there. We might make do with the compass, but I wouldn’t want to take the
chance. Not unless we really have to.”
“Well, as long as our playmates don’t know we’re here, we won’t have
to take that chance. I haven’t seen them make a patrol on this side of the
island once.”
“Then we settle in to wait. An hour, maybe two, when the weather
breaks-” He let the sentence trail off. Whiteouts had been known to last
for days, holding every man, woman, and child trapped inside the camp.
While some of the tribe possessed an uncanny sense of direction, and could
find their way back to camp no matter what the weather conditions, Morning
Eagle was not one of those. He respected the power of the weather, and
chose to live with it rather than against it.
“We wait,” Huerta echoed. The two teams of men, so alike and so
different, quickly combined their gear and began building a small camp that
would keep them alive.
Until the weather clears, Morning Eagle thought.
“How certain are you that they’ll come to investigate the cliff,
anyway?” he asked the SEAL.
The chief shrugged, then grinned. “Not certain. But it’s what I’d
do.”
“Why?”
“While the fellows were busy setting up the designators, I took a
little stroll over to the edge of the cliff. If you’d been watching, you
would have seen me leave a little present there for our friends.”
“A present?” Morning Eagle was momentarily confused. “What kind of
present?”
“Nothing complicated. Just an all-frequency static transmitter.
Remote controlled, it is.” He fished into his parka jacket and pulled out
a small set of controls. “All I have to do is toggle this switch, and that
little bitch starts sending a jamming signal on every frequency these guys
are likely to be using. The first thing they’ll notice it on is their
hand-held radios. And if I were maintaining a garrison here, I’d damned
sure want to find out what was jamming my communications. Especially since
it was supposed to be an uninhabited island.”
Morning Eagle regarded him appraisingly. “Nice trick.”
“We get some nice toys now and then. This is an old standby, but it
still works just fine.”
0950 Local
Tomcat 201
“I don’t like this one damned bit,” Bird Dog grumbled. He cast an
anxious glance back at the wings, trying to see if there was any ice
forming. A visual inspection was not necessary–his instruments would have
told him immediately if there was a problem, but there was nothing more
reassuring than getting a visual on a clean, ice-free wing. “The
meteorology boys really screwed this one up.”
“Not that we had a lot of choice about it,” Gator said. “You think we
have problems, how do you think those helo pilots feel?”
Bird Dog repressed a shudder. “Not good. I wouldn’t trade places
with them for anything. You got solid contact on Batman?”
“Yep. Five-hundred-feet separation, just like we briefed. You’re in
solid. Okay, starting the approach,” Gator said briskly. “The sooner we
get this done, the sooner we’re out of here. Just follow Batman on in.”
“You got any indication of target designation?” Bird Dog asked.
“No, not yet. Still too far away. And look at the time–Batman’s
running a few minutes early.”
“Well, we could grab some altitude and orbit for a while,” Bird Dog
said, “but I don’t fancy charging through those clouds any more than I have
to. And neither does he.”
Both men knew that the moisture-laden clouds seriously increased the
danger of icing on the wings. While the deicing gear on the Tomcat was
fairly decent, it had never been designed to cope with frigid temperatures
like these, or with multiple passes through arctic clouds. As far as they
were concerned, it was just another chance for things to go wrong.
“Best not,” Gator said finally. “Let’s settle in a pattern out here,
far enough to be out of visual range. That’ll have to do for now.
Besides, we haven’t detected any radar sweeps coming off the island. I’m
willing to bet as long as we’re out of visual range, we’re safe.”
“You got it, partner,” Bird Dog responded. He ascended to fifteen