Authors: Bob Mayer
Riley took the entrenching tool from his ruck and tucked it inside his parka. He also unsnapped a twelve-foot length of nylon rope that was attached to the outside of his ruck, then wrapped the rope about his waist and around each leg, making an expedient climbing harness. He tied two loops in the ends of the rope and connected them with the snap link that had held the rope to his ruck. Then he climbed back into the shaft and up the rungs.
Reaching the ice, Riley clicked the snap link on a rung and sat back in the harness. He reached inside his parka, pulled out the e-tool, and unfolded it. Carefully pulling up his hood to protect his head, he used the point of the shovel to break off chunks of ice, letting them fall down the shaft to the floor. He worked mostly by feel—the reflected light from the room below barely lit the shaft.
It was the sort of mindless work that Riley enjoyed. It took his thoughts off the sight of Lallo lying in the corridor, bullets slamming into his body. And it didn't allow him to think about the fact that he had killed again today. There would be plenty of time to think about that after they got out of here.
H
OWARD
A
IR
F
ORCE
B
ASE,
P
ANAMA
Major Frank Bellamy watched the confusion in his men's faces as they were handed the cold-weather clothing that the battalion sergeant major had scrounged out of the central issue facility. The fact that the facility even had cold-weather gear in the first place was a little surprising, but they were Special Forces after all—ready to go anywhere at a moment's notice. Just because they were stationed in Panama didn't mean they wouldn't be sent to someplace not as temperate.
Bellamy grabbed the red webbing that served as seats on the side of the MC-130 Combat Talon as the plane suddenly stopped on the runway and then slowly turned. The roar of the engines easily penetrated the plane's metal skin.
The loadmaster was yelling at Bellamy to get his men seated for takeoff. Bellamy ignored him. Air Force people always acted as though they were the most important thing in the world and the other services were just training aids to support them. What difference would it make if his men were seated on the web seats or standing in the middle of the plane if they crashed on takeoff, Bellamy had always wondered. They'd be dead either way.
Bellamy was the company commander for C Company, 3d Battalion, 7th Special Forces Group (Airborne). He'd received the alert direct from Special Operations Command forty minutes ago, and in that time he had gathered together two of his teams—the ones who weren't out training—and gotten them and their gear loaded onto this MC-130. The twenty-six men were now crowded in the rear of the aircraft, trying to sort through the rapidly loaded equipment. Halfway up the cargo bay, a large black curtain blocked the view forward. Bellamy knew that behind the curtain were banks of electronic equipment manned by air force personnel.
With a slight bump, the brakes released and the plane rumbled down the runway. The loadmaster must have told the pilot that the soldiers had ignored his order to sit down, because the nose of the plane suddenly lifted and they immediately began climbing at an extreme angle.
"Assholes," Bellamy muttered as he lurched backward and reluctantly took his seat.
His XO, Captain Manchester, sat down next to him and yelled into his ear. "Where are we going?"
"Antarctica," Bellamy screamed back.
Manchester took that news in stride. "What for?"
"Fuck if I know," Bellamy replied. "All the alert said was to get our butts in gear. I'm supposed to get filled in once we're airborne and SOCOM gets its shit together and calls."
Manchester nodded and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. No sense worrying about what they didn't know. Bellamy had the same attitude. He bunched up a poncho liner behind his head and was asleep in less than ten minutes after takeoff.
E
IGHTH
A
RMY
H
EADQUARTERS,
Y
ONGSAN,
S
OUTH
K
OREA
The U.S. Eighth Army commander, General Patterson, steepled his fingers and contemplated his staff G-2. The G-2 was the officer responsible for intelligence, and it was at his request that the other primary staff members of Patterson's headquarters were gathered in the situation room at almost eleven o'clock at night. The G-2 had just spent twenty minutes going over his recent intelligence data. He'd finished only a minute ago, and the rest of the room was waiting for Patterson's reaction.
"OK. Let me see if I have this straight. All these indicators that you've just briefed add up to level four activity across the border. Am I correct?"
"Yes, sir," he answered. Contrary to what many nonmilitary people think, it is impossible to launch a large-scale military campaign without certain preparations. These preparations are watched carefully by the intelligence agencies of all the armed forces in the world and are the basis for predicting the actions of their potential enemies. Noting some of those activities across the border in North Korea was what had caused the G-2 to become concerned and call this meeting.
"How many times have you seen this?" Patterson asked.
"We saw it during Team Spirit back in March. The North went up to level two then, but that was expected because they do it every year during that exercise. We haven't seen an unexpected four like this in the eight months I've been here."
"What do you think the reason for this is?"
The G-2 wasn't about to conjecture. "I couldn't say, sir. However, I must point out that the activity seems to be southern directed." He gestured at the map on the wall behind him. "The satellite imagery definitely shows the V and II PKA Corps moving to forward assault positions along the border."
"They may be doing this just to get us to deploy our forward elements into their battle positions so they can ID them," pointed out the operations officer, the G-3. "They can pull those units back just as quickly as they move them forward."
"Our sensing equipment is also picking up some tunneling activity in the DMZ," the G-2 added. "We haven't pinpointed it yet, but it's the most extensive we've heard since '94 when Kim II Sung died."
Over the years three tunnels under the DMZ had been discovered and neutralized. It was estimated that at least eighteen more tunnels had yet to be found, each one large enough for an estimated 8,000 troops an hour to pass through.
Patterson frowned. Level four was the first stage of intelligence alert to possible invasion from the north. By itself, it required no action on his part other than to inform subordinate commanders. Level three—if it came to that—required the restriction of all personnel to base and a one-hour alert status for every unit. Level two required forward movement to defensive positions and the initiation of movement of reinforcements from U.S. bases outside of the Korean peninsula—the real version of the Team Spirit exercise that was conducted every year. Level one meant that war was possible with less than a ten-minute warning.
"How far are they from reaching level one?" Patterson asked.
The G-2 bit his lower lip. "I'd say minimum of seventy-two hours, sir, if they're committed to it. More likely a week. If we get any of several intelligence nodes passed in the next eight to twelve hours, we will be at level three."
Patterson nodded. "All right. Inform me immediately if I have to go to level three alert. I want all major subordinate commanders notified about the level four. That includes all reinforcing units. I'm going to personally call the CG of the 25th in Hawaii and update him. I'll also call the war room in the Pentagon." He turned to his air force and naval commanders. "Please notify your respective personnel to go to level four alert."
E
TERNITY
B
ASE,
A
NTARCTICA
Conner had watched the steady stream of ice splatter down the chute for the past fifteen minutes. Now Riley's feet appeared as he lowered himself into the room. "Who's next?" he asked, shaking ice flakes off his parka.
Devlin zipped up his jacket. "I'll go."
Swenson stood. "No. I'll go. I need the exercise to warm up. You take the next shift."
Riley took the rope off his own waist and wrapped it around the pilot, then he filled in the rest of the group on his progress. "I got about four to five feet in. Most of the metal tubing is still good. It almost looks like the ice came in from the top, or else we haven't reached the break in the wall yet. Let's hope the ice didn't crush the metal together."
Swenson cinched the rope around his waist. "All set."
Riley pointed. "I hung the shovel on the top rung."
"OK." With a weary smile, Swenson pulled himself into the tube.
The temperature in the reactor room had dropped considerably due to the open hatch and the slowly melting pile of ice in the far corner. Conner had gone through the bag of supplies and retrieved crackers and canned fruit cocktail. She handed a can to Riley as he sat down on his ruck.
"Thanks." Riley smiled. He held up a can of fruit. "C rations. I haven't seen these since '84."
Conner returned the smile, then glanced over at Devlin. He looked worn and scared. The main emotion she felt for him right now was pity. She sat next to him with her food and he spoke to her for the first time since they'd started digging.
"I liked the story you did on me."
Conner was surprised he brought that up now. "It was the best interview I ever did." She touched Devlin's shoulder. "I mean that."
"I'm sorry I didn't call you." Devlin's words were almost choked.
"It's OK," Conner whispered in his ear.
On the other side of the room, Sammy rolled her eyes. She didn't want to hear this—not because of the implied intimacy between the two, but because she could see that Devlin's nerves were frayed. As far as Sammy was concerned, things were going to get worse before they got better, and they couldn't afford for anyone to come apart at the seams.
Sammy poked around in her can of fruit cocktail and tried to ignore Devlin and her sister. Conner put an arm around Devlin and started talking very quietly into his ear. They sat that way for a few minutes, interrupted only by the sprinkle of ice from the hatch as Swenson continued to dig away.
Sammy was surprised when Riley slid over until their legs were touching and started talking to her. "You have any thoughts about what you're going to do when you get back to the real world?"
Sammy forgot the murmuring across the room and turned her attention to Riley. "Not really. I just want to get this over with."
"I doubt that you'll be able to go back to your old job, regardless of how this turns out." Riley regarded her for a few seconds. "I know I haven't said much since we met at the airport, but that's because I've been concentrating on the job." He considered that statement for a second. "All right, that's not entirely true. It's also because I'm not very good at talking to people. It's also because I've been very caught up with my own loss."
Sammy met his eyes. "I appreciate that. I'm not really sure how I feel myself. Why don't you tell me what happened? You said earlier—"
She never finished analyzing those feelings as her world went upside down. It was as if a large hand grasped the reactor room and lifted it, tumbling everyone to the floor. The lights went out and a tremendous roar, like thousands of locomotives charging by, deafened Sammy's ears. Her last thought as she was thrown across the room was regret that she and Riley hadn't finished their conversation.
Chapter Twenty-Four
E
TERNITY
B
ASE,
A
NTARCTICA
The fact that the epicenter of the blast was underground muffled the kinetic effect of the explosion but utterly disintegrated Eternity Base, producing a puckered crater more than a quarter mile wide. The fireball lashed across the ice, searing the surface for more than two miles in every direction. The refreezing of the briefly melted ice produced a landscape that resembled sheets of glistening glass.
The immediate radiation was absorbed by the ice in a relatively short distance. The delayed radiation in the form of strontium 90, cesium 137, iodine 131, and carbon 14 was grabbed by the howling winds; as the elements rose in the atmosphere, the radiation began spreading over a large area.
V
ICINITY
E
TERNITY
B
ASE,
A
NTARCTICA
The flash and thermal energy bathed the snowy plain in dulled white light—the swirling snow having lessened the effect—the heat at a bearable level here, more than fifteen miles from the epicenter of the blast. Five minutes before the hour, Pak had turned the vehicle so the rear pointed directly toward the base, but still the shock wave split through the storm and slammed into the back of the SUSV with gale force. The vehicle actually lifted a foot off its rear tracks before rocking back down and continuing on its way.