“We can send over one of the snow machines,” said Paulson, “and you guys can take a bunk down here in Little Moscow.”
“Thanks, Al. We’ll stay with the airplane, just in case the weather deteriorates. I’ll ask Juan if he wants to commute over. No need for him to freeze his ass off with us.”
The radio crackled momentarily with static. “Juan says he’s staying here with us since we’ve got the bottle of Jack Daniels.”
“If you need any help, give a shout,” Jack said. He looked at the shiny aluminum skin of the B-29 reflecting sunlight in the distance. “Al, you guys should do the same, get some rest. You’ll need those eye-pillows to cover your eyes. It’s daylight around here 24-7 in the Antarctic summer.”
“Once we give this old beauty a once-over, we’re going to do exactly that,” Paulson replied.
“Let’s check in again in six hours.”
Jack rousted Leah and they pulled the sleds for another hour before reaching a mountain of ice leading toward the towering granite wall.
Jack looked up at the mountain and a shiver ran down his spine. Not because of the cold, but the excitement of climbing to the base of the magnificent near-vertical wall of rock. This close to Thor’s Hammer, he could discern the individual red veins that made up the hammer, but that also ran in smaller, twisting lines all across the rock face.
“It’s alive,” he whispered to himself.
The veins of red looked like blood, coursing through the rock, reinforcing whatever mountain climber believed: those mountains, especially the big ones, had a life force every bit as powerful as the oceans. They made their own weather; created paths in the ice for those they chose worthy to stand on their shoulders, and yet, could kill in an instant. On Everest, it seemed even more apparent. Those who showed up in base camp arrogant and insensitive to the mountain’s cultures and traditions often paid the ultimate price.
Wispy clouds cut across the top third of Thor’s Hammer. For an instant it reminded Jack of a knitted brow, the kind you saw on a powerful stranger, sizing you up for the first time and not liking what they saw. His instincts told him to be extra cautious; they weren’t welcome here.
He glanced in the direction of the Las Tortugas and the Caribou. They were a long way from help if something bad happened.
Jack shook off the feelings of dread. “This is where we’re setting up camp,” he said. “We’ll need shovels and saws, Marko.”
Marko pulled a long nylon sack off the top of his sled, unzipped it, and pulled out three shovels and two saws designed to cut block ice.
“Are we building an igloo?” he asked.
Jack made a circular motion with his mitten. “Ice wall, five feet tall to protect the tents. If we have more time, and energy, we might even try to get an Igloo built. Way warmer than the tent.
Two hours later, the wall had been erected and the tents pitched within the perimeter. Jack sat down on his sled and examined his work. He’d cut blocks in the shape of steps to provide entry into and out of the small fortress. “Now all we’ve got to do is dig the bolt hole and a latrine and we’re snug as a bug in a rug.”
Leah looked fully irritated — no doubt tired and hungry. “What’s a bolt hole again?”
“I’ve seen wind gusts over a hundred miles per hour come out of nowhere,” Jack said. “There’s a chance we could lose the tents. We dig a hole in the ice large enough the three of us can hunker down and ride out a storm.” In that event, we crawl to the bolt hole.” He locked eyes with her and grinned. “I trust you know what a latrine is?”
“God’s revenge on field archeologists.”
“We’ll make it first class: a walled-in commode made out of ice blocks.” Jack grinned. “With a hole in the ice couple feet deep.”
“Seriously?” she asked.
“You’ve been to France,” Jack said. “Remember those toilets — the ones that are just a hole in the floor with the cutouts that show you where to stand?” He smiled. “Normally, we’d just hand out a whiz bottle and pot — but for you, I’m going out of my way.”
“I’m holding it until I get back to civilization.” Leah appeared to only be half-kidding. “It’s hard enough camping out in the desert — this is beyond the pale.”
“Good luck to you,” Jack said while Marko hid a grin. “You have any questions, Marko?”
The young climber shook his head. “I guess we’re digging an old-fashioned snow cave for the bolt hole, and there’s no way I’m holding it, so the ice toilet sounds good to me.”
Leah stared up at Thor’s Hammer. “When do we start exploring?”
“After we get some sack time, like I told the others.”
“Maybe we should get to it right now.”
Jack didn’t bother to look up, knowing what he’d see in her eyes. “I’ll fix a little soup, then hop into my bag for four or five hours. You two get your tents squared away while I prepare the chow.”
Marko grinned and unzipped the vestibule door leading into the tent he would share with Garrett once the archaeologist finished helping with the bomber. “I wouldn’t want to miss one of Jack’s world-class meals.”
“You wouldn’t be missing much,” Leah said before disappearing into the tent.
“Soup will be ready in ten minutes,” Jack said. He set up a stove and minutes later had steam rising up from the aluminum pot. He opened several packs of freeze-dried soup and stirred it into the hot water until it resembled vegetable beef soup.
“Come and get it!” he shouted.
The sound of snow and ice creaking underneath mountaineering boots signaled Marko and Leah climbing out of their tents. He poured them each a large portion of the hot stew.
Marko leaned forward and grabbed a handful of crackers. “What exactly’s the plan?”
“We’re climbing the ice until we reach the base of Thor’s Hammer,” Jack replied. “After taking a good look at it, I’ve decided the route may have crevasses, so we’ll be taking our sweet time.”
“What are we looking for, Leah?”
“The one thing that might survive the last eight-hundred years.”
“What’s that?”
“Petrography — rock carvings.”
“There’s only one problem,” Jack cautioned. “If Native Americans chiseled petrography in the stone, the actual carvings could lie under a hundred feet of solid ice — you know, due to the snow accumulation.”
Marko shook his head. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to dig through that much ice.”
“Well, I’m not digging,” said Leah.
“How are you getting down that deep, then?” Marko asked.
Jack held his hands together and then slowly peeled one hand away from the other. “Like I said, the glacier lying against Thor’s Hammer is probably riddled with crevasses. Once we get up to the actual granite, there’s a chance the ice has ‘walked away’ from the cliff face.”
“We’re roping down into a crevasse?” Leah asked.
Marko nodded eagerly.
“No,” said Jack. “I’m the only one going down.” When she opened her mouth, Jack held up his hand. “Unless I find something significant, in which case our esteemed lead archeologist will be invited down.” He scraped the last of the soup from his bowl. “These crevasses have minds of their own; they open and close without notice. If you’re a hundred feet down when the ice shifts, well, you can imagine what’s going to happen.”
“I don’t know,” said Leah. “It couldn’t be any more dangerous than flying your choice of airline.”
Jack chuckled. “I’ll grant you that.” He leaned back on his gear pack. “Sack time how, kids. I’ll wake you when it’s ice time.”