Chapter 16
The Sky Above Beardmore Camp
“Look at that,” the copilot said.
“Look at what?” the Captain asked. The C-130 Hercules had descended from its cruising altitude, having passed over Beardmore South Camp and continuing due south over the plateau. The Captain wanted to get a look at where the accident had happened. They went south for fifty miles, then took a wide turn and passed over the crevasse field before starting the final descent into the camp. He allowed Dr. Fredrick onto the flight deck while he controlled the aircraft. He looked where his copilot pointed.
“Ah.”
“What?” Dr. Fredrick asked over the intercom.
“There. Russian transport convoy.” The Captain descended lower towards the vehicles to get a better look.
“Looks like a miserable way to travel,” the copilot said.
“No shit,” the Captain said. “Give me my Herc any day.”
“Economical, at least,” Dr. Fredrick said. “If not somewhat laborious.”
The Captain shared a look with his copilot, unnoticed by Dr. Fredrick. She shook her head on cue, smirking. Scientists!
“How far are they from the camp and how long do you think it will take them to get there?” Dr. Fredrick asked.
“Ten, fifteen miles. Maybe an hour, two max.”
“Okay,” Dr. Fredrick said, nodding.
“I’m gonna bring her around for our approach.” To the copilot, he asked, “Current conditions on the ground?”
“Let’s get an update,” she said, then keyed the mic. “Beardmore, you copy?”
“That’s affirm, go ahead,” Barry said. He knew who was coming and was ready.
“Got your latest hourly?”
“Roger,” Barry said. “Observation as follows: Wind: Fourteen, from the northeast. Blowing snow. Sky: Alto-cumulus at fifteen thousand feet. Temp: One four, that’s fourteen. How copy?”
“Copy all, Beardmore. Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” Barry told them. He was always accommodating when the Captain was around. “Beardmore standing by.”
“What was the wind on the last report?” the Captain asked her.
“Zilch.”
He grunted. “Now we got fourteen out of the northeast and blowing snow.”
“And alto cumulous at fifteen thousand,” she added.
He thought for a moment while the aircraft continued to lower before saying over the intercom, “Let’s try and move things along down there, people.” He had no intention of becoming a permanent resident in that god-forsaken place. Airplanes were for flying and he wasn’t there because of the scenery. Even McMurdo, rat hole that it was, was far superior to this place; and that was where his squadron was berthed. If there was a storm brewing, then he wanted to get out, and quick. “Let’s make this short and sweet.”