Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [59]
It was still dark, and the wind and snow whipped past with undiluted fury. Baxter and Falco both attempted to raise the Pegasus—or anything else—over their portable radios, but the electrical interference, like the storm, seemed to be an eternal fixture in this place. Unwilling to waste any more time on what was likely to be a futile attempt, Jackson gave the order to move out.
Of course, the tracks of the fleeing yetis were long gone. The lieutenant wondered if it ever stopped snowing in this damned place. Nevertheless, the Team resumed its trek down the narrow, steep-sided canyon with a fair degree of certainty that they must be on the right track. Once again the point position rotated every twenty minutes, Marannis breaking trail first and then yielding to Sanchez. Jackson was pleased to note that they were making better time than at the end of the previous day. Master Chief Ruiz took the lead after Sanchez’s shift, and by the time the rangy Puerto Rican was ready to turn the job over to Harry Teal, the black fury of the blizzard was brightening to the muted gray that seemed to be the best daylight the ice moon could muster.
Falco took the lead next, his squirrel gun slung over his back while he carried his G15 cradled in his arms as he waded through the snow, sometimes almost swimming through the deep drifts. The grade of the valley floor began to climb, making the work even harder, but the Team pressed forward relentlessly. A low crest materialized before them, emerging into view through the murk of the storm when it was barely two hundred meters away.
Jackson took heart from the line of horizon before them. It might be just a low ridgeline, some kind of glacial moraine crossing the base of the canyon, but it was a feature that broke the monotony of the trenchlike channel that they had followed for so long. The rest of the Team seemed to share his anticipation as, without orders or conversation, all the men picked up the pace. Falco, in the lead, lunged like a snowplow up the shallow grade, leaving a deep trough in the snow that each following SEALS tramped down further, so that the men in the back of the file had an almost solid track underfoot.
Approaching the crest, Falco lowered into a crouch to avoid suddenly silhouetting himself for any potential observer on the far side. He crawled the last five meters on his belly and lay prone at the top, waiting for the rest of the team to catch up. The other SEALS spread out, moving through the deep snow to the right and the left. Jackson was the fifth in line, and he made his way to Falco’s side, worming forward until he was right beside the sniper.
His first indication of something interesting before them was the grim smile on Falco’s face. “Well, LT,” he said. “It ain’t exactly the Little House on the Prairie, but I think we might have found ourselves a destination.”
At first glance the officer didn’t see anything anomalous before them. The far side of the shallow crest gently descended into a bowl-shaped depression, probably a couple of klicks in diameter and surrounded to the right and left by sheer cliffs. Vaguely visible across the valley was another notch in the cliffs, similar to the gap currently occupied by the SEALS, that seemed to promise a continuation of their canyon. It was not exactly the kind of destination he was looking for.
“Look for hot spots, sir,” Falco suggested.
Jackson flipped on the IR filter and immediately saw what the man was talking about. In the exact center of the bowl was a shimmering area of warmth, smoother and more reflective than anything they had encountered on this icy world. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing.
“Is that water?” he wondered aloud and incredulously. “Open water?”
“Well, it’s something liquid, sir,” Falco replied. “And it seems to be a helluva lot warmer