North Cape

In the long hours daring which the U.S.S. Robert F. Kennedy maneuvered off the Norwegian North Cape; the storm passed on to the northeast where it would gradually lose force as it began to curl north toward the polar icecap once more. As the storm center moved deeper into the Barents Sea toward Novaya Zemlya, the high winds in the vicinity of the Cape began to lose strength, until, an hour after Folsom and his party had landed, they were blowing at a steady forty knots. As the winds died, however, the snow fell thicker and thicker and the temperature dropped rapidly, bringing what Larkin had most feared — intense cold.. The waves, still roused by the passage of the fierce winds across two hundred miles of ocean from the southern edge of the Arctic ice pack, continued to run high, beating themselves to death in a final rush of breakers and white water, smashing away at the same cliffs that had defied them for millions of years. Folsom, marching along the top of the cliffs, could see the tremendous breakers rushing onto the thread of beach through the swirling snow. The cold had already deepened to twenty below zero and he had ordered the others to don face masks for pro-tection from frostbite. In spite of their Navy-issue Arctic gear, all three were numb to the bone. Fortunately, Folsom thought to himself, the cliffs above the narrow beach were fairly smooth. There were no deep crevices or caves into which the pilot could have crawled that would take them hours to search out.

The landing party stumbled across Teleman almost by accident thirty minutes later. Chief Petty Officer Beauregard McPherson found him still half crouched in a kneeling position facing the frozen radio. Folsom went to his knees beside the still figure, — ripping off one of his gloves to check for pulse. He found one, slow and fluttery, but a pulse. Another half hour, or even less, would have done it, he knew. Folsom stood up and looked around. Half a mile away he could make out the thin first line of trees through which Teleman had struggled to reach the cliffs. With the pilot half carried, half dragged between them they trotted toward the dubious shelter of the trees. They pushed their way deep into the snow-laden firs until the wind was hardly more than a fitful breeze eddying the falling snow into swirls of white. Even above the soft, steady roar of the, wind through the pine tops, they could hear the crash of the breakers against the cliffs. In less than five minutes they had the nylon mountain tent rigged and the heater going. Folsom quickly stripped the sodden flying clothes from Teleman and got him zipped into a chemically heated sleeping bag. Over this, be pulled still another sleeping bag. As the tent warmed quickly from the primus stove, Folsom anxiously watched the face of the unconscious pilot. The features had the pinched, waxy look that comes from the first stages of frostbite — or from death by freezing. Even though he had been sheltered by the rocks from the wind and if Larkin had been correct in his interpretation of the pilot's physical condition after a six-day mission, then the man was close to exhaustion. Hiking through these trees would only have worsened that condition, badly. Larkin had cautioned him about using any drugs on the pilot. There was no way for — them to know how his system would react to further drugs if he was deep into exhaustion. Folsom was helpless, then. There was nothing he could do except keep him warm and wait until he regained consciousness, and then get as much solid food into him as the pilot could take. His own body would. have to do all the work. Folsom was amazed that the human body could take such abuse and still manage to function.

After the self-supported tent was securely rigged and their gear squared away, Folsom dug the radio out of his pack and extended the aerial. When he threw the transmit switch, he heard a weird rumble of static and hissing that overpowered any transmissions for a moment. Then, suddenly it cleared.

Larkin was on the other end moments later and Folsom made his report, forgetting quickly about the unusual static.

He described the desperate state that Teleman was in and his fears that he might not regain consciousness even in the warmth of the tent. "Besides," he finished, "right now, I think that if we tried to move our man the trek back to the beach would, probably kill him. The temperature is dropping very fast up here."

Larkin's voice contained undertones of worry. "I agree that you ought to stay put until you see how he is. I should have known that the false rise in temperature would lead to an even deeper drop. Katabatic storms often end this way. You can probably expect the temperature to drop at, least another twenty degrees in the next twenty-four hours."

"Ye gods, another twenty degrees!" Folsom exclaimed.

"That's right… but at least it will bring an end to the winds." "Yeah, thanks for small favors," Folsom murmured.