Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Antarctica

That was the most he’d said at any one time all day, but it had brought a broad grin to Hynd’s face.

“We’re all with you on that, Cap. A wee heat and a drink will suit me just fine.”

Banks should have known that it wasn’t going to be that simple. When he led the squad down the path to the jetty, they found the dingy lying almost totally underwater, sunk where they’d tied it up, a long jagged gash torn along the length of its rubber.

Somebody doesn’t want us leaving.

“The radio?” Wiggins asked.

Banks just pointed down into the dark water in reply. He looked out over the bay. It was getting dark fast now, at least as dark as it ever got here, but even so there were no lights showing out on the water. The captain of the icebreaker was as good as his word and had kept out of sight offshore. There was no way to contact him.

Yet again Banks’ options had narrowed to a single point of action.

“Looks like we’re bedding down in that hut again, lads. I hope nobody minds getting cozy.”

“As long as the sarge keeps his hands to himself, we’ll be fine,” Parker said.

“That’s what his wife says too,” Wiggins added, and got a cuff on the ear for his cheek. But at least the squad’s spirits had lifted, if only a fraction.

It was a start.

The shed was indeed cozy, and colder than Banks remembered, although he knew that was a reaction to having spent time in the overheated saucer hangar. It warmed up fast when McCally got the stove fired up.

“Have we got enough fuel to keep that thing going, Cally?” Banks asked.

“Aye, Cap. There’s a supply of cut wood in a box underneath it. Enough for a night anyway. We’ve got plenty of tea and powdered soup too, but there’s nothing in the way of solids apart from what we’ve got in the packs.”

“Hard biscuits and soup it is then,” Banks replied. “But hopefully our relief will be here before we have to start eating Wiggins.”

Wiggins wobbled his stomach with his hands.

“Too much fat anyway, although there’s plenty to grab on to, or so the sarge’s wife says.”

McCally and Parker rustled up soup, and after that brewed up tea for the squad. Banks let them get smokes lit, then brought them all up to speed with everything he’d learned in Carnacki’s journal, and his conclusions as to what had happened in the saucer hangar.

“It wants us, needs us I think, to fly that bloody saucer out of here. It wanted us in the hangar all along, and we were daft enough to play right into its hands. We got herded, like fucking sheep.”

“Dinnae talk shite, Cap,” Wiggins said. “A fucking demon? And Winston fucking Churchill gave it to the Huns? I don’t believe in fucking demons. I’m a fucking Protestant. This is black ops propaganda bollocks for sure.”

Banks saw that most of the rest of them were just as skeptical, and might have voiced it, if Hynd hadn’t spoken up first.

“Yon German officer went down twice and got back up again, out of nowhere too. We all saw it; the fucker melted away to slush one minute then was back in uniform sharp as a pin minutes later. I don’t ken much about science, but I ken enough to understand the fucking impossible when I see it. I think Cap’s thinking right on this one. You all know me, I’m not a man for all that Holy Joe religious crap. And I was raised a Protestant too and never had any time for saints or angels or demons. But what we’ve got here might just make me change my mind, at least about the last of those.”

The squad fell quiet, even Wiggins subdued by the truth they heard, and saw in the sarge’s eyes. Eventually, Wilkes spoke. Banks noticed the private was favoring his injured arm, and the pain showed in the younger man’s face, but his voice was steady enough.

“Whatever the fucker is, it killed Hughes. It’s going to pay for that. That bastard, demon or not, is going down. And once I’m finished with it, it’ll be staying down.”

“I’m up for some of that action,” Patel said, and the two of them bumped fists.

“Aye, we’re all up for some of that,” Wiggins said. “But how the fuck do we put it down if it keeps coming back?”

“Maybe we’ll just warm things up around here,” McCally said, and Wiggins laughed.

“Fuck that for a lark,” he replied. “We’ve all seen that movie. Unless you’ve got a bottle of whisky somewhere, that’s not an ending I’m in a rush to get to. Does anybody here have a single fucking clue how to deal with a demon? Anybody got some Holy Water shoved up their jacksie?”

“It could have killed us all easily,” Hynd said quietly. “The fact that it hasn’t tells me it wants us for something.”

“Flying a fucking UFO?” Wiggins said. “Why would a bloody demon want us to do that?”

“We don’t know. That’s why they’re sending in the experts,” Banks replied, and got a laugh from Wiggins in reply.

“There’s experts in this shite? Who the fuck would that be? Bernard fucking Quatermass?”

Not for the first time that day, Banks didn’t have an answer.

Another card game started up around the table with McCally, Parker, and Wiggins taking a hand. Patel and Wilkes got first dibs on a sleep, and each took a bunk, Patel’s snores soon vying to be heard over the bids and counter-bids of the card players. Banks stood near the stove, trying to get some heat back inside him. Hynd stood in front of the stove, warming his hands at the grille.

“Can I ask you a question, Cap?” the sarge said.

“Ask ahead,” Banks replied. “But at this point, all of you know everything that I know.”

“It’s about when we stepped into the circles back in the hangar,” Hynd said. “The stars and the chanting and the weird shit. You heard and saw all of that, right? It wisnae just a wee dream I was having?”

Banks nodded.

“If it was a dream, I had the same one. Both then, and the first time too when Wiggins and I were inside on our own.”

“But those words you shouted, the two Gaelic words? They broke the spell — trance — whatever the fuck it was? It was them that saved us?”

Banks nodded again.

“I think so. I can’t see what else got us out. I got lucky and remembered the words I read in the journal.”

“Thank fuck that you did, Cap. But Wiggins is right about one thing. This is some bloody weird shite, even for us.”

“Aye. I hear you. But with the dinghy and the radio both fucked, all we can do is stay away from that fucking saucer, sit tight here, and wait for the cavalry.”

Hynd did a passable impression of Wiggins.

“Bernard fucking Quatermass?”

Banks managed a smile.

“I’ll take bloody Flash Gordon if he knows what the fuck is going on here.”

The card came continued, the hut got warmer, and a fug of thin blue cigarette smoke hung in the air. Everything was calm, and the squad, if not exactly relaxed, were in that state all fighting men knew well, taking advantage of any lull as well as was possible in the circumstances. Wiggins kept up a flow of chat and crudity that meant the men around the table were distracted from having to think, Patel and Wilkes were getting some well-deserved kip.

But Banks himself couldn’t settle, and the cigarette smoke was bringing back too many memories of the days when he had indulged — over-indulged — the habit himself. It would be all too easy to walk over to the table and get one lit. He could even imagine the warm smoke, and the hit he would get after such a long time away, but a cigarette was the last thing he needed right now.

He zipped up his jacket, pulled the hood over his ears, and went quickly outside in search of fresher air.