Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [149]
Schofield looked at the drilling room around him. In the centre of the room stood the large black core-drilling apparatus. It looked like a miniature oil well, with a long, cylindrical plunger suspended in the middle of a black skeletal rig. The plunger, Schofield guessed, was the part of the machine that drilled down into the ice and obtained the ice cores.
On the far side of the core-drilling machine, however, Schofield saw something else.
A body.
Lying on the floor.
It was the crumpled, blood-smeared body of Jean Petard, untouched since Petard had been shredded by the hailstorm of shrapnel from his own Claymore mines several hours earli –
‘Gentlemen,’ Barnaby said suddenly from the doorway. It was the only way in or out of the room. ‘You are about to fight for the privilege of living. I will return in five minutes. When I return, I expect one of you to be dead. If, after that time, both of you are still alive, I will shoot you both myself. If, on the other hand, one of you is dead, the winner will get to live for a short while and die in a more noble fashion. Any questions?’
Schofield said, ‘What about these cuffs?’ His hands were still handcuffed behind his back. Snake’s were free.
‘What about them?’ Barnaby said. ‘Any more questions?’
There were none.
‘Then, do as you will,’ Barnaby said, before he left the room and closed the door behind him, locking it.
Schofield immediately turned to Snake. ‘All right, listen, we have to figure out a way to –’
Snake slammed into Schofield hard.
Schofield was lifted clean off the floor and rammed with stunning force into the wall behind him. He doubled over, gasped for breath, and looked up just in time to see Snake’s open palm rushing at his face. He ducked quickly and Snake’s hand hit the wall.
Schofield’s mind went into overdrive. Snake had just come at him with a standard hand-to-hand combat move – an open-palmed punch that was designed to send the other guy’s nose back into his brain, killing him with one hit.
Snake was out to kill him.
In five minutes.
The two men were still close so Schofield thrust up hard with his knee and caught Snake in the groin. Schofield leapt clear of the wall. Once he was clear of Snake and the wall, Schofield jumped up quickly and brought his cuffed hands forward – under his feet – so that they were now in front of his body.
Snake came at him with a flurry of kicks and punches. Schofield parried each blow with his cuffed hands and the two men parted and began to circle each other like a pair of big cats.
Schofield’s mind raced. Snake would want to get him onto the floor. While he remained on his feet, he would be okay – because even with his hands cuffed, he could still parry any blow Snake threw at him. But if they both went to the ground, it would be all over. Snake would have him in no time.
Got to stay off the floor . . .
Got to stay off the floor . . .
The two Marines circled each other – on either side of the black drilling apparatus in the centre of the room.
Suddenly Snake grabbed a length of steel from the floor and swung it hard at Schofield. Schofield ducked, too late, and took a glancing blow to the left side of his head. He saw stars for a second and lost his balance.
Snake was on him in an instant, launching himself across the room, tackling Schofield hard, driving him back against the wall.
Schofield’s back slammed into a power switch on the wall and instantly, across the room, the vertical plunger on the drilling machine suddenly whirred to life and began to spin rapidly. It emitted a shrill, roaring sound like that of a buzzsaw.
Snake threw Schofield to the floor.
No!
Schofield hit the floor hard and rolled immediately –
– only to find himself lying face-to-face with Jean Petard.
Or, at least, what was left of Petard’s face after it had been ripped to shreds by the blast of the Claymore mines.
And then at that moment – in that fleeting moment – Schofield caught a glimpse of something inside Petard’s jacket.
A crossbow.
Schofield reached desperately for the crossbow