Operation Antarctica

- 10 -

The squad knocked up a makeshift stretcher from the top of one of the tables that made up the barricade, then McCally and Hynd dragged the remaining tables aside to clear the doorway. The wood screeched loudly on the floor as they moved it, the noise echoing away down the corridor. Banks called for quiet, and they stood, listening, but there was no response, although Banks remembered only too well the metallic clangs they’d heard earlier. He didn’t expect this to go easily.

“We do this fast, or we don’t do it at all,” Banks said. “Down the corridor, then up the stairwell, out the door and down to the hut. Anything gets in our way, we take it out hard. Are we all clear on that?”

Wiggins, Parker, Patel, and Wilkes each had a corner of the table with Hughes’ body on it. Before getting ready to move out, all of the men had taken a look at what was now only a smear of slushy water on the corridor floor, but no one had spoken of it, and Banks wasn’t about to be the first to broach the subject.

He let McCally and Hynd take point, and he held back, letting the four stretcher-bearers pass him so that he could bring up the rear. He took a final look at the saucer as he left. It still did nothing but sit and hover, vibrating slightly just off the floor, but he felt its call, heard the stars sing in the blackness inside it, and yet again he had to fight the impulse to give himself over to its pleasures. It took all of his strength to turn his back on the golden glow and follow the squad down the corridor.

The first thing Banks noticed was how far the heat and light now penetrated. He didn’t have to do up his jacket or pull down the night-vision goggles until they were halfway along the tunnel corridor.

Despite the clearer vision, they were making slower progress than he’d hoped, for the floor felt slippery underfoot now where the water had run and frozen again. They’d have gone faster without having to bring Hughes’ body with them, but they didn’t leave men behind.

And especially not when there’s a chance of them getting up and walking around.

Wiggins almost lost his footing, and Banks had to move up next to the makeshift stretcher to steady it. Hughes’ eyes had opened again, and the dead man stared at him, accusing.

I’ll get you home, lad. It’s all I can do for you now.

Hynd and McCally reached the double door at the end of the corridor first, but didn’t open it until the whole squad had come together. Banks squeezed passed the stretcher-bearers to join the other two at the doors.

“Remember, we do this fast,” Banks said in a low voice. “Through, up the stairs and away to the hut, slicker than shite off a shovel. We stop for nothing.”

He opened the double door.

They wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry. Ranks of the frozen dead stood immediately outside the doorway, completely blocking their path to the main stairwell upward. At the lead of them stood the tall oberst, once again clad in full uniform, peaked hat firmly on his head, the jacket immaculate and free from any bullet holes, the Swastika showing sharp and clear on his armband. The German looked up as the door opened, stared straight at Banks with two milk-white eyes, raised his left hand, and pointed over Banks’ shoulder, back along the corridor toward the hangar. At the same time, he took a step forward. The ranks of the dead, four wide and at least eight rows of them that Banks could see, came forward in step, like clockwork dolls that had just been set in motion.

“How many times do we need to put this fucker down?” Wiggins said at Banks’ back.

“Third time’s the charm,” Banks said, but didn’t give the order to fire. He’d seen how much ammo they’d needed at the last attack; they didn’t have the firepower to force their way past the ranks ahead. He had a longing look at the stairwell, their path to freedom, but there were too many of the dead between the doorway and the stairs. They might make it, they might not, but he’d probably lose men in the process. Having come this far, he was loath to give up their position, but he knew he had little choice; Hughes dead eyes still accused him; he wasn’t ready to lose another squad member.

“Back up,” he said as the Germans came forward at the same slow pace as previously. “Back to the hangar. If we can’t shoot them all, at least the heat will get them.”

They backed away, once again slowed by the stretcher-bearers and being wary of the ice on the floor. The dead came through the doorway four abreast after them.

Banks, McCally, and Hynd put themselves between the attack and the men carrying Hughes’ body, and for a while they managed to maintain an even distance to the tall German officer as they went back up the corridor, but calamity struck near the halfway point.

Somebody slipped. Banks didn’t see who it was, he only heard the clatter and thud, then an echoing crack as the bed of the table on which Hughes’ body was lying split. In the time it took Wilkes and Patel to heft the dead body between then and get moving again, the oberst had stepped up almost face to face with the rearmost men of the squad.

Banks stared into the dead-white eyes, and felt the icy cold wash off the officer as the German raised his left hand again and pointed up the corridor toward the hangar.

“The answer is still no,” Banks said. “So why don’t you fuck off back to wherever you came from.”

The oberst took another step forward.

Banks put three quick rounds into its face, then turned away.

“Leg it,” he shouted. “Back to the door, and fast. Let’s see if we can hold them off long enough for the heat to stop them.”

They slipped and slid their way at a flat run all the way back up the corridor, arriving at the hangar doorway just in time for Wilkes and Patel to dump Hughes body unceremoniously by the side. Then it was a frantic few seconds while they arranged a new barricade, although this one was nowhere near as sturdy as their earlier attempt and was only waist rather than neck high. By the time they got it in place, the approaching dead were less than ten paces away.

“At least it’s fucking warmer up here,” Wiggins said. That was an understatement; the temperature in the hangar appeared to have risen even more during their short absence, forcing the squad to unzip their outer jackets. Parker started to shuck his off.

“No,” Banks said loudly. “Stay ready for cold-weather action. We don’t know when this is all going to go sideways on us.”

Wiggins laughed at that.

“We’re pretty much as far off to left-field as we can get, don’t you think, Cap?”

“I wouldn’t bet my house on that, lad,” Hynd replied.

“I wouldn’t bet your house on it either, Sarge,” McCally said, then there was no time for talk.

The dead kept coming forward, but now Banks saw that they were already melting, with icy slush, like semi-solid sweat, leaching off their bodies and clothes as they approached the hangar doorway.

“We only need to hold until the heat gets them,” he said. “Remember, short controlled bursts, head shots only. Take that officer down first, all of us at once. On my signal.”

McCally, Wiggins, Patel, and Wilkes knelt on the ground and aimed over the top of the edge of the barricade while Banks joined Hynd and Parker in standing just behind them.

The oberstleutnant was still in the front rank of the oncoming dead. Banks saw that his most recent shots had taken out the left eye and blown off part of the cheek below it, but once again, he hadn’t done any damage of any substance. The tall officer raised his left arm to point again.

“Enough of this fucking shite,” Wiggins said, and Banks tended to agree.

“Fire,” he shouted.

The concentrated volley at close range blew the oberstleutnant’s face and most of the front of his head away, spraying ice fragments all through the tunnel. The body swayed, its left arm still pointing into the hangar, then finally toppled. When it hit the ground, the German officer shattered into fragments, slushy ice skittering across the floor.

“We got the fucker,” Wiggins shouted in triumph, but this time the ranks of the dead did not stop when the leader fell. They kept coming forward at the same steady pace.

Whatever is in charge of all of this bollocks is learning.

“Fire at will!” Banks shouted.

The squad didn’t need any other urging. Fragments of ice flew, shots cracked in a seemingly endless roar and every few seconds another of the frozen men toppled to smash on the floor as little more than rapidly melting, slushy ice. The heat was taking its toll on the attack almost as much as their weaponry. But still they kept coming, their sheer weight of numbers forcing them inch by slow inch closer to the barricade.

Wilkes and Parker both had to reload at the same time. The momentary weakness in the field of fire gave the iced dead an opportunity to shuffle six more inches onward, although three more of their number crashed to fragments almost at the same time. The floor of the corridor immediately ahead of the barricade was now awash with icy slush and dirty water. Thin smoke hung just below the roof of the tunnel, almost obscuring the ceiling completely and making it appear that the frozen dead were lurching forward through an autumnal fog, a scene straight out of a gothic horror.

“Hold them back,” Banks shouted, and shot another full in a face that looked more like melted wax than flesh. All of the front rank of the attack were melting faster now, and the waves of heat from the circles around the saucer made Bank’s back feel like it was being slowly toasted under a hot grill. The squad used up ammo at a prodigious rate, but they were only just managing to hold off the onslaught, and a quick mental calculation made Bank’s heart sink.

We’re not going to make it.

The nearest rank of the dead stepped up to within two feet of the barricade. The squad was now in as much danger from ricochet as from anything else. Hynd had to step back to reload, and Banks knew that his own mag was near empty, and that some of the others must also be getting close to having to switch magazines. There was no way they’d be given either the time or the space to do it.

He only had one option left to him. He didn’t like it, but it was the only way to avoid losing more of the men.

“Back up,” he called. “Everybody into the gold circles.”

“Fuck that. There’s nothing to stop them coming right after us, Cap,” Wiggins said.

“I said, back up. Let them come. They won’t be able to take the heat.”

The men moved as one unit, still shooting as they walked backward toward the glowing gold lines. The barricade quickly became little more than cracked wood and splinters as the dead came through. The front rank fell almost immediately as the heat took them down to slush in seconds, but the second rank got farther into the hangar, and the third rank farther still.

Banks’ team was now backed up as far as they could go without stepping into the glowing circles around the saucer. The heat here was almost baking, threatening to set their clothing smoldering.

“Quickly. All the way,” Banks shouted. “Into the circles then cease fire.”

He let the others pass him, then stepped over the two concentric gold lines. As soon as he stepped fully into the inner circle, the heat fell away. He saw that the warmth still radiated out in the hangar, and his hunch had been right — it was proving too much for the approaching attack. Another rank of the icy dead fell to the floor, this time fully liquid when they hit the floor with a splash of nothing more than dirty water.

The squad stopped firing and the hangar fell silent save for an audible hum from the saucer. The remaining ranks of the dead stopped in the doorway by the ruined remnants of the barricade, as if an order had been issued to come no farther.

Something’s coming.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he felt it, the same old gut instinct that had always served him well. He saw that Hynd had sensed it too, an old soldier’s hunch that the worst was still to come that had them both keep their weapons raised and pointed at the doorway.

But the attack, when it came, came from elsewhere.

Banks tasted the impossibility again, the tang of salt water, cold at his lips. A sibilant sound echoed and joining the humming from the saucer — distant chanting, getting louder. To a man, the ranks of the dead in the doorway lifted their left arms and pointed, straight at the saucer. They didn’t step forward, but moved aside to let someone — something — through. The tall German officer, once more in pristine full uniform, walked to the front of the rank. He too raised his left arm and pointed, and once again, Banks thought he sensed rather than saw a smile on his face.

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.