The ship had crossed the Antarctic Circle, and the Captain glanced apprehensively toward the horizon, where the sun had been, full and bright, just an hour ago. The sky was now dark purple, nearly pitch black, as if dusk had come in a matter of moments. And, from what he had been told, the heavens would remain that way for a matter of months. This is eerie, he thought. He turned from the bridge's window, and stepped toward the bank of monitors that comprised the ship's navigation systems. He looked at the pilot, who was busy at the controls. "Well?" The man scanned the readings on one of the screens. "We're nearing our anchor point; there's a good place up ahead; not too shallow, and it's a significant distance from the shore." The Captain nodded, but looked up when something on the screen caught his eye. "What's that?" "Huh?" the pilot turned to see, his expression becoming anxious. "That's the radar…" "I know that, you imbecile. I meant that!" Luxord snapped. He pointed to a cluster of odd points marked on the monitor. The pilot took a moment to find his voice. "Those objects just off the shore are ships... and if these readings are correct, they match the descriptions of our own. The ones that carried Langford and the others." "What are they still doing here?" the pilot shook his head. "How should I know?" "Right." Luxord turned to another man. "You, Jacobs. You have the dossier on the previous mission?" the man nodded. "Well explain this to me. Why are those ships still there?" Jacobs bit his lip in apprehension. "That's the problem, sir. We don't know. The ships were supposed to head back to base if Vincent and Langford did not verify the capture of Wonka's headquarters." "Did they maintain communications with the base?" Jacobs scanned the details of the file, his gaze troubled. "It says here that base lost contact with them shortly after they airlifted all the troops to shore. The captain said that they would wait for twenty-four hours tops for them to return, and that Vincent had authorized them to leave if needed. But apparently, they didn't weigh anchor at all." It was Luxord's turn to be puzzled, and he stroked his beard pensively while glancing out the window. It's so dark… "Sir?" He turned to face the first mate, who had just addressed him. "We should commence the procedure before the winds pick up again. It's a bit of luck that we arrived just as the storm blew past." Luxord shook his head. "No, not yet." "What? Why not? Mr. Chadworth said…" "Mr. Chadworth had men on those ships out there. They're not responding to our attempts to communicate with them. I believe that our employer is unaware of their fate, and that it would be in his best interest for us to investigate." The other merely nodded. "Yes, sir."
The chilling wind had momentarily ceased, and now the sound of waves crashing against the ice shelf in the distance could be heard plainly. The team of five men had disembarked from the ship, taken over the dark water by helicopter. The bird alighted on the deck of one of the three Tarawas, which was set into ice, the ocean around it having frozen completely. The deck itself was slick with ice, and the men had to be careful as they jumped from their craft; the footwear they had worn was not meant for treading across smooth surfaces, and one of them nearly fell when he lost his footing. They glanced back to the pilot, who signaled that he would stay there until they returned, and the men nodded their acknowledgement before departing into the darkness.
The radio receiver hissed with static as the team relayed their observations. "Captain, this is Redford. We're on the ship. I can still feel the vibration of the fission reactors… so the ship must still be functional. I'm thinking the crew may just have lost communications from the storm and are stuck in the ice. The pilot has agreed to stay on the flight deck. May we continue into the lower levels?" Luxord palmed the radio and pressed the transmit button. "Roger, Redford. Proceed with caution." "Affirmative.
Redford led the other four, feeling quite ridiculous in the bulky gear he had been required to don in order to escape the cold. This is definitely not my element. They stepped carefully across the frosty tarmac, heading for the elevators. If my theory is correct, then the elevators should still be in order. Redford doubted that the pulley system that the elevators used would be serviceable in this weather, but he could always hope. They reached the portal, and he pressed the button, willing the door to open. To his great surprise, the panel slid open with a slight crackling of ice, permitting them entrance to the elevator's compartment, which was both lit and heated. Redford was perplexed, but accepted this little miracle. Perhaps the crew is still alive, and we were just overanalyzing the situation. He and his men entered the elevator, reveling in the warmth despite only having been outside for half an hour. Redford radioed Luxord.
"We're in. The elevator seems to be in working order." Luxord released a small sigh of relief, having feared that his men would have had to take the stairs; an unpleasant thought when one worked in the possibility of ice-slicked steps and a drop toward certain death. Pressing the transmit button, he spoke. "Very good. Let's hope that this is a sign that the crew is still functional, just hunkered down from the cold." "Affirmative."
Redford examined the panel of buttons on the elevator's side, deciding where to begin the search of the ship. After a moment's pause, he pressed the button for the engine room. "Why go there?" one of the men asked. "Let's just start from the bottom up." Redford told him wryly, glancing upward as the elevator began to descend. "We might as well. It is probably the warmest part of the ship; if the crew is still here, that's where I figure they would be." his men nodded, seeing his point. After a few moments, the elevator decelerated, and the door slid open. Redford and his men stepped out, squinting because of the sudden change in light. "What the-" Gunfire rang out, and Redford had barely enough time to dodge as a spray of bullets impacted the ground where he had been. His men were not as lucky; they were struck head-on, dead before they even hit the floor. Redford turned, his eyes wild as he tried to pinpoint the location of his attackers. He ducked as another hail of projectiles missed him, and he heard a small growl of frustration come from behind him. He mashed the transmit button on his radio, running for the elevator for all he was worth. "Luxord, this is Redford, I-" "Hello." He turned his head toward the source of the voice and blinked in surprise, coming face to face with the barrel of a miniaturized MP-5. "Oh."
Luxord heard the sound of a bullet impacting flesh, and the shattering of bone; for a full minute he stood staring at the radio, stunned at the sudden turn in events. "Sir?" the first mate tapped his shoulder. "Sir, the team is lost, and we cannot raise the pilot, either." Captain Luxord sighed. It's my fault. He set his jaw, determined not to lose anyone else for the sake of this mission. "It's time. Arm the weapon; load it; launch it. Then we can get out of this godforsaken place." The first mate nodded, and relayed the directive to the flag bridge. Within minutes, the flight deck became a scene of frenzy, the flight crew prepping the B-25.