Chapter 5
"I suppose this means dinner's off?"
Colonel Virginia Lake's pink lips curled slightly at memory of the farewell she'd offered Alec Freeman prior to his departure for Greenland. Though offered amiably, there had actually been a note of regret in her statement. Since their first purely social encounter nearly two months ago, she'd come to feel a genuine affection for the Welsh ex-R.A.F. officer, far beyond the camaraderie they'd shared as co-workers. Alec was handsome and vibrant and a lot of fun -- his easy going efficiency an unexpected complement to her own icier competence. How unlike Paul Foster, with whom she'd carried on a casual flirtation just previously; though undeniably a handsome boy, Foster was too young and much too much like Ed Straker for her tastes, the professional disparity soon cooling any notions of an actual romance -- for her, if not for Foster. His problem, she thought yet again, some pang of guilt lingering over the cursory dismissal she'd given him. It's not as though we're not all adults here. Nor as if he'd treated her with anything less than due courtesy since then, either.
"Colonel!"
Virginia Lake snapped out of the very brief reverie she'd permitted herself, tipping her head downward to meet Lieutenant Keith Ford's intense gaze. "Yes?"
He gestured her closer, pointing a ruler-straight finger at his monitor. "Transponder just winked out on Mobile delta, Mar'm."
"What?" Startled, she strode forward three steps until she cold see the data screen for herself. There were four columns of figures portrayed there, and more blank spaces than she liked, thanks to the solar flares presently making a shambles of Earth's entire communications network. "The only way that transponder would cease transmitting is either the batteries running down or--"
"Or the destruction of the vehicle," Ford supplied when she did not go on. "Yes, Mar'm."
She touched a button, switching his system to display the satellite photos they were receiving on tight-band laser transmission; at first she thought that was inoperative also, then realized that the swirling white blanket hiding northern Greenland from view was an accurate representation of weather conditions in the area. There was a storm, all right, a bad one in full swing. She tried the backup sensors, feeling a churning in her stomach when the results remained the same. "Blast. Blast! Blast! We're getting nothing at all. Lieutenant Johnson."
The black haired communications officer lifted her headphone slightly, cocking one dark brown at the commander-pro-tem. "Yes, madam?"
"Try to establish radio contact again. There can be occasional lulls in the radiation emissions. I want to take advantage of the next one to come along."
Ayshea Johnson nodded once and activated her mike. "SHADO Control to Mobiles. Please respond."
She repeated the hail over and over, Virginia Lake tuning her out after the first time. Her mind was already running one scenario after the next, only the first, hopeful, few permitting the possibility of simple equipment failure. "Ford, is there--?"
His dismayed gasp interrupted her mid-sentence. "Second transponder gone, Colonel. Mobile zeta presumably destroyed."
She stared, a split second given over to regret. That would have been Paul Foster's vehicle. Paul. Dead. Suddenly she wished she'd let him down more kindly when she told him good-bye. "Still nothing on visuals?" she snapped, terminating that line of thought in lieu of more immediate necessity. "Or radio?"
"Solar activity is peaking," Johnson reported over her shoulder. "Nothing but static on every communications band."
Ford switched from sensor to satellite and back, shaking his head. "Nothing on satellite. Storm is showing as a Force 9 blizzard with full gale. Computer estimating visibility above ground level at fifteen meters."
"Computer. ... Hmmm." Lake pressed her lips together. "Put the image on disk, Lieutenant, then initiate Leiber's K-13 program. It's archaic, but it'll resolve the imaging on the thermal level better than anything we have running."
"Good idea, Colonel." Ford's nimble fingers played across his board, and seconds later his monitor showed an exaggerated representation of a rocky terrain punctuated by four indistinct blobs of color. One glowed a bright magenta, the next a duller blood tint. The third was a barely seen pink, the fourth nearly invisible in the purple ranges.
"Two of the mobiles are showing signs of fire," Lake interpreted, tapping the screen with a long fingernail. "The purple is the Ufo; the only heat there is from the chemical reaction building slowly to disintegration."
"Mobile gamma didn't burn," Ford pointed out. "The Commander and Colonel Freeman could still be alive."
"Could be." Lake put her fists decisively on her rounded hips. "Have SkyDiver standing by. Once we have visibility I want Captain Waterman to make an aerial recce at the lowest altitude he can manage. Tell Njordsberg Base to have a heavily armed rescue team standing by. I want to be able to go the minute we have a window." "It'll be hours before we can pick them up," Ford pointed out. He wasn't being argumentative, just honest.
Lake sighed, acknowledging the truth of the statement with a curt nod. "Maybe, but we can offer whatever support possible in the interim ... if there's anyone left down there to support."
***
With the main, battery-run chronometers out of commission, it was hard to tell how long Straker and Freeman spent tracing back the miles of wiring comprising Mobile gamma's electrical system, but twilight had already given way to deep gloom before Freeman slid the last connection into place and closed the front dash. "That's it for the instrumentation," he declared, wearily rubbing the back of his neck. "We have operator's control and mobility on the cannon. If nothing else, we're armed again."
Straker, sitting comfortably crosslegged in the farthest position aft, nodded absent acknowledgement. "I'm almost through here, too. I had to cannibalize some of the memory chips out of life support to activate the tertiary servos, but we should at least be mobile again."
"Meaning we do without heat until we get back to SHADAir," the Welshman translated, stuffing his blue tinted hands into his pockets.
"No choice." Straker spliced a broken red wire to a neatly cut green one, wrapping a small bit of tape around them both and stuffing the entire sheath back into it's slot. "There. That should do it. There's no way to test how well everything will hold up until we start up."
Sliding gracelessly around the bolted seats, Alec Freeman made his way toward the rear. He crawled carefully over Foster, who lay huddled fast asleep in the middle of the vehicle, stopping by the bank of indicators half hidden by a tool kit. "Fuel gauge starting to register; no puncture in the tanks, at least."
"Next step: re-righting the snowcat without getting blasted." Straker scratched at the dried blood streaking his bruised jaw, flaking some of it away. "It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to attach the winch. Is it still snowing hard enough to hide our movements from the Ufo?"
Freeman crabbed back toward the front of the vehicle, lifting his head high enough to see out the glass. "Starting to slow.... Uh-oh." He ducked quickly under the dash, jerking one thumb toward the red suited figure moving in the distance. "Our friend has left his ship again."
"Heading this way?" Straker demanded, likewise keeping low.
Freeman risked another peek, then shook his head. "Tangent course. General direction of delta. Maybe he wants to toast marshmallows." He slumped down, crossing his arms dispiritedly. "Doesn't matter much -- he'll see us the minute we crack the top hatch. We're stuck here."
The blond didn't move. "We do have another way out," he mused aloud. "The primary exit."
"The mobile is sitting on it," Freeman pointed out sourly. "One and a half tons of 'cat."
"The mobile is balanced on it," Straker corrected. "It's leaning against blasted snow and ice."
One slightly bushy eyebrow rose. "Tunnel out?"
"Snow and ice are a little more tractable than armored steel." He and Freeman converged on the center of the mobile and the metal panel that usually constituted the main access. Straker crouched by the sleeping Foster, and ran his fingers round the seal. "It doesn't feel deformed. Did you connect the power to the automatic slide?"
Freeman shook his head, nevertheless punching the button marked Open. "I needed some of those circuits for the steering mechanism. Besides, it didn't seem worthwhile at the time."
A recessed port opened at a touch revealing a flywheel about eight inches in diameter. The American commander stuck his fingers into the spokes and forced it an experimental half-turn. "We'll have to do it ... manually," he grunted, stopping to glower at Foster, who was lying on the portal. "What's the alien doing?"
Freeman craned his neck. "It's still heading cross-field toward delta."
"Doesn't mean it won't be coming back this way. We'd better get started." Still kneeling, Straker moved the tool box and sundry equipment toward the rear of the vehicle, then turned to Foster, who had not awakened during the preceding. "Paul?" he called softly, touching the young man's shoulder.
The tousled brown head tossed restlessly, then Foster murmured something, and opened his eyes. "Sir?"
Straker essayed a half-smile. "Sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but we need you to move. We want to build an escape tunnel out of this igloo, and you're lying on the front door."
"Time ta blow dis joint, kid," Alec added in his best American accent; he sounded like Edward G. Robinson with a sinus condition. Blessed with no sense of humor at all, Straker rolled his eyes, earning an apologetic shrug. "Well, we are."
Foster blinked puzzledly from one to the other, shifting his gaze when Straker tapped the hatch. "I don't understand."
Sinking wearily from a squat to a seated position, Freeman rubbed his hands together briskly, seeking to return some of the circulation. "Not much to it," he said in a friendly tone. "We need to be topside if we're going to tip the 'cat back up. Our problem is that the alien's left his ship again. The minute we crack the hatch, we'll be visible from most of the field."
"Is it coming in this direction again?" the younger pilot asked worriedly, struggling to sit. He was more alert though still obviously in a great deal of pain, and made no protest when Freeman lent him a hand.
"Not yet, and I'd like to be operational before he does." Straker waited until his companions had settled on the far side of the door, then again bent to the flywheel; it was easier to turn this time, and it wasn't long before the trio found themselves peering up at a solid wall of frozen white. "It's solid," the blond observed giving it a slap with the flat of his glove. "It'll be hard digging, but I don't think we'll have to worry about it caving in on us."
"Oh, good," Freeman deadpanned. "I always hate when that happens."
Both Straker and Foster turned to stare at the uncharacteristically dour quip from the organization's top intelligence agent. "You don't sound too enthusiastic about this," the American snapped, irritably resting one fist on his hip. "If you have a better idea...."
Freeman sighed, gathering himself with a visible effort. "No." Realizing that some explanation was required, he added, "I'm sorry. I'm still a little shaken from what happened to Jocko, Peg and Ali. I'm fine, now, Commander."
Patently untrue, but now was not the time to address the subject. Straker hesitated, regret in his own light eyes briefly obvious before practicality returned. "Good. We have a lot of work to do. Better get something to chip away at this ice."
Foster also averted his gaze, stricken at the reminder of their lost comrades. Now he hugged his broken arm tighter against his chest and sat up straighter, lean jaw set. "What can I do, Commander?"
"Right now? Not much." At the troubled look he received in reply he added, "Except to keep close watch on that alien; if it heads back this way, I want to know about it at once."
*
It took forty-five minutes of backbreaking labor to chip through the rock- hard wall of ice and construct a tunnel to the open air. When the final block was removed, a blast of arctic cold swept into the already chill mobile, making three men shiver despite their parkas.
"That's it," Straker called, cautiously poking his head out like a groundhog. "As long as we keep low, the drifts should shield us from view until we get the cables attached." This too was soon accomplished; Straker first, then Freeman, crawled belly-down out through the uneven snow, fastening the heavy steel cable to solid hooks on the snowcat's roof. Straker had finished tying the last knot when a loud hiss and frantic tug on his pantsleg drew him back inside. "What?"
Foster pointed toward the window while shrinking back against the wall. "The alien -- it's headed back this way," he reported, keeping his voice low. The three maintained a tense silence while the young man cautiously rechecked. "Not coming here," he amended, squinting to see through the gloom -- at sixteen hundred hours zulu, the only exterior illumination now was from a cloud-and-snow-veiled twilight and a weak glow from the UFO. "I think it's heading for zeta."
Alec leaned over his shoulder, watching the barely seen moving figure for himself. "Wonder what it's looking for. Not bodies for shipment; there aren't any whole ones there." He stopped, exchanging a disturbed look with Foster. "They ... er ... don't collect dead bodies for anything, do they?"
"Not that we know of," the test pilot returned uncomfortably, more for mutual encouragement than because Freeman didn't know.
"Blast." Straker, having spent the last several seconds engaged in some rapid mental calculation, now closed one fist, slamming it impotently against his own thigh. "Too close. From zeta's position, it could hear us when we fire off the piton."
"Is it impossible to secure it by hand?" Paul Foster asked, sapphire eyes darting hopefully from window to Commander.
Straker shook his head. "Even if we could climb that rock face, we couldn't hope to secure it well enough or high enough to tip this much weight. Looks like we make getting rid of the alien an early priority." He retrieved the terrain map from where it lay wadded under the seat, smoothing it on his bent knee. "We have one advantage -- it doesn't know we're alive. Militarily, the element of surprise is a potent one. Hand me that torch, Alec."
Freeman obeyed, both he and Foster also studying the map by the light of Straker's hooded flashlight. "The tunnel gives us access to the surrounding rocks right about here." The American ran a finger in a shallow circle, the circumference proportionate to that of the volcanically produced open bowl in which they found themselves. "We can use the hills for cover and catch the alien in sniper fire before it realizes we're there."
Foster touched one of the discarded rifles, now stacked neatly against the wall. "These G-57s might not give us enough range for that; they were created to punch through heavy armor, but not for accuracy at any distance. If the alien is too far from your rim position...."
"We can't afford to take that chance." Straker's gloved hand traced the opposing direction on the map, terminating on the far side of Mobile zeta's location. "Alec and I will split up at the top and work our way around on both sides. If we bracket the enemy in a crossfire it won't matter which way it runs -- one of us will be in range."
"We'd better make the first shot count anyway," Freeman added grimly. "If it makes it back to the Ufo, it could have working weaponry aboard. Our only chance is to take it down while it's in the open."
Decided, the two began their preparations for moving out, redonning ski masks under the hoods and zipping parkas tight around their throats. Freeman chose one rifle, offering the second to Straker, who slung it across his shoulder. "We'd better get going before it decides to head for home."
"Providing it doesn't have a partner already home," the Welshman interjected, perking up now that the time for action was there.
Foster watched them both through worried eyes, his broken arm cradled securely. "What about me, Sir?"
Straker studied him closely though little could be seen of his face in the fading light save a pale smudge. "Are you fit enough to fire off the grenade launcher and get this thing upright? If there is another alien aboard that Ufo, it could decide to take another shot at us at any time."
A light touch on Foster's shoulder drew his head around; Alec stared unhappily down at him. "It's ready to go. The charge is set in the barrel, and the mechanism's altered to fire normally when you touch the trigger. Piton is loaded with one end of the steel cable attached. All you have to do is aim and hope it doesn't blow your head off."
"I can do it," the ex-test pilot asserted confidently.
Straker twisted his lips and hefted his sleeve until he could see the expensive aviator's chrono strapped to his left wrist. "I know you can. Synchronize watches. Give us twenty minutes from the time we top the ridge, then fire the grenade launcher. We should have the alien bracketed by then in case the explosive charge is loud enough to carry in this cold air."
Foster nodded briskly. "Acknowledged, Sir. And ... good hunting."
***
"I suppose this means dinner's off?"
Colonel Virginia Lake's pink lips curled slightly at memory of the farewell she'd offered Alec Freeman prior to his departure for Greenland. Though offered amiably, there had actually been a note of regret in her statement. Since their first purely social encounter nearly two months ago, she'd come to feel a genuine affection for the Welsh ex-R.A.F. officer, far beyond the camaraderie they'd shared as co-workers. Alec was handsome and vibrant and a lot of fun -- his easy going efficiency an unexpected complement to her own icier competence. How unlike Paul Foster, with whom she'd carried on a casual flirtation just previously; though undeniably a handsome boy, Foster was too young and much too much like Ed Straker for her tastes, the professional disparity soon cooling any notions of an actual romance -- for her, if not for Foster. His problem, she thought yet again, some pang of guilt lingering over the cursory dismissal she'd given him. It's not as though we're not all adults here. Nor as if he'd treated her with anything less than due courtesy since then, either.
"Colonel!"
Virginia Lake snapped out of the very brief reverie she'd permitted herself, tipping her head downward to meet Lieutenant Keith Ford's intense gaze. "Yes?"
He gestured her closer, pointing a ruler-straight finger at his monitor. "Transponder just winked out on Mobile delta, Mar'm."
"What?" Startled, she strode forward three steps until she cold see the data screen for herself. There were four columns of figures portrayed there, and more blank spaces than she liked, thanks to the solar flares presently making a shambles of Earth's entire communications network. "The only way that transponder would cease transmitting is either the batteries running down or--"
"Or the destruction of the vehicle," Ford supplied when she did not go on. "Yes, Mar'm."
She touched a button, switching his system to display the satellite photos they were receiving on tight-band laser transmission; at first she thought that was inoperative also, then realized that the swirling white blanket hiding northern Greenland from view was an accurate representation of weather conditions in the area. There was a storm, all right, a bad one in full swing. She tried the backup sensors, feeling a churning in her stomach when the results remained the same. "Blast. Blast! Blast! We're getting nothing at all. Lieutenant Johnson."
The black haired communications officer lifted her headphone slightly, cocking one dark brown at the commander-pro-tem. "Yes, madam?"
"Try to establish radio contact again. There can be occasional lulls in the radiation emissions. I want to take advantage of the next one to come along."
Ayshea Johnson nodded once and activated her mike. "SHADO Control to Mobiles. Please respond."
She repeated the hail over and over, Virginia Lake tuning her out after the first time. Her mind was already running one scenario after the next, only the first, hopeful, few permitting the possibility of simple equipment failure. "Ford, is there--?"
His dismayed gasp interrupted her mid-sentence. "Second transponder gone, Colonel. Mobile zeta presumably destroyed."
She stared, a split second given over to regret. That would have been Paul Foster's vehicle. Paul. Dead. Suddenly she wished she'd let him down more kindly when she told him good-bye. "Still nothing on visuals?" she snapped, terminating that line of thought in lieu of more immediate necessity. "Or radio?"
"Solar activity is peaking," Johnson reported over her shoulder. "Nothing but static on every communications band."
Ford switched from sensor to satellite and back, shaking his head. "Nothing on satellite. Storm is showing as a Force 9 blizzard with full gale. Computer estimating visibility above ground level at fifteen meters."
"Computer. ... Hmmm." Lake pressed her lips together. "Put the image on disk, Lieutenant, then initiate Leiber's K-13 program. It's archaic, but it'll resolve the imaging on the thermal level better than anything we have running."
"Good idea, Colonel." Ford's nimble fingers played across his board, and seconds later his monitor showed an exaggerated representation of a rocky terrain punctuated by four indistinct blobs of color. One glowed a bright magenta, the next a duller blood tint. The third was a barely seen pink, the fourth nearly invisible in the purple ranges.
"Two of the mobiles are showing signs of fire," Lake interpreted, tapping the screen with a long fingernail. "The purple is the Ufo; the only heat there is from the chemical reaction building slowly to disintegration."
"Mobile gamma didn't burn," Ford pointed out. "The Commander and Colonel Freeman could still be alive."
"Could be." Lake put her fists decisively on her rounded hips. "Have SkyDiver standing by. Once we have visibility I want Captain Waterman to make an aerial recce at the lowest altitude he can manage. Tell Njordsberg Base to have a heavily armed rescue team standing by. I want to be able to go the minute we have a window." "It'll be hours before we can pick them up," Ford pointed out. He wasn't being argumentative, just honest.
Lake sighed, acknowledging the truth of the statement with a curt nod. "Maybe, but we can offer whatever support possible in the interim ... if there's anyone left down there to support."
***
With the main, battery-run chronometers out of commission, it was hard to tell how long Straker and Freeman spent tracing back the miles of wiring comprising Mobile gamma's electrical system, but twilight had already given way to deep gloom before Freeman slid the last connection into place and closed the front dash. "That's it for the instrumentation," he declared, wearily rubbing the back of his neck. "We have operator's control and mobility on the cannon. If nothing else, we're armed again."
Straker, sitting comfortably crosslegged in the farthest position aft, nodded absent acknowledgement. "I'm almost through here, too. I had to cannibalize some of the memory chips out of life support to activate the tertiary servos, but we should at least be mobile again."
"Meaning we do without heat until we get back to SHADAir," the Welshman translated, stuffing his blue tinted hands into his pockets.
"No choice." Straker spliced a broken red wire to a neatly cut green one, wrapping a small bit of tape around them both and stuffing the entire sheath back into it's slot. "There. That should do it. There's no way to test how well everything will hold up until we start up."
Sliding gracelessly around the bolted seats, Alec Freeman made his way toward the rear. He crawled carefully over Foster, who lay huddled fast asleep in the middle of the vehicle, stopping by the bank of indicators half hidden by a tool kit. "Fuel gauge starting to register; no puncture in the tanks, at least."
"Next step: re-righting the snowcat without getting blasted." Straker scratched at the dried blood streaking his bruised jaw, flaking some of it away. "It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to attach the winch. Is it still snowing hard enough to hide our movements from the Ufo?"
Freeman crabbed back toward the front of the vehicle, lifting his head high enough to see out the glass. "Starting to slow.... Uh-oh." He ducked quickly under the dash, jerking one thumb toward the red suited figure moving in the distance. "Our friend has left his ship again."
"Heading this way?" Straker demanded, likewise keeping low.
Freeman risked another peek, then shook his head. "Tangent course. General direction of delta. Maybe he wants to toast marshmallows." He slumped down, crossing his arms dispiritedly. "Doesn't matter much -- he'll see us the minute we crack the top hatch. We're stuck here."
The blond didn't move. "We do have another way out," he mused aloud. "The primary exit."
"The mobile is sitting on it," Freeman pointed out sourly. "One and a half tons of 'cat."
"The mobile is balanced on it," Straker corrected. "It's leaning against blasted snow and ice."
One slightly bushy eyebrow rose. "Tunnel out?"
"Snow and ice are a little more tractable than armored steel." He and Freeman converged on the center of the mobile and the metal panel that usually constituted the main access. Straker crouched by the sleeping Foster, and ran his fingers round the seal. "It doesn't feel deformed. Did you connect the power to the automatic slide?"
Freeman shook his head, nevertheless punching the button marked Open. "I needed some of those circuits for the steering mechanism. Besides, it didn't seem worthwhile at the time."
A recessed port opened at a touch revealing a flywheel about eight inches in diameter. The American commander stuck his fingers into the spokes and forced it an experimental half-turn. "We'll have to do it ... manually," he grunted, stopping to glower at Foster, who was lying on the portal. "What's the alien doing?"
Freeman craned his neck. "It's still heading cross-field toward delta."
"Doesn't mean it won't be coming back this way. We'd better get started." Still kneeling, Straker moved the tool box and sundry equipment toward the rear of the vehicle, then turned to Foster, who had not awakened during the preceding. "Paul?" he called softly, touching the young man's shoulder.
The tousled brown head tossed restlessly, then Foster murmured something, and opened his eyes. "Sir?"
Straker essayed a half-smile. "Sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but we need you to move. We want to build an escape tunnel out of this igloo, and you're lying on the front door."
"Time ta blow dis joint, kid," Alec added in his best American accent; he sounded like Edward G. Robinson with a sinus condition. Blessed with no sense of humor at all, Straker rolled his eyes, earning an apologetic shrug. "Well, we are."
Foster blinked puzzledly from one to the other, shifting his gaze when Straker tapped the hatch. "I don't understand."
Sinking wearily from a squat to a seated position, Freeman rubbed his hands together briskly, seeking to return some of the circulation. "Not much to it," he said in a friendly tone. "We need to be topside if we're going to tip the 'cat back up. Our problem is that the alien's left his ship again. The minute we crack the hatch, we'll be visible from most of the field."
"Is it coming in this direction again?" the younger pilot asked worriedly, struggling to sit. He was more alert though still obviously in a great deal of pain, and made no protest when Freeman lent him a hand.
"Not yet, and I'd like to be operational before he does." Straker waited until his companions had settled on the far side of the door, then again bent to the flywheel; it was easier to turn this time, and it wasn't long before the trio found themselves peering up at a solid wall of frozen white. "It's solid," the blond observed giving it a slap with the flat of his glove. "It'll be hard digging, but I don't think we'll have to worry about it caving in on us."
"Oh, good," Freeman deadpanned. "I always hate when that happens."
Both Straker and Foster turned to stare at the uncharacteristically dour quip from the organization's top intelligence agent. "You don't sound too enthusiastic about this," the American snapped, irritably resting one fist on his hip. "If you have a better idea...."
Freeman sighed, gathering himself with a visible effort. "No." Realizing that some explanation was required, he added, "I'm sorry. I'm still a little shaken from what happened to Jocko, Peg and Ali. I'm fine, now, Commander."
Patently untrue, but now was not the time to address the subject. Straker hesitated, regret in his own light eyes briefly obvious before practicality returned. "Good. We have a lot of work to do. Better get something to chip away at this ice."
Foster also averted his gaze, stricken at the reminder of their lost comrades. Now he hugged his broken arm tighter against his chest and sat up straighter, lean jaw set. "What can I do, Commander?"
"Right now? Not much." At the troubled look he received in reply he added, "Except to keep close watch on that alien; if it heads back this way, I want to know about it at once."
*
It took forty-five minutes of backbreaking labor to chip through the rock- hard wall of ice and construct a tunnel to the open air. When the final block was removed, a blast of arctic cold swept into the already chill mobile, making three men shiver despite their parkas.
"That's it," Straker called, cautiously poking his head out like a groundhog. "As long as we keep low, the drifts should shield us from view until we get the cables attached." This too was soon accomplished; Straker first, then Freeman, crawled belly-down out through the uneven snow, fastening the heavy steel cable to solid hooks on the snowcat's roof. Straker had finished tying the last knot when a loud hiss and frantic tug on his pantsleg drew him back inside. "What?"
Foster pointed toward the window while shrinking back against the wall. "The alien -- it's headed back this way," he reported, keeping his voice low. The three maintained a tense silence while the young man cautiously rechecked. "Not coming here," he amended, squinting to see through the gloom -- at sixteen hundred hours zulu, the only exterior illumination now was from a cloud-and-snow-veiled twilight and a weak glow from the UFO. "I think it's heading for zeta."
Alec leaned over his shoulder, watching the barely seen moving figure for himself. "Wonder what it's looking for. Not bodies for shipment; there aren't any whole ones there." He stopped, exchanging a disturbed look with Foster. "They ... er ... don't collect dead bodies for anything, do they?"
"Not that we know of," the test pilot returned uncomfortably, more for mutual encouragement than because Freeman didn't know.
"Blast." Straker, having spent the last several seconds engaged in some rapid mental calculation, now closed one fist, slamming it impotently against his own thigh. "Too close. From zeta's position, it could hear us when we fire off the piton."
"Is it impossible to secure it by hand?" Paul Foster asked, sapphire eyes darting hopefully from window to Commander.
Straker shook his head. "Even if we could climb that rock face, we couldn't hope to secure it well enough or high enough to tip this much weight. Looks like we make getting rid of the alien an early priority." He retrieved the terrain map from where it lay wadded under the seat, smoothing it on his bent knee. "We have one advantage -- it doesn't know we're alive. Militarily, the element of surprise is a potent one. Hand me that torch, Alec."
Freeman obeyed, both he and Foster also studying the map by the light of Straker's hooded flashlight. "The tunnel gives us access to the surrounding rocks right about here." The American ran a finger in a shallow circle, the circumference proportionate to that of the volcanically produced open bowl in which they found themselves. "We can use the hills for cover and catch the alien in sniper fire before it realizes we're there."
Foster touched one of the discarded rifles, now stacked neatly against the wall. "These G-57s might not give us enough range for that; they were created to punch through heavy armor, but not for accuracy at any distance. If the alien is too far from your rim position...."
"We can't afford to take that chance." Straker's gloved hand traced the opposing direction on the map, terminating on the far side of Mobile zeta's location. "Alec and I will split up at the top and work our way around on both sides. If we bracket the enemy in a crossfire it won't matter which way it runs -- one of us will be in range."
"We'd better make the first shot count anyway," Freeman added grimly. "If it makes it back to the Ufo, it could have working weaponry aboard. Our only chance is to take it down while it's in the open."
Decided, the two began their preparations for moving out, redonning ski masks under the hoods and zipping parkas tight around their throats. Freeman chose one rifle, offering the second to Straker, who slung it across his shoulder. "We'd better get going before it decides to head for home."
"Providing it doesn't have a partner already home," the Welshman interjected, perking up now that the time for action was there.
Foster watched them both through worried eyes, his broken arm cradled securely. "What about me, Sir?"
Straker studied him closely though little could be seen of his face in the fading light save a pale smudge. "Are you fit enough to fire off the grenade launcher and get this thing upright? If there is another alien aboard that Ufo, it could decide to take another shot at us at any time."
A light touch on Foster's shoulder drew his head around; Alec stared unhappily down at him. "It's ready to go. The charge is set in the barrel, and the mechanism's altered to fire normally when you touch the trigger. Piton is loaded with one end of the steel cable attached. All you have to do is aim and hope it doesn't blow your head off."
"I can do it," the ex-test pilot asserted confidently.
Straker twisted his lips and hefted his sleeve until he could see the expensive aviator's chrono strapped to his left wrist. "I know you can. Synchronize watches. Give us twenty minutes from the time we top the ridge, then fire the grenade launcher. We should have the alien bracketed by then in case the explosive charge is loud enough to carry in this cold air."
Foster nodded briskly. "Acknowledged, Sir. And ... good hunting."
***
