direct orders, but I can't seem to work up much enthusiasm for it. Thank you, Val."
He extended a hand past her to Smyslov. "And thank you, Major."
The Russian gripped it firmly. "It is the duty of a good subordinate to point out factors in a situation possibly overlooked by his superior," he quoted, still grinning.
Smith tried to sit up again, this time succeeding with only a hint of dizziness. His strength seemed to be returning rapidly. "Well, we've got some good news and bad news. The bad news is that we still have the anthrax to deal with. The good news is that the containment vessel seems to be intact and undamaged. Just in case, we'll stay on the antibiotics, but I don't think we have any spore spillage to contend with. Val, how did-"
She stood up abruptly, giving Smith a sharp but seemingly accidental bump as she got to her feet. "Thank God for that at least," she chattered on. "Do you think it's safe to fort up in the fuselage for tonight? It sounds like the weather is kicking up a bit outside."
"Yes...I think that might be a good idea," Smith replied. "I suspect it will feel a little odd camping on top of a mound of anthrax, but I think it should be safe enough. What do you say, Major?"
Smyslov shrugged. "I think it will still be bloody cold in here, but I think it will also be better than a tent out on that stinking glacier. I think we'd do better in the aft compartment though."
"Marvelous!" Valentina said, offering her hand to Smith. "Let's get our gear together and start playing house. I could use a dollop of that medicinal whisky you promised."
Smith accepted her hand and heaved himself off the deck. "Now that you mention it, so could I."
Seated on the bare springs of the starboard crew bunk, Smith scowled at the walkie-talkie in his hand. "Wednesday Island Station, Wednesday Island Station. This is crash site, crash site. Randi, can you read me? Over."
The little SINCGARS Leprechaun tactical transceiver hissed and spat back in his face. "Isn't that just the way of it," Smith said in disgust. He snapped off the radio and folded the antenna back into the casing. "You can communicate instantly with the farthest corner of the world except for when you actually need to talk with someone."
"There is an entire mountain between us and the station." Sitting cross-legged beside the tiny pack stove, Valentina carefully dropped a ball of hard-packed snow into the pan of water steaming atop it. Beyond melting a foot-wide circle in the frost on the overhead of the crew's quarters, the little fuel-pellet burner was incapable of measurably affecting the temperature within the compartment, but it could produce hot water for an MRE and to refill the team's canteens.
To save their batteries, the only illumination in the compartment came from a pair of chemical light sticks clipped to the bunk frames, the soft, all-encompassing green glow giving an impression of warmth.
The fuselage at least provided still air shelter from the wind whining across the glacier. The environment within the wreck would at least be tolerable for the night.
"What bunk do you want, Professor?" Smyslov asked, detaching his sleeping bag from his pack frame. "Ladies have first choice."
"I'm doing the same," Smith added, taking the last swallow of coffee from his canteen cup. "They apparently built aviators on a small scale in those days."
"As you wish." Smyslov started to unroll his sleeping bag into the lower port-side bunk. "Tell me, Colonel, now we know we do have anthrax to deal with. How do we proceed?"
"Well, I think your people had the right idea; we just take it a step farther. Since we still have full containment, I'd say we simply bring in a demolition team and pack the fuselage with a couple of tons of thermite and white phosphorous. We incinerate the whole damn thing right where it sits."
"We most definitely do not!" Valentina exclaimed, looking up from the stove.
"Why not?" Smith asked, puzzled. "If we can just concentrate enough heat rapidly enough around that casing, we should be able to burn every spore before there's any chance for them to spread."
"Oh, good Lord! The blind who will not see!" She gestured expressively around the compartment. "Given its superb condition, this plane is a historic treasure! Come spring, if we can get an ice breaker