Ice Station Wolfenstein

Chapter 18

The soldiers swarmed in and swiftly confiscated Blomstein's gun, the only visible weapon the group had. "Who's in charge here?" the major barked.

That's a good point, Sam thought. Who actually is in charge of this group? He raised his head as much as he dared to see who stepped up.

Purdue was the first to speak. "You can speak to me," he said. "I commissioned this expedition and am ultimately responsible for it."

"Then I'll ask you to get to your feet, sir," the major said. As Purdue straightened up, two soldiers briskly patted him down. "What is your purpose here, sir?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Purdue blustered. He waved grandly at the rest of the group. "We are a group of scientists and historians who came in search of Ice Station Wolfenstein, to verify its existence and learn its secrets. And you are?"

The major regarded Purdue with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. "I am not at liberty to tell you that, sir. Please ask the rest of your party to stand so that we can check for weapons."

Purdue did not actually repeat the command, but everyone had heard it clearly and no one was in the mood to argue. Even Blomstein restricted himself to simply eyeing the newcomers suspiciously. The major began firing off questions about which countries they had come from, the exact nature of their business, and of course their names and professional capacities. One by one they answered, until he came to Admiral Whitsun. As soon as the old man gave his name, the major snapped to attention and saluted him.

"Might I be permitted to ask your name?" Admiral Whitsun asked.

"Major Erik Alfsson, sir!"

"Major Alfsson, could we speak for a moment in private? Perhaps we could step into the next room…"

For the briefest of moments the young major looked flustered. Encountering a man who outranked him was evidently not something he had anticipated. However, he pulled himself together and bellowed a few more instructions at his men, telling them to keep everyone else in the room and delegating his second-in-command to take the remaining names.

"This is so stupid!" Nina hurled a balled-up pair of socks at the wall, then tutted as they fell to the floor instead of bouncing back toward her. "We've come all the way here and now these soldiers or mercenaries or whatever they are aren't going to let us get anywhere near the most interesting stuff. What are they even doing here?"

"Don't know," said Sam. "I suppose the base is still operational in some way or other. Maybe scientific research of some kind."

"I wouldn't think so," Fatima chimed in. She got up from the bottom bunk, picked up the socks and tossed them over to Nina, who was leaning against the wall at the far end of the room. "I've been in plenty of research stations in my time, but they don't usually have soldiers crawling all over them. Not unless you're in an area that's on some kind of high alert."

"Could this place be on high alert?" Sam asked.

Fatima shook her head. "I don't know. I guess it could be. But I haven't heard of any territorial disputes or anything that would explain those guys. Word tends to get around among those of us who work at the bases. And those guys look serious."

Sam nodded. He did not want to mention his fears to the others, but he was growing increasingly concerned. If this place was crawling with soldiers, then someone, somewhere had something to hide. And if that was the case, then they were all too close to it for comfort. The smart thing to do would be to kill us all, he thought. We might not have seen whatever it is that they're hiding here, but we know this place really exists now and that's dangerous enough. The most sensible option would be to make sure we never get home. Just another expedition lost in harsh conditions. It happens. No one would question it much. My guess is that each and every one of us will get a bullet in our heads some time tonight.

They had been escorted back to the officers' quarters as soon as all of their details had been noted. The march back up the stairs had been brisk and efficient, but with no overt malice or threat from the strange soldiers. Once they reached the quarters they had been informed that they could move freely from room to room, provided they did not attempt to leave the corridor until further notice. At mealtimes they would be escorted to the refectory and back. This would continue, they were told, until orders came through. They had not said who these orders would be from. The rest of the brass pieces from Harald Kruger's box had been confiscated.

"Who are they, anyway?" Nina wondered aloud. "The one who was talking to us first, Major Whatshisname, he sounded American."

Fatima shook her head. "No, he sounded like someone who learned English from an American," she said. "I'd guess he's Scandinavian. But did you hear the others? It's a whole mix of accents — and languages. The two who are posted at the far end of the corridor, along by my room? They're Israeli. I heard them. With a mix like that, I would guess they're private military contractors — PMCs — like the Blackwater guys."

"That doesn't sound good." Nina reached for the cigarettes.

"Don't let it worry you!" Fatima was just a little too quick to reassure Nina, Sam noticed. "I know it all sounds shady as hell, but it's ok. I've been to a couple of places that had PMCs around and it was fine. Remember I told you about that time when I was working in the Indian Ocean, at that research base in Sri Lanka, and there were those endangered turtles and they were having real trouble with poachers? There was a PMC unit stationed there to keep the poaching under control. I talked to some of the staff at the base about it and they said it was fine. They still obey all the same rules as normal soldiers — you know, the Geneva Convention and international sanctions and all that stuff."

Sam silently accepted the cigarettes from Nina and lit one. He had been meaning to talk to her about rationing their supplies, because they did not know how long it would be before they finally got to Neumayer and more cigarettes were available to buy. Now there seemed to be little point. Fatima may have been correct about the legitimate PMCs that she had encountered before, but Sam knew from his dealings with the arms ring that there were also shady, disreputable contractors who had little respect for the rules and would do whatever they were being paid to do, and they wouldn't balk at killing off a few academics and dilettantes who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If his experience of mercenary soldiers was anything to go by, they would be as well to smoke their cigarettes while they still could.

It was another hour before they were called out of their rooms and herded down the stairs. This is it, Sam thought. Either these guys like to eat their tea really early, or we're about to die. Bruich, I hope you'll be happy living with your Uncle Paddy. Trish… Looks like I'll see you soon.

His worst suspicions seemed to be confirmed when they were marched straight past the refectory and down toward the docking room. Sam's head was full of visions of them being lined up next to one of the flooded pens, ready to be executed. Their bodies would fall forward into the water, then the system would be activated so that the water flowed back out into the ocean, carrying their corpses with it.

Instead, they were taken through the room, past the U-boats, down the ladder, and back to the corridor where they had been stopped. They kept going, into the unknown corridors that they had seen so briefly. The image in Sam's head changed. Is there an exit down here? he wondered. That would be another way to do it. We don't even have our jackets on. If they kick us out into the snow we'll all be dead before long. Then, what, they scatter our stuff around and make it look like we were trying to set up a camp and didn't quite make it? Make it look like some weird, Dyatlov Pass kind of mystery? I'd have thought the ocean would be a better bet — a complete disappearance would be better than some big mystery. Unless they've got something they can use for easy disposal stashed around here somewhere. An incinerator, maybe? Who knows? I suppose it could be anything in a place like this.

Finally they arrived in a long, white room with a large table. It looked like some kind of meeting room, lined with notice boards that had been stripped of their signs. The group was instructed to sit and wait for Major Alfsson to join them. It was only then, sitting around the table, that Sam realized that Admiral Whitsun was not with them. He saw some of the others realizing the same thing, looking puzzled, displaying varying degrees of concern. Most of them were visibly alarmed by the presence of the soldiers, though Jefferson in particular was trying hard not to show it. Even Purdue looked troubled, although Sam suspected that this was more to do with being told what to do than anything else. Only Alexandr remained inscrutable and even slightly amused, but it seemed that danger brought him to life.

After several long, silent minutes, the door swung open and Major Alfsson appeared, along with Admiral Whitsun. The young soldier helped the old man into a seat, then sat down himself. It was Admiral Whitsun who spoke first.

"I fear I must apologize for keeping you all waiting so long," he said. "I realize that this is an alarming situation, and I am sorry to have been the cause of any delay — but I had another turn while Major Alfsson and I were talking, and he was kind enough to summon his company's medic and ensure that I was well. Unfortunately this detained him from communicating with his superior officers."

"I have now spoken to them," Alfsson said. "Our primary concern, of course, is to ensure your safety until we can establish contact with Neumayer Station and arrange your transport. But while you are here, my instructions are to ask you to share whatever information you have regarding this place. There are areas that we are still attempting to access and it seems possible that you might be able to help us. We had been working on the door that you opened for some time."

"Might we ask how long you've been here?" Purdue spoke up. "If we are to share information with you, it would be a gesture of good faith if you were to share yours with us."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Alfsson, "but I am not at liberty to disclose that information. All I can tell you is that we had been here long enough to get frustrated by some of the doors — but then, I am not a patient man."

"Then we've got that much in common," Purdue muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms sulkily.

"I have told Major Alfsson the basic details of our mission." Admiral Whitsun's breathing was becoming a little labored, though he remained sitting bolt upright and looking alert. "After a certain amount of negotiation, his superiors were willing to permit us not only to stay until our transport is arranged, but also to allow us to continue our explorations — provided we agree to remain under escort at all times. I trust we are all agreed?"

A ripple of nods ran around the table, punctuated by some relieved sighs as the less optimistic members of the group realized that they were not on the point of being shot after all.

"Great," said Major Alfsson. "Let's make a start."