Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [167]
What was more, he was a Marine. Schofield smiled. He had a Marine on the line.
‘Romeo,’ Schofield said, relief sweeping over him. ‘Situation is as follows: we are in control of the target objective. I repeat, we are in control of the target objective. Heavy losses have been sustained, but the target objective is ours.’ The target objective, of course, was Wilkes Ice Station. Schofield sighed. ‘What about you, Romeo, where are you?’
‘Scarecrow, we are currently in hovercrafts, in a holding pattern approximately one mile from the target objective –’
Schofield’s head jerked up.
One mile . . .
But that was right outside the front door . . .
‘– and we are under orders to hold here until further instructed. We have strict instructions not to enter the station.’
Schofield couldn’t believe it.
There were Marines outside Wilkes Ice Station, right outside Wilkes Ice Station. Only one mile out. The first thing Schofield wanted to know was –
‘Romeo, how long have you been out there?’
‘Ah, about thirty-eight minutes now, Scarecrow,’ Romeo’s voice said.
Thirty-eight minutes, Schofield thought with disbelief. A squad of Recon Marines had been sitting on their asses outside Wilkes for the last half hour.
Suddenly, a voice came over Schofield’s helmet intercom – not over the radio room’s speakers. It was Romeo.
‘Scarecrow, I gotta talk to you privately.’
Schofield clicked off the station’s radio and spoke into his helmet mike. Romeo was using the closed-circuit Marine channel.
‘Romeo, what the fuck are you doing?’ Schofield said. He couldn’t believe it. While he had been inside the station doing battle with Trevor Barnaby, a whole unit of Marines had been arriving at Wilkes Ice Station, and waiting outside.
‘Scarecrow, it’s a fucking circus out here. Marines. Green Berets. Hell, there’s a whole goddam platoon of Army Rangers out here patrolling the one mile perimeter. National Command and the Joint Chiefs sent every unit they could find to cover this station. But the thing is, once we got here, they ordered us to wait until a Navy SEAL team arrived. Scarecrow, my orders are very clear: if any one of my men moves toward that station before that SEAL team arrives, they are to be fired upon.’
Schofield was stunned. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
Suddenly, the situation became clear to him.
He was in exactly the same position that Andrew Trent had been in in Peru. He had got to the station first. He had found something inside it. And now they were sending a SEAL team – the most ruthless, most deadly special forces unit the United States possesses – into the station.
A line from Andrew Trent’s e-mail suddenly popped into Schofield’s head:
USMC Personnel Department has you listed as dead.
Schofield swallowed deeply as the horror of the realisation hit him.
They were sending in the SEALs.
They were sending in the SEALs to kill him.
SEVENTH INCURSION
16 June 2200 hours
‘Romeo, listen to me,’ Schofield said quickly. ‘The ICG planted men in my unit. One of my own men began killing my wounded. That SEAL team they’re sending in is going to come in here and kill me. You have to do something.’
Schofield felt a chill run down his spine when he realised that he was saying to Romeo exactly the same thing that Andrew Trent had said to him from that temple in Peru.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Romeo said.
‘Tell them that there’s nothing in here,’ Schofield said. ‘Tell them there’s no spaceship buried in the ice. Tell them it’s just an old Air Force black project that got left down here for some reason.’
‘Uh, Scarecrow, I have no information on what’s inside that station. I don’t know anything about spaceships buried in the ice or Air Force black projects.’
‘Well, that’s what this is all about, Romeo. Listen to me. I have fought French paratroopers for this station. I have fought Trevor Barnaby and a platoon of SAS commandos for this station. I do not want to be killed by a bunch of my own psycho countrymen after all I’ve been through, you hear me!’
‘Just hold on a second, Scarecrow.