***
The Otter touched down at Williams Field, the landing strip on the permanent (or at least that’s what they thought at that point in history) ice shelf, where they could, for a while anyway, go unnoticed. The Navy was still using the strip on the annual ice, where wheeled aircraft could land. Willey Field, as it was known, was a ghost town, even by Antarctic standards. In the not-too-distant-future the annual ice would float away and Willey Field would once again become a bustling hub until air traffic ceased for the winter. At that moment the field was manned by a cook, an electronics tech, and an equipment operator, whose job it was to keep the base operational until it came back into service.
“Out,” Max said, after taxiing the airplane to the base.
“What do you mean, ‘out’?” Frodo said.
“I mean you get your arse out of my plane, then I get the hell out of here. Now.”
“Out of here to where?” Frodo asked.
“Terra Nova, to start. See if I can B.S. some petrol out of the Italians, before they get wind. Then on to Oz. Take a nice long vacation, I recon. I’d have to be stonkered to stay here.”
“I see,” Frodo said, only seeing that Max was speaking Aussie to make his point more firmly. He wondered why they couldn’t all go on, but if Max had any intention of making that an option, he would have said so before showing them the door. There was nothing for it but to get out.
“All right,” he said to his crew. “Let’s go.”
“I’m staying,” Sierra said, looking at Max, who smiled and nodded.
“Me too!” Crystal said, looking at Max hopefully. Now he grinned broadly and nodded again.
“Me three?” Thumper asked, but without much enthusiasm.
Max’s grin now turned surly.
“Out!” he repeated.
Frodo opened the hatch and led the way for Sokolov and Thumper. As soon as they were clear of the wing and out of the way of the propellers, Max throttled up and taxied toward the ski-way. The three of them stood watching for a moment, until each realized they wanted nothing more than to be rid of the others. Unfortunately, there was no immediately recognizable means of escape. By then the three navy crewmen who were manning the station had come to greet them.
“Hi! How are you? What’s going on? You want to come in?” they all said at once. “We have food. It’s not great, but there’s a lot of it. Who are you? Where you from?”
It was clear to the three newcomers from the way the three inhabitants were all talking at once and not waiting for answers to their questions, that they were so starved for conversation, apart from each others, that they wouldn’t let anyone else get a word in.
Frodo spoke for all.
“We need to get to Scott Base as soon as possible. Do you have a snowmobile or something?”
He said Scott Base rather than McMurdo since that would be his best chance. The Kiwis were always supportive of the cause.
The three looked crestfallen.
“You don’t want to stay? I can make pizza,” the cook said enticingly.
“This is an emergency,” Frodo said, allowing a tone of desperation to slip into his voice. “It could be a matter of life and death.”
He didn’t feel obligated to add that the life and death that potentially hung in the balance was his, since it wasn’t their business anyway.
The three crewmen now began arguing about who got to make the drive back to Scott Base. They weren’t technically allowed to abandon their post except in an emergency, but they were granted the freedom to decide what constituted an emergency, and this seemed like it would do. The electronics tech won, pulling rank, which the others resented. They piled into a pickup truck, Frodo getting in the front, Sokolov and Thumper outside on the bed.
The road to the sea-ice transition was kept plowed, the track marked with flags stuck into the rough ice. Just beyond the transition was Ross Island, and then only a few hundred meters to Scott Base. Frodo dodged the questions from the driver as best he could throughout the trip, re-examining his position. He had intended to take Sokolov to Scott Base and see if they could help to get him out, but after being abandoned by his crew, he decided that this round was over and that he best look to his own survival.
“Thanks, man. Do me a favor though, would you? Take these guys to McMurdo?” Frodo asked through the open door.
“Sure thing!” the tech said, glad to have a reason to keep going.
“Just one,” Thumper said. “I’m getting off too.”
“You mean you don’t want to go on to McMurdo?” Frodo asked him, without more sarcasm than was due. “Don’t bother coming here, I’ll turn you right over to them.”
“Don’t worry,” Thumper said, shouldering his pack. “I’m done tagging along behind you.”
“What are you going to do, then,” Frodo asked, softening a little. “Not an easy place to disappear into around here.”
“You don’t think so? Actually, there’s all kinds of ways a guy can get lost. I have a few tricks.”
“Well, good luck then.”
He held out his hand to Thumper, who only hesitated for an instant, then took his hand before heading back in the direction from where they just came, toward the camp of ornaments and the stash of supplies he had hidden for just such a contingency.