Chapter Eleven.
Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle.
Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska.
Day Sixteen – Sunday, February 26th 1984.
Approximately 1.00pm local time.
"How does it look, Leigh?" Stringfellow Hawke asked softly as he watched Leigh Roland wave away the last of the Russian commandos, pantomiming to the young man in exaggerated sign language that he should keep warm, eat something and get himself something to drink, and then reach out for the man's medical chart to make a note of her observations.
Now the only one who remained to be checked over was their commanding officer, who had insisted that Leigh check all of his men over first.
Hawke suspected that if these commandos had been the ones responsible for starting the fire in the labs, then they were probably at the same stage in the disease as he and Dominic Santini were, having been exposed to it at roughly the same time.
Or at least within the same twenty four hour period.
Leigh had decided to check over the sickest men first, but before she got started, she and Hawke had first discussed how and where they could accommodate their new guests, and after reaching an agreement, Hawke had gone to check on Dominic Santini and then he had gone back to the Russian senior officer and requested the help of some of his men, the ones just sitting and waiting around to be examined by Leigh Roland, to assist in bringing more mattresses and the heating and lighting equipment that he and Dom had left at the door to the covered walkway, to the recreation room so that they could all be more comfortable.
The Russian officer had agreed, reluctantly at first, but then the commandos he had sent off to look around the station returned, breathless and eager to report their findings, or lack there of, and their commanding officer had then dispatched them to help Hawke and ordered those left behind to start moving the furniture to clear a space on the other side of the room.
The commandos had quickly and efficiently cleared enough space on the far side of the recreation room to lay a dozen mattresses in two rows of six and had put together another of the space heaters to take the chill off that side of the room.
While they had worked on finding bed linen and pillows, the men who had disappeared into the kitchen reappeared with mugs of hot soup for their comrades and now they were all sitting together on their side of the room, savoring the warmth of the soup and huddled around the space heater, but still eyeing their hosts suspiciously.
Hosts or hostages?
Hawke found himself wondering silently, despite what he had said to the Russian officer about their being no prisoners here.
That remained to be seen.
"You were right …." Leigh Roland gave a deep sigh as she raised her eyes from the chart she was filling in and regarded him with critical eyes.
Hawke looked exhausted, swaying slightly from fatigue, and every breath seemed to be causing him a great deal of discomfort and pain.
She was exhausted too, and she knew it showed, after all she had barely had a wink of sleep all night.
"Looks like they have it too …. Whatever it is …."
"They don't appear to be any worse than we are, Leigh," Hawke observed, a silent question in his lovely fever bright blue eyes, and this drew a weak, weary smile from her lips.
Were any of the newcomers showing any signs of madness or irrational rage?
Leigh shook her head gently in response to his unasked question and saw him relax just a little, although she wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not. She didn't know the new men, could barely make herself understood to them and had no way of knowing if they had been telling her the truth, even if she had known a word or two of Russian. If these Russian commandos were the same as military men the world over then they could just as easily be hiding the true extent of their physical condition so as not to appear weak in her eyes.
Just as Hawke was doing now, trying to deceive her into believing that he wasn't nearly as sick as she thought.
Not wanting the Russian to think that he was too sick to take care of himself and his companions.
Not wanting to allow the other man a chance to think that he might have the upper hand in this business.
"So …. Maybe they were exposed around the same time as we were …." Hawke pondered aloud now.
"Maybe," Leigh sighed tiredly. "Why don't you take some of your own advice, Cobber, and sit down before you fall down …." She again smiled weakly at him, noting the scowl that settled on his face as he realized that he wasn't fooling her with his macho act.
"I will if you will …."
"Hawke …. I don't know if I can do this …. Nurse all these sick men, alone …." She lowered her voice, wanting no-one but him to hear her fears and doubts.
"I've given them all Aspirin and antibiotics, but I'm not sure there is enough of everything to go around …." She let out a deep sigh then grew pensive, dropping her voice even lower now.
"Just do the best you can Leigh," Hawke smiled softly at her. "Maybe if we can put that idea of yours into practice and make contact with the outside world, we can request an airdrop of medical supplies, along with the antidote …."
"Optimist. What if they all …." Leigh stopped herself suddenly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, wincing as she bit down a little too hard and tasted salty, metallic blood in her mouth, but Hawke knew what she had been about to say.
Maybe they weren't showing any signs of it yet ….
But ….
What if they all succumbed to the symptoms of madness?
What indeed ….
It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about that him self, Hawke conceded silently, and realized that the odds that it might happen had just increased considerably.
"I don't have enough sedatives to knock everyone out, Hawke," Leigh whispered, and he knew that she was recalling the macabre scenes they had discovered out there in the compound and in the research labs, and imagining the horror and terror that must have gripped her friends and colleagues in their final hours, and knew that she hadn't forgotten that both he and Dominic Santini had practically demanded that she sedate them if they showed the slightest hint that they too were succumbing to the madness.
"Hopefully it won't come to that …." Hawke tired to assure, knowing that if it did, they would just have to try to protect and defend themselves as best they could.
"Are any of them showing those kinds of symptoms?" Hawke finally asked out loud, although he deliberately kept his voice low enough so that only she could hear him. Leigh hesitated, for just an instant, then shook her head gently, suddenly aware of the Russian senior officer watching them warily from the other side of the room, and her expression changed rapidly.
Hawke surreptitiously followed her gaze across the room and knew that she was revising that, and he knew that she was recalling the overtly sexual way the man had looked at her and was speculating to her self if that was just his natural way of dealing with all women, or if it was a symptom of the virus.
The Russian was watching them both carefully, but there was nothing predatory in the way his eyes roamed over Leigh Roland now.
"Then maybe you were right about this thing losing some of its potency as it gets passed on, or maybe it has mutated …."
"Hawke …. Did things just get better, or worse?"
"I don't know, but I figure it's time we got some answers …."
Hawke dropped his voice as he spotted movement from across the other side of the room out of the corner of his eye, and turned in time to see the Russian commanding officer staggering unevenly across the room toward them, his legs shivering and shaking beneath him, reaching out to various items of furniture for support, as finally he drew close and almost collapsed into the chair Leigh Roland quickly thrust forward ready to receive him.
"How are my men, doctor?" He asked on a ragged, wheezy breath, pinning Leigh Roland with cold, pale green eyes, although she could not deny the genuine concern in his voice for the young men under his command.
"They are all tired to the point of exhaustion, cold and hungry too, but we can soon remedy that. Some of them are border line hypothermic and all of them seem to have symptoms of an upper respiratory tract infection …. Just like the three of us …." Leigh Roland informed matter of factly.
"Comrade, don't you think it's time you told us what you know?" Hawke interjected, but when the other man remained stubbornly silent, he reached out for the nearest chair, drawing it up close to the Russian officer, turning it around so that he could straddle it and face the Russian man, then sat down carefully in it, waiting patiently while Leigh Roland began her medical examination.
For his part, the Russian officer sat stiffly in the chair, enduring Leigh Roland's gentle probing, remaining tight lipped and tense, answering her questions about his symptoms succinctly, and silently scrutinizing her every move, his face a grey, rigid, expressionless mask as he awaited her verdict.
"So," Hawke expelled a deep breath as Leigh Roland finally removed the thermometer from the Russian officer's mouth and turned away to make a note of the reading on the chart she had made out, adding it to the information that she had already begun to note down. However, there was one vital piece of information still missing from the chart. The Russian man's name.
"Are you ready to talk now?" Hawke prompted again and now the Russian pinned him with cold, reptilian green eyes, emitting a gentle sigh as he nodded stiffly in response. "Good. My name is Hawke, Dr Roland you already know, and my co-pilot is Dominic Santini …." Hawke made the introductions in low, neutral tones; however the other man made no effort to offer his own name.
"And you are?" Hawke prompted in slightly raised tones, irritated by the Russian's apparent reluctance. "Hell, I can't keep calling you comrade …." He pointed out with a rueful smile. "Even the Geneva Convention allows …."
"I am aware of what the Geneva Convention permits, Mr Hawke," the Russian cut in abruptly. "Name, rank and serial number. …."
"I already told you that we are all civilians, comrade," Hawke sighed expressively. "And this is not an interrogation. You have our names. Common courtesy dictates that in return, you tell us your name …."
"Very well. I am Colonel Yuri Petrovitch Chapayev," the man imparted somewhat reluctantly, and was visibly surprised when Hawke extended his right hand to him in friendly greeting.
"Colonel …." Hawke regarded the man with a neutral expression, waiting for him to reach and out and accept his hand, and felt a rush of relief flood through him when after only a brief hesitation the other man accepted his hand and shook it, coolly and very briefly.
"Relax comrade, Chapayev. You're in good hands with Dr Roland," Hawke raised his eyes to Leigh Roland now and smiled at her and she smiled softly in return. "So, how is the Colonel doing doctor?" Hawke enquired casually.
"Well, like the rest of his men, the Colonel is suffering from exhaustion. He has an elevated temperature and is displaying the symptoms of an upper respiratory tract infection, but I am pleased to say that it appears that none of them are any worse than we are," Leigh imparted in a gentle voice. "And if he will permit it, I will give him the same antibiotics and Aspirin that I have given to each of his men …. And that reminds me, Mr Hawke, you are due for your meds too …."
"See what I've had to put up with, Colonel …." Hawke winked at Leigh Roland before continuing. "When she said that she was in charge, she really meant it!" He drawled, eyes twinkling with amusement now, hoping to lighten the mood a little and encourage the Russian officer to relax a little.
"Ok Colonel, how about we tell you what we already know …. Get the wheels in motion?" Hawke suggested when the other man remained silent, drawing his chair up a little closer and leaning in against the backrest so that he could keep his voice down low.
"As Dr Roland already explained, she is the Chief Medical Officer here at Whiteout Station, and that while she was away on compassionate leave, something catastrophic seems to have happened here," Hawke began in earnest, but there was no reaction from the other man, no change in his austere, haughty expression.
"When there was no contact with the scientists here for several days, naturally Dr Roland grew concerned, and so she approached my employer, a friend of hers …. Who then called upon my services to bring the doctor here."
"When we arrived, we could not help but notice that one of the buildings had been on fire, the research labs, and there was no sign of the scientists, nor any clue as to what had happened here. However, once we began to investigate, we did find one man, dead, apparently from natural causes …."
"And then we found something even more disturbing, Colonel, evidence of wanton destruction, violent wanton destruction such as wrecking the power generators and the radio equipment and deliberately rendering the snow mobiles useless, and the deliberate decommissioning of all the weapons in the Armory, as well as the various explosives the scientists used to obtain their samples, and the emergency flares."
Hawke decided to hold nothing back, and from the calm, impassive expression on the Colonel's face he began to suspect that his initial suspicion that these Russian commandos had been here before was correct, and that he was not telling the man anything that he did not already know.
"Our first clue as to what really happened here came from reading the Administrators daily log book. He described an incident that caused much amusement and excitement amongst his colleagues, Colonel. The scientists saw a shooting star …."
When this did not elicit any reaction from the Russian Colonel, Hawke was even more certain that he was only covering old ground for the man.
"The scientists sent a party out on to the ice to retrieve the meteorite, a fatal error as it turned out, for that was when people started to die. Three men in the party that went out to find the rock from outer space, one man returning home on the supply plane, when it crashed …. We located the wreckage on our way up here, nothing but a burned out shell and nothing to indicate how or why it had crashed, only that there were no survivors …. Then, slowly, one by one, either by illness, or madness which inspired unprecedented violence, the scientists, Dr Roland's colleagues and friends, began to die …."
"We now know that the scientists were infected by a strange virus, and that although only two of them appear to have died directly from its physical effects, similar symptoms to those we are all displaying, the others were driven to either kill themselves, or each other, under the influence of some terrible rage …. Madness …."
"We have seen the evidence with our own eyes, Colonel. Murder and suicide, chaos and destruction. We have now located thirteen bodies around the complex …. Yes, Colonel, we have investigated the burned out labs too, so we know that the fire was no accident, indeed, we assume that it was some crude attempt to cleanse the area of this vile contagion …. But, you see Colonel, that still leaves seven people unaccounted for. And I guess that is where you come in …."
As Stringfellow Hawke's voice trailed away, his words, and their implication drew a sharp look from Colonel Chapayev, and Hawke knew that finally he had the man's attention.
"Colonel, we know that it wasn't a meteorite that the scientists saw. It was a satellite. More precisely, a Russian satellite …." Hawke paused to take in a deep breath. "And we have to assume that it was carrying some kind of bio-weapon …."
Hawke deliberately kept his tone neutral and even, not wanting the other man to think that he was making an accusation, however, Colonel Chapayev remained silent, neither confirming nor denying Hawke's speculation, but the austere expression on his face told Stringfellow Hawke all that he needed to know.
"We believe that your government had an agent here at Whiteout Station, perhaps not a Russian citizen, but someone sympathetic to your cause, and that he was supposed to retrieve the evidence and return it to the authorities in the Soviet Union …. But when he didn't show up for a pre arranged rendezvous, and your people couldn't make contact with him, the guys over there in the Kremlin sent you and your men here to investigate …. It was you and your men who set fire to the research labs, wasn't it Colonel?"
"No, Mr Hawke. You are mistaken," Chapayev's voice was cold and emotionless.
"Then why don't you set the record straight, Colonel," Hawke invited, showing no evidence that he was irritated by the Russian Colonel's reluctance to talk.
"If I must …."
"I told you, you are not under interrogation, Colonel," Hawke emitted a deep, shoulder raising sigh of exasperation now.
So much for the spirit of co-operation ….
"We're not looking to apportion blame, Colonel. Right now it doesn't matter to me what the hell you guys have been playing with and how it managed to get loose on Whiteout Station. The point is, it is loose, and we have all been exposed to it. It's also pretty damned obvious that it doesn't discriminate …." Hawke paused, briefly, to allow the Russian man to process what he was saying.
"It's not going to politely pass you by because you are Russian and kill us because we are not. This thing recognizes no borders, it has no political allegiances, and it doesn't respond to orders. It doesn't care what kind of human being you are, if you are good or honest or decent. It just knows how to kill, Colonel, and it seems pretty damned efficient at it from what I have seen …."
Stringfellow Hawke paused to drag in a ragged breath, raising his right hand to rub it wearily over his face, and then exhaled the breath as a long, audible hiss.
"If we don't survive this mess, Colonel, whoever comes after us, and believe me, there will be others …. They will never know the truth. More people will die. Your people will become more distrusting of our people, and our people more distrusting or yours and before you know, our countries are at war …. And for what?"
"Colonel Chapayev, if Mr Hawke's theory is correct, then there is a possibility that whoever created this virus might also have created an antidote …." Leigh Roland put in now. "And frankly, I don't want to think about the consequences if he is wrong …."
"This situation isn't of our making, but we are the ones who have to face it. Survive it. Let the guys in Washington and Moscow work out who is to blame, Colonel. We are merely innocent victims and the only thing that we need to worry about is getting out of here alive," Hawke reminded. "But if we don't Comrade, we can at least leave behind a true account of events, so that whoever does come looking for us will know the truth, and maybe that will help to prevent a war …."
"Colonel, if you know what happened to those seven missing people, you have to tell us. Please. One of them is my husband …." Leigh Roland leaned in closer to the Russian Colonel now, her voice quivering as she fixed steady, appealing amber eyes on the man.
"Then you have my condolences, doctor …." Colonel Chapayev responded without emotion.
"He's dead?" Leigh choked out now, even though she had been steeling herself for days to hear the worst about Gregory Chandler's fate. "How can you be sure? I didn't even tell you his name …." She protested.
"His name does not matter, doctor. You have my word. Your husband is dead," Chapayev told her impassively, unmoved by her obvious grief and shock. "They are all dead."
"What happened, Colonel?" Hawke stepped in now, throwing Leigh Roland a sympathetic look, knowing that she needed to know all the details, despite the pain and heartache they would cause her.
"You are a very clever man, Mr Hawke," Chapayev sighed, his tone sarcastic now. "You seem to have arrived at part of the truth, by simple guesswork," he paused, as though silently debating whether to impart what he knew or not, then closing his eyes, briefly, he drew in a deep breath and continued.
"I know nothing of secret agents or satellites, or bio-weapons, Mr Hawke. My men and I were on the ice engaged in a routine Arctic survival training expedition. We arrived at our camp site, several kilometers north east of here on the drifting pack ice, in the early hours of the morning on Tuesday 14th February," He explained matter of factly.
"We were transported by one of my country's fleet of nuclear submarines, and then they were to embark on routine patrol and exercises in the Beaufort Sea. Our landing on the ice was delayed because of the storms, otherwise we too might very well have witnessed this shooting star …. Meteorite or satellite, or whatever it was, falling to earth."
"The exercise was scheduled to last for seven days and upon its successful conclusion my orders were to make contact with, and await the return of the same submarine we arrived on, for extraction and return to the Soviet Union," Chapayev explained slowly in a low voice, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.
"The submarine was delayed. Considerably delayed. When it finally reached our co-ordinates and we went on board the captain apologized for keeping us waiting and explained that the delay had been caused by their responding to a mayday call."
"Captain Dmitriev explained that they had intercepted several radio messages from somewhere on the ice, from frantic people, claiming to be scientists from Whiteout Station. A desperate call for help. He had informed Moscow and they had advised him to proceed, with caution, but to respond to the call for assistance."
"Captain Dmitriev had followed his orders and had quickly set out for a section of the ice field where the pack ice was thin enough for him to surface, forcing the submarine up through the ice, and then he had sent a landing party ashore to investigate."
"Within a very short time the officer in charge of the shore party had reported back to the submarine that they had discovered three dead bodies on the ice. Two men and a woman."
"Oh God …." This anguished gasp came from Leigh Roland now.
Hawke raised his eyes from the Russian officer's face to offer her a sympathetic look and noted her pallor and her lovely amber eyes filling with tears. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but that would have to wait. Right now he needed to hear the rest of the Russian Colonel's story.
"I'm sorry, please go on …." Leigh Roland invited in a strangulated little voice, making a visible effort to control her emotions.
"It was a most curious situation. The officer in charge of the shore patrol reported that from the way the bodies had been discovered, their positions on the ice, it looked very much as if one of the men had been assaulting the woman, and then the two men had struggled and fought, a frenzied attack by both parties, inflicting terrible injuries upon each other before succumbing to exhaustion and finally dying of their wounds, or exposure …."
"Captain Dmitriev ordered the shore party to bring the bodies back to the submarine so that our medical officer could examine them and determine how they had died."
"The doctor later confirmed that the woman had indeed been assaulted, probably strangled in the act of …."
Chapayev suddenly stopped as he noted Leigh Roland's slight wince and offered her an apologetic look. After drawing in a soft, ragged breath, Leigh Roland nodded silently, encouraging him to continue, and the Russian man found himself admiring her greatly, knowing just how difficult any of this must be for her to hear.
"And from their injuries, it looked as if the two men had fought, their sole purpose to kill, or be killed. It seems that one of them had strangled the other with his bare hands and the other had sustained injuries to his internal organs that caused him to bleed internally, and he must have collapsed from exhaustion and then finally died from exposure …."
"Captain Dmitriev sent the men of the shore party back out, their orders to come to Whiteout Station to see if there were other survivors, and they made their way to here just as a storm was moving in. They found the same chaos and wanton destruction and death that you have described, but they also found four more scientists who seemed only to have the same kind of symptoms that you say we are all displaying now. They at least appeared to be quite lucid and rational …."
"The officer in charge of the shore party used his portable radio to contact Captain Dmitriev to explain what they had found, and the medical officer came on the radio and explained that he had found evidence of some kind of contagion in the bodies brought back from the ice, and he insisted that they destroy the station with fire in a bid to contain the disease."
"The shore party followed their orders and then they helped the scientists, three men and a woman, to return to the submarine, and then they responded to my request to retrieve us from the ice …."
"What happened then, Colonel?" Hawke prompted softly after a lengthy silence.
"The four scientists were checked over by our medical officer and assigned quarters, but two of them quickly began to deteriorate, experiencing breathing difficulties, and naturally the other two were agitated and concerned for their colleagues. We did not think it so unusual when they began to display great anger. We feared that they believed that we had taken them prisoner, instead of rescuing them, so it was only to be expected that they would make some fuss."
"Captain Dmitriev informed Moscow of their medical condition and that his men had destroyed what was left of the station. The medical officer explained the nature of the contagion he had discovered, but to Captain Dmitriev's surprise, he was ordered not to return to port, under any circumstances, until he was given explicit orders to do so …."
"They were afraid that you would bring the contagion ashore and infect your families …." Hawke interjected on a low voice.
"Da." Chapaeyv concurred succinctly. "However, the crew were not happy with their new orders. They were at the end of a very long tour of duty at sea and had been looking forward to returning to their homes for an extended period of shore leave while the submarine underwent routine dry dock maintenance. They grew restless and irritable. The captain dealt with the general unrest by running routine fire drills and emergency diving procedures, anything to keep the men occupied."
"We had only been out at sea for just over twenty four hours when the situation began to deteriorate. The scientists from Whiteout Station had all grown weak and even sicker, and the submarine's crewmen also began to fall ill, some with symptoms of influenza, but others …. Others became uncontrollable. Such rage. Such madness …. It seemed to spread through the boat like wildfire …."
"And then what happened?" Hawke pressed.
"There was an incident, in the engineering section. They were simulating a fire in engineering when one of the men seemed to lose his mind, and tried to disable the nuclear reactor, flooding half the forward compartments with radiation …."
"The only thing that Captain Dmitriev could do was surface and vent the submarine to try to disperse the radiation, but the damage had already been done. While we were getting the men up on deck and venting the radiation, someone disabled the radio, others activated two of the nuclear missiles and almost blew the boat out of the water before order was finally restored …."
"Mr Hawke, I knew that the submarine had been compromised, that there was no hope for the crew, and I had a responsibility for the safety of my own men. I spoke with Captain Dmitriev, explaining that my men and I were showing no signs of sickness and because of the location of our quarters on the submarine we had had the least exposure to the radiation …."
"I reasoned with him that someone had to try to reach Moscow, to advise them of what was happening, before they jumped to the wrong conclusion, that the submarine had been destroyed by enemy forces, or that in seeking medical assistance in America it was some kind of ruse to cover up the truth and that they were perhaps trying to defect."
"I suggested to him that if he put us off the submarine we could perhaps make our way to what was left of Whiteout Station and try to make contact with Moscow and advise them of the true nature of the situation."
"Together we decided to return to the co-ordinates closest to Whiteout Station. I knew that we would find food and shelter. I did not know how badly damaged the radio equipment was, but I had hoped that we might be able to find enough components to get it working …."
"So what happened to the sub?"
"There was nothing more that the captain could do. The boat was fatally contaminated with radiation; most of the crew had been exposed and those who were not dying of radiation sickness had succumbed to the contagion. The only thing he could do was take her to deeper water …. And scuttle her …."
Now Chapayev turned his attention to Leigh Roland who had been listening attentively to every word silently.
"It was a very difficult and very brave decision, one I personally did not envy Captain Dmitriev …. I am sorry Dr Roland, but that is how I am certain that your husband is surely dead. Either he was one of the two men found dead on the ice, or else he was one of the four people bought aboard the submarine …. Which is now somewhere at the bottom of the ocean …."
"So you and your men headed here, to the one place you knew you would at least find shelter. You'd already been exposed to the contagion, so coming here to Whiteout Station posed no greater threat to you …."
"That is correct, Mr Hawke. We decided to take our chances here on the ice. We had no way of knowing that the Americans had received word of what had happened here and had sent people of their own to investigate."
The look that Hawke now shared with Leigh Roland over Chapayev's head told of his suspicion and that he doubted that the man could have been so naïve as to believe that no-one from the American side would investigate the loss of contact with the scientists at Whiteout, but also that he accepted Chapayev's version of events and that once the submarine had been contaminated with radiation and the crew showed signs of infection from the contagion, the Colonel had made the right decision to disembark from the sub and to try to get to the one place that he knew that he and his men would find shelter and warmth and perhaps the means to make contact with their own people back in the USSR.
The only other place they could be sure that they would not infect more people if help did not arrive in time.
"Is there an antidote, Colonel?" Hawke pressed him for an answer now, but almost immediately the Russian officer was shaking his head.
"I have no idea, Mr Hawke …. And now that I know that what you have told me about the radio not working is correct, I have no way of determining that information," he let out a deep sigh and then raised his balled fist to his mouth to smother a cough.
"Well now, Colonel, things might not be as bad as they seem. Dr Roland here is more than just a pretty face, and just before you, er, dropped in, she had put forward quite a clever idea as to how we can overcome our communication difficulties."
Hawke offered Leigh Roland a gentle smile now, noting her pallor and the sorrow and grief in her soft teddy bear amber eyes, and he knew immediately that she was thinking about her husband and what Chapayev had just told them of his fate, and that of the other scientists missing from Whiteout Station.
Hawke then briefly explained what Leigh Roland had put forward to himself and Dominic Santini as a solution to their communication difficulties and watched as the Russian officer took in the details and mulled them over silently.
"What do you think, Colonel?"
"It might just work …."
"I think so too …." Hawke found himself grinning at Leigh Roland now, blessing her with a soft, sympathetic look. "So, what do you say, Colonel? Are you and your men willing to throw in your lot with us?"
"It seems that we have no other choice …. If we do not want to be considered as an hostile invasion force by your country. However, I must ask for your assurances that you will make it clear to your government that we sought sanctuary here for purely medical reasons, and that there is no question as to our loyalty, to our country and our government. We have and never did have any intention of defecting, Mr Hawke …." Chapayev clarified, his features schooled into a stern expression now.
"You got it, Colonel …." Hawke assured, although he could not help wondering if the boot had been on the other foot, and he and Dom and Leigh had sought medical assistance and sanctuary on Soviet soil if they would have ended up being paraded around Red Square as spies or potential defectors to the Motherland.
"I don't have much influence in Washington, but I promise you I will make it clear to anyone who will listen that you and your men sought medical assistance here and that there was never any doubt that you would return to Russia. From now on, we're all on the same side, so consider this neutral territory and this foul contagion our only enemy."
"Thank you."
"Now tell me, Colonel, are any of your men trained in electronics? We could use all the help you can give us right now …."
/a\
"Doc …." Dominic Santini struggled to raise himself up from his pillows as Leigh Roland drew up beside him; however she stilled him with a gentle hand to his shoulder and gave him a meaningful look as she gently pushed him back against his pillows and then reached out for his wrist to take his pulse.
"How do you feel?"
"I'm good, doc …." Santini panted breathlessly as he again tried to sit up. "I'm real good …." He added for good measure as he wary eyes darted around the room, taking in the activity going on all around them, an unmistakable look of concern and anxiety on his face as he watched Stringfellow Hawke directing the Russian Colonel to organize his men, leaning wearily against the back of a chair, slightly bent forward as he labored to drag precious air into his aching lungs.
"You gotta get me on my feet, doc …." Santini turned to fix Leigh Roland with unyielding grey eyes. "You gotta. I gotta help String …."
Leigh Roland closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh.
They were almost exactly the same words Hawke had uttered out of the corner of his mouth as they had watched Colonel Chapayev return to his men, and she had recognized the distrustful look in his eyes and the silent plea to keep him well and upright long enough to see him through to the peaceful conclusion of their predicament.
Honestly, what did they think she was?
A magician?
A miracle worker?
And for my next trick guys …..
"You've got to lie there and rest and save your strength, Dominic …."
"I mean it, doc!" Santini hissed vehemently through his teeth now, frantic eyes scanning the room and locating Hawke disappearing out through the swing fire door in the direction of the main accommodation block swiftly followed by a handful of the Russian soldiers.
"If you think I'm just gonna lie here and let String do all the donkey work, when I know he's feeling just as sick as I am …." Santini suddenly dropped his voice and Leigh Roland had to lean in a little closer to hear him now.
"And if you think for one split second I trust any one of these Ruskie fellas …. Use your eyes, doc …. We're kinda out numbered on our side of the border. They ain't selling caviar and vodka doc, and I know you're a smart kid. You can work it out for yourself …. If we get sicker and things go south on us. And if they get a good look inside the Lady …. I ain't gonna let no Commie touch my precious Lady!" Santini finished on a splutter as another coughing fit over took him, and Leigh Roland found herself fighting to keep the grin from spreading across her lips, despite her concern for his health.
"Take it easy, Dominic," Leigh Roland finally laid her hand against his shoulder once more and pulled the oxygen mask back down over his grey face. "You two, honestly, I'm not sure which one of you will be the death of me first!"
"You gotta get me out of this bed, girlie, so that I can help String …." Santini panted raggedly through the oxygen face mask, and now Leigh Roland let out a deep sigh of resignation as she noted the look of determination on his dear, rumpled old face.
It went against every instinct in her body, as a physician, but she also understood what Santini was thinking and feeling right now.
She wasn't entirely sure if she trusted the Russian Colonel, but she also understood that they had no choice but to accept that he and his men were as much victims of the present situation as she and Santini and Hawke were.
"You gotta make sure that we can keep some semblance of control, doc. You just gotta! When I think about Russian commandos being on American soil …."
"Alright, alright! 'Struth man, I get the picture, but I'm no miracle worker, Dominic. I will do my best, but, you have got to promise me that you will do as you are told, take your medicine, whatever it might be, and that you won't try to over do things, if and when I tell you it is ok for you to get out of this bed," Leigh wagged her finger under his nose and used her best don't argue with me tone of voice and reluctantly, Dominic Santini nodded in acceptance of her terms.
"Just get me off my duff and keep me on my feet long enough to help String get that cockamamie idea of yours off the ground, then I don't care if you put me to sleep for a month doc, once we're out of here and home free …."
"Dom, I don't know what you think I can do. I'm already doing the best I can with the limited resources I've got to hand, but …. I guess I could give you a shot of vitamin C and run some glucose through your IV for energy …."
"Whatever you think doc, just get me on my feet. I'll do the rest …."