Ice Station, page 38
It didn’t take the SAS long to spot Schofield and Kirsty.
Schofield stood up on the bridge as the remainder of the SAS unit – about twenty men – adopted positions on the C-deck catwalk, surrounding him. It was a strange sight – Schofield and Kirsty out in the middle of the shaft, standing in the centre of the retractable bridge, while the SAS took up positions on the circular catwalk all around them.
The SAS raised their guns . . .
. . . just as Schofield held one of the Tritonal charges high above his head.
Good strategy is like magic. Make your enemy look at one hand while you’re doing something with the other . . .
‘Hold your fire,’ Barnaby’s voice came over Schofield’s headset. ‘Hold your fire.’
Schofield saw Barnaby step out onto the pool deck fifty feet below him, alone. All of the SAS platoon except for Barnaby were up on C-deck, surrounding Schofield.
Schofield glanced at the pool next to Barnaby. The killer whales were nowhere to be seen. Good.
‘I’ve armed the Tritonal charge!’ Schofield shouted. ‘And my finger is holding the “ARM” button down! The timer is set for two seconds! If you shoot me, I’ll drop the charge and we all die!’
Schofield stood with his feet spread apart out in the middle of the retractable bridge. Kirsty was kneeling at his feet, huddled beneath him. Schofield hoped that the SAS didn’t see his hands shaking. He hoped they didn’t see that his shoelaces were missing.
‘And if you shoot the girl,’ Schofield said, seeing one of the SAS men lower his sights at Kirsty, ‘I’ll definitely drop the charge.’
As he spoke, Schofield cast a worried glance over at the alcove on the catwalk.
If they retracted the bridge . . .
Barnaby shouted up to Schofield, ‘Lieutenant, this is very unpleasant. You have killed no less than six of my men. Have no doubt, we will kill you.’
‘I want safe passage out of here.’
‘You’re not going to get it,’ Barnaby said.
‘Then we all go up in flames.’
Barnaby shook his head. ‘Lieutenant Schofield, this is not you. You would sacrifice your own life, I know that. Because I know you. But I also know that you could never sacrifice the girl.’
Schofield felt his blood chill.
Barnaby was right. Schofield could never kill Kirsty. Barnaby was calling his bluff. Schofield glanced again at the alcove over on the catwalk. The alcove that housed the bridge controls.
Nero caught him looking.
Schofield watched intently as Nero looked from Schofield to the alcove and then back at Schofield again.
‘This is Nero,’ Schofield heard Nero’s voice whisper over the headset. ‘Subject is looking at the bridge controls over here. He looks pretty nervous about it.’
Make your enemy look at one hand . . .
Barnaby’s voice: ‘The bridge. He doesn’t want us to open the bridge. Mr Nero. Retract the bridge.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Schofield then saw Nero walk slowly toward the alcove and reach for the button that retracted the bridge. He made a point of watching Nero all the way – for this to work he needed the British to think that he was worried about them retracting the bridge . . .
‘Watson,’ Barnaby’s voice said.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘When the bridge opens, kill him. Take him out with a head shot.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Houghton. Take the girl.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Schofield felt his knees begin to shake. This was going to be close. Very, very close.
. . . while you’re doing something with the other . . .
‘Are you ready?’ Schofield said to Kirsty.
‘Uh-huh.’
In the alcove, Nero hit the large rectangular button marked ‘BRIDGE’.
There came a loud mechanical clanking sound from somewhere within the walls of the alcove and then suddenly the bridge underneath Schofield’s feet jolted as it came apart at the centre and began to retract.
As soon as the bridge began to retract, two of the SAS soldiers fired at Schofield and Kirsty, but they had already dropped out of sight and the bullets whizzed over their heads.
Schofield and Kirsty let themselves fall down into the shaft.
They fell fast.
Down and down, until they splashed into the pool at the bottom of the station.
It had happened so fast that the SAS men up on C-deck didn’t know what was going on.
It didn’t matter.
For it was then that the two nitrogen charges that Schofield had tied to the ends of the retractable portions of the bridge suddenly and explosively went off.
It was the way that Schofield had tied the nitrogen charges to the bridge with his shoelaces that did it.
He had tied them down in such a way that each nitrogen charge lay on either side of the join between the two platforms that extended out to form the bridge.
What Schofield had also done, however, was tie the pins of each nitrogen charge to the opposite platform, so that when the bridge parted, the retraction of the two platforms would pull both pins from their grenades. What he had needed, however, was for the SAS to retract the bridge.
And right up until they exploded, the SAS soldiers never saw the nitrogen charges. They had been too busy looking at Schofield, first, as he held the (unarmed) Tritonal charge above his head, and secondly, as he and Kirsty fell down into the pool.
Make your enemy look at one hand while you’re doing something with the other.
As he hit the freezing water, Schofield almost smiled. Trevor Barnaby had taught him that.
The two nitrogen charges on the bridge went off.
Supercooled liquid nitrogen blasted out in every direction on C-deck, splattering every SAS commando on the surrounding catwalk.
The results were horrifying.
Nitrogen charges are like no other grenade – for the simple fact that they do not have to penetrate the skin of their victims in order to kill them.
The theory behind their effectiveness is based on the special qualities of water – water is the only naturally occurring substance on earth that expands when it is cooled. When a human body is hit by a burst of supercooled liquid nitrogen, that body becomes very cold, very fast. Blood cells freeze instantly and, being made up of approximately 70% water, they begin to expand rapidly. The result: total body haemorrhage.
And when every single blood cell in a human body explodes it makes for a horrifying sight.
The SAS men on C-deck had their faces exposed – and that was where the liquid nitrogen hit them. So it was in their faces that the supercooled liquid nitrogen took its most devastating effect. The blood vessels under their facial skin – veins, arteries, capillaries – instantly began to rupture and then suddenly, spontaneously, they began to explode.
Black lesions instantly appeared all over their faces as the blood vessels under their skin exploded. Their eyes filled with blood and the soldiers could no longer see. Blood exploded out from the pores of their skin.
The SAS commandos fell to their knees, screaming.
But they wouldn’t scream for long. Brain death would occur within the next thirty seconds as the blood vessels in their brains froze over and themselves began to haemorrhage.
They would all be dead soon, and it would be agony every second of the way.
From down on E-deck, Trevor Barnaby just stared up at the scene above him.
His whole unit had just been cut down by the blast of the two nitrogen charges. In fact, nearly the whole of the interior of the station was covered in blue liquid goo. Hand railings began to crack as the nitrogen froze them. Even the cable that held up the diving bell was covered with a layer of ice – it, too, began to crack as the supercooled liquid nitrogen made it contract in on itself at an alarming rate. Even the portholes of the diving bell down in the pool were covered over with the blue poxy.
Barnaby couldn’t believe it.
Schofield had just killed twenty of his men with one stone . . .
And now he was the only one left.
Barnaby’s mind raced.
All right. Think. What is the objective? The spacecraft is the objective. Must control the spacecraft. How do I control the spacecraft? Wait –
I have men down there with it.
Get to the cavern.
Barnaby’s eyes fell on the diving bell.
Yes . . .
At that moment, on the far side of the diving bell, Barnaby saw Schofield and the little girl break through the thin layer of ice that had formed on the surface of the pool when it had been hit by the spray of liquid nitrogen; saw them start swimming for the far deck.
Barnaby ignored them. He just grabbed a scuba tank from the ground next to him and dived into the pool, heading for the diving bell.
Schofield lifted Kirsty out of the water and up onto the deck.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
‘I got wet again,’ Kirsty replied sourly.
‘So did I,’ Schofield said as he spun around and saw Trevor Barnaby swimming frantically for the diving bell.
Schofield looked up at the ice station above him. It was silent. There were no more SAS commandos left. It was only Barnaby now. And whoever Barnaby had already sent down to the cavern.
‘Get a blanket and stay warm,’ Schofield said to Kirsty. ‘And don’t go upstairs until I come back.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘After him,’ Schofield said, pointing at Barnaby.
Trevor Barnaby surfaced inside the diving bell, where he was greeted by the barrel of Schofield’s .44 calibre Desert Eagle automatic pistol.
James Renshaw gripped the pistol with both hands, pointed it at Barnaby’s head. He was holding the gun so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.
‘Don’t fucking move, mister,’ Renshaw said.
Barnaby just looked up at the little man standing inside the diving bell. The little man was wearing some really old kind of scuba gear, and he was clearly nervous. Barnaby looked at the gun in Renshaw’s hand and he laughed.
Then he brought his own gun up from under the water.
Renshaw pulled the trigger on his Desert Eagle.
Click!
‘Huh?’ Renshaw said.
‘You have to chamber a round first,’ Barnaby said as he raised his own pistol at Renshaw.
Renshaw saw what was coming and, with a short squeal, he jumped down into the water next to Barnaby – scuba gear and all – and disappeared underwater.
Barnaby climbed up into the diving bell and made straight for the dive controls. He didn’t waste any time. He blew the ballast tanks immediately. The diving bell began to descend.
Up on E-deck, Schofield saw the ballast tanks blow.
Shit, he’s going down already, Schofield thought as he came to a halt next to one of the rung-ladders. He had planned to go up to the winch controls on C-deck and stop the diving bell from there –
And then at that moment, there came a monstrous noise from somewhere up above him.
Snap-twangggg!
Schofield looked up just in time to see the cable that held up the diving bell – frozen solid by the liquid nitrogen – contract and crack for the final time.
The frozen cable snapped.
The diving bell submerged.
Schofield blanched. Then he ran.
Ran as fast as he could. Toward the pool. Because now this would be the last trip the diving bell would be making to the underwater tunnel and it was the only way to get to the cavern and if Barnaby were to get there and the Marines down there were already dead, then the British would have the spaceship and the battle would be lost and Schofield had come too fucking far to lose everything now –
Schofield hit the edge of the deck running and dived high into the air, just as the diving bell disappeared under the surface.
After penetrating the water, Schofield shot downwards.
And then he swam. Hard. With strong, powerful strokes, chasing the descending diving bell.
Now free of its winch cable, the diving bell began to sink fast and Schofield had to use all of his strength to catch it. He came close, reached out and . . . grabbed the piping that ran around the exterior of the diving bell.
Inside the diving bell, Barnaby holstered his gun and pulled out his detonation unit.
He checked the time. 8:37 p.m.
Then he set the timer on the detonation unit. He gave himself two hours, enough time to get to the underground cavern. It was crucial that he be down there when the ring of Tritonal charges surrounding Wilkes Ice Station went off.
Barnaby then pulled his Navistar Global Positioning System transponder from his pocket and hit the ‘TRANSMIT’ button.
Barnaby smiled as he put the GPS transponder back into his pocket. Despite the loss of his men up in the station, his plan – his original plan – was still on track.
When the eighteen Tritonal charges went off, Wilkes Ice Station would float out to sea on a newly formed iceberg. Then, thanks to Barnaby’s GPS receiver, British rescue forces – and British rescue forces alone – would know exactly where to find the iceberg, the station, Barnaby himself, and, most importantly of all, the spaceship.
The diving bell fell downwards through the water – fast – with Shane Schofield clutching onto the piping on top of it.
Slowly, hand-over-hand, Schofield made his way down the side of the falling diving bell. The big bell rocked and swayed as it careered downward through the water, but Schofield held on.
And then, at last, Schofield came to the base of the bell and swung himself under it.
Schofield burst up inside the diving bell.
He saw Barnaby right away, saw the detonation unit in his hand.
Barnaby whirled around and drew his gun, but Schofield was already launching himself out of the water. Schofield’s fist shot up out of the water and slammed into Barnaby’s wrist. Barnaby’s gun hand popped open in a reflex and the gun flew out of it and clattered to the deck.
Schofield’s feet found the deck of the diving bell just as Barnaby crash-tackled him. The two men slammed into the curved interior wall of the bell. Schofield tried to kick Barnaby away from him, but Barnaby was too skilled a fighter. Barnaby crunched Schofield against the wall, and let fly with a powerful kick. His steel-capped boot connected with Schofield’s cheek, and Schofield flailed backwards and felt his face slam up against the cold glass of one of the portholes of the diving bell.
At that moment – and for just a split second – Schofield saw the glass of the porthole in front of him; saw a thin crack begin to form in the glass right in front of his eyes.
Schofield didn’t have time to ponder that. Barnaby kicked him again. And again. And again. Schofield fell to the deck.
‘You never give up, do you,’ Barnaby said as he lay the boot into Schofield. ‘You never give up.’
‘This is my station,’ Schofield said through clenched teeth.
Another kick. The steel cap of Barnaby’s boot slammed into the rib that Schofield had broken during his fight with the SAS commando in the hovercraft earlier. Schofield roared in agony.
‘It’s not your station anymore, Scarecrow.’
Barnaby kicked at Schofield again, but this time Schofield rolled out of the way and Barnaby’s boot hit the steel wall of the diving bell.
Schofield kept rolling until he came up against the metal rim of the pool at the base of the diving bell.
And then suddenly he saw it.
The harpoon gun.
The harpoon gun that he had taken from Little America IV. It was just lying there on the deck, right in front of his eyes.
Off-balance, Schofield reached for the harpoon gun just as Barnaby leapt down onto the deck in front of him and let fly with a brutal side-kick.
The kick connected and Schofield fell – harpoon gun and all – off the deck and into the small pool of water at the base of the diving bell, and suddenly he found himself outside the falling diving bell!
The diving bell plummeted past him and Schofield reached out with his left hand and caught hold of a pipe on the side of it as it rushed past him and suddenly he was yanked downwards.
Schofield kept a hold of the harpoon gun as he wrapped one of his legs around the exterior piping of the falling diving bell. He could only guess how deep they had fallen.
A hundred feet? Two hundred feet?
Schofield peered in through one of the small round portholes of the diving bell. This porthole also had a thin white crack running across it.
Schofield saw the crack and suddenly he realised what it was. The liquid nitrogen that had splattered against the diving bell up in the station was contracting the porthole’s glass, weakening it, causing it to crack.
Schofield saw Barnaby inside the diving bell, saw him standing on the small metal deck, saluting at Schofield, waving his detonation unit at him, as if it were all over.
But it wasn’t over.
Schofield stared at Barnaby through the porthole.
And then, as he looked at Barnaby from outside the diving bell, Schofield did a strange thing, and in an instant, the smile vanished from Barnaby’s face.
Schofield had raised his harpoon gun –
– and pointed it at the cracked porthole.
Barnaby saw it a second too late and Schofield saw the British general step across the diving bell and scream, ‘No!’ just as Schofield pulled the trigger on the harpoon gun and the harpoon shot straight through the cracked glass of the diving bell’s porthole.
The result was instantaneous.
The harpoon shot through the cracked glass of the porthole, puncturing the high pressure atmosphere of the diving bell. With the integrity of the diving bell lost, the immense weight of the ocean pressing in all around it suddenly became overwhelming.
The diving bell imploded.
Its spherical walls came rushing inwards at phenomenal speed as the colossal pressure of the ocean crushed it like a paper cup. Trevor Barnaby – Brigadier-General Trevor J. Barnaby of Her Majesty’s SAS – was crushed to death in a single, pulverising instant.
