I nodded and stood as well. "Let's go."
The two rickety old deuce-and-a-half diesel trucks made enough noise to warn everyone for one hundred miles that we were approaching. Or at least I thought so ― evidently Yuri and his officers had a different opinion. They explained that the jungle muffled sounds, and that we could actually approach to within five miles of the camp without being detected. I doubted it, but kept my reservations to myself.
Too many unbelievable things had happened in the last week for me to start questioning Providence now.
The road was a one-lane rutted path through the jungle, occasionally blocked by fallen trees or other debris. We moved by starts and fits, stopping to clear the path and drag away dead carcasses when we couldn't go around them. After four hours, every bone in my body ached from the continual jolting. Evidently maintaining shock absorbers was not a priority in Ukrainian maintenance practices.
At the indicated point, the driver pulled to a stop, then maneuvered the truck into deep cover. The silence, after so many hours of angry, sputtering diesel noise, was almost overwhelming.
We each took a pack, a small one this time. I noted that the Ukrainians had no compunctions about having their officers carry their own gear, so I shouldered mine myself without comment. It contained a few days' field rations, some water, and a poncho and blanket.
"You know about the jungle now," Yuri said. He gazed thoughtfully at the expanse of trees and undergrowth around us. "It can be your friend ― or your enemy. Stay in the middle, and follow the man in front of you. I have assigned him responsibility for your safekeeping."
I looked at the man he indicated, and saw a broad, Slavic face, high cheekbones topping a surprisingly full mouth, and thin-lidded Asiatic eyes. His hair was coarse, dark, and straight, the same shade as his eyes. A scar disfigured his right cheek.
"He is a Cossack," Yuri continued. "If anybody can keep you alive in rough terrain, it is he."
The Cossacks ― I knew how much influence they'd gained inside the Ukrainian military establishment, and how instrumental they'd been in Russia's rise to power over the Soviet Union. Ukrainians, and in particular Cossacks, had always made up a large portion of the higher echelons of Soviet command, disproportionately so. If they had all returned to Ukraine following the dissolution, I suspected that Russia had another motive in tasking Ukraine with dissolving this problem. Simply put, the Cossacks were one of the most warlike and capable military forces anywhere around.
I could feel the Cossack studying me as well, and wondered what he was thinking. What did he see? A sunburned American, already looking ungainly and out of place in the jungle? Or a new ally, one that he would protect at all costs?
It made no difference, I finally decided. In the long run, we would either make it or we wouldn't. A new fatalism had settled over me since my visit to my father's prison camp.
"We go," Yuri said. He motioned to one grizzled veteran, who took point. We moved off in single file through the brush, making entirely too much noise at first, but then settled into quiet, almost silent progress through the trees.
I watched the man in front of me, marveling at how quietly and quickly he moved. He seemed to anticipate the feel of the ground under his feet, sensing hidden noise-making traps and rough spots before they even were visible. After a while, I began following in his footsteps ― quite literally, having already observed that his choice of path was invariably the best one.
We made good time over the relatively low-rolling hills, and soon Yuri stopped us for a quick, whispered conference. "There are guards from this point on," he explained quietly. He pointed at two of his men. "They will go on ahead ― clear the path." He gazed over at me with a concerned expression on his face. "You realize, if we have to use force to get close enough to observe, it will simply make time all the more critical for your decision. Once alerted, they will begin moving the site, perhaps to some location inside China. That would pose an entirely different set of political problems for both of us."
I nodded, acknowledging his concern. "You've gone to an awful lot of trouble, Commander Kursk," I said. "I'm not sure I agree completely with your reasoning, but I'll try to see that it doesn't go to waste. If what you've said is true, then it's in both of our best interests to put an end to this quickly."
Yuri nodded, apparently satisfied. I had promised him nothing, just a hard, honest look at the facts. He seemed convinced that once I understood what was truly at stake, I would do as he wished. The possibility of learning about my father was just an added bonus in the package.
We moved out low to the ground now, crouched and sometimes crawling, seeking the deepest cover the jungle had to offer. We snaked our way up another hill, now moving at virtually a crawl.
Suddenly, I heard noise off to my left. Two men, moving heavily through the brush, not taking any particular precautions against being observed.
A Chinese patrol? I realized that by asking that question to myself I had already acknowledged the probable truth of what Yuri had explained. Chinese had been the first word that flashed in my mind ― not Vietnamese.
I saw Yuri motion, and two men peeled away from the column toward the noise. Their guns were still slung across their backs, and each carried a large killing knife in his right hand. They disappeared from view quickly as the jungle absorbed them.
I could hear voices now, faintly discernible. I felt as though someone had slammed me in the gut, knocking all the air out of me.
I stood up, oblivious to the protest of the Cossack in front of me. "Stop ― they're American."
A shot rang out, and I heard a shrill yelp of pain. My blood ran cold.
"Damn it, Gator, I told you-" The voice broke off suddenly, but I recognized it.
"Bird Dog?" I shouted. "Damn it all, that can't be you!"
Sudden, deadly silence extended over the jungle. The Cossack soldier was at my side in an instant, his knife out now and gleaming in the sun. We had no language in common, but his intent was unmistakable. He'd arrived at the same conclusion I would have in his position ― that the odd American officer he'd been chaperoning through the jungle had betrayed them. That this was a trap, somehow arranged to lead the Ukrainian-Cossack contingent into a deadly, killing cross fire.
He was ready to die, I saw that in his face. But equally clear there was his grim determination that if he was going, so was I.
"Wait," I said, holding up my hands to show that they were bare. "You don't understand. Those are my people. Americans, yes?"
A look of uncertainty crossed his face. The blade did not waver. Nor did he look behind him. I could see Yuri approaching now, moving quickly and altogether too noisily through the brush. "They're Americans," I repeated. "My people ― I know that man."
Yuri hissed, clearly not believing me. I had to admit that it sounded pretty improbable myself. What were the odds that two Americans, and ones that I knew personally at that, would be in this very same spot in the jungle? Astronomical.
"It's Bird Dog Robinson and Gator Cummings," I said rapidly. "They were on my ship, they're F-14 pilots. Maybe they were shot down, something like that. I don't know why they're here, but I do know I recognize that voice."
Yuri was silent, assessing the possibilities. It was clear that he found my story as improbable as I did, but something in my face must have convinced him. Finally, he turned and muttered to the Cossack something low and unintelligible. The man nodded once, then slipped away quietly. Yuri turned back to me. "I told him to bring them to me," he said. He studied me, searching for any sign of uncertainty. "If they are who you say they are, then there will be more explanations. Immediately."
"I have not betrayed you," I said, as calmly as I could. "How could I have arranged this, do you think? We are not nearly as Byzantinely intricate on our plans as your people are. You know that already."