Pak directed them to the left, along the edge of a massive wall of ice that shot up into the sky, where the polar ice cap had ruptured itself against rock. He hoped they could continue bypassing such formations and make it to the coast on schedule. They’d already lost quite a bit of time hauling the sled.
“Let’s move,” he ordered. The five men staggered to their feet and placed themselves in the harness.
“I’m awfully thirsty down here, big brother.”
“Roger. I’ve got what you need.”
The Stratotanker KC-10 dwarfed the MC-130 Combat Talon as it jockeyed into position, closing in less than forty feet above and to the front of the smaller aircraft. In the rear of the tanker, seated in a glass bubble, the boom operator toyed with his controls, directing the drogue boom toward the refuel probe on the nose of the Combat Talon. As the cup fit, he flicked a button on his yoke, locking the seal.
“We’re in,” he spoke into his mike, verbally confirming what the pilot 120 feet in front in the cockpit could already see on his control panel. “Pumping.”
The two planes were at 25,000 feet, cruising at 350 miles per hour yet maintaining their relative positions with less than a two-foot variance at any moment. Jet fuel surged through the hose, filling up the almost dry tanks of the Combat Talon. The umbilical cord stayed in place for two minutes.
“I’m full down here, big brother.”
“Roger. That’ll be fourteen ninety-five.” The drogue separated and the KC-10 started gaining altitude, pulling away.
“Roger. Do you take checks?”
The Stratotanker banked hard right, turning back toward home. “Your credit is good. Good luck and good hunting.”
Riley worked the bolt of the Ml6, making sure it moved freely. He pushed the magazine release and caught the aluminum box as it fell out. He pushed down on the top bullet, making sure the spring was still functioning correctly, then he replaced the magazine and loaded a round into the chamber. Looking up, he noticed Sammy watching him, her eyes framed by the frosted edge of her hood.
“Do you think we’ll catch them?” she asked. He could see that she was shivering. That was bad — he thought he’d planned enough rests for them to make up for the loss of heat. It was hard for him to factor in the others’ needs with his desire to catch the Koreans.
Riley glanced over to where Devlin and Conner were wrapped together in a sleeping bag, trying to conserve their warmth, then he returned Sammy’s gaze. “Not unless we get lucky.”
“Then why do you want to go after them?” The words came out in puffs.
Riley laid the rifle across his knees. His face hurt from the cold and the skin on his cheeks felt like crinkled parchment as he spoke. “Several reasons. I didn’t see much sense in doing anything before. I figured we’d get out alive if we did nothing, and I also figured these guys would get caught. I was wrong on both counts: we’re lucky to be alive, and these people are getting away. That’s two mistakes, and I don’t want to go for number three.”
“But what can we do if we catch them?”
“I’ll figure that out when we get there,” Riley replied. He didn’t like to admit this, but it was the truth. He had no plan. “We have to catch them first,” he said, getting to his feet. “All right. Let’s move out.”
“We’re never going to catch them,” Devlin said, peering out from his bag. “I say we stay still — we’re losing too much energy walking.”
Riley held back his anger. “Listen. If you want to, you can head back to Eternity Base and camp out in the reactor room. Or you can head for the Russian base. Or you can stay here. I don’t care. You do whatever you want to.” He picked up his pack. ‘Time to move out.” Sammy stood and started putting her gear in her backpack.
Conner slid out of the sleeping bag, then spoke to Devlin. “We can’t split up now. It would be too dangerous. Come on, Devlin, let’s go. Please.”
“We should have gone after them at the base like I wanted to,” Devlin complained. “We’ll never catch them here. We need a break. We’ve been moving for over eight hours now.”
Riley started walking along the track, and Sammy moved with him. After twenty yards he looked over his shoulder. Conner was talking to Devlin, her head bent close to him. Riley went another twenty yards and looked again. They were following.
The two men walked down the underground corridor, the squeak of their shoes echoing off the cinder block walls. “I got everything out of Glaston,” the short man remarked. “He put the bomb on the C-130.”
“Why?”
“To keep the location secret, and for five hundred thousand dollars. His rationalization was that they were losing over fifty thousand men in Vietnam for no reason, so five more wouldn’t make much difference. He also killed the courier who accompanied the bombs down there — some SF guy who worked OPCON to Combat Control South, MACV-SOG. He says the SF guy didn’t know what was in the crates, but he couldn’t take a chance.”
“Shit,” was the tall man’s only comment. “Nothing more on Peter?”
“No.”
“Let’s do the old man again.” They stopped at a thick steel door.
“He’s a tough old bird. But if we give him another shot, he’ll be gone,” the short man warned. “His heart can’t handle it.”
The tall man’s face didn’t show the slightest sign of emotion. “We’ve had a nuclear detonation. We need the name. Give him another shot.” He opened the door and they walked in. General Woodson was seated in the same wheelchair they’d used to take him out of the hospital. His eyes peered up, unfocused, trying to see who had come in.
The short man shrugged — it wasn’t his responsibility. He walked over to the table and charged the needle.
The twin-engine plane skidded to a halt and the tractor rumbled up to it. The side door opened and a skinny man with long hair poking from beneath his parka hood hopped out and ran over to the driver of the tractor. The SNN support team had finally arrived.
“Hear anything from Atlanta?”
“Yeah. They say sit still.”
The man was incredulous. “We bust ass to get here and they want us to sit on our butts! What the fuck is going on?”
The driver of the tractor was just the messenger. “Damned if I know. Get your stuff on the wagon and I’ll get you all settled in.”
Chapter 27
Walking along with her head bowed, eyes following the trail, Sammy almost tripped over the tread. She looked up and saw the circle of debris from the tractor twenty yards ahead.
“What happened?” Conner asked. “Did they have an accident?”
“Looks like they threw a track,” Riley answered. “They must have destroyed the tractor. So they’re on foot now, pulling the bomb.”
“We might catch them then,” Sammy said, feeling a surge of adrenaline.
“Yes.” Riley didn’t even bother to look at the others. He walked past the wreckage and on the other side found footprints and the furrow formed by the sled that carried the bomb. He set out at an even quicker pace.
The staff was assembled for the daily 1000 briefing. The mood in the war room was deadly serious as the speaker approached the podium. General Patterson sat in the first row, facing the front. The G-2 was the lead briefer as always, and today he had a rapt audience.