Ice Hunt

“Yes, sir.” He checked his watch. Less than three hours. “Drakon will surface-at-ice here again at exactly sixteen hundred.”

“Very good.” The static went silent as the Ghost vanished into the ether.

Mikovsky turned to the radioman. “Get me the strike-team leader.”

“Yes, sir.”

A commotion drew his attention to the sonar team. They were bent over the various arrays, arguing.

He crossed to them. “What’s wrong?”

The sonar chief snapped up. “We’ve picked up an anomaly. But it makes no sense.”

“What sort of anomaly?”

“Multiple active sonar signals. Very weak.”

“Coming from where?” Mikovsky’s mind instantly ran through possible sources: the U.S. research sub, the approach of a fast-attack submarine, perhaps even surface ships beyond the cap. The answer was even more disturbing.

The chief looked up at him. “The signals originate from inside the station.”

Pistol in hand, Matt followed Lieutenant Greer through the double doors, leaving behind the organized structure of the ice station for the free-form flow of ice tu

Greer had the only flashlight, found near the entrance. His light danced over the walls as he ran, igniting the dark ice to a shimmering blue. It was like racing through the bowels of an ice sculpture.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Craig asked.

“Someone’s down here,” Greer said. “We need to hook up with them.”

“How big is this Crawl Space?” Matt asked.

“Big” was the only response.

They continued to run, knowing the Russians weren’t far behind. Distance was more important than direction.

Zigzagging down the tu

They all stopped.

“Which way?” Pearlson asked.

The answer came a moment later. Light bloomed down to the right. Frantic and bobbling. More shots. Loud and deafening in the close spaces.

“Here comes trouble,” Matt said, pointing his Beretta down the tu

Shouts could be heard now.

The Navy patrol raised their weapons.

Around a bend in the tu

He fell toward them. Matt expected the man would beg for help. Instead he ran right through them. “Run!” he yelled in passing.

More figures appeared, racing at full tilt: an older bald man, a twentysomething girl, and another young man. A tall, striking black woman in military blue led this group.

“Washburn!” O’Do

“Pick up your balls and get moving!” she barked back at him.

More gunfire blazed behind the group. Muzzle fire framed the last figure, another sailor. He dropped to one knee, firing a barrage behind him. Lit by a flashlight’s beam, the distant tu

“What’s the matter?” Greer asked.

Beyond the kneeling gunman, Matt spotted a darkness flowing up the tu

What the hell?

Washburn led her charges to them. She screamed to be heard over the gunfire. “We have to get out of these tu

“We can’t,” Greer said as Washburn pounded to them. “The Russians—”

“Fuck the Russians!” Washburn said, panting hard. “We’ve got a hell of a lot worse on our asses!” She waved the others ahead of her.

The gunfire died. The other sailor was on his feet and sprinting toward them. He fumbled to replace his rifle’s spent magazine. “Go, go, go!”

Greer jabbed a finger at O’Do

O’Do

The seaman shrugged and headed up on his own, but he called over his shoulder back to his lieutenant. “What about the Russians, sir?”

Fuck the Russians. Matt was still stu

Greer’s reply was more useful. “Take them as far as the Crawl Space exit. Then wait for us!”

The only acknowledgment was a quick turn on a heel, and the group continued their headlong flight up the tu

The last Navy man reached them.

“Commander Bratt,” Greer said, sounding surprised.

“Prepare to lay down cover fire!” Urgently, Bratt spun around, dropping to a knee. He ripped a fresh magazine from his coat and slapped it home.

Greer joined his senior officer, standing behind him, rifle pointed over Bratt’s shoulder. He passed his flashlight into Matt’s free hand.

Matt glanced between the retreating party and the two stationary gunmen. He debated which was best — to stay or go. His only other choice was to flee blindly down some side tu

He stepped to Bratt’s other shoulder.

Bratt glanced up at him, then away. “Who the hell are you?”

Matt raised his pistol, pointing it past the officer. “Right now, I’m a guy covering your ass.”

“Then welcome to the party,” Bratt grumbled back.

“What’s coming?” Greer asked on the other side.

“Your worst goddamn nightmare.”

From beyond the reach of the flashlight, red eyes reflected back at them. Matt’s head began to buzz oddly, like mosquitoes whirling in his skull.

“Here they come!” Bratt said, sucking in a breath.

A massive snowy-ski

What the hell was it?

Other shadows could be seen in brief glimpses behind it.

The lead beast charged toward them. Claws tore at the ice.

The buzzing grew louder in Matt’s skull.

Then a barrage of rifle fire erupted, startling Matt to react. He aimed the 9mm pistol, but he knew the gun was useless. No more than the Alaskan grizzly, such a meager weapon would never bring down this creature. Several of the fresh wounds had been direct strikes between the monster’s eyes.

And still the beast ripped toward them, keeping its domed forehead low, charging like a bull, using its thick rubbery skin and insulating blubber as a bulletproof shield, a natural battering ram.

Matt pulled his trigger, more in blind fear than with any real hope for a kill shot.

“Damn things won’t die!” Bratt confirmed.

Matt continued to fire, squeezing round after round, until the pistol’s slide locked open.

Out of bullets.

Greer noticed. “Go!” he ordered, tossing his head in the direction of the retreating party, now vanished. His voice vibrated from his own rifle’s recoil as he passed a radio at Matt. “Cha

Matt took the radio, ready to flee.

Then the lead beast crashed to the ice, as if slipping, legs going limp. It slid farther on the ice, nose dragging, then stopped. Its eyes remained staring at them, still reflecting red in the flashlight. But there was no longer life behind them.

Dead.

The buzzing in Matt’s head faded to a nagging itch behind his ears.

Bratt regained his feet. “Pull back.”

The beast’s bulk blocked the remaining creatures, but the animals still could be seen moving behind the mound of macerated flesh.