CARRIER 6: COUNTDOWN By Keith Douglass

as strips from the canopy that he could use as bandages and padding. He

removed the AKM’s banana magazine, did his best to straighten out

Tomboy’s leg, then began tying the rifle above and below the break,

keeping her leg rigid from thigh to ankle. He tried just once to set

the bone, but he stopped when she screamed. Unable to see what he was

doing, and unwilling to damage her leg more than it already was, he

settled at last for simply immobilizing it, wrapping it in swaths of

parachute nylon.

After a while, Tomboy opened her eyes as he worked. “Hey, CAG.” Her

voice sounded dreamy now, and she smiled. “Is it true what some of the

girls are saying?”

“What’s that?”

“That some sailor snuck into our shower and took photographs of us in

there.”

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“All the girls are talking about it.”

How did news spread so swiftly through a ship’s company? Tombstone had

hoped the women would never find out about that episode. Obviously,

though, he’d not counted on the incredible speed and power of the

shipboard dissemination of rumor.

“It’s true.”

“Any in there of me? Heard there was.”

“Yes. One.”

“I must’ve … looked awful without my makeup.”

“Oh, from what I could see, you looked pretty good.”

“I’ll bet. Ha! So much for all those women’s issues sensitivity

sessions. You’re not supposed to notice things like that.”

“So much for privacy aboard ship. Even one as big as the Jeff.” He

straightened up. “How’s that feel?”

“It hurts like hell. CAG?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not going to get out of this, are we?”

“Sure we are. We’ve got our beacon out. They’ll hear us.”

“Yeah, but they can hear it too. You’d better take off without me.”

“Nope.”

“The Marine lines can’t be more than five or six miles north of here.

Damn it, Captain, why should both of us get caught? Why should you get

caught?”

“Why don’t you shut up? You women talk too much, you know that?”

“You bastard! Get out of here now, while you can.”

“And how effective a CAG would I be after that, knowing I’d run off and

left one of my men, half stoned on morphine and lying out here in the

mud?

What are you trying to do, Tomboy, ruin my career?”

She laughed, an involuntary snicker. Then the pain in her leg hit her

and she gasped. Biting her lip, she shook her head. “Tombstone, if you

don’t-”

“Hush!” Tombstone raised his pistol. He could hear the rumble of an

engine, nearby and growing closer. The source was masked by that low

mound of earth and snow to the north.

Slowly, Tombstone rose to his feet. “Something’s coming.”

Troops spilled over the crest of the rise, spreading out to either side.

It took Tombstone a shocked half-second to recognize the uniforms, to

put up his pistol.

“I’m Sergeant Bradley,” the lead Marine said. “You Navy guys pick the

God-damnedest places for LZs!”

“What?”

“You got yourself a shit-load of Russians heading this way, sir, but we

beat ’em out by about two minutes. Come on. We’ve got a hummer on the

other side of the ridge. We’ll take your pal here.”

Gathered up by the Marine recon patrol, Tombstone and Tomboy were

escorted back to a cluster of camouflaged vehicles waiting a few yards

beyond the ridge. Overhead, a trio of Tomcats boomed low across the

tundra, the sunlight flashing from their wings.

The reality of his and Tomboy’s rescue didn’t hit home until that

moment.

1443 hours

Kandalaksha Command Center

Kola Peninsula

Admiral Karelin never did find out that Pravda’s missile had not made it

clear of the launch tube. He’d heard the sub’s weapons officer shout

the word “fire,” but then he’d waited, and waited, listening for some

confirmation of launch, and heard nothing but static.

But the missile had to have gotten clear, had to have arrowed into the

sky over Polyamyy on its way to Chelyabinsk. The sub base had been

under attack, he knew that, and it was possible that the Pravda had been

hit within seconds of the launch, but nothing could stop an ICBM once it

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