Free Ice Reich by William Dietrich Page B

formaldehyde, all less than an inch long. "Krill," she explained, holding them to the light, regarding the specimens with a professionally flat rationality. "There are billions, trillions of them in the Southern Ocean. Combined, they outweigh any animal on earth: humans, elephants, whales. A hundred million tons, some have guessed. They're the key to the biological wealth of Antarctica."
    "They look like ghosts," Hart said. "So pale."
    "As clear as the cold waters. We have some nets aboard to try to produce an estimate of their abundance. That we scarcely recognized their importance until a few years ago is humbling, no? How little we still know of our own world."
    "Yes." He took the jar and examined the creatures closely. They seemed gossamer in their translucence, naked somehow. "Yet we don't seem to be humbled. We're anxious enough to run the world anyway."
    "You mean by whaling in Antarctica."
    "By going there, by staying there, by establishing new orders. Look at Hitler. He wants to change everything."
    "He's exciting," Greta said. "He started from nothing and now he's the most important man in the world. He has what most people lack: vision, and will."
    "You sound like Drexler."
    "Jürgen's not incorrect. He recognizes the path to the future, even if he can be a bit single-minded about it at times. It's exciting to feel a part of that. For an American, perhaps, it's different."
    "Ah, you mean I'm not a patriot," Hart said wryly. "A hired gun."
    "Just that you go for your own reasons. I, and Jürgen, and Captain Heiden, and everyone else aboard go for Germany. At least in part."
    Hart thought back to Fritz's more cynical interpretation. "And I go for myself?"
    "My guess is you're looking for yourself there."
    "Oh. Freud again."
    She shrugged guiltily, smiling.
    "But there's more than that," he said. "I go for Antarctica."
    "Yes." She put the jar back on the shelf. "And that's interesting. It must be quite a place, to draw you back."

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The weather warmed as the tender sailed south. Mindful of the need to take advantage of the short Antarctic summer, Heiden bypassed the chance to get fresh produce in the Canaries— the Spanish oranges were already gone— and steamed on for the equator. Hart busied himself getting to know the two flying boats and their pilots, Kauffman and Lambert. The aviators seemed simple and straightforward men, in love with flying and excited at the prospect of being the first humans to see unexplored territory. In the calmer seas off Africa it was decided to give the airplanes a test flight and the Schwabenland turned to point the Heinkel K7 catapults directly into the hot breeze. The sea here was rolling but placid, like a cerulean desert.
    "Would you like to go flying, Hart?" Kauffman asked him.
    "Of course. I've never been on a catapult plane."
    "Then you're in for a ride. We'll achieve a speed of one hundred and fifty kilometers per hour in a second and a half. Takes your breath away."
    Kauffman took the pilot's seat, Hart the co-pilot's. In the compartment behind, Lambert served as navigator and Heinrich Stern, the expedition's communications officer, was radioman. Sailors scrambled to ready the catapult and the Dornier engine roared to life, the plane trembling like an excited puppy. Kauffman checked the gauges, Hart following his gaze. All were familiar. Planes are planes, he thought. Then the German pilot brought the engine to full power and gave a thumbs-up. There was a bang and a hiss and the propeller craft hurled forward, shoving Hart back into his seat. As they left the catapult's end there was a brief, alarming drop toward the sea— a moment's hesitation as if the engine was gathering effort— and then they were away and soaring upward, banking to rotate over the ship. Hart whooped and Kauffman grinned. Toy figures on the deck below waved a cheer and the Schwabenland suddenly seemed very tiny in the immensity of the ocean.
    The men took a bearing toward Africa and flew