"Cut the engines before the fuel lines freeze solid."
The pilot shouted the order over the deafening roar of the twin rotors.
The military transport ship rested heavy on the illuminated concrete pad of the bunker. The spinning blades whipped the falling snow into a blinding white vortex.
Captain Miller kicked open the armored cockpit door. He stepped out onto the roof.
He wore thick arctic survival gear lined with heavy thermal fleece. He was still shivering. The negative eighty degree crosswinds had chewed through the cockpit insulation for the last three hours.
Malcolm walked out of his rooftop access hatch.
He wore a plush cashmere sweater and soft tailored cotton slacks. He held a steaming silver thermos in his right hand. He did not wear a winter coat. The residual heat venting
