wheelhouse, Franklin could see the pilot only a few yards away, concentrating like hell.
The helicopter touched down, bounced on its wheels and settled. The deck crew raced to secure it; Parsons and her team ran out from where they’d been sheltering and slid open the door. Two stretchers came out, covered in foil blankets that flapped and crinkled in the wind. Then came the bodies. Franklin counted eleven. Last of all, Lieutenant Klein, the first officer, who had led the mission. He looked none too steady on his feet, though the crew had done a good job clearing the ice.
‘Tell Klein to see me in my quarters. And send someone to make sure Anderson stays in his cabin. I don’t want him seeing this.’
Tim Klein,
Terra Nova
’s first lieutenant, sat in the easy chair opposite Franklin. His family were Marines, three generations; it had been a minor family scandal when he went into the Coast Guard. But he still had the posture. He sat ramrod straight, but angled about ten degrees forward, gripping the coffee cup two-handed. He still couldn’t stop it shaking.
‘It was real bad, sir. First they burned, then they froze.’
‘There was a fire?’
‘More like an explosion. The main building was jacked up on stilts. Something blew a hole right out of it: whole thing collapsed and burned. Like a car bomb, or a missile strike.’
He stared at his reflection in the cabin window. ‘You wouldn’t think it could burn so much in this cold.’
Franklin waited for Klein’s thoughts to settle, and made a mental note to arrange some CISM counselling for him with the Chief.
‘Any idea what caused it?’
‘There were some gas tanks – but they were a ways from the Platform.’ He knitted his fingers together around the cup and frowned. ‘To be honest, sir, it looked like high explosive.’
‘It’s plausible. Anderson – the guy from the ice – he said they did seismic blasting on the glaciers there. Something could have gone wrong.’
‘Yeah.’ Klein was looking at Franklin, but his eyes were seeing something else. ‘We found these, too.’
He held out his palm. Three copper bullet casings gleamed. ‘There was blood on the snow nearby.’
‘Did you get anything from the survivors?’
‘They weren’t in a position to talk. Frankly, they were lucky to be alive.’ His voice shook. ‘There were a lot of bodies, sir. We brought back the ones we could fit, but there’s more we’ll have to go back for.’
‘There’s no hurry, Lieutenant.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
A knock at the door; Santiago came in. Klein looked grateful for the intrusion.
‘The Brits emailed photos of their Zodiac people. We’ve identified three of the bodies so far – the rest got burned too bad.’ He handed Franklin the printout, three of the photos circled in red marker. ‘Stuart Jensen. Daniel MacGregor. Francis Quam.’
Franklin scanned the rest of the pictures. ‘Where’s Anderson?’
‘They didn’t have him on file.’
‘Makes sense – he said he went there in a hurry. So who are the survivors?’
Santiago pointed. ‘These two, sir. Bob Eastman and Sean Kennedy.’
‘Can they talk?’
‘Eastman had it worse – he’s still out. Doc has him rigged up in the sickbay. But Kennedy’s OK. Well, conscious. She’s moved him to one of the staterooms to keep him comfortable.’
‘Then let’s go see what he has to tell us.’ Franklin touched Klein on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done good work, Lieutenant. Get some rest.’
It was strange meeting a man you’d just been hearing about. Stranger still when he was bandaged up like a mummy, one eye and his mouth about all you could see. Kennedy was taller and thinner than Franklin had imagined him. As much as he could tell.
He held up the bottle he’d brought from his cabin. ‘I thought you might like this. Scotch – not Irish. It’s the best we could do.’
Kennedy struggled to prop himself up.
‘It’s kind of you, Captain.’ His voice was hoarse, the
The helicopter touched down, bounced on its wheels and settled. The deck crew raced to secure it; Parsons and her team ran out from where they’d been sheltering and slid open the door. Two stretchers came out, covered in foil blankets that flapped and crinkled in the wind. Then came the bodies. Franklin counted eleven. Last of all, Lieutenant Klein, the first officer, who had led the mission. He looked none too steady on his feet, though the crew had done a good job clearing the ice.
‘Tell Klein to see me in my quarters. And send someone to make sure Anderson stays in his cabin. I don’t want him seeing this.’
Tim Klein,
Terra Nova
’s first lieutenant, sat in the easy chair opposite Franklin. His family were Marines, three generations; it had been a minor family scandal when he went into the Coast Guard. But he still had the posture. He sat ramrod straight, but angled about ten degrees forward, gripping the coffee cup two-handed. He still couldn’t stop it shaking.
‘It was real bad, sir. First they burned, then they froze.’
‘There was a fire?’
‘More like an explosion. The main building was jacked up on stilts. Something blew a hole right out of it: whole thing collapsed and burned. Like a car bomb, or a missile strike.’
He stared at his reflection in the cabin window. ‘You wouldn’t think it could burn so much in this cold.’
Franklin waited for Klein’s thoughts to settle, and made a mental note to arrange some CISM counselling for him with the Chief.
‘Any idea what caused it?’
‘There were some gas tanks – but they were a ways from the Platform.’ He knitted his fingers together around the cup and frowned. ‘To be honest, sir, it looked like high explosive.’
‘It’s plausible. Anderson – the guy from the ice – he said they did seismic blasting on the glaciers there. Something could have gone wrong.’
‘Yeah.’ Klein was looking at Franklin, but his eyes were seeing something else. ‘We found these, too.’
He held out his palm. Three copper bullet casings gleamed. ‘There was blood on the snow nearby.’
‘Did you get anything from the survivors?’
‘They weren’t in a position to talk. Frankly, they were lucky to be alive.’ His voice shook. ‘There were a lot of bodies, sir. We brought back the ones we could fit, but there’s more we’ll have to go back for.’
‘There’s no hurry, Lieutenant.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
A knock at the door; Santiago came in. Klein looked grateful for the intrusion.
‘The Brits emailed photos of their Zodiac people. We’ve identified three of the bodies so far – the rest got burned too bad.’ He handed Franklin the printout, three of the photos circled in red marker. ‘Stuart Jensen. Daniel MacGregor. Francis Quam.’
Franklin scanned the rest of the pictures. ‘Where’s Anderson?’
‘They didn’t have him on file.’
‘Makes sense – he said he went there in a hurry. So who are the survivors?’
Santiago pointed. ‘These two, sir. Bob Eastman and Sean Kennedy.’
‘Can they talk?’
‘Eastman had it worse – he’s still out. Doc has him rigged up in the sickbay. But Kennedy’s OK. Well, conscious. She’s moved him to one of the staterooms to keep him comfortable.’
‘Then let’s go see what he has to tell us.’ Franklin touched Klein on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done good work, Lieutenant. Get some rest.’
It was strange meeting a man you’d just been hearing about. Stranger still when he was bandaged up like a mummy, one eye and his mouth about all you could see. Kennedy was taller and thinner than Franklin had imagined him. As much as he could tell.
He held up the bottle he’d brought from his cabin. ‘I thought you might like this. Scotch – not Irish. It’s the best we could do.’
Kennedy struggled to prop himself up.
‘It’s kind of you, Captain.’ His voice was hoarse, the
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