The Borealis. The Aperture Science icebreaker, stranded for decades in the Arctic sea ice. The bright red hull was perched between the twin crags of a tall iceberg, floating some hundred miles from the North Pole. Lost for many years, but certainly never forgotten. Standing on the deck of the aptly named Aurora, another icebreaker, Dr Judith Mossman broke into a broad smile when she saw the ship's name emblazoned across the bow, poking out from the berg. This was it. The prize that Doctor Kleiner so desperately wanted to recover and that Eli Vance had so desperately wanted to destroy. Why? She hoped to find out sooner or later.
An hour and a short helicopter flight later, and Mossman was standing, flanked by two Resistance members, gazing out in awe from the deck at the sweeping expanse of ice. They had plenty of work to do, as a detailed search of the ship was required. They decided, to conserve helicopter fuel, that they would remain onboard the Borealis for the duration of the mission. That night, Dr Mossman penned her first diary entry.
Day 1.
Lawes, Johnson and I have made a detailed examination of the outer surface of the ship. Nothing untoward so far, although the entire vessel is in an advanced state of disrepair. Davids and Odell have made a preliminary sweep of the lower decks, taking many photographs. Most of the passages and rooms on the starboard side are partially or completely blocked by ice or fallen equipment, either from some storm, general decay, or something else entirely. At the present none of us have any idea as to how or why the Borealis became stranded on the peak of an iceberg, some hundred metres above the sea. Hopefully our investigations will help to uncover more clues. The team has set up camp in the rooms under the bridge, as these seem the least damaged.
Day 2
Using our Tau cannon, we have managed to carve a berth out for the Aurora in a nearby berg. We cannot afford to let it be spotted by satellite. We have begun cutting away at the ice on the second floor, but it is slow work and it may take some time to reach the cargo areas.
Day 3
We have made a grisly discovery. Almost a dozen corpses, freeze-dried inside the hull, have been found in one of the storage bays. It is all very curious. How did they get to the bay, if the ship was tossed onto the berg by a rogue wave, as Odell believes? Were they all sheltering in there, and became trapped by the ice? We will surely find out as we open up the rest of the ship.
One week later
The black jackboots of Unit D-9 settled onto the slanted and buckled hull of the icebreaker. This enhanced combat soldier represented the peak of Combine gene manipulation. He was tall, over six foot, and clad in standard issue Elite body armour. No skin was visible under the puffy white torso, the red and black knee and elbow patches, or the imposing helmet. At the centre of the Cranial Protection Unit was an enormous single red lens that took up almost a third of the front of the helmet. Contrary to popular belief, the Elites had not been surgically modified to fit the helmet, instead using the lens to provide a clear uninterrupted view of the battle zone. Instead of the complex and cluttered air filters and equipment used in the gray and blue B series helmet that was Overwatch standard issue, the Elite's helm was streamlined, with two domes over the ears and a single port over the mouth that was both a filter and a vocoder.
D-9 hustled, half crouched, across the deck towards the nearest shelter. He hunkered down behind a hatchway cover, and covered the bow with his pulse rifle. More Elites leapt from the drop ship that swayed gently over the hull, fighting the Arctic wind. They moved cautiously, leapfrogging each other as they made their way down the length of the stricken icebreaker. Only the port side was navigable, as the ship was encrusted in ice and snow on its starboard side.
"Bow clear."
"Stern clear."
"Centre clear. Advance on access hatches and proceed to lower floors."
From here, the Elites split up. Several attached cables to the outer rails and rappelled down to the outside gantries of lower floors. More began to batter at heavy bulkhead doors and portholes, while the rest took up defensive positions around the ship.
D-9 followed the others into the bowels of the ship. The interior was pitch black, illuminated only by the red light of the Elite's helmets and the occasional ghostly spear of light that found its way through the ice and into a porthole. Here and there they had to step over the desiccated corpses in Aperture Science jumpsuits that littered the concourse.
No door was left unopened, no room left undisturbed. The Elites covered every inch, taking photographs with their helmet cameras of every object they could find. Every corpse was taken out into the sunlight and laid in neat rows on the deck, where Overwatch medics began hasty dissections, picking out the best preserved examples for transport. A Hunter helicopter, equipped with ground penetrating radar, made several slow passes, mapping out the section that lay buried under the ice. The Combine swarmed over the Borealis like ants picking over a bright red cadaver.
The search continued for several hours. None of the personnel had been briefed on what it was they were looking for; in truth, not even those that had ordered the mission knew. Anything out of place had to be reported and documented thoroughly. So far, nothing apart from ordinary human technology had been found. The cargo holds, however, remained sealed off by walls of ice and other debris that had penetrated the hull in several places. Soldiers with thermic lances had already begun to clear these doorways. Drop ships swarmed overhead, dropping off and removing cargo and artefacts alike. The Elites were relegated to guard duty.
None of the Combine heard the drone of the approaching aircraft, it's blades masked by the thunder of the dropships and the circling Hunter helicopter. The Mi-8 leapt over the edge of the nearest iceberg and bore down on the Borealis with terrifying speed. The dropships scattered like a school of frightened fish in its path. A burst of machine gun fire spat from a pod on the helicopter's belly, and the Hunter chopper began to issue great clouds of smoke, wheeling away over the ice.
The Overwatch on the deck were quick to recover from their surprise, and soon the air was filled with projectiles. The Mi-8 swerved and wobbled drunkenly through the air overhead, occasionally firing on the soldiers beneath.
D-9 sprinted over into an open doorway, and into the ship. The bridge was crowded with soldiers, Elites and Overwatch. His radio crackled with frantic communications.
"Overwatch requests reserve activation..."
"Confirm, hostile contact..."
"Request medical..."
The radio faded, and a deep voice cut through the chatter.
"Overwatch reports several boomers dispatched inbound, prepare for special enemy suppression and wrap up. All remaining units displace to internal high points."
Outside, the Mi-8 wheeled around for another pass. It was badly damaged, having taking hundreds of rounds of small arms fire in the attacks. A burst of machine gun fire chewed up the flat stern, blowing several soldiers off their feet. The helicopter sank lower, heading for the rusted, faded square of steel that had once been the ship's helipad.
D-9 ran back to the bow, moving to a higher position on the superstructure. The Mi-8 settled, and two figures jumped out, sprinting over to the nearest hatchway. The first of the duo was a young woman of Afro-Asian origin, with coffee brown skin and deep green eyes. She wore a thick green parka and snow camouflage boots and pants. Her black hair, streaked with red, was tied back by a black headband.
The second intruder was male and of a similar age. He was clad from the neck down in an orange and black suit of hi-tech armour, with the Greek lambda symbol emblazoned across the torso plate. He had deep green eyes that glimmered from behind a pair of rectangular glasses. He had a small beard and moustache, and short brown hair.
D-9 lowered his OSIPR as the hatch groaned shut behind the intruders. On the helipad, the Mi-8 was wreathed in flames, crackling furiously as the last of the fuel burned.
All the noise and confusion of the upper decks vanished instantly as the hatch closed. In its place, there was only the deep boom of strained metal and the steady drip of melt water from the rusty walls. Alyx Vance put her hands on her knees, panting for breath. She gave a wry smile, and glanced up at Gordon Freeman.
"Well, that was kind of the Combine to give us such a warm welcome."
Gordon fiddled with the aperture of his chest-mounted flashlight. "Too kind. Looks as though they've only just turned up".
Alyx punched him on the shoulder. "Why is it that you only show up after the bad guys arrive? I thought heroes were meant to always be one step ahead."
Gordon smirked. "I don't know why anyone would say that."
He panned the beam over the walls around them. Ahead, a set of metal stairs plunged into the gloom. With Gordon leading the way, they descended into the hull of the icebreaker.