The Citadel (19 page)

Airspace, Antarctica

Min watched as Sergeant Chong finished securing the steel cable that would hold their static lines to the roof of the aircraft, just in front of the aft passenger door. Min had never parachuted out of an IL-18 before, but he knew it had been done. This type of aircraft was not specifically designed for paratrooper operations, but the team was doing what it was best at: improvising.
Min looked out a small porthole at the ocean dotted with icebergs far below. They were flying at the plane's maximum altitude. Looking forward as best he could, he made out a dark line indicating the storm blanketing the continent ahead. The report they'd intercepted from McMurdo Station indicated the severity of the weather, but also that the storm should be gradually lessening in intensity. Jumping into high winds was never a good idea, a factor those who had come up with this brilliant idea had obviously not taken into account.
Min checked his watch. They were less than an hour and a half from the target. "Time to rig!" he yelled to his team.
Splitting into buddy teams, the nine men who would be jumping began to put on their parachutes, Sergeant Chong helping the odd man. Min threw his main parachute on his back and buckled the leg and chest straps, securing it to his body and making sure it was cinched down tight. The reserve was hooked onto the front. Rucksacks were clipped on below the reserve, and automatic weapons tied down on top of the reserves.
After Sergeant Chong, acting as jumpmaster, inspected all the men, they took their seats, each man lost in his own thoughts, contemplating the jump and the mission ahead. Min pulled the OPLAN out of his carry-on bag and checked the numbers in the communication section. With those in mind, he waddled his way up the center of the cargo bay to the cockpit.

Antarctica

The wind had actually diminished, although it was still kicking along with gusts up to thirty-five miles an hour. Visibility was increasing to almost fifty feet at times. The slight break in the storm could last for minutes or hours.
Below the surface, in the base, Tai, Vaughn, and Logan were crawling back from the reactor access tunnel. Burke, Smithers, and Brothers were sleeping, so there was no one in the communications room to notice when the small red light on the transponder flickered, then turned green.

CHAPTER 11
Airspace, Antarctica

Sergeant Chong was wearing a headset that allowed him to communicate with Captain Hyun in the cockpit. Chong stood next to the rear passenger door, his hands on the opening handle. A rope was wrapped about his waist, securing him to the inside of the plane. The plane itself, buffeted by winds, was bobbing and weaving. Up front the pilots were flying blind, eyes glued to the transponder needle and praying a mountainside didn't suddenly appear out of the swirling clouds.
"One minute out, sir!" he yelled to Major Min.
Min turned and looked over his shoulder at the men. "Remove the coverings on your canopy releases," he ordered. The jumpers popped the metal covering on each shoulder. These metal pieces protected the small steel cable loops that controlled the connection of the harness to the parachute risers; pulling the loops would release the risers, separating the jumper from his parachute. Doing this in the air would result in death, but Min had a reason for taking this dangerous step prior to exiting the aircraft.
He shuffled a little closer to the door, his parachute and rucksack doubling his weight. "Open the door," he ordered Chong. "Activate trackers," he called back to the rest of the team. Then Min reached down and activated the small transponder/receiver strapped to his right forearm.
Chong twisted the handle on the door. It swung in with a freezing swoosh. They'd depressurized a half hour ago and were now flying in the middle of the storm and still descending. They were at an estimated altitude of 1,500 feet above the ground.
Snow swirled in the open door, along with bone-chilling cold. Min didn't even bother taking a look—he knew he wouldn't be able to see a few feet, never mind the ground. The plan was to jump as soon as Hyun relayed that the needle focusing on the transponder swung from forward to rear, indicating they'd flown over the beacon.
"One minute," Chong relayed. The one-minute warning was Hyun's best guess, meaning that the needle had started to shiver in its case in the cockpit.
Min grabbed either side of the door with his gloved hands, his eyes on Chong, waiting for the go. The seconds went by slowly, and Min realized he was losing the feeling in his hands, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Chong suddenly stiffened. "Go!" he screamed.
Min pulled forward and threw himself into the turbulent white fog. Behind him, the other eight men followed as fast as they could get out of the aircraft.
Min fell to the end of the eighteen-foot static line, which popped the closing tie on his main parachute. The pack split open and the parachute slid out, struggling to deploy against the wind. He felt the opening jolt and looked up to make sure he had a good canopy.
He couldn't tell what the wind was doing to the chute, nor could he see the ground. With numbed hands, he reached down to find the release for his rucksack so it would drop below him on its lowering line and he wouldn't smash into the ground with it still attached.
Min was still trying to find the quick releases when he did exactly that: his feet hit ice, then his sideways speed, built up by the wind, slammed his head into the ice, the helmet absorbing some of the blow.
Min blinked as stars exploded inside his head. Now the lack of feeling in his hands truly started to work against him. He scrabbled at his right shoulder with both hands, trying to find the canopy release; he'd never have been able to grasp and pop the cover under these circumstances, proving his risky decision in the plane was been correct. The wind took hold of his parachute, skiing him across the icy surface, his parka and cold weather pants sliding across the ice and snow, his head rattling as he hit small bumps.
Finally his numbed fingers found the cable loop. Min pushed with his gloved right thumb underneath, grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and pulled with all the strength in both arms. The riser released and the canopy flipped over, letting the wind out. Then he lay on his back, trying to gather his wits. He knew he needed to be up and moving but his head was still spinning.
Min had no idea how long he'd been lying there when a figure appeared out of the snow, right wrist held before his face, the receiver there homing in on Min's transmitter. The small face of the receiver blipped with a red light, indicating the direction of the team leader's device. By following the red dot, the team could assemble on Min.
The soldier immediately ran to the apex of Min's parachute and began S-rolling it, gathering the canopy in. Min finally turned over and got to one knee. He popped the chest release for his harness and slipped it off, then pulled his weapon off the top of the reserve and made sure it was still functioning.
As Min was stuffing his chute into his rucksack, other figures appeared out of the blowing snow. He could see that two men were hurt: Sergeant Yong apparently had a broken arm that the medic, Corporal Sun, was still working on, and Corporal Lee was limping. Min counted heads. Seven, besides himself. One was missing.
"Where is Song?" he yelled to the others above the roar of the wind.
When there was no immediate answer, Min quickly ordered the team on line. "Turn off all receivers!" He pushed a button on his transmitter, and it became a receiver, picking up the different frequency that Song's wrist guidance device had been set to send on.
Min headed in the direction the red dot indicated, his team flanking him on either side. His first priority was accountability of all personnel. He broke into a trot, his men keeping pace, Yong and Lee gritting their teeth to ignore the pain of their injuries. Min was actually satisfied so far that he had eight of his nine men—he'd expected at least twenty-five percent casualties on the jump.
They found Song, his body fortunately jammed up between two blocks of ice, otherwise it might have been blown all the way to the mountains. As two men ran around to collapse the parachute and gather it in, Min knelt down next to his soldier. Song's eyes were unfocused and glassy, and Min unsnapped the man's helmet. As he pulled it off he immediately spotted the caked blood and frozen, exposed brain matter that had oozed through the cracked skull.
Min looked up at Senior Lieutenant Kim. "Have two men pull him with us to the target."
Min pulled his mitten off and quickly reset his wrist transmitter/receiver to receive on the transponder frequency. He turned his face into the wind. The target was in that direction.

* * *

"I'm going to check the weather," Brothers announced.
"Don't stay too long," Burke called out from the stove as Brothers zipped his parka up. "The food will be ready in about five minutes."
"Who wants to go with me?" Brothers asked as he headed for the door to check on the weather and, if possible, his plane.
Smithers hopped up from his chair. "I'll join you. I'd like to take a look outside. Feeling a little cooped up in here."
Vaughn glanced around the mess hall at the remaining members of the party. Logan had recovered the instruction manual for the nuclear reactor from the control room and was poring through it. Tai was staring intently at whatever was displayed on the screen of her portable computer.
Vaughn was not happy with the current situation. There was little of the base left to explore. Other than the note from Lansale, they had found nothing of much value. If publicized, the nukes and stock of Nazi nerve agent would cause a scandal, but a scandal wasn't exactly a threat. When the weather cleared they would head back and report in to Royce. Maybe he could do more with the information.

* * *

Min froze and peered through the driving snow. There was something large looming directly in front of him. He moved forward ten feet on his hands and knees until he was sure it was the surface shaft, about forty feet ahead. Using hand and arm signals, he sent two men scurrying around each flank to encircle the entrance.
There was a black wedge open on Min's side, and he could make out some movement there. Staying low, he continued forward, slowly closing the distance. His team was poised behind him, awaiting his instructions. He silently worked the bolt on his weapon, making sure it wasn't frozen.
After five minutes two figures appeared in the doorway. One walked out a few feet. The other one just stood there peering out, almost directly at Min.

* * *

Brothers shivered under the lash of the cold, but the release from the claustrophobic darkness of the base more than made up for the pain. The shots sounded like muffled pops, and Brothers turned, astounded as Smithers pirouetted into the snow, the bullet tearing through his shoulder. Brothers stared at the blood seeping out from Smithers for a split second.

* * *

Min moved forward at the run, his team dashing behind him. In two seconds he'd closed half the distance to the door before he was spotted. He fired another sustained burst from his AK, and the man dove for the door. The man who had been shot was yelling after his comrade, crawling for the opening.
Min slipped on the ice and immediately rolled back to his feet, keeping his eyes on the door. He was twenty feet from the door when it started to swing shut. The wounded man was slithering through, barely missing get caught in it.
Min ran up and pointed at the door. "Lieutenant Kim! Open this!"

* * *

Vaughn met Brothers halfway down the stairs of the shaft. "What the hell happened?"
Brothers slumped down and sat on the metal steps, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Smithers was shot!"
"What?" Vaughn said, grabbing him by the arm. He looked up the stairs. "Where is he now?"
"Up there."
A dull echo sounded from above as two shots rang out. Vaughn let go of Brothers and sprinted up the remaining stairs. Smithers lay on the top landing, blood flowing from a wound in his shoulder. The door was shut. Vaughn slid the blade of the broken pick they'd left there through the wheel and jammed it against the side wall. Then he pulled out a bandage from his vest and wrapped it around Smithers's wound.
"Who was shooting?" he asked.
"No fucking idea," Smithers responded. "Brothers damn near left me out there."
Vaughn turned as the rest of the party assembled on the stairs around Brothers, yelling confused questions at him. They'd heard the initial rifle fire as if from a great distance in the mess hall and had immediately come to see what was happening.
"Everyone shut up!" Vaughn yelled sharply. He helped Smithers down the stairs. "All right. Tell us what happened."
Smithers took a deep breath. "I caught a glimpse of several people moving out there. Someone was shooting. That's it. I don't know any more."
Vaughn craned his head. There were no more sounds from the door. That worried him.
"Who could have done that?" Tai asked just as the same question flashed through Vaughn's mind.
"Someone either wants us dead, or they want the goddamn bombs, or both." Even as he answered, Vaughn knew what the immediate course of action had to be. "All right. Listen up and do what I say. I don't know who these people are. For all we know they could be Americans, but one thing's for sure: they aren't friendly. They didn't hesitate to shoot.
"Logan, you take Brothers, Burke, and Smithers to the reactor. I want you to wait by the first door. If you hear Tai or me, you open it. If it's anybody else, retreat and shut the second one, securing that one too. You all should be safe in there."
He turned to the Tai. "You come with me."
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"What I should have done when we first found the bombs."
"Maybe we can talk to these people," Logan weakly suggested.
Vaughn grabbed him by the shoulders. "They aren't here to ask questions. If they get in and catch us, we'll all be dead. We don't have time to stand here discussing things." He pushed him toward the corridor. "Move!"
The four headed off down the east tunnel. Vaughn sprinted for the armory, with Tai behind. He threw open the door and headed directly for the cases lining the wall as he called over his shoulder, "Grab two M-1s, two pistols and ammo!"
As she did that, he went through the door to the bombs. Vaughn looked in the case at the bombs. He wasn't even sure which access panel opened onto the PAL keypad. There were at least six metal plates secured with numerous Philips head screws that he could see on the top side of the bomb. He didn't have time for that. He needed a more expedient way to neutralize the bombs.
Meanwhile, Tai used a bayonet to open a crate of .30 caliber ammunition. She threw a couple of bandoliers over her shoulder. Then she secured two .45 caliber pistols along with ammunition and magazines.
Vaughn ran back in and grabbed a crate marked C-4 and tore the lid off. He took out several blocks of the plastique, then looked for caps and fuses. He found them on the other side of the room. For good measure, he grabbed a few other goodies.
Tai was struggling with a clip of ammunition and the M-1 she held. Vaughn grabbed the other rifle and a bandolier. "Like this," he said as he slammed a clip home through the top.
Tai nodded and did the same. "What are you going to do?"
"We destroy the PAL codes. It's the quickest thing we can do. Come on."
He led her to Unit A2. "Keep an eye on the corridor," he ordered as he lay out a couple blocks of C-4 and a fuse in front of him next to the safe. As he was unwinding the detonating cord the sharp crack of an explosion roared through the base. Vaughn slid the block of old C-4 against the safe, primed it, and ran out the det cord as quickly as he could.
He pulled the initiator.
Nothing.
"Fuck," he muttered.
"What's wrong?" Tai asked.
"Either the fuse or the cord or the C-4 or all of them are too old," Vaughn said. He forgot about the explosives and grabbed his M-1. They'd run out of time.