CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

to his home, too much time would have passed. What they’d seen on the

island was important–so important that a few minutes might make a

difference.

White Wolf tugged on the line once, making sure it was still solid and

secure, then settled into a brisk walk toward the structure fifty feet

away. At one time, it might have been a simple Quonset hut, but years and

the necessity of surviving in the frigid climate had worked modification on

it. Now, packed over with ice and snow, the best insulator available, it

looked more like an igloo than a conventional structure. The two smaller

buildings, housing a generator and some spare parts, were similarly

encrusted with snow and ice.

He walked up to the front door, tugged it open, and pulled it shut

behind him immediately. Morning Eagle walked off in the direction of the

small outbuilding that housed their generator. A few moments later, White

Eagle heard the steady rumble of the generator kick in. He flipped a light

switch, and the overheads came on. He waited a few minutes, to make sure

the power was stable.

Finally, when it appeared that there were going to be none of the

unexpected current fluctuations that wreaked havoc on electronic circuitry,

he walked over to the far side of the small hut and flipped on a master

power switch. Two gray metal cases crackled to life. He patted one of

them thoughtfully and smiled. Army equipment, built to last and survive in

even these spaces. He ran his finger lightly over the metal equipment

property tag riveted to one side. It had been years since he’d last fired

this equipment up, too many years.

Or maybe not enough, depending on how you looked at it. He wasn’t

even sure if the old frequencies, call signs–and circuit designations that

he’d memorized so long ago would still work.

As he waited for the circuits to warm up, he heard the front door

open, then slam shut, and felt the brief blast of frigid air circulate in

the small space. Morning Eagle walked over to the gear and stood beside

him.

“I didn’t think we’d need this again,” Morning Eagle said finally.

“But under the circumstances-”

“There are not many choices,” White Eagle said mildly. “We both know

they would want to know. Whether or not they’ve had the foresight to

continue to monitor this net is up to them. We can only do our part.” He

stared at the row of green idiot lights, all brightly assuring him that the

gear was still operational. “We won’t know until we try.”

Morning Eagle nodded. “That’s all we can ever do.”

1705 Local

cvic, USS Jefferson

“Sir!” The enlisted technician looked up. “I think you might want to

come back here.”

“Can it wait?” Commander Busby asked. He glanced over at the aircrew

he was debriefing and shrugged apologetically. He already knew that it

couldn’t from the tone in the technician’s voice.

“No, sir,” the enlisted man said grimly. “I think this has probably

waited too long,” he added cryptically.

“Which circuit?” Commander Busby asked.

“I think you’d better see for yourself, sir. I’m not sure I believe

it myself.”

Lab Rat made his excuses, and moved quickly back toward the top-secret

EW surveillance vault. The technician waited at the heavy steel door,

holding it open for him.

Lab Rat stepped inside the space, noting the small cluster of EW

technicians located near one particular piece of gear. He snapped his head

back to stare at the senior enlisted man who’d called to him. “You must be

joking.”

The technician shook his head. “Wish I were, sir. But it’s for real.

They’re broadcasting in the clear. They tried coming up on the last code

they had, but it was so old we can’t even break it. Then they just went

into the clear, without even asking permission.”

“Damned civilians,” Lab Rat muttered. He walked over to the circuit

and picked up the microphone. “What have they told you so far?” he asked

before depressing the transmit key.

The intelligence specialist looked up. “They’ve given us two code

names, which I’m having verified by Third Fleet. I think they may have to

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