"My God!" he cried, scrambling away. "Now the island is trying to devour me!"
Hart cautiously crept to the edge of the crevasse and peered into its blue twilight. From its depths he felt an even deeper chill, from walls as hard as steel. "You're lucky."
"And your guiding skills have not improved."
"Conceded. Are you all right?"
Fritz sighed. "I ache, Owen. It's… frightening." The pilot gave him more of the drug. The supply was already nearly gone.
Hart carefully led their way back off the glacier and up a snow-dusted pumice slope. Eventually, breathing hard, they gained the ridge and came out on the plateau. The wind was shrieking. The seaplane was still there, snow drifting against its ski-converted floats and its wing tugging against the anchored swastika stakes. The ocean beyond was a blur of gray streaked with white. The Schwabenland couldn't be seen because it was around the flank of the volcano. Hart was conscious of time draining away. Surely the Germans would realize he couldn't fly back in a storm?
"Can we take off in this wind, Owen?"
"Maybe. And maybe fly in it. Maybe even find our way back to the ship. But landing on the sea, with that scudding ice…"
Fritz shivered. They were cold, dangerously so.
"Should we wait it out in the plane?"
"If we have to. But the skin has no insulation and the fuselage will be freezing." Hart looked around.
"Where else then?"
The pilot pointed. "Inside the mountain, maybe. It's warmer there."
The sailor followed his finger. There was a dark opening in the snow like a lidded eye.
"I noticed that on my hike down and the snow hasn't covered it up. That means it might be an overhang or a cave. If the latter, it's better than the plane."
"And if not?"
"Climbing will keep you warm. Can you manage the pain?"
Fritz paused to take internal inventory. "Actually, I'm beginning to feel better. Maybe that piss of Greta's really works."
They slowly plowed toward the distant eye, breathing hard, their goal lost at times through blowing snow. The wind howled harder as they worked higher, gusts snapping the ends of their parkas. The cold stung their lungs and rasped their throats. Hart's feet and hands were growing numb and he knew the little sailor must be far worse. It hurt to live.
Then they reached a chest-high wall of lava rock, part of an outcrop on the volcano's snowy flank. There was a shelf on top and then the small cave. Owen lifted the weary sailor up onto the ledge and pushed him ahead.
The entry tunnel was tight, forcing them to crawl on hands and knees, but there was a living-room-sized chamber beyond that was floored with sand. They sprawled gratefully. The sound of the wind had abruptly dropped and the temperature had soared.
"I think we're going to make it," Owen said. "Do you want some food?"
The sailor looked at him wearily. "Like your canteen? Yes, book paste and paint thinner, please. I can't get enough of your cooking."
Hart's promised four-hour absence went by. Greta's six hours. Drexler's eight. Still no sign of the pilot. Night came and the Schwabenland uneasily maintained its rocking station at sea, the crew grumbling nervously as large bergs swept by and smaller floes clanked and skittered along the damaged hull. Snow coated the decks before finally stopping at a gauzy dawn. Greta was sleepless, her eyes red. The mood on the bridge was somber.
"It's time to consider our situation," said Schmidt. "We should either reenter the shelter of the harbor or consider going back north. With the season growing to a close the weather can only grow worse."
"Owen asked us to remain out here," Greta said.
There was silence.
"Well, I've said what I have to say and I'm not saying it again," Feder reminded.
Heiden drummed his fingers, looking out the bridge windows. "The entrance to the caldera is still stormy." They could all see the spray. "I don't want to risk the fate of the Bergen and hit a rock. Now that we're outside I prefer to stay outside until the weather calms."
"And how long do you propose to stay?" Schmidt asked. "The leak has gotten worse again."
"Slightly worse." The captain looked unhappy.
"There can't be any surprise at the pilot's absence," the doctor insisted. "We've all seen what that disease can do."
"We don't know that!" Greta protested.
"We know that every man who has ventured into that valley has failed to return."
Greta looked at the officers imploringly. Most shifted their gaze away. Drexler didn't.
"Listen," he said. "I've been thinking. Our problem is lack of information, not lack of will. We all want to do what's best for the American and the mountaineers but we've no word from any of them so we can't act. Let me try to rectify that."
"What do you propose?" said Heiden.
"Take the motor launch back into the caldera. That way we risk a boat, not the ship."
"You can't even swim!"
"Swimming is pointless in this cold water," he dismissed. "And I don't want it said I abandoned the American." He glanced at Greta. She cast her eyes down.
"Your plan?" asked Schmidt.
"I'll ask for volunteers, we'll go ashore, and climb up to the crater rim. No farther! Hart and Eckermann did it safely when we first arrived so we should be able to as well. I'll see if I can spot any sign of the men or the plane. If we do… we can plan from there."
"And if we don't?"
"Then the best thing is to leave." He heard Greta take a sharp breath. "I'm sorry, but we can't indefinitely endanger the many for the few. Our primary duty to Germany is to return and report our claims."
They waited.
"It's a reasonable course of action," Heiden told her. "Maybe he'll even fly back while Jürgen is scouting."
She nodded miserably.
"This trip will also let me accomplish another task," Drexler said. "I think we should blow up the Bergen."
"Why?" asked Feder.
"Two reasons. One, the hull could retain traces of the disease despite our cremation of the corpses. There's no reason to endanger future explorers. And second, its removal would eliminate any competing Norwegian claims to this island. With the bodies burned and the ship gone, no one will know the whalers ever got here. It could still make a splendid German base, once we understand the disease. The cached supplies mark our claim."
"You'd come back here?" Greta gasped.
"With proper expertise and equipment. In fact, if the Reich allows, I'll come next season. But first things first. Do I hear volunteers?"
Feder smiled grimly. "I'll go if it will speed our getting out of here."
"When am I going to learn not to follow your lead? Great God in heaven."
"It's just a tremor, Fritz. At this point, this is the fastest way out."
They were suspended in the cave like flies on a wall. Ironically, their present precarious situation had only been made possible because of Fritz's improving health. The remaining drug organism, food, and the warmth of the cave had done wonders in restoring the sailor's strength. Consequently, he'd been persuaded to help explore the cave while they waited for the storm to abate. Hart's pack still had the lantern and flashlight and candles he'd used on his trip with Greta and they wound down a steep tunnel toward the interior of the mountain. But just when Fritz believed they'd reached the point of necessary return, the pilot had instead become enormously excited. Far from turning back, the crazy American wanted to go on.