The Citadel

CHAPTER 14

Pentagon

General Morris rubbed his forehead as Hodges came into the situation room. His conversation with the President had not gone well. The Secretary of Defense was on his way back from the West Coast to take over the operation here, but in the meantime the monkey was on Morris's back.

"We have the signature of the blast, sir. Fits the profile for a nuclear weapon."

"So how the hell did they end up at this place?" Morris demanded. "Who put them there?"

"I assume the same person who built the base, sir," Hodges replied.

"Anything from your guest?"

"Not yet, sir, but we'll get something. We're close. From what we've received so far, I would say that it appears the Citadel was a privately funded enterprise using government support."

Morris closed his eyes. He didn't doubt that for a moment. Billions of dollars a year were spent by the government on various secret projects. Who was to say that some influential civilian couldn't do the same thing, especially if that civilian had the proper connections in the military industrial complex? "I want a name."

"Yes, sir."

Morris opened his eyes as the door opened, and an imposing figure in a medal-bedecked uniform stomped in.

Morris stood. "General Kolstov. Welcome."

The Russian general wasted no time on a greeting. "I understand there is a problem. A nuclear one."

Since the President had informed the Kremlin of the source of the nuclear explosion that the Russians had also picked up, a liaison officer from the embassy representing all of the Confederation of Independent States of the former Soviet Union-commonly referred to simply as the CIS-had been assigned to the Pentagon to monitor the situation. It was part of the nuclear disarmament and control treaty both countries had signed the previous year: any incident involving nuclear weapons was to be monitored by both the U.S. and the CIS to ensure that there was no confusion or misunderstandings that might lead to unfortunate consequences.

Morris wasn't sure which he hated worse-having a civilian superior riding herd on him or the presence of General Kolstov in the Pentagon War Room. Still, he had to admit it was a good idea. He knew that if his people had picked up an unknown nuclear explosion in Antarctica that the Russians said was an accident-especially an accident that so far had very little logical explanation-he'd sure as shit want to have someone sitting in on their investigation of it. Morris wasn't sure he'd buy the story of two bombs lost overboard and now suddenly reappearing at a mysterious base. He wasn't sure General Kolstov was going to buy it either.

Ford Mountain Range, Antarctica

The SUSV stuttered, pivoting to the right and not moving forward. Min grabbed the dashboard and turned a quizzical look at his driver. "What is wrong?"

"I don't know, sir. It is not responding."

"Stop." Min zipped his coat up and then opened his door. He climbed down to the snow. The answer stared him in the face. The track on the right side was gone. Min peered back. It was thirty feet to the rear, laid out in the snow like a long, thick metal snake. One of the linchpins holding it together had snapped in the bitter cold.

Kim joined him. "What now, sir?"

Min's reply was short. "We walk."

Kim didn't question. He rapped on the door to the rear cargo compartment and yelled in his instructions. Ho and Sun threw gear out. Lee came out of the driver's seat and joined them around the sled. They unhooked the tow rope and rigged it to be pulled by men.

Kim used his last satchel on the SUSV. The party moved out to the north, all men straining in the harness. Twenty minutes out a sharp crack from behind told of the destruction of the vehicle.

Vaughn's anger had started, low in his gut, from the minute he'd watched Smithers get shot. He'd been on the other side of the kind of ruthlessness the Koreans were displaying, but it had been for a better cause then. Or at least he'd thought it had been a better cause.

He was channeling his anger into his legs, pumping them as the miles passed beneath them. He was more than willing to go on without rest, but he knew that wasn't smart. His plan was to halt the party every fifty minutes for ten minutes of rest. Every other hour he would break out his small stove and cook up something hot-soup or coffee. Initially they would go slower that way, but in the long run they would cover more miles. Years of bitter experience in Special Forces with the merciless weight of a rucksack on his back had taught him that. It was the long haul that was important here.

They'd continued to follow the trace of tracks in the snow: two treads and a deep impression in the middle. Occasionally the trail would disappear as blown snow obscured the ice, but it was easy to pick up again. The Koreans were heading due north as quickly as the terrain would allow. Vaughn didn't allow himself to dwell on the fact that they were probably moving two to three times faster than he was.

"Does the sun shine all the time?" Kim asked as the five men huddled together next to the large sled, trying to share some warmth during the short break Min gave them every so often.

Min looked up. The storm had lessened two hours ago, and visibility had increased to almost a mile. "We will have no night." Min's best estimate was that they were less than five miles from the coast. The only map he had was one he'd torn out of a world atlas stolen from a schoolroom prior to their departure from Indonesia. It was totally useless for navigating. He was offsetting his compass based on where the map said magnetic south was, but wasn't totally confident that he was taking the quickest possible route.

His main goal was to head north-as best he could tell-and also stay on the lowest possible ground, skirting around mountains. Despite the bomb's weight, the sled pulled easily behind the five men-as long as they were on level ground. They'd just spent the past forty-five minutes traversing back and forth, getting the sled up and over a large foothill-making only two hundred horizontal meters in the process.

Min directed them to the left, along the edge of a massive wall of ice that shot up into the sky, where the polar ice cap had ruptured itself against rock. He hoped they could continue bypassing such formations and make it to the coast. They'd already lost quite a bit of time hauling the sled.

"Let's move," he ordered.

The five men staggered to their feet and placed themselves in harness.

Airspace, Pacific Ocean

"I'm awfully thirsty down here, big brother."

"Roger. I've got what you need."

The KC-10 stratotanker dwarfed the MC-130 Combat Talon as it jockeyed into position, closing in, less than forty feet above and to the front of the smaller aircraft. In the rear of the tanker, seated in a glass bubble, the boom operator toyed with his controls, directing the drogue boom toward the refuel probe on the nose of the Combat Talon. As the cup fit, he flicked a button on his yoke, locking the seal.

"We're in," he said into his mike, verbally confirming what the pilot 120 feet in front in the cockpit could already see on his control panel. "Pumping."

The two planes were at 25,000 feet, cruising at 350 miles per hour, yet maintaining their relative relationship with less than a two-foot variance at any moment. Jet fuel surged through the hose, filling up the almost dry tanks of the Combat Talon. The umbilical cord stayed in place for two minutes.

"I'm full down here, big brother."

"Roger. That'll be fourteen ninety-five." The drogue separated, and the KC-10 started gaining altitude, pulling away.

"Roger. Do you take checks?"

The stratotanker banked hard right, turning back toward home. "Your credit is good. Good luck and good hunting."

Surprised, the pilots in the cockpit of the MC-130 looked at each other. "Good hunting" was the traditional Air Force war cry for fighter pilots, not transport aircraft. But they realized the pilot of the KC-10 knew the same thing they did: their weapons were the men in the back half of the cargo hold. The 130 pilot keyed his mike. "I'll pass that on. Out."

Ford Mountain Range, Antarctica

Vaughn worked the bolt of the M-1, checking that it hadn't frozen. He pushed down on the top bullet, making sure the spring was still functioning correctly. Looking up, he noticed Tai watching him, her eyes framed by the frosted edge of her hood.

"Do you think we'll catch them?" she asked. He could see that she was shivering. That was bad-he needed to balance the rests with the loss of heat better. It was hard for him to factor in the others' needs with his desire to catch the Koreans. Logan and Burke were wrapped together in a sleeping bag, trying to conserve their warmth.

"Not unless we get lucky."

"Then why do you want to go after them?" The words puffed out.

Vaughn laid the rifle across his knees. His face hurt from the cold, and the skin on his cheek felt like crinkled paper as he spoke. "Several reasons. I didn't see much sense in doing anything before-I figured we'd get out alive if we did nothing, and I also figured these guys would get caught. I was wrong on both counts: we're lucky to be alive, and these people are getting away. That's two mistakes, and I don't want to go for number three."

"But what can we do if we catch them?"

"I'll figure that out when we get there," Vaughn replied, which quite frankly was the truth. "We have to catch them first." He got to his feet. "All right. Let's move out."

"We're never going to catch them," Logan said, peering out from his bag. "I say we stay still-we're losing too much energy walking."

Vaughn held back his anger. "Listen. If you want to, you can head back to the Citadel and camp out in the reactor room. Or you can head for the Russian base. Or you can stay here. I don't care. You do whatever you want to." He stood. "Time to move out." Tai stood and started putting her gear in her backpack. Burke slid out of the sleeping bag.

Surprisingly, it was Burke who talked to Logan. "We can't split up now. It would be too dangerous. Come on, Logan, let's go."

"We should have gone after them at the base like I wanted to," Logan complained. "We'll never catch them here. We need a break. We've been moving for over eight hours now."

Vaughn started walking along the track, and Tai moved with him. After twenty meters he looked over his shoulder. Burke was talking to Logan, his head bent close next to him. Vaughn went another twenty meters and looked again. They were following.

Airspace, South Pacific Ocean

Major Bellamy listened through the headset as the pilot updated him on the situation. "The weather over the target is still too rough for you all to jump in. We're going to head to McMurdo Station and let you all jump there-the winds are much lower. We've received word that there will be a platform there that you will load onto, and that will take you out to the target."

"What kind of platform?" Bellamy asked.

"Unknown. That's all I've got."

"Roger."

Bellamy put the headset down. They'd received the news about the nuclear explosion several hours ago, and Bellamy hadn't been thrilled with the idea of jumping right in on top of that. As far as he knew, he was supposed to just secure the site, but the information he was getting over the radio was confusing. The biggest unanswered question was why had the bomb gone off?

Antarctic

Walking along with her head bowed, eyes following the trail, Tai almost tripped over the tread lying there. She looked up and saw the circle of debris from the tractor twenty meters ahead.

"What happened?" she asked. "Did they have an accident?"

"Looks like they threw a track," Vaughn answered. "They must have destroyed the tractor, and they're on foot now, pulling the bomb."

"We might catch them, then," Tai said, feeling a surge of adrenaline.

"Yes." Vaughn didn't even bother to look at the others. He walked past the wreckage and found the furrow on the other side formed by the sled the bomb was on. He set out at an even quicker pace.

8th Army Headquarters, Seoul, South Korea

The staff was assembled for the daily 1000 briefing. The mood in the war room was deadly serious as the speaker approached the podium. General Patterson sat in the first row, facing the front. The G-2 was the lead briefer, as always, and today he had a rapt audience.

"Sir, unless there is a drastic change in data trends, we are currently less than two hours from going to level three threat. Our intelligence indicates the entire Korean People's Army is mobilizing. There are also unconfirmed reports that first and second stage reserves are being given their mobilization orders. The South Korean 4th Infantry Division has destroyed one infiltration tunnel in their sector of the DMZ north of Kumsong when the exit was opened." The G-2's pointer slapped the map. "No report on ROK or PKA losses."

Patterson ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. Since taking command of the 8th Army a year ago, he'd known he was in the most volatile military theater in the world that wasn't yet hot. The two countries were still technically at war, over fifty years after most people thought the Korean War had ended. In those fifty-odd years, thousands of people-Korean and American-had died in what the politicians liked to term "incidents." But what was brewing now was no incident.

The accord that the two countries had signed in '92, promising better relations, had barely been worth the paper it was printed on. As long as Kim Il Sung ruled, there would be no united Korea other than under their rule.

"No indication of any drawback?" the G-3 asked.

"No, sir."

Patterson wasn't willing to wait two hours. Most of his combat troops were based less than an hour's flight time from the border, vulnerable to a quick air strike. While the carefully mapped intelligence plan for North Korean mobilization and preparation for war was accurate, Patterson also knew that there had been a very good intelligence plan in 1941 in Hawaii too. It hadn't worked too well.

Patterson had authority to go to level three. Two required presidential approval. He had been here long enough to know one thing. The North Koreans were determined to go through with this, especially if Kim Il Sung was dying.

"All U.S. forces will go to level three. I will inform my South Korean counterpart and the Pentagon."

Ford Mountain Range, Antarctica

"Hold on!" Min yelled as he felt the rope give way through his gloves. Lieutenant Kim and Corporal Lee-at the tail end of the sled-wedged their bodies behind it to keep it from sliding back down the hundred-foot incline they had just laboriously negotiated.

"Pull," Min exhorted Sun and Ho, and they tried to get a better grip on the icy rope in the front. Ho slipped, and that did it-the rope burned out of Min's grip, its entire weight bearing down on the two men on the rear. Lee screamed as the eight hundred pounds of weight snapped the leg he'd wedged up against the lip of the sled. Kim threw himself out of the way, and the sled ran over Lee's twisted leg and rocketed to the bottom of the incline before finally turning over.

Min slid his way down the hill to Lee. He didn't need to probe for the injury in Lee's thigh-white bone had pierced through the many layers of clothes and was exposed to the brutal cold.

Kim joined him, and they looked at each other over the injury. Lee's face was twisted as he forced himself not to scream again.

"We can pull him on the sled," Kim weakly suggested.

Min was angry at his executive officer for even saying that. With five men they had barely been able to keep pulling the sled. Now they were down to four.

Min slowly stood and took a deep breath.

"I will take care of it, sir," Kim said, obviously realizing the foolishness of his earlier comment.

"No." Min put his mittened hand on Kim's shoulder. "I am the leader. It is my responsibility." He looked down. "Do you wish for some time?"

Lee shook his head and closed his eyes. Min pulled his AK-47 up from where it hung across his back and slipped his index finger into the trigger finger in his mitten. He fired twice, both in the head, then turned and walked away. Behind him, Kim pulled two thermite grenades off his harness. He grabbed Lee's weapon, then placed one grenade on top of where Lee's face had been prior to the shots and one on his chest. He pulled both pins and followed his commander.

They went to the bottom of the hill. The puff and glow from the thermite grenades flickered on the incline above them as they struggled to right the sled. The fire had long burned out by the time they accomplished that and started the sled back up the hill, using longer traverses this time to prevent a repeat of the accident.

South Pacific Ocean

The flight deck of the Kitty Hawk was packed with rows of aircraft. F-14 Tomcats, E-2 Hawkeyes, S-3A Vikings, and F-18 Hornets competed for valuable parking space. On the port side of that crowded deck, the elevator from the first level hangar lifted into place smoothly, bringing up the only aircraft the carrier had just one of.

The most unusual thing immediately noticeable about the aircraft as it reached deck level was that the two engines at the end of each wing were pointing straight up, with massive propellers horizontal to the gray steel deck. The aircraft remained on the elevator as it came to a halt. Slowly, the two blades began turning in opposite directions.

After a minute of run-up, the aircraft shuddered and the wheels separated from the deck. Sliding slightly left, the aircraft gained altitude as the swiftly moving ship passed beneath. At sufficient height, the propellers slowly began switching orientation, moving from horizontal to vertical as the entire engine rotated and the airframe switched from helicopter mode to airplane. When the engine nacelles on the wingtips locked in place facing forward, the CV-22 Osprey caught up with the Kitty Hawk and passed it, racing ahead for Antarctica, 1,900 miles away.

The tilt rotor operation of the Osprey made it the most valuable and unique transport aircraft ever built. Congressional budget cuts and interservice squabbling had killed the program back in 1990, but this particular aircraft was one of eight that had been produced by Bell-Boeing during the original prototype construction. The eight had been deployed to the various carrier groups, flown by Marine Corps pilots, to allow maximum flexibility of use. That innovative deployment idea for an original plane was now paying dividends.

Ford Mountain Range, Antarctica

Tai sensed something different and halted. She peered ahead, trying to figure out what it was that had alerted her when she realized that it was the lack of something, rather than the presence, that had caught her attention. She turned around and looked back-Burke and Logan were almost a hundred meters behind them and moving very slowly. She had no idea how long she and Vaughn had been pulling away from them. It had been the lack of the sound of their shuffling feet on the ice that she had finally missed in her single-minded efforts to keep up with Vaughn.

"Hold it," she called out to Vaughn.

He turned. "What?"

Tai pointed, and together they retraced their tracks.

"What's the matter?" Tai asked Burke when they came up to them.

He pointed at Logan, who was shivering uncontrollably. "He says he can't feel his feet."

"Sit down," Vaughn ordered Logan.

Vaughn shrugged off his backpack and knelt down next to him. Logan's skin was white, and he was not fully aware of his environment. His lips were pale blue and he was shivering uncontrollably: the early symptoms of hypothermia. If allowed to progress much further, Logan would go into true hypothermia, and Vaughn knew he couldn't do anything then-not in this environment.

"Get in your sleeping bag," Vaughn ordered Burke. "Zip your bag with his and try to get him warmed up."

Logan looked right through him. He started walking off, back in the direction they had come from. Vaughn stood and caught up with him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get help," was the barely coherent reply.

Vaughn grabbed his arm and dragged him back. He took Logan's backpack off and pulled out the sleeping bag. "Get in this. You're not in any shape to go looking for help."

He quickly dug through Logan's backpack and pulled out his bag and sleeping pad. He laid them out, unzipped the bag as well as Burke's, and helped them into it. Then he pulled out his portable stove as Tai crawled into her own bag to keep warm. He pumped it up, squeezed starter gel around the nozzle and lit it. After getting it running smoothly, he pulled his canteen from the vest pocket of his parka and poured water into his canteen cup.

Vaughn made a cup of instant soup and split it between Logan and Burke. He forced it down Logan's throat, getting the warm liquid to his stomach. The early stages of hypothermia consisted of circulation to the hands and feet being reduced as the body tried to maintain temperature in the vital organs. Vaughn knew that no matter how well insulated those extremities now were, they would not keep warm unless the central core of the body was warmed. He also knew that it wasn't the cold that had precipitated this, but lack of fluid intake.

It was now a grim equation-they had to raise Logan's heat production higher than his heat loss using body warmth. "Keep him warm," Vaughn ordered Burke. The large black man nodded from within the sleeping bags. Vaughn himself could feel the cold gnawing through his joints, so he placed his bag next to Tai's and crawled in. They had to give up an hour or two of traveling to ensure that they could keep going.

"What are you doing?" Tai mumbled as Vaughn pressed up against her.

He didn't say anything, wrapping his body around hers, and with great difficulty he managed to get the two bags zipped together. He could feel her drawing off his warmth like a heat vampire.

"You need to stay awake for a little while," he exhorted her. "At least until we get your blood circulating properly. You're not too far away from going hypothermic yourself. Then you can rest."

"Too tired," she mumbled.

Vaughn considered the situation. They needed to get their core body temperatures stable before they could move again. Despite the time pressure of wanting to catch up to the North Koreans, he accepted the reality that they had to stop for a while.

Vaughn forced himself to spoon around Tai and wait. After half an hour he knew she was over the worst of it, and he felt the desire to get moving again. They needed to leave Burke and Logan behind and move ahead on their own. Vaughn could feel the time clock going. How far ahead were the Koreans?

But taking over from all that resolve was his exhaustion. He knew that he himself wasn't too far away from going hypothermic. His hands were already flirting with frostbite. Aw fuck it, he decided, even while another part of his mind screamed no-an hour or two of rest would be worth it if he could move faster. He hugged Tai closer, closed his eyes and felt her head nestle against his shoulder.

Pentagon

Secretary of Defense Torreta did not appear to be pleased to be sitting in the situation room at ten at night after a nonstop flight back from the West Coast. General Morris ran a hand along the stubble of his beard as the Secretary gestured for him to continue with his situation update.

"The Combat Talon is three hours out from McMurdo Base. The Osprey has just taken off from the Kitty Hawk. It will arrive at McMurdo in five hours. The Special Forces soldiers will cross-load to the Osprey and fly out to the target site."

"We still have no imagery of what happened there?" Torreta inquired.

"No, sir. The weather is clearing, but the site itself is still cloud covered. We only have a viewing opportunity by satellite every three hours as it passes over."

Torreta glanced at the notes his aide had prepared for him. "What's the problem in Korea?"

Morris frowned at the change in subject. "Intelligence has picked up enough North Korean activity to justify going to a level three alert."

"Yes, yes, I know that." Torreta replied testily. "But what's this message about the Kitty Hawk Carrier Group from the 8th Army commander?"

Morris hated airing conflicts in front of civilians. "General Patterson wants the group to move north in order to be in better position to support him if something occurs in the peninsula."

"Does the man understand we have a nuclear problem?" Torreta demanded.

"No, sir. That information is under a need-to-know basis."

"Well, I don't want to see any more messages like this. One problem at a time. The President is not happy. He's already had to talk to the CIS president about this incident, and that has proved to be somewhat embarrassing as he doesn't have all the answers himself. I want this mess secured and cleaned up. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Morris had long ago learned not to argue with his civilian superiors, but he disagreed with the present prioritizing of events. This Korean thing was much more significant than Torreta was giving it credit. Since the war in Iraq he felt people were getting much too focused on the wrong things and complacent about the potential for war in other locations. Korea had been hot for over fifty years, and sooner or later the simmering would break out into flames.

Morris looked over his shoulder at the electronic wall map that represented significant military-U.S. and foreign-deployments throughout the world. He had a feeling he was missing something very important.

Ice Pack, 20 Miles Off the Ruppert Coast, Antarctica

The freighter picked its way through the ice, barely crawling at three knots. Every so often it had to back its way out of a dead end and try to slip left or right. The captain was in constant communication with his shivering lookout eighty feet above the bridge in the crow's nest, trying to find a route through the piles of ice. Occasionally, the captain would use the reinforced bow of the ship to smash through thinner ice, but large chunks, some hundreds of meters in width, were more than a match for his steel ship. Those had to be bypassed.

The horizon far ahead was a mass of clouds, but the captain knew that if the clouds lifted, he would soon be able to see the shore. So far his radio operator had not heard a single transmission on the designated frequency. The captain hoped that the people he was to pick up were ready for him because he did not want to sit in the ice pack waiting for them. Ships had been crushed as the ice froze around them. He wanted to move in and out as quickly as possible and get this mission over with.

Ford Mountain Range, Antarctica

Vaughn opened his eyes and tried to orient himself. He felt strangely warm, which was a very nice feeling. He twitched his fingers and was surprised to find them wrapped around a body. Then it all came back to him-stopping, climbing in the bag with Tai to warm her up, talking. He must have dozed off. The thought of giving up the warmth of the bag was extremely discouraging.

Vaughn unzipped the bag and crawled out. His movements woke Tai, who blearily opened her eyes.

"What's up?"

"Get your boots on before they freeze up," he told her. "They're in the waterproof bag near your stomach. We need to get moving."

He peered up-the sky was clearing. The sun hadn't broken through yet, but the clouds were much higher, and he could see farther along the ice than at any period since the storm had started. The wind had also died down. Vaughn checked his watch. They'd been out for almost two hours. He wasn't happy about losing that time, but he'd had no choice.

He glanced over to the other sleeping bag lying there on the ice. There was no movement from Logan or Burke.

"Wake up!" he called out as he started packing his stuff up.

"Oh my God!" Burke cried out as he scrambled out of the bag.

Vaughn rushed over. Logan wasn't moving. His eyes were staring at him wide-open, and it took Vaughn a second before he realized they were totally unfocused and glassy. The pupils in the center were black orbs looking into the depths of wherever Logan had allowed himself to be dragged.

Vaughn looked up with a grim face. "He's dead."

Burke was shaking, but not from the cold. "You mean he died there right next to me?"

Vaughn zipped up the sleeping bag, closing it over Logan's face. "Yes," he replied, and looked at the inert sleeping bag. There was only one way they could atone for this. "Let's go."

Burke looked at him with wide eyes. "We're just going to leave him here?"

Vaughn finished stuffing his sleeping bag into his backpack. "There's nothing else we can do. We can't haul the body."

The increasing visibility made Min pessimistic about making it to the coast, as it revealed a massive ridge lying directly across their path. There was no way around it. The ice rose in moderately steep waves, up over a thousand feet for the next three kilometers.

He had given his men a one-hour break earlier, but it had done little to restore the energy they were burning pulling the sled and fighting off the cold. He could sense his men looking at him and the ridge, their eyes shifting from one to the other. Not a word was said.

Min leaned forward, the rope around his waist pulling tight, and the other men joined and began to traverse to the right, angling their way uphill.

Airspace, McMurdo Station

The MC-130 Combat Talon leveled out over the Ross Ice Shelf, boring straight in for Mount Erebus, twenty miles away. In the rear, Major Bellamy checked the rigging of the static lines for the two bundles, one hooked to each cable. The bundles were tied down on the back ramp, and Bellamy's men were standing now, parachutes on their back, just short of the edge of the ramp.

They all felt the plane slow down, and the loadmaster looked at Bellamy. "Three minutes out."

A gap appeared up in the top part of the rear of the aircraft, and freezing air swirled in. The back ramp leveled off, while the top part ascended up into the tail, leaving a large open space. Bellamy stared out. The view was spectacular, with the entire Ross Ice Shelf laid out below to the east.

"One minute!" the loadmaster yelled through the scarf wrapped about his face, trying to be heard above the roar of engines and air.

"One minute," Bellamy relayed to his men, all hooked up to the left cable. He edged out, right behind the bundle. The red light glowed up in the darkness of the upper tail structure.

"Stand by!" the loadmaster yelled as he leaned over one of the bundles with a knife in his hand as another Air Force man did the same on the other side.

The light flashed green, and the loadmaster severed the nylon band holding the bundle down. It immediately was sucked out the rear of the plane. The other bundle went out at almost the same time. Bellamy waddled out after it, hands over his reserve, chin tucked into his chest.

He felt like he was passing straight through the static line and deployment bag of the bundle as he stepped off the edge of the ramp. Three seconds of free fall were followed by the snap of the chute deploying.

Bellamy guided himself by the two bright red parachutes of the bundles as he descended. As the ice rushed up, he stared straight out at the horizon and bent his knees. With a grunt he hit the ice.

Gathering in his chute, Bellamy watched as the rest of his men hit in a long line of white parachutes along the track of the aircraft. He could also see a large snow tractor rumbling toward him, pulling a sled. The tractor pulled up, and two men hopped off, one wearing an Air Force parka and the other in civilian garb, sporting a large beard.

The military man introduced himself first. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Larkin, and this is Dr. O'Shaugnesy, McMurdo Station leader. We-"

"What is your purpose here?" O'Shaugnesy interrupted.

Bellamy blinked and looked at the civilian, then at Colonel Larkin. "Didn't you brief him?"

Larkin wearily nodded. "I briefed him."

"If you expect me to believe you and your men are conducting rescue practice, then you must take me for a fool," O'Shaugnesy snorted. "Do you have any weapons with you?"

Bellamy spread his empty hands wide. "Of course not." Asshole, he thought. O'Shaugnesy and the entire scientific community at McMurdo were almost totally dependent on support from the U.S. military, yet they acted as if they owned the place. Bellamy had not been thrilled about putting all his weapons in the bundles, but had followed his orders. One of these days public relations was going to destroy a mission.

Larkin interposed himself between the two. "Your other aircraft is en route, Major. It should arrive in about four hours. In the meanwhile, we'll put you up in the airstrip control tower." He turned to O'Shaugnesy. "Doctor, I did you a courtesy by obliging your request and bringing you out here. I ask that you not harass Major Bellamy and his men. They will be out of your station as soon as possible."

Under the distrusting eye of O'Shaugnesy, Bellamy's team gathered together and loaded the two bundles on the sled. The men jumped on board, and then they all moved out for the main base, three miles away.

Ice Pack, 8 Miles off the Ruppert Coast, Antarctica

"This is as far as we can go," the captain informed Fatima. The bow of the freighter was securely wedged in ice, and less than a hundred meters to the front a large block of ice that had broken off a glacier last season and slowly made its way out into the ocean blocked the way.

The captain knew he could probably do some more maneuvering-trying to find the thin ice-but he also had to be able to get back out, and he felt he was as far in as he could go and still be able turn around.

Fatima stood next to him, peering out the glass of the bridge at the mountains that now loomed in the near distance. They looked less than a mile away, but the captain knew they were farther-he just didn't tell Fatima that. A large glacier, probably the same one that had spawned the block just in front of them, split the mountains to the right front.

"All right. We wait." Fatima turned and went back to his cabin.

Far South Pacific Ocean

With the assistance of the hydraulic catapult, the E-2 Hawkeye roared off the deck of the Kitty Hawk and dipped down below deck level, then rapidly gained altitude as it headed southeast. Upon reaching 10,000 feet altitude, the twenty-four-foot diameter radome that sat on the top of the fuselage began turning, at a rate of six revolutions per minute. Inside the fuselage, the three controllers watched their screens as an area three hundred miles out in all directions from the aircraft was displayed before them. In three hours the Citadel would be in range.

Vicinity Ruppert Coast, Antarctica

They were three-quarters of the way up the ridge when Min finally called a halt. It was only another kilometer straight-line distance to the top, but the wide traverses would more than triple that distance.

"Rest," Min ordered. "I will be back shortly." He had to know whether they were at the coast or not. He could tell that dedication to duty only went so far. His men were at the limits of their capabilities. They needed some positive news.

Leaving his three men huddled together next to the sled, Min untied the rope from his waist and headed straight up the ridge, ignoring the screaming pain of exhaustion in his thighs. His breath crackled in the brittle air as he made his way to the top.

As he climbed, his thoughts turned to home, a place he had a feeling he would never see again. Even if they made it to the freighter-if the ship was there-and the ship made it to Hawaii…and they managed to infiltrate with the bomb…and-

Min stopped that train of thought. He thought of his mother and regretted never having married so his mother would have a daughter-in-law to take care of her in her old age. As an only son, his dedication to country had taken him away from his family, leaving his parents alone.

The top was not much farther. Min slipped and fell, almost tumbling back down the way he had come, but he dug the metal folding stock of his AK-47 into the ice and stopped himself. Getting to his feet, he covered the remaining distance.

Cresting the ridge, he stopped and stared, his heart lifting. The ocean-at least he assumed it was the ocean under all that ice-was less than four kilometers away. Sweeping in from his left and descending to the ocean was a large glacier.

Min stared for a long time, then his eyes focused in on a black speck just to the side of a large iceberg. The ship! It was far out on the ice sheet but within sight. He turned and headed back down the slope.

Vicinity Ruppert Coast, Antarctica

"Look!" Vaughn exclaimed.

Tai squinted and peered through red-rimmed eyes. She had no idea what he was pointing at. In fact, she had a feeling she was in a dream-a very bad one at that. She wished she could dream of warmth and comfort and lying in front of a fireplace with-

"There." Vaughn grabbed her and pointed again. "Near the top of the ridge of ice."

Tai seemed to remember lying safe and warm in a pair of strong arms. Was that a dream too? Or had that been reality and this a dream? Which was which? Then she saw it too. Tiny black figures against the white background, just below the top. An oblong shape on the ice to their left rear. Reality came flooding back.

"Is it them?"

"Yes." Vaughn's voice held an edge she had never heard before.

"How far away do you think they are?"

"It's hard to tell. Maybe four, five miles."

It had seemed closer than that to Tai. Four or five miles sounded like forever. "Can we catch them?"

"It depends on how far away the coast is," Vaughn replied. "They've got the high ground on us." Instead of immediately running off toward the Koreans like she expected him to, he turned and looked at her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm tired and I'm cold. But I can make it." Tai was surprised as soon as she said it, but it was true.

Vaughn's face was wind-burned, and the stubble of a two-day beard competed with the raw flesh for surface area. When he smiled at her, the lines around his eyes and cheeks cut deep divots. He glanced at Burke, who nodded his assent. "All right. Let's go."

They moved out, and the Koreans disappeared from sight as the two approached a small ice ridge. Vaughn was leading the way up when he caught sight of something black off to the right. He headed in that direction.

"What's that in the snow?" Tai asked as she also spotted the unnatural object.

"Wait here," Vaughn told her. He walked forward and stared down for a few brief seconds until he recognized what he was looking at, then quickly turned and bumped into Tai, with Burke standing next to her.

"I told you to wait back there."

"I'm not a child that you can tell what to do and what not to do." Tai looked over his shoulder. "What is that?"

"One of the Koreans. Or what's left of one of them," he replied.

Now she could recognize the pieces of white as bone and the charred flesh. Thankfully, there was no smell. "What could have done that to him?"

"I don't know how he died, but someone put a couple of thermal grenades on the body so it couldn't be identified." Vaughn tapped her on the shoulder. "Let's keep going. This means they'll be moving even slower."

Min collapsed. Getting to the top of this ridge, pulling the sled, was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. His entire body reverberated with pain overlaid with exhaustion. He lay there panting, feeling the sweat freeze on his skin. He knew he needed to do something, but he couldn't. Not now. He wanted to be home again, lying on the tiled floor of his parents house, feeling the heat rising through the floor from the burning coal he had to load every evening, hearing his mother in the kitchen pounding cabbage, preparing kimchee.

Min roused himself. "The radio," he called out. Ho pulled a package off the sled and handed it to him. With fumbling fingers inside his mittens, Min unwrapped the radio. He hoped it worked. They had wrapped it in metal foil to protect it from the EMP blast of the bomb, but he had little faith in the recommendations of scientists.

He threw the antenna out on the ice. Taking his mittens off, Min swiftly dialed in the correct frequency and turned the radio on. By the time he put his gloves back on, he had lost the feeling in all his fingers. A distant part of his mind told him that was bad, very bad.

Using both hands, he pushed the Send on the handset with a palm. "Tiger, this is Wolf. Over."

As each second of silence ticked by, Min's heart fell.

"Tiger, this is Wolf. Over."

"Wolf, this is Tiger. Over."

Min felt a wave of relief. "This is Wolf. We are within sight. Over."

"Roger." There was a brief break of squelch as if the other station went off the air. Then the voice came back. "Do you have the package? Over."

"Yes. Over."

"Roger. We will wait for you. Out."

Airspace, Ross Sea, Antarctica

"What language does that sound like?" the Signal Intelligence operator aboard the E-2 Hawkeye asked the other four men on board as he played back the message he had just intercepted.

He received negative replies from all, although the pilot suggested it was Asian. "Where'd you pick it up from?"

"Low power, high frequency radio coming from the southeast."

"Airborne platform?" the pilot asked.

"Negative. I don't think so-the signal was fixed," the SIGINT operator replied.

"I've got zip on the scope," the radar operator replied. "We're the only thing in the air other than the blip down near McMurdo."

"Relay it back to the ship, maybe they can figure it out," the pilot ordered.

"Roger."

McMurdo Station, Antarctica

The Osprey slowed as its engines switched from horizontal to vertical. Major Bellamy watched as the aircraft slowly settled down in a whirlwind of snow.

"Let's go," he yelled as his men followed him, hauling their two as-yet unopened bundles with them. They crowded into the cargo bay as the crew chief ran out and coordinated the refueling. Hoses were run from the fuel blisters, and JP-4 fuel was pumped in as Bellamy's men settled in. Bellamy went forward into the cockpit.

The pilot looked over his shoulder as Bellamy poked his head in. "Captain Jones." He nodded at the copilot. "As soon as we're topped off we'll be lifting."

"Have you heard anything about the target site?" Bellamy asked.

The pilot shook his head. "Nothing. We've got a Hawkeye in the air, and it should be in radar range of the site soon. I'm not sure if that will give us anything, but at least we'll know if we're the only ones in the sky."

Bellamy frowned. He'd expected something more.

"We're full," the pilot announced.

Bellamy made his way back to the rear. His men had opened the bundles and were passing out the weapons, each man receiving his according to his specialty and talents: silenced MP-5SD submachine guns, PM sniper rifles, SPAS 12 shotguns, M249 Squad Automatic Weapons (SAW), LAW 80 rocket launchers, and sidearms. If there was anybody left alive at the target site and they were antagonistic, Bellamy's men were ready.

Airspace, Ross Sea, Antarctica

The radar operator stared at his screen. "Shit, there's still nothing out here," he muttered to the man on his left. He'd never seen such a blank screen. Not a single aircraft in a six-hundred-mile radius, the Osprey having disappeared as it landed at McMurdo.

He flipped a switch and the radar went from air to surface. This was a different story. He stared at the screen, trying to make sense out of the jumbled mess. The surface bounce-back was very confusing, even where the sea should be. He was used to a flat reflection where ships stood out in stark relief to the ocean. Here, ice formations broke that image up into a confusing disarray.

The naval officer slowly started sorting the screen out, trying to see if there was anything identifiable. He fiddled with his controls, adjusting and tuning, like a kid playing a computer game.

"Hey, I've got something here," he told the SIGINT operator. Keying his mike, he relayed his report back to the Kitty Hawk. "Big Boot, this is Eye One. We have a surface target, bearing 093 degrees true. Distance, 273 miles. Speed zero. Over."