they were both light years ahead of their superiors.
The radio was squawking, as Jefferson demanded to know why the Seahawk
was so close to the island. Every thirty seconds, the voice changed, as
junior enlisted man was replaced by chief petty officer, and finally the
tactical action officer. The next step, they both knew, would be someone
on the admiral’s staff.
“Easier to ask forgiveness than permission,” the copilot said
steadily. He reached over and flipped down the volume control on the
radio.
The pilot brought the helicopter gently out of her orbit, turning her
toward the island. Whatever there was to see would best be observed from
directly overhead.
“They say the ‘Never Exceed’ speed on these babies is a hundred and
eighty knots at sea level,” the copilot said musingly. “What do you
think?”
The pilot shoved the throttles forward to full military power. “I
think in about five minutes we’re going to try to break that record. And
damned if I wouldn’t kill for some afterburners about now.”
1436 Local
Aflu
“Hey,” Sikes said loudly. “I need to go to the head–the can, the
bathroom, whatever you guys call it.”
The Spetsnaz, now clustered around the entrance to the ice cave,
ignored him. The door opened, and two more came in, and the sound of the
helicopter reached Sikes plainly. His hopes rose. If he could just
signal. “HEY!” he shouted. Finally, the man designated to serve as the
interpreter walked over to him, annoyance plain on his face.
“Shut up.”
“I have to go to the head,” Sikes said, trying to work a pleading note
into his voice. He crossed his legs, and crouched slightly. “Jesus, you
guys have had us in here for hours. If I don’t get some relief soon, I’m
gonna piss all over your floor. Just think what it would be like, trying
to sleep in here with that smell. I don’t want that any more than you do.
And it could get worse.” He stopped, wondering if the interpreter would
know the word for diarrhea.
Disgust spread across the other man’s face. He studied Sikes
carefully, then glanced down at White Wolf. “Him, too?” he said harshly.
White Wolf nodded.
The interpreter shot a frustrated look back toward the door, and then
turned away abruptly. He walked over to the commander and said something
too low for Sikes to understand. Finally, an unhappy look on his face, he
came back over to them. “Later. As soon as-” his voice broke off as he
glanced back at his superior.
“Okay, man,” Sikes said. “You asked for it.” He unzipped his parka,
then reached for the zipper at the bottom of the front of his jumpsuit.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The commander, Sikes saw, was now staring at them. Sikes thought he
saw surprise and dismay flick across the man’s face, then decided it might
be as illusory as the first traces of the helicopter he heard. The
commander snapped out a harsh, short sentence. Sikes recognized only the
profanity.
“No,” the interpreter said hastily. “Putt that away.” He pointed at
Sikes’s offending member. “We go outside,” he concluded, then followed
with a short string of obscenities in Russian regarding Sikes’s ancestry
and early toilet training habits. Four Spetsnaz commandos came over and
joined them, circling them.
An honor guard, Sikes thought, almost amused. For a brief second, he
wondered if he would be able to take a leak with so many strangers
watching. Back in his early days of BUDS training, he found to his
surprise that he suffered a mild degree of bladder shyness. The old native
rose to his feet, his joints creaking audibly as he unfolded. He stepped
toward Sikes, barely brushing past the first commando.
The small entourage moved toward the door. Sikes could hear the noise
of the helicopter fading away, indicating that it had already made its
closest point of approach. A feeling of desperation flooded him,
increasing the pressure on his bladder. If they left too soon–no, don’t
think about it. He would just have to pray somebody was watching.
As they stepped back out into the frigid air, Sikes felt the blood