Operation Antarctica

- 15 -

The glow from the circles diminished still further, and the saucer sank slowly downward, still hovering, but now merely inches off the ground again.

“It’s working, Cap,” Parker shouted.

“Aye, maybe. But is it working enough?”

They had to zip up their jackets and pull their hoods over their heads — the wind bit hard, with snow flurries spattering in their faces, rasping at their skin like sandpaper.

“Hynd, you take Cally and Parker and watch that doorway. If those fucking popsicles show up, keep them out in the corridor as long as you can. Only fall back inside the circles as a last resort. Clear?”

“Aye, aye, cap,” Hynd replied, and gave a mock salute.

“What about me, Cap?” Wiggins said.

“You’re with me, lad.”

“Are we going somewhere?”

“You might say that, aye,” Banks replied. “Let’s see if your flying is any better than your driving.”

“What the fuck, Cap?”

Banks smiled.

“That’s the second part of the plan. We call its bluff. We’re going in. It wants us to fly the fucker, let’s fly the fucker.”

He didn’t wait to see if Wiggins would follow him. If the private showed hesitation, it might have weakened Banks’ own resolve, and it was weak enough already. He stepped over toward the outer of the golden circles. The chanting came again, the monks shouting in the wind. This time, he did not put in the earplugs, but welcomed the song into him.

As he stepped into the circles, he heard Hynd call out from behind him.

“We’ve got incoming.”

Wiggins stepped up beside him. The door in the saucer cracked, creaked, and fell open to their touch.

They stepped up into the saucer at almost the same moment as the squad opened fire in the doorway.