Ice Station Wolfenstein

Chapter 9

During their first few days aboard the ship, Sam saw very little of the other members of the expedition. The icebreaker may have been excellent for breaking through ice, but its hull was not designed for the choppy seas they encountered. As the ship pitched and heaved on the rolling waves, Sam found his stomach doing the same. He had only lasted a few hours at the drinks gathering on the first night before the seas had become rough and sent him staggering toward his cabin. Since then he had not left it.

"Are you still malingering?" Nina's voice was loud and clear on the other side of the door as she knocked.

Sam shifted on his narrow bed and squinted blearily at his alarm clock. 10:30. Far too early to be awake unless it was for breakfast, drink, or a cigarette, and he knew he would not be able to handle any of the three.

"Yes, I am," he called back. "Go away."

The door swung open and Nina stepped in, looking trim and elegant in a snowsuit. Her pale face was flushed slightly pink with the cold, and the faint smell of a recently-smoked cigarette hung around her. The aroma made Sam's nostrils tingle with longing. It had been two days since his last cigarette. He had been able to stay vertical for long enough to attempt to smoke one in the bathroom in his cabin, but all that had got him was an alarm going off and a crew member lecturing him in Russian and confiscating the packet. The combination of sea sickness and withdrawal was hitting him hard.

"You look like shit," Nina said, eyeing Sam distastefully. "Are you feeling any better? Want me to get someone to bring you some food?"

"No," Sam groaned. "No food. I'll puke."

"Here." Nina pulled a small thermos flask from the deep pocket of her suit, unscrewed the cap and filled it with a pungent amber liquid. "Ginger tea. It'll settle your stomach."

Sam sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled warm and comforting, but after three days of illness he was in no mood to be comforted. "That's not proper tea," he grumbled. "I don't need any herbal nonsense, I just need flat seas. Or preferably land."

The look on Nina's face was less than sympathetic. "Well, tough luck," she said. "We won't reach land for another few days, and Alexandr doesn't think the seas are going to calm down any time soon. So you can either lie here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can give this a try." She pushed the cup into his hand. "Come on, Sam. What's the worst that could happen? You puke it up? But on the other hand, if it makes you feel better, you can come and have a smoke with me. Come on. Drink up. There may be nicotine at the other end of the tunnel."

Sam took a small, grudging sip of the ginger tea. It tasted surprisingly good. He took another. With every mouthful he felt a tiny bit less nauseated. It's psychosomatic, he told himself. Apparently I'm more attached to the old nicotine than I thought. By the time he had finished the contents of the little cup, his stomach had settled sufficiently that he could sit up.

"I'll find you something to wear," Nina said, rifling through the small chest of drawers in the corner. "Not that the filthy long johns don't look great on you, but it's much colder now that we're farther out and you're going to need extra layers." Sam looked down at his makeshift sleepwear. At home he always slept in his boxers, assuming he remembered to get undressed, but attempting to do that here had led to him waking up shivering on his first night. He had dug out the ancient thermal underwear that he had had since his youthful (failed) attempt to walk the West Highland Way. After three days of covering his seasick carcass, the thermals were beginning to reek.

Watching Nina pulling garments from the drawers, Sam felt confused. "Have I got someone else's clothes by mistake?" he asked as she flung one thermal layer after another at him. "I didn't pack any of this. Look at it — most of it's designer stuff, I don't own anything like that!"

"You do now." Nina opened the wardrobe and took out a brand new parka. "Purdue kitted us out, remember?" She saw Sam's blank face and rolled her eyes. "Didn't you read any of the emails he sent us? This was part of the deal. When he said he'd pay for everything, he really meant it. You've got a whole new winter wardrobe here, and we're getting close enough now that you're going to need it. I'll be waiting outside when you're ready. Now get a move on, I'm bored out of my skull."

As soon as Sam was dressed, Nina led him toward the stern where she had found a quiet spot where they could smoke without getting underfoot or into trouble. On the way, she slipped into a supply cupboard that she had found and liberated a packet of saltines and couple of bottles of Coca-Cola. "The other miracle remedies for settling your stomach," she said as she handed a bottle to Sam.

"I thought it was the other way around," Sam said, following her along the narrow corridors. "That you weren't supposed to drink this stuff if you're seasick?"

Nina appeared to consider this for a moment, then twisted the top off her own bottle. "Kill or cure, I suppose," she replied, and took a long swig.

Sam had to admit that the fresh air, the cold, and the cigarette between his lips were doing wonders for his nausea and his state of mind. "So is everyone else laughing at me for being such a big softie?" he asked. "I bet you they're all fine."

"Not in the slightest," Nina said. "That's why I'm so bloody bored. Practically everyone else is seasick to some extent. Even Fatima gets it quite badly, and you'd think that she'd be used to it considering the amount of time she spends on ships. It's really just me, Alexandr, Jefferson Daniels, and that hulking bodyguard of Purdue's who are still on our feet. I've got no one to talk to — or at least, no one I want to. Jefferson's only really interested in talking about how great he and his expeditions are, and the bodyguard doesn't talk at all."

"What about Alexandr?" Sam asked. "I didn't get to speak to him much that first night, but he seemed like he might at least be interesting."

"He's ok," Nina conceded. "But in small doses. He's intense. Besides, he seems to be in charge of the ship as well as the expedition, so when he's not yelling at the crew he's off bickering with Jefferson or Fatima." She blew out a long stream of smoke and watched it drift away from the ship. "It seems they have very different ideas about what the purpose of this little jaunt is. At least that's not our fault — she's got serious scientific stuff in mind, and all Jefferson cares about is photo opportunities and being covered for TIME Magazine or something.

"I think she regrets agreeing to join forces with him even more than she regrets letting Purdue get involved. All she wanted to do was trek out to the middle of nowhere and find out what nasty things are living in the ice, but she couldn't do that without selling her soul to someone with money. This, Mr. Cleave, is the parlous state of academic funding today. Fucking ridiculous."

Sam nodded in sympathy. Life was one long round of selling out to someone or other, and he knew Nina was still smarting a little from Matlock's harsh rejection of her application. "How does Fatima feel about having us along?" he asked.

"She doesn't mind that too much," said Nina. "At least I'm here because I have work to do, not because I'm thrill-seeking or because I want to flash my overly whitened teeth on a magazine cover. But she's not thrilled about having to bump a few of her own people to make room for Purdue and the old guy. I think she's feeling a bit lost in this group, and Purdue's bodyguard is not helping."

Sam could not imagine that Blomstein would ever help anyone to feel at ease. The bodyguard did a great job of being large, silent, and imposing in his sharp suits and yarmulke, and Sam had no trouble believing that he was more than capable of keeping Purdue alive. Why Blomstein should trouble Fatima in particular, however, was a mystery to him. "Is there some history there?" he asked. "Or does she just not like the strong, silent type?"

"I thought you were supposed to be politically engaged, Mr. investigative journalist?" Nina said through a mouthful of saltine. "He's an Israeli Jew. And Fatima…"

"Is an Arab?" Sam took a cracker and nibbled it, still wary of incurring his stomach's displeasure. "But I thought she was American?"

Nina shook her head. "She's from Jordan originally. If Blomstein's a decent bodyguard he'll have checked out the other people aboard and he'll know that. Her family immigrated to Canada when she was still quite young, hence the accent. Incidentally, if you tell her you think she's American she'll probably throw you overboard. Assuming Blomstein hasn't already done the same for her. I doubt the two of them will be bonding any time soon. He's already made it pretty clear that he's not happy about being on the same ship with her. Yesterday he had to climb down a ladder that Fatima had just used and he actually stopped, took out a handkerchief and wiped the handrail clean before touching it. Fatima didn't say anything, but I could tell she was furious. Should make for a pretty cozy Hogmanay…"

"Do you reckon we'll have made it to land by then?" Sam asked. "I'd really like to start next year on solid ground."

"Alexandr thinks so," Nina said. "He was saying something about seeing in the new year at Novolazarevskaya, so—" She was cut off as a huge wave sent the ship rolling upward and then plunging back down so that a shower of icy salt water sprayed over them both. Nina's first reaction was one of dismay as she realized that her half-smoked cigarette had not only been extinguished but soaked beyond use. Then she saw Sam lurching toward the rail and heaving his upper body over it as he spewed the barely-digested crackers into the sea. She went over to join him and stood at arm's length, giving his shoulder an encouraging pat — or at least as encouraging as she could manage. "Not to worry," she said with forced brightness. "We'll be back on land soon. Or ice, at least. But it'll feel solid enough, one way or the other. Come on. Let's get you back to your cabin. At this rate I doubt you'll be in a fit state to celebrate anything by New Year's Eve."

Sam had never been so grateful to feel solid ground under his feet, and to judge by their faces, neither had many of the others. Alexandr stood at the head of the group, watching with amusement as they disembarked and, one by one, nearly collapsed as their legs tried to adjust to being back on land. Even Purdue, dressed in an understated but stylish snowsuit and clutching a walking pole to help him balance, had to cling to Blomstein to remain upright. Fortunately the bodyguard seemed as unperturbed by the thick ice as he was by everything else, and with the assistance of a pair of hefty crampons he moved steadily across the glassy surface. Three small hovercrafts were waiting to collect the party.

"Welcome to Antarctica!" Alexandr called, striding steadily across the ice as the others scrabbled to their feet and adjusted their backpacks. "You may perhaps be finding it a little chilly here, yes? Well, here the lowest temperature ever was recorded — minus 89.2 degrees Celsius, so you will want to stay wrapped up in the lovely snowsuits provided by Mr. Purdue. We will not be staying here long, just enough time to load the hovercrafts and then be on our way to our destination because Mr. Purdue has requested that we press on. First a refueling stop at Novolazarevskaya, the most isolated research station in the Antarctic — as I am sure you will imagine, that this is saying something! It is early yet, so we might make good time and begin the new year at Neumayer Station IV. You shall have the honor of being the first party to visit the new station."

He was interrupted by a muffled cry as Sam lost his footing and landed hard on his backside on the packed ice, yelling into the thick hood of his parka, which was pulled tight to protect his face. "You have not got your land legs back yet, Mr. Cleave?" Alexandr inquired politely. "Think yourself lucky that you arrived by icebreaker — the alternative would have been the airstrip at Novo, but it is made of solid ice. If you are finding it difficult to retain your balance on your feet, imagine how nerve-wracking it would be attempting to balance a whole plane, knowing that the tiniest error on your part would bring the whole thing crashing to an explosive end! Now, the hovercrafts are wasting fuel while we talk, so we must get ourselves aboard and leave."