Ice Hunt

“They still work,” Washburn said. “I test fired a pair last week. The ammunition is boxed in straw-filled crates. Here and here.” She jabbed the end of her steel meat hook at two corners of the armory marked on the map.

Matt leaned closer, studying the layout. He had to shift the weight on his knees. Having lost his pants to Little Willy, he was left with only his long underwear. And kneeling on the ice was testing the limits of the garment’s thermal capability.

Washburn continued: “We should be able to get in and out in under a minute. The problem is getting there.”

Bratt nodded. Greer had returned a moment ago from scouting the service tu

Matt squinted, trying to force his brain to thaw and think. There has to be a way…Along with the others, he pored over the map.

The generator room had a side door that led to a neighboring electrical room, but from there, they would have to cross the open central space. Without a doubt, it would be guarded. And with the pilfered medical supplies as their only weapons, they would be hard-pressed to subdue the guards without rousing the rest of the base.

Matt sat back, lifting his knees from the ice and rubbing them. “And there’s no other access into this level? We have to enter through the generator and electrical rooms.”

Bratt shrugged. “As far as we know. We have only these plans to go by.”

Craig spoke up. “Well, the obvious distraction would be to switch off the generators, black out the station, and make a run for the armory.”

Greer shook his head. “We have to assume that the Russians know where the main generators are. If we knock out the power grid, they’ll be swarming right where we don’t want them.” He tapped the map. “Level Three.”

Amanda had been studying the lieutenant as he spoke, reading his lips. “Besides,” she added, “even if we turn off the generators, the batteries will retain enough power to keep most of the lights on. They’ve been charging since the generators were first overhauled by the material sciences team.”

Matt considered all sides of the discussion. “What if we leave the generators ru

Greer nodded to Bratt. “He’s right, sir. I’d wager the Russians already have most of their forces up top. They’d be on heightened guard, believing we might make a break for the surface. Cut off the power to just that level and the whole occupying force will be rushing up there.”

“Well, let’s just hope that includes the guards stationed on our level,” Bratt grumbled. He stared at the map, considering this option.

“Whatever we do,” Amanda said, “we’d better act fast. At some point, the Russians are going to start sending search parties into these service tu

“Or simply lob more incendiary grenades down here,” Craig said dourly. The reporter crouched on his heels, arms wrapped around his chest. His gaze flicked to the three tu

Bratt nodded and straightened. “Okay. Let’s scout out the electrical room. See if it’s even possible and do a head count on the Russians on this tier.” He eyed the group. “Greer and Washburn are with me.”

“I’m coming, too,” Matt said. He was not about to be left behind.

Greer supported Matt’s decision. “The man was Green Beret, sir. And we sure as hell could use an extra body if we have to take out any guards.”

Bratt eyed Matt up and down, then nodded. “The rest will stay here.”

Matt raised his hand. “We should also have someone on watch in the generator room. In case we get in trouble, they could haul ass back here and get everyone else moving up higher.”

“Very good,” Bratt acknowledged.

“I’ll do it,” Craig said, but he looked like the words had to be choked out of him.

“Then let’s get this done.” Bratt folded up the schematic and passed it to Amanda. He quickly reviewed the plan. “We hit the lights. Use the distraction to take out any soldiers that remain here. Then make a dash-and-grab on the weapons locker.”

Matt picked up the length of sharpened pipe from the floor. He met Amanda’s worried gaze and offered a smile that he hoped looked reassuring.

“Be careful,” she said.

He nodded and followed the Navy trio into the service duct. Craig crawled on hands and knees behind him. The generator room was only sixty feet down the tu

They crawled into the room. The reek of diesel oil and exhaust gases hung heavy in the humid, heated air. The generators rattled in their stanchions, plenty of noise to cover their invasion.

As they gathered, Matt noted the stacks of batteries against the left wall; each was the size of a standard air-conditioning unit. As he eyed the power storage units, a glint on the neighboring wall caught his eye. The corners of his mouth lifted with pleasure.

He dropped his pipe and crossed to the wall. He removed the heavy fire ax from its wall pegs.

“Oh, man,” Greer griped, lifting the foot-long steel bone pins in his hands. “I wish I had seen that first.”

“Finders keepers,” Matt said, hefting the ax to his shoulder.

Bratt led them to the neighboring room. All four walls were covered with electrical panels. As they searched for the controls to Level One, Matt saw the difficulty immediately. Everything was coded in Russian Cyrillic.

“Here,” Washburn whispered. She pointed to a set of hotdog-sized glass-and-lead fuses. “These are the relays for the first level.”

“Are you sure?” Matt asked.

“My father was an electrician with Oakland PG&E,” she said.

“And she reads Russian,” Greer said. “My sort of woman.”

“The main switch is corroded in place,” she said. “I’ll have to pull the fuses.”

“Wait.” Bratt crossed and posted himself at the door that led to the main room. A small window in the door allowed him to spy into the central open space. He pointed to his eyes with two fingers, then splayed four fingers up in the air.

He spotted four guards.

Bratt turned to them. “Mr. Teague,” he whispered tersely, pointing to Craig. “Close the generator door. We don’t want the noise to alert the guards when we open the main door.”

The reporter nodded, closing the door and keeping guard in front of it.

Bratt turned to the others. “On my count,” he whispered tersely. “Pull the fuses, then be ready to bolt.” He lifted his hand, all fingers up. He counted down, lowering one finger at a time.

Five…four…three…

Admiral Viktor Petkov stood in the entrance room to Level Four’s research labs. The steel door lay on the floor behind him, the hinges and security bar cut away. Across the door’s surface, letters were scored in Russian Cyrillic:

It was the name of the laboratory, the name of the base, the name of the monsters that nested in the neighboring ice caves.

Grendel.

His father’s project.

Viktor stood in front of an open cabinet. It contained dated journals, coded and stored, written in his father’s own handwriting. Viktor didn’t touch anything. He simply noted the missing volumes. Three of them. Whoever had been here knew what they had been looking for. A fist clenched. He could guess the identity of the thief — especially considering the news just related to him.