Free Beneath the Ice by Alton Gansky Page B

still fresh in Perry’s mind, as was the thought of the 137
people who had died in the plane. Seven more had died on the
ground, and two others in a Cessna 172 practicing approaches at
Lindberg field. Perry never forgot the abrupt jolt he felt from the
crash even though he was several miles away.
    The jolt he had just felt was similar.
Turning, he saw what he did not what to see: a column of smoke in
the distance. For the briefest moment, Perry’s mind struggled with
alternate explanations, but desperate as his mind was to avoid
facing the hideous truth, it could not sweep away reality. There
were no houses burning or forest fires because there were no houses
or forests.
    There was only one explanation. The C-5 had
gone down and, unlike in San Diego all those years ago, there was
no fire department, no military rescue, no anything.
    Larimore and Jack sprinted
back outside, both pulling on their parkas.
    “What was that?” Jack asked.
    Before Perry could respond, Larimore called
it, “The plane . . . Oh, dear God, the plane went down.”
    A stiff, cold wind pierced Perry.
     
    Okay, think, Perry commanded himself. “How far?” he wondered out
loud.
    “It can’t be too far. The plane just took
off,” Sarah said. Her face was as white as the ice she stood
on.
    “Farther than you think,”
Larimore said. “The C-5 isn’t a fight er
jet, but it travels at a good clip.”
    “How far?” Perry pressed.
    Gleason answered. “Assume three hundred
miles per hour . . . that’s five miles a minute. The plane took
off—what?—five minutes ago? So it’s maybe twenty-five miles from
here.”
    “Not so far,” Jack said. “It couldn’t have
gotten up to speed yet. Plus much of the distance would be
vertical. I’m guessing less than ten miles.”
    “I think you’re right, Jack.” Perry turned
and jogged toward the supply module next to the Dome. He slid to a
stop in front of a wide pair of doors. He fumbled with the latch,
his gloves hindering his movement. A moment later, he swung the
doors wide and plunged into the dark room. He flipped a switch.
Sealed lights overhead sprang to life, bathing the room in white
light. In front of Perry was the Antarctic equivalent of a garage.
Large tools, two portable generators, and a pair of snowmobiles
filled the small space.
    “What are you thinking?” Jack’s voice said
behind him.
    “I’m thinking the same thing you are,” Perry
said.
    “I figured as much. I’ll take the one on the
right.”
    Perry and Jack moved forward when Griffin
and the others rounded the corner.
    “You can’t be serious,” Griffin said. “You
can’t go out there. Not that far. Not with your lack of
experience.”
    “There may be survivors,” Perry said.
    “I doubt that,” Griffin said. “I haven’t the
slimmest of hopes that such is the case.”
    “I do,” Perry said. “Now get out of the
way.”
    “Hold on,” Larimore said. “You can’t go
alone.”
    “He’s not,” Jack said. “I’m keeping him
company.”
    Griffin was furious. “Committing a double
suicide won’t help those poor souls out there.”
    “This isn’t suicide,” Perry said. “It’s what
a man does for his friends and those he’s responsible for.”
    “Your friends are gone, Sachs,” Griffin
snapped. “Face it.”
    Perry turned and marched to the scientist.
“Six of those men are down here because I asked them to be. Every
one of them has a wife at home, and most have children. I’m going
to have to face those families. When I do, I want to be able to say
I did everything I could.”
    Griffin shook his head. “You won’t be able
to say anything because you will be frozen in the ice, dead as dead
can be. Don’t you feel the wind? It’s kicking up. It’s a katabatic,
a hurricane on ice. It will freeze you then blow your lifeless body
across the continent. You won’t survive. Be logical.”
    “I am,” Perry said. He
returned to the snowmobile and mount ed up.
“Someone get on the radio. Let