Disclaimer: I don't own the characters Shane "Scarecrow" Schofield, Libby "Fox" Gant, Rebound Simmons, Mother Newman, Andrew "Hawk" Trent, Jack Walsh, Sean Barnes, or Waylon J. Riggs. The rest of the characters were made up by moi and I must say that they are pretty cool.
Author's Note: This story is just my continuation of the book Ice Station by Matthew Reilly. Too bad he basically already made a sequel, but I've been working on this since April 2001 and he just came out with his sequel, so whatever… Hope you enjoy it (if you read it)
Background Info: This is just for those of you who haven't read Ice Station.
Shane Schofield, Libby Gant, Rebound Simmons and Mother Newman were in a unit that was sent to a remote ice station called Wilkes (I make some references to it) in Antarctica to check out a so-called spaceship. But they were attacked by the SAS, French commandos and their own teammates (who were part of an organization called the ICG- I make some references to that too). Out of twelve men and women, those four (Schofield, Gant, Rebound and Mother) were the only ones who made it out alive.
Schofield was a pilot before becoming a Marine. He has scars running vertically down each eye and eyelid as a result of a mission to Bosnia. He wears sunglasses all the time to hide them.
Andrew Trent was on a mission in Peru where his team discovered something. The double-agents in his team (ICG members) killed everyone to insure secrecy, but Andrew Trent survived. (Some of the italics later on are direct quotes from that mission described in Ice Station).
Libby Gant is sometimes called "Dorothy" because she has feelings for Schofield, nicknamed "Scarecrow". Another Marine in Ice Station said she was called this because "everyone knows Dorothy liked the Scarecrow the best."
I think that's all you really need to know. If you have any questions, just ask.
A single flare shot up into the sky.
"Sir, we've located the missing scientists." A young naval officer stood at attention in front of the captain. "We've just sent up a flare to receive air support."
Captain Sean M. Barnes, a paunchy gray-haired man, had been promoted only days earlier when the previous captain had gone missing during a diving mission.
"Air support?" He sneered. "Why do we need air support? It's a search and rescue mission, Lowe; we don't need to get the fucking USAF off their asses for a simple in-and-out deal. Call them off."
Officer Lowe, having entered the navy two years ago while he was nineteen, had figured out pretty quickly that contradicting a higher ranking officer was not a good idea. One guy in his crew, only eighteen at the time, right out of high school, had questioned the authority of one of his officers. He was locked in the head for five hours, then forced to sit in the engine room until he lost his hearing for two days. Yeah, Lowe had definitely learned his lesson. "Sir, yes, sir!" He saluted, and then returned to the radio control room.
At twenty-one, James Lowe was 6"2 with blond-brown hair. He had a small mouth that was usually set in a wide smile and his eyes were piercing blue. His upper lip had a small scar running vertically through it; an accident with a knife when he was a young boy was his explanation. He stood beside Lieutenant Commander J.C. Sanchez, the radio operator. "Captain says to call them off."
Sanchez looked up at Lowe. He looked up because he was only 5"6, a full 8 inches shorter than Lowe. "Shit, man! I got a bad feeling about this." He switched on the radio. "Calling all USAF pilots. This is Constitution of the U.S. Navy. We no longer require assistance. Do you copy? Over."
A voice crackled in the speaker. This is Lieutenant Cross of the USAF. We copy that. Over and out.
Sanchez turned the radio off and took a deep breath. "If something bad had happened to those scientists down there, we just lost our closest back-up."
Lowe felt uneasy about the orders as well, but refused to reveal his feelings to Sanchez. He shrugged his shoulders, more to convince himself than to convince Sanchez.
There was a large underwater lab built into the side of a cliff located on the coast of Chile, called the S.A.L (seismic activity lab). The U.S. government had decided to grant a team of scientists to study the seismic activity around the area. The best position was underwater, as it was known there were many underwater volcanoes off the coast of South America.
About six months earlier, the scientists reported a series of high readings of seismic activity a few miles out to sea. They also noted that some of the larger fish had disappeared. The U.S. Navy had sent a diving team down to the station to retrieve the reports, but they had never returned.
The Constitution was then sent to search for them and, if they found them or their bodies, to retrieve them.
Lowe looked down at Sanchez. "I'm sure everything's fine. I have to report back to Commander Aikens." With that, he spun on his heel and left the radio controls room.
Sanchez looked after him and when he left said, "Man, this is loco."
Commander Eric Aikens stood in full diving gear, preparing for the one and a half-hour dive down to the S.A.L. He was checking his mask when Lowe approached him. "Yes, Officer?"
Lowe saluted. "Sir, the Captain ordered the recall of the Air Force. The only back-up you and the team will have is the crew on the ship."
Aikens stopped to think before rolling his eyes. "That stupid ass is going to get us killed some day. I would have liked to have air support, but the orders come right from the top and I'm guessing you've already contacted the pilots to inform them." Lowe nodded. "Alright, you are dismissed. Thank you, Officer." Lowe saluted and left, overhearing Aikens muttering something about 'Damn Barnes, he'll murder us.'
It had been four hours since they had lost contact with Aikens and his team of divers.
"Are you sure we're on the right frequency?" Captain Barnes leaned over Sanchez's shoulder.
"I'm quite sure, sir." Sanchez glanced up at the older man. "Sir… should I try contacting the USAF again?"
"NO!" Barnes glared at Sanchez. "Those assholes just fuck everything up. They think they're better than we are, it pisses me off. We all do our duty!" He paused and Sanchez jumped in.
"Sir, we need help and they may be the closest help. They'll want to help." Sanchez held his breath, waiting for Barnes to answer. If he answered 'no', then it was hopeless.
"Alright fine, but I don't want to have to talk to them."
Sanchez quickly picked up the microphone. "This is the Constitution, we need assistance. We have five crewmembers missing… Are there any pilots out there?"
This is Lieutenant Cross of the USAF. What kind of trick are you guys playing? Don't fuck with us man."
"Roger that and eat shit, Cross. This is a real emergency; not some fakeass drill… Now get your flyboy asses in gear and come help us!" Sanchez grumbled into the mike. Barnes grabbed his shoulder so violently that Sanchez almost toppled off his chair. "Ow, that hurts!"
"It damn well should hurt, you stupid ass. What the hell do you think you're doing? Obviously not winning any fucking popularity contests!" Barnes tightened his grip on Sanchez's shoulder.
"But sir-"
"I don't want to hear it, Sanchez. You will be severely-" Barnes was cut off as another voice crackled through the radio.
Okay shipboy, we'll come help you, since you guys are obviously incapable of handling an emergency. Over and out. Then there was static.
Sanchez turned the radio down, and then glanced at Barnes. "See, sir? It's all competition to these guys. If we sucked up, it would work. If we bad-mouthed them, it would work. Sir, you have to realize that guys are stupid." He raised an eyebrow. Barnes leaned in close.
"You'd better watch it, Sanchez. You're starting to sound like a woman." He slapped Sanchez on the shoulder and left the room. Sanchez rubbed the spot where Barnes had gripped him and winced. Then he chuckled, but froze mid-laugh when he heard a radio message through the static. He changed the frequency and heard a garbled message in another language. "What the-" Before he could finish his sentence, there was a large explosion and the Constitution blew up in a large, fiery mass of metal.
Lieutenant Cross circled his F-18 in the air. "Okay, so where is it?" He looked down at the ocean. This was the location he had been given of the Navy ship Constitution, but it was nowhere to be seen. "I swear to God, if they've been fucking with me-"
"Hey! Cross! No cursing on this frequency." The second pilot, Commander Norse, said into his radio headset. "I'm turning on my scanner. Maybe I can dig up something." He flicked a switch beside his radar screen and the screen turned blue; meaning his heat-seeking device had been activated. "Nope, there's nothing here." He switched it off after a few more seconds, and then circled in his F-18 one more time before turning back to base. "Maybe they headed into another port to get help."
"Or maybe they were just fucking with us." Cross suggested. With that, the two fighters turned and headed back to their base.