. They landed safely on the skirt of Renshaw’s hovercraft and it instantly peeled away from the black British hovercraft.
Schofield looked back at the British hovercraft – saw a star of blood on the forward windshield. Someone inside the hovercraft was still moving, clambering forward in an attempt to grab the steering vane.
Schofield figured that he must have hit the driver and now whoever was still in there was desperately trying to regain control of the –
Too late.
The British hovercraft looked like a stunt car leaping off a ramp as it shot off the edge of the cliff. It sailed through the air for a moment – soaring high – before gravity took its course and the hovercraft began to arc downwards. Schofield caught a fleeting glimpse of the man inside it as the hovercraft dropped below the edge of the clifftop and disappeared forever.
Schofield turned to see the sliding side door of the orange hovercraft open in front of him and he saw Renshaw’s smiling face appear.
‘Can I drive this thing or what?’ Renshaw said.
Now there was only one British hovercraft remaining. Outnumbered now by two-to-one it kept its distance.
Schofield grabbed Renshaw’s Marine helmet and put it on. He keyed the helmet mike. ‘Rebound, you still out there?
‘Yeah.’
‘Is everyone okay?’
‘More or less.’
‘What about the hovercraft?’ Schofield asked.
‘She’s a bit beat up, but she’s okay. We’ve got full power again,’ Rebound’s voice said.
‘Good,’ Schofield said. ‘Good. Listen, if we take care of this last guy, do you think you can get a head start and make it to McMurdo?’
‘We’ll get there.’
‘All right, then,’ Schofield said as he looked down at Kirsty. ‘Stand by. You’re about to get another passenger.’
Schofield got Renshaw to pull his hovercraft alongside Rebound’s transport. He wanted to put Kirsty on the transport and then send it on its way to McMurdo, while he and Renshaw took care of the last British hovercraft.
The two speeding hovercrafts came together.
Both side doors slid open.
Book appeared in the side door of Rebound’s transport craft. Schofield stood with Kirsty in the door of the orange French hovercraft opposite him.
The last British hovercraft hovered ominously behind them, two hundred yards astern.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ Book’s voice said in Schofield’s earpiece.
Schofield said to Kirsty, ‘You ready?’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said.
They stepped out onto the skirt together.
In the cabin of the transport craft, Rebound was keeping a wary eye on the British hovercraft.
It just seemed to sit there, watching them.
‘What are you doing, you son of a bitch?’ Rebound said aloud.
Book yelled, ‘Okay, send her over!’
Schofield and Kirsty edged forward, toward the edge of their hovercraft’s skirt. The wind buffeted them relentlessly.
On the other skirt in front of them, Book reached for Kirsty’s outstretched hands. Schofield held her from behind. The transfer was almost complete –
And then suddenly Rebound’s voice burst across their helmet intercoms, ‘Oh, fuck! It just launched!’
Schofield and Book both snapped around at the same time.
They saw the smoke trail first.
It spiralled through the air. A thin, white, vapour trail.
And in front of it – a missile.
Its source – the last British hovercraft.
It was another Milan anti-tank missile, and it stayed low, close to the ground. It rocketed through the air, covering the distance between them fast, and then suddenly, with shocking intensity, it slammed into the back of Schofield’s orange hovercraft and detonated.
The hovercraft jolted ferociously with the impact and Schofield lost his grip on Kirsty and fell back into his hovercraft’s cabin. As he fell backwards he looked up and the last thing he saw before he hit the floor of the cabin was a fleeting glimpse of Book – lunging forward, off balance – desperately trying to get hold of Kirsty’s hands as she fell down in between the two speeding hovercrafts.
Book and Kirsty fell.
The black rubber skirt of one of the hovercrafts filled Book’s field of vision as he tumbled down between the two hovercrafts.
He held Kirsty by the hand, and as they fell, he pulled her close to his body and rolled in the air so that when they hit the ground, he would take the brunt of the fall.
And then suddenly, concussively, they hit the speeding ground.
‘Book is down! Book is down!’ Rebound’s voice yelled loudly in Schofield’s earpiece. ‘The little girl fell with him!’
Schofield’s hovercraft shot across the ice plain, totally out of control.
The missile’s impact to the rear of the hovercraft had destroyed its rear fan and half its tail rudder, causing the hovercraft to fishtail wildly and shoot left – and head straight for the cliff-edge.
Renshaw grappled desperately with the steering yoke, but with its tail rudder half-destroyed, the hovercraft would only turn left. Renshaw heaved on the steering yoke and gradually, the hovercraft began to turn in a slow, wide arc so that it was now careering across the clifftops back toward Wilkes Ice Station!
‘Rebound!’ Schofield yelled into his helmet mike, ignoring Renshaw’s efforts to keep control of the hovercraft.
‘What?’
‘Get out of here!’
‘What!’
Schofield said fiercely, ‘We’ve been hit bad over here! We’re fucked, our game’s over. Go! Get to McMurdo! Get help! You’re the only chance we’ve got!’
‘But what about –’
‘Go!’
‘Yes, sir.’
At that moment, Renshaw said, ‘Ah, Lieutenant . . .’
Schofield wasn’t listening. He was watching Rebound’s hovercraft as it sped away in the other direction, into the driving snow.
Then Schofield looked out through the side window of his destroyed hovercraft and saw in the distance, a small dark lump on the ice plain.
Book and Kirsty.
‘Lieutenant . . .’
Schofield saw the last British hovercraft approach Book and Kirsty, saw it slow to a halt beside Book’s doubled-over body. Black-clad men got out of the hovercraft.
Schofield just stared. ‘Damn.’
Beside him, Renshaw was wrestling with the steering yoke. ‘Lieutenant! Hold on!’
At that moment, as Renshaw pulled on it, the steering yoke snapped and broke and suddenly the hovercraft spun laterally to the left and performed a slingshot, and in an instant Schofield and Renshaw were travelling backwards again.
‘What the hell are you doing!’ Schofield yelled.
‘I was trying to avoid that!’ Renshaw yelled as he pointed out through the destroyed rear end of the hovercraft – the end that was now their leading edge.
Schofield followed Renshaw’s finger and his eyes widened.
They were hurtling – in reverse – towards the edge of the cliff.
‘Why can’t this fucking day just end,’ Schofield said.
‘I think it’s about to,’ Renshaw said flatly.
Schofield shoved Renshaw out of the driver’s seat and slid into it. He began to pump the brake pedal.
No response.
The hovercraft continued to rush toward the edge.
‘I tried that!’ Renshaw said. ‘No brakes!’
The hovercraft raced toward the cliff-edge, travelling backwards, totally out of control.
Schofield grabbed the broken steering vane. No steering, either.
They would have to jump –
But the thought came too late.
The cliff-edge rushed toward them, too fast.
And then all of a sudden they ran out of ground and Schofield felt his stomach lurch sickeningly as the hovercraft shot out from the clifftop and flew out at incredible speed into the clear, open sky.
SIXTH INCURSION
16 June 1635 hours
The hovercraft fell through the air, rear-end first.
Inside the cabin, Schofield snapped around in his chair to look out through the shattered forward wind-shield of the hovercraft. He saw the cliff edge high above him getting smaller and smaller as it got farther and farther away.
In the seat beside him, Renshaw was hyperventilating. ‘We’re gonna die. We are really gonna die.’
The hovercraft went vertical – its tail pointing down, its nose pointing up – and suddenly Schofield saw nothing but sky.
They were falling fast.
Through the side window of the hovercraft, Schofield saw the vertical cliff-face streaking past them at phenomenal speed.
Schofield grabbed his Maghook and put his nose in Renshaw’s face, silencing him. ‘Grab my waist and don’t let go.’
Renshaw stopped his whimpering and stared at Schofield for a second. Then he quickly wrapped his arms around Schofield’s waist. Schofield raised his Maghook above his head and fired it up through the destroyed forward windshield of the falling hovercraft.
The Maghook shot through the air in a high arc – its steel grappling hook snapping open in mid-flight, its rope splaying out in a crazy, wobbling line behind it.
The hook came down hard on the edge of the cliff-top and then slid quickly backwards toward the edge, its claws digging into the snow.
