Operation Antarctica

- 11 -

“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.”

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.

Full night had fallen on the bay, and Banks stood immediately outside the door for long moments, taking time to appreciate the view of the expanse of sky above and the cold blue bay with the ice seeming to twinkle back at the stars.

At first, he thought all was quiet, but the longer he stood, the more the sound came to him, a quiet hum, like a far-off generator. He knew what it must be without having to go looking for it. The saucer was still powered up, and he saw it in his mind, hovering inside the circles in a golden glow that filled the hangar.

Once more, the dance of the stars called to him, the urge to lose himself in the vast blackness.

“Dhumna Ort!” he muttered, and to his relief the hum, and the urge, both faded.

But they did not disappear completely. Suddenly, the sky overhead had lost its charms, and now seemed to lower over him like a dark drape, one that was getting heavier with every passing second. He went back inside, but the distant hum came in with him, and seemed to ring and reverberate in his skull. He went and stood by the stove. Hynd raised an eyebrow in a question, but Banks ignored him and started warming his hands at the grate.

“Dhumna Ort!” he muttered, and the hum faded into the background again, but still did not dissipate completely. It stayed somewhere near the back of his skull, calling relentlessly.

“Dhumna Ort!” he muttered again.

“You okay, Cap?” Hynd said.

Banks nodded and tried to smile.

“Just wishing there was something a wee bit stronger than tea available. I need a drink. I need a lot of drink.”

“You and me both, Cap,” the sarge replied. “The relief will be here soon, right?”

Banks nodded again, although this time he wasn’t able to smile with it, and when Hynd nodded back, there was no smile in reply. When the sarge stepped back over to the card game, Banks stayed at the stove. The image of the hovering saucer was big in his mind, and the hum kept up its call. He turned his back to the table so that the squad wouldn’t see him, and muttered the words, almost continuously, his only talisman against the calling.

“Dhumna Ort! Dhumna Ort!”

It kept the monkish chanting and the beat of the dance at a far enough distance for it to be manageable.

For now.