Free Black Ice by Matt Dickinson Page B

got unlimited supplies; this batch I’m sending with you represents approximately a third of our drug cabinet.’
    â€˜Just so as I know.’ Lauren made a note on her pad. ‘Now, how about special equipment?’
    â€˜I’ll throw in some ropes, ascendeurs and pulleys in case we need to perform a crevasse rescue at some stage,’ Sean told her.
    â€˜Have you thought about cutting gear?’ Frank suggested. ‘I know it’s a hell of a long shot, but what if someone was trapped inside the fuselage of the plane down a crevasse? How would you get them out if you couldn’t cut into the metal?’
    â€˜I’ll add some cutting gear to my tool kit,’ Sean told him.
    Lauren checked her watch. ‘Anyone got any last suggestions?’
    Frank raised a hand. ‘Sorry to be a pain, but no one has talked about the possibility of laying down a couple of depots en route.’
    â€˜Like Scott?’ Lauren had to smile. ‘On what basis?’
    â€˜Well, being a natural pessimist, how about you lose both skidoos, both radios and all your supplies in a crevasse fall? Then you’re completely stuffed. But if you lay down a barrel of supplies every fifty miles on the outward leg, then you’ve at least got a fighting chance of survival until we can get out and find you.’
    â€˜What would you propose the barrels contain?’ Lauren asked him.
    â€˜Keep it simple. A tent or two, a few days of emergency rations, cooking gear, a couple of sleeping bags.’
    Lauren looked over to Sean.
    â€˜You think we can carry that extra weight?’
    Sean looked doubtful.
    â€˜It’s going to make the snowcats awful slow. How about we lay one depot at the hundred-mile marker and another at two hundred miles? That’s easier on the machines, and it still gives us a margin.’
    Lauren nodded. ‘That sounds like a good compromise. You happy with that, Frank?’
    â€˜Yep. I’ll supervise the preparation of the barrels for you.’
    Lauren scanned the room.
    â€˜One last thing. While I’m absent, I appoint Frank as deputy base commander. If … if it so happens that I don’t return from this rescue mission for whatever reason, Frank becomes base commander. Is that clear?’
    There were mumbles of agreement.
    â€˜Anyone got anything to add?’
    No one spoke.
    â€˜Go to it. Sean and I leave in one hour. I want everything packed and stowed on the sledges by then.’
    As she watched the team disperse, Lauren couldn’t help but feel a quiet stab of pride. Not only was this the happiest base she had ever worked on, it was also the most efficient. She shuddered to think how many committees the bigger bases would have required to achieve a similar result—how many faxes back to London and Washington seeking permissions and advice.
    Capricorn was different, smaller, much slicker.
    Lauren walked through to the laboratory and began to stow her equipment. She put the microscopes in their storage boxes and made sure the electron micrograph was covered with its dust jacket.
    It broke her heart, but for the moment there was no option but to put the science on hold. Out there, somewhere in the wasteland, men were dying. And the Capricorn rescue attempt was their only hope.

20
    Ice had sealed the door in its frame. Sean had to push his shoulder hard against the wood to get access to the interior of the shed.
    This was where the snowmobiles were housed, an unheated shack approximately thirty metres from the main accommodation buildings of Capricorn. There were four in total, brand-new 600cc Yamaha snowcats sprayed up with dayglo go-faster stripes.
    They were rugged, powerful machines, winterised with special lubricants and seals by the manufacturer for the extreme lows of Antarctica. Each had heated hand grips and a heated seat—a small concession to comfort to anyone crazy enough to want to drive one in minus sixty degrees or