“Here you go, bandits,” he said as he tossed one to each of the dogs. When he looked again at the Norwegians, they were walking towards him.
“Hello, friend,” one of the men call ed.
Henry saluted. “Greetings, gents,” he said.
“Norwegian marines, eh?” The men looked at one another. Then the leader, the man who seemed to be in charge, stepped forward and presented his gloved hand to Henry.
“Cold enough for you?” he asked with a laugh.
“That’s a new one,” said Henry sarcastically. The other two men laughed.
“You all speak English,” Henry observed.
“Not all of us,” answered the man, glancing over his shoulder. Then he looked Henry over careful y. “What brings you here, friend?”
Henry smiled broadly. “Lookin’ for beer and pussy. What else?”
The men didn’t laugh at first. Then one of the soldiers in the rear snickered. The leader of the group didn’t seem amused. “No… let me guess,” the man said.
“You’re a travelling comedian. Bob Hope, eh?”
“Actually I’m a meteorologist, but I’m doing a study of the aurora,” said Henry, sensing the man was losing patience with him. He had some trading to do before he got his ass kicked. “Fact is, I need two things. First, a weather report.”
The man surveyed the skies with his eyes and smiled, but didn’t move his head. He kept his attention focused on Henry. “Looks like a nice day to me,” he said.
“My name’s Henry Gibbs, out of McMurdo. My radio went out yesterday and hasn’t worked since. I was hoping you gents might have a spare radio you would sell or loan or trade,” said Henry. “Just don’t ask for one of my dogs,” he added with a grin, patting Sadie who sat dutifully at his side.
The man looked back at his two companions. “Either of you have a spare radio for this gentleman?” he said.
The two men just shook their heads.
Henry couldn’t see why the men were acting so ominously. He wasn’t good at humour, but he would try anything to get a radio. He noticed one of the men was smoking. He recalled his Norwegian grandmother asking his grandfather for a cigarette in their native tongue. He’d heard her say it so often that he’d never forgotten the words.
“Har du en sigarett? ” he said in Norwegian, approaching the man.
It was as good a conversation starter as anything else. In fact, he’d quit smoking, but he missed the habit from time to time. Seeing the man’s cigarette had made him suddenly want one. Besides, this far from civilization he wouldn’t have the opportunity to get hooked again. The man continued to puff on his cigarette without any change of expression. He didn’t seem to understand what Henry had said.
“Gee,” said Henry, “is my Norwegian that bad? That was my grandma’s favourite Norwegian phrase. She didn’t teach me much, but I remember that’s exactly how she always asked my grandpa for a smoke.” He laughed. “She never carried them… she always bummed from him.”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic cigarette box. He held it out to Henry, but only after the leader had nodded his approval.
“It surprised us that you knew Norwegian,” said the soldier. “My name’s Werner.”
The leader scowled at him but said nothing.
Henry took the box, opened it and removed a filter- tipped cigarette. Then he remembered his Grandpop Lars’s pat answer when Grandma Frieda bummed his smokes. “Those things will kill you!” he would say in Norwegian. “Have another.” Then his grandpa would wink devilishly at the kids. Henry smiled at the man who’d given him the cigarette.
“Dette vil ta livet av deg! Ta en til! ” He added a wink like his grandpa’s. But the man’s expression still didn’t change.
Henry looked at the three men. “Are any of you Norwegian?” he asked.
“Some are,” said the leader. “We’re not.”
Henry nodded. It wasn’t unusual to find multinational groups exploring the Antarctic, particularly since the ozone hole had made headlines all over the world. But, if these men were military and showing Norwegian colours, it was odd the soldiers with the group didn’t understand the language, particularly the commander. He felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the piercing wind. Something was wrong.
“How about that radio? Or at least can I get a report on the weather?” he continued as though the previous conversation hadn’t occurred. “I haven’t been out that long, and I’d really hate to have to go all the way back to McMurdo for only a damned radio. Can’t you guys help me out?”
The leader of the three men was older than the others by at least ten years. His greying hair and beard were well manicured, unusual in Antarctica where people don’t always have the opportunity to get their faces wet, and generally don’t see much of each other’s faces anyway. The man cocked his head to the left and smiled. He pulled his automatic weapon off his shoulder and flipped the safety off.
“I think we can help you out, all right,” said the man.
Then he shot Henry.
Numbness gave way to pain as Henry regained consciousness. He opened his eyes but saw only darkness. Moments passed before he remembered that he’d been killed. His chest stung and ached. Slowly, carefully, he tried his lungs. He inhaled until the pain prevented it. Coughing, he rose to a kneeling position. He brushed the snow off his face and looked around. It was easy enough to work out what had happened. He’d been covered lightly with snow and left for dead. But, even if he might for all he knew be mortally wounded, he was certainly far from dead yet. How long he’d been there he couldn’t say. The deep blue of night was giving way to a soft peachy glow at the edge of the world. He recognized the lighting as the crack of dawn. He felt his side, where he hurt the most. “Fuck!” He took off his right glove and pushed a finger into the tear in his parka. It touched warm wetness, then the pain prevented further exploration of the wound. He careful y probed his chest. His middle finger slipped rudely into a clean hole 9 millimeters in width.
“Shit! I’m killed for sure.”
But he wasn’t killed and he knew it. He touched the crushed plastic-and-metal shell of his radio, the broken radio he’d carried in the pocket over his heart. His chest hurt like hel, but the deflected bullet had only grazed his ribs and ripped his parka.
He fell backwards into the snow in relief and amazement and stared into the sky. Above him, the aurora and the Southern Cross combined to greet his eyes.
“Well, that useless piece of crap saved my life,” he said into the face of heaven. “Is that some shit or what?” Then he remembered his gear, his sled… his dogs. He rose to his feet and looked around. He could barely make out in the soft light the overturned frame of his sled and, next to it, the bodies of his dogs.
“Sadie?” he said. When he turned to run to the sled he felt a pain in his shoulder. A second shot must have grazed his shoulder.
But he was going to live.
He counted the bodies of four of the dogs. Sadie and Shep were nowhere to be seen.
Henry knew he’d have to wait for daylight before he did anything else. He had a flashlight but was afraid to use it. The people who had shot him might not be far away.
He righted the sled and fell into it with a groan.
In a few minutes he was asleep, with only the stars and the aurora to cover him.
When he awoke again the sun was above the horizon. His chest and side hurt terribly when he took a breath. He coughed twice and grimaced with pain. Then he heard the soft whimpering of a dog. Maybe a hundred feet away, Shep was standing over the body of one of his followers.
Henry struggled to his feet and surveyed the area. There was no trace of his would-be killers. Even their tracks had been erased. They had covered his packs with snow, but not deeply. He could see they must have given his things a quick search, then left.