Free Weapon of Atlantis by Christopher David Petersen

landscape image that lay below the ice cap. At the top of the lieutena nt’s screen, he watched a dark circular area grow more defined as they neared.
    “Looks like the target is directly between the fuselage and the nose section of the plane,” Lt. Jarvis said matter-of-factly.
    “Yeah. I hope that doesn’t pose a problem. The crash investigators allowed us back in but only if we didn’t disturb the site,” Jack responded.
    “We should be ok, Sir,” Lt. Jarvis responded. “We’ll fly to the center of the target, drop a marker, then set down farther away.”
    “How close do you think the pilot can get us?” Javi asked, seated on the opposite side of the lieutenant.
    “I’d say a hundred meters or so,” the lieutenant responded.
    Jack smirked. “Don’t worry, Javi. I’ll drag the equipment sled, you can stand guard with the rifle. You do remember how to shoot a rifle, don’t you?” he teased.
    “It’s been a while,” he admitted, mildly embarrassed.
    “Don’t worry, Sirs. Maj. Deravic flew a reconnaissance of this area just a short time ago. There were no polar bears spotted. In addition to your rifle, we’ll also be carrying sidearms so we should be relatively safe.”
    Lt. Jarvis watched his monitor and noticed the helicopter drifting off course.
    “Sir, another five degrees left,” he requested.
    “Roger, five degrees,” Maj. Deravic responded.
    Moments later, as the target neared the center of the lieutenant’s computer screen, signaling their close proximity, he requested a speed change.
    “Sir, we’re almost on top of the target. Can you reduce our ground speed to one-zero knots?”
    “Slowing to One-zero knots,” he shot back.
    Jack and Javi watched with great anticipation as the helicopter slowed. With their attention diverted from the computer screen to the ground, their imaginations raced with excitement at the thought of a seven thousand year old spacecraft buried beneath the ice.
    “Fifty feet to the target,” the lieutenant warned.
    Jack now focused on the ground below, searching for a block of snow, a crack in the ice, anything that he could use to further pinpoint their location, once they were on the ground.
    “Over the target. Release the canister,” Lt. Jarvis shouted.
    Maj. Deravic quickly stopped, then hovered the aircraft over the target area, a hundred feet above the ground. Nodding to his copilot, Capt. Clausen cracked opened his window and dropped a canister to the ground. As it impacted the hardened snow, the can exploded, spreading red ink across the white surface.
    “Good job,” Jack responded. “Twenty feet from the target.”
    “Sorry Sir,” Capt. Clausen replied. “The rotor wash can be unpredictable.”
    “I’m surprised you even got it that close,” he responded.
    Lt. Jarvis studied the location momentarily, then pressed a button, sending data to an onboard printer.
    “The target looks to be slightly larger than fifty feet in diameter, just left of the ground marker. It’s registering nearly forty feet beneath the ice,” he announced.
    All eyes scanned the region just west of the red ink and tried to envision the size of the object below the ice.
    “Fifty feet in diameter? Hardly seems big enough for space travel,” Capt. Clausen speculated.
    As the men considered the captain’s statement, Maj. Deravic spun the helicopter around and headed to a landing zone previously selected on the way in. Moments later, he set the aircraft down on level snow, five hundred feet from the target area.
    Within a half hour, Javi, Jack, Lt. Jarvis and Maj. Deravic loaded the arctic sled with research equipment and headed for the target zone, while Capt. Clausen stayed back and guarded the helicopter from polar bears. Thirty minutes later, the team of four stopped. Standing twenty feet from the red ink mark in the snow, they stared at the plane wreckage a hundred feet on either side of them.
    “Amazing!” Maj. Deravic said. “Slatz sure earned his money that