Chapter Three: Remnants of the Past
It began at dawn, just a tremor at first, like a murmur from the earth itself. Still groggy, I thought it was nothing more than the usual racket from the wideawake terns, whose shrill cries were a constant fixture on this godforsaken rock. But then the ground gave a jolt, and I felt the bed of volcanic grit beneath me shudder in response.
"What in the blazes…" Roberts mumbled, rolling out of his bunk with a scowl as he looked around, bewildered.
Martinez strode into the barracks with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, his face set in that typical stony expression but with a keen watchfulness about him. "All right, lads, on your feet," he barked, clapping his hands. "Ascension's doing her morning calisthenics, it seems. Let's be on alert, but don't go turning into a bunch of lily-livered mooncalves over it."
The tremors subsided just as quickly as they'd come, but the barracks fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the persistent wails of the wideawake terns outside. It seemed even the birds were agitated, their screeching climbing to an unnatural pitch as they swooped and swirled overhead in corybantic frenzy.
Roberts rubbed his eyes, muttering to me, "You don't think the old mountain's about to blow, do you?"
I pulled on my boots, trying to appear more unperturbed than I felt. Ascension Island had been dormant for centuries, but there was an irksome, ancient feel to the island this morning, as if we were intruding on something that predated our flimsy efforts to make war on this rock. "Most likely just a hiccup," I replied, hoping I sounded convincing. "We'll be fine."
But Roberts didn't look reassured. "Fine, sure. Tell that to the Pompeii lot," he said with a crooked grin, but his voice had a nervous edge.
Martinez overheard and shot him a look. "We're not dealing with Mount Vesuvius here, you yegg," he grunted, lighting another cigarette with the nonchalance of a man who'd seen his share of mayhem. "Ascension's just stretching her bones. Nothing to be done about it but get on with the day."
Outside, the early sun was casting a warm, golden light over the island, though the air felt somehow heavier, charged. Even the familiar screeches of the wideawakes, swirling above in chaotic flocks, seemed to have taken on a more dissonant note. The terns wheeled low over the base, casting fleeting shadows across the barracks and runway, their calls filling the air like a battle cry.
As we reached the airfield, Major Harrison stood near his radio, gaze fixed on the distant mountain. His face betrayed nothing, his expression as solid as the black volcanic rock beneath our feet.
Roberts cleared his throat, trying for his usual humor. "Major, this place isn't about to pop its cork, is it?"
The Major gave him an arched brow. "She's held her peace longer than any of us have been around, and I've no reason to think she'll change her mind today. Ascension's seen her share of squalls, shudders, and the occasional sputter, but I doubt she'll be offering us a full eruption. Still," he added with a wry smirk, "you boys would do well to keep your boots laced and your heads clear."
I wasn't sure if he meant it as reassurance or a challenge, but there was something sobering about it. Here we were, caretakers of a volcanic relic, and if Ascension decided to remind us of her origins, we were little more than spectators.
As the day wore on, the tremors persisted, subtle as a cat's tread but noticeable enough to keep everyone on edge. I could feel each one reverberate through the ground as if the island were trying to communicate in some primordial language. The wideawake terns grew more frantic, circling low and close, their screeches slicing through the heavy air like accusations.
Around midday, another rumble swept through the base, more robust this time, accompanied by a low, grumbling noise that sounded as though it came from the bowels of the earth. A plume of steam rose briefly from the mountain's peak, curling up into the sky like a ghostly specter before dissipating in the wind. It was a mere whisper of vapor, but it sent a chill up my spine.
"By God's teeth," muttered Martinez, squinting at the plume. "The old girl's huffing and puffing this morning."
Roberts swallowed, his eyes fixed on the mountain. "Do you think she's giving us a sign? Some kind of ancient warning?"
Martinez let out a low chuckle. "Listen to you – it's a mountain, Roberts, not some mystical oracle. Save the poetry for the poets." But even he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting back to the peak.
We carried on with our routines, though everyone kept one eye on the mountain as the day wore on. The tremors came and went, each one a quiet, unsettling reminder that the island wasn't as stable as it appeared. I found myself glancing at the ground every so often, as if expecting it to open up beneath my feet.
That night, after our patrol, I lingered by the runway, watching the mountain in the moonlight. Its silhouette was as sharp and foreboding as a blade, with only the faintest trickle of steam drifting from its summit. It was quiet now, almost too quiet, and I felt a peculiar sense of awe, as if the mountain were some ancient monarch keeping a vigil over us.
Roberts joined me, looking up at the mountain with a kind of reverence. "You know, there's something humbling about it, isn't there?" he said, voice softer than usual. "Like it's seen every war, every empire come and go, and here we are, just a blip on its radar."
I nodded, feeling a similar sense of insignificance. "We think we're holding down the fort, but in the end, we're just passing through. If Ascension decides to kick us off, we're done."
He gave a half-hearted grin. "Hey, if the old girl does erupt, at least we'll finally get some peace from those damn wideawakes. That's one silver lining, right?"
We shared a laugh, though it felt hollow. For all our bravado, an unease hung between us, heavy as the humid air.
Over the next few days, the tremors gradually waned, each one less intense than the last until they vanished altogether. The steam at the mountain's summit became more sporadic, finally disappearing entirely. The island seemed to return to its usual self, though the memory of those unsettled days lingered like the scent of smoke after a fire.
As the days went by, life on base resumed its typical rhythm, and everyone seemed to breathe a little easier. But there was a subtle shift in the air, a quiet respect that hadn't been there before. We went back to our patrols, our nights filled with the incessant cries of the wideawakes and the distant hum of engines as supply planes came and went. Yet, there was an awareness among us now, a collective understanding that Ascension was more than just our duty station.
The island had accepted us, but it had reminded us, too, that we were here at its mercy. Every rock, every gust of volcanic air seemed to echo that reminder, and every so often, I'd catch myself glancing up at the mountain, half-expecting to see another plume of steam or feel the ground shift beneath my feet.
One evening, as we finished our watch, Roberts clapped a hand on my shoulder, grinning with his usual cheer. "Well, Kansas, looks like the island's letting us stay – for now. Guess we've passed her test."
I chuckled, nodding. "Yeah. Let's hope she's done with her surprises."
We stood in silence for a moment, watching the island settle into the quiet of the night. The wideawakes wheeled above us, the sea stretched out, dark and infinite. And for all of Ascension's quirks, its occasional whims and warnings, there was something oddly reassuring in the knowledge that, for now, it had allowed us to remain. We were its keepers, its humble caretakers, stationed here on the edge of nowhere—until the island chose otherwise.