Ice Reich by William Dietrich Page A

shimmer of downy white peaks reflected in a cobalt sea, vast icebergs drifting out of a cold fog, the ethereal gloom of crevasses sunk like blue wounds into crumpled glaciers. Yet the continent was hard as well: the blaze of reflected light that dazzled the eyes, the bitter cold that seared the nose and throat, or the rime of ice on railings and deck. Nose hair froze, lips cracked, and even the blinked moisture of an eye could become sticky from the chill. During a gale the wind could become so bitter that it would seem to suck all oxygen away with it, yet on a still day the sunny radiance could leave one's body glowing while standing on a slab of ice. Most of all there was the clarity of the air. The ordinary slight humid haze of temperate lands was wholly absent and distant mountains stood revealed in incredible detail. Instead of sharpening perception this clarity seemed to confuse it. The mind lost its common reference points and the landscape seemed less real, not more. Antarctica was as vivid as fantasy, as substantial as reverie. Hart had fallen in love with it the first time. He found he still feared it as well.
    "Where are we?" he asked Heiden. For all his recognition of the white wall of mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction, he could have been on the moon.
    "New Schwabenland," the captain replied. "The newest part of greater Germany."
    The immediate need was to go ashore, Drexler announced. The Schwabenland was the first vessel of the Third Reich to visit the southern continent, and a formal claim was paramount. They'd anchored in a bay bounded by two-hundred-foot-high glacial walls that the geographer, Feder, promptly named after their home port of Hamburg. Occasionally a chunk of ice would break away from the glacier face with a crack like a cannon shot, crashing into the dark clear water and bobbing away through the echoes of its own turbulence. A rocky point of land jutted from the southwest corner and it was there that they rowed in a lifeboat, the ever-silent mountaineers pulling at the oars. The boat crunched onto a beach of rocky cobbles and the passengers splashed through the shallows to mushy snow and granite outcrops. A gull-like skua flew overhead, shrieking a protest of prior occupation.
    Feder had brought a movie camera, which he proceeded to erect on a tripod. Greta had her silver Leica. Drexler carried a small Nazi flag tied to a boat-hook pole. Since there was no breeze to flaunt the swastika, he had one of the soldiers hold the flag outward while Greta snapped a picture. Then he ushered Heiden in front of the movie camera, pulling down the captain's parka hood so that his steel-gray Prussian features were clearly visible.
    "We claim this land for the German Reich in the name of Adolf Hitler," the captain proclaimed, his voice thin in the immense landscape. "May its challenge and resources inspire the German people for generations to come!"
    Schmidt stumbled off to peer at small stains of lichen on the rocks. "Life at its most elemental," he muttered, scraping some off.
    There was also a colony of Adélie penguins nearby, and a trio of avian ambassadors waddled across the snow to inspect these curious goings-on. "Look, they're already dressed for the New Year," Greta exclaimed in delight. Indeed, the penguins looked like a delegation in tuxedos.
    "They're welcoming our protection and administration," Drexler said, winking. He strode toward the birds, which scuttled away warily. "Thank you for your hospitality, we bring you civilization in return," he said, bowing. Then he stood erect and gave a stiff-armed salute. "Heil Hitler!" Greta laughed and snapped his picture.
    Hart sighed and walked over to inspect the penguin colony. There were hundreds of birds jockeying for nesting position on the bare dirt that had emerged from surrounding snow. The rookery smelled rank from bird excrement, which stained the area reddish brown. Periodically a group of the birds would walk