Operation Antarctica

- 16 -

Banks didn’t hesitate. He went straight to the pentacles on the floor near the long window and stepped into the right hand one. Wiggins followed him and took the left pentacle.

The chanting rose in volume. Dark shadows swirled around the two men, thick as velvet drapes, dampening, almost drowning, the sound of shooting from out in the hangar.

“You weren’t serious about flying this fucker, were you, Cap?” Wiggins asked. He sounded far away, almost as distant as the chanting that continued to grow louder, more insistent.

“Not if we can shut it off first,” Banks said.

“How does this fucker work? There’s nae fucking controls, Cap.”

“We think hard at it — at least that’s the general idea. I ken that’s not your strong point, lad, but help me out here.”

“Just tell me what to think,” Wiggins said, and Banks laughed.

“Lad, you’ve been in service for too long. But that’s the easy bit. We want this fucker quiet; dead and still on the floor like when we got here. So, sleepy thoughts, keep it quiet, and let’s get this thing shut off.”

Banks tried to concentrate on the same thing he’d told Wiggins, but quiet was a long way away. Despite the dampening effect inside the saucer, the sound of gunfire was still clear, and Banks could not erase the worry he felt for the three men he’d left outside.

It appeared Wiggins felt the same for, unbidden, the saucer moved. It did not descend to the floor, but swung around, so that they looked out of the window at the scene in the doorway.

“Did you do that, Cap?” Wiggins said.

“I thought you did.”

Then both fell quiet. The tall German officer stood in the doorway, and the three dead squad members stood at his shoulder. Hynd, Parker, and McCally backtracked, firing round after round into the iced dead but doing no sign of any damage. The oberst looked up at the saucer, straight at the window, directly at Banks. His eyes were no longer milky, but flaring fiery red, and his skin, once blue, had taken on a hint of burnt ochre. Dark shadows swirled behind him, almost obscuring the dead squad members, shadows that furled and unfurled, like great wings ready to take flight.

“What the fuck, Cap?” Wiggins muttered.

“Steady, lad. We’re seeing what it expects us to see, that’s all. We didn’t start thinking about red-eyed demons until I read about it in that fucking journal. This fucker is in my head. I hope it likes the mess I’ve made in there over the years.”

The squad continued to backtrack, still shooting while the iced dead came through the doorway, matching their pace to the retreating men. The tall oberst never took his gaze from the window, as if it knew Banks was watching. Banks had another epiphany.

It wants us all inside the circles. It can draw more power that way.

The chanting of the monks got louder. Banks felt the call of the dark, saw the shadows swirl darker, and stars appear in the blackness. The void opened out all around the pentacles where they stood.

Outside, the oberst took another step toward the retreating men. They were almost backed up against the outer circle.

“Bugger this for a lark. Up,” Banks shouted to Wiggins. “Take us up.”

“What? Are you daft, man?”

“That’s a fucking order, Private,” he shouted. “Fly this fucker out of here, right now, before it takes us all.”

Banks thought about the saucer, glowing brighter, and rising off the hangar floor. It appeared that Wiggins took his order to heart, for it felt like his own thoughts were amplified, boosted, and the view out of the window changed as the saucer rose, slowly at first, then definitely accelerating upward.

The tall oberst looked into Banks’ eyes. The last thing Banks saw before the view of the hangar slipped out of sight completely was the German’s lips raise in a smile, and a black, forked, tongue slither out between them.