"General, you've won. The Outpost is yours." Dodge spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "If we're wrong, you can come back and take whatever you please. But if we're right, everyone here is going to die."
Vaughn was not about to accept anyone dictating terms. "Tell your lady friend to make that grenade safe, then we'll talk. And you're still in custody."
Dodge nodded to Jocasta who, with an almost disappointed expression, proceeded to thread the pin back into place. He wanted to tell Vaughn that the grenade was the least of his worries, but before he could say anything, the ice heaved under his feet and his world dissolved into chaos.
CHAPTER 16 — HARBINGER
More than four hundred feet below the entrance to the Outpost, the metal column had long passed the boiling temperature of water. At first, it had merely penetrated straight down, like a nail driven into a piece of wood. But even before the column had completely sunk into the ice, the unstable area around the pillar expanded outward and despite the fact that it was perfectly balanced, the metal shaft tilted and fell against the side of the spreading pool, increasing the area of contact. In a matter of minutes, the entire length of the pillar had dipped below the surface of the newly formed oblong hole in the floor of the domed chamber. And once it reached two-hundred-and-twelve degrees Fahrenheit, the water in that hole instantly boiled away to steam.
A massive fog cloud formed in the domed chamber and immediately began condensing into droplets that ran down the underside of the dome or simply fell like rain onto the floor. A wave of superheated steam raced up the spiraling tunnel that had earlier opened for Jocasta, melting everything it touched. For a few seconds, the pillar was dry and lay inert on the smooth ice, demonstrating an example of the phenomenon Newcombe had earlier described — the Leidenfrost Effect. In reality, the column was resting on a layer of water that was being cooled by the ice underneath even as the metal above raised it to the boiling point. Like an ice cube thrown onto a hot griddle, it was a condition that could not be indefinitely sustained, but for those few moments, an eerie calm settled over the domed chamber. Had there been anyone present, they would have recognized it as the calm before the storm.
High above the fallen pillar, the constant melting both on the underside of the dome and in the spiral tunnel, reached a critical threshold. Once begun, the total collapse took only a few seconds. The roof of ice tumbled down in an avalanche that completely buried the metal pillar and shook the ice for miles in every direction. In an instant, the intricate honeycomb network of tunnels that comprised the Outpost and which had withstood the natural forces of glacial hydraulics for untold millennia, were completely shattered.
But the worst was yet to come.
Dodge found himself face down on the heaving ice. His first impulse was to remain where he was, hugging the ground until the quake subsided. Then his legs suddenly dropped away into a spreading crevasse and he was found himself scrabbling just to stay alive. His fingers clawed at the ice, but he could find no purchase and as the ice crumbled beneath him, he felt himself slipping.
Then, miraculously, someone came to his rescue. Hands clamped around his wrists, arresting his slide. He looked up and saw Newcombe, his bespectacled face contorted with the strain of holding Dodge at the brink. Dodge gave him a nod of encouragement and then felt the strain on his arms increase as Newcombe began pulling him up. While he may not have possessed the strength of a Hurricane Hurley, he more than made up for it with sheer determination.
The quake had abated, but the pandemonium continued to unfold in the ruins of the enormous shelter tent. Several of the support poles had either collapsed or disappeared into the numerous fissures and the remaining supports and tension lines were creaking under the constant assault of the wind outside. Many of the lights illuminating the interior were scattered on the ice and now cast weird shadows on the undulating fabric overhead. It took Dodge a few minutes to discover just how much damage the quake had caused.
Six of Vaughn's soldiers were gone, fallen into the four enormous cracks that had fractured the ice floor beneath them. A few of the remaining troops had, like Dodge, almost been lost and were now being rescued by their comrades. Others of their number were searching the crevasses for some indication that the missing men were still alive, but even if there were survivors, a recovery was beyond their capacity; the depths to which the men had fallen were beyond the reach of both their lights and their ropes.
Vaughn's loud bellow cut through the din. "Fall in! Give me a formation over here!"
Almost in unison, the soldiers looked up from their efforts, disbelief evident in their faces and then with visible reluctance, they made their way across the shattered ice to assemble in two ranks in front of their superior. It was only then that Dodge saw what else had happened in the quake.
The fissure that had almost claimed Dodge, continued to the far end of the tent and half-swallowed one Ford Trimotor aircraft; the same one on which Jocasta had concealed herself. The plane's tail section and the starboard landing gear strut had dropped into the crevasse, which had caused the starboard wing to collapse down onto the ice. Dodge realized that Jocasta was still there, hanging onto the endangered plane for dear life.
Vaughn paid no heed to Dodge or any of his companions, but instead directed his men to begin moving the surviving Trimotor out of the tent. "I want to be in the air in five minutes," he shouted. "Get moving!"
Dodge and Newcombe meanwhile rushed to help Jocasta. "Well, Findlay, you certainly called that one right," she observed as she slid down from her precarious perch on the fuselage.
"Actually, I expected something much bigger," Newcombe replied, his eyes getting that distant look. "I wonder…"
"I wonder how many people that plane will hold."
The general must have heard Dodge's remark, for he turned on his heel and stalked toward them. "I'm afraid there's only enough room for my troops and Dr. Newcombe. You and your girlfriend are going to have to stay here for now, but don't worry. We'll be back for you in a couple days."
Dodge bit back a caustic reply.
Jocasta did not appear to be the least bit concerned, but offered a wry smile. "Chivalry is dead, I see."
Newcombe on the other hand made no effort to hide his outrage. "You can't just leave them here."
"It's going to be a push to make it back to Little America as it is. Every extra pound reduces our chances of survival. And I'm not going to risk the life of my men for a couple of criminals."
"Then I'll stay behind. Give my seat to Jocasta."
"Findlay!" gasped Jocasta. For just a moment, the she seemed truly awestruck. Then she regained her composure and looked down her nose at the general. "Thanks for the offer, Findlay Dear, but I only travel first class."
"Well if they're staying, I'm staying." Newcombe put his hands on his hips and faced Vaughn defiantly.
A gust of bitterly cold wind rushed into the tent as the soldiers pulled apart the flaps and the general glanced over his shoulder as his men began dragging the remaining functional Trimotor out into the open. As soon as it was the wings were clear, the starter fired with the sound of a gunshot. As the roar of the Wright R-975 radial engine filled the tent, Vaughn turned back to Newcombe and shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Newcombe gaped as the general hustled toward the waiting aircraft. "Why that rotten… You rotten coward!"