Atacama by Burt Clinchandhill

Author:Burt Clinchandhill [Clinchandhill, Burt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781622536122
Google: iOkmzwEACAAJ
Publisher: Evolved Publishing
Published: 2022-04-17T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 21 – The Road South

Wellington Airport, New Zealand, Two Days Later

At Air Movements Rongotai—the Royal New Zealand Air Force part of the Wellington civilian airport—a gigantic C-130H Hercules fired up its turboprops. As it geared up, its four propellers started to rotate slowly. The gray Royal New Zealand Air Force plane was getting ready to begin its twenty-eight-hundred-mile flight to the Ross Ice Shelf in Antarctica. At the plane’s back, the let-down rear cargo door served as a ramp to load a vast amount of boxes with supplies like food, drinks, repair materials, tools, and four snow scooters.

“Are those for us?” Monroe asked Cooper, pointing at the scooters.

Cooper didn’t answer. For the past two days, more often than he’d initially planned, he and Hemi had been busy preparing their visitors for their stay at the cold and treacherous South Pole. Together, they’d been buying warm polar clothing. Where Cooper and Hemi were dressed in army green, Bishop and Monroe bought dark blue polar clothing, and Jennifer chose red. They were made aware of the most basic security measures, and learned how to stay warm using layers of clothing creating warm air pockets. They also learned how to stay hydrated, cover their extremities, and always, always, always—Cooper had urged them—keep dry at all times.

“It’s time,” Hemi shouted from the back of the plane as he walked up the ramp.

Cooper nodded at the three, and together they walked to the back of the plane and up the ramp. Inside, they sat down on folding seats attached to the side of the aircraft, and strapped in. Both sides of the aircraft were fitted with rows of seats, all empty except for the five of them. Through three little windows on either side of the plane, a little daylight came in, and the orange-looking cabin lights gave the inside of the aircraft an eerie look. In the center, the vast leftover space was filled entirely with carefully tied-up cargo.

A man dressed in a flight suit walked up to them from the cockpit. “You all safe and sound here?” He checked their seatbelts.

“We’re good,” Cooper answered after giving his guests a quick look.

“No inflight entertainment?” Bishop’s question got lost in the increasing roar of the engines.

The co-pilot hit a large red button at the end of the bulkhead, and almost immediately, the ramp started to rise, and the plane rolled into motion.

“Have a good one,” the co-pilot said. He passed them and walked into the cockpit, and closed the door behind him.

A minute later, the plane turned onto the runway that ran all the way from the Evans Bay in the north to the Cook Strait in the south. The turboprops geared further up, running the plane down the six-thousand-foot runway. The sound of the propellers cried through the cabin.

As the plane raised from the runway and the sound of the wheels resonating through the cabin dissipated, Hemi raised his head.

“Tipene,” Bishop addressed the Maori sitting next to him. “You don’t like flying?”

Hemi shook his head.

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