Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Antarctica

The saucer hummed louder, the golden glow intensified, and Banks immediately realized his mistake, possibly a fatal one. The icy dead did not want to get to the saucer. They’d got what they’d wanted all along.

They’ve got us right where they want us.

Banks and the squad were all inside the golden circle as the chanting rose louder and louder, but not loud enough that Banks didn’t hear the crack as the saucer door opened at his back, even despite his earplugs.

“Cap?” Hynd said. “What the fuck is this now?”

Banks looked back to the doorway. The German officer stepped backward, and was soon lost in the shadows, off and away escaping from the heat that meant the ranks of dead in the doorway were melting fast.

We should make a run for it. We might not get another chance.

But the order stayed unspoken as the chanting rose louder still, ringing loudly in his ears, washing all thoughts from his mind except for the call of the dance in the black. The saucer vibrated like a tuning fork in sympathy. The floor swayed lazily in time. A shout came from somewhere, Hynd by the sound of it, but he was so very far away, and Banks couldn’t drag his gaze from the saucer. It rose, almost imperceptibly, lazily, until it now hovered eight inches off the floor.

The chanting again took on the beat that set his whole body shaking, vibrating with the rhythm. His head swam, and it seemed as if the walls of the hangar melted and ran. The light from the high dome above receded into a great distance until it was little more than a pinpoint in a blanket of darkness, and he was alone, in a cathedral of emptiness where nothing existed save the dark and the pounding chant.

He danced.

As he had before, he saw stars, in vast swathes of gold and blue and silver, all dancing in great purple and red clouds that spun webs of grandeur across unending vistas. Shapes moved in and among the nebulae; dark, wispy shadows casting a pallor over whole galaxies at a time, shadows that capered and whirled as the dance grew ever more frenetic, and he knew what they were — his squad, as lost in the great beyond as he was himself. Lost in the dance.

Banks was buffeted, as if by a strong, surging tide, but as the beat grew ever stronger, he cared little. He gave himself to it, lost in the dance, lost in the stars. He didn’t know how long he wandered in the space between. He forgot himself, forgot the squad, dancing in the vastness where only rhythm mattered.

He might have been lost forever had not one word, one name, come to mind, a last-ditch defense by his mind to save what was left of his sanity.

Carnacki .

And with that, the memory came full, of the man’s journal, and of Carnacki standing, lost, in a place even darker than the hangar, a place as dark as this vastness between the stars. The Englishman’s words formed, unbidden at Banks’ lips, and he shouted them into the void.

Dhumna Ort!

The result was immediate. The chanting stopped as if a switch had been thrown and Banks’ vision cleared, slowly, struggling to focus. He looked around; the squad was in the same boat, slowly coming out of whatever fugue had taken them. But the saucer, although still hovering, still glowing, was no longer giving off the audible hum. More importantly than that, there was no sign of any of the frozen dead in the doorway.

Banks calculated the risks, decided they were manageable, and gave the order.

“Time to go, lads,” he said. “Move out. Double time.”

He was pleased to see that they all responded. When Wilkes and Patel moved to lift Hughes’ body, he stopped them.

“No, leave him. We’ll be back for him when we can, but we need to move fast, get topside and as far away from this weird shite as we can, and we need to do it right fucking now.”

Wilkes looked like he might refuse to leave his friend, but moved when Patel put a hand on his shoulder. McCally and Parker took point and again Banks chose to bring up the rear as they headed out through the doorway.

Third time’s a charm .

He lifted a hand to pull down the night-vision goggles, then realized he didn’t need them — the main base lights that had been dark since their arrival were now blazing bright. And the farther down the corridor they got, the more they noticed that it wasn’t getting any colder — the heating had also kicked in all along the tunnel. Not for the first time, Banks got the impression of being watched, scrutinized by something that had now completely woken up and was most definitely curious.

They met no resistance, and weren’t impeded at all by ice. The floor was no longer frozen. Everything, dead flesh and clothing and all had melted away, leaving the squad to splash through dirty water the whole length of the corridor.

McCally and Wiggins stopped at the double door at the far end, and again Banks made his way to the front.

“If those wankers are there, we go through them this time. I’ve had enough buggering about.”

He saw by the squad’s faces that they were in agreement. He counted to three with his fingers, then pushed open the doors.

The large circular chamber that marked the interior of the main living area was empty — there weren’t even any puddles on the floor here. The only other difference from their last visit was that the lights and the heating were on here too now, and the walls ran damp with melting frost. Banks wondered if he went over and looked he might see the German officer sitting at his chair again, now slowly melting down to a puddle, but he wasn’t stupid enough to go and try.

The way appeared to be clear.

And this might be the only chance we get.

“Stairs, now,” he said, and the squad moved in reply. They made their way quickly up the stairwell and reached the exterior door with no resistance — thankfully there was no body lying on the upper landing, just more dampness and melted frost running down the walls.

He stopped the squad at the exit at the top.

“Cally, with me.”

The corporal came to his side, and the two of them pushed open the door. Banks winced at the resulting squeal of metal on metal as the old hinges complained, but if anyone — or anything — apart from them heard, they didn’t respond. They looked out over the pathway down to the quay and the quiet bay beyond. There was no sign of any immediate threat.

Banks let the squad exit and then stepped up and out, taking a welcome breath of cold, fresh, air. He was surprised to see that the sky was darkening — they’d been on site for the whole day already.

“Close it,” he said, and McCally and Parker moved to comply. The screech of the wheel turning echoed across the still twilight in the bay, but with the closing of the door it felt like a weight had been lifted. What with that, and the fresh air, Banks suddenly felt better, and for the first time in hours, he did not feel the call to the dance of the cosmos. He tugged out his earplugs, and listened, ready to replace them should he hear any hum, feel any compulsion. But all he heard was the soft whistle of a breeze blowing around the huts.

Even looking up toward the ice shelf and seeing the glowing dome of the hangar roof show bright in the growing gloom didn’t quell the newly found relief and feeling of freedom.

The men seemed to share his relief, and although they were still at combat readiness, some of the tension of the fight and flight was even now leeching out of them. When they saw him remove his plugs, they followed suit.

“What now, Cap?” Hynd said.

“To the dinghy,” he said. “I need to call this shite in. We were ordered to hold in place unless circumstances changed dramatically. Well, I’d say this fucking qualifies. I’m all for getting back to the big boat and waiting there for our relief, and if I get a bollocking for that, then so be it — I’ll send the colonel down to yon bloody saucer and see how much he likes it.”