All of the Navy rescuers were trained in the use of the assault rifle, but as sailors who specialized in saving lives, not taking them, they usually only packed a sidearm. Kray was determined to get some answers before the skids touched the snow at the Hamilton Research Station.
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Lynch did not answer Kray. He was sitting with his head leaned back against the shuddering wall of the helicopter with his eyes closed. Where the hell is the rest of your team and why are you overseeing a rescue mission of civilian scientists? It was too weak to reach you and was first picked up by a closer Brazilian base who forwarded it on to us. That put me in motion, and as I neared Antarctica, it was then forwarded on to you to get you ready. Why the hell were we not notified of a distress call until two days later? Who the fuck are you?
He did not blink or look away. As for Kray, he could see that the Seal was weary, but also alert, calm, and composed. As for why you were not notified until I was en route , that was so I could take command of this mission. Any other questions? His matter of fact demeanor only served to enrage Kray more.
Why are you here?
If this is a Seal combat mission, where is the rest of your team? The Seal smiled slightly.
It looked like he was impressed that Kray had picked up on that, rather than being upset he had been caught in a lie. Threats like this are exceptionally rare, but not completely unknown to certain people in Washington. You ever hear about the Miskatonic University Expedition down here in the 30s? Kray blinked, trying to take in and make sense of what the Seal just told him. It was a very public undertaking back in the day, but then that was a long time ago.
It made the papers and the radios, especially after a good chunk of the expedition died. If you want to find the info on what happened back then, or what people believe happened, you can if you dig deep enough. Several people were hospitalized, others were institutionalized, and still others just sort of disappeared after a while.
Mid-forties, an attractive brunette with huge, inquisitive hazel eyes, she appeared composed, stern; but when she lifted a metal pointer and tapped the wall to emphasize her point, her hand trembled slightly. Lieutenant Colonel Henry Dyer, U. Air Force, thought her eyes might have flickered toward his for the briefest second. The satellite photo on the left showed a pale, gradated surface laced with crescent-shaped shadows, which suggested a series of small ridges, while the image on the right showed an array of jagged, saw-tooth shadows jutting across a mottled gray plain.
Time stamps on the photos indicated they had been taken fifteen minutes apart, at and , some six days earlier. The center point of both images is latitude south 76 degrees 15 minutes, longitude east degrees 10 minutes. Dyer leaned forward, as did the other three men and two women seated at the conference table, as if peering more deeply into the images might reveal some dark secret.
Gudmundson was tall and gaunt—surely close to retirement age, Dyer thought.
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His glasses enlarged his eyes so they resembled blue-painted Ping Pong balls. A particle of space junk, we think. We made a remote correction, but for a period of minutes, we were receiving the image you see on the right. Of course, we thought it was a glitch due to the impact.
But subsequent testing proved that the lens assembly had not shifted—that the center coordinates of both images are, in fact, precisely the same. And, to the best of our knowledge, the mountain range you see in this photo simply does not exist. Not on the continent of Antarctica. Or anywhere else on Earth. The ensuing silence was finally broken when Dr. Sadao Takashima, a zoologist from Okayama, Japan, snapped the pen he was holding in two. Takashima, his features youthful but shadowed by long, brittle-looking gray hair, shook his head.
Not yet. Most every country on Earth has a base there. I favor the former explanation, by the way. The photographs? Takashima sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and lifted a cigarette to his lips.
Only after several long drags did he deign to speak again. Japan was critically short of oil, and the military government believed there were great reserves to be found in Antarctica.go here
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In , an expedition brought back promising results from the Ross Sea. The first expedition had discovered a channel near the original Scott base, which led through the mountains, and they went in for many miles without discovering its end. The experts believed it would lead them to the plains of Victoria Land. But they had seriously overestimated their ability to deal with the conditions there. One of the Japan Oil Company ships took serious damage. Both teams were forced to abandon their missions. With the steady retreating of the polar icecaps, diverse governments rushed in to stake claims to vast tracts that were formally forbidding moonscapes of uninhabitable ice.
New fishing zones were opened up. Fields of land, locked under thick glacial crusts for millennia, became exposed and their virgin mining and mineral potentials were avidly sought. Minor skirmishes broke out between nations over areas previously too barren to warrant economic consideration. Battles were fought on land, on the high seas and in United Nations back rooms, as well as vocally over the airwaves.
Deep in Antarctica, the thinning ice exposed new continental quadrants holding subterranean vaults belonging to the race of star-headed beings called the Great Old Ones by their so-called discoverers, the infamous Miskatonic University Expedition of The opening of these previously-unexplored preserves fell under the operational aegis of the Cryptic Events Evaluation Section of the National Reconnaissance Office. Low-orbit NRO satellites had initially detected the denuding of a portion of the megalithic proto-city that had flourished eons before the last pole shift.
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I was called into the office of the Director in our Chantilly, Virginia headquarters and briefed. I was used to moving fast in order to deal with External Threats—Crypticspeak for Extra-Solar menaces and other-dimensional incursions. No matter how I pitched my humor, the Director seemed impervious.
But what can you expect from a guy who requires regular exorcisms the way you and I need to scan our home computers for viruses? Maybe you can break through the block. I did bring an extra deck. A Rohrig. My war deck, I called it.