The same unnerving smile Rogov had seen on the submarine returned.
“It’s what we do best, Colonel,” he said, looking eager.
1015 Local
Aflu
Huerta looked up at the sky. “An hour, you think?” As much as he’d
like to believe that, it didn’t seem possible. Gusting williwaw winds were
already pounding the thin shelters, screaming through every tiny crack
between the two sections mated to form a fragile barrier against the
environment. He’d risked one peek outside, for what it was worth. Now
more than the horizon had disappeared–all he could see was blinding snow
and ice pelting him in the face, banging against the two flaps tied
together to form the door to the shelter. The other clamshell shelter,
only four feet away, was invisible. There was no chance that they were
moving anytime soon.
“Maybe not soon,” Morning Eagle said, unconsciously echoing the SEAL’s
thoughts. “Sometimes these blow over quickly.”
“And other times?” the SEAL demanded.
Morning Eagle shrugged. The SEAL felt rising frustration, which he
stifled.
Truly, there was no help for it. The storm would end when it
ended–not a moment sooner. Giving the young Inuit an ass-chewing for
underestimating its duration would do no good. After all, they would have
gone ahead with the mission anyway, even if they’d had an accurate weather
forecast. No way they were leaving the boss behind–no way.
The SEAL rummaged in one pocket of his parka, finally found what he
was looking for. He extracted two high-calorie protein bars, and offered
one to the Inuit. The other waxed covering was dull army green, and the
bar itself tasted like it would match the protective wrapper. “Beats whale
blubber,” the SEAL offered.
The Inuit unwrapped his bar, studied it, sniffed it, and then took a
small, tentative bite. He chewed for a moment thoughtfully, and an odd
expression, half apology, half disgust, rose in his eyes. “Not by much,”
he said, then swallowed hard.
1020 Local
Tomcat 201
“The weather’s not holding,” Bird Dog said, in a singsong tone of
voice. “Although why I expected anything different, I’ll never know. How
much time do we have left?”
“Three minutes,” Gator answered. “That is, if you think we can make
it.”
“Oh, we’ll make it in all right,” Bird Dog said grimly. He pulled the
Tomcat out of its orbit and pointed its nose toward the island. The
eastern half of the small outcropping was already obscured by the storm.
The clouds had advanced at least halfway across the rocky cliffs that were
their destination. “Let me know the moment you have a lock on the lasers.”
“Right.”
As they approached the island, winds buffeted the Tomcat, tossing the
ungainly, heavily laden jet in the skies in a seemingly random pattern.
Bird Dog swore softly, and focused his concentration on his controls. He
tried to feel the jet, to anticipate her movements, and to correct for the
sudden and sickening drops in altitude. This close in, it wouldn’t do. At
the altitude at which they were going to have to be, a sudden downdraft
could be deadly.
“Two minutes, thirty seconds,” Gator said calmly, his voice a
reassuring presence in the decreasing visibility and increasingly violent
movement of the cockpit. Bird Dog didn’t answer, instead concentrating on
the wildly roller-coastering motion of the aircraft.
One hundred feet above the churning ocean, Bird Dog watched the island
rush toward him with terrifying swiftness. His hair-trigger reflexes
shouted warnings, screaming at him to pull up, pull up. He waited, knowing
in just a few seconds he would, pulling the Tomcat into its parabolic
maneuver that would toss the weapons precisely toward the laser-designated
point. Ahead of him, he saw the ass end of the JAST bird.
“Two more miles.” He tensed, readying himself for the final maneuver.
Suddenly, his targeting gear screamed warnings. The churning clouds
to the north had finally made a quick dash over the island, completely
obscuring the small red points of light aimed on the rift.
“Shit! We’re icing,” he heard Batman snarl over tactical. “That
damned deicing kit–it was giving us some problems on the deck, but I
thought they’d gotten it corrected. Bird Dog, it gets any worse and we’ll