Chapter 11
The helicopter sat on the ice rocking back and forth in the wind. Joe had been a stoic passenger, waiting patiently and watching time tick away, checking and rechecking the radio.
The sun was heading down, having spent five short hours above the horizon.
As the light became flatter, the wind picked up.
Before long, it was whipping flurries of ice crystals past the cockpit windows.
Studying the fading horizon, Joe wondered whether they’d get a whiteout and nightfall all at the same time.
Inside the cockpit the air was a crisp twenty-nine degrees. Joe had to keep it cold to prevent the blowing ice from melting and refreezing on every available surface. He could see his breath. He could feel his fingers growing numb.
Checking the oil temps, he decided it was time to run the engine again. He went through the start procedure, omitting the use of lights, which drew a lot of juice from the batteries.
With the starter engaged, the helicopter’s engine roared to life. Joe released the starter switch and scanned the gauges as the engine settled into a confident howl. A few minutes later Kurt’s voice came through the radio, marred slightly by static.
Joe listened to the message intently, thrilled to hear from Kurt, and then deeply puzzled by what he was saying.
“All scout teams return to the boat.”
Joe scratched his head for a minute. The first part made sense: the Chinese had been waiting to rendezvous with the hijacked EAGL.
The second part of the message was also clear: the missing plane had never arrived.
Joe figured Kurt had used the word boat to suggest the imaginary teams had come off an American submarine, as submariners called their vessels boats instead of ships or subs.
The last part was meant for him. Joe was the only other “scout team member” out there.
Kurt was telling Joe to get back to the Lyra.
Now Joe found himself annoyed. As if he would actually leave his best friend behind.
He glanced at the gauges in front of him. Satisfied that enough heat had built up in the engine compartment he shut the system down. He was about to broadcast, but didn’t need it to sound like he was in a helicopter at the time.
As the turbine wound down, he thought about what he’d say. Kurt wouldn’t order him to leave unless he’d run into trouble. He wouldn’t suggest that Joe abandon him unless he couldn’t get back to the skylight where they’d parked the sled. Joe figured Kurt was most likely surrounded or being pursued.
Visualizing all of this in his mind, Joe knew exactly what to say. He thumbed the transmitter.
“Otter, this is Goblin Shark,” Joe began. “Message received. Scout teams being recalled. Proceed to extraction point Bravo. Combat team one will cover your approach to the boat. We will set up green and red flares upon surfacing.”
Joe listened closely, pressing the headset to his ear in hopes of getting a response. He picked up a couple bursts of static, but nothing more. He looked outside. The light was fading, the sun a tiny glow on the horizon like a candle about to go out. And then it was gone.
In a few minutes, the Arctic ice plain would drop another fifteen degrees in temperature. Joe exhaled and waited. He could only hope Kurt had received and understood the message.