Ice Station, page 43
They came into a missile bay of some sort. Schofield saw six missiles locked into place on two triangular racks, three missiles per rack.
Schofield carried Gant across the missile bay and lay her on the floor just as Renshaw and Kirsty stepped up into the belly of the plane. Wendy hopped clumsily up the steps behind them. Once the little seal was safely inside, Renshaw pulled the stairs up behind her.
Schofield headed forward, into the cockpit. ‘Talk to me, Gant!’
Gant called forward, the pain evident in her voice: ‘They called it “The Silhouette”. It’s got some kind of stealth feature that we couldn’t figure out. Something to do with the plutonium.’
Schofield stepped into the cockpit.
‘Whoa.’
The cockpit looked amazing – futuristic – especially for a plane that was built in 1979. There were two seats: one forward and to the right, the other – the radar operator/gunner’s chair – behind it and to the left. The steepness of the cockpit – it pointed sharply downwards – meant that the pilot in the front seat sat well below the gunner in the back seat.
Schofield jumped into the pilot’s seat just as – bang! – a large chunk of ice exploded against the outside of the canopy.
Schofield stared at the console in front of him: four computer screens, standard control stick, buttons and dials and indicators everywhere. It looked like an amazing, hi-tech jigsaw puzzle. Schofield felt a sudden panic sweep over him. He would never be able to figure out how to fly this plane. Not in eighteen minutes.
But then, as he looked at the console more closely, Schofield began to see that it wasn’t actually that much different from the consoles on the Harriers he had flown in Bosnia. This was a man-made aircraft, after all – why should it be different?
Schofield found the ignition switch, keyed it.
Nothing happened.
Fuel feed, he thought. Got to pump the fuel feed.
Schofield searched for the fuel feed button. Found it, pumped it. Then he hit the ignition switch again.
Nothing hap –
VRRRROOOOM!
The twin turbines of the Silhouette’s jet engines roared to life and Schofield felt his blood rush. The sound of the engines blasting to life was like nothing he had ever heard.
He revved the engines. He had to warm her up fast.
Time, Schofield thought.
10:45 p.m.
Fifteen minutes to go.
He kept revving the engines. Usually such a warm-up routine would take upwards of twenty minutes. Schofield gave himself ten.
God, this was going to be close.
As Schofield revved the engines whole sections of the cavern’s ice walls began to collapse around the big black plane. After five minutes of revving, Schofield looked for the vertical take-off switch.
‘Gant! Where’s the vectored thrust?’ On modern vertical-take-off-and-landing-capable fighters like the Harrier, vertical lift-off is achieved through directable, or ‘vectored’, thrusters.
‘There aren’t any,’ Gant called from the missile bay. ‘It has retro-firing jets instead! Look for the button that starts the retros!’
Schofield searched for it. As he did so, however, he came across another button. It was marked: ‘CLOAK MODE’. Schofield frowned.
What the hell –
And then suddenly he saw the button he was looking for: ‘RETROS’.
Schofield hit it.
The Silhouette responded immediately and began to rise into the air. But then abruptly, it jolted to a sudden halt. There came a loud grinding noise from behind it.
‘Huh?’ Schofield said.
He looked out through the back of the cockpit canopy and he saw that the two tail fins of the Silhouette were still firmly embedded within the ice wall behind it.
Schofield found the button marked ‘AFTERBURNER’. Punched it.
Immediately, a white-hot spray of pure heat burst out from the twin thrusters at the back of the Silhouette and began to melt the ice holding the rear of the plane captive.
The ice melted quickly, the tail fins soon came free.
Schofield checked his watch.
10:53 p.m.
The entire cavern lurched downwards again.
Come on, now, don’t go yet. I just need a couple more minutes. Just a couple more minutes . . .
Schofield kept warming the engine. He looked down at his watch as it ticked over to 10:54. Then 10:55.
All right, time’s up. Time to go.
Schofield hit the button marked ‘RETROS’ again and the eight retro jets on the underside of the big black ship fired as one, shot out long, white puffs of gas.
This time, the Silhouette rose off the icy ground, and began to hover inside the enormous underground cavern. The cavern around it rumbled and shuddered. Chunks of ice rained down from the ceiling, banged down on the back of the big black plane.
Chaos. Absolute chaos.
10:56 p.m.
Schofield looked out through the tinted-glass canopy of the Silhouette. The whole cavern was tilting crazily. It was almost as if the whole ice shelf was lurching forward, moving into the ocean . . .
It’s falling off the mainland, Schofield thought.
‘What are you doing!’ Renshaw called from the missile bay.
‘I’m waiting for it to flip over!’ Schofield called back.
Suddenly, Schofield heard Gant groan with pain. ‘Renshaw! Help her! Fix that wound! Kirsty! Get up here! I need you!’
Kirsty came forward into the cockpit and climbed up into the high, rear chair. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘See that stick there,’ Schofield said. ‘The one with the trigger on it.’
Kirsty saw a control stick in front of her. ‘Yeah.’
‘Pull that trigger for me, will you.’
Kirsty pulled the trigger.
As soon as she did so, two dazzling-white pulses of light shot out from both wings of the big black fighter plane.
The two tracer bullets slammed into the ice wall in front of the Silhouette and exploded in twin clouds of white. When the two clouds dissipated, Schofield saw a large hole in the ice wall.
‘Nice shootin’, Tex,’ he said.
Schofield pulled back on his stick and the Silhouette rose higher in the middle of the collapsing ice cavern.
‘All right, everybody, hold on, this thing is gonna go any second now,’ Schofield said. ‘Kirsty, when I say so, I want you to press down on that trigger and hold it down, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Schofield peered out through the canopy, looked out at the crumbling ceiling of the ice cavern, looked out at the pool of water through which they had all entered the cavern – the water in the pool was sloshing madly against the ice walls.
And then at that moment, it happened. The whole cavern just dropped – straight down – and then tilted dramatically. In that instant, Schofield knew that the whole of the ice shelf containing Wilkes Ice Station had come completely free of the mainland.
It had become an iceberg.
Wait for it, Schofield told himself. Wait for it. . .
And then, abruptly, the whole cavern tilted again.
Only this time, the tilting was much more dramatic. This time the whole cavern rotated a full 180 degrees, right around the hovering Silhouette!
The iceberg had flipped over!
The whole cavern was now upside-down!
Suddenly, a torrent of water came rushing out of a wide hole in the ‘ceiling’ of the cavern – the hole that only moments before had been the mouth of the underwater ice tunnel that had led up into the cavern.
The underwater ice tunnel no longer led to the depths of the ocean. Now it led upwards. Now it led to the surface.
Schofield manoeuvred the Silhouette so as to avoid the cascade of water pouring out of the ice tunnel. After a good twenty seconds, the rush of water abated and Schofield pulled back on his stick. The Silhouette responded by rocking backwards in the air and pointing itself up at the wide hole in the ceiling.
‘All right, Kirsty, now!’
Kirsty jammed down on her trigger.
Immediately, the Silhouette’s wings spewed forth a devastating burst of tracer fire. The relentless wave of bullets disappeared inside the hole in the ceiling and assaulted any icy crags or outcroppings that dared to jut out of the walls of the ice tunnel.
At that moment, Schofield hit the thrusters and the Silhouette shot up into the tunnel, just as, behind it, the ceiling of the enormous cavern spectacularly collapsed in on itself.
The wing-mounted guns of the Silhouette blazed away, blasting at any imperfections in the ice tunnel as the big black plane flew upwards through what had once been the underwater ice tunnel.
Schofield guided the sleek black plane up through the tunnel, shooting through puffs of white cloud, rolling the big plane onto its side when the tunnel narrowed, praying to God that the tracer bullets were clearing the way.
Up and up the Silhouette went, blasting away at the tunnel in front of it. Explosions boomed out all around the big black plane. The sound of its wing-mounted guns firing away was deafening.
And then suddenly the tunnel behind the Silhouette began to collapse at a phenomenal rate.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Massive chunks of ice began to rain down from the ceiling of the tunnel behind the speeding plane. The Silhouette raced upwards through the tunnel, blasting away at the walls of the tunnel in front of it while at the same time outrunning the collapsing tunnel behind it.
Through the cockpit canopy it looked like some kind of video-game thrill ride. The tunnel swept past Schofield at phenomenal speed, and occasionally the world flipped upside-down as he rolled the big plane to avoid falling chunks of ice.
Schofield watched as the barrage of tracer bullets decimated the walls of the tunnel in front of him, widening it, smoothing it, and then suddenly – voom! – the walls of the ice tunnel vanished and in a single, glorious instant, Schofield saw the sky open up in front of him.
The Silhouette burst out of the iceberg and flew up into the clear open sky.
The Silhouette shot up into the air, almost vertical, and Schofield looked back over his shoulder and saw that the ice shelf that had held Wilkes Ice Station within it was indeed no longer an ice shelf. It was now an iceberg.
An absolutely massive iceberg.
It had flipped over and Schofield saw the eroded underbelly of what had once been the ice shelf – the thin, icy stalactites; the glistening-wet mountain peaks – rising like spires above the new berg. He also saw the jagged, black hole through which the Silhouette had blasted out of the berg.
And then suddenly movement caught Schofield’s eye: a thin white object racing over the ocean, heading toward the newly formed iceberg.
The missile.
And as the Silhouette roared into the sky, Schofield watched in silent awe as the nuclear-tipped missile slammed into the iceberg and burrowed into it. There was about a three second delay . . .
And then the nuclear device detonated.
Armageddon.
The white-hot flash of the nuclear explosion – directly beneath the Silhouette as it shot up into the sky – was absolutely blinding.
Solid cliffs of ice were turned instantly to powder as every side of the iceberg containing Wilkes Ice Station and the underground cavern blew out with the blast wave.
The blast wave shot underwater, vaporising everything in its path, creating huge waves of water that expanded out from the coast, rocking the massive icebergs that lined the cliffs as if they were a child’s bath toys. Truth be told, it wasn’t a large nuclear blast – three kilotons with a blast radius of half a kilometre. But then again, there really was no such thing as a small nuclear explosion.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Suddenly, a monstrous black mushroom cloud began to form, shooting up into the air at incredible speed, chasing after the Silhouette as it shot skyward.
Schofield went vertical, tried to outrun the burgeoning mushroom cloud. The mushroom cloud rushed upward. The Silhouette screamed into the sky, its engines roaring, and just as the mushroom cloud began to engulf it, the cloud peaked and the Silhouette shot up and away to safety.
Schofield banked the plane sharply and headed out to sea.
The Silhouette shot across the ocean, heading north. It was dark, eternal twilight. The gargantuan mushroom cloud had just dipped below the horizon to the south of the big black plane.
Schofield found the autopilot, engaged it, then he went back into the missile bay to check on Gant.
‘How is she?’ he asked Renshaw. Gant was lying on the floor of the missile bay, looking seriously pale. Her skin was clammy, her eyes were closed.
‘She’s lost a lot of blood,’ Renshaw said. ‘We have to get her to a hospital fast.’
At that moment, Gant’s eyes popped open. ‘Did we win?’ she asked.
Schofield and Renshaw both looked down at her. Schofield smiled. ‘Yes, Libby, we won. How are you feeling?’
‘Terrible.’ She lay back, shut her eyes again.
Schofield sighed. Where could he take her? A ship would be the best option but which –
The Wasp. Romeo had said that the USS Wasp was out here somewhere. It was Jack Walsh’s ship. A Marine ship. It would be safe.
Schofield was about to hurry back to the cockpit when suddenly he saw the diary sticking out of Gant’s breast pocket.
He grabbed it and headed forward into the cockpit.
Once he was seated in the pilot’s chair, Schofield keyed the Silhouette’s radio. ‘USS Wasp. USS Wasp. This is Scarecrow. I repeat, this is Scarecrow. Do you copy?’
There was no reply.
Schofield tried again. No reply. He looked down at the diary in his hands. It had some looseleaf sheets of paper folded inside it. Gant must have found some documents and put them in the diary.
Schofield grabbed one of the loose sheets. It read:
DESIGN PARAMETERS FOR THE B-7A SILHOUETTE
The Principal desires an attack aircraft with total electronic and conventional invisibility, STOVL capabilities through a retrograde thruster system, and multiple-launch BVR medium-to-long-range (200 nm) air-to-air/air-to-ground missile launch capabilities as expressed in the tender lodged by General Aeronautics Inc and Entertech Ltd in response to the Principal’s Invitation to Tender No. 456-771-7A, dated 2 January 1977.
Schofield translated the jargon: ‘STOVL’ was Short-Take-Off/Vertical-Landing; ‘BVR’ stood for Beyond Visual Range, which meant missiles that could be fired at targets – and be expected to hit those targets – at extremely long range. ‘Electronic invisibility’ meant invisibility to radar, or stealth. But what the hell was ‘conventional invisibility’?
Schofield flicked to the next sheet. It looked like a page out of Entertech Ltd’s tender. It read:
THE ENTERTECH EDGE
The B-7A Silhouette benefits from Entertech Ltd’s experience in the field of electronic countermeasures. Invisibility to radar – or ‘stealth’ – is accomplished in many ways: with radar absorbent paint, minimal radar cross-sections, or with a sharply angled fuselage design as was done with the F-117A stealth fighter. But conventional invisibility is more difficult to accomplish, and so far, it has remained unattainable. Until now.
Entertech Ltd has developed a system whereby an electromagnetic field is created around a given aircraft creating conventional invisibility. The electromagnetic field distorts the molecular structure of the air around the aircraft, creating an artificial refraction of light that renders that aircraft totally invisible to radar and even –
Schofield’s jaw dropped. His eyes scanned the lines ahead and he found the word he was looking for:
We call it, a cloaking device . . .
Jesus, Schofield thought.
A cloaking device.
A system which rendered an aircraft not only invisible to radar, but to the naked eye as well. Every aviator knew that even if you were invisible to your enemy’s radar, you could never escape someone seeing you directly. A billion-dollar stealth bomber can be seen by a spotter out the window of an AWACS plane forty miles away.
Schofield’s mind buzzed. This was revolutionary. A cloaking device that distorted the air around an air-plane, thus creating an artificial refraction of the light around the plane, making it invisible to the naked eye. The crazy thing was, it just might work.
Schofield knew about refraction. It was most commonly observed when one looked into a fishbowl. Light outside the fishbowl strikes the water – which has a greater density than the air above it. The greater density of the water causes the light to refract at an angle, distorting the size and position of the fish inside the bowl.
But this was refraction of air, Schofield thought. This is artificially altering the density of air with electricity.
There had to be a catch. And there was.
The plutonium.
This revolutionary new system – this system that could alter the refractive density of air – was nuclear.
Schofield searched for the relevant paragraph, found it. As one would expect from someone trying to win a government tender, it was carefully worded:
It must be appreciated that to effect the Silhouette’s cloaking system requires an enormous amount of self-generated power. According to tests run by Entertech Ltd and General Aeronautics Inc, to disrupt the molecular and electromagnetic structure of the ambient air around a moving aircraft requires a total of 2.71 gigawatts of electromagnetic energy. The only known source of such a quantity of energy is a controlled nuclear reaction –
Schofield whistled softly to himself. General Aeronautics and Entertech had offered the US Air Force a plane with a nuclear reactor on board. No wonder they built it in Antarctica.
Schofield put the documentation down, tried the radio again.
‘USS Wasp. USS Wasp. This is Scarecrow. I repeat, USS Wasp, this is Scarecrow. Please re –’
‘Unidentified aircraft using the name Scarecrow, this is US Air Force fighter, Blue Leader. Identify yourself,’ a voice said suddenly over Schofield’s cockpit radio.
Schofield looked at his radar screen. He was now almost two hundred nautical miles from the coast of Antarctica, safely out over the sea. On his radar screen, he saw nothing.
