Operation: Siberia

- 15 -

Despite Banks’ misgivings, the next few hours passed quietly. The bull mammoth trumpeted every five minutes, so regular you could have set your watch by it, and the fog came and went. The mammoths stayed in their protective circle, the hairy rhino remained way across the tundra under the tall cliffs, and there was no sign of lion, wolf, Alma, or any of the elk herd. Banks hoped there was a wild hunt going on, somewhere far enough away to keep them all busy for a while longer yet.

He let his squad spend most of the time smoking in the corridor outside; he trusted Hynd to keep the two younger men in check and ensure their constant vigilance. Banks stayed at the window overlooking the tundra, mainly watching the big birds that had now taken control of the deer carcass and were in the process of picking it clean. The mammoths, meanwhile, had loosened their defense slightly to allow grazing further afield, but the big male kept his head up and his eyes open—Banks wasn’t the only one maintaining vigilance.

He knew the backup was incoming before he heard it, for the bull mammoth’s head rose up quickly, as if alerted by a sudden sound. Seconds later, Banks heard it for himself, the welcome drone of an approaching plane. And it appeared their luck was holding, for there was currently no sign of any fog that might complicate a landing.

“Okay, lads, we’re leaving,” he shouted.

The scientists looked up at the sound of the approaching plane. Galloway spoke first.

“Just get us aboard safely,” he said. “And we’ll be in your debt forever.”

McCally and Wiggins had the thankless task of hefting the dead scientist with them on their way downstairs, with Banks and Hynd leading the way. Banks half-expected to see the wolf at the foot of the stairwell waiting for them, but the reception area was empty, and by the time they walked across to the main doors, the sound of the approaching plane roared down the runway.

Banks looked west to see the heavy-bellied transporter come in for its landing. At the same time, he caught a fluttering movement in the corner of his vision; the thunderbirds, disturbed from their feast by this new arrival, were taking to the air. And they had no thought of fleeing. They were clumsy getting into the air, but within seconds were soaring above the complex, then immediately launching into controlled dives, all six in a wedge formation with the largest of them at the front, heading straight for the approaching plane.

They’re trying to scare it off. They think it’s a bigger bird.

“Pull up. Pull up,” Galloway shouted, and Banks hoped to hell that the pilots had the sense to take notice. At first, he thought they intended to plough on regardless, then, slowly, the nose of the plane came up, and they started to climb.

But it was too late; the thunderbirds matched the climb, and the large one in the lead of their attack met the pilot’s window full on. Everything seemed to slow down. Banks knew with a sinking feeling in his gut that it was all over, even before the plane took a hard bank left. It dived off the runway and plunged, nose down, into the tundra, coming apart in three pieces before the fuel went up with a whump that echoed around the whole valley and brought an answering trumpet from the bull mammoth.

Wiggins stepped out onto the runway, as if intending to run toward the burning wreckage, looking for survivors. Banks called him back.

“It’s too late for them, Wiggo. You know that. They’re as dead as this one here.”

The body of the dead scientist lay at their feet where Wiggins and McCally had left him.

“What do we do now?” Waterston asked.

“We take off and nuke the site from orbit,” Wiggins replied. “It’s the only way to be sure.”

“You’re not helping, Wiggo,” Hynd said, then turned to Banks.

“It’s going to be dark soon, Cap,” he said.

“Aye. And it’ll be a while before anybody misses us. We need to find a secure spot to lay low.”

“The Lear? We could hole up in there?”

“No. Yon door wouldn’t hold against a determined attack for long. I’m thinking more of getting some rock between us and any big beasties.”

“The caves out back?”

“Aye. The smell’s rank. But it’s solid, only one point of entry, and defensible.”

“And the Alma know it well,” Galloway said quietly, still watching the smoke rise from the wreckage of the crashed plane. “I’m not sure it’s a great plan.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got,” Banks replied.

A black plume rose from the crash site. Four Thunderbirds circled in the artificial thermal, screeching their victory across the valley as they rose from their kill.

Wiggins and McCally bent to the dead man, but Banks stopped them.

“The sarge and I will take him. You two are on scavenger duty back upstairs. Water first, then you know the drill; anything else you can carry without worrying about losing it. And make it fast. We’ll cover you from down in reception, then we’ll move as one through the complex. Back here in three minutes. Don’t get dead.”

The two younger men left at a run. As Banks was about to bend to the body, Galloway and Waterston surprised him.

“We’ll need you watching out for us,” Galloway said. “And he’s our man. We’ll look after him if you look after us.”

Waterston looked like he might struggle with the weight, but between them, they managed to get the dead man hefted in a fireman’s lift across Galloway’s shoulders.

“Lead on,” the man said. Strain showed on his features, but when Banks led them back into the complex, Galloway followed, keeping pace, with Waterston at his back holding as much of the dead weight as he could.

“Sarge, watch the doors. And once Cally and Wiggo get back, we’ll be moving fast. Anything tries to stop us, put it down fast.”

He stood at the foot of the stairs, taking care not to stand where the wolf had marked his territory, and watched. He heard McCally and Wiggins clatter around somewhere above, then heavy footsteps as they made their way back. He breathed a lot easier when the corporal and the private arrived at the top of the stairwell. Wiggins carried two, full, ten-liter water containers, while McCally’s flak jacket bulged where he had packed food into pockets and pouches, making it look like he’d fallen pregnant in the past three minutes.

Once they were all gathered at the foot of the stairs, Banks moved them out. He led, Hynd watched their back, and the rest moved as fast as they could manage with their respective loads.

When they reached the main door through to the domed area, Banks didn’t hesitate; he pushed the door open, and stepped through, holding it for the rest to follow before letting it close with a loud clunk at his back.

The ‘zoo’ area lay quiet and still. There was still no sign of the snow hares, and the lion’s enclosure looked empty.

But it had looked empty the first time we were here too.

His memory of the lion’s leap out of hiding was far too strong to let him get sloppy this close to the cage. He eyed it warily as he led the group past it, looking for any sign that the big cat might once again be crouched in the foliage, biding its time.

He was so busy watching the cage he almost leapt in the air in surprise when something brushed past his legs. One of the pale snow hares sat at his feet, looking up at him. They were each as surprised as the other, and neither of them moved for the space of two breaths before the hare slapped a foot against the concrete floor as if in indignation, and bounded away, deeper into the facility. Banks watched it go, then the implication hit him; if the hares could get out of their enclosure and into the domed area, then it was probable that the larger predators would be able to do the same.

“I see your boyish charm is still working, Cap,” Wiggins said as the hare bounded around the side of the aviary and out of sight, then he went quiet when Banks put a finger to his lips.

“Quiet, and double time,” Banks replied. “We could be in trouble.”

He led them into the dome that housed the aviary, and into the covered walkway that ran around the inside of the large dome. The Russian, Volkov, still lay on the trestle in the aviary, splayed open for the world to see. It didn’t appear that anything had been feasting on him since their last walk past that morning; the birds had bigger, tender pickings out on the plain. But something had been here, in the walkway; more than one thing by the look of it. Banks had seen more than enough dog tracks in mud and snow to know what he was looking at, but these were done in red, bloody smears across the concrete, and each print was as big as a man’s hand.

The culprits were easily enough found. Banks walked ‘round the curve of the aviary to where the door led through toward the labs. Three wolves almost filled the doorway and they too had found tender pickings. They were busy chewing down on the dead scientists, their snouts red and dripping, their feet soaked with blood and gore from the bloody feast.

The largest of the three looked up from where it had its jaws deep in the belly of one of the young scientists. Drool ran from its lower lip, and its gaze locked on Banks. It wasn’t the large male; he guessed this was mama wolf. He raised his rifle, at the same time taking slow steps backward the way they had come.

He walked into Galloway. The scientist had dropped his dead companion at his feet, and was staring, not toward the lab doorway, but back toward the aviary. Hynd and McCally were bringing up the rear, but Banks saw enough in the gap between them.

The big male wolf sat on its haunches in the center of the walkway, and it too locked its gaze on Banks, and rolled its lips back in a smile.