"Okay. You got ideas, gentlemen, I want to hear them right away. Oh, yeah, I've called in for some help. Maybe we can get some air support."
Mike pulled back on the charging handle of his rifle to make sure a round was chambered, set it on safe, then put the M-16 down. The Marines had all the hand grenades. Edwards had never been taught how to use them, and they frightened him.
Come on, fellows, just go the hell away and we'll be glad to leave you alone. They kept coming. Each paratrooper climbed slowly, rifle in one hand and the other hand grabbing or fending off rocks. They spent their time evenly looking up toward Edwards and down at their footing. Mike was truly frightened. These Russians were elite soldiers. So were his Marines-but he was not. He didn't belong here. The other times he'd faced Russians, in Vigdis's house, the terrifying incident with the helicopter, all those were behind him and for the moment forgotten. He wanted to run away-but what if he did? He'd earned the respect of his Marines, and could he throw that away and still live with himself? What of Vigdis -could he run away in front of her? What are you most afraid of, Mike?
"Stay cool," he muttered to himself.
"What?" Vigdis asked. She too was afraid, just from seeing his face.
"Nothing." He tried to smile and half succeeded. You can't let her down, can you?
The Russians were now five hundred yards away and still well below them. Their approach became more cautious. There were six of them, and they moved two at a time, fanning out and no longer taking what looked to be the easy route to the top.
"Skipper, we got a problem," Smith called. "I think they know we're here."
"Nichols, I want to hear you."
"We wait until they get within one hundred yards, and for Christ's good sake, keep heads down! If you can get some support, I would suggest you do so."
Edwards switched radios. "Doghouse, this is Beagle, and we need some help here."
"We're working on that. We're trying to get-to get some friends to listen in on this frequency. It takes time, Lieutenant."
"I got about another five minutes-tops-before the shooting starts."
"Keep this channel open."
"Where are they? Edwards asked himself. He couldn't see anyone now. The rocks and cover that had so often worked for them were now working against them. He stopped bobbing his head up and down. He was the officer, he was in command, he had the best vantage point, and he had to see what was happening. Edwards moved slightly to get a decent view of the events below him.
"There is somebody there!" the platoon sergeant said, grabbing for the radio. "Markhovskiy, you're heading into a trap! I see a man with a helmet atop the hill."
"You're right," the lieutenant said. He turned. "Get the mortar set up!" The officer ran over to the big VHF radio and tried to raise Keflavik. Armed troops on this hill could only mean one thing-but Keflavik was still off the air.
Edwards saw one Russian rise up, then drop back down on a shout from someone else. When the shape reappeared, it was behind a rifle. He heard a whistling sound, then there was an explosion fifty yards away.
"Oh, shit!" Edwards fell to his face and cowered next to his rock. Bits of other rocks fell around him. He looked at Vigdis, who seemed all right, then over at the far peak, where men were racing downhill. Another mortar round fell to his right, and was followed by automatic-rifle fire. He grabbed his satellite radio.
"Doghouse, this is Beagle. We are under attack."
"Beagle, we are now in contact with a Navy carrier. Stand by." The ground shook again. The round fell less than thirty feet in front of his position, but he was well shielded. "Beagle, the Navy carrier is now on your frequency. Go ahead and transmit. Their call sign is Starbase, and they know where you are."
"Starbase, this is Beagle, over!"
"Roger, Beagle, we show your position five klicks west of hill 1064. Tell me what's happening."
"Starbase, we are under attack by a squad of Russian infantrymen, with reinforcements on the way. Their observation post on 1064 has a mortar and we're getting fire from that. We need help fast."
"Roger, copy, Beagle. Stand by... Beagle, be advised we're diverting some help your way, ETA two-five minutes. Can you mark your position?"
"Negative, we don't have anything to do it with."
"Roger, understand. Hang in there, Beagle. We'll be back. Out."
Edwards heard a scream to his left. He stuck his head up and saw mortar rounds falling near Nichols's position-and Russians less than a hundred yards to his front. Mike grabbed his rifle and sighted it on a moving shape, only to have it drop out of sight again. He picked his walkie-talkie up with his free hand.
"Nichols, Smith, this is Edwards, report in."
"Nichols here. Whoever has that mortar knows what he's about. I have two wounded men here."
"We're okay, skipper. We seen two Russians go down hard. I sent Garcia to cover you."
"Okay, guys, we have air cover on the way in. I-" The shape came up again. Edwards dropped the radio, aimed his rifle, and fired three rounds, missing the shape that dodged out of sight. Back to the radio. "Nichols, you need help?"
"Two of us can still shoot. I'm afraid your Rodgers is dead. There-" The radio went dead for a moment. "All right, all right. We killed one, and the other is backing away. Look out, Leftenant, there are two fifty yards to your left front."
Mike looked around his rock and got shot at for his trouble. He shot back without hitting anything.
"Hi, skipper!" Garcia crashed down next to him.
"Two bad guys, that way." Edwards pointed. The private nodded and moved left behind cover of the hill crest. He got thirty feet when another mortar round exploded four strides behind him. The private fell hard and didn't move.
It's not fair, it's not fair. I got them this far, and it's not fair!
"Smith, Garcia's down. Get back up here. Nichols, if you can get to my position, move!" He switched radios. "Starbase, this is Beagle. Tell your birds to hurry."
"Two-zero minutes out, Beagle. Four A-7s. We have some other help coming, but they'll get to you first."
Edwards took his rifle and moved over to Garcia. The private was still breathing, but his back and legs were peppered with fragments. The lieutenant crawled to the crest and saw a Russian crouched thirty feet away. He aimed his rifle and fired two bursts. The Russian went down, firing his own weapon in a wide arc that missed Edwards by a scant yard. Where was the other one? Mike stuck his head up and saw something the size of a baseball flying through the air. He scrambled backwards as the grenade went off ten feet from where he'd been. Mike rolled to his right and went back uphill.
The Russian had disappeared again, but Edwards saw the others had reached the foot of his hill on a dead run and were starting up to his position. He strained to look and keep his head down at the same time. The other one-there! He was clambering down the hill, apparently dragging a wounded man with him. Mortar fire started to drop behind him, covering the man's retreat.
"You okay, Lieutenant?" It was Smith. He was wounded in the arm. "Whoever's working that Goddamned mortar must be the Russian Davy Crockett!"
Nichols arrived three minutes later. He was unhurt, but the Royal Marine private with him was bleeding from the abdomen. Edwards looked at his watch.
"We got air support coming in about ten minutes. If we stay here at the top in one place, they can drop all around us."
The men took position within fifty feet of Edwards. Mike grabbed Vigdis by the arm and set her between two boulders.