drain away from his face. Cold, so cold–if the Spetsnaz had any sense,
they would have taken his arctic gear from him immediately, he decided.
Trying to survive for even five minutes outside in this would be
impossible.
The interpreter shoved him, directing him over to the right of the
entrance and behind a large rock. Even in the frigid air, Sikes could
smell the distinctive odor of a latrine. With two guards on either side,
he and the old native stepped toward the rock, then took aim at the icy
formation. Yellow stains and spatters already marred its surface, evidence
of their predecessors, and an answer to the question of whether or not warm
urine would melt arctic ice. Clearly, it wouldn’t, freezing on contact
instead.
Sikes tried to assume a nonchalant air as he prepared to pee. He
gasped as he unzipped his jumpsuit and felt his balls shrivel up. Out of
the corner of his eye, he saw White Wolf give a wry grin. Evidently, the
older man knew what to expect.
The noise of the helicopter suddenly changed pitch, reaching up toward
the higher spectrum of its octave. Sikes glanced up with his eyes, careful
to keep his head straight forward and focused on the business at hand. Up
doppler, an indication that the helicopter had changed course and was now
approaching them once again.
The Spetsnaz heard it, also. One of them motioned sharply to the
interpreter, who barked, “No! Enough–back inside.” He grabbed Sikes by
the shoulder and started to drag him toward the cave.
Sikes’s right arm curled around and behind the other man’s arm, coming
up to brace his forearm under the interpreter’s elbow. Sikes lifted up
sharply and felt the joint crack. The interpreter screamed and fell to his
knees. As the sound of the helicopter deepened, obscuring every other
noise in the area, he saw the Spetsnaz commander’s lips move, but couldn’t
hear the order given. There were only a few seconds remaining.
Desperately, he stared up at the helicopter, waved his hands, and then
resorted to the only uniquely American gesture that came to mind.
As two Spetsnaz closed in on either side, weapons at the ready, Sikes
raised one arm, his middle finger protruding from a clenched fist. If
nothing else, at least they would know he was American. He was able to
hold the gesture for only a few seconds. Suddenly, something hard crashed
into the back of his skull. He blacked out immediately, and was
unconscious before he hit the ice.
1437 Local
Seahawk 601
“Jesus,” the copilot said. He stared back at the figure, too
astounded to feel the reflexive anger the gesture ordinarily invoked in
him. “Hell, Brian,” he said, aware that his voice sounded distant. “One
of them damned invaders just flipped me off.”
“What do you mean?” Brian replied, concentrating on maintaining safe
altitude and level flight in the offshore burble of air. “You got the
middle finger?”
“Yeah.” The copilot frowned, trying to remember his college days’
tour of Russia. “Only thing is, that gesture doesn’t mean the same thing
in Russia that it does in the U.S. Now why would–oh, hell!”
“Get on the horn to Mother,” the pilot said, his voice hard. “Tell
them that we just got a confirmation that our missing SEAL is alive.”
1506 Local
USS Jefferson
“We have to get him out of there,” Huerta said. The senior chief
petty officer had no compunctions about standing up to anyone, including
admirals, when it came to the safety of a fellow SEAL. “We don’t leave our
people behind. Not ever.”
Batman rubbed a hand over his eyes wearily. How long had it been
since he’d slept? “Of course we need to get him out,” he said, trying to
concentrate. “Now that we know he’s alive.”
The old, grizzled SEAL shook his head. “Doesn’t matter to us either
way, Admiral,” he said neutrally. “Dead or alive, we never leave a
shipmate behind. Never.”
Batman looked up, saw the cold determination on the man’s face, and
felt the beginning of hope. “Tough odds. According to all the reports,
there’s thirty to fifty men on that island.”
“You might be better off just leaving the planning to us, Admiral,”