“No sign of activity,” Sikes shouted, struggling to be heard over the
noise of the sea and the wind in the boat. “May be a false alarm.”
The chief shook his head. “Doubtful. I don’t know, sir, but there
usually aren’t too many of those. Not if they’re sending us in.”
Sikes nodded and gave up. It was all he could do to hold on to his
lunch in the boat, and a lengthy political discussion was out of the
question.
Ahead, the island jutted out of the sea like a fortress. The West end
was relatively flat, climbing sharply into jagged peaks and spires. He
studied the landscape, wondering if they’d brought enough pitons and line.
Climbing up that icy moonscape would challenge every bit of their physical
reserves. And the danger; he considered it grimly. Intruders–if indeed
there were any on the island–could be hiding behind any spire, waiting
silently for the SEALs to make their approach. The tactical advantage
would be theirs. The only way to achieve any degree of tactical surprise
would be to airlift in with a helicopter, and even that would be
problematic. First, the noise of the helicopter would alert their prey,
and second, even the most reliable aircraft developed odd quirks and
problems in the frigid environment. No, he decided, on balance it was
better that they go in by boat, even with the problems that patrolling the
jagged cliffs presented.
Fifty feet off the coast, now blindingly reflective under the
afternoon sun, Carter slowed the boat to twenty knots. He turned broadside
to the island, carefully making his way toward the westernmost tip. The
plan was to begin their sweep there, working slowly toward the cliffs,
postponing the decision to climb until they were closer in. If nothing
else, it would give them time to adjust to the realities of arctic
patrolling.
Five minutes later, the fast boat edged up to the ice, the SEAL
stationed in the bow carefully surveying the water beneath her hull for
obstructions. When the bow bumped gently against the shore, he jumped out,
pulling the bowline behind him. Two other SEALs followed. As the first
order of business, they drove a piton into the hard-packed ice to provide a
mooring point for the boat. One of them would stay behind and stand guard
while the other four executed the patrol in pairs of two.
Sikes was the last one out of the boat. After the gale-force winds
that traveling at eighty knots generated, the almost calm air felt warmer.
An illusion, he knew. Unprotected, skin and tissue would freeze within a
matter of seconds. He checked the lookout SEAL carefully, making sure his
gear was in order, then pirouetted 360 degrees while the other man returned
the favor. Satisfied that they were as well equipped against the
environment as they could be, Sikes made a sharp hand motion. Without a
word, one SEAL joined on him, while the fifth SEAL and Huerta stepped away
together. With one last sharp nod to the lookout, Sikes pointed northeast.
They took off at a steady, energy-conserving walk.
The ice under his feet was rough, the surface edged in tiny nooks and
crannies from the ever-constant wind. A light dusting of snow blew along
the surface, swirling around their ankles and obscuring the uneven surface.
Still, he reflected, it was better than winter ice in the States, where
intermittent warming and refreezing turned the surface slick as glass.
Here, at least there was enough traction to walk. Just as well, since he
couldn’t see the ice beneath his feet for the blowing snow. His partner
moved forward and took point. Sikes followed five yards behind, carefully
surveying the landscape. After a few moments, it became apparent there was
not much to see. The land was featureless, except for the jagged peaks
ahead of them, and any traces of human habitation had been swept away by
the wind. He glanced to the north, where he could barely make out the
figures of the other two SEALS.
The wind picked up slightly, and he noticed the difference. It crept
around the edges of his face mask, trying to find some purchase in the