The open area was several hundred feet across, large enough for the wind to have full play. As a result the surface toward the center was a smooth expanse of unbroken snow, while the southern end was drifted high. He thrashed out into the glade, making as deep a trail as he could. At the first line of drifts he threw himself down and kicked and thrashed for a moment, then stood up to survey his work. Even at the rate the snow was drifting this would remain for at least an hour. Satisfied, he carefully retraced his steps back to the trees on the same side of the clearing that he had entered and backtracked for several yards. A low-hanging branch gave him the opportunity to swing up and out of his trail and head deeper into the forest at a wide angle from the track he had made going in. Certain that he had both sidetracked the Russians and done as much damage as he could for now, McPherson trotted to the edge of the forest and, once out into the open, made for the edge of the cliffs and the comparatively easy going of the wind-swept rock. A couple of hours spent floundering around in the deep snow and woods should tire the Russians enough to delay them by at least four to six hours. Smiling happily to himself, he ran steadily on.
CHAPTER 17
When Teleman awoke for the second time, the period of disorientation was immeasurably shorter. In fact, after the dimly remembered cold and wind on the cliffs, the stark, blue walls of the tent, with the litter of survival gear and Arctic clothing, seemed almost comforting. Across the tent, cleaning one of the carbines, knelt the man who had introduced himself as the ship’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Peter Folsom. A second sailor, the one who had been asleep next to him before, worked over a pair of makeshift snowshoes. He was a small, almost rat-faced’ young man, Teleman thought, and he was instantly sorry for the comparison:. He hated snap judgments, but was forever making them and usually regretting it later. Teleman grimaced and shifted his head for a better look. Unconscious of the scrutiny, the other worked on, face screwed up in his effort to twist the webbing strings of the netting tighter over the frame. He had a pile of dishwater blond hair that could only be described as unruly, trite though the description was. It was his hands that Teleman noted almost at once. They had long, tapering fingers, but unlike most thin hands these were at once powerful-and sensitive. The sailor looked up from his work and a pleased smile crossed his face.
“Hey, boss, I think our partner in crime is awake.” Folsom looked away from the rifle and grinned as well. “So he is. How are you feeling this time around?”
Teleman pushed a hand out of the sleeping bag and rubbed his forehead. “Other than the damnedest headache you ever heard of, all right, I guess.”
“Feel like you’re up to some traveling?”
“Traveling!” Teleman struggled into a sitting position. The effort left him dizzy and weak. Folsom got up swiftly and crossed the tent, grabbing up a pack as he came. He helped Teleman to sit up and shoved the pack behind his back for support. In the sitting position, Teleman could see that the sailor he had been introduced to earlier, McPherson, was now against the other wall, wrapped in a sleeping bag.
“What about this traveling? Out to the ship, maybe?” The grin disappeared from Folsom’s face to be replaced with a worried frown. “I’m afraid not. The seas are too rough to launch the helicopter and our lifeboat got smashed up as we came in. Now the waves are too high to launch another with even a hope of reaching the beach in one piece. So it seems we are pretty well cut off from the ship.” Teleman absorbed this for a moment “Then what’s the next step?”
“That’s where the traveling comes in. There is a Norwegian-NATO naval air base about twenty-five miles down the coast. We are going to have to head for it.”
“You mean we have to walk twenty-five miles?” Teleman was astounded. He doubted right now if he could walk twenty-five steps, let alone twenty-five miles, and said so. Folsom gave him a wan smile. “I know how you feel, or at least I think I do. I am not so sure that any of us can do it. The weather out there is like nothing you have ever seen before, worse even than when you landed yesterday.”
The executive officer smiled at the surprise on Teleman’s face. “Yeah, early yesterday in fact. You’ve been out for the twenty-four hours since we found you.”
“Good God, I had no idea…”
“Don’t feel bad about it. You were in pretty rough shape when we picked you up. Another few minutes out there and we would have had to chip you out of a block of ice.” Folsom turned. “Julie, wake Mac up. We got some talking to do, then we had better make tracks.”
Folsom stretched across the mound of gear and pulled another pack to him. While McPherson went through the motions of waking up, Folsom rummaged through the contents of the pack and came out with a zippered, waterproof plastic map case. He selected one and spread it out next to Teleman’s sleeping bag while. the other two gathered around. McPherson crawled up on his knees, scratching his heavy black beard. He smiled shyly again at Teleman and stuck out a hand. “Glad to see you awake again, sir.”
“This joker here,” Folsom said, indicating the other sailor, “the one you haven’t been formally introduced to, is Chief Warrant Officer Julian Gadsen. He’s another free-loader. His specialty is driving the captain’s launch — and eating.” Gadsen chuckled and reached a band through the maze of shoulders and shook Teleman’s hand. Teleman discovered that at least part of his first impression had been right. Gadsen’ s hands were indeed strong. Obviously Gadsen was something other than what Folsom suggested — a seagoing taxi driver.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before because you dropped off to sleep again, but we’re all three from the U.S.S. Robert F. Kennedy.”
Immediately, Teleman glanced sharply at Folsom.
“Now wait,” Folsom said, “I’m aware of what’s going on. These two aren’t, but. at this point in the situation we are all in, you don’t have to worry. Both are cleared about as high as you can go. You have to be to get assigned to the RFK.” Teleman thought about it a moment. “Okay,” he said tightly, “maybe you are right for now. I’m in no position to bargain at the moment. But let’s just stay away from that area right now.”
Folsom nodded. He could see that Gadsen and McPherson were doing their best to maintain noncommittal smiles. He knew that security procedures do funny things to people, particularly when they are not privy to the secrets being discussed. Innuendoes or oblique references always create hostilities no matter how much you realize the need for security and secrecy in military or defense affairs. He only hoped that Teleman wasn’t going to turn out to be a son of a bitch on such a minor matter — at least at the moment. Teleman was well aware of what Folsom was thinking. He could see by the withdrawn expressions that maybe he had overstepped a little. He was about to say something to ease the situation when the thought suddenly occurred to him that he really did not know who these people were. The idea that they could be. Soviet agents acting out a part was half rejected in his mind as being overly dramatic, when angrily he pushed the modifying thought down.
It was not too farfetched. It was not any more farfetched than his flying a supersecret aircraft at one to two hundred thousand feet over the continent of Asia for five and six days at a time, or that they should shoot him down and on, of all places, the North Cape of Norway. He studied the three men gathered around him and for a moment found himself ready to listen for traces of a Russian accent. That did it. He burst out laughing. The three sailors were taken by surprise. “Now what the hell are you laughing about?” Gadsen demanded.