Sikes regained consciousness slowly, driven out of the inky blackness by the sharp red flashes reverberating in his head. He groaned as the flashes turned into sharp pain. He moved feebly, trying to paw off the hand on his shoulder that was causing it.
“Go away,” he mumbled. Damn, what was the matter — couldn’t they let him sleep? Suddenly, he recalled where he was and what had happened. He forced his eyes open, almost blinded by the sparks that flew across his vision.
Slowly, the dark blur above him sharpened into the concerned face of White Wolf. How could I ever have thought him expressionless? Sikes wondered briefly, then was distracted by the pounding pain in his head. He groaned again, unable to suppress it.
“At least you’re alive,” White Wolf said softly. He glanced around at something in the distance. “They smashed you on the back of the head. I wasn’t sure whether-“
Sikes tried to shake his head and winced at the effort. “Talking,” he croaked, barely able to force the words past his throat.
“They don’t seem to mind it right now, for some reason. Here they come.”
Sikes heard the soft crunch of boots on ice, and two arctic pieces of footwear loomed into view. “Sit him up,” a voice ordered harshly.
“I’m okay,” Sikes protested weakly. He felt hands under his shoulders, grabbing his parka, pulling him into a sitting position.
“Drink,” the voice continued. A hand thrust a mug in front of his face. Sikes reached for it, all too aware of the trembling in his hands.
To his surprise, he found that the outside of the mug was hot. A tantalizing aroma reached his nostrils. Coffee, he noted. Suddenly, that sounded like a very good idea.
“Well, we’re still alive. For what that’s worth,” he said finally.
CHAPTER 12
“You’re sure about this?” Tombstone shouted, raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony on the flight deck.
Batman grinned. “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything, Stoney. This mission ain’t got a chance in hell unless I fly lead on it. You know that. Besides, I’ve got that hotheaded Bird Dog up there to watch out for. He and Gator have more time circling this piece of ice than any other crew on the boat. I’ll get them in, they’ll dump some ordnance, and we’ll all be back on board in time for midrats. Hell, I’d go it alone if my bird could carry enough two-thousand-pounders alone.” He shook his head ruefully. “But in this weather, with a Bear-J in the vicinity, you gotta have some self-protection.”
Outside the handler’s compartment, the JAST bird and Tomcat 201 were waiting. Both aircraft carried two two-thousand-pound bombs, along with Sidewinders and Sparrows for air combat. According to the SEALs’ mission plan, four bombs were necessary to ensure the desired kill factor on the mission.
“Well.” Tombstone paused at the hatch leading out onto the flight deck from the handler’s compartment and stuck out his hand. “Luck. You’ll need it, an old shit like you pulling this kind of stunt.”
Batman grabbed his old wingman’s hand in a strong, two-handed grip. “Luck always helps, but I’ll settle for some damned fine avionics instead. That I know I’ve got. And the best damned RIO in the Navy.” He jerked his chin toward the short naval flight officer behind him.
“Yes.” Tombstone gazed down at Tomboy, once again aware of how petite she was. If he hadn’t had firsthand experience with her ability as a RIO — and, he admitted, an even closer look at the strength in her body — he might have tried to talk Batman into taking another RIO along for this one. If, he added, he’d somehow found the courage to face the enraged Tomboy.
“Good hunting to you, too, Lieutenant Commander Flynn,” he said formally. He let his eyes show the warmth he purposely kept out of his voice. “You kick ass up there, okay?”
“That and more, Admiral,” she answered, her voice steady and her chin up. “I’ll get Admiral Wayne back in one piece, I promise.”
“See that you do. D.C. is going to be shitting bricks if they have to give me another at-sea command.” Tombstone held out his hand, letting his fingers slide over hers as she did the same. He tugged gently, and she swayed almost imperceptibly toward him. “And hurry back,” he said softly, pitching his voice so that only she could hear it.
She nodded briskly. “I intend to.” She turned and followed Batman out to their aircraft.
And let the Handler try to make something out of that, Tombstone thought, watching the two of them walk away. As fast as rumor control worked on the ship, the story would have worked its way into a passionate orgy in the handler’s office before the JAST bird returned from its mission, if he’d given it the slightest reason to.
White Wolf’s grandson studied the sky. The gods were cooperating, it appeared. Low, scudding clouds rolled in from the north, ominously low to the wind-lashed sea. At the horizon, the clouds and the sea were the same color, a dull, white-gray, featureless wall. Soon, he knew, the storm would blow in, driving visibility to barely two feet. They had to be off the cliffs by then, or the entire plan would have to be scuttled.
Or worse, he thought grimly. The small group had no way of communicating with the aircraft inbound from the American ship. If the fighter-bomber pilot thought he could complete the mission, he would, assuming that all of the ground forces had cleared the area in accordance with the plan. He’d never really see the small band of Inuits and SEALs trapped on the cliffs in the whiteout.
All the more reason to get to it, and get to it quickly. He turned and motioned Senior Chief Huerta up to the front of the line.
“Here,” he said, pointing at a deep rift in the jagged ice. “A fracture line.”
The SEAL studied the narrow chasm thoughtfully. “Might could do it with explosives,” he suggested.
The Inuit shook his head. “We’d get a surface shear. Sure, a lot of debris would rain down, but that’s not nearly what we’re aiming for. Is it?” It was his turn to study the other man carefully.
The two of them were about the same age, which should have given them a good deal in common. And it did, the Alaskan native decided, although he didn’t know if the other man would understand that. Family, phases of life, the way they coped with their harsh environment — while the SEAL may have seen more of the world than the island-bound native, the harsh realities of the sea and ice were the same for both. No amount of training, experience, or philosophy could change that.
“No, we need more force,” he continued. He pointed down at the slope in front of him. “See that? I want the forward thirty feet of this cliff to shear off.”
“Okay, You’re the expert around here.” Huerta trudged back to his knapsack, motioning his men around him. Together, they carefully unpacked the array of sophisticated targeting laser devices they were carrying.
They fanned out around the area, each one carrying one of the precious target designators. Ten minutes later, all four devices were pointed in different locations, each one throwing a red spot on the edge of the rift.
The SEALs rejoined the natives, and both took a moment to proudly survey their handiwork. “They’ll be dropping dumb bombs, but these laser pointers will give them a damned clear landmark.” He gestured at the spires and jagged outcroppings of rock around them. “Without this, all this terrain looks too much alike. Hell, the target point isn’t even visible until you break out over that last ridge.”